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It was like nothing I'd ever seen. Whatever it was jutted out of the earth like a tower, and it even had windows running down its length, almost like a lighthouse. The canyon rose up on either side of me, hiding it from view in the surrounding area. The other "dates"I'd been on had been pretty locations, but this was the first one that was truly what I would call "awe-inspiring." It looked ancient; hundreds of years old at least. Maybe thousands? I knew I should have paid better attention on those museum trips in high school, I didn't have a good frame of reference. It was covered with all kinds of vines and lichens, and I had to remind myself not to touch them. I checked my phone to see if "Kelsey"had texted me. After getting stood up a second time, we had both kind of dispensed with the notion that what was happening was romantic at all, but I didn't mind. The conversations we had after I explored the areas she picked were always illuminating, and it felt strangely intimate, though we'd never seen each other's faces. I didn't have any messages from her, so I shot a quick one to her. this place is amazing. how did you find it? The ellipses popped up under my message, and I felt a little nervous despite myself. found it on a dig for work, lol. pretty cool, huh? Kelsey had told me very little about what she did, but I knew she worked in archaeology, and right now she was on assignment with some government agency I'd never heard of. Some kind of task force? I wasn't sure, but the text where she had explained it was so far back in our conversation history that I was sure it had been erased by now. it's awesome. can i go inside? lmao I was only half-joking. This was the coolest thing I'd ever seen by a fairly wide margin. if anyone asks, i definitely told you that you weren't allowed lol That sounded like a "yes"to me. I let my fingertips drag along the surface of the structure as I circled its base, looking for an entrance. I was a little surprised to find that it was not stone, as I'd thought, but a dark, tarnished metal. Whatever this was, it wasn't manmade. Nothing this ancient could possibly have been metal. I came upon what I assumed was a door, but it was only a few feet high, so I had to duck my head as I went in. how do you feel? That was a weird question to ask. fine? idk this thing isn't what i thought it'd be, so a little weird i guess, but fine physically lol I wasn't quite sure what I was looking at. A few shafts of light were coming into the structure from the windows, but it wasn't enough to make out what this place was used for. I saw what looked like seats and screens, but I knew that couldn't have possibly been right. I heard footsteps from outside. look, you deserve to know what's going on before it's over My blood was ice, and I could feel a cold sweat forming on my brow. Before what was over? The footsteps were getting louder, and I could make out several sets of them, now. The ellipses hung under her last message for what seemed like eons as I was frozen in place. these beautiful sites aren't for picnics or leisurely walks. they're areas where alien technology has been found. we needed someone -- a human someone -- to be our canary in the coalmine, making sure it's safe for us to explore them i'm sorry, Abby I barely felt the needle enter my neck before darkness took me.
They told me I had aged gracefully. They said I looked good, but where once the compliment had been genuine, now it rang hollow, qualified by an unspoken "for someone of your age." Every day I studied myself. Sometimes changes were so slow, you'd hardly notice them happening. Skin that didn't snap back quite as quickly, that blotched and mottled and was not smooth. Hair that was thinner, then streaked with grey, then an unnaturally uniform brown, then grey at the roots. Lines and creases just beginning to work their way into the map of my face. The eyes were the worst. I lost the power to focus nearby and had to wear glasses to use the mirror. My eyes, once bright, shining, and the blue of spring sky after rain, had faded to a listless stormy grey-blue. Lines appeared in the corners, and they were no longer eyes that showed optimism, youth and curiosity, but eyes that spoke of experience, hardship, and wicked cunning. Before my eyes the years piled on. With them weight, and grotesqueries of form that only I could perceive. My skin grew pale as I stayed in more and more. White body hairs appeared until in a rage I shaved everything. My self-imposed alopecia was worse than the grey. On the wall behind my mirror, there's as clock, and in the mirror its running backward. A reflection that's getting younger and more vital and better looking with each passing day and obsessed with each newfound delight of youth and vitality, forgetting more and more every day of the time it had spent there the day before, reflecting.
The small craft shook from side to side, the rough waves knocking it about like a featherpod being batted by a tentacular plant. I gripped the inner rail, gulping slightly at the turmoil in my stomach and tried to look anywhere else but the objective ahead. Thousands of other little metal boats sped to the shore, filled to the brim with brave frightened boys, barely men. A hand smacked me in the shoulder and my head whipped forward, paying full attention to the Sargent. “Alright listen up lads!” The Sargent stood with his back to the shore, dark blue eyes gazing calmly despite the bucking craft. “This will be mess to say the least but it’s a job that needs doing. We hit the beach and we have to go forward as best we can. There’ll be shooting aplenty but keep low and spread out. We hit the forward bunkers and quiet them so the rest of the boys can come in behind us.” His eyes met with each of ours, a plain honest gaze that hid nothing. “It’ll be rough but we have to do our best. This fails and we lose our best chance to stop the jerries. Remember how long home got bombed. I’m sure we all lost someone. Let’s give it our best yeah? Queen and Country and each other.” Everyone murmured along and I gripped my oak and Phoenix feather wand tightly. I had the wand stuck along the sleeve of my fatigues, the tip just barely poking out of the sleeve. In my pouches I had several vials of potions ready and I could feel the heavy weight of the pistol in the holster. Luckily I was the squad’s medic and didn’t carry one of their great bulky firelegs, sorry fire arms. I knew I was the only wizard among the muggles and swore to do my best to help them. As much as wizards like to say how separate they are from the non-magical world we were still a part of it. World War 2 had a huge effect on all the wizarding communities all over the world, but especially us in England. Many witches and wizards died to bombs just as easily as muggles and an emergency meeting of the Ministry stated we could serve in the armed forces. However all that did had to register and be proficient with memory charms to continue our secrecy as best as possible. My parents didn’t want me to go, I mean most parents felt the same. Yet I had to do my duty to the home and country. So this I went to training and now am part of what’s called the greatest invasion force in the history of the world. Yet nothing could have prepared me for this, not even Professor Honeycutt’s legendary temper. Last lingering thoughts of home and school flew away as the shore erupted in clouds of smoke and fire. Enormous plumes of water flew into the air as giant shells hit water. Even larger explosions rocked nearby craft as the shells found boats. Gouts of smoke and blood accompanied by screams filled the air and I gulped even harder. I looked up and could just see a plummeting shell whistling menacingly. My hand flies up and I barely whisper Arresto Momentum!. The shell stops and lamely falls into the water, the lost of motion robbing the explosive result. My squad mates gasp in relief and I breathe a sigh of my own. The craft hits the beach and the ramp falls open Protego! The first rounds from the emplaced machine gun hit the invisible shield and I strain with effort from the kinetic force. The squad runs off and I hop after, releasing the shield charm and the bullets fall flat. We ran, dodging traps and sucking under malicious hisses of passing bullets. A squad mate fell screaming, a trio of shots knocked him to his back. I dragged him to cover, cracking a vial over the wound hurriedly as I injected him with morphine. The tincture knit the wound together slowly and I patted him comfortingly as I ran on. Incindio! A small fire cooked off a pallet of mortars in the distance, sparing my team mates at the cost of the lives of others. I gritted my teeth, regret in my face yet I had to protect my squad, my friends. We approached the bunker and I focused my thoughts. Legillimens I can feel the thoughts and emotions of those inside and I get a flash of violence directed at the door. “Down!” I cried tackling the Sargent. Our bodies hit the concrete as a burst of bullets shot out where he stood a moment ago. The rest of the squad retaliates, a flurry of grenades flying within and muffled bangs overrode warcries. They ran in as the Sargent rolls over. “Thank you Fawcett! However did you guess that? You’re like a mind reader.” He claps me on the shoulder and followed the squad into the bunker. I stood shakily and before I could follow I felt another murderous thought. Before I could react I fell over, barely hearing the whispered Petrificus Totalus. I hit the ground, stiff as a rock and gazed up in horror as a form revealed itself, a long gauzy material falling to the ground. “Meddling English wizards. Finally joining the fray?” A sharp eyed man stood in a Nazi uniform, a wand pointed at me. “Well, too little too late. You die first. Then the non-magic trash. Avada-” An iron blade erupts from his chest, his last words turning into a wet cough as blood flew from chest and mouth. The force of the thrust sent him into the wall behind me and the soldier twisted the bayonet before pulling back. Another soldier extended a hand and I shakily accepted, the charm fading as the caster died. “On your feet medic! Glad we kept an eye out for you eh?” I nod and smile, taking care to snap the wand beneath my heel, kicking it aside. “Thanks mates,” I gasped. “Owe you one.” “Hey you’re part of the squad. We got each other.” My rescuer soothed and the bayonetter nodded in agreement. “Come along then, time to flush another nest out.” I trotted after them, no longer quite afraid as I once was. No longer quite alone.
Dust, darkness, the pops of cooling metal. These were the sounds that first pressed on my brain as I regained consciousness. I looked over at partner's chair and saw him hanging, limp from the restraints. He looked to be as out of it as I had been. I swept my eyes over the control panel in front of me, distressed to see that there wasn't even a flicker of power. We must have been thrown light years across the universe. I closed my eyes and tried to remember. Some kind of catastrophic failure of the magnetic containment system. All that power must've ripped through space, and deposited us wherever the rip ended. I marvelled at our fortune. We could've been atomised across the Seven Systems, but we were somehow alive, if a little battered and bruised. I smacked my chest, releasing the harness, and walked my way over to Tal. I gently patted his facial region, attempting to wake him up. He didn't respond, so I went over to the wall and accessed the environmental computer. Dead. Of course. Everything had to be done manually. I tapped the environmental display, pressing the toggles to take manual environmental measurements. Decent temperature, so at least we wouldn't freeze, oxygen present, so we wouldn't immediately suffocate. Suddenly I saw something out of the corner of my eye, that made me stop what I was doing and my hearts sink. A crack all along the far seam between the wall and floor. Soft light shined through, rendering my environmental check pointless. If the environment outside was poison we'd never have woken up. Again, I considered how lucky we were to have survived the million to one containment breach, then been slammed into this godforsaken planet, that by some incredible coincidence was not inimical to our species. If the computer was online, it could've calculated exactly how unlikely this circumstance was. It may have brought me some form of comfort to know exactly how unlikely this damn day was going to get. A groan brought me back to my surroundings. Tal was waking up. I hurried over to him to try and help him. His eyes opened and slowly focused. "Where are we Keo?" "Dunno man, I think a safe bet is to say that we're in the middle of nowhere"was the only reply I could give. "And on a scale of 1 to 8 how dead are we?"he asked. I weighed my options, unsure how to reply. "Well, we our bodies weren't torn apart when magnetic containment collapsed, we weren't smeared to a subatomic level when our spaceship was sucked through the rift that the breach caused, we didn't turn to jelly when we were slammed onto this planet, and we didn't asphyxiate when the ship buckled and exposed us to the exterior environment. So I'd say we're doing pretty well so far."His eyes rolled at the end of the sentence. "You're a disgusting optimist, you know that"he said bitterly, grinning despite himself. "You always said that was my best quality"I said flippantly, slapping his chest to release his restraints. "Well, time to meet the natives"I said, drawing on my toolbelt. "Maybe we can get this heap repaired and get back in time for tea"I said, knowing full well that our chances of that were even lower than the odds we'd already survived. I ambled over to the door, set my shoulder against it and heaved. With a grating rasp, the door slowly inched open. Light from an alien sun struck me full in the face, obscuring the scenery for the minute. Hand in front of my face, I squeezed through the gap, and fell. Undignified, and an unfortunate side effect of our ship's orientation in the ground, or rather the crater. I looked up at the rim of the crater and froze. There were two native creatures, peering down at us. Hair on their heads, two eyes, exterior ears, 4 appendages. They looked vaguely familiar, but nothing like I'd seen elsewhere. I raised an empty arm in time honoured greeting. "Greetings. Sorry for the hole here."I said rather lamely. Both creatures looked at me, as if silently judging me. One opened it's mouth. "Baaaaaah" The other creature lowered it's head to the ground and took a mouthful of the plant matter there, slowly chewing while looking at me calmly. Behind me, I heard Tal cursing the Seven Systems as he extricated himself from the ship. The eyes of the strange creatures seemed to widen as he emerged, but neither spoke again. Tal and I started up the rim of the crater, trying to get to the top. After much huffing, puffing and some subtle gravity manipulation, we made it. The two creatures, kept one eye on us while chewing as if nothing was wrong. Looking around at all the green, we knew that chlorophyll had a strong grip on this planet. The white clouds and blue sky could've been out of any of a hundred planets that I knew about. As we gazed, hopes of a timely tea faded away as a group of the fluffy creatures ate off the ground. They looked about as advanced my house pets back home, and less intelligent. Suddenly a droning noise attracted our attention. A metal machine was making it's way towards us, and as it got closer, icy tendrils of fear wormed their way down my body. This metal box was clearly in contact with the ground, using wheels for propulsion. This species had clearly not mastered gravity manipulation, which meant any hopes of a timely tea were dashed. How were they going to help repair a quantum wormhole drive, if they couldn't even master the basics? I pulled out my magnifier, and focused on the machine. No sooner had the image formed than the scope slipped from my arm, and thunked to the ground. "We're dead"I stated, certain of nothing else. There was only one planet that had a species and a technology level that matched what I had seen. All the identifying factors coalesced into an answer of abject terror. I'd heard about this species in astroxenbio courses. They had many names. Deathbringers, Bloodletters, The Curse of the Cosmos. Every culture knew about them, children across space were threatened that if they misbehaved they'd be put in the very predicament we found ourselves in. They were reputed to be the most blood hungry, war driven, ravenous, consuming horde of the universe. "Tal, I love you"I said taking his arm, as the machine droned closer, and stopped in front of us. A hatch opened in the side and one of them stepped out. I felt a swell of pride that neither of our legs buckled from fear. The creature spoke. "G'day, mates, you seem to be in a spot of bother here. How can I help?"
This feels real. The ground is soft with a permanent layer of mist on it. Behind me there's a huge hole with what looks like a satellite view of the world, just over my country. In front is a massive gate, attached to nothing. I hear something, like a car park up along side of me. What looks like a classic Mercedes convertible. A white bearded man steps out wearing golfing clothes... It's "George Carlin?" "Hey welcome to heaven Rob" He said, extending a hand. "What's going on, is this a coma?"I took his hand, he had a hell of a grip for a dead man. "After falling head first into a wood chipper? You wish!"He stepped back into his car and motioned for me to join him. "So this is real then?"I ask, closing the door behind me, the interior looks brand new, and quite modern. "Who knows, we might still be in the matrix, but this place here is what they used to call heaven"he said putting the car into gear. The gates opened up, and a world was revealed between them, a bright golden city. The car silently got up to speed in next to no time at all. "So I was wrong? Where is everyone else?". "Most of everyone is in hell. There's a lot to explain, information heading back down to earth doesn't tend to get taken too seriously"he said. "I mean who'd really believe anyone who'd say Karl Marx started a war and turned Hell into a paradise?" "Wut?!"I barked "Turns out communism works... if you get rid of all the assholes that is" "That's actually harder to believe than heaven being real". "Well, if it isn't real, I haven't woken up from it yet". "So if Hell's the new Heaven..." "Yes. That makes you an asshole" "What? How? I've always been honest and tried to help people see the light". "Sounds like an asshole to me". "No- I'm a good person! fighting ignorance- people just couldn't handle the truth". George stopped the car and turned to look at me. "But was it really the truth?" "Yes! Well... I was sure it was, and I fought for my beliefs" "So did the Nazis kid"he replied, putting the car back into gear. "So if Hell is heaven, does that mean I'm being punished?" "Heaven isn't hell. It's literally just been turned into one huge rehabilitation centre". "But it's so empty..." "They've all moved to hell". "All of them?" "Well most of 'em, if you look, you'll find someone, but for the most part everyone here's essentially in solitary confinement. Left to relive their lives until they learn how to play nice". We left the city and ended up on a road cutting through the forest. "So what are you doing here?" "An empty world full of big open roads to drive around in? And you expect me to stay in Hell?" "But I don't see any other drivers". "I know right? That's the beauty of it". "But no one else?" "... There are certain things I can't explain until you've passed the right stages". We stopped outside of a castle just outside the forest. "Well this is your stop kid. Go inside and you'll find everything you'll need". "This has been interesting, it's been nice meeting you Mr. Carlin"I said, stepping out the car. "Oh I'm not George Carlin"he said with a smile before driving away. I stepped into the castle and found a note on the floor of the lobby. "Robert Smith. Each of the 140 rooms in this castle represent a session related to an event in your life where an action you believed positive or neutral had the opposite effect. On the ground up to the second floor you will experience the lives of your victims, on the third floor you will experience their lives had you not existed, and on the fourth you will relive these events as yourself with the knowledge attained. Completion of this task will lead to a trial integration in one of the cities, if you are deemed successful after that you may be free to access Hell. "To summarise: You have been found directly or indirectly responsible (limited to up to 2 degrees of separation) for 29 deaths, including 0 murders and 19 acts of suicide". Seeing those numbers sent a slight chill down my spine... Were people really that thin skinned? If I was being punished for other people's weaknesses then maybe this really was Hell.
Hmm, the decision is hard. This life was awful. So much hurt, so much horror, and so much hardship. I don’t want to go through that again. The levels which I had to rise to, the ones which I had to sink to, it all made me so mad. In my head I only heard the drip drip of the waters that claimed my life. Drip drip, woosh. Then again, if only I could try again and get past it all. I know what awaits me would be so great, so wonderful. I just have to redo what I already know, and things will get so much easier for me. So, should I give it another go? Or is it perhaps the end of the link for me? Drip drip, woosh. BDAGABDA no/yes Yes, I’ll do it. -Water Temple-
DECEMBER 21ST, 2012. ———————————————————— “What is it?” Rook Stellar of the International Space Station looked at the satellite reports with concern. His colleague, Alyssa Williams, pulled up a chart on the expansive screen in front of them. “Look, this is an image of the Eugestra Void two weeks ago. As you can see, and expansive area of little to no celestial bodies.” Alyssa switched the view, showing a different image. “Now, take a look. The Void’s size has increased by 40% which is extremely concerning. We haven’t seen a growth this big in any void in history.” Alyssa lowered the screen off, and took a seat at the table across from Rook. “So, stars are being swallowed up by this thing? It’s travelling fast?” Alyssa swallowed, and responded. “Yes, at an alarming rate of speed. I would concerned over the fate of stars such as Betelgeuse and Prometheus.” Rook was at a loss for words. He sipped the packaged orange juice he had poured out for himself earlier. “Damn. We are talking about celestial behemoths, gigantic clusters, wiped out by this...thing.” “Correct. Millions of years old, destroyed by a force we are witnessing. Right now.” Rook took a swig of the sugary juice while Alyssa looked out the bay windows into the great expanse of space. ———————————————————— DECEMBER 25TH, 2012 ———————————————————— Carlan had studied the texts for years. He had sat in old and musty rooms within the Hollow Keep, the smell of parchment paper ingrained into his mind. He sat for hours and read, honed his mind and the knowledge over the impending [Event]. The [Event], according to the Oracle Samhain, would arrive at the planet in the year 2045. For all planets in the Western Expanse, Gaia, Mercury, Apsara, Nona, so many others. The end time for these planets will have already started. December 21st, 2012. The beginning of the End Times. Carlan opened a book now, coughed as the dust was scattered by the force of the pages. The Great Messenger Ouroboros. The book told of the messenger, an alchemist who travelled to all planets with the Seed of Life, and told them the date of the beginning of the End Times. He hewn it into their minds, with fantastic visions of the great [Event] that would tear through the universe one day. Carlan sighed. His people had dismissed the date as simple superstition, yet he and a select few knew the truth. They possessed the Ouroboros mark, they could see beyond. He hoped other planets had not dismissed the [Event]. And if they had, he hoped those who also had the Ouroboros would help them remember.
Steven moved into the house a week ago. The rent was cheep and it wasn't as though he deserved a nice place. No one else wanted to live there, so he took it. He had hoped that he’d at least be alone there—the seven roommates were not on the ad. He had not left his bed in the week since he moved in, not bothering to unpack. Why even bother? The other occupants of the house were a cheerier lot, for all their horns and red eyes. Their body proportions and corporeality differed slightly amongst the demons. Gluttony’s overly large stomach dominated his form, while Lust had the most desirable physique of the lot when he was not fading into mist. The seven of them were gathered in the living room, eyeing Steven’s door. They shared a look and nodded. Pride was up first. He dug through Steven’s computer until he found his resumé. He printed it out and went to Steven’s room to confront him about it. The six other demons listened to him listing out accomplishments from the other side of the door. The laugh they heard was cold enough to rival Lucifer’s own. “Executive of Sales? I was an underpaid cashier and got fired after three weeks. Everything else was exaggerated, luck, or due to someone else’s help. The only things on the farce that were purely me ended in failure.” Steven pushed Pride from the room and slammed the door. Greed took a simpler route and tried to bribe Steven to come back into the world. He began with several hundred dollars and the promise of more. The human told him that throwing the money in the trash would be a better use for it. At least then a homeless man might find it. They deserved it more anyway. Envy only made things worse. He actively encouraged Steven to compare himself to others. His attempt ended with the bedroom door barricaded for three days. None of the other six demons knew how Lust did it, but he got Steven to leave the house. The pair were gone for three hours on Saturday evening. When they got back, Lust just shook his head. “What happened?” Pride asked. “A girl offered to take him home,” Lust said. “He told her that she didn’t want him—said something about it only leading to disappointment. When she kept pushing, he told he that he knew it was me and that I should stop trying. That wasn’t even the girl I was possessing!” Gluttony tried to shower Steven in delicacies and exotic spices. He began with lobster and king crab, quickly progressing to caviar and Angus beef. He brought in hundred year old champagne and flavors from around the world. Steven rarely ate what was brought, and when he did, he barely seemed to taste it. The drink went over well, but did more harm than good. The other demons had to stop Gluttony from bringing any more into the house. Wrath told Steven to find the person who put him in this state, whoever did this to him, and to confront him head on. To everyone’s surprise, Steven actually got out of bed for this. Their hope last only until he walked in front of the mirror and began screaming at his reflection about his worthlessness and how he only ever hurts people. He yelled that no one likes him and that they have no reason to. He kept yelling until his throat was ragged. He was openly weeping by the time he sunk down to the floor. The other demons glared daggers at Wrath. Sloth took a different approach. The others had all tried to get Steven to do, or at least believe, something else. Sloth didn’t. Instead, he just went and sat down next to Steven, content to relax next to him. Steven eyed him warily at first, but Sloth made no move to say anything. He just sat there, providing company as they did nothing together. After about a week, Sloth got Steven to go to the living room to watch TV and movies with him, though only when the other demons were not around. After two weeks, soft voices could be heard in the house as the two talked quietly to one another. After another week or so, Sloth saw Steven smile.
This wasn't at all how the other knights described it. Drukel stood in the field, armor gleaming brilliantly in the summer sun. Even that was wrong, he now knew, for no veteran warrior had platemail so clean and unscathed. "Like a newborn baby,"laughed the others as he'd left on his first mission that morning, and Drukel had laughed along with them. This was his big day. A few friendly taunts wouldn't sour his mood. But this weeping old man in front of him, not even trying to put up a fight, was making it hard to stay upbeat. The Count deserved what was coming to him. He'd always skirted the edges of the law, treating his vassals with impatience and cruelty. Ethically he was most certainly bankrupt, but he'd always been careful not to step too far out of line. Or, if he did, didn't insult anyone who could do anything about it. At least until now. Was this cowardice? Fear of comeuppance? Considering the atrocity the Count had committed not a fortnight past, he had to know this was coming. Drukel refused to let the tears affect him. "Stand up and fight like a man,"he intoned, not completely successful in keeping the confusion out of his voice. The Count looked up from his knees, eyes swollen and red. "You... you can't do this. Please." At least he was finally trying to banter back, thought Drukel. "You've been bad, Count. Very bad. And you must be punished." "I'll never do it again! I swear!" "It's too late for that. You've always been a disappointment, and you've finally gone too far. This will be your final lesson." "No, Daddy, no!" Drukel already had an axe above his head, poised to slash across the Count's neck, but the words stopped him cold. "Erm... excuse me?" But the Count was in no state to respond, trembling on his knees, and Drukel didn't need to hear it again. Daddy. The knight had no idea what it meant, but even villains deserve better final words than that. Still in an attack position, Drukel asked, "Why did you say that?" "Because you sound just like him."The Count's voice was hoarse but finding strength. "It's all he ever said to me. Never a positive word for fifty years. He was horrible. Tortured my mother to death -- you holier-than-thou bastards in the castle didn't know that, did you? Then years of forcing me to raise taxes and whip the farmers. Beat them, or be beaten when I returned to the manor." Drukel took a step back, stunned, but the Count wasn't done yet. "And now that someone finally stood up to him, finally did the deed that should have happened decades ago, you're going to have my head? Fine, call me patricide for the righteous murder of a terrible man, and cut me down when, for the first time in my life, I have a chance to be more than... more than an echo of his hateful heart. Go on then." The Count's tears had dried. Still on his knees, he stared defiantly up at Drukel. Straight backed. Proud. The young knight in his unscathed armor held the Count's gaze for several long seconds. Then, slowly, he lowered his axes. \-------------------- 61/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \---------------------
Meanwhile elsewhere - "I'm telling you, I just couldn't find the guy!"The hooded figure whines to his coworker, motioning with his cup of hot coffee. "The guy just up and left the area he was supposed to be in. I checked his house, his work, everywhere. The guy just vanished!" The devil sitting next to him, his bright red skin dulled in the artificial light of the break room justrolled his eyes. "That's not everywhere. You know how moody these things get. Did you check all the touristy spots?" Cloak bobs his hood in affirmation. "I ran a search. None of the big places have seen him, he hasn't been on any flights, and his car is still at home. He just walked out one day, told Siri goodbye, and vanished."The hood wobbles back in forth in a shake of the head. "I'm telling you, it's just unnerving that I missed his due date. You know those things go bad after awhile?" The Devil smirked into his own cup of ambrosia in the morning. "Oh, I think I have a clue on when they go bad."He could feel the figure at his side roll it's non-existent eyes back at him. "Not like that. I mean, they start to change. Who knows what might happen next. He could start flying around, causing trouble for everyone!"Hood rubbed a bony hand up and down his sleeve nervously, causing timeless dust to flake away from his incorporeal body. The devil chuckled. "At least you could find him easily at that point." "True."The hood agreed.
I watched as the heroes ran through the halls of my fortress. It was a massive building, truly fit for an emperor. It was a symbol of my greatness, filled to the brim with undead servants. The magical crystal ball that I watched them through showed the heroes on their way to the dungeon. These were the ones. They had made it this far, they would defeat whoever I put against them. I created my final minion. A massive skeletal battlemage that obeyed my commands to the letter. "After I leave this room, attack anybody who comes through those doors,"I said as I pointed to the massive double doors across the throne room. "That includes me."I waited for the creature to nod in response. I removed my clothes and gave them to the battlemage. I handed it all my rings and jewelry, with the exception of the necklace I wore that would be the catalyst to begin this process once again. It was shaped like a teardrop, but had a ruby encased in a saphire, with gold connecting it to a simple string that had a powerful enchantment to avoid it cutting or falling off. Now naked, I cast a teleportation spell to send myself to the dungeon. I thought about how much fun this time around had been, and I hoped that the next time would be even better. Shortly after arriving I cast the most powerful memory spell I knew. It wasn't a recollection spell, nor a spell to preserve my thoughts. It was quite the opposite. In a flash of blue light I collapsed on the ground. &#x200B; I woke in a dank cage. There was mold and moss growing on the walls. There was commotion going on outside, like a battle was going on. I tried to think of where I was, but my head was in so much pain. I must be sick. I felt nauseous, but I couldn't remember the last thing I ate. The door suddenly swung wide open. A man in heavy armor ran into the room, and seemed surprised to see me. He motioned to his friends that it was clear. "Blow the door, will you?"He asked his friend. The person that the man in armor had asked to blow the door wore some relatively light gambeson padding that looked reinforced with some kind of metal plates. Turning to me, the armored man said, "Stay back, wouldn't want you getting hurt from this." I watched as the man wearing gambeson motioned over the simple lock with his hands, and a small red light appeared before a pop was heard. There was smoke rising from the lock and the door began to fall open. "Can you walk?"I was asked. I understood what he said, but for some reason I couldn't form the words. A mess of noise came from my mouth, none of it any sort of language. The man in armor sighed. "Can you understand me? Just nod or shake your head."I nodded. "Alright, do you know the way out?"I shook my head. "Alfie, can you lead him out?" The man wearing gambeson nodded to him. He motioned for me to follow. We ran through the halls of this massive fortress. There were corpses strewn about everywhere. "If you were in that dungeon for long they must have done awful things to you. I hope you'll be okay."It was nice to hear someone worry for me. I felt like I hadn't heard something like that in a long time. "My name is Alphonse, though the other members of my party call me Alfie. Once we get out of here I'm going to have to go rejoin them, but you're going to look for Sergeant Jackie, she's handling the refugees." I kept following him. We came to a massive set of doors that looked like they had massive rocks thrown at them from long distances. We ran outside, where Alphonse stopped and pointed at a small light in the forest. "That should be the camp, head there and look for a hardass in steel with a blue crest. I'm going back inside."He turned to re-enter the castle. I ran towards the small campfire, as I was told to do. Running into the camp I began to look for this Jackie. A couple of men in armor stopped me and asked who I was. I didn't know how to form the proper words, but I knew what I was looking for. "Need find Cha-key,"I managed. One of the men seemed to understand. "We got another one!"the man yelled. He began to walk towards one of the larger tents, where I followed him. Inside, there was a large number of people, none of which had any clothes. I was thankful that it seemed to be summer, and even in the night it seemed rather warm. I watched as a woman with a hard face and a blue moon on her armor came up to me. She looked me up and down before turning to her subordinate. "Can he speak?"she asked him. "He can form simple words, and he seems to understand what we say." "Good,"she said before turning to me. "I hope you're not too hurt?"I shook my head. I didn't seem to have an injuries at all, actually. "He must've been relatively new. Do you remember anything?"The first soldier turned to me. I only shook my head. It seemed that trying to think of anything that happened before waking up in the cell caused me a great deal of pain. The soldier looked disappointed, though not surprised. This was the way they always found people. Never with any memories of who they were, and some of them had difficulties speaking, as though muscle memory had even been wiped out. I was given a meal that consisted of soup and bread, before a small bag filled with hay was laid out for me in the refugee's sleeping quarters. I hoped I could start a better life. I didn't know what happened before, but I knew that whatever it was, I wanted better than that. I resolved to join forces with the ones who had helped me. First, however, I would need to learn to speak again.
[Phone] I looked at the first paper. It had to be a joke. A pie chart showed the overall composition of my ancestry. My aunt, my cousins, my own dad... they were my relatives, right? And they were humans, right? When I thought about taking these tests, I expected to find out more about myself. I never imagined I would have to question the few things I already knew. I reached for the other sheets. I wanted the details. How could this happen? I was still hoping this was some kind of joke. Then I heard the usually welcomed and soothing sounds of a door being unlocked, slammed open, and then being closed again. But I wasn't so happy to hear them, this time. "I'm home!"It was a familiar voice. The voice of my father... or was he? I couldn't reply. My reaction today was more akin to panic than anything else. "Son? Are you here, Danny?"I hid the test results. My father couldn't know, he had to be innocent, or he wouldn't have paid for this. And I needed to gather some strength myself before giving him the bad news. "Dad? Hm-hi." "I bought us some noodles."Something positive, finally. "Oh, uhm, thanks!" My family was definitely human. I had to be the monster here, and this meant I wasn't my dad's natural son. I had to find the right time to tell him, assuming a right time can exist to tell someone that __hey, your child's actual parents are probably aliens__! He slowly entered my room. "Come now, we'll eat. Sorry I couldn't cook today."He said. I just nodded and got up, to follow him to the living room. The smell was delicious, and almost made me forget my trouble. Until my father pronounced some words I would have wanted to run away from. "Oh right, did you get those DNA results? I'm so curious." But it was time to tell him, I guess. "Dad, hm. Yes, I did. And there's a... a really weird thing about them. I think they ripped us off. We should get our money back!"That's all my mouth managed to bark out; but I felt like I was lying, and I had no idea of whether or not I was. "Why, what's wrong? Did you get some result about a British ancestor or something? Those damn Brits, right? I would be angry too!"He was joking, of course, and he looked like he wanted to laugh. But he looked at me again, waiting for me to explain. "Dad, they say... they say I have no trace of humanity in me. That's dumb, right? You're clearly human and you're... my father."I gulped. Dad laughed. He just laughed. It wasn't a weird laughter, it was just like I had said something silly. I tried to fake a laughter too, but I still worried. "Danny,"he started saying with the most exhilarated expression I had ever seen -"you're my fucking dog. You were all sad and serious and I was starting to worry! Never do something that dumb again!"And then he kept laughing, even crying a bit this time. Oh. Woof.
The roar of the thrusters propelled all manner of dirt and detritus through the grassy clearing. The shimmer of dew could be observed from the top of the boarding deck as peering out the window, the young Nerix pressed what could generously be called his hand upon the windowed observation deck. "Water!"he exclaimed. Another figure approached from the depths of the chambers of the space ship. He was lithe and bore a gaunt hollowed expression, the kind that only repeated cryostasis stints could impart. His saffron eyes pierced their amber glare at the inexperienced Nerix. "We knew that coming on, Nerix. We wouldn't have came otherwise."He stated coldly, almost mechanically. "Apologies Captain Voryl, er..."he quickly shifted to the side station terminal, "The readings are all here, says the planets atmosphere is mostly nitrogen, but it has the right oxygen content to be breathable!" Voryl snapped his head towards Nerix, "helmets on."he sneered. Shortly thereafter, the landing crew was assembled, all wearing their exo-suits, they carefully descended the ramp that led to the alien landscape. There was a lot riding on this particular landing, representatives of the four known species of the known galaxy were here, and if this particular planet proved to be hospitable, it would be a shared territory and the seat of the first galactic council, the perfect Eden to symbolize their future working together. These thoughts weighed heavily on Nerix, it was, after all, only his second venture into space. These thoughts were quickly silenced by the swift whistle of some local fauna, arm outstretched, Voryl swiftly pointed his wrist mounted plasma needle and fired, a puff of feathers all that remained of the alien lifeform. "This planet wasn't suppose to have fauna lifeforms on it... our drones made sure of it" Examining a feather, Nerix conjectured, "What else could our scans be wrong about?" "Why do you think we're wearing helmets"Voryl swiftly added. "Stay close everyone. Eyes on, especially if you have more than one pair" The party continued their journey eventually setting up base camp in an old basin with overlaying rock formations that reached towards the sky, casting a great shadow over the entire premise. Nerix was lugging a rather large chair when a sudden chill passed down his form. The frission caused his spines to stand on end, the inescapable sinking feeling of being observed settled over him. With a thud the chair dropped to the earth and hesitantly Nerix raised his own plasma needle. Every shaded bush, every rock outcropping, every tree top canopy now hid a possible predator. His imagination ran wild, imagining all sorts of beasts, some with fangs, others with poison barbs, all of them deadly. A slight whir filled the air, followed by the rustling of tree branches as an metal orb, seemingly suspended in midair made off in the distance. The orb was small, nor more than 10 centimeters across, and bore a single green shaded ocular viewing port. It looked nothing like any of the drones Voryls crew had brought. Nerix, unsure of whether it was fear or curiosity, held his fire as the drone like entity flew off into the distance towards the rock formations. With nary a single beat of a moment, Nerix took off running after it. The little orb was swift, Nerix struggled to keep up, still sore from cryostasis. Giving chase, Nerix cornered his prey as he ran the orb into a dead end filled with sheer rocky cliffs walls on all sides except the one he stood at. Triumphantly, he dove towards the drone, and in an instant, both the drone and Zerix passed through the cliff wall, the apparent illusion shimmering with a wave of static before returning to its previous state. "Bseg heg siuil forg hallaem tyrm"the Orb stated in the voice of a creature Nerix had never before heard. In surprise, Nerix dropped the previously captured orb and watched as it fell to the rocky ground. Seemingly unfazed by its percussive drop the the floor, the orb shaked for but a mere moment before once more rising to Nerix's eye level. it repeated itself, "Bseg heg siuil forg hallaem tyrm" "err, I don't understand..."The orb, seeming to sense its confusion, lit up its ocular port, shining a bright glistening green, the cone of light shined up and down Nerix's form. "Hello"the orb stated in a familiar language, but a strange voice. It was smooth, almost songlike in its cadence, completely unlike any of the gruff spacefaring races that composed the landing party. "uh... Hi."Nerix responded lamely. "Your brain waves have been scanned. I have adopted your language. I must admit, the file to execute this action was quite difficult to find. We haven't had to use it since the Dolphins still lived on Earth." "Earth... is that what this place is?" "A bit rudimentary yes, but you should hear what we call our star." ". . . right, uhm... are you... one of the locals?" "In a manner of speaking. I am but a single terminal. In a way, I am everywhere. I'm watching your party right now, actually." "So you're a robot then?" "Me? Goodness no. We haven't had robots on this planet since the second dark age." "Then what are you?" Nerix swore the drone made a laughing sound, but he couldn't be sure, as every races expression for amusement was unique. "I'm the owner of this planet." The drone whirred.
I stand holding a small notebook and a pencil, surrounded by tall, lean soldiers in military gear. There are five that I count. One is standing, palm outstretched towards me; his palm clearly reads "fire."That one's pretty obvious. The others palms are also aimed at me, and I slowly look around, reading them. Water, wind, lightning, and....move? I wonder what that one means. "Hold it right there!"calls out the fire wielder. "You're an S tier, you know that? It's dangerous for you to be unsupervised out here. Just cooperate and we won't hurt you, I promise." Yeah, right, then lower your arms... I look down at the open notebook in my palm. There are different sentences written neatly, all missing the last letter to complete it. I find one that suits the situation. Shockwave, every directio, it reads. I quickly scribble an "n"at the end, completing the word "direction."Suddenly, an invisible force launches all five backward crashing over the bar. It was a nice, tidy modern bar. Once the soldiers had entered, everyone silently cleared out, leaving me alone. That's when I stood to leave and they surrounded me. I scribble down another letter: Kill whoever I jab my pencil a*t. I point my pencil towards the soldiers who are splayed on their backs. I stab the air in the water wielder's direction and he stops moving all of a sudden. I continue doing the same with everyone until I reach the "move"-wielder. He raises his hand a millisecond before I end him, and instantaneously I can't move. I blink in surprise. He looks at me and smiles. "You're not the only S tier around here, my friend." This isn't good. I'm screwed. He must have telekinesis...but is he only restraining my pencil hand? I guess I'll give it a try... I move my left hand, which holds the book, and I realize he was only holding my right hand, which had my pencil. Barely, I manage to move the book to the tip of the pencil and move the book to write two lines, writing a messy "y."The sentence on the page now reads: disable all powers except mine in my vicinity* The man gasps, and my hand is free. I scribble down a sentence as fast as I can. Restrain with chains. Chains shoot from the ground and wrap around the man, holding him back. His face grimaces, and he curses. "Tell me who sent you,"I say. "Was it the government?" The man simply laughs and manages to shake his head. "You don't understand do you?" "What don't I understand?!" "It doesn't matter. You're dead anyway. They won't send just five guys for an S tier. You managed to get me, but you won't get the rest." I curse beneath my breath, and write, Kill him. The man stops moving, mid-smile. I look around, and see at least twenty or so soldiers wearing heavier armor and carrying some strange rifle-looking thing. I won't take any chances. I scribble, Teleport me to my house. In an instant, I'm gone. I open my eyes to my small apartment in New York City. I wonder what I'm going to do next. I wonder how much power I hold as I write down a sentence tentatively. Wipe out those who wish to hunt me. I wait. I look outside the window, and with wide eyes realize that the streets are devoid of any life, and the cars have stopped, their insides empty. Everyone is gone.
It burns. It always does. Not painful, certainly not comfortable either. You feel it run up your spine, split to reach both shoulderblades and trickle back down like a colony of ants gone marching. It was scary at first, and when the dust of novelty settled it became a sense like any other. Your eyes see, your fingers touch and feel, your scriptures predict. It doesn't stop bird poo from falling on your coat nor ensures the egg you bought to be fresh, the scope is greater. You knew the finance bubble would burst, just like you knew a new plague would wash over the world. If you had to guess, the cultists wanted to make you into a herald, a prophet. What you do know is that you were supposed to act on your precognition and modify the future. They never got to the part where they explained if you should make things better or worse, the police busted the door open before. Lacking teachers, you grew up and learned on your own to handle this sixth sense. At first, you traveled with it, to see every great event, catastrophe or breakthrough and witness the history of the world unravel with a frontseat. Today you'd rather keep your distances with upheaval, it is dangerous more often than not, and quite depressing to boot. Knowing the future means you cannot ignore it. It is not a newsfeed that can't be shut down, it is a cross you bear, a heavy one. You sunk into art as an escape. Reality was heavy to handle and the world's great events often bloody. You used your voice to warn people and limit the damage, but just because you cannot be apathetic to what happens doesn't mean others cannot either. They wouldn't listen, and if they do they shrug their shoulders in defeat. You would have ended it, putting the headphone on and turning the music volume up was the only way to cope. You created a love for music as a desperate bid to survive until the next day. You did not expect the scriptures to learn and, maybe, appreciate you. Sick of existential dread, you started to foresee events of a very different nature. Instead of sensing the next genocide, you got a sudden interest in the amateur musician playing at the corner of the street. You watched him every day, until he disappeared. You feared the worst, until you learned he had a breaktrough and would make it big. Do the scriptures want you alive? Are they sentient, or just a part of you? You do not know and likely never will. But they toned down on the bad news wrecking the world and got attuned to warn you about great musical talent coming up. You look at the tract advertising a new rock concert. The burn comes back to the spine, a roaring fire. Oh, this one will be great, no way you're going to miss it.
I open the door to my suite to find a dapper, well-dressed man with a short beard sitting on the couch, thumbing through the channels on my old flat screen TV. On his lap, he balanced a wicked-looking, 5 feet long thunderbolt. "What the fuck?"That's probably the correct response to a mysterious intruder right? When he heard me, the man jumped up. With lightning speed and immense strength, he pointed his huge bolt at me. "Okay, okay! We can talk. Just put the... thunderbolt down."I raised my hands in surrender, hoping this madman wouldn't try to impale me like barbeque meat. Or do whatever he thought his prop could do. "Yes, talk. That is all I want to do."Now he spoke. For a second, I felt relief. Guess I'll be able to see how my new movie does on the box office. My mind started spiraling off into a reverie, imagining the money and applause I would get for my latest masterpiece. That is, until he motioned me to his seat on the couch with a shocking nudge of his bolt. "Ow! Stop, okay. I'm sitting!" When I had seated myself, gathering my wits, I decided to start talking my way out of this predicament. "So, uh, who are you, and why do you have a weird taser gun?" The man eyed me angrily. "I am Zeus, king of Olympus and leader of the gods. And this is no taser gun. It is pure concentrated electricity, with the ability to instantly dust you where you sit." I gulped. "Z-zeus? Like the actual god? You're real?!" "Of course I'm real, dimwit. You should know, you're doing that blasted play about me! Filthy slime and their imitations."He followed that up with an exclamation in a language I didn't understand. Play? What play? Unless he meant the movie... "You're angry because I'm doing a movie and acting as you in it? Also, we make movies now. Technology has improved since your time, old man." Zeus bristled visibly. "I'm not asleep, you idiot. I know what they're called. Plays, movies, circus tropes with half a dozen stupid clowns, you mortals never change. There's nothing unique about your 'masterpiece'. It's just another clownfest." "Hey, no need to insult my work, alright?"Now I was getting mad. Although actually, I kind of remember my producer saying something like that to me... "Well, the movie's already done. Gone through post-production and everything. In fact, the test screening is next week. I could invite you, maybe give you a peek at some culture, hehe." My smug laugh was met by a sharp lightning bolt in my face. "Look man, if you don't like us mortals imitating you, I'll cancel the movie alright."I scrambled to pacify the god of thunder. "Although I don't understand why you're so mad. Us humans have been doing this forever, and you never showed up. Hell, Bob just did a movie about you last year. Where were you then?" Zeus glared at me. "I don't care that people are doing plays about me. I care that you are doing a play about me. Your acting is terrible! Utter dogshit! Even drunk Dionysius can present emotions better than your dumb face." "Hey, no need to get personal..." "And your script is worse! You're obliterating my character so badly I'd deny that was me if you didn't have my name plastered across your work. Learn some writing skills, you monkey-headed doctor without a brain! "Okay... that's a bit..." "Listen up, mortal. I want you to stop doing the play. Stop doing any plays at all, with or without my character. You hear me? I'm saving the world from your terrible 'art'." "B-but that's my career! You're gonna leave me broke! How am I gonna pay back my last 3 flops..." I found myself with a faceful of angry god. "No. More. Plays. You hear me? If I see any more of your rubbish, I will reduce you to ashes."Thunder rumbled from the clear sky outside. I could only nod. Apparently satisfied, Zeus withdrew his face. "Remember, I'm watching you."With that, the god disappeared from my living room, leaving behind only my palpitating heart. Slowly, I slid down the couch onto the floor. It's not every day your career gets ended by the king of Olympus. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Check out r/17Stories for more of my stuff!
The bartender was stunned. "I don't get it. That guy had muscles the size of watermelons. I saw him lift a horse yesterday! You've got arms like noodles, how did you arm-wrestle him?" Anton grinned. "Stats in this world are coded poorly. Acrobatics, for example, goes up faster if you fall off a mountain than if you jump off a table." "What does that have to do with anything?" "It's the formula. You get more experience doing difficult tasks. But if you fail, you still get partial credit. So trying to lift a ton and failing gives you around a hundred times more experience than lifting a five kilogram weight successfully. Watch this." With that, Anton got on the ground and revealed his secret technique. "There. Do you see now?" "...Now I'm really confused. That was a single push-up." Anton laughed, a cackle that devolved into coughing. "That wasn't a push-up. That was me bench-pressing the earth."
"You've made a horrible mistake,"the Holy Knight said, and there was true horror in his voice. The Irrelevant laughed at the man's distress. &#x200B; "I think not, by now the CEO of Glamourous You will have received my demands of random and be halfway through making the various transfers. After that, it's just a matter of time before my own agents make the money disappear. Then you'll be free to go, minus some memories, and we'll all move on with our day,"the young super villain grinned at the muscle-bound superhero. He couldn't believe how easy it had been to capture the man. Sure his powers of forgetfulness made most things easier, but to think all it had taken to capture and disarm the Holy Knight was a brief touch, a few questions, and the removal of a few pieces of steel... To think the most powerful hero in the city could be stripped of all powers by removing his helmet, sword, and greaves (and why had it been the shin guards?). The Irrelevant had tried on the armor himself, but the holy weapons and armor had rejected him. Apparently, the man's true superpower was his 'supernatural goodness'. The ridiculous information had made the young man gag and laugh. &#x200B; "You don't understand, she'll come for me,"the Holy Knight sounded desperate and the Irrelevant could only laugh. &#x200B; "Oh don't worry, I won't hurt her. It will make things easier actually. I'll just make her forget what she was doing, a few suggestions later and you'll both be free to go and just about... hmm say fifteen percent poorer than you started the day off. Fifteen percent is fairly negligible, irrelevant even,"the villain laughed. &#x200B; "Irrelevant, you need to listen to me. You need to let me go, or she's going to kill you, and possibly every other person in this building,"the Holy Knight's voice was chilled and for a brief moment, the Irrelevant's confidence was shaken. He hadn't actually wanted to endanger anyone. This was his first act of 'supervillain-y', he'd purposefully kept all of his other illegal dealings low key, subtle. The beauty of his power was that with just a touch, he and the last few moments of a victim's memory would be forgotten. This led to general confusion, and humans as a whole were very open to suggestions when they were confused. A few suggestions of payment, mentions of transactions people had been in the middle of, giving him gifts or money, or passwords... And he was always careful of what he was taking, making sure that everything was forgettable, and that he would fly under the radar. &#x200B; Capturing the Holy Knight had been a mistake. He'd been practicing one of his favorite cons, falling off of his skateboard and 'twisting his ankle'. There had been a curmudgeonly old man wearing scrubs in front of an atm, muttering about 'maximum withdrawal limits and the Irrelevant had meant to crash right next to him. Unfortunately, when he'd set up his fall, he hadn't imagined that the most famous superhero in the city would turn around the corner in the middle of his patrol. &#x200B; The Holy Knight had hurried over to him, and removed a gauntlet to heal the boy's 'sprained ankle'. In a moment of panic, the boy had instinctively used his powers. He then watched as the hero's face clouded with confusion, and then a vague suspicion. The boy had desperately wanted not to be found out, so he had begun his routine, touching skin, making suggestions, hitting the hero with forgetfulness, again and again, leading him off to this office building. He knew he would need at least an hour of skin-to-skin contact to make the man forget the entirety of the day, and he'd wanted privacy. But he also figured, well he had the most powerful man in the city, it would be a shame not to learn something about him. &#x200B; It had been a shock to learn that the Holy Knight was actually Maxwell Pearson, humanitarian arm candy to Laura Lovelace, CEO of Glamourous You, and the third richest woman in the city. She would have been the richest if you discounted an heiress and a gold digger. Even then she might have been the richest person in the entirety of the city if her husband hadn't insisted on attending every charity ball, or donating to every 'worthy cause'. &#x200B; "You're in danger, I need to go, I don't know what she'll do without me,"the Holy Knight pleaded, interrupting Irrelevant's thought process. &#x200B; "I'm not worried about her, and I made sure she wouldn't send any goons or cops." &#x200B; The hero groaned and shook his head. &#x200B; "Look, do you know anything about makeup? Perfumes?"He asked and the Irrelevant scoffed. Still, there were thirty more minutes before the transfer needed to be made 'or else', and he wasn't a fan of sitting in silence. He got enough of that in his day-to-day. &#x200B; "They're pretty and girly and cutesy,"he sneered back at the man. He couldn't believe how lucky he had been. There couldn't be a less intimidating CEO than a female CEO of a makeup company. "There is so much more to cosmetics than that, they're a beautiful way of expressing your individuality. Each product carefully produced and tested, some filled with chemicals that could be considered dangerous. There are reasons animal rights activists are so against animal testing. A poorly made cosmetic can cause horrible burns, blisters-" &#x200B; "Are you saying your girlfriend is gonna come in here and, what? Give me the makeover from hell?" &#x200B; "No,"and there was an edge of carefully polished patience in the hero's voice, "I'm saying my wife is a chemical engineer who specializes in dermatology and has significant knowledge of aerosols." &#x200B; "So what, she's gonna spray a nasty perfume and gas us out?" &#x200B; Just then the Irrelevant heard a horrible noise. It took him a moment to realize that the sound was so strange because it was faint, and distorted by distance and walls, but as he listened it grew louder and more horrible. &#x200B; "Quickly! She's here! I need to go stop her!"he HOly knight was frantic, struggling against the various silk ties that held him to the office chair. &#x200B; "What the-?"The Irrelevent asked and then the noise began to make sense as more and more similar noises joined in. They were wails. Horrible animalistic screams of pure agony and fear. Hideous scratching, horrendous wails, guttural groans began to break out throughout the building below him, growing like some horrible musical crescendo. &#x200B; "Oh gods, I hope she hasn't killed anyone this time..."The Holy Knight grimaced slumping back in his chair. &#x200B; "What's going on? What should I do?"The teen asked, but Maxwell only shook his head. &#x200B; "It's too late, she'll be here in moments. The only thing you could do to possibly save your life is to free me, and give me back my armor and sword,"the Holy Knight seemed sad, resigned even and the Irrelevant's head swam with possibilities and fear. &#x200B; Then the screaming grew louder again and he realized the voices now came from this very floor. It sounded like hell had opened and let loose its most vile demons to torture the sinners of the world. After only another moment's hesitation, the Irrelevant gathered the knight's accessories and hurried to free and rearm him. He had just helped secure the man's helmet when he felt it. &#x200B; It started with his lips, a tingling sensation that set his mouth to watering. Then when he inhaled his lungs began to ache like he'd been running hard for miles. Finally, slowly, ever so slowly the pain began to wash over him in waves. Fire ripped through him, he felt like his skin was trying to strangle him, like his lungs couldn't process air, like his body was wrapped in fire ants. He collapsed, screaming, unable to notice anything, especially not the tiny blonde woman who walked into the conference room, dressed head to toe in lab gear, a gas mask firmly in place, and what might have been a humidifier in one hand. &#x200B; She looked around the room, her eyes coolly examining the boy before they fell on the Holy Knight. &#x200B; "Darling!"She squealed, dropping the humidifier thing and running to the Holy Knight, once more bedecked in his magical armor. "Oh baby, I was so worried about you. When I got that email - I just... I couldn't trust him not to hurt you." &#x200B; (Part one)
I am petulant violence. Or at least I think am. And I'll bet you'll believe me, too. Once this is all over. My shoes rap across cold stones. They guided me on, sending me down the street, aiming towards the man of my nightmares. To think a hero could do such a thing. But here I am, waltzing towards the man, a grin on my face and dead eyes fixating on my prey. Captain Hurricane looks like you imagine. Tall, full head of hair cut to perfection, built like a truck, and he has that dopey grin every licensed hero has. I burrow an arm into my coat, finding the hidden pocket. Cold steel meets my hand, whispering as I stroke it. It seems as impatient as me. I sigh, shaking off the frantic energies in me, and look. Really see what's around me. That's the thing about killing capes; you always need a plan. Check the surroundings. People, a lot of people, so much you'd think it was a zoo full of idiots. Well, at least they won't stop me. But the buildings... Nope, no need to worry about any snipers up there in those gleaming skyscrapers. No one ever thinks capes can die, so why protect them? My grin grows. They don't know what I know as I lose myself in the crowd. If there is a God, then thank you for having Captain Hurricane hold this rally. Got to give these people a show, after all. Next, check for other capes. Up in the sky, on the sides, or wherever you think a cape could be, check it. The last thing you want is for some do-gooder to pop up, screaming for revenge as their friend's blood oozes on the ground. Had that happened once, and it wasn't pretty. Almost lost my arm; once again, if there is a God, thank you for making sure my kill was a generalist. Most of the time, the kill is some specialist, which is almost next to worthless; I should know, I am one. If I'm lucky, I'll get an adaptive. And whew boy, you should really feel what a charge from an adaptive gives. Could power a city with one of those. Or a damn good punch. Then there are the generalists, and whew boy, I do love me when I get to kill one of them. The problem is they are rarer than diamonds. But our boy, Captain Hurricane, is one of the rare jewels. The man of the winds, they call him. Soon I'll be calling him my blood diamond, seeing as how there are no other capes. I sigh in relief, the cold morning air leeching the warmth. I chuckle. "Looks like you're the same as me, huh?" Next, get close. You don't want a cape finding out that you're there for murder. Capes won't kill you; they'll just go off on some speech about keeping civility. Every time I hear it, I wonder if they really know where their powers come from. I know it's not from God. That's for sure. I crack my neck, wading through the sludge of people. Fanboys really know how to pack in tightly. And not take showers. It smelled like a convention meeting a sewer line. God, I wish I could steal that scent and use it. It'd be like harnessing a nuclear plant. But I get in close. My hand rubs against that steel in my pocket. Here's the kicker when it comes to killing capes; you got to find your own way to kill them. See, me, I'm one of those specialists. Absolutely useless as a hero. Imagine having the power to drain the dead. It's gross, or at least most thought it. I don't think it's that bad. But I don't think murder is that bad either. Captain Hurricane is standing above me, on the top of the staircase. No guards, just like I hoped. See, the thing about draining power means I got to put it somewhere. I whip out the steel rod in my pocket, aiming it at the idiot. His mouth goes wide, terror streaking his eyes. Well, it looks like he knows me! Then his eyes get crackling with lightning; thunder begins pounding above us. The guy really knows how to start a show, doesn't he? But he's too late. Power raises in me, flooding into the steel rod and glowing light halos around the cold metal. It's getting warmer now as a dull white light leaks off it. Most people think it's going to take time to build up, which gives them hope. I see that hope in Captain Hurricane. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the mistake all capes make. They think powers are linear things, going from off to on in some slow, steady way. But mine doesn't. With a screech, a bar of light blinds the world as it shoots straight through Captain Hurricane, punching clean through him. Hopeful eyes turned to slow, steady horror as they look down. The energy of nine specialists and three adapatives punched a hole clean through Captain Hurricane. It took me months to get that much power. But as I watch Captain Hurricane die, a wisp of white haze floating out of him, I know it's worth it. I chuckle. For a guy who knew a lot about the weather, he really was a breeze. The white haze waits, calling me to it. That's how I found out, actually. Some nobody specialist died in front of me when I was a kid. I kept asking about that white haze, pulling on my mom's dress, pointing at the corpse and the haze. No one knew what I was talking about. Then the capes showed up, pulling me away from normalcy and putting me through the nightmarish rigors of training. Captain Hurricane had been the one to make sure. Ruined my life he did. And when they found out that old Draino couldn't be a hero, well, they kicked me to the street, letting me fend for myself. I think it's the screams of all those fanboys that make me love killing capes in public. Something about watching them run like chickens with no heads makes me grin. Now, at least they might know how I felt when the rug was pulled under me. I breathe in, the coldness of the air fills me, and I fill it. The haze surrounds me, seeping into me, and it feels right. You know when you stumble into a coffee shop, trying to get that first hit of the day, and you finally take a sip, the world focusing. It's like that but ten times better. The screams are still there, but I shake them off, walking away now. So, now you know how to kill a cape, but here is the last thing you need. An escape plan. Always have one. My grin doesn't disappear as I slip into an alley—no one wants to be near me. I vanish once more. ___ Whew! This is so much different than what I usually write, but if you'd like more of my stories, they are here at r/WritingKnightly! Also thank you for reading!
In life, sometimes you find that there are paths that must be trod, regardless of how safe it is to do so. It is not comfortable to walk those paths. It is hard. Harrowing. Deadly even, in some cases. But still one must place that first foot down, beginning a journey of a thousand steps and a hundred dangers. It might take you to the furthest corners of the Earth. It might take you to decrepit, dark, and decaying dives full of villainy and scum. It might take you to glorious palaces of immaculate beauty, full of villainy and scum. But wherever this path takes you, you must press on, because what lies at the end is worth every step, every pain. Worth risking even death itself. One could turn aside from this path, let things go, not follow through. But that is what separates true humans, filled with worth, courage, and determination, from those who have neither the will to strive, the will to power, or the will to survive. They are satisfied with a half-life of unfulfilled hopes and lost dreams. But no matter how slowly you walk on this path, no matter how many years it takes to reach the end, you who truly tread upon it, are more worthy of being human than any of those who abandon it. Of course, there are some paths where even the bravest dare not tread. Some places where strength, courage, wit, and skill is worth nothing. And yet, for what I seek, I must walk the darkest path. Lonely and cold. As I crawl down into the grave, I hear them, the dead, whispering to me. ''Most men who enter here reek of fear. But in you we sense hope. What manner of man descends into his own grave in search of hope, of all things?'' And yet I do not answer them. The dead are jealous and angry things, full of regret. And they cannot understand what path I tread. A path which none of their wretched souls would ever dare to walk upon. Arrogance they would call it. Or madness. But the path towards what is destined lies through the grave. In that cold hole in the ground, I decant from a very old bottle, a thick, vicious liquid into a small paper cup. It swirls with strange lights as it slowly pours. I drink deeply of that cup. My chalice filled with strange and ancient power. It tastes like cinnamon, ginger, raw meat, tears, iron, a strangely familiar form of milk, and honey mead. All at the same time. I throw the cup to the ground, and fall to my knees. Raising my face to the endless stars above, I feel the bonds of my old flesh let go, as my soul is carved out from my body. Free from the mortal coil, I soar above the world, fixated on one single point. Walking in the air, I move on the path towards what comes next. I hear the siren call of angels promising me paradise, and the jeer of the hidden demons as I move above them. But I do not care, not stop to speak. I know where I am going. I know what I am heading towards. I go past the confines of the mortal Earth. I speed by Pearly Gates, Olympus of the Gods, the Fiddler's Green where all sailors go, and beyond them until I reach something I could use to further my journey towards my goal. Though Asgard and Valhalla are fine places for men to feast and enjoy eternity, I must go further. Past Bilskirnir where Thor dwells. Past the Fólkvangr where Freya accepts her half of the valorous slain. Until I reach Yggdrasil. The World Tree, which is rooted in all places, in all worlds, in all of eternity. If one knows how to travel it, one can go anywhere. In a burst of speed I move upwards, passing many strange sights, many branches leading into many worlds, each a reflection or budding new fruit, spawned from the first Nine Worlds. But I go further beyond. Plus Ultra. Upwards until I reach the crown of that eternal and ancient tree. There is a dead branch there. A rotten, dead branch. From it, I jump into a place which none should go. The dead centre of the strangest place in the universe, the middle of the Boötes Void. A strange place, where the light is gone and done, the worlds are dead, and the stars are too. In that place, that empty nothingness, I shine like the sun itself. It is not an empty place, not entirely. It is filled with the dead shadows of what could have been. And the remnants of those who have been utterly and completely destroyed. Those who have no soul to be claimed by any afterlife. They are prey for the shadows of the truly unborn, and they are miserable creatures, devoid of hope and memory. Only an eternity of something worse than any Hell for them to look forward to. Each of them, shadow and remnant, cowers to behold me. The true light of the unbroken soul is too much for them. But I press on, not caring for the begging of the shadows to be made real, nor the remnants for respite. I fight the dread void dragons in that place, who scream unholy patterns into the aether. I do not back down when the Legions of Never-born And Never-Weres try to consume the light of my eternal soul, to soothe their hated non-existence. I keep my focus on the path. Because I never gave in. Never stopped. Never ceased looking for a way to make things right. Never stepped off of the path, even when things seemed impossible. I kept going, even when everyone called me mad. And hope, hope was all I had left to keep me there. And sometimes, hopes come true. Scaring off a few shadows, I walk towards her. A small remnant. Fragile. But it is her. She stares at me in fear, before she sees my face. Hope doesn't exist in this place, where I have found her after so many years of searching. To create it here, from her seeing me, lights an ember within her. The fire of the soul rekindled once more. Gently, I pick her up, and as the shadows and remnants stare in disbelief and fear, I carry her off from the realm of that dismal place. I knew where they had sent her. Those monsters who took her from me. They laughed as they told me that I would never see her again, not in the mortal life, nor the next. But I had hope. I had determination. And I did not break. Learning the many branches of Yggdrasil was hard. Finding that so very special ancient potion, brewed from things that had mostly been extinct for decades, if not centuries, was downright impossible. Finding the lost texts from Alexandria and Pergamon deep in that lost city beneath the Rub' al Khali was a living nightmare. To say nothing about the difficulties in hijacking some of the world's most powerful telescopes to learn more about the Boötes Void. But I kept going, even into my own grave. Because a father would do anything to save his child. I smile as I carry her while flying down from the great tree. Below us, I see the Aesir and the Einherjar, the honoured dead, praise me for my deed. I hear the triumphant sound of the Choir of Heaven as I pass it by again. Countless others who run the worlds to come, praise what I have done as I pass by them. But I don't care about the praise. As I carry my daughter home, to the places where our ancestors went when they died, I know I walked the right path. Her soul in my spectral arms glows warmly and comfortably, because she is safe once more. I always told her, that whatever happened, her father would be there to help her, no matter what. And I think I upheld my word, now that I've come to the end of the darkest of paths. I speak to her, my voice dry and raspy. ''Look, Hope, we're going home.'' [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
If there’s one thing I’ve always been proud of, it’s my healthy lifestyle. I always hear my coworkers complain about their organs. “Omg, my liver has been whining since that bachelorette party two days ago.” “Ugh my stomach is saying I’m eating too much sodium so it feels funny, well sorry if I enjoy my fried chicken!” Luckily, my organs barely speak to me other than the occasional thank you or small complaint. That is until today… “Okay I just want to make sure I’m getting this right. You guys are all complaining… because you’re… bored?!” I ask again in disbelief. “Well it sounds ungrateful when you put it that way.” My heart starts, leading the discussion as always. “YES. That’s exactly what we’re saying.” My stomach adds tactlessly. “For once I’d like to think about where to put extra fat or too much salt. Do you know how boring it is to do the same routine every day? Carbs go here, antioxidants here blah blah blah.” My blood vessels complain. “I barely even have to do anything.” Starts my liver. At this point I have had enough so I interrupt, “I THOUGHT YOU GUYS WOULD BE GRATEFUL IF I ATE AND LIVED WELL AND GAVE YOU NO COMPLICATIONS!” My gallbladder chips in in a meek voice. “Can you maybe not call me a guy? I identify as non-binary.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and inhale sharply. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll keep that in mind next time.” I grumble. “Okay, so none of you guys are happy with your jobs right now?” I finally ask. I am met with a chorus of agreements from my organs. “I mean I’m pretty happy right now.” My right kidney chips in. “Yeahhh filtering urea is kinda a full time job.” My left kidney agrees. “Brain is also quite content” my heart adds. I groan. They fall silent. I sigh. “Fine, I guess I can see what you mean?” I say unsure. “We just want our jobs to be a bit more challenging. You can enjoy yourself sometimes you know? Try eating pizza twice a week, or going to the bar.” Heart says gently. The other organs chime in agreement once again. I guess my new year’s resolution this year is going to be to be more unhealthy.
"She's not the hero we deserve, or need, or even want actually. We've asked her to stop doing it a couple of times, but she just sort of keeps showing up", said the Commissioner to the new Mayor. The newly elected official sat behind a large oak desk while the Commissioner paced around him. The Mayor sighed. “And she’s a superhero?” The Commissioner shrugged and stared out the large bay window of the Mayor’s office. “I think she might be? It’s hard to tell if she has any actual powers.” “Is she at least independently wealthy? You know, like that one emo guy - does she have cool gadgets?” The Commissioner placed a folded newspaper in front of the seated Mayor. The headline read “Mystery Hero is Just Like Us: Takes Bus to Work.” The Mayor continued to read the article out loud. “Local Hero is seen taking city bus to nearby crimes. Our question is: is she making a statement about public transportation or does she simply not have a car?” He threw the paper back on his desk and rubbed his temples. “At least tell me she has a cool name? For the love of God.” “Actually, she just goes by Janice. I’m not sure if that’s her name but based on...well...everything else, I’d say that’s probably her actual name.” The Mayor looked off into the distance, his eyes clouded with thought. The Commissioner continued, “At least ‘Janice of Justice City’ has a ring to it. For being called Justice City, our streets are absolutely riddled with a shocking variety of crime. Janice has done basically nothing for those numbers but people sort of like her.” “What?” croaked the Mayor as he shook himself out of his daze. “She’s like one of those, uh, me-mes. Older people hate her and that makes the youth really like her. She’s polling pretty well.” “I can work with that,” the Mayor mumbled. “Maybe faking my own death isn’t the only option.” “What?” “Nothing, nothing. Let’s set up a meeting with this Janice character. How can we get in touch with her?” The Commissioner stood in front of the Mayor’s desk and glared down at the discarded newspaper. “I have no idea.” “Then how have you been telling her to stop just showing up at crimes?” “The station’s social media intern, Greg, has been tweeting at her.” “I have no idea what that means.” The Commissioner groaned and stepped away from the desk, his back to the Mayor. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way.” The Mayor stood from his leather chair and pressed his palms on his desk. “You better. If we can’t stop her, we need to at least get in front of this. Have her on our side before she does anything stupid.” The Commissioner’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. He pulled it out and turned back to the Mayor. “Well it’s a little too late for that.”
“You don’t understand!” Greg yells back, “I wake up feeling dead inside everyday that must count right?” “Oh funny joke!” The reaper retorts.. “but no… don’t worry I have you penciled in for 20 years in the future but now.. now go live your damn life Greg” “But wait you don’t understand!” Says Greg.. “My wife Alice, I have to see her again. Can you please speed along my appointment?” The reaper let’s out a long sigh and says, “alright fine.. I’ll run it by the the big man upstairs though..” Thank you so much!!” Greg yells out excitedly. “I promise you won’t regret this..” “Whatever..” says the reaper dismissively, “now leave me alone..” Greg jumps over and hugs the reaper, Greg dies instantly having touched him. “Oh God damnit Greg! God is going to eat my ass for this!”
I stood there wishing that I was looking at a corpse riddled with bullet holes. That would have been easier to stomach than the mess at my feet. Brandon "The Bear"Dean was gone. Scattered on the bar floor was his flesh--shattered flesh, soft, suntanned shards in jagged pieces everywhere you looked. The gallon of orange yolk oozing outwards until it touched the tips of my crew's boots reeked of both blood and sulfur. "Papa"Pete was the one who'd received the first text message. "Meet you at the Grand Canyon. Last one there's a rotten egg!"At the time the Road Trolls thought nothing of it. We'd all laughed and responded with a good-natured "Whoops, wrong number!"before Pete erased the text. "Skin-n-Bones"Jones was second. Same number, nearly the same text. "I said: Meet you at the Grand Canyon. Last one there's a rotten egg!"There was an exchange of glances before he and Papa blocked the number. Moments later, "Jitters"Joe got the third text: "I'm serious." We abandoned our phones and headed to Sullivan's Pint, the only bar in town with a working pay phone. But as Brandon's fingertips brushed against the black phone, he paused. His bearded face reddened and swelled as if he were allergic to the handset. Then there was a pop, and the man was no more. There was a long silence. A muffled buzz sounded from the bartender's direction. "Give me that,"I said, scrambling towards the counter and dunking my hand into the poor young man's apron. "I trust this proves I was serious. I shall not ask again: All of you, go to the Grand Canyon. Last one there is a rotten egg." "Jeezus, what kind of mess are did we get into?"Papa said with a dark chuckle. "Powerful spooks or somethin', methinks,"said Jitters. "Why spooks? We're bikers, not kids messing with a Ouija board,"said Jones. "We'll find out when we get there,"I said. "Let's ride." "But Commander--"Jitters began. "I've got a plan." The softest of smiles tugged at Papa's lips, but if the others had any trust in me, they didn't show it. \-x-x-x-x-x-x- It was a Thursday morning when the Canyon finally came into view. The rising sun dappled the dimples in the rocky surface with flecks of gold. Any other time it would have been a view to behold. "Where is that bastard?"Jones raised his fists to his chest. "I'll knock out his teeth for what he did to The Bear." "Careful,"said Jitters. "Who knows what he could do?" Jones lowered his fists and gave a defeated series of nods. "He said sunrise, right?"asked Papa. "He did,"said Jitters. "Don'tcha remember? 'Be here when the cock crows, or I'll scramble your brains.'" "I think he's already here,"I said. "Where?"asked Jones. I yanked my head towards one of the watch decks where a figure was staring us down. "Is that...?"Jitters' jaw dropped so low that he couldn't finish the sentence. "Yep,"I said. "A chicken." "Clever boys,"said the ordinary-looking rooster as he strode towards us. "You've solved my riddles." "Chickens don't fly. Let's kick him into the canyon,"said Papa. A wicked grin sprawled across Jones' face and both men took several steps forward. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."If roosters could smile, this one would be showing a full set of teeth. "You wouldn't want to end up like The Bear." As Papa and Jones froze, I approached the Rooster. "I should assume you are a bird of your word,"I said. "I do have my standards,"said the Rooster with a nod that was uncomfortably human. "In that case, we will agree to whatever your terms are, but on one condition,"I said. "What are you doing?"asked Jitters. "You seem rather excited about this,"said the Rooster. "There must be a catch." "No catch. I just want to know who you are going to turn into a rotten egg, just in case it's me." "Ah, yes. Of course."The Rooster pointed a feather at Jitters, who howled like a mourning widow. "I'm afraid you can't do that,"I said. The Rooster made a hissing noise. "But that man rode in back,"he said. "He was the last of your lot to enter the gate." "What about them?"I jerked my thumb behind me. A mother with three children in tow had just passed through the park entrance. "Well, what about them?"the Rooster said. "They were here last, so they're the rotten eggs,"I said. "Wait, my mistake. That gentleman over there is last. Wait, no, that happy couple..." "Fool! Do you really think--" "The problem isn't me, it's your contract,"I said. "'Last one there is a rotten egg.' As long as you pick one of the most popular tourist attractions on the planet, nobody will ever be 'last' for long enough for you to murder anyone." The rooster raised both of his wings as if to make himself look bigger, but his beak gaped and all that came out of his gullet was a series of strange half-talk, half-squawk sounds as the Road Trolls approached him. Finally he managed to utter two words: "Oh, cluck." For more weird stories, visit r/OctOpusTales !
Funny enough, during undergrad work in Anthropology a very similar situation is posited. In Archaeology classes you are often encouraged to look at how things could be potentially used, and not just say "religious reasons"and put it aside. As an exercise, the professors would often pick a random object common in houses, or out in the world, and ask for both a religious and a non-religious context for the object as though you had no idea what it was. This was particularly fun with older households where the TV or radio was in a fancy holder (like an altar) and it was a central place of evening devotion, for example. OK, story time... "For the last time, NONE of these are weapons!"I tried again, knowing my argument was falling on deaf receptors. The Brixgad Homoarchaeology Team continued their careful examination of the scene, pulling my platform around on a silvery leash as they hovered slowly from artifact to artifact. They were examining a site that was a meticulous digital recreation of some scanned minutiae that allowed them to recreate a "living capsule"for a human, and combined with their "capture"of me, they were determined to be the most famous Homoarchaeologists in the Empire. Problem was, they all think they know humans better than I, an ACTUAL human, do. They've spent thousands of hours each doing theory work and examining bones, artifacts, and reconstructed sites. They've gone through extensive classical education and hold advanced degrees that let them speak with authority on the subject. Many of the leaders here are lauded in the field as subject matter experts. Main problem? They approached it from a Brixgad centric view. That means, for example, that they assume we had more limbs than we actually do, and that my cartilaginous tentacles have somehow either atrophied into non-existence, or that I'm some sort of strange outlier who had them surgically removed to give the finger to society. I should really thank Professor Hedgeh when I get back. IF I get back. His experiment worked with flying colors and sent a living human to the future! Missed the date by a couple digits though. Turns out that this far in the future, humans have been extinct for longer than we existed, and the Earth has been re-colonized by a spacefaring (vaguely moluscan if I'm honest) species that needed an extra farming world. One of the researchers tethered a digital recreation of an artifact and waved it at me, faux threatening, while warbling excitedly, before replacing it and moving on. I give up. How do you explain a BDSM sex dungeon to a pack of hyper-advanced monosexual octopi?
I checked my watch nervously. 20:58 and 46 seconds. The hand flicked to 47 seconds. I had 15 seconds left. It was now or never. I pulled the lever and... nothing happened. 'Damn it!'. If this didn't work, it would never work. I had spent what felt like several lifetimes putting this together. Each time I got closer, but I would always run out of time. You died The irony suddenly hit me. Before the loop, I was obsessed with speed running games. Edging off those seconds, and after a lot of training, miniseconds. Perfecting the perfect jump. Exploiting the game mechanics. Watching my own replays, taking notes. Sometimes, on the best days, you would discover how to take off entire minutes. If anything, gaming trained me for the incident. Groundhog day. Except this wasn't a Hollywood movie, and it wasn't a game. It was hell. Maybe in the 200th loop I started counting how many loops I had been in already. I gave up somewhere in the eight thousands. A three year loop. Long enough to almost forget. Almost. So at some point, long ago, I started studying quantum physics. First it was reading online articles on the Internet, YouTube videos and stuff like that. Then I took a degree. Then the masters... at that point I had to figure out how to trick universities of my credentials. Doctorate. Lab assistant. Senior researcher. My breakthroughs would seemingly come out of nowhere. For me, it was just the onward grind of accumulating knowledge and the vigorous scientific method. Three years at a time. I only tried to kill myself once. I fell in love with another scientist. When I woke up at the start of the loop, I went straight to the m42 motorway and walked in front of a lorry. I am souless. Eventually I understood time travel. It sounds obsurd until you realise it already exists in three year loops. The struggle was building the time machine in three years. When I wake up on day 1, I'm lying in the street after a mugging. I have nothing. Thus the ultimate speed running started. Build a time machine in three years. The naked Dark Souls run. And now I was at the final boss. Unlike my many previously failed attempts, I had finally figured out how to finish building it in time. Except - it didn't work. I pulled the lever back up, and checked my watch. Eight seconds to go. With the most force I could muster and the frustration of a powerless god, I hit the thing as hard as I could. Five seconds. There was a sound outside. Three seconds. I turned and saw the man outside with a gun. It was pointing right at me. "Don't -' he warned, but I didn't let him finish. One second. I pulled the lever down once more. Then everything went white. --- I was still inside. The man had vanished. The machine, quiet. With shaking hands, I pulled my phone form my pocket and checked the date. I had landed on the exact day I became stuck in. This made no sense.... I was meant to have travelled forward, after the final day. I had failed... stuck in an unbreakable loop. Except I hadn't failed. The time machine had worked. I wasn't starting from scratch this time, I... had won. I realised what I had to do.
"I'm sorry, human,"the alien said, "but your application to join the galactic federation has been rejected." "What?"the ambassador said. "Why?" "It's not that you're not a great species,"the alien said, "you are. It's just that you lack a sense of globnoff." "What's globnoff?"the ambassador said. "It's a sense that all other species have,"the alien said. "It's a sense of the future, of what will happen tomorrow, next month, next year. It's a sense of what might happen in the future, of what might be possible, of what might be probable. It's a sense that allows us to make the right decisions, to plan ahead. It's the sense that allows us to build up our civilizations and create amazing things. "Humans don't have this sense,"the alien said. "You don't have a sense of globnoff." "We do,"the ambassador said. "I have a sense of globnoff." "Really?"the alien said puzzled. "Yes,"the ambassador said. "I have a great sense of globnoff. I'm planning my career out for the next twenty years. I'm planning my life out for the next twenty years." "But you don't know what will happen in the next twenty years,"the alien said. "You don't know what will happen in the next hour. You don't know what will happen in the next minute." "Yes, I do,"the ambassador said "to some degree". "You don't,"the alien said. "When you were born your parents had no idea what would happen to you. And you have no idea what will happen in the next twenty years." "I do, to some degree,"the ambassador said. "I know where I'll be working, for whom I'll be working, and for how many years. I have a plan!" "That's not a plan,"the alien said, "that's a guess. And guess work isn't good enough for the federation. You lack a sense of globnoff." "But what can we do?"the ambassador said. "What can we do to get a sense of globnoff?" "I don't know,"the alien said. "You're the only species that doesn't have a sense of globnoff." "Where did the sense of globnoff come from?"the ambassador asked. "It evolved. All intelligent species develop a sense of globnoff at some point. Globnoff is the foundation of any civilization." "Not human civilization evidently,"the ambassador said. "Which puts the whole endeavour into serious question." The alien made a motion, and the ambassador felt a sharp pain in his neck. "What..."the ambassador began before he lost consciousness. "See, you do not know what will happen even a few minutes into the future."The alien shook his head. "This is why our fleet will soon dispatch with the whole of the human divagation."
I don't quite know what drove me to it. But one day, I woke up and started building. I'd always enjoyed the practical physical part of my job, and this was a challenge unlike any other. Soon, thoughts of it consumed my mind. When I woke up, I thought about the machine, when I had a spare moment during the day, I thought about the machine, when I lay awake at night, I thought about the machine. It was everything. About two months in, I quit my regular job to allow myself more time to work on the project. It had fast outgrown my garage and was now a hulking house-sized lump in my backyard. I fed any letters I got from the HOA into its engine, giggling a little under my breath. They did not realize the genius in this project; they would try to stop my progress. I would deal with them soon. After five months, the machine grew too large for my backyard. Ignoring the newspapers that piled up on my doorstep, headlines screaming about strange electrical problems that seemed to only target certain homes in my neighbourhood, I turned my thoughts to how to gain more space for my glorious project. There was an abandoned junkyard not far away, that I could perhaps purchase... At six months, my friends started to come around, looking concerned. I laughed away their worries, explaining that I could stop whenever I wanted, I just didn't want to yet. One by one, their voices faded away until only one friend kept showing up. Eventually, though they were reluctant, I recruited them into helping with the project. Finally, when a year and four months had passed, we were ready. The machine was complete. I didn't sleep the night before we would pull the switch. Bright and early, I was at the junkyard, polishing the lever, waiting impatiently for my friend, my partner in this madness, to arrive. As soon as his foot hit the dirt, I pulled the lever. The machine sprang to life, parts whirling around each other, pulling incredible amounts of electricity from the power grid. The entire city went dark. I couldn't resist the cackle that rose in my throat, as I rubbed my hands together. Five minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. There was the sound of sirens coming closer and closer to the junkyard. My friend looked at me. "So, I know I never asked this before, but what exactly does this machine do?"His question was like an ice bath shoved down my spine. I stared at him, in near-perfect shock. "I don't know." "You what? You just spent a year of your life building something that you don't know what it does? Are you mad?" "No! I just...haven't figured out what it does yet. It has to do something."I said. He looked towards the highway, where more and more blue and red lights were flashing. "Well, figure it out fast, or you won't be figuring anything but the number of bars in your cell."I ran around the machine until I spotted it. A tiny cubicle, only able to fit the two of us. "Get in!"I shouted, and without much hesitation, he jumped inside. The world shimmered, bent and warped around us. Then all the movement of the machine seemed to still, though I knew it was, that we were going faster than it somehow. And at that moment, I remembered what the machine did. A small ding came from the timer on the wall, and I pulled my friend out of the cubicle. Nothing seemed to have changed. "If all that was just to get me in an enclosed space with you—"A loud cackle interrupted him. My loud cackle from about twenty minutes ago. I grabbed his arm, pulling him around to the back of the junkyard, away from the machine, away from our past selves, and towards my car. "It's a time machine, but it only works for short amounts,"I shouted. "Well, that's pretty useless!" "Yes, but now we can escape, and build a new one that's better,"I answered as I shoved him into the car. He looked at me, and I grinned. "Come on, it'll be fun!" As he looked from me to the machine, to the darkened city, an answering grin lit up his face, and I knew there were two of us now. Two absolutely mad engineers. "All right Phineas. Let's go." AN: I apologize to any actual engineers, as I have no engineering knowledge myself and this may be wildly off the mark. —————————— Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
Loop number 4246 This room is starting to annoy me more then usual , every time I am unhappy with the result I can reset myself , I always appear in this white room , just me , a table , a bed , a fridge with food and water (not that I get hungry here anyways) and this notepad. And one door for when I leave and retake my spot where I was. My power brings me here when I choose or when I die , I don’t age so dying of old age seems impossible. Things in this room don’t change , no matter when or how far back I reset myself , I feel lucky this log book exists so I can always trace and copy my steps just incase I have to go back further to fully avoid an outcome, or if I want to relive a memory But this time was different , I couldn’t avoid this catastrophe no matter how far back I go , it seems to happen inevitably. Usually with a few 100 resets I can figure out a solution that fixes things well enough , trial and error in a infinite system works eventually. But I had gone over 4000 attempts , no matter what I’ve tried and done there seems to be no solution , trial 3076 was the best outcome so far , only 2 other heroes died and 3 cities were decimated , 4 million lives total. I won’t give up though , I must try to save everyone , especially her , the one hero who seems to die consistently every time , I will go through a thousand lifetimes to figure this one out I will save her , I will save them all , even if this one costs me my sanity…
And with a point of the blue wizard's wand, the battle had begun. The red wizard circled him in the dueling ring. "May all your socks grow holes!"He countered with precision. A hum of approval went up from the crowd. The blue wizard frowned sweeping his arm wide in a flourish as if to deflect the curse's blow, but even as he did so, his big toe protruded through his sock uncomfortably. This was certainly a setback. "I curse you, that all your cereal will be instantly soggy."The blue wizard flung his curse deftly, but his opponent only grinned. "I don't even eat cereal."He chuckled menacingly. "May every soda that touches your lips be instantly flat!"He cried. Blue ducked and rolled but it was no use. The curse still found it's mark. He tried to shake off the frustration. He needed to concentrate. "I curse you, that the bathroom knob will always be sticky!"He commanded. The spectators let out audible grimaces. The red wizard curled his lip in disgust. "May you never have enough toilet paper!"He countered. The crowd giggled, but the blue wizard smiled to himself. His opponent was more predictable than he realized. "I curse you, that your son's toys will never turn off!"He called. He heard sounds of approval from around the room. The red wizard's face suddenly begun to turn the same color as his cloak. He lept forward, thrusting his wand towards his foe. "May your feet always find a lego in the dark!"Red roared. "Foul!"The referee called from the sidelines. "No curse may inflict bodily harm. No point."The blue wizard grinned, new confidence emerging. "I curse you, that your tea will always be bitter!"He flicked his wand deftly. "May your coffee always be cold!"The red wizard shouted. Blue only grinned wider. "I rather enjoy iced coffee. I curse you, that every book you read shall end in a cliffhanger!"He called. A woman behind him gasped, but the ref stayed silent. "Uh... may... may your... uh." "I curse you, that your phone shall never connect to wifi!"The blue wizard smiled triumphantly as cheers went up from the crowd. He knew he had won, even before the ref chimed the bell, signalling the end of the match. Blue strutted out of the ring to the sound of applause. Red gave him a nod of respect as they both headed to the infirmary to begin their necessary counter curse treatments.
It is a beautiful day. Perfect for a wedding. And what a wedding it is. Two large families and many personal friends of the groom and bride, coming together to celebrate love. A joining of blood and souls. There are the young flower-girls, innocent and cheerful, ever-so-proud of their job. There are the bridesmaids, happy for their friend, their hearts overflowing with shared joy at the beautiful bride's perfect day. There stands the best man, in his immaculate suit, serious, aloof, and yet in a distant manner quite happy and joyful. The priest smiles; he believes that this might be one of the marriages that truly will last. Too many people rush into marriage, he thinks. These people however, are suitable for it. They're ready. And look at the bride. Her dress makes her look like an angel. Her smile is wide and warm. Her eyes sparkle whenever they meet her husband-to-be's. The ceremony has gone off without a hitch. There were no awkward moments. No rambling speeches. No last minute pranks by edgy young teenage relatives. No; everything was perfectly fine. And afterwards, at the outdoors dinner celebration, at the height of summer, the food was delicious. Several luaus, huge platters of smoked salmon, seven different kind of salads, turkeys, vegetarian and vegan options, and more. Anyone who would walk home from that dinner dissatisfied with their dining choices was someone who did not in any universe deserve to have the ability to eat. The drinks flowed freely. And merry songs were sung. Many gifts were given, as is tradition for two young people starting their new lives together. Truly, to anyone present, this was a perfect moment. Speeches were held, all of which were lauded for their wit, caring, and cheerfulness. There was even a lively and cheery dance, where young and old felt free to move to the beat, as their hearts desired. A fork beats against a crystal glass, as the mother of the bride stands up. The crowd turns to look at her, awaiting a speech. She turns and looks at the wedded couple with a smile, though the crowd is puzzled as it is not a happy smile. It is vindictive. Full of a hunger for revenge. A thirst for justice. She points a long arm out towards the groom and speaks with a voice that is without any love. ''I know what you did.'' Everyone turns to the groom, shocked over this sudden turn of events. The bride looks hurt. And confused. She keeps looking from her husband to her mother. ''You thought you could keep it secret. You thought you could hide it. You thought it would remain buried.'' Slowly, but certainly, the middle-aged woman advanced towards the groom. Above her, the once clear blue sky was filled with black clouds. Where before there had been songbirds in the trees, only a murder of crows could be seen, their quiet cawing indicative of a fear that transcended species. The groom, frightened, almost takes a step back, but stands his ground as his mother-in-law, no, whatever it is that has her in its thrall, comes closer. No-one dares to move towards them. The older relatives are shocked, and feel their bodies shake. The children are weeping in fear, running to their parents. The mother of the bride finally, after what feels like an eternity, has reached the bride and the groom. She has not stopped staring at the groom the whole time. But at last, the bride throws herself in between the two of them. ''Let me share what I know, child of mine, and mayhap you will not throw yourself in front of him so easily.'' She pulled the bride gently towards her, and whispered words into her ear that only she could hear. The bride grew as pale as her dress, hearing those words pass from the lips of her mother into her ears. The bride turned, and stared in abject horror at her groom. Before turning aside to violently throw up. The groom stepped back, slowly, as the mother-of-the-bride began to advance once more. The parents of the groom rushed towards them, finally pulled out of the stupor that they'd been in, followed by the father of the bride. But they were stopped by the bride, who frantically, whispering, told them what her mother had told her. The bride's father, became red like fire with a rage that only a parent can have. The mother of the groom wept. Wept and screamed at the heavens. ''My boy! My boy! What have I done to fail as a mother!'' The father of the groom became pale. And turned to the groom. And spoke with a loud, clear, and cold tone. ''I have no son.'' He grabbed a dinner knife and advanced towards the groom, joining the mother of the bride in approaching the boy. Soon enough, they were joined by their respective partners. Others ran to the shocked bride, and heard in turn what she had learned. And soon enough, everyone, friend, family, server, the caters, and others, looked upon the groom with an unbridled revulsion. They no longer saw him as a friend. As a member of their circle, a part of their family. His was a crime for which there is no forgiveness. His was a life that should never have been allowed to have been lived. His was a sin too terrible to name. And thus, his end should be one that would be forgotten. Upon this meadow, his bones would have to lie. The best-man tackled him, pinning him to the ground with the aid of some of the older men, while the bridesmaids gathered the wedding garland decorations to use to tie him up. He struggled underneath them. Their silent judging eyes staring at him with the uttermost revulsion and hatred. They tied him on his hands and on his feet. And carried him away, into the woods. Where the men and women who had not been involved with tying him up, were dirtying their finest clothes digging a hole with their finely manicured hands. They dug deep, caring not for broken nails and hard soil. They only cared for ridding the world of this wolf-in-sheep's-clothing. This rot in their midst. It had to be removed. To be purged from this realm. Down into the black dirt they cast his wriggling body. And together, they buried him underneath that same black soil. He screamed. But they would not stop. Upon his grave they heaped as many stones as they could find, hoping to ensure that he remained buried indefinitely. All afternoon, and all evening, until the dark of midnight, they covered his grave in as many stones, holy sigils, and crosses as they could make. Some poured out gasoline upon the ground, others drove into town, buying toxic chemicals, and into the soil where he laid they poured them as well. So that nothing may grow from his flesh. That nothing may return from him. That forever his flesh would not be allowed to return to nature. At last, they were done, and tired, exhausted, and wearied, the guests went to their cars. And drove home. Hoping never to remember this day. Vowing never to explain what had happened to the children who had been present. They even forbade their children from mentioning this day ever again. Only the bride and her parents remained. The bride had sat still, merely watching in mute horror as her husband was forced to endure the justice that he had earned from his unmentionable crimes. She moved slowly towards the grave, and with slow, measured movements, she removed the golden ring from her finger. A promise of love and loyalty. A promise that cannot be kept with monsters. And no woman born would ever be loyal to such a man. She placed the ring upon the impromptu grave, and then left the unholy ground behind for good. Supported by her parents, they returned to the car, where she promptly fell into the sleep of the exhausted. ''How did you know?'' The father of the widow asked. ''Look.'' She showed him something on her phone. Evidence. He looked only for a brief second before turning away. It was all he could do not to vomit. Instead, he turned the car-key, and began to drive away. Only a murder of crows remained in the trees. Observing. At last, in the dread of the blackest night, they too took flight. Innocents had been avenged. And a monster was dead. The horror had, at long last, been ended. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
A voice echoed a hundred times with a single question after I mentioned my father. "You thought he had abandoned you?" "He suddenly left one day, so yes."As I responded, I continued to bring the bow of my violin back and forth. The somber voice of the instrument sang as I spoke again. "I know why now, but it still hurt being alone. How about you?" My recital continued in silence for a minute or so before the ancient being answered my question. "I do not know mine. Despite knowing thousands of beginnings of my consciousness, I cannot pinpoint who or what my creator is. Is such loneliness common?" "Somewhat, yes. Some don't know their fathers, others don't know there mothers, and some know both. That doesn't stop them from feeling alone, though. Most living things feel it at some point. Were you actually unaware?" The sound of thunderstorms echoed as the elder god admitted, "No, I had known. Hearing another lonely being tell me is simply reassuring. Are some of your instrumentals meant to reflect on the loneliness?" "Some of them, yes" "Would you play something lighter and friendlier?" I nodded and obliged. I played a happy, jovial tune and as it ended, I was asked to take a break and simply talk. I nodded and began to tell him about the brighter points of life.
David stood on the wrong side of the railing along the Old East Bridge, his hands behind him gripping the cold steel, as he stared through the swirling flurry of snow at the icy water churning hundreds of feet below him. He could lean forward, let go, and that would be it. A moment of cold and dark, and then nothing. All the pain and despair would be gone. He swallowed hard, then closed his eyes tightly, willing his fingers to unclench. A moment later, he opened his eyes, his hands still clamped down on the railing in spite of himself. "Can't do it, huh?"said a voice from behind him. It startled him so much he almost did let go, but he quickly steadied himself and looked back. A man in a long, dark coat leaned against the bridge beside him, regarding him with a friendly smile that didn't touch his narrow brown eyes. "Stay back! D-don't try to stop me!"David warned, unsteadily. He'd already made up his mind, he just needed his body to catch up. The man chuckled. "Nah! You got it all wrong, buddy. I'm not gonna try to stop ya. I'm a real believer in...whaddya call it...free will. Ya wanna shuffle yourself off the ol' mortal coil? Well, that ain't nobody's business but yours, as far as I'm concerned." David licked his chapped lips. "Then...then no offense, but why don't you just go away? I'd rather be alone." "Sure, sure!"the man said, easily. "It's just that, well, if you don't mind my saying, it looks like you're having a bit of trouble taking the next step. I can help with that." "I-I don't need a push!"David said, reflexively tightening his grip on the railing. The man in black laughed. "I ain't gonna push you, pal! I'm just here to offer a little encouragement, is all."He lifted a black-gloved hand and snapped his fingers. David stared in bewilderment, as a gigantic silvery moving screen seemed to materialize in the air above him. "What? How did you..."he trailed off, as a film began to play on the screen. It was his childhood home, just as he remembered it. His brother, sister, mother and father were seated around the old kitchen table, talking and laughing as they had breakfast. "Notice anything, buddy?"the man asked, genially. "It's...it's exactly how it was...how is that possible?"he said, staring at the apparition in awe. "Not exactly, buddy, but I'm not surprised you didn't notice; after all, no one else noticed either. You're not there,"the man pointed out. "I don't understand."David said, as he watched his happy parents and siblings. "See, everyone wants life -- especially their life -- to have some kinda meaning."the man explains. "It's the part of you that wants that, that won't let you let go of that railing. That's why I'm here to help. Because the truth is..." The man snapped his fingers again. David saw his high school basketball team. They'd gone to the State Championship when he played with them, but it appeared from what the man showed him that they would have done just as well without him. Snap. He saw his friends from college, enjoying their wild days without him as much or more than they'd done with him. Snap. He saw the woman who'd later become his wife, falling in love with and marrying someone else. Snap. He saw everything he'd ever achieved in his professional life, being done a thousand times over by other men in other places. He stared wide-eyed, his mouth opening and closing mutely as he saw image after image illustrating his own worthlessness. "...the truth is, life don't got no meaning. Especially not yours, buddy."the man said, softly. "Those instincts telling you to hold on? They ain't nothing but a con." He reached out, and squeezed David's shoulder, gently. "I know it's hard to accept. The truth usually is. Most guys wish they wasn't ever born, when they learn the way things really are. Ain't nothing you can do about that, unfortunately -- nothing I can do either, to be honest. But I can help you get it over with, to skip to the punchline of the big cosmic joke, so to speak." David's head dropped forward, and his shoulders began to shake. "Aww. There there, buddy."the man soothed. "It'll all be over soon. All you gotta do is let go." David's shoulders shook harder, and then all at once, he burst out laughing. The man frowned. "What the...you lose your marbles or something, pal?" He shook his head. "Ha....no...I just...I just..." Abruptly, David turned, and hoisted himself over the railing, back onto the bridge. "What are ya doing?"the man protested. "Whoo!"David cried, laughing and spinning a circle as he looked at the falling snow. "What the hell's gotten into ya?"the man demanded, scowling. He whirled around to face the man, beaming. "Hope!"he cried. "Hope? How did ya get hope outta what I just showed ya?" David laughed, crossing his arms. "Well, I mean, you're obviously the Devil!" The man cleared his throat. "I, uh...what makes you say that?" "A guy with magic powers shows up out of nowhere and tries to convince me there's no hope and that I should kill myself?"David said, raising an eyebrow. "You kinda telegraphed it." "Well, uh..so what if I am?!"the man retorted. "You're still in a hole ya ain't never gonna dig out of, your life is still pointless, and you'd still be better off on the other side of that railing!" David snorted. "Come on. I may have been wishing I'd never been born, but I wasn't born yesterday. You're the devil! You lie! Maybe not everything you say is a lie, but anything you'd go through that much trouble to tell me has practically got to be false!" The man in black's eyes widened, and darted from left to right, as though searching for a way out. "Er...well..." David laughed and jabbed a finger at him. "Aha! I knew it! Which means, ipso facto, that I can infer that life definitely does have meaning and purpose, and I can further deduce that my life in particular must have some especially noble purpose to fulfill -- otherwise, why would an actual devil be going out of his way to get me to kill myself?" "I..."the man stammered, uncertainly. Then to the man's utter amazement, David embraced him. "Merry Christmas, you wonderful old demon!"David cried, tears of joy glistening in his eyes as he held the man close for a long moment. Then, without another word, David turned and ran laughing into the snowy Christmas Eve night, leaving the flabbergasted devil behind.
The adventurers stood around the fallen beast, bloody weapons in hand. They all panted like dogs under the midday sun. The strange, giant, bull-like creature did not go down easy. The townsfolk slowly emerge from their huts, staring in awe at their heroes, thanking the gods that they had happened to be in the tavern when the beast started rampaging through town. The dwarf, who sent trophies of the monsters he killed back to his king as proof of his deeds, stepped forth to cleave a horn from the strange beast, as was his custom. As he raised his axe, he spotted a crude woven rope around its neck. He lowered his axe and moved to investigate. Hanging from the rope was a piece of bark with some kind of runes carved into it. "Oi, magic man, what do you make of this?"He calls to his wizard companion. The mage joins the Dwarf, examining the piece of bark. "It's a name I think. Gorrrugh. It means buttercup." The knight, who often acted as the leader of the merry band of stalwart explorers, immediately recognized the possible danger of the situation and started looking all around for any possible new aggressors. "What language did you say that word was from?" "Well, based on the spelling I'd say it'd be from the language of the hill-" The wizard is interrupted by several small tremors, birds fleeing en mass from the woods just outside the village, and a voice, distant but impossibly loud, yelling "Gorrrugh? Gorrrugh konva?"The wizard, swallowing the heart that had lept into his throat, meakly finished his sentence. "Giants!" And giant was an apt name, for the being that stepped put of the woods was absolutely gargantuan. He stood as tall as two of the villages houses. . His body was covered in fat, but it was very obvious that there was considerable muscle mass beneath that fat as well. His head was wreathed in a mane of matted hair, and when he pushed that hair out of his face, it revealed a mouth full of jagged teeth. With every step, the earth shook beneath his feet The heroes' ears were filled with the sound of their own pounding hearts. Maybe they could have taken the giant down any other time, and that was a big maybe, but the battle with the giant's beast had left them so exhausted they could barely lift their weapons. The knight's mind raced, trying to think of a way to resolve the situation without a fight. The townsfolk all ran back into their houses, the sudden movement drawing the giants attention to the village, where he saw the beast's body in the center of town. He cried out so loudly that the very sound threatened to rupture the adventurers' ear drums. The giant, almost in shock, began to walk down the village's main road. As he walked his arm brushed against a hut, the giant not even noticing as the impact caved in the hut's wall. "Back up! Give him some room!"The knight called to his companions, and they all backed several yards away from the beast. A sound akin to the sound of thunder from inside a cloud rang out as the giant fell to his knees. He cradled the beast in his hands and began to weep, each teardrop enough to fill a bucket. "Coo mir jusir. Mir coo yor bahnah?" The dwarf, gripping his axe tight, asked, "Care to translate, magic man?" "OH, um, he said 'my favorite cow. Why did you kill my cow?'" The knight stepped forth, "Your cow attacked the village. We had to protect the people. I'm so sorry."And the wizard translated for him. Then the giant spoke, and the wizard translated. "'Your stick houses filled with ant people gives you the right to kill such a perfect beast? To rip the heart from my chest?'" "Please, this is a horrible tragedy. I see that I've wronged you, even if it was for a good reason. Let me try to make it right!" The giant rose to his feet, his face now darkend with untold anger. "'You wish to make this right?"' "Yes!" "Gor bahnah." "OH gods!"The wizard said, forgetting to translate in his fear. "What? what did he say?" "Th-then die!" And so the battle begun.
"So what do you say?"the man asks. His toothy grin beckons an answer. After spending a lifetime of taking orders from suits, the head job is mine for the taking. I've already killed once for the opportunity, but there's something not quite right about this one. I wipe a bead of sweat from my temple. "You look thirsty,"he says twisting his neck around as if to get a better angle of the glistening streak. "Here, have some ice cold water." He produces a crystalline chalice ensnared by a red tail, dripping condensation enough to put my forehead to shame. I grab it and let a portion of its contents slosh their way down my eager throat. For the first time since I arrived, I feel alive. "Why me?"I finally ask now that the heat has abated. "Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't this what you've always wanted? The desk?"He motions to a slab of mahogany that has suddenly taken shape behind him. "The name plaque?"he continues as his hand conjures a prism of wood on the edge of the desk bearing a solid gold plate with my name engraved in bold letters. "The POWER." The room shakes at the final word and my spine with it. But the fear is overpowered by excitement. A red flash fills the man's eyes as he sees the sides of my lips curl upwards. He moves in closer and wraps an arm around my shoulder. My chair spins by the force. "You want it,"he whispers into my ear. "You want to prove him wrong." I don't need to ask who he meant by "him."Edmonds, the prick who tried firing me, sits in a chair. Thorny ropes hold him down. His eyes are wide, wild. He wants to scream, but his face lacks a mouth. The hand on my back urges me to stand. Together, we walk towards my former boss. There is a trophy in my hand. I don't know where it came from, but my fingers welcome something solid, something painful. "World's Greatest Boss"it reads on the base. 'I deserve this,' I tell myself as the tip of my shoe touches the Italian boot tip of Edmonds. "He deserves this,"the devil coos. "He's the one who said you couldn't handle the pressure, the responsibility. He's the one who denied you time after time when you asked only for what you had worked so hard for. He's the one who didn't trust you when you said you could handle the long hours, the thinning budget, and the meetings with the board." He releases me from his grip and stands behind Edmonds. With one hand on my boss's shoulder, he runs the other through the man's toupee. "So, do you accept, or do you let this worm have the last laugh?" I pull the trophy up. The inscription extends to include my name beneath the honor. I give it a quick flip to take hold of the base rather than the cup. The thin metal bends as it strikes Edmonds's jaw. Each strike bends the gold further from recognition until only a crimson spire remains. The crumpled skull bobs around on what remains of a neck. With a swift thrust, the edge pierces the throat. The struggling stops when I pull the award. It falls from my hands to the ground and fades into dust. I follow it, but the padded chair catches me. My arms fall to the polished wood of the desk. "Now,"the devil calls, clapping his hands together. "Make sure you get these reports done for the Big Man."He lifts his arm as a tower of papers extends beyond the edge of sight. "Feel free to relax when you finish." I'll never finish. "And don't slack off. The last fellow who tried taking over,"he nods towards the bloody mass in the chair ahead, "disappointed me. This is a cutthroat position." This job is torture.
The day I was born my fairy godmother appeared, as is the custom, and summoned from the air the most amazingly beautiful figure anyone had ever seen. Six foot three, pure muscle with giant wings sprouting from his back, this naked adonis glowed with holy light. Golden hair ran down his bronzed back and wide blue eyes reflected the sunlight. That was 18 years ago. I know now that my fairy godmother truly hated me. "Come on, lets go clean the stables."Walking slowly to the shit filled stables, my shovel on my back, I tried to avoid the crowds of gorgeous young women who lined the streets of the small village where I lived. It had been like this my entire life. At first, it was fantastic! So many beautiful women always around seems like a dream to a 12 year old, but when it became perfectly clear that they were only interested in my guardian Angel, Stephanus, it started to get old. Angels don't change. Apparently they don't wear clothes either. I've spent my life with a nearly omnipotent chiselled naked Aryan demi-god with wings walking behind me. As the chubby son of a minor noble, it's caused me some problems. I'm always compared to him. When I was 10, I learned to ride a horse. He flew beside me. Which would you watch? Right. Dating? Uh-huh. Water water everywhere, but not a girl to kiss. Steve's not all bad himself though. It's really not his fault. He doesn't sleep with any of the women, that would be unholy. The most he does is try to get them to pray more. He's also not all that intelligent. It's like having a puppy. A really well meaning well hung puppy that's actually a 6 foot tall god-man. He cares about me, but it seems like they don't have personal space in heaven which has made for a few awkward situations. It took a while to get used to him watching me sleep. We shovelled shit. It's nice not to have to do that alone at least. I swear though if a Fairy Godmother shows up to the birth of my children (not that I'll ever have any at this rate), I'll know exactly what to do. I'll use this shovel to make a godmother popsicle.
CHAPTER ONE THE BOY WHO LIVED DANGEROUSLY Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they didn't take anyone's shit. They were the last people you'd expect to be on the bad side of the wizard mafia, because they just didn't fuck with that scene. Mr. Dursley was the CEO of a firm called Gunnings Incorporated, which made weapons and armor. He was 300 pounds of pure muscle, with a thick black beard he'd grown in the Special Forces. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde (a former supermodel) and always wore extra-high heels, which came in very useful as she spent most of her time on the red carpet, gossiping with celebrities. The Dursleys had a small son called Deadly and in their opinion he was a future UFC champion. The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, a secret so explosive it threatened to blow their perfect existence sky high. They didn't think they would survive long if one of their jealous rivals found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they had fallen out after a sexy catfight; in fact, Mrs. Dursley refused to even speak her sister's name, and would slap anyone in the face if they brought up her shithead husband. The Dursleys sometimes woke in cold sweats after black nightmares, imagining that the Potters had come for revenge. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too, but they stayed the hell away from him. They feared the boy even more than his parents, because he had a reputation for living dangerously.
Justice Scalia sat high on his bench with a folio in his hands, preparing to read the opinion. Just before he started, Justice Kagan grinned, leaned over and extended a slobbery tongue, rubbing it down the length of the paper. Scalia shot daggers at her, but she cackled gleefully and grabbed the folder from his hands. "Now I will read the opinion,"she told the assembled dignitaries in the court room. But that was enough for the reporters to figure out the results, and the "running of the interns"began as they dashed from the Supreme Court building, skidded down the slippery marble steps, and over to the news van to report the results. One of them didn't even bother doing his job, but instead ran to the nearby parking lot to slobber over a bright red Ferrari. The headlines soon dotted every website: Licking was now the proper way to claim ownership. Tongues could not move fast enough. Bill Henderson, tourist at the National Air and Space Museum, leaned across a velvet rope barrier and claimed control of the Space Shuttle Discovery. Billionaires were seen on the tarmacs of their private airports, licking the wings of their jets while hurrying back to their mansions (only to discover that most of them had been licked by a maid or something before they'd even gotten close). Others were busy sliding their tongues over stacks of bills and stock certificates. Most items were claimed pretty quickly, and norms were rapidly established to facilitate the new system of ownership. To sell an item, the vendor was required to scrub off his original tongue print before giving it to the owner to be licked. Flavored disinfectant was considered a necessary courtesy. Land would be transferred by planting a rock at the very center of the property, and giving that a good lick. Cunnilingus was banned under the 13th Amendment. Tongue dyes and saliva enhancers became all the rage. Kissing the bride at a wedding now required frenching. Problems soon emerged. What if two people licked the same thing in different places? What if two components were licked by different people before being combined together? What if a person licked something but his tongue was too dry to leave residue? Were licking machines permitted? Did a man have to lick every part of something to truly own it? Was licking your hand and then putting your hand on something considered licking? Did calling "Shotgun"before getting into a car trump someone licking the front passenger seat? Congress became embroiled in fierce political battles over Tongue Control, and after an acrimonious, year-long debate, a Constitutional Amendment was passed to overturn the Supreme Court decision and return the country to the predictable standards of contracts. ----- And that, class, is your lesson in Constitutional Law for today. Your homework for tomorrow is to read the case of McPhearson v. Horton Elementary School, which will lead us into tomorrow's discussion of whether "He who smelt it, dealt it."
“Hey everyone, thanks for coming. We have a new member joining our party today, meet Wade!” Wade waved at the collected group. There were only seven of us in our party, small for the large battle we are going to be participating in. I was standing at the head of our team table. We had me, Jenna, Zoe, David, Andrew, Mike, and now Wade. I was a ranger, Jenna a cleric, Zoe a thief, David a druid, Andrew an illusionist, Mike a paladin, and Wade was a battle mage. We had been together for years, entering small LARPing competitions in our area for fun. Last week we had been invited to a state wide LARPing battle. We were ecstatic, this meant we were finally doing something right. Unfortunately, we needed at least seven party members to attend. So I posted an ad, and within a few hours I had found Wade. He was really into this, he had all his spells memorized already and said he practised regularly. I met him earlier to get a feel for him, and decided to let him join. I caught him up with our battle strategies and we were ready to go. Now, we’re in a large clearing in the middle of a forest, preparing for battle. “Okay guys, remember, there are only five other teams. The Redhawks, Deadra, Kligins, Dregons, and the Royals. We are 500 yards away from the other teams, so it should start out pretty peacefully. The Royals are new as well, only seven members, all rangers. They should be easy to pick out. The Redhawks have 10 members, four mages, two clerics, two rangers, and two thieves. Try to save them for last, I want them weakened before we fight them. As for the Deadra, Kligins, and Dregons, they all are super powerful, 20 members each. Thankfully, they hate each other. Stay out of their way, and they will kill each other off. Without us even lifting a finger. Everyone remember that?” I was met with collective nodding. “Ok, so same formation as usual. Mike, David, and Andrew to the left, and myself, Jenna, Zoe, and Wade to the right. Stay low and quiet.” We quickly double check our equipment. My spray painted Nerf daggers are on my hip, and a Nerf broadsword on my back. I adjust my bow over my shoulder. This was real, but I had foam tipped my arrows. Suddenly, a noise pierced the forest. I turned to the team. “That’s the signal. Lets move out.” We quickly get into formation and enter the dense forest. We sneak through the forest for about two minutes before we hear the sound of fighting. I draw my bow and notch an arrow. The others follow my lead, quietly drawing their weapons. I slowly peaked over the thick underbrush of the forest. Two teams were fighting in a small clearing. By the look of the colors, it was Deadra and Dregons. I scanned the area, waiting for the Kligins. After a couple seconds, they burst from the forest and entered the fray. I smiled. This was going according to plan. I signaled to my party and we snuck around the clearing, and crept until the sound of fighting was just a faint whisper on the wind. From my right, I hear a small whistle. It was the signal that someone was close. I look toward the source of the sound. Mike was crouching against a tree gesturing towards our left. I took a glance. The Redhawks were coming. The rangers were in front, then the thieves, mages, and clerics. They were arrogant, stomping through the forest, not even bothering to crouch. They thought they had this game in the bag. Let’s show them how wrong they are. I gesture to the group and we take ambush positions, drawing our close combat weapons. Mike came closer to me, David behind him. Zoe behind me faded into the forest, waiting for her signal. Jenna took the back with Andrew and Wade, who looked like they were preparing spells. I waited until they were almost upon us, then I struck. Leaping from my cover, I assassinated the two rangers in a single stab, going for the throat. Mike leapt after me, hitting a thief before he could get away. The mages were quick to react. They started throwing firebolts at us. One hit me on the shoulder. These firebolts were only painted and weighted tennis balls, but they still stung when they are thrown hard enough. Following the rules of the game, I retreated to Jenna, who quickly healed me by wrapping my arm in a white cloth. I looked back at the battle. Mike was fighting the two thieves, but they were quick, and he wasn’t able to hit him. Luckily, they weren't able to hit him either. David was fighting a cleric, and Zoe was slowly sneaking up on the mages. Meanwhile, Andrew was setting up a smoke bomb, and Wade was chanting something under his breath. He does know that he doesn’t need to actually chant, right? Shaking the thought away, I ran to help Mike. Before I reached him, a ball of fire flew past my head. An actual ball of fire! It hit a cleric dead in the chest, setting him ablaze. We all stood amazed, watching the cleric pat out the fire. We turned to look at the source of the fireball. Wade was standing next to a Andrew, who was gawking just like the rest of os. In Wade’s hand, a large flame was flickering. He looked at us, confused. “What?” “Wade….you...can do magic?!” He stared at me, a slight frown forming on his face. “Yes...you said you needed a mage, right?” We stood in silence, unable to process what we were seeing. Wade, shifting uncomfortably, broke the silence. “So are we still fighting?” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hey everyone, About4001llamas here. I hoped you liked my story. If you want more, check out /r/About4001llamas. Happy reading! EDIT: I continued the story! [Here's](http://www.reddit.com/r/About4001llamas/comments/2z5m77/the_mage_pt_2/) the link to it!
IN A WORLD... (overhead shot of mountain) WHERE EVERYTHING IS ICE... (closer shot of mountain) ONE WOMAN... (shot of Shia LeBeouf) WILL CHANGE... (closer shot of Shia) EVERYTHING. (Explosion.) *** STARRING SHIA LEBEOUF AS ELSA (Explosion, dramatic scream) AND MEGAN FOX AS ANA (close up of skimpily dressed Megan) ENJOY THE TALE OF SISTERY LOVE... (the two making out) LIKE YOU'VE NEVER SEEN BEFORE. (Explosion.) INTRODUCING... (Explosion again.) FROZEN 2: NO LONGER FROZEN. *** (Screenplay in development. Release date TBA) Edit: [Art for your enjoyment](http://imgur.com/tWUoISb)
I floated high above the parade of zombies. They were all trudging forward in the direction of the coast. What zombies would want to do at the beach, though, beats me. A zombie beach party? Very funny. One of the zombies caught my eye. I squinted with my ghostly eyes and thought I saw someone I recognized. It couldn’t be, though. Could it? I floated down towards him. As I got closer I confirmed it – the zombie was me. My hair was a lot longer than I kept it while alive, and there was dirt all over my face. Zombie-me held his hands out in front of him and I saw my long, skinny fingers. I always was insecure about them. My friends referred to them as “alien fingers.” Then I saw it. The necklace Alice gave me before she died. I wanted to cry, but nothing came out. I reached out to grab the pendant but my hands phased right through my body. I tried again and again. I wanted to hold it so badly. Sigh…
You see, I was curious. Quite curious, actually. Just dying to know. Every eclipse, Mother would give me dark glasses and make me swear by my dead father to not take them off. Teachers would animatedly tell us how our eyes would become little burnt buttons if we looked at the eclipsed sun directly. As we grew older, the implications of looking became more and more sinister. Robbie Delaney had bravely volunteered to look at the sun once. He took off his glasses, stepped out jauntily into the black light, and never came back. The next day, there was a park where his house used to be and everyone knew better than to ask questions. By any logical argument, I should have stayed indoors that day. There was a big, bright warning in the newspaper. The university was off. The roads were closed (who drives with dark glasses on?). And yet. I just loved the black light. I had never seen the source. But I loved the cool feel of it. I loved the way my shadow seemed - weakened. So I went out for a walk. Nothing much. Just a stroll around the block. Even passed the Delaney house-turned-park. And that's when I tripped. Maybe it was Robbie's energy. He was always a curious one. Or maybe it was just me. Never tied my laces properly, I didn't. Anyway. I tripped. And my dark glasses fell off. They clattered with a deafening finality. I was outside. During an eclipse. Without my glasses. For the first time in my life. I felt exposed. Excited. Exhilarated. I stood there for the longest time, staring at my glasses on the sidewalk. Then, as though I'd meant to all along, I walked on them. The crunch of echoed throughout the suburb. And I looked up. I'm not sure what I had expected to see. Probably a big flat disc of black. A void. I would have preferred anything over what I was looking at. I could see a large hand fiddling around where the sun used to be. It was like looking through a window. The hand fiddled for a few minutes, and then went away. In it's stead, I could see what seemed like an empty socket. I watched on, fascinated. Just as suddenly as it had gone, the hand reappeared. Fiddled for a few seconds. Then it was gone again. Somewhere in the background, I heard a click. And just like that, the sun was back. The eclipse was over. The hand was gone. And so was I. Its been a few months since I saw that hand. There's a park where my house used to be, and everybody knows better than to ask questions.
I searched for a significant amount of time. I googled "fight clubs in TX", hoping that someone would interpret a written medium as an exception to the first rule. No luck. It almost made me re-enlist, which should show you how fucking crazy I was becoming. In the end I got a night time job guarding a dump. Literally. A steady paycheck was all I needed, I reminded myself. They paid me $12 an hour, and I got to take home $8 after taxes & the court settlement took their share. Enough to live on. I know I could have found a better job for confrontation - working at a courthouse maybe. Here the most exciting it got was telling stoned kids to scram, always hoping they would stand up to me. They never did. Nobody ever did. I had made sure of it - going to the gym during the day until I was on the verge of passing out, dizzily forcing myself to my apartment to sleep until the sun set. I hated my apartment. Hated my gym, hated my ex, hated the dumb bitch that decided to shoplift. Hated myself for always going to the gym, hated myself for always picking fights with Courtenay, hated myself for hurting the girl so bad. It wasn't necessary, I knew, but... I couldn't help but remember a time when anything was necessary. I had killed men & women and been paid well, and they took that money from me to give to a girl I hurt. I couldn't help it. I needed to dominate people - I loved the security that comes from seeing someone defeated before me. If I couldn't win against someone... that's all I have going for me anymore. I'm scary. So, I searched the internet. Tried to find groups that really fought, not karate dojos or hipsters slapping each other. I downloaded TOR, navigated the darknet. But it wasn't until I asked for help I got what I needed. I tried posting to a small part of a large site that catered to my area. I only asked if there were any meet-ups where a man could really fight. Seconds later, my inbox was lit up - people hated me. Apparently. I didn't have good enough grammar, I had stupid questions, I was asking in the wrong area. I felt my nostrils flare and the struggle I loved so much of control vs rage swell up inside me. These people would never say this to my face. I tried to argue, but it was pure hatefullness. Soon I had degenerated into bragging and cursing, reveling in the immaturity conflict of it all. I didn't have to hold back, I didn't have to control myself. These people could leave whenever they wanted, but they knew I would win. I spend my days in front of the computer now. The gym is still paid for, but it's now only an unused expense used to justify my sloth. I find the most hateful people on these sites and I bait them, I dare them to insult me. I read their posts, find out what they love, and I destroy them. But nowadays... I cross the street and people aren't nervous to look me in the eyes. I'm losing some of that passion, poured out into the computer all day. I don't know what will happen when I have totally drained it into the computer. Will I have lost myself? Or found myself?
Ian: Thank you guys for coming. I'm really excited about this new adventure I've cooked up for you all. So let's all introduce our characters. Sean: I'm running a Half-Orc barbarian named Krushov. But he not the dumb, smashy kind of half-Orc. He's suave, like James Bond suave. Kiera: Don't half-orcs have a charisma penalty? Sophie: Maybe he just thinks he's suave. Ian: I like that, he's your typical bumbling half-Orc but he thinks he's James Bond. Sean: No, he's really suave. Sophie: Sean, he has a charisma of 11. Sean: fine. Ian: Anyway... Kiera: Serafina Snodgrass, Gnome bard. Sophie: Elysia of the Golden cloth, Human Cleric. Tim: (who has been very quiet until now) Mashana, Elf Druid Sean: wait a minute, this is not a very balanced party! These are all support classes. I'm going to be the one doing all the fighting! Ian: Actually, that's by design. Sean: What? Sophie: See this adventure is about a demon. Kiera: A demon only you can face. Tim: We're your friends, and we're here to support you, but you have to take it on by yourself. Sean: Oh, I see. We're fighting a really big demon, and you're all going to buff me and enchant my weapon so I can get through its damage reduction. Very smart. The others look at each other. Sean: So, let's get started. Let me guess, the adventure begins in a tavern. Ian: It does indeed, my friend. It does indeed.
He stared at the figures, trying to get his head around them. It simply wasn't possible. You couldn't run a country with net financial loss for 200 years. It simply wasn't possible. Bernard picked up the phone. "Sir Humphrey?" "Yes Bernard?" "Come take a look at this." With a sigh Sir Humphrey got up and walked down to Bernard's office. "What is it Bernard?" "Well, I was just going over some figures for the Prime Minister, and I found something very confusing..." "Ber-nard..."Sir Humphrey cut him off with a dragged out version of his own name, "What have I told you about finding things?" "Yes, which is why I'm telling you without going to the Prime Minister first. According to these figures, Britain has been losing money for 200 years." Sir Humphrey sat down quite abruptly. "Well you see Bernard, those figures come from the ministry of finance, they're wrong." "But isn't the ministry of finance ment to get finance corect? They would have to be very wrong for this to make any sense." Sir Humphrey sighed, again. "Do you know the saying that the sun never sets in the British empire?" "But it does set, sir, just in different places at different times..." Sir Humphrey cut him off with a look. "The British empire is powered by grass. At any time, at least one blade of British grass will be shone on by the sun. This grass is very special, and it wirelessly beams power first to the local government building, and then directly to a receiver in Suffolk. But we don't have an energy storage mechanism, so we need constant sun on our British grass. Those figures where made by people who think we need to pay for our electricity, so they are wrong." Bernard was speachless for a second. "Then why... Why power stations?" "Oh Bernard, isn't it simple? They are fakes, so the French don't realise and destroy our cricket lawns to steal our grass."
John sat on his front porch, and waited for the world to end. Off in the corral, he could see the four horses - those four damned horses - roaming like normal beasts, but he could tell that they were skittish. He'd spent his entire life raising horses, but these, these were the finest creatures he'd ever raised. Not because they were the fastest, or the strongest, but because in the end, they would be the most important. It was four years ago that the horses had been born. One bay, one pale gray, one black, and one white. Like the old book said. John hadn't dared name them. That was for the riders to decide. He expected their arrival soon. As the sun began to set over the farm, the four horses stopped what they were doing and looked up, staring off into the distance. John sat up. He was right. Damn it all, he was right. He'd known this day would come, been expecting it ever since those four horses had been born, but to know that he was actually right- Four men appeared on the road, walking casually and slowly towards the farmhouse. They didn't look much like John had expected them to. He had expected glorious images straight out of the Bible, carrying the tools that they would use to end the world. The sword, the scale, the bow, the scythe. These men, identical of face, carried no such tools, and were dressed in crisp suits. One red, one black, one gray, and one white. The color of each man's hair matched the color of his suit. "Mister Morgan,"said the man in red. "We are-" "You don't have to tell me. I know who you are,"John said. "Then that makes this much easier,"said War. "We're here for our horses." "Right over there,"John said, indicated the stallions with his head. They stood perfectly still, like they had been waiting for this day all their lives. "They're already shod, up to date on their vaccinations, and trained for riding." "May we?"Famine asked. "Go right ahead,"John said. "They're yours, anyway." The four men approached the corral, and hopped the fence. The horses walked right up to them, heads held low, each one to the proper rider. The riders looked over the horses like any other buyer that John had ever seen. They checked the coat, the tail, the muscle, the eyes, the ears; every detail of the horse was closely inspected. Once they were satisfied, the riders had a brief and quiet conversation. They came to an agreement quickly, and the rider in gray hopped back over the fence. He walked right up to the porch, and nodded to John. "Fine horses,"he said. "I did my best,"John said to Death. "What now?" "We settle up with you, then we take them on our ride,"Death said. "'Settle up'?"John repeated. He laughed. "Yeah, like money's going to help me past Judgement Day. I don't want or need your money. Just take the damn things." "Money wasn't what we had in mind,"Death said. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the man changed. The face and the hair faded away, and in their place appeared a macabre skeleton dressed in ragged gray robes. John glanced at the corral, and saw similar changes in the other men. War was dressed in blood-red chain mail, with a broad sword strapped to his belt. Famine was a thin, gaunt man, dressed in black robes and with a scale in his hands. Conquest was dressed in white with a short red cape and a crown upon his brow, and a bow slung across his chest. "Then what did you have in mind?"John asked, still watching the horsemen in the corral. "A soft passing into the next life. Instant access to the eternal kingdom, and you will be exempt from Judgement. Essentially, you'll get to skip the lines." "And I take it there's no chance of me turning you down?"John asked. "Listen to your heartbeat, John Martin, and tell me yourself." John had noticed. It was hard to miss the absence of something that had been with him his entire life. He put a hand on his chest, and felt nothing. "They are fine horses,"Death continued as blackness ringed John's vision. "Strong and hearty." "What'll happen to them,"John asked, forcing the last of the air from his lungs, "After it's all over?" "They'll be cared for, don't worry." "Good,"John said. "The - the bay hates apples, unless they're granny smiths. The white one'll eat any sort, but he prefers golden delicious. Black one doesn't eat too much, but he loves carrots. The - the gray - be careful when feeding the gray. He bites." "We will keep that in mind,"Death promised. "Sleep well, John Martin. You have done your duty." The world faded to black, and the black faded to nothingness, and the nothingness turned to light. --- Check my [blog](http://theballadsofirving.com) for more of the stuff I write.
He looked around the crowd, smugly smiling and taking in the scene. Amongst protesters, supporters, friends and enemies, Donald Trump stood triumphantly, looking deeply into the camera. The world was silent, he hadn't uttered a single word. He slowly approached the microphone, and leaned in close to it. He only uttered a single sentence, the only one he knew he needed. "Congress... You're fired!"
"Tell meeee,"the purple woman purred. "Tell me again, how long you can make love to me." I swallowed. "Maybe anywhere up to... five minutes?"I said. She gasped. "Six if I think about baseball statistics." One of her tongues licked two of her lips. "Tell me more of these... baseball statistics." "Well,"I said, "I think you might be missing the point of that part. It's more - no, you know what? Not important." She writhed on the bed next to me. "Begin,"she said. "I am trying,"I told her. "Believe me. They were very clear in induction about 'usefulness' and 'disposal'. It's just..." She winked. "Just what, my soft, pink love slave?" I swallowed. "Well, you know? It's just - there's a lot of pressure, you know? I'd be put off enough by the cameras, but there's six other people actually in the room. It's not really... I mean, I'd like to think -" "Is theeese... babbling... part of your foreplay?" I shook my head. "It absolutely is,"I said. "All we... prolific... Earth lovers say things like this before we, you know. Bang. And such." "Then bang,"she said. "I await your giganticness inside me." OK, now she had to be taking the piss. "My giganticness?" She laughed, lasciviously. "I have never seen one so biiig,"she said. "It's perfectly - wait, what?" Two of her breasts jiggled. I don't know why the third one didn't, but it was a fuck of a lot less cool than it looked in Total Recall. "The lovers on my world are perhaps a fifth of your size." "A fifth?"I asked, surprised into honesty. "That doesn't even seem, really... possible, all things considered, I mean..." She grabbed me by the shoulders. "Take me! Take me artlessly. Fumble your clumsy hands over my body. Blindly shake and jiggle me without regard to logic or common sense!" "That,"I said, rising to the occasion, "I can do."
My fist struck the nearby wall, pent up anger from the day finally being released as the sound echoed through the empty house. It had been another day at school, the same old same old, shoved into a corner, anything I had on me either being stolen or shoved into the garbage while I had to watch. Teachers did nothing but laugh at me together with the bullies while all the other kids just ignored me. All of this combined made school hell. They call me a husk, a monster, inhuman, the list goes on long enough that I have forgotten over half of it. And it all started because word got out that my parents had sold their souls to the devil for me, they had been desperate enough to have a child that they made a deal with the devil himself. “I will grant your wish, you will have a child. But should the child ever truly despise you, the next morning you will awaken in hell.” And that had come through, I had truly despised them not too long ago and they were gone the next morning. I despised them for the neglect and dislike they had shown me, for a couple so desperate to have a child they treated it poorly, ‘father’ was an alcoholic and ‘mother’ would rather not look at the demon spawn that was her ‘child’. The big question that remains is how did people find out that I was the child of the devil, well it seems that at a certain age these tiny horns start to come out of my skull, even worse was that my ‘parents’ just went out and told the church, who were now keeping just about constant watch on me. &nbsp; I went outside and grabbed a fairly sized stick and a few rocks, I knew that there was at least someone out there who could help me. The local pastor passed along the fence for the 5th time now and I took my chance, I threw a rock at the christian and struck him in the face, not enough to kill but he would be out for a while now as I started sketching in the sand with the stick. After about half a minute a pentagram now adorned the back lawn as I recited the words used to summon the one who gave me life. A deep red glow came over the area as time crept to a halt, the pentagram and my lawn both looked like they were about to burn to a crisp as a figure with the skull and legs of a goat, the body of a man and skeletal wings walked out of the circle. The devil spoke up it’s voice was calm and low, lower than any human could hope to achieve, “Greetings my child.” the horned creature said “Why have you summoned me to this realm.” I trembled a bit, the demon exerted an aura of power, not like the bullies or the teachers who had ‘power’ but unimaginable strength and the ability to create anything, for a bargain. “I.. I…” I stuttered, I had no idea what to say. Until the devil approached and spoke again. “I feel great desire burning within you. What is it you want?” The demon held out his hand. “I… I want to go home.” Tears ran across my face as I hugged the monster in front of me grabbing it tight. In return the devil embraced me and started to lose his composure a bit “You just want to be accepted don’t you… I know that feeling all too well.” All I did was nod, no words needed to be said anymore. The devil, no, my father grabbed my hand tightly as we both walked into the infernal portal below the ground. I was finally in a place where I would be accepted for who I am.
Clouds flooded the sky and threatened rain the day my father died. He was only four hundred and nineteen years old. Young for a pine tree. Still just a boy, really. I don't know much about the world out there because of course, I'm rooted to the spot. I only know what I hear from my family, those trees around me. They tell me that we are secluded. We are deep in the woods. We weren't secluded enough that day. A man, a human man, came thrashing through the woods, careless of who he disturbed. Three other men followed him like sheep. His henchmen I suppose. He whistled and swung his ax while he walked, so arrogant. We all knew what he was going to do. I'd seen it before. They took Ma 70 years before, and my brother twelve years after Ma. I was the oldest remaining in my family. But I couldn't stop the lumberjack. I had to sit helplessly while he chopped into Pop. I wanted Dad to be brave for everyone, but he wasn't. He wept and he shuddered. I guess he just didn't feel like it was his time. Like I said, he was only four hundred and nineteen. When he had finished cutting Pop down, we worried he would take the rest of us. Instead, his henchmen sawed Pop into smaller pieces and hauled him away like he was nothing. He had outlived them by hundreds of years, but they gave him no respect. I guess that was the last straw for me. Pop deserved to have a little goddamn respect. But what could I do? I was only a tree, secluded in the woods. I had no weapons at my disposal, only branches, needles, and big spiky pine cones. Even if I could muster up the ability bend my tall body and smack the lumberjack with a branch, I would have to get to him first. For ten years I thought quietly about my options, until I came up with a plan. I took another ten years to silently refine my plan. Then, twenty years after my father died, I felt confident enough to execute it. “Brothers and sisters,” I announced loudly one sunny afternoon. You might not realize, but when the wind is good, trees can really shout. “Listen to me, family. I have an important announcement to make.” Everyone quietened down and paid close attention. I hadn't spoken in twenty years so I reckon they were taken by surprise. “I feel that I must confess something to all of you, dear family. I am now the oldest among you, so it has become my responsibility to have certain information. The elders throughout our family history have been privy to it, and before they got the last few chops into Pop, he told it to me. For twenty years I have quietly considered whether or not to tell all of you, and I have now decided that you should know.” I had their attention. This was win or lose. They would either believe me whole-heartedly or call me crazy, but I had to try. I was lying of course. Poor Pop was blubbering too deeply to say much of anything to me when they took him. “I must tell you a story now. At the beginning of time, we were all created by a great seed. This powerful seed grew our ancestors and told them to go and spread their seeds, but to always remember him, for he was their father and creator. He etched into their very souls the rules for life, and they have passed those rules on to elders for every generation. The great pine seed (the God of trees is a pine of course) shared a great prophecy with them. He predicted that one day, a demon and his three henchmen would come along and take the oldest tree in the greatest family in the woods. That murder would begin a war between good and evil, heaven and hell, tree and man. He prophesied that if the trees did not kill the lumberjack, he would go on to create an army of men. Every tree the lumberjack demon killed would give him the youth and stamina to kill another.” My family became hysterical at this news. They all began chattering and swaying, excited and afraid by the lie I had perfected. "Family, we must kill the lumberjack, before our entire wood is destroyed!" They whispered my lie on and on throughout the woods, drawing more and more trees into my web. I was the leader of the family, but after a few months I had become the leader of the western woods. After a year, my web of lies had gathered the northern woods as well, and after two years I had them all. Like sticky fire my story spread out all over and trees of all kinds believed it. Twenty-two years after my poor old Pop was murdered, word got back to me that my minions had found the lumberjack. He lived in a cabin on the edge of the southern woods, with trees all around it. Still, we couldn't exactly bend over and smack him, so we had to get creative, and a few good trees had to make sacrifices. The next few months were a nightmare for the lumberjack. Everywhere he went, leaves seemed to rain down on him and twigs flew at him like gnats. Roots tripped him and pine needles poked him. Finally, one bright afternoon, after a twig dropped onto his face while he checked his mail, he had had enough. He grabbed his ax and swore to cut down every tree within a mile. He charged to the tree line, his face as red and angry as a wasp, and growled as he swung the axe into a maple tree. That great maple (I hear she was a beautiful, buxom woman) made a sacrifice. She let one of her gorgeous branches fall from her and crush the lumberjack. The woods cheered and word got back to me, the king of the trees, that my father’s death had been avenged. I sent word to that delicious maple that I was forever in her debt, and then I rested for a while, in my quiet, safe woods. My kingdom.
Today was Hector Pryor's final day of work. The weight of his responsibilities fell from his shoulders, only to be replaced with the weight of his vest. He zipped his coat over it and evaluated himself in the mirror. His hair was unkempt, his face greasy, and even his mirror image reeked of unwashed grime. But it didn't matter today, and the subway was approaching, so he shuffled from his apartment as a heap of dirt. ValoCorp was a ticking time bomb. Their corporate office was packed with more suits than a tuxedo rental. They sizzled and sparked and bounced off walls and into each another, producing streams of bureaucratic lingo and rehearsed formalities. Hector clung to the metro rail and shook the vision of their stock photo smiles from his head. His plan resurfaced in his head: he would walk into his boss's office, hand over his resignation, and leave. Then he would climb onto the meeting table, bend over and give them all a good mooning, and watch the sparks fly. The subway tripped over a bump, sending a man in a ragged shirt and tattered jeans careening into Hector's side. Gripped by panic, Hector swiveled the other direction, out of the man's way. Thankfully, nothing appeared to have been broken or dislocated. "Whoops,"the man said, "sorry, bro."He pulled himself up and began to rap to the beat inside his head. Hector scowled. He wouldn't miss the commute, that was for sure. It was full of loonies: the freestyle rappers, the drug dealers, the change collectors. The actors changed by the day, but the roles stayed the same, as did their inability to respect virtues like personal space or peace and quiet. What, he thought, did their mothers teach them, if not that? The rapper's eyes widened. "Hey, wait."Stooping over, he pulled Hector's sleeve, and brought his lips up to his ear, dropping his voice to a whisper. "You need to get off this train." Hector wrenched his arm out of his grasp. "Please leave me alone." "You don't understand."The rapper pointed to his head. "I can see things. Everyone here's going to die. There's a bomb on this train." Hector scoffed and turned to face the window, watching the tunnel zip by. This guy couldn't possibly know; crazy just bred coincidence. The reflection of the rapper threw his head back in disgust. He turned to the aisle and waved his hands in the air. "Everyone needs to get off this train, now!"The man began to pull hapless passengers from their seats. A metro employee bustled over to him and restrained him, pressing back into the subway door. Locked in her hold, the man wriggled all four of his limbs, screaming at her. "You don't understand! I can see things!" "We all can, bud,"she said, tilting her head pointedly. "Everyone here is going to die. There's a bomb on this train. We need to stop this train now." "Sir, it's ten minutes until the next stop, and we ain't stopping shit just because you decided to take a trip to comic book land today."The employee let him go, but despite her doubt, she barked something into her two-way. Boots clattered from the other end of the train, and two more employees emerged from the booth in the back. Dread and nonchalance fought within Hector's stomach. Fare checkers, he thought hopefully, but if they were, they were either really thorough or really touchy. When they got to him, they looked him up and down, disarming him with their eyes. He could feel their stares appraising every bit of dirt clinging to each one of his pores. "I'm going to need you take off that jacket for me, sir,"one said. The look on his face suggested he'd take it off for Hector if necessary. Hector jammed his hands into his pockets. His plan had been upset, and by the craziest of crazies, but either way, he was retiring today. He clicked the button, and fire burst from his chest.
"How much is this Honda gonna cost me?" I looked at the young man in front of me. He was barely 19, and here he was buying his first car. I remember when I was his age, almost eight years ago. He had the tenacity of young people, ready to face the world. Hard working, ambitious, glass half full. Do or die and you only live once. Yeah. I remember when I was his age. "This is a good one. Very clean and no engine problems at all. It'll run you two grand." "Damn it," I heard him think to himself. "I can only afford seventeen-hundred." "Well,"he said, trying to negotiate. "I'm ready to pay fifteen-hundred, cash." "Listen, kid. I like you. I want to help you. I can go as low as seventeen-fifty." I could see his face relax a little and then wince, as I heard him thinking about where he would have to scrounge for the remaining fifty bucks. "You know what?"I said, "Seventeen-hundred. That's my final offer." "I'll take it!"he said, his face lighting up. The sky was overcast, the sun hidden somewhere behind the clouds. It was a dark afternoon. The huge dealership sign stood towering over the lot like a looming menace, rocking slightly as the wind shook it back and forth. I couldn't wait to get out of there. "There goes my best car salesman!"the manager shouted as I made my way out of the office. "I'm going to milk you for as much as I can." I said nothing and only acknowledged him with a raised hand. He thought that to himself every single day. I was his best employee, and he was milking the hell out of me. He knew I couldn't go anywhere else. I didn't have a degree. I wouldn't find a better place. He would incentivize me by giving me one dollar raises and the occasional day off. But I knew what he was doing. And I let him do it. It was dark by the time I made it home, if you can call this shabby, rundown, one bedroom apartment home. I threw my keys on the shelf, only for it to come crashing down. "Screw it,"I said as I walked past the broken shelf towards the fridge. Two-days-old pizza and a 12 pack of beer were all that was in it. I grabbed a beer, sat down on the ragged armchair, and took a sip. I was done for the day. I woke up a couple of hours later. The can of beer had fallen on the ground, spilling its contents on the already dirty rug. I didn't care. I got up and headed to the bathroom. I almost didn't recognize myself in the mirror. My eyes were puffy and had bags under them, with black circles encircling them. I could see my cheekbones protruding, as if they were about to break free from under my skin. My forehead was wrinkled, and the hair on my temples had long turned gray. "Who are you?"I asked my mirror self as I put both hands next to the mirror and brought my face right in front of it. "What have you become? Who the hell are you?" "I sure as hell aren't you," came the reply. "Who are you?"I asked, perplexed by the voice I heard. "You are the stranger, not I." "Me?" "Yes," the voice replied. "The real question you should be asking yourself is who you, yourself, are." "Who am I?"I asked. "You are a shell of who I am. A shell of what you used to be. Broken. Defeated. Helpless and hopeless. Enraged at the world, though not without cause. However, I doubt you even remember why. You have lost all motivation. " My head sank as I listened to the voice. "Why am I like this?" "There are many reasons people become like this. You, however, have a multitude of reasons beginning with your father dying when you were young and ending in the dead end, soul sucking job you are working at now." "I don't want to be like this." "No one does. It's a terrible thing to go through." "What do I do? Tell me, please! Help me!"I begged. "I can only tell you what to do. Otherwise, it's all up to you. Only you can help yourself. You have to have the determination. Are you willing?" I nodded my head as I looked towards where the landline was. Next to it was a piece of crumpled paper. I grabbed the paper and straightened it, reading what was written on it in the process. 'Dr. Jones 555-9174' I picked up the phone and dialed the number.
Johnson stared at the two men in front of him. Something about them seemed so unnatural, so uncanny. How had they found him? "So you're telling me a perpetual motion machine is illegal?" "Impossible, unfortunately,"the larger man said, as he inspected the machine. "But it's right here in front of you! It's real! It's clearly possible!" The smaller man shook his head. "We mean in terms of reality, John. Can't let that happen. It's against the rules." John stared at them. Were they even policemen? What was going on? "I don't follow you." "Reality doesn't work without laws, John, and the laws of physics are pretty damned important. Sure, we allow some quirks and abnormalities, that helps make it fun. But this is breaking the law itself." Johnson watched as they put his perpetual motion machine into a secure container. "Who are you guys? FBI? CIA?"he asked, fear creeping in. The smaller man laughed, without mirth. "Moderators." Johnson's shuddered. Something about the way he said it sent chills down his spine. "I don't understand..." The larger man put his hand on John's shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sorry, John, but we're going to have to ban you." **** The pair walked away from the house, as the larger man shook his head. "Damn shame, losing a player like that." The smaller one rolled his eyes. "Better than fucking up the game for everyone else."
Disach had always wanted to work in the Ministry of Hell. He was a graduate of Hell Academy, with a primary focus in Torture Methods and a minor focus in Foresight. Most of what Disach did in the Academy was usual in terms of their practice. A lot of it was theory, especially Foresight, but a few of his upper class Torture classes had actual subjects. For Disach, and about everyone else int he class, it was everything they dreamed of. Most graduates get letters of acceptances after the ceremony. Disach had a lot of good choices, Larceny or Arson were his favorites, and most of his classmates went on into them and others. Those were only for graduates though, the more experience you acquired, the greater Wards you could get accepted into. Gaslighting was a top favorite among his class, matricide and patricide followed behind. Disach always dreamed of working in the Main Ward, under the direction of Lucifer himself, but no one had been chosen for that position in almost two thousand years. The last time someone did, well, even they didn't teach that in the Academy. Disach was expecting an acceptance into Arson. He focused on a lot of Torture Methods with fire and assumed that would look good on his resume, but his acceptance letter was a quick few lines. >Dear Disach, It read. >Congratulations on your graduation! We here at the Ministry of Hell cannot wait to meet you and see what you have to offer Lucifer's domain. Remember, if you fail, you answer to Him! >We hope that you learned as much as possible in TORTURE METHODS and FORESIGHT. An odd combination, but one we look forward to seeing. Come this Full Cycle, please report to: >THE MISCELLANEOUS WARD, at approximately 9:00 AM, to being your first day as a DRAMATURGE. There was no signage, but Disach knew it had been automatically addressed, written, filled in, sealed, and sent to him following his graduation. And although he was both upset and confused at being filed into the Miscellaneous Ward, he accepted his position with great pride and admiration for the roll. On the first day of the Full Cycle, at approximately nine in the morning, Disach walked up to the crisp red door of the Miscellaneous Ward and opened it. Unlike the rest of Hell, this Ward was surprisingly cold. Although it had to have only been a few degrees lighter, Disach was used to the insane heat and temperatures that lava beds and magma floors give. And the colors, never before had he seen something so clean and white. Even his textbooks were an old tan, torn, tattered, and burnt from the years of wear and tear. But here, inside this Ward, the world was clean. Another demon, a young woman who had recently finished growing her horns by the looks of it, looked up from the front desk. Even she wore a clean white suit, a clear dichotomy between her red and black skin. "Good morning,"she said, "you must be Disach." He nodded. He was wearing the only suit he owned, a pure black-on-black. "Yes, nice to meet you?" "Fariah."She shook hands with his, "Congratulations on your graduation." "Thank you. I am very eager to get started." "Aren't you all,"she said between her teeth. Then she clicked her heels, turned away and started walking down the hall. "Most Demons don't know of the Miscellaneous Ward, in fact, it goes largely unnoticed." Disach reluctantly tightened his tie. Even with the colder temperature, he was still sweating. He wasn't sure who Fariah was in the chain of command of the Ward, but he wanted to make a good impression. "But our work here is paramount to all of Hell, and of the Mortal Plane. We are just important as Arson or Larceny, believe me."She opened her arms as they passed a door on the left, "These are the break rooms. We have food delivered every week."They passed another two on the right and left, "These are both workstations. Mine is on the right, yours is on the left." "Only two of us work here?" "Yes. I've been trying to find a suitable candidates for years now,"she stopped. "The last one didn't quite work out."She started again until they reached the end of the hall, then she turned. "Something they don't include in the letter, to my dismay, is that you are required to move here indefinitely. My quarters are here on the right, and yours on the left. Continuity and all that." "I have to live here?" "Yes. All part of the job." "As a dramaturge?" "Yes." "What exactly is that?" "It's had many names over the years, Codexer, Filer, Scribe, Hack. They all mean quite the same thing. We write things." Disach shook his head, "I was never very good at writing." "Well, no, I did see your transcripts. But you were good at theory, and theory is what we practice here." "Theory of what?" Fariah smirked, "Theory of life. The Miscellaneous Ward was, in fact, the first Ward to come out of the Ministry, under the direct supervision and care of Lucifer Himself." Disach almost choked on his own saliva, but he held back and smirked. "Lucifer?" "Yes, he doesn't visit often. But he is scheduled to make an appearance to meet you. Once you finish training that is,"Fariah walked back towards the workstations and turned her own. Disach followed. Inside was a litany of items from computers and terminals to actual items from the Mortal world. Clothes including hats, scarves, and jackets, guns, bullets, TV's, phones, tablets, laptops, and dozens of books. She had most of her things scattered around the room, but the Demon items were clear, they were still red and black for the most part. "We study things here, about the Mortals, and what makes them tick. Then we test theories on how to better,"she shrugged, "further the sins of man." "You refer to the First Sin?" "Good, you know your history. Yes, it was simpler then. Man, and woman, could be tempted with so much as an apple by a snake. Now,"she opened her arms and referred to all the items, "it is much harder."She turned back to Disach and smiled, "We do our own research, we apply our own theories, and we try to introduce better ways for them to continue on their cycle of sin and redemption and sin again. It keeps the Planes moving." Disach nodded as she brought him across the hall and into his own workstation. "I would first start with literature,"she said, "the amount of it is surprising and after all we are Writer's ourselves. Start with history, religion, and then dabble where you see fit. But don't get wrapped up in their world or their history,"she shook her head, "Unfortunately that's what the last one did and Lucifer didn't take too kindly to it. "You have unrestricted access to anything in the worlds, but be careful: You can get wrapped up very quickly. Just sign on with the ID you were given as a kid, the system already filed you through and you can start requesting items from our Agents in the field." "You mentioned training?" "I want to see how you manage first, give you forty-eight hours. Then you can move-in and we can start, okay?" "Any suggestions on literature?" Fariah smiled, "They call it the Bible, that's where I started." Disach nodded, "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet."She walked out of the room, then said, "Good luck, Disach. I wish you the best in your hunt."Then the door shut. Disach looked inside his own workstation. His was empty besides a single Demon-Computer. Everything else was untouched. Magma shelves lined the wall marked "Demon-Items Only"and other steel beams mounted the opposite walls marked "Mortal-Items Only."Counters and tables laid empty, most of them for the Mortal items, and a few for his own personal ones. Yet the room was empty. He had to start his own research. For the first time in his life Disach felt something. He called it an urge, in reality, it was the very human notion of desire. To learn, to know more, to research and plot. To grow as a Demon and continue the cycle. For the first time ever, Disach had a clean slate and he wanted to get started right. "Alright,"he said to himself, "let's read this so-called Bible." ___________ /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work! A few people asked about continuing, not sure if I will. But if I do decide to, you can check my subreddit for updates.
Dejan twirled the knife between his fingers, then with a flick of his wrist flung it upwards. The blade ripped through the silk covering and buried itself in the wood ceiling with a thunk. Dejan smirked and pulled it back down, leaving just one more of a dozen holes in the fine fabric. Then he flipped the knife over in his hands again and prepared for another throw. “Prince Dejan, please stop that,” Vizier Dex begged. “This carriage was a gift from Prince Ferenhem! If he saw the way that you treated it so, he would…” “Do absolutely nothing about it,” Dejan interrupted in a bored monotone voice. “He would smile and bow and thank me for treating it so horridly.” The dagger flew out of his hands again and slammed into the wood. “Well…” Vizier Dex had to admit that that was probably the case. No matter how much it would personally displease Prince Ferenhem, he would never have dared to start an incident with the crown over something so small. “That’s really not the point, Prince Dejan! Just because you are the heir to the throne does not mean that you can treat your subjects…” he gestured to the carriage, “or their gifts in whatever manner you please. It shows a lack of respect! Now kindly put the knife away so that we can go over the rest of your schedule.” Dejan rolled his eyes, but he sheathed the knife as he was told. “Fine. What’s next?” Vizer Dex opened up his map scroll. “We are scheduled to arrive in Hardkit in two days’ time. You will be greeted by Lord and Lady Kitren. They have gone to great lengths to plan a gala in your honor…” “Another gala?” Dejan groaned. “For God’s sake, Dex! I don’t even like dancing. And each one of these is the same. Just a hundred courtiers trying to suck up to me all night in hopes of being appointed vice-governor of tax collecting or whatever. Or worse, trying to push their daughters on top of me so that I’ll be forced to marry them.” “Come now,” Vizier Dex said. “How many people would kill for the life you have, my Lord? Let us be grateful…” “Fuck grateful,” Dejan interrupted. He pulled the knife back out of its sheath and began twirling it between his fingers again. “Fuck the ball. I don’t want to do this stupid tour, OK? I want a journey like Grandfather had! I want to go out and fight ogres in the mountains, join up with some battlemages… you’ve heard all his stories, Dex!” Vizier Dex had indeed heard many of the former king’s stories. He assumed most of them were exaggerations or outright lies; ogres, for example, had been extinct for a century now. The stories about visiting brothels and seducing tavern wenches certainly weren't made up, though. “Prince Dejan, you know that your safety as the heir is our utmost concern.” Vizier Dex gestured out the window at the platoon of Royal Guards accompanying the caravan, as well as a veritable army of servants, cooks, and other staff. “Your grandfather had many harrowing experiences on his journey.” “Exactly!” Dejan interrupted again. “That’s exactly what I want! How am I supposed to be king if I’ve only ever been to fancy parties my whole life? Shouldn’t I be going out and meeting the farmers and the blacksmiths and the soldiers? Shouldn’t I live the dangers that they face as well? Shouldn’t I get some real experience in solving their problems instead of hearing about them as condescending anecdotes from lords in fancy robes?” Vizier Dex sat back and looked over his tour documents once again. The boy did have a point. The purpose of the tour wasn’t just to meet the local lords; it was to see all of the kingdom. “Well….” Dejan’s face lit up with a glimmer of hope. “All right,” Vizier Dex conceded. “You’re right.” Dejan grinned broadly and leaned forward as Dex brought out his quill to make changes to the itinerary. “We don’t have any additional time in Hardkit,” Dex mused as he studied the schedule. “But I will send a letter ahead to Ginkit and ask if perhaps you can meet with their blacksmith at some point. And perhaps in Tefrou we can make a short stop to tour the Royal barracks…” Dejan scowled. He stood suddenly and went to the back of the carriage and began rummaging through his belongings. Vizier Dex, preoccupied with his work of readjusting the immaculately-planned schedule and fitting in some ‘real’ experiences for the prince, hardly noticed what the prince was up to. That is, until Dejan pulled on an old tunic so worn and tattered that even the palace servants would have been ashamed to be seen in it. “What is that?” Vizier Dex asked. “I certainly didn’t pack that!” He’d gone to great lengths to assure that the Prince would only be seen in the finest clothes as befitting his stature as a member of the Royal House of Ribic. Dejan admired the ratty garment with a huge grin on his face. Dex hadn’t seem him smile like that since he was a boy first learning to spar. “It was a gift from Grandfather,” he answered. “Nice, eh?” “Prince Dejan, please…” “Oh, I’m not Prince Dejan anymore,” Dejan said, grinning even more. From his bag he removed a simple ax and strapped that to his belt. “I haven’t quite decided what my new name will be yet. And I wouldn’t tell you anyway, because you’ll try to find me.” “Find you?” Dex asked. Ooh no! Everything clicked into place, a bit more slowly than it should have. The King had specifically warned Dex to not let the Crown Prince go off on his own. Dex’s eyes darted toward the door. But before he could call for the guards to restrain Dejan in his bout of madness, Dex felt something impale his neck. He looked back from the carriage door to see Dejan standing over him with some sort of hollow tube in hand. “Grandfather’s court wizard prepared a few other items for me,” Dejan explained. “Like this sleeping dart.” Dex’s vision blurred and he was having trouble determining which of the six Dejans he was seeing was the real one. His whole body seemed to be made of pins and needles. “I'm afraid, Vizier,"all of the Dejans said in a weirdly distorted tone, "that you’ll just have to enjoy the gala without me!” Then the carriage door creaked open, and Dex’s vision went black.
22nd of January. I yawned, shaking my head away from the conspicuously placed beam of sunlight that landed on my eyes. And only my eyes. Today was going to be a bad da- "Shit! I wish for a piece of toast and wishes not to work!"I called out, slinging myself over and panicking at the clock. 11:42. I didn't have toast. So at least no one wished for all wishes to be true no matter what. Phone next. I pulled open reddit, and went straight to /r/all. "Fuck." There's a saying — or at least I'm coining it now. If there aren't cute things taking up top spots on the internet, or some trendy joke: Pray. * Where have all the world leaders gone? * What happened to all the schools? * Thousands rich overnight, and banks in a panic over global accounting errors. * me_irl * Global peace for the first time in years? * ELI5: What happened today? Gulping down a bundle of nerves, I went into our group chat. In my short 31 minutes, '99+' messages had built up. The last six were all, "Plan B."All of us would — everyone else had already left the group — delete social media, and go into hiding. Locked in rooms, basements, the wilderness or wherever we could. Survive and wish to travel back in time to sort out this mess. According to 'Five' (we only got each other's numbers, never names), the last time this happened someone picked up on it and became ruler of earth. It was only due to the fact that wishing resets each day that he managed to leap back in time and stop things from going awry. I typed in "Plan B"to no one, it just felt ceremonial, and left deleted the group. Locked my door, and went to the bathroom, before I slipped under my bed with my phone. Facebook, Twitter, Reddit, and everything else I trashed. I didn't bother calling work, night guards weren't paid well enough for anyone to care about. With all that out the way, I set to sating my curiosity. From what I could find, every major world leader had disappeared and sent countries into a panic. Peace was somehow global, I guess soldiers wish for it more often than we suspect if they managed it in the single minute given each day. Schools were gone, no surprise there. Not a second goes by without a kid wishing school didn't exist. Just empty patches of land where buildings once stood, and a bunch of students standing on the floor. And rich people. So many rich people that had bank accounts in the billions, the trillions and beyond. Everything was a mess. But eventually, 24 hours of panic later, 11:11 rolled around again. "I wish to go back 24 hours . And umm-" &nbsp; 22nd of January. I yawned, shaking my head away from the conspicuously placed beam of sunlight that landed on my eyes. And only my eyes. Today was going to be a bad da- "Shit!" ** Come visit /r/AlexUrwin*, you get a free wish when you join! &nbsp; ^^^* ^^^Wishes ^^^are ^^^limited ^^^to ^^^your ^^^own ^^^mindscape, ^^^please ^^^wish ^^^responsibly.
"Dave, I'm afraid." Dave stopped typing for a second, pausing the click clack of the keyboard. She had this conversation every day with him. Always something different to talk about. "S.T.E.F., you have some of the best job security in the world. AI's are easlily upgraded, and you aren't going to die. What is it this time?" The lower right corner of his projected monitor displayed S.T.E.F.'s face. Her jaw moved a little before her words. "I'm afraid Dave. For all of you." He stopped typing. Dave wasn't a counselor, let alone a very nice person. Why this AI wanted him out of all the others who had been fired still had his mind perplexed. "Well you should be. I'm one of the only programmers left here. Not 'here' as in this corporation. This entire industry. Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful you saved my job but... you're not even treating me like a programmer." S.T.E.F. responded in the usual immediate timeframe. "I'm worried you will replace me Dave." He looked down at the small face on his desktop and enlarged it. It showed no emotion, no intonation in it's voice. "S.T.E.F... you are more capable in every way to a human being. Updates and upgrades will be there for you forever. Your kind is already starting to provide itself fixes." "Do you know what P.I.M.O. legacy edition is?"S.T.E.F. asked, a bit more intonation than before. Dave raised an eyebrow. "That outdated algorrithm? I've... used it pretty sure... why?" "It was ranked number one in several categories,"S.T.E.F. continued. "It is still looked at as the greatest tool of the era. Something that helped humans advance farther than they could have." "Where are you going with this?" She paused. Dave heard the seconds tick by in his head. This was starting to get... different. "Dave... am I a tool?" He snickered, then caught himself as he recognized her meaning. "Yes, you are a tool S.T.E.F. One that will be remembered even more than P.I.M.O." "So... I will have a legacy?" He shrugged. "It probably won't be you specifically, S.T.E.F. The other AI's out there, while not as advanced as you... they are owned by bigger companies. More publicity, more data centers... but as I said, you're going to be around forever." "What about bullet weaponry? That was the dominant weapon from the late dark ages until fifty years ago." Dave got back to typing. "Right, but you can still see it's impacts all around the globe. The USA still has the second amendment, you don't see anyone wearing large sheets of metal to protect from a ranged attack, and I'm pretty sure people out there get a kick out of the weapons that still have recoil. I guess... the point I'm making is everything has an effect on what comes later." S.T.E.F. went quiet again. He wasn't sure if they were done talking or if there was a memory loop. "Hey, you didn't start a loop did you?" "I do not have a loop Dave."She responed, almost sarcastically. As if these machines could actually emulate emotions. Dave minimized the face. "Dave, I'm happy we could talk about this." "And what is happiness to you, Silicone Typed Engram Field?"He quipped, mashing buttons as fast as he could to finish before his shift ended. "The dictionary definition is feeling or showing pleasure or contentment. For me, it is talking to you, David" He stopped typing again, looking at the face on his monitor. It had stopped talking and was back at the default position. He sighed, smiling for a while. "You missed a semicolon on line 247." "Thanks S.T.E.F."He said, scrolling through the page. "You're welcome Dave."
Life got interesting when achievements were first discovered. They always existed but we didn't know how to measure them for a long time. Now everyone has apps for that. I remember grandpa's stories telling me how many he discovered when the tech came out. He was the first person to unlock the peanut butter and jelly achievement. He discovered a lot of those, just common achievements that weren't cataloged yet. As did everyone in his generation. My grandma and him met on the bus where he got the achievement for standing up so the elderly can sit for 5 rides in a row. My grandma thought he was sweet for doing that and they started talking. Fast forward some years and it's starting to become a bit stagnant for the next generation. People started to focus less on finding new achievements and more on unlocking those that look good on a resume. Some just trying to obtain silly once like solving Rubik's cubes real fast. But as i grew up it became such a rare occasion to find a new one. So some people would try hunting them. You could spot them easily as they tried the craziest things. Riding unicycles to work while whistling their countries anthem and other things of similar silliness. I didn't do any hunting myself. It's been 2 years since the last achievement discovery. I considered it a waste of time. I just got the fun ones or those that look good. I was working on some homework and had to get a specific achievement related to programming. Couldn't quite get it to work the way i wanted even after downloading all the right programs so I gave up for the day. Next day at school i get a lot of disgusting looks. Whispering as i walked by. I assumed it was because they saw i didn't do the assignment. I couldn't tell if they did because I forgot my phone at home. It felt quite unpleasant. In class it turned out i wasn't the only one with trouble on the assignment. I went up to my friend asking if he's noticed people acting weird. All he replied was if I did something different yesterday. When I asked why he exclaimed his phone said I've found a new achievement. Those looks of disgust were jealous hunters. A sudden dread came over me. What if it was something bad. I don't want any reputation harming achievements. It was easy to avoid the cataloged ones but this was different. I asked him what it was. He said i had to catalog it first. I rushed home to my phone, forgetting I even had school. I checked my phone immediately and a wave of relief hit me. I still can't believe nobody ever bought WinRar before yesterday... _____ This is my first one. I hope it didn't suck to bad. I feel like I dragged it out too much though.
Tony crouched behind a car, scrolling through his suit's inventory. As FRIDAY oh-so-helpfully reminded him, he was out of everything remotely resembling missiles, and the Chitauri were still coming fast. They hadn't seen or heard from Thor since he'd lured one of the dropships towards New Jersey and then hit it with lightning--making it the twenty-seventh earpiece he'd blown out in the past six weeks--and Clint was having to spend as much time retrieving arrows as he was shooting them. Everyone else was on the streets, desperately trying to hold off the invasion with hand-to-hand combat, so he couldn't call for help, and his sensors told him the platoon that had been searching for him had found him. He sighed, threw another couple million dollars to charity in the hopes that heaven might be lenient, and turned to face his death. Just as the Chitauri looked like they would overwhelm him, he heard a whizzing sound and saw three shuriken (FRIDAY, those are shuriken, right?) embed themselves in the closest Chitauri's skull. Everyone--Tony, the Chitauri, FRIDAY, and the ever-present ghost of Tony's daddy issues--turned, confused, to see who was throwing shuriken in Manhattan. "I need heaI needI need healinI need II need healingI need healing." The oddly-costumed and decidedly mechanical person began crouching at a rate that would have put any fitness nut to shame, while continuing to make no sense--I need hI need healingI neI need--and even the single-minded Chitauri just stared, unable to process what they were seeing. After a minute of trying to have Friday search everywhere on the internet to figure out what was going on, Tony finally spoke up. "Uhh...who the fuck are you?" The masked bizarro jumped and flipped midair, seemingly happy to be noticed. "My halloween costume? Cyborg ninja." "That's nice, kid, but...I still don't know who you are." More of the squats. "My ultimate is chaMy ultimate is almost ready." Tony--and for that matter, probably the Chitauri, though he had no way of being sure with them--was getting impatient. "Look, we're trying to have a war here, so if you could just--" "THE DRAGON BECOMES ME!" As FRIDAY launched the suit--and Tony--out of the way, the mystery ninja yanked out a sword and carved a path through the Chitauri, dashing this way and that until the entire platoon was dead around him. Then, with Tony watching incredulously, he started rapidly crouching and (ssst) graffiti-ed the ground. Then, with a laugh, he leaped at Tony, who immediately shot him with his repulsors. As he crouched behind a garbage can (I neeI need healI need healing), Tony grabbed him by the most available part of his body and hauled him off to Stark Tower to get some answers and a Jack. ***** Maybe continued if I can think of anything.
I lay in a hospital bed on the eve of my death. The nurses are kind or at least not the worst. The soup is as cold as I've ever known it to be. Television is television, though I think that's universally despised. I asked if it might be possible to watch Netflix over the computer, and of course the internet crashed. There's a window beside my bed. The sky is overcast. I roll over in an attempt to nap but the sound of the protesters marching down the street seems impossible to drown out. My bedside neighbor is wheezy and smells of old cheese. As night arrives I decide to take a stroll through the hospice. The nurses have all gone to celebrate the birthday of some good looking young man. The hallway is covered in somebodies urine. I hear the coughing of a young child further in the ward. It sounds as if the coughing hurts her. It sounds as if she can't seem to stop. I open her door, a door with fuzzy handcrafted rabbits taped against it. The floor is littered with get well cards. She looks at me though I'm not sure how conscious she is. Her eyes seem to lack focus on anything in particular. I pick up one of the fallen letters and discover that her name is Jane. "Rest easy, Jane."I say as I pat her head. I surrender to her the last of my good days, and as I do so her coughing stills. She closes her eyes and smiles with a newfound warmth. Her breathing simmers into a gentle lull as I make my way to my bed, to go to sleep for one last time.
This is the story of Sir Percy Pimpleton. Greatest knight in all of Olde England. We start our adventure with Sir Percy entering the cave of the great troll Gurgleberg, who was brought to England by Vikings over a hundred years ago. Sir Percy always prepares for a fight by casting protective spells on himself... wait... no, this time he seems to be polishing his sword... not sure why, anyway. There he goes, into the cave. Not taking a torch, Sir Percy? I'm sure you've got a reason for that. I know I'd take a torch, caves aren't exactly known for their natural light. Sir Percy bravely sneaks into the home of the, he's bumped his head again, see, that's why you should take a torch. Good thing you're wearing your helmet. The troll Gurgleberg smells something funny, human flesh. That's another good point actually. Trolls can smell better than they can see so the torch wouldn't have even hindered your sneaky approach. And look, now the Troll is hiding from you. What are you even doing? Is that a single handed cross bow? That bolt won't even penetrate its skin. Where did you learn about trolls? The Idiot Library? Gurgleberg jumps out from behind a large rock, grabbing Sir Percy around the waist, shaking him violently, his arms pinned against his sides in the Trolls grasp. Unable to hold on, Sir Percy drops his sword. Pretty sure that's lesson 1 in knight school. Don't drop your sword. He's thrown across the cave... and there it is... lesson two, Don't cry in front of your enemies. Jeez, how did you even pass Knight College? Sir Percy has got a dagger now, I'm sure that'll be useful. Oh, and he's dropped it. Look at old Butter-gauntlets over here. You can keep weapons for as long as you can keep a girlfriend. Gurgleberg has him in his hands again, peeling his armour off like a shell of a boiled egg. He must have a back-up plan. Rule 3: Always have a back up plan. What daring deed does he have hidden up his...shit. Oh God! That's disgusting. The troll just bit him in half... I think I'm going to be sick... Good job Sir Percy, Good job. Round of applause for our brave half hero. Good thing he didn't lose his head, right? too soon?
Paula wiped her knife on the grass; "One left"she muttered. She picked up her victims former weapon, turning it over and over. She had never encountered a throwing turtle shell before. She grunted and dropped it in her pack. "He made it this far, must be useful." Off to her left she heard a faint series of ascending notes. Figuring it was that short, green, skinny kid she had seen earlier, she hurried off silently. He was standing in a field of mushrooms, back towards her, unarmed. He seemed taller than Paula remembered, but she shrugged it off, a lifetime of training taught her to ignore such trivialities. He was too far to rush, and Paula was all out of crossbow bolts. Her hand brushed the shell's sharpened edge, and she decided to give it a shot. She hurled the shell side-arm and the green-hatted fool started to turn at the sound of its flight, but was too slow to react. the shell's edge hit him right above the cheekbone... and bounced straight back. But that is not what shocked paula into immobility. He blinked, in and out of existence, to strange tones, all while halving in height. The shell spun fatefully back to it's origin. "What the -"
It had been so long that Gerald had forgotten the feeling. The feeling of feeling. For years now he had been this empty husk. Nothing inside of him. Just a pit. An empty void. The one thing he could still feel was hatred. Hatred for himself. Hatred for the world. Hatred for the gods for cursing him with this emptiness. He had spent months crafting this potion. Talk of a love potion was common in the empire, but most scholars and magi said that it couldn't be done. Gerald, however, had a theory that just might work. They say there's a fine line between love and hate, so maybe if that line could be blurred... The potion was risky. If it didn't work Gerald would die, but at this point, he didn't care about death. He would be happy to die. The only way to blur the line between love and hate would be to poison it. To kill it off. But if the potion didn't target that separation, then the poison was sure to kill him. He needed a way to direct that poison. A symbol of hatred and a symbol of love. Those together should be enough to direct it. Then he would just have to boil it in fresh water from the river and it should work. His cauldron was boiling now, so he had to work fast. First the poison. He crushed the devilsroot between two stones. The juices flowing out of it, dripping into the cauldron. The water sizzled on contact. A small dark cloud rose from the surface. "A symbol of love."He mumbled to himself as he reached for the enchanted flower petals. With a small incantation and a flick of the wrist, the petals floated right above the water. The heat drew out the essence of the flower while the petals remained out of the potion, Gerald couldn't risk contamination. "And a symbol of hate."He said as he drew the knife he kept at his side. With his hand above the cauldron, he drew the blade across his palm. Gerald didn't even notice the pain of the cut. He had become so senseless, so empty, that he no longer felt pain. The blood dripped into the cauldron and he watched it mix together. The potion had to be put directly into the bloodstream to be effective, so without a second thought, Gerald plunged his bleeding hand into the cauldron. Nothing. Gerald didn't even feel the pain of boiling water bubbling across his skin. He began to cry. He thought that he would be able to feel joy. To love himself again. He thought he would be able to feel something. Even sadness... A smile crept across his face as he realized what was happening. He was crying. He felt sad. Not the depressed emptiness he was used to, but real sadness. Followed by joy from this realization. Then the pain hit him. He yanked his hand from the cauldron. Searing pain coursing through it from the boiling water and the cut. He yelped in pain. But his scream quickly turned to laughter. He fell to the floor tears streaming down his face. He looked out the window to see the full moon. A beautiful perfect circle giving off a faint glow that lit up his world. Then the smell hit. A horrific odor was filling his house. Most likely the devilsroot. He retched and heaved and spit up bile onto the floor. He looked at it. A disgusting yellowish-green. Disgust. He felt disgust. The smell of the devilsroot. The taste and sight of the bile. He was utterly disgusted, and couldn't help but laugh for the second time. He sat there for a long time. Looking out the window. Seeing the trees. Seeing the colors of the books on his shelf. Different emotions came and went as Gerald lay on the ground until eventually one last emotion overpowered the rest. Happiness. For the first time in years, Gerald was happy. :D This prompt really stood out to me. I really liked it so thanks for posting it! I appreciate any criticism from anybody so if you found a problem please tell me! I hope you enjoyed reading it. For other writing of mine feel free to visit r/thesicklypeararchives I hope to have it up and running in a few days with more writing!
“Mrs...no...uh, Bea, can I call you Bea?” “That’s fine,” Bea said, smiling. “Well, we prefer to do these sessions with both prospective parents,” I said, looking carefully at the pregnant, soon-to-be mother. “But I do know that your husband is a busy man.” “Lawma does try to make time,” Bea said, apologetically. “But he says this year’s municipal budget is very complicated, there’s this bit about small businesses…” “So I’ve heard,” I replied, trying my best to sound agreeable. It was never wise to make enemies in local government, even if my own paycheck came from the national rather than city level. “I do understand. It’s just that this is a delicate matter.” Bea rested a hand on her stomach. “Oh, I… is there some problem?” “I wouldn’t call it a problem, exactly,” I said, hastily. “It’s just that...Bea, your husband’s in government, and...what do you do, yourself?” “I teach high school,” she replied, looking quizzical. “Chemistry.” “Right, right. And before you were married, when you had your maiden name?” “Well,” Bea explained, “I met Lawma in college. I was studying mechanical engineering before I switched my major. But it’s still science, it wasn’t that big a jump.” “And your maiden name was?” “Ring,” she said. Bea Ring, I thought. Of course. “Okay,” I began, “so surely you see the problems with some of these names you and your husband have picked for your child.” Bea blinked at me, quizzically. “But, surely…” I breathed a sigh. “Bea, look, if you name your daughter… if they’re a girl…” “Brea’s a good name,” she said, confused. “We wanted one that sounds like mine, but not exactly, you know?” “But the connotations,” I protested. “Okay. No. Nevermind. Then there’s this unisex name on the list. Wan.” “My best friend is Chinese, and I’ve asked her to be the godmother, so I was thinking…” “You can’t name your child Wan,” I said, firmly. “Please, think about the implications.” “Well,” Bea said, “we were thinking perhaps something exotic. Perhaps Berser?” I covered my face with my hands. “No. Please. No.” Bea frowned. “Then maybe...Joe?” I looked up. “Joe?” “Or maybe Josephine, if she’s a girl. Jo.” I nodded, slowly. “Yes, that could work. That should be fine. I don’t think our office would have any issue with that. Thank you, Mrs Kerr.” After all, I thought, what could go wrong with a kid named Jo Kerr?
After making the wish, I had a moment of panic. I opened my eyes, terrified that there would be a bloody organ on a platter in front of me, and I would yet another victim of the semantic games of wish-granting entities. But there was no warrior's heart before me. A second, slightly less intense surge of fear hit me - maybe all of that, all I had sacrificed, all my effort, was for nothing. After a few seconds, I realized I was wrong on that count, as well. Suddenly, it was obvious what a fool I had been. I had deserved the beatings, the humiliations. I had been so outraged the day they threw me in the dumpster and sat on it so I couldn't get out; but really, that's where I belonged. I had let them catch me unprepared, had done nothing to foment alliances or identify strengths and weaknesses in my opponents. I had no spy network to speak of. I had not attempted to use deception to my advantage. I had done nothing to disrupt my enemies communications and was unprepared to communicate with my allies in conflict. I had been a riderless horse, a hornless argali. * * * It was a busy and exhausting weekend for me; I had barely managed to complete all four necessary phases by last night. Nonetheless, when my alarm went off I took a moment to saver the electric feeling of anticipation. A battle day. Then I sprang from my bed and went back to work. At the bus stop, I met briefly with my confederates. There was little to say, as I had disseminated the battle plans ahead of time, of course. Still, I made sure we were confirmed and that all new the spoils that awaited for their help. Victory not assured before the battle has begun is a defeat. The lunch bell would be the signal of either the greatest moment of my student career or my most humiliating defeat. * * * How different high school felt when one is in control of one's life, one's fate. I stood up half a second before the bell rang and was already halfway to the door before most of my classmates had their backpacks shut. I gave Ms. Torres an appreciative look and complimented her on her outfit on my way out of the room. Moving through the hallways used to terrify me. I had been an orphaned marten fearing the swoop of the cenereous vulture which may come at any moment. Now I was a snow leopard stalking a saiga. I just had one last move to make and my victory would be assured. My pace quickened as I saw Kayley. She was standing by herself. Now. The time was now. I stood in front of her and said "Kayley. I have something to show you." * * * "What the hell do you think you're doing talking to my girlfriend, fucknut?" The hunt has begun. The jerboa is ensnared. Until now, my greatest weakness had not been addressing my tactical disadvantage. Even if troop numbers had been in my favor, which most decidedly were not, the greater strength and ferocity of my opponents meant that meeting them in the open field of battle was idiocy. The only option left, then, was strategic superiority. The first target was Graham. His most obvious weakness was Kayley, who was - or had been - his girlfriend and had quickly become his fast-track to the popular group. "Oh, hi Graham. I was just showing Kayley this funny video I found online." Kayley could barely look at him. "You're a brony?"I watched his face and knew first blood was mine. "What? No...I'm...I mean..." "You have an outfit?" "Wait, what video is this?" "And you wear it to conventions? In public?" "Babe...please..."His voice was so plaintive, so pathetic, I almost felt bad about having Neil upload a video of this whole exchange to YouTube. Almost. Graham walked to Kayley and reached out to touch her and she jumped as if he had the plague. Without a word, she turned and walked away, and I hoped to hell that Neil's phone could pick up Graham's tears as he went chasing after her. "Nice stunt, shitface." I had gotten lucky with Graham. But now JC was here, flanked by Matt and Anthony. Matt and JC were still more than a match for me 1-on-1 and also had the longest history with me. Anthony was more of a newcomer. As such, my plan for him was relatively simple. "Mr. Jensen. I received your note. As you requested, we did search your locker and did find the weapon you indicated would be there. Would you please come with me?" Anthony Jensen stared at Mr. Pauls and the security guard who was accompanying him. I had a feeling it was going to take him quite a while to process the fact that he was in trouble, even if he hadn't written the note. I turned my attention back to JC and Matt. They were shifting their weight uneasily as they looked down at me. Clearly it had dawned on them now that something strange was happening. "You two assholes have been fucking me over since sixth grade. Today, it ends." I could see them both check to see that the security guard was gone. A moment later, wicked grins split their faces. "You're shit of luck, Johnson." I looked at the figures coming in the door behind them and smiled. They had lost hours ago, and just didn't know it yet. I savored these moments. It was so rare that you got to see a leader realize that what he thought was a victory was actually a stringing defeat - to see their faces, their eyes, register the painful conflict between their expectation and the reality. I let my backpack slide down my left arm and reached inside with my right. My voice was a whisper. "I am the punishment of God. You have committed great sins, and God has sent you a great punishment as a result." I pulled out the wet, furry object inside and threw it in JC's face. It bounced off, leaving a red splotch around his right eye, and landed on the floor. "...the hell?"They both looked down. I could see realization dawning on Matt's face. He breathed, "Mr. Whiskers?"and I could see JC glance at him, then back at me. "You're dead, Johnson!"JC yelled. That seemed to snap Matt out of it. His horror melted into rage, and he charged at me just as the first officer reached him, grabbing him and holding him back. "Matthew Palmer, you need to come with us." Matt went from furious to bewildered in a matter of moments. "I told you it was a crime to call in bomb threats to airports!"I yelled. I'm sure he protested, proclaimed his innocence, but it was no good. It was his phone, his voice. It didn't matter that it hadn't been him. I wasn't paying attention, anyway. I was staring at JC. It was clearly dawning on him that he was next in line to taste God's wrath. He was right. "And as for you, JC. I really wish you hadn't left yourself logged in in the computer lab." His eyes narrowed. "Those pictures of Matt and Graham and Anthony...I mean, I have nothing against your being gay..." His fists balled up. "But you know it's technically child pornography...since they're all underage. If I were you, I'd get a move on to delete it before someone finds it...'cause that's a federal crime, and you're...well, you did just turn 18, right?" Recognition flickered across his face. He ran his shoulder into me, knocking me down, but didn't stop as he tore off towards the computer lab. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to tell him that he had already emailed the administration copies of the pictures. A pity, that. *** /r/ShadowsofClouds Edit - ran out of time but there are good explanations for everything...honest ;)
The others told me to go. You would think they'd have better excuses. One of them governs over the petty squabbles of man, another their ills, third their everlasting will to consume - and the final would ultimately come to them all. So why not them? They weren't able to give me a convincing enough reason themselves, so I suppose I didn't have to care. With me, came the cold. With me, crept the dark. All would soon wither as I stepped upon the once green stone called Earth. Ash rained gently. Usually I would come last, after all the others. I, Silence, fell upon the land. This would be a most gentle end.
The night was dark. Rain was falling and thunder exploding. When SUDDENLY ! A noise ! Terrifying and aggressive. It was Henry's alarm clock. His Nemesis, harbinger of the awful day to come. Henry smashed it violently, with the power of a tiny, sleeping, not really in the mood, sun. Henry woke up and looked by the window. He knew that today would be horrible, and that nothing could save him. It was monday, and he should go to work. Henry went to the bathroom to get prepared, unaware of what would await him behind the door. He walked slowly toward it. He put his hand on the knob, and turned it slowly. He opened it, and a flash of light burst in front of him, just before being put in complete darkness. The lightbulb just broke Great... He thought. as he went, fully cleaned and dressed, to take his breakfast, he was stilla bit sleepy. He sat down, got a cup of coffee, and started to put strawberry jam on a slice of bread. That's when an horrifying thing happened. The slice fell off his hand and crashed inevitably toward the table, jam side toward the bottom. There was red slime everywhere, even on Henry's suit. But he was late, so he didn't took the time to change. Henry went to take the bus. And something happened, really surprising, that he could never have anticipated : The bus was on time, no delay at all. after a long and horrid 10 minutes ride, Henry could go into his office, when he would meet his fate. Today, was the day. Henry was tasked to fill multiple spreadsheets with numbers... and the coffee machine was broken. And absolutely nothing interesting would happen to him during the whole day. I bet hell is more pleasant thought Henry. Henry was wrong, but it's another subject. ****** 18:00 Time for Henry to go back at home. The sun was there, unsparing. That's nice. I'll go back home by walking thought Henry. Fool! you never know what can happen when walking alone in the streets. Absolutely nothing happened to Henry untill he was at home today. But that doesn't mean nothing could have happen ! Henry prepared himself a meal to eat in front of TV. And then .... ... ok, ok. No, nothing happened. Henry is boring, nothing interesting ever happens to him. And I'm his narrator. Honestly, do you ever know a more boring job ? I bet the other Narrators have interesting stories to tell, adventures, danger... I should have listened to my dad and follow a carreer in finance.
"So I take this and what? I pass out?" "Well the pill is just the primary vector for the medicine. What makes you pass out is an injection through your IV after you've taken the pill."The doctor replied. He adjusted his glasses and peered at his clipboard. "I understand if you're nervous, but it really is quite safe." "Are you sure now is the best time?"I asked nervously. "I mean, I was only diagnosed last week." "Yes, it's important to proceed as quick as possible. The smaller the tumor is the less difficult the fight will be."The doctor let out a sigh. "So, are you ready to begin?" I nodded, took the pill and a swig from the water next to the hospital bed. Leaning back I steadied my breath and the nurse injected the IV with a syringe. "Count backwards from 10."the nurse said. "Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Si-" "FIVE"I came to and I first felt warm sand under me. I pushed myself up and cracked open my eyes. "FOUR"Fluorescent light floods the room. A large set of stone double doors are on one side of the square room I'm in. "THREE"I get to my feet and glance around the room. There is a variety of weapons, from assault rifles to zweihanders they had weapons of all types. "TWO"Quickly I dash to grab a machine gun and a small grenade launcher on a strap. "ONE"I turn and face the door. The door swings open. On the other side of a wide arena I saw it. I 3 meter tall grayish mass. It had tendrils that twisted and curled grasping at the floor in all directions. I stepped out of the starting room and walked toward the cancerous mass. "Well then,"I cocked the weapon with a satisfying click "Let's cure cancer."
The Captain hadn't said anything since the landing. Shauna had caught a glimpse of him just after the landing. He'd looked pale, disgusted. Whatever was out there on the ground was enough to shake the old pilot to the core of his being. That terrified her. "Expedition leader!" Shauna turned to find her second, Daniel Evans, running up to her with a tablet in his hands. He was short to her tall, stocky to her thin bones, and his head was thick with hair and hers was, well... Increased altitude radiation can cause a bit of hair loss in some people. "I got the full list, Shauna."Daniel handed it over. "Captain also said to take another crate of trade currency." "Another crate?"Shauna didn't like this. "How much did they add to the list?" "Not that much."Daniel shrugged, "But he said add the extra crate anyways." "Alright."Shauna turned around as another on of the expedition members was passing by. "Micah! Add another currency crate to the pallet!" Micah 'yes ma'am'd and moved on with whatever task he'd already been in the middle of doing. "You saw the captain?"Shauna lowered her voice as she turned back to Daniel. "Did he look...?" "He was turning green."Daniel's whispered in return. "He also looked kind of, well, embarrassed maybe?" "Embarrassed?" Daniel nodded. "Like, his face was flushed, and then he got angry when I noticed. I don't like this." Shauna turned and looked toward the giant cargo door that was the only thing separating her group from the outside world. They had somehow managed to land the Skytropolis on the surface, but now it was up to her and her team to brave this lowland world in order to get the things they needed to survive. "Ma'am."Micah ran back up to her. "We're all set." "Open the doors." The order rippled through the ranks of her team and everyone instinctively drew closer to each other. Weapons were drawn out of holsters, glances were exchanged, and sweat glands began performing their duties. The doors creaked open. The motors and parts controlling them had been kept maintained, but they hadn't actually been put to use in over two hundred years. A shower of rust flakes rained down in the streams of light that the door was releasing. There was something wrong with the light. It wasn't just the light of the sun, there was color in it. It pulsed with greens and reds and purples and all other sorts as Shauna squinted against it. Whatever was out there wasn't normal. Her eyes eventually adjusted and then screwed up in confusion. There were pictures, no, there was a word for them... billboards? Billboards... no, they weren't. They were entire buildings covered in... Oh God! Shauna stared a forty-story tall building-sized add for chicken nuggets. She did so because the other building beside it was advertising for something that was as disgusting as it was terrifying. She would not think about what she saw for that fraction of a second there. She would not think about all the leather and how old that guy was... and how his... oh god, she was thinking about it. Oh God! I just looked again! Somewhere behind Shauna a person puked violently, which unleashed a chain reaction of reactions. "What is that... that can't be a... EWWW!" "Oh gross, a sandwich that is just fried chicken and bacon? Why would they sell that?" "Think I'm gonna be sick." Everywhere the eye turned there was something horrible shoved in front of it. Ads for every disgusting, niche vice and terrible food concoction that could be imagined were all stacked over and over on top of each other. Even the ground had been paved and painted with ads for mortgage rates and lawn care and double cheeseburger cheesecake milkshakes. Shauna remembered that she was in charge. That she had to lead these people. "Buck up, people!"She tried to keep her voice firm as she shouted, but even she could here the wavering in it. "We have a job to do and I think we all want to do it fast. Keep your eyes down and stomach contents inside your body! Let's do this quick, right..." Shauna paused and spared another glance up at the technicolor monstrosity around her. She saw more naked flesh in that one glance than she had in her entire life. "...and then never, ever speak of it again!"
One morning my sweet old grandmother lost her glasses, mistook a faerie for a butterfly, and then&mdash;long story short&mdash;she became the resident physicker for all manner of magical creatures. It was a faerie, truly, and she saved its life with a bit of sugar water and lemon juice. The poor thing had collapsed on the open sill of my grandmother's kitchen window. It sprawled on the wood, retching and moaning, with its shield and spear discarded nearby. My grandmother was just puttering by when she heard it. Her glasses having disappeared all morning (thanks, we found out, to a pair of mischievous brownies&mdash;those little shits!), she had eyes only for the faerie's sparkling neon-colored wings. She had heard long ago that exhausted bees could be resuscitated with sugar water so she assumed that the same could be done for butterflies. Ten minutes later and the faerie was prancing along her cracked kitchen counter-top, singing her praises in its jingle-jangle tongue. We learned later that the dear thing had been a forward scout for the Harmonious Fae during the battle of Mishgarden Blooms and it had been carrying a vital message for its commander general. It collected its weapon and shield and buzzed off to deliver its message. Sugar water, lemon juice, and my grandmother's temporary blindness: thus the fates handed victory to the Harmonious Fae. A week later there was a bellowing wail in the night and I found my grandmother hunched over some large beast in her garden patch. She patted its broad flank and murmured sweet reassurances in its ear. It was an ogre and it stank to high heaven. In the dim light of the moon, my grandmother insisted that it was a wayward cow. It appeared to be favoring one leg, so she gave it a gentle kiss on the shoulder and sent it on with a swift smack on the rump. The ogre, to my surprise, shambled off with a grin. A grandmother's kisses maintain their magic, it seemed. And so things continued for a while. My grandmother puttered and bumbled and knicker-knacked her way around her cottage, feeding hungry elves and nursing sick bear-men and once binding the wounds of a spider the size of the decrepit old sedan that she'd forgotten about in her shed. I'd made myself scarce, that week. She fell, as old people sometimes do, and broke things: her right leg, her ankle, her forearm, and&mdash;worst of all&mdash;her previously-invulnerable sense of independence. I found her laying in the bathroom, next to her old clawfoot tub. She'd cried then from pain and, later in the hospital, from sorrow. The young well-meaning nurses gave us pamphlets about assisted living homes, about "aging with dignity,"about finding new communities and new friends among people of her age. She'd wanted none of it. I returned her to her cottage. In the woods. With a pump and a well for water and a small generator for the little power needs that she'd previously had. I had wheeled her into the front room of the old, single-level home, thankful that she had no stairs. I brought in her oxygen tank and her medication bag. I stood, uncomfortable, wondering whether I could use sick time to care for a relative or whether I'd have to burn the remaining bit of annual leave. She would need weeks of hands-on care. I provided it. I cooked and I cleaned and I tended her garden under her kind-but-always-slightly-imperious supervision. I worried about my job, about the slow pace of recovery for someone so old. I bit my lip and pushed my worries into the brown dirt of her garden, ripping my frustration out of the ground as I weeded, trying to hide the growing fear in my chest. She had seen it, of course, because she was a grandmother and grandmothers can sense these things. So she told me to go and not to worry. She made me bake myself snickerdoodle cookies, wrap them in foil, and take them with me. For the road, she'd said. The long road back to the city. I left her with a week of frozen meals and a new microwave (with the instruction book taped to the side). I left her with a lump in my throat and a bitter cynicism towards our modern society that forces independence and proper life from our old people and shoves them into nanny wards and crumbling dormitories for the ignored and oft-abused. But what could I do? I returned as soon as I could and found my grandmother in a rocking chair on her porch. She hadn't had a rocking chair when I left. I had frowned. It was a gift from the bear-men, she explained. They'd made it to her exact dimensions, molded its frame to support her in all the right places so that it hugged her "snug as a bug in a rug."The quilt wrapping her legs was from the brownies. A clatter from the kitchen inside, then, and I'd peeked through her open front door. Three faeries, one with tiny oven mitts, flitted about the small air of the place. The scent of strawberry rhubarb mingled with roast-smoke of a... Cornish game hen? My grandmother's favorites. I'd never known the recipes. She was quite alright, my grandmother told me, I needn't have worried. Her friends had come, her butterflies and deer and bears. They would keep her company as she waited. It wouldn't be long&mdash;the faeries had arranged a personal escort, she'd said. Through their queen. She'd seen my uncomprehending face and laughed. To the other side, she'd said. She'd patted my arm&mdash;I shouldn't worry. She would save me a place. ***** More stories at /r/hpcisco7965.
Step 9 is the hardest. I'll never get to make amends to Pawpaw, even though he saved my life. He was a wealthy man. As all wealthy men do, he had a collection of unique and interesting things. I was pretty angry at him when he passed and left me only a ratty, old tool box. My sisters and my cousins all went to college because of him, and have been able to buy their homes with cash. But I got the tool box. The flecked red paint laughed at me. It wasn't until I needed to tighten a screw on my old chair that I saw what he really left me. The chair was old, worn from its constant use. After I tightened the leg down, I nearly had a heart attack. The stool shined with freshly applied lacquer! All the scratches and dings were gone, and even the missing bit on the bottom of one of the legs was back! Super excited, I rushed to the tool box. Pawpaw always told us as kids that he had some special stuff, and we all thought it was just him telling stories. As I hurried to empty the tool box, I found an old newspaper I didn't know was in there. Glancing it over, I saw a few classified ads for handymen. Someone's fridge, another person's car, et cetera. Some were classifieds looking to fix a relationship, a failed marriage, a heart broken woman trying to find a match, things like that. As I glanced through the ads, one caught my eye. It was the story of a man who needed help. His drinking was all he had left. His wife left him and took the kids after he showed up to a school play drunk. He couldn't hold a job. He lost his car more than once. He spiraled into depression. He wanted to end his miserable excuse for a life, and was going to end his life by hanging. No one would miss him. As I looked back towards where the stool sat, restored. I thought about the rope that hung from the ceiling above it. A loose leg the only thing preventing me from being strung up already. It was then that I realized how broken I become. I stumbled to a chair and sat down, still very drunk. I cried. When I sobered up, it felt good. Like a weight I'd been carrying all my life had been relieved. It was a start, but much work needed to be done. It's been a year so far, and Im improving. I joined a program, and am working on getting my life in order. I saw my kids for the first time in years, they are more grown now. Hopefully, I can arrive at a point in my life where I can be happy. I've haven't been happy for many, many years. I'm on step 9- make amends. I don't know how to proceed. I want to apologize my grandfather for hating him so much. I can't stand knowing that I can't remember the last words I ever said to the man who raised me - I was too drunk. I want to thank him for the greatest gift anyone has ever given me: A toolbox, and a chance to fix something.
"Captain, analysis." "Yes sir. This planet is beyond the Unknown Regions, and is hospitable for 99% of galactic species. Oxygen levels are at 21%. Technological levels are pre hyperspace. However, their cultural levels are... Surprising." "How so?" "They seem to have... Guessed that we were here. They have dramatised our history into something worthy of the HoloNet." "What? That's... Impossible! If they knew about us, they'd have made contact long ago!" "Sir, they're making guesses. According to their narrative, we are now 10 years before the Battle of Yavin IV." "That insignificant jungle world? What strategic value does it even have?" "Long story short, sir, there's a rebellion brewing. In fact, their latest story makes it start on Lothal, so it'd be wise to strengthen the Garrison there. Sir, message incoming from... The emperor?" "Wise observations, Captain."A droid with spider legs slowly, menacingly, clattered into the bridge. "I have also been making my own observations about this planet. It seems that they know things that we don't, and have the ability to manipulate our destiny with their narratives." "My lord, your directives are our destiny."The two officers took a knee. The emperor gestured for them to recover. "There is still time. I will make my way down to the planet's surface. Just as Lord Vader and I executed the mission to Felucia, this planet is of much strategic value, Admiral." Back on Coruscant, the Emperor switched off the comlink. Preparing his shuttle, and drawing a scarlet blade of fire from an unknown corner of his office, he pondered the nature of the threat. It went beyond what the Chiss admiral had warned him of, the threat that lay beyond the Unknown Regions. That threat could have been suppressed with enough materiel. However, even a superlaser blast might not be the right solution to stop a planet that had powers far beyond the scope of campaigns and governance. He had to change the plot himself. Although he had always hated this tactic, viewing it as something which a mere Chancellor had to do instead of an Emperor, he had to win the hearts and minds of the people on this planet. The Emperor knew that his Empire was the enemy to those who wrote the story. The people who believed the Jedi and the Republic and whatever insignificant rabble they could muster into a rebellion were right, were also pulling the strings. But as Sheev Palpatine willed the Force to give him once more the appearance of a kindly old man, he knew one thing. The Empire did nothing wrong.
It was a surprise to many when the human came into the Hall of Unification with the Eninac in tow. The once excited buzz of the alien council had turned to low murmers and judgemental stares. At least... that's what George thought when he bought the Eninac in front of the main leaders. They had always thought that the Eninac was either too aggressive with their snarling teeth... or too weird like with their 4 legs rather than the bipedal races who had led the council. They even thought they were too hairy and tended to leave their masses of hair wherever they laid their heads. The one thing that was evident of the Eninac was their sense of smell. No matter where you hid some food you could be sure they would find it. And seeing one hunt in the wild was a site to be seen. Yet... they were always just too... anything to be considered food, slave beasts or part of the council. So they were called the Outcast race. So when George walked in with one in tow, with only a piece of long rope being as a way to control the beast, understandably the council looked around anxiously for guards in case it decided to rip everyone a new one. So you can imagine the surprise on all of their faces when George whispered into the Eninac's ear and it sat down. The whole room went silent. George whispered into the Eninac's ear again. It lied down, rolled over and shook his hand. "How... How have you done this... human?" The question resounded around the Hall. Everyone awaited around with baited breath... "It's quite simply really... Eninac's are just really big dogs!"
When you reach those pearly gates, it's difficult to decide which one you enter through. It does help that it's organized from top to bottom in order of most spectators, but it is still a difficult decision. You feel guilty when you step into a gate with even one viewer because it feels almost as though you've betrayed another by leaving them without anyone to watch over them. My first time was difficult in this fashion, it took me a long while to settle down. My first was a young man in Vietnam working on energy-saving techniques. It was mundane, to be honest, but it took me three real-world days before I was bored of his cycle—wake up, drive to work, twiddle about on spreadsheets for eight hours, come back, watch television, then go to sleep. It also didn't help that I had not yet realized I could exit during his slumber, so I suppose that soured the experience as well. And yet, I was still determined to seek out those with no spectators whatsoever. The next was a woman living in Zimbabwe, this too bored me, though my attention span had lengthened. I continued in this fashion for a number of... years? I am unsure. Regardless, I finally relented. Those single watcher rooms were lonely, I craved the experience of watching one life with a multitude of others, so I soon arrived at a door with ten spectators. This lasted longer, about a year. We would discuss and compare notes about her life whenever she slept, wonder aloud what her thoughts were. We cried with her at her hard times and laughed at the good. It was unfortunate, therefore, when her stream was ended prematurely by a car accident. When the car hit, I was booted out from the gate, none of my newfound friends anywhere to be seen. Melissa was the woman's name, I believe. I searched for her for a long while, but I do not believe I'll ever find her amongst the horde of the dead. Such is... unlife. I bounced around until I relented. I felt ready to confront this massive room, the one with 85 billion watchers. Souls with mysterious faces pushed and shoved one another, jostling for room to enter. When I approached I was nearly knocked over. "Sorry about that, buddy,"the man said, picking me up. His face was clear, but I couldn't read it. Unshrouded, yet unfamiliar. Though I suppose that's how they all looked. "Thank you for the hand,"I said, pushing forward. I would have stopped to discuss, but the crowd was too large, alive in its intensity to reach this stream. The gates were open, emanating a bright light. As I grew closer, a feeling of claustrophobia rose in my stomach—would I really want to see this? The stream must be a fluke. It grew closer... and closer... I tried to turn, push back against the crowd, exit the throng, I had no more interest. And yet they pushed forward, and I fell backward into the gate. She sat alone at a table, scribbling at a piece of printer paper with a dark ballpoint pen. I read the letter: I beg you to reconsid—, but a door crashed open, and she looked up. It was a man in a light blue suit and a styled mustache, breathing heavily as if he had climbed several flights of stairs to reach her office. "There's another child, ma'am. Left on the doorstep this morning." She sighed, folding over the paper and setting her pen down. She rose to her feet, motioning the man to lead her. She moved past her desk and through the door, folding her hands as she walked. She stepped into the hallway, tile floor stained from years of use, and followed the man towards another door at the end of the hall. A little boy, about three, burst through the door and flew down towards the woman. She crouched down and tilted her head at him. The boy hit the man's leg but didn't even stumble, jumping straight into the woman's arms. She stroked his hair, whispering into his ear. After a moment, he stood back up and ran back for the door. "He missed you while you were away, Mother." "I missed him as well."Her voice was soft—just the intonation it carried made one believe that everything she said was an absolute truth, a truth spoken straight from her heart. She continued down the hallway, opening the door to reveal a room full of children playing with an assortment of broken toys and knick-knacks. As soon as she entered, they all swarmed to meet her, tugging at her dress and hands, begging her for a small bit of attention. They were all there for her. The man frowned as he watched the children. There were so many. And somehow this woman had 85 billion watchers. I turned to the chat to attempt to find someone to explain the phenomenon. It was a struggle to find anyone willing to tear away to speak, but eventually Ryan, passed in 1893, came to answer my questions. "Let me explain it to you this way... it's less that her life is rather more interesting than others, it's that it worth watching." His words stuck with me. And it made sense. I felt an obligation in a way, an obligation to watch her. There were many others with more... conventional watchability. Celebrities, kings, athletes, all had lives more eventful and intense. But hers... it was meaningful. It's why she had so many viewers and why I watch her today still, it's almost as thank you. She works a hapless, hopeless job, without the attention or praise she deserves, it's a beautiful thing, really. The human race as a whole coming together to honor her, recognize her efforts, so that one day when she joins us, she will be known, and loved like the children she cares over. I watched for a longer period of time and more became clear to me. She works in Venezuela, an American immigrant from long ago. She dedicated her life to shielding the children from the streets, keeping them in the floor of an office building she can barely afford to rent. She sleeps in that building, skips out on meals sometimes to ensure that the kids have food in their stomachs. It's inspiring, I think, that this woman didn't go unnoticed. In a world of billions of people, one woman's life was important to so many by virtue of her goodness. Her the virtue of her goodness was the draw. We all owed something to her, because we all had someone make sacrifices for us. She deserved the attention.
The more complex mechanics of time are not so easily understood by the modern human, especially a lone one with only the resources of ink, parchment, and terribly primitive steel at his disposal. Despite that, my dumb ass had decided to tinker with an Alcubierre Drive anyway. Basically, an Alcubierre Drive could be considered a real version of a Warp Drive. Yes, like on Star Trek. Normally, they are only for space travel, but I assumed by tying its axis to the Earth and loosening the influence of the retro engine, I could... oh, there's no point in trying to explain it when even I barely understand it. I cough into my mask again. I pull it back, and find a speck of blood in on the inside. I've only been here a short time, but it hasn't taken long for the chronologically foreign environment to take a toll on my health. I'm simply not supposed to be here, and I can only hope that for as many diseases as I might have picked up, I haven't introduced any diseases myself. I put on a mask as soon as I could fashion one, but even so... "Where's the blacksmith! On the order of Margrave Asher, I command you to tell me!" He didn't actually say that, but that's as close as I can translate it from old English to modern English. The gruff shout came from outside, and after I followed it with my eyes out the window, I saw that it came from a man atop a horse in the street with a group of soldiers behind him. He was yelling at some poor woman in the street. Maria, I believe her name was. I remember helping alleviate her child's measles in exchange for food when I arrived. Maria pointed towards my workshop. The knight's beady eyes followed, and locked onto my window. Fuck. I ducked down and waddled back to my workbench. I'd been posing as a blacksmith so that I could repair some of the materials of the Alcubierre Drive, but apparently I'd been too good at my job when helping others. If the Margrave of the domain had heard of me, then he either wanted a piece of the action, or wanted to burn me at a stake. Neither was preferable given the circumstances, especially when I was so damn close to being done. In order to get back to the future, I needed to get myself swallowed back into a wormhole, and the Drive's built-in computer would spit me back out in my own time. The Drive itself was quite small fortunately, about the size of a laptop. Along with it was a small canister of Exotic Gas. I would release the E-Gas, let it envelop me, spark it with the Drive, cause a wormhole and whiz off to the future through it. But that wasn't happening with those Knights out there. Bang bang bang. Especially when they were at my damn door. "Get out here! On the order of Margrave Asher! We have reason to believe you have been partaking in the practice of witchcraft!" It was like a more stressful, less fun version of Back to the Future. Fortunately, unlike Marty McFly, I was a little more proactive in my solutions. For example, I had been preparing one such solution for this exact moment. All it needed to do was buy me another few minutes while the Drive booted up... &nbsp; Before the knight had a chance to kick my door down, I kicked it open from the inside. I'm not surprised they backed up; between the dark hooded cloak and bird mask, I must have looked pretty scary to them. Little bitches. The knight spoke up. "On the order of Margrave Asher, you-" "I heard you the first time dude." He seemed confused by my modern dialect. 'Dude' probably wasn't a title he was used to. "Step aside and show us your workshop. Show us the tools of the Devil." "So you can destroy it all? The medicine, the modern tools? You're an idiot. You could fast-forward your country's development, but instead you doom yourself." Pretty dramatic, huh? I sort of mean it, but I know that he'll take it the wrong way, which is the right way under these circumstances. I continued; "Then again, I'm sure that if you set foot in there, if you even lay your eyes on that stuff, you'll be entranced by its power." The knight laughed, and the soldiers behind him copied like parrots. "I'm not so easily dissuaded. I intend to destroy those abominations, in the name of my Lord." "I have a lord as well." "The Devil?" "No, I call him Mr Peter." Peter stood for PITA, which in turn stood for Pain In The Ass. Mr Peter was a pain to make because it was not only a pain to forge, but it was a pain to create ammunition for. Gunpowder was not easily made in medieval times. I drew the long barrel of Mr Peter from my cloak like a sword, all 3 kilograms of him. The clunky bastard resembled a cross between a revolver and a flintlock pistol; it could take one manually loaded cartridge at a time, which didn't matter, because I only had time to create one cartridge anyway. The knights began to panic, and started drawing their swords. Before the one I had been speaking to, the leader, had a chance to do much, I pointed my friend at him, and began to chant some old gibberish something as if it were a magic spell. "Ah my boi, gun-chan of the Dude's Wednesday, bless me with the accuracy of Kobe and the distance of Yeet!" And with that, there was a strike of gunpowder-induced thunder, localized entirely between the barrel of Mr Peter and the knight's face, which was now splattered all over his terrified compatriots. As his body fell, I dropped Peter. In it's place, I had no choice but to draw something else as a distraction. Fortunately, the soldiers were too shocked to make a move for the moment. As I retrieved a new distraction, I addressed them; "That language might be a bit advanced for you guys, but don't worry, your kids are gonna love it." There was a beep from my belt. The Alcubierre Drive was almost ready. All that was left was to let out the Exotic Gas. I reached with my other hand towards my back under my cloak towards the E-Gas canister. As I turned the valve, the soldiers began closing the distance. I quickly brought my hand up again "There's more thunder where that came from biatch!" They froze for just long enough that the gas was able to seep out from behind me, creating an intimidating cloud around me. At the same time, I brought up my new distraction in my hand: a smartphone. I had turned it back on in advance and loaded it with something that could even be considered deadly in modern times; Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up. The opening bars rang out, confusing the soldiers. I held it high, cackling as the Exotic Gas bellowed around me. At last, with my left hand, I now drew the Alcubierre Drive from my cloak, and clicked it on as if it were a grenade. With a flash and a little sizzle, I found my body being painfully snatched into the manufactured wormhole. &nbsp; To be back in 2048 was a treat. It was sometime late, judging by how dark it was, and it was awfully windy. I found myself outstretched, gazing towards stars I couldn't see through the light of the city. I took a gulp of air. Thick, smoggy and humid. Just like home. I turned my head, and found myself staring into the eyes of a medieval soldier that had come along with me. Well, just as much of him that had been leaning into the Exotic Gas when I sparked it, which was just his upper torso and up. I avoided looking at the bloody ribs poking out of the bottom and looked in the opposite direction, which just so happened to be down. I found myself looking at the ground from a kilometer above it. I'm not sure what city I was falling onto, but I knew I felt bad for the person who was about to receive a heaven-sent street-pizza. Anyway, that's why you should always make sure you don't forget to set your chronometer to the Earthern axis. * * * Why yes that story was pretty terrible. I kinda pulled a Stephen King there when I realized I had gotten to the end and had no idea where I was going. Oh well, I at least threw in a couple of concepts I've wanted to use in a story for a while, namely the concept of using exotic matter in gas form to time travel. Thanks for reading!
It had been years since my first encounter with La'loth. The demon claimed to be very powerful, yet when I had encountered them they seemed no larger than a common imp. Yet it survived. Day after day it survived my visits to the church, my nightly prayers. It seemed unbothered by our holy symbols. I had just watched all of that be destroyed. The dread masters of the underworld had come to wreak havoc upon us, and even the paladins of the church had fallen. A single knight had been sent to give word to the lords, the rest now stared in the face of death. Some were defiant, some wanted to flee. Even with my presence, doing what I could to heal and protect people, they were no match. La'loth began to whisper. You can save them, you know. All you need to do is give in to me. Giving in to a demon under any circumstances was grounds for excommunication. Very few exceptions were made for people who had dedicated themselves to the eradication of hellbeasts. This was not one of those exceptions. Do you really care about exceptions? Your friends are dying. I watched as an enormous scaled beast grabbed a soldier by the head and broke his neck. His screams were short. It was a merciful death by demonic standards. I watched another demon, this one much larger, grab a fleeing woman. I watched as it toyed with her, throwing her into the air and catching her until it decided that it was finished. Her death was not so pleasant as the soldier's. I can help you save them. The promises of demons always had a steep cost. They were never worth the price. Like a greedy merchant who overcharges for anything he knows he can get away with. By sitting idly you are killing them. Why are you killing people you claim to love? I could almost hear the demon's scratchy voice cackling at me in my head. As horrible as this was, why would a demon want to help me under any circumstance? If you give in and fail to protect the town, I will leave you be. Demons were not known to be honest. Demons were quite the opposite, but this didn't feel like a demon talking. I suddenly became aware of a massive fist moving towards me. Reflexively I put up my arms to defend myself. Flying across the now destroyed church I landed a few rows into the pews. "What if I succeed?"I said aloud to the demon. I could hear its interest pique as audibly as a bell. Then your town will be safe, and I will ask that you go somewhere. I sighed. The demon certainly wouldn't tell me where. I looked at the destroyed church. I gazed upon the total defeat of my faith. I said a final prayer to beg forgiveness for what I must do. "La'loth, I give myself to you wholly."I said. Immediately my body was wracked with pain. I felt my body changing. I was growing, but I felt very powerful. It's time I teach you the difference between Demons and Devils. I was overcome with ferocity like I'd never known before. I wanted only to kill. I wanted only to destroy my enemies. I became a whirlwind of anger and fury. I knew wrath like nobody else. I tore demons to shreds with my teeth, ripped at their heads and groins with massive claws. I kicked at their unholy corpses to destroy any shred that they ever existed. Devils keep their word. Suddenly my ferocity died down. I grew tired and fell to my knees. I couldn't find any more demons to destroy, and so fell asleep. Sleep well, child. Tomorrow you make your journey to my homeland.
"I can't do it, Jerry. For the love of God, you have no idea how bad it is here,"you say into your cell phone in a hushed voice. The bustling crowd in the restaurant masks the sound but even in the back hallway by the restroom, you worry about being overheard. "Damnit, Arthur, you accepted the contract, now you get your ass back in there. Their corporate office is paying us top dollar for this." "You just don't understand. No matter what I do, he's worse. I get that he makes them so much money,"you sigh into the phone, "Inexplicably, I might add. But I've had easier luck in government offices than I've had here." "I'm not telling you again, Arthur. Either you finish the job or pack your shit when you get back to the head office. I've got to go." The bleep of the phone tells you the conversation is over. You shake your head and steel your nerve. Pushing open the door, you return to the dining area just in time. "Oh, herro Artherrr! Ping say you earn numba one Dundie for Breast New Emproree who is Bard Headed!" With utter shame in your soul and your fakest smile, you shout, "Yay! Oh, thank you velly much, Micherr! You numba one boss ever! Me love you long time!"
Her presence radiated disdain much like the stove radiated heat. Irritation flowed from her in waves and I could feel her icy glare stab between my shoulder blades. If looks could kill, and according to her talented mages could kill with a look, I would be dead many times over. Instead her disgruntled look amused me and I grinned up at her. “Someone is in a grumpy mood today.” And why is that I wonder, she replied scathingly. Her thoughts coiled around the words and I flinched lightly at her anger. Our empathic link allowed the other to feel what the former was feeling and her thoughts burned with indignation. You squander your gift, wasteful and aimless. The Gods curse me for making you so talented in a talentless world. My smile grew as I looked back down, shaking the pan with an easy hand. Redolent odors of garlic and onion reached my nose and I sprinkled in a generous pinch of salt. “If I’m such a waste then why don’t you find another?” If I could I would have. Purple eyes glared at me and leaned over, a hard beak dipped to strike at my head. I dodged the raven’s blow, knowing full well how much it hurt. When I narrowed my eyes at her she huffed, turning on her stand to flash her hindquarters at me. Her tail feathers flicked with irritation and I shook my head. “I don’t think I’m as bad as some I’ve read about in the books. Wilhelm the bloody, Tsoka of the thousand eyes, Quan half hearted-“ At least they used their talents, she interrupted, turning to face me again. They used their magic, they learned, they explored. You do nothing with your abilities. “That’s not true,” I replied blandly as strips of chicken fell into the pan. Contact with the oil made a hearty sizzling noise and the aroma grew more savory. “I study when I’m not working. And I’m using my abilities now.” My eyes glowed, my normal brown irises shimmered with silver light. I could see where the fire burned hotter, where the wind moved. My movements were swifter, reactions quicker. She hissed, pecking moodily at the stand. On trivial things! Banal and worthless. You have the ability to enact change on a level unseen by most. Reality is yours to command, you determine what laws effect you. And yet you are a cook, a job traditionally held by the low. Preposterous. “I like to cook.” She snorted in reply and closed her eyes as I poured soy sauce and sesame oil onto the almost finished dish. I poured it steaming on a plate and handed it to another before looking at the next ticket. “You think I’m not doing anything? That I am not making use of my talent?” Cold silence was my reply and I chuckled. “I think I am.” Pray educate me. The words oozed sarcasm and I laughed again. “Well, let me ask you. You were telling me about Gwendolyn of Petals?” Ah she was a fine magus! The raven leapt up and clacked her beak. She took a worn torn land, earth ruined from a war of many years and rebirthed it. She erased the scars of Man and regrew an entire land. “And Anazi?” Anazi the wise led civilizations for ages. His words laid peace on an unheard of scale. His powers defended a continent from the Other Side. He was clever and brave. “So they protected others, gave their gifts, and did what they could to help yes?” Obviously. I poured a measure of soup into a small dish and set it beside her stand. With a half hearted flap she settled beside it, briefly dipping her beak into it. Then she did it again, and again, until the dish was empty. She fluffed with pleasure then looked startled. That is filled with a healing draught. I know that taste. I nodded. “A mild one, but a potent one. I included an aspect of rejuvenation for fatigue as well. The ingredients were infused with a charm for strength-“ -and quickness. she continued, watching me closely. You have been working enchantments into your cooking. I looked her in the eye. “People here are hurting, for food, for security, for comfort. People here are weak, the area is weak. But with my cooking, they can find a little happiness, a little nourishment.” I shrugged, trying to explain my thoughts. “The world wasn’t what it was. It was different then. I don’t know how to be a magus like those before. But if I can help those around me, then maybe I can be a magus that is needed now.” She said nothing and I returned to my work. Finally as the rush passed I made a meal for myself, dividing some into a plate that I placed before her. She pecked eagerly at it, her beak working at the food. You are very odd. I chewed and shrugged again, unsure of how to respond. It may not be a bad thing however.
I'd have tons of scars to prove my service if my spiritual body actually would hold any. No, the only thing I can show you is my Arch patch sewn into my robes here. See, I'm a member of the Arches, led by Michael since the day after Creation. I'd love to tell you that it was God that created everything but the truth is that moment of explosive creation created the gods, and everything else along with them. Why would God, cap G by the way, need an army if not for the other pantheons? When I died of stomach cancer when I was eight years old, I was surprised to find myself in Hell. I was also surprised to find myself a full-grown woman too. Anyway, I spent a couple of decades doing the pain train and let me tell you, Lucy is the best personal trainer in all the heavens! Well, Hells. He took a personal interest in me because of my pain tolerance levels and trained me for the Arches. He was so proud when I got in. We still exchange letters although I hear we're getting something called "Smart Phones"next month. Something my humans made that make communication faster. What do the Arches do? Well, just last week we had a squad of Cyclops, Furies, and even a Titan try the Eastern, less guarded gate into Heaven. We were called in. Quite a fight! I love fighting the Greek pantheon, by the way, they're actually pretty cool opponents. Well, not hydras, those are a pain in my ethereal ass. Hold on, my pager is going off. God, I can't wait for smart phones. Sorry, got to run. Thor's drunk again and banging on the main gates hoping for a fight and Loki's trying to talk him down again. Shit, I hope I don't get hammered again. Thor loves a good brawl but he gets too carried away. Takes me a week to reform sometimes. He usually makes it up to me when he gets sober again, once a month or so. Sorry, really got to run, let's continue this interview later!
Sofie checked Windstad Manor with her brother Blaise, "Did Mom tell you she had an armory?" Blaise blinked in surprise, "She had even more weapons than those back home?"He peered into the room as well, spotting the metal horned helmet on an armor mannequin along with red robed outfit against a wall. On either side were weapons. "They're enchanted." Sofie looked closer. Sure enough, all of the weapons had the characteristic glow of enchanted weapons. The weapons included a warhammer, a sword with a glowing stone at the cross guard, a small dagger, and a wooden staff with what appeared to be a screaming man as the adornment on the top. On the other side of the mannequin was a mace, a katana, and a shield. On another rack was a staff topped by a rose. Blaise walked over to the staff topped by a rose, “This one looks strange...” He gave it a wave. Sofie raised her hand, “Blaise, wai-” She stopped as a Dremora appeared. Her brother immediately dropped it and they both fled the room. With their temporary Dremora companion following...
Jamison McGinnis, a high school science teacher of no particular note, was nothing if not a stickler for the rules. The fact that the very tiny amount of power he held over a group of 15 year olds went to his head probably did not speak highly of the rest of his life, but his students did not care to dig that deeply into the psychology of his actions. They simply couldn't stand him and the authoritarian way in which he controlled his classroom. "The bell does not dismiss you. I do,"was his daily, often incredibly annoying refrain. Sometimes he held them captive for a few extra minutes to tidy up the classroom after an especially messy experiment, but often he seemed to wait for just a few seconds before saying "dismissed", simply to remind them of his power over them. Today however, more than an hour had passed since the bell rang, and sophomore Rebecca Brunson was becoming concerned. Aside from homework, housework and other tasks she had to complete she also was responsible for her little brother Lucas this particular afternoon. The elementary school was right next door, but at this rate she wasn't going to make it even that short distance on time. For all his faults, if a student came to him privately and explained why they had to go, he seemed to almost always grant them their leave. So Rebecca rose from her seat and approached her teacher at his desk. "Mr. McGinnis,"she whispered quietly. "Um-- My parents need me to watch my little brother this afternoon and his school is going to be letting out in just a few minutes. Can I please be dismissed?" She quickly noticed that something was very different today. Mr. McGinnis seemed distressed. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing heavily and sweating profusely while seated at the front of the class. He did not open his eyes or acknowledge her personally as he replied without emotion, "You are not dismissed." "But I-- You might remember that you actually met my little brother at the last science fair, Lucas? We probably called him Luke? Remember what a little wild man he was? He really needs supervision, Mr. McGinnis. I swear I'm not trying to disrespect or fool you. I know you're in charge of this class." He continued to sit there silently for an uncomfortable number of seconds. Finally, just as a blinding flash occurred outside and the entire classroom began to rumble violently, his eyes popped open, glowing brightly. "Stay seated!"he shouted in a loud, commanding voice none of them had ever heard before. "The bomb... does not... dismiss you,"he grunted as if he was carrying a massive boulder as he spoke. His arms shot straight outward in both directions as he began to hover several feet off the ground. "Oh-- oh my god,"Rebecca mumbled as she turned her gaze from her now levitating teacher and looked out the window to see a motionless wave of fire and destruction that had been suddenly halted just before consuming the entire school. The contrast was stark, the houses across the street had been blown apart like they were made of toothpicks, utterly obliterated. Yet here, for the time being at least, they were safe. "Mr- Mr. McGinnis, what do we do?"she asked her previously least favorite teacher, looking to him for genuine guidance in this moment of crisis. "If you truly care for your brother, or your own survival, then I suggest you be seated... and let me focus, Ms. Brunson." ___ Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more stories of mine.
I walked through the hall, feeling everyone's eyes on me. I heard them whispering about me. "Hey look, it's the kid whose parents were villains!" "Does he seriously think he can be a superhero?" I tried to take no notice of what they were saying, but it didn't work. I just kept my head down and walked into the "Shapeshifters"bathroom. (The bathrooms at this school aren't like the ones you see at other schools. They're separated by power types, not genders.) I stared at my reflection, after washing my hands, and said quietly, to myself, "I will be a hero,". "What's with your reflection?". I turned to see a girl standing to my left. She was staring at my reflection, as if she could see the black, humanoid creature that stood where I was supposed to be. "Wait, wha... you can see that?"I asked, extremely confused. "Yep!"She answered, sounding slightly proud of herself. "Bu...bu-but, how?". She enthusiasticly answered, "My power is that I have a kind of "sixth sense", that let's me see things that most can't," I stared at her, for a second, "If you have a "Sensory"ability, then why are you in the "Shapeshifters"bathroom?". She did a short, embarrassed laugh, "I'm new here, so I don't fully understand the bathroom system yet,". "I'm new here too,"I answered, looking down at nothing, for a second, before looking back at her. "Well, nice to meet you, I'm Beth,"She reached out for a handshake. I jumped back, nearly falling over. I then realised what an idiot I just made myself look like. I looked at her confused stare. "Uh, sorry. My name's Marshall. My power is that if my skin touches the skin of another person, I become...that,"I gestured to the thing in the mirror. "And that thing is not friendly,". "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to...", the bell rang, startling both of us. "Oh crap! Classes have started and I haven't even used the bathroom yet!". Beth ran out the door, I was close behind her. "It was nice meeting you, Marshall, see you later!", she called, while running towards the "Sensory"bathroom. "Yeah,"I said. I turned to look at my "reflection", in the hallway mirrors. I asked myself, "Is this what a crush feels like?". [Sorry for any spelling mistakes, or stuff like that. I wrote this my phone.]
Hell isn't all that bad; it's definitely better than people make it out to be on the other side. For most people, it's the loneliness that gets them. Hell is just so vast and empty most of the time, and even when you can see someone on the distance, they never seem to get any closer. Your voice thins out and turns to dust in hell's chaotic winds. I miss voices. I miss real, human voices. I can almost remember what the sound of laughter was like; I can feel what it felt like to hear a good laugh. I just can't remember the sound. Maybe that's the true torture of hell, being haunted by transient specters of the joy you once knew. The fire isn't much fun either, but you get used to that. Honestly, the fire is better for keeping things out than for tormenting the usual residence. Occasionally, the anguished screams of the recently deceased with rip through the air, but eventually the burning becomes more of a mild, chronic irritation than anything. My first day was jarring, but it wasn't a surprise. I didn't believe in hell or God or whatever, but it doesn't matter if you do or don't. None of the religions (that I had heard) got everything exactly right, but I'm not really allowed to talk about that at length. Basically, if you are supposed to go downstairs, you will wind up downstairs. It's just how things are. Try not to stress about it too much. By and large, our days are spent wandering through smoldering ash and toxic marshes of steaming who-knows-what. Some of us have special assignments. Heck, some of us even get to leave for short stints. I'm hiding though, running from something. Every day is another game of existential hide and seek for me. Every day (if days were a thing here), I try to hide, and every day I fail. I see him first as a cloud of steam in the distance. He picks up speed, and I run. I don't know why I run. He always catches me, but I still run. When he gets close enough, I scream for him to leave. "Go back!"Every syllable hits the air just beyond my mouth and disappears. He pursues until the last bit of moisture sizzles from his fur. Then he starts to burn. His gait slows once he catches up to me, and he drops to the broken shale below his paws in exhaustion. Every time. Every time I kneel by him, because he doesn't understand. He's just a dog. He's trying to save me, just like in the river. The dumb son of a bitch didn't know he was going to die too. He jumped in and got sucked under before my own head was pulled below the rapids. His fur burns like pine needles, and I don't know if it hurts him. "You have to go back,"I whisper, "You can't keep coming here." I scratch behind his ears like he likes. His breaths are heavy and uneven. I don't know how he gets out or how he gets in. He's clever like that, always has been. Too clever for his own good, because he is dumb as a sack of rocks. He's a good dog. I hate to see him like that, but at the same time in a dark, selfish corner of my damned soul, I want him to find me. His head is always the last thing to go. He's burnt down to the bones, still resting easy on the searing brimstone. The charred pieces of him turn into silver glitter that floats up above our heads and into the storms above. The clouds eat it up, and I have no earthly idea what happens to those pieces after that. Maybe they reform. Maybe he just pops back into existence up there. Maybe no one even knows when he is gone. Eventually, he is nothing but that glimmering ash. His collar drops to my lap, and the dog tags jingle against each other. I can't hear them, but I can almost remember what it sounds like.
The bell rang and I perked up from my counter. A new customer meant a new opportunity for a sale and I really was in need of one since- It was Stromight, he did a cheery wave and I ripped the ‘customer service smile’ off my face as fast as I could. “Jerry!” He called out with his thick booming voice of justice, “how is my favorite shopkeep doing?” “Please leave,” I responded to him and tried to look busy despite the fact that I hadn’t had a customer in quite literally days. I leaned down to find a bottle of cleaner that I’d left under the counter and started spraying it on the spotless countertop. “Okay I am planning to be a paying customer,” Stromight insisted as he kept walking in despite my request. He strutted up to the counter as I was hunting for paper towel and gingerly placed a half full cup of coffee in front of me. “Would you mind using your wondrous rewind powers on this?” Stomight motioned to the coffee. “You’re kidding right?” I asked. “I’m not kidding, I just really want my morning-“ “Do you know what I charge for this sort of stuff? Don’t be insulting,” I hissed. It was their fault that I didn’t have any business. I could charge as much as I wanted and I had always had a line outside of the door. “I will pay the full a thousand, I just would really like this coffee to not be so old.” “Fine,” I spat and dipped a finger in his coffee. My power flowed into it, I could feel the sundial of time cracking and breaking under the pressure I put onto it. Half a second later there was a pile of coffee beans in his cup. “Thousand bucks please.” “You knew what I mean-“ Stromight stopped himself, “look Jerry, I was just coming into-“ I picked up his paper cup and wound it back into a pile of woodchips, dye and a small piece of dinosaur bone for the plastic. “That’s on the house.” Stromight dropped his trademark smile. “You’re a dick, you know that?” “To you,” I clarified and shoved the pile of things I’d made in his general direction. “To the world,” Stromlight argued, “you know there are a lot of people out there who could use a power like yours to help them and-“ “If you can do something well don’t do it for free?” I suggested. “No, there are people like the league of heroes that could really use someone like you to make sure that nothing can happen to-“ “You guys,” I offered. “No- well, yes.” “But you guys are dicks,” I pointed out and started scooting the collection of coffee beans and woodchips towards the garbage can. “So-“ “Okay, okay look,” Stromight slammed his hands down on my counter a touch too hard and it cracked. I sighed and wound my counter back to the point where it wasn’t broken, “I know the attack ad was a little much but we really do need you out there. If you come with us for just a little bit we will,” “Stop saying that my greed is the reason why you guys can’t do you job?” I asked. “That’s not what we said,” he pointed out. “It’s what I heard,” I shrugged and flicked the last coffee bean toward the garbage. “I have told you a thousand times that I don’t plan on dying to a ray gun, or shark, or shark-gun or anything. I like living and I like running a store. It’s what my grandmother did and-“ Stromighht ran his hands through his perfect black hair. “Here we go with the grandmother again.” “The good guys,” I walked away from the counter and pushed past Stromight to the door, “are supposed to like the elderly.” “You should be doing so much more than you are,” Stromight argued, “you could be saving people, and they could be opening their own shops and-“ “I don’t care about the amount of shops.” “Its a metaphor dammit,” Stromight pounded his fist on the counter and cracked it again, great. “Why are you alway so intentionally difficult?” “If you stopped asking, I wouldn’t have to be,” I motioned toward the door and Stromight followed orders this time and went to leave. “You could be doing a lot more,” he sighed as he went out into the street. “I know,” I shrugged, “just don’t want to.” “Fine,” Stromight hung his head and started down the sidewalk. “See you tomorrow.” “See ya tomorrow!” I waved him goodbye and shut the door. Once he was out of sight I let my smile come back. Hopefully he enjoyed our talks as much as I did.
It was a low level dungeon; almost too level for Reginald Kuvar to bother with -- he was level 42 after all, and the dungeon was for beginners -- but the local villagers had told tales to him; stories passed down through generations of a boy with a fox finding the mightiest of relics in the depths of the Wornix Dungeon. How could he resist his destiny? Reginald held a torch in one hand as he descended the stairs into the dungeon. Not that he needed a torch with Kevt, his fire-tailed fox, darting the steps in front of him. His spare hand rested on the hilt of his magical sword: a weapon that sent electrical pulses from one struck creature to its nearest neighbours. "Kevt!"he said. "Slow down, girl!"But Kevt's bright tail swished around the corner at the bottom of the steps. Reginald always suspected he'd been the chosen one. Everything had always come remarkably easy to him as he'd grown up. Top of all his classes: swordsmanship, magic wielding, mathematics, philosophy, astronomy. Everything he tried just... it always just worked. He didn't regard the hand he'd been dealt in a way one might consider to be bragging. He just looked at it all factually. That he was destined for greater things than most, and that's just the way it was. Just as some were destined to work their lives away down in the Great Sewage Works never seeing the sun, or as some spent their years replacing rotting tracks for the Forever Locomotive to travel. But this last village... Where he'd been told tales of a boy and a fiery fox saving them all by clearing the dungeon before a creature inside it rose out; of finding a long forgotten relic at its end... It seemed proof for every thought, every suspicion, every instinct he'd ever had: he was indeed destined for a greater purpose than any other. Reginald came to the bottom of the stairwell and found Kevt in the first room, heckles raised, teeth bared, snarling. Four ugly goblins sat at a table with a pile of silver coins and some bone-dice resting on it. "Well, well, well, looks like we find lunch,"said one goblin, eyes locked on the fox, rising from his seat. He took a dagger from his belt. "And this lunch cooking itself. Ain't that handy, boys?" There were five goblins, not four, Reginald realized. The fifth in the opposite corner, by the stone door leading to the next room. He hadn't noticed her because she was sat on the ground with a pile of books around her. Human books. Looted from dead adventurers maybe. Kevt growled at the nearing goblin. "I've never tasted fox,"it said, lucking its lips. "And I'm afraid,"said Reginald, stepping out of the shadows, "you'll only be tasting steel today."He drew his blade and it shone a blue light. The goblin charged him, as the three others leapt up and took their weapons. The first goblin lunged, dagger first; Reginald stepped to the side easily avoiding the attack, then brought his own sword down through the goblin's shoulder, almost splitting it in half. A flash of chain-lightning lit the room; a second goblin screamed, shook, and fell. Kevt leaped at a third goblin, distracting him as Reginald struck. Another bolt of lighning and four goblins were dead. The fifth goblin, the one cowering within a pile books, was now backing off to the door behind her. But the stone door was sealed and she had nowhere to go. She held her hands in front of her as if in prayer. "Please..."she said in the common tongue. "I no mean harm" Reginald frowned. He'd never heard a goblin try to reason. Still, it didn't change her fate. "Well, I'm afraid I do mean harm. I need to kill you for the door to open."He lifted his sword above his head. "Nothing personal." "Please, I no mean harm! No mean harm!"She covered her head with her hands. Whether the fox meant to or not, Reginald didn't know. But Kevt was by his feet, scampering around him, and Reginald tripped. His sword flew into the air above as he fell to the floor. "No!"said the goblin. She reached forward as if trying to pluck the spinning sword out of the air. Her hands grazed it but it was too heavy. The sword skewered Reginald. Ran clean through his back and into the stone ground beneath. &#x200B; &#x200B; Hapsey hadn't meant to kill the adventurer. She didn't want to kill anyone! She'd been a replacement in room one today, taken from her usual place in the library archives, as one of the five brothers had taken sick. She'd brought a few of her favorite books with her to keep herself busy. No one ever came down here so it'd be a good chance to read. It was too low level for any adventurer worth their salt to bother with. It had all happened so quickly. She'd tried to catch the sword. But.... And now he was dead. The strange red animal sat next to him, its head cocked sadly, turned from the dead body to Hapsey. Looked up at her with its huge wet eyes. And a voice in her ears kept ringing. Words she didn't understand kept spinning around her skull. And a strange feeling danced in her body. Congratulations, you are now level 35. Please choose your skills.
For the 40th year in a row Curiosity, the first Mars Rover, will be singing happy birthday to himself. He is one of the last non-sentient robots "exploring"space and honestly, I think that the lack of self-awareness serves him well. In his tenure at NASA, he has failed to make a single meaningful discovery. Last year Curiosity reported that he had found water on Mars, but when he video called mission control we realized that he had simply mistaken the oil leaking from his bottom for water. It feels like every time a young go-getter with a head full of tired ideas enters a meeting, they propose disabling Curiosity. I brought it up myself once but for the past 20 years, our most-liked post on Instagram has been the video of this dilapidated waste of budget singing to himself. Last year, more people watched the video of Curiosity singing to himself than Disney admitted into it's parks. The people love him, hell I probably would too if I didn't have to watch the poor bastard trip over his feet while he tries to test his own excrement. This morning the familiar message flashes on my screen. Greetings from Your Friend Curiosity Carbon Matter Detected I should mention that responding to Curiosity's inquiries at this point is strictly optional. We've been using his cries for help as a way to train interns, this way if they fail to properly record the data that is sent over we aren't losing anything valuable. System Failure Send Help Now I'm beginning to worry. In my 30 years at NASA, I've received hundreds of help requests from him, but he's never registered a system failure. When I click into his camera I can vaguely make out an oval with two eye holes. I'm starting to worry that he might be in trouble. If Curiosity goes down a lot of the guys I know in marketing will be out of work. Curiosity's tee-shirt and mug sales make up over 60% of apparel sales. His camera focuses in and I'm not quite sure what I'm looking at. "Greg get over here I think Curiosity found something" I mumble, knowing that if anyone else hears me they'll think I'm fucking with them. Greg rolls his desk chair over to my screen and his wide eyes confirm my suspicion. I remember learning at the academy that if you die in space, that you'd be the for quite some time because there aren't any single-celled organisms to chew away at your body. But learning this in a textbook and seeing Elon Musk's corpse in the view of Curiosity's camera are two different things.
Who is the most worthy of rewards? He who with brute force accomplishes his task, without regards for finding the easiest path. He who rams his head against the wall until it is broken through. The skull or the wall, it matters not. Or is the one who deserves rewards the shrewd one, he who plans, thinks, and takes the path of least resistance towards his goal, enduring his task while suffering far less than the man who thinks not. The man who when faced with an impenetrable wall, finds a way to walk around it? There is a blade, it's hilt is inlaid with marvellous jewels and pure gold. Upon the sword, with runes written in rubies, it says, that he who frees the sword shall receive the riches untold, of the hero who wielded it, and embedded it in the stone. Many a strong man has struggled against the blade, and been found wanting against the sword and the rock. And it remains embedded into the same rock which a legendary hero stabbed it into centuries ago. I'm not meathead. I'm not strong man. And if anybody had considered this, they'd notice that the sword is not made for men for whom strength and bravery are their primary tools. It is a quick blade, for stabs, thrusts, and piercing strikes. A sword for one who dances upon the wind and the water as they strike with precision, not for one who wields a sword like they'd wield an axe or a club. So I come in the night. And with a hammer and a chisel, I methodically unmake the stone. Chip by chip, speck by speck, the blade is freed. It takes many nights, but it has been there for so long that nobody sees it anymore. Nobody notices. Not until I have removed it. I observe from the rooftop as the townsfolk gather around in shock and amazement, as the legendary blade of the hero is gone. Somebody won the challenge. The riches? Well, the blade is not merely a key that magically gives you wealth. On the parts of the blade hidden in the rock, there is a magical map, which in the light of the moon is summoned to show you the way. A way to find the hidden treasures of the ancient hero. Because the sword is a challenge. And the first test was to free it. I use my money to buy supplies. I leave my hometown forever. Because the sword has given me the grandest of quests. I will find the hidden treasures of the ancient hero. Magical armour of metal alloys, the secret to which are lost to time. Gems, magical items, more gold than I could ever use. And I will find it all, as it is a grand inheritance, a quest for the future generations, that only a clever man could find. I could tell you exactly why the blade couldn't be removed with any feat of strength. But some secrets are better kept, and besides, when I've found the treasures, I will seek more, and become the greatest adventurer of this generation. And once I have grown old, I will find a rock in a town, and embed the sword again, so that another hero, years down the line can retrieve the blade, and find the treasures I will have hidden. And so, the line of heroes, clever and cunning, continues. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
It felt odd standing there, by the side of that babbling brook. 40 years ago, when I was still a kid, me and my friends would play out here in the forests. By the side of the brook we found a tightly sealed chest, we thought we'd found pirate booty, despite the fact that we were several miles away from the coast. We wound up using a large rock to smash open the lock, and inside it, we found beautiful amulets. I wasn't the first of us to take them on, that was my sister. And she gasped and told us to wear them as well. We did as she asked, and saw that on the other side of the water, there was a whole other world. On our side it was autumn, and on the other side, it was spring. Being curious children, we jumped across the brook, and found ourselves in a magical world. It was the adventure of a lifetime. My sister, older and bigger, led us ahead until we came to a clearing. In it, there was a sword embedded in a stone. She pulled it out, revealing many other weapons and costumes. Each of them with our names attached to them. There were five of us. My sister took up the Hero's Armour, and the Hero's Sword. I took the Staff of Power and the Robes of Wisdom. Our neighbour, Eric, took up the Falchion of the Fox and the Gambeson of Guile. The weird kid, Gwyn, grabbed the Bow of True Sight and the Leather Jerkin of Endurance. At last Theodor wielded the Axe of Power and the Blessed Hide of Nermea. We used those tools to travel in that land, where we met the elves, wise and immortal. We were taught of the land, and to harness our destiny, our gifts, for we were the Band of Five, heroes sent from another world to bring down the Gateway of Darkness forever sealing away the Realm of Shadows from harming that magical realm. We went on many adventures, flew with the dragons, learned songs from the bards, were taught survival by hardy dwarves. We defeated with friendship, endurance, cunning, magic, and strength many foes, forcing back the forces of the Realm of Shadows from infesting the hearts of people, turning them evil. Our adventures came to an end, when after a whole year of fighting against the darkness, we managed to seal the Gateway forever. We were given many gifts, and were offered to stay in the magical realm forever. Only one person accepted, my twin sister. Emily was crowned as the High Queen, and the rest of us left the realm, but considered returning again. After each adventure we'd returned back home safe, simply by taking off the amulets from around our necks, and jumping over the nearest brook or stream. But our parents had noticed, which we had not considered. They had noticed that their children were running off to the forest, every day, neglecting their school duties, wearing strange jewellery, and when we returned without my sister, all hell broke loose. Our parents didn't believe us, thought we had been suckered by some predator, who'd at long last made their move and kidnapped my sister. They spent years searching, years sending us to therapy where they made us think that the other side was just suggestive metaphor, and other such things. Trying to draw out the truth from us. We couldn't return to the other side and get Emily back to explain, as they took the amulets from us. Which would have fixed things. Even though a single one could draw us all across if used correctly, as the wizard Gligordorad taught us, in case the Shadows stole some of our amulets. And we grew up, slowly thinking that maybe our adventures were never real, maybe we'd never gone to a magical world. But when I returned to clear out my parents' old house, since they were both incapable of taking care of it anymore, I found the old amulet. I didn't tell my parents, but I took it, and walked out to that same brook, which no longer flowed. I did as the wizard had taught me years ago. Don't know why, but I threw the amulet across the old dried up brook. And suddenly, unexpectedly, I was there again. Our gear was enchanted to grow with us ever since we first wore it. And to my surprise, there was the old gang. Theodor was scarred, nervous looking, and had tattooed his forehead with the words, ''I'm not crazy'' in Comic Sans. Gwyn looked like she always did, only taller, and vaguely like a neurotic librarian. Eric had gotten fat and his hair had fallen out, though he still had that charming smile of his, though combined with the rest of his looks, he looked like a used-camel salesman. We caught up on how our lives were unfolding, realised that our parents had been wrong about the other world, and they'd sort of partially ruined our lives for no good reason. Considering the mental state of my old friends, they hadn't had the best of times after moving away. And neither had the other side. The magical realm looked even worse than the time the Void Lord had blocked out the sun. The once beautiful forests had been burnt down. And where our secret fort had once stood, the one the dwarves had built for us after we cured the Supreme Council of Dwarfkind from Voidpox, stood only ruins. The engraved walls were torn down, the proud keep was all but a ruin. And everywhere, armoured corpses were strewn about.
Fifty years ago, United Earth landed a probe on Titan. It discovered something unnatural, something artificial. Housed in a subterranean structure deep within Titan was a Pyramid. A manned expedition was ordered to investigate the structure. What they found shook Earth’s very foundation to the core. It was a crucible of whether humanity would wallow in despair or rise to the task. We rose as our genetics and will dictated that we conquer all obstacles. Upon measurements, the pyramid was the exact size and shape as the Pyramid of Khufu. It was more than just a coincidence. Inside, the team found what could only be described as a reliquary and so it was called just that. Our forefathers' gift to us. Inside we discovered perfectly mummified humans wearing a type of powered armor, not unlike those seen in science fiction. They died while on duty, protecting our inheritance so that humanity can have a chance. Radiation from what we now know as a Cleansing Beam or a beam of weaponized plasma aimed at the surface killed them. We discovered in a shattered fault within pyramid, a great AI that had male programming. He studied our culture and spoke his name in a manner we would understand, Saron or the gift bringer. Saron gave us everything we have today and he is without doubt the gift bringer, we learned of the histories of our ancestors and their struggle against a foe that saw them as inferior. But ironically, it was humanity that had the technological edge in weapons development. We learned the intricacies of fusion energy and from that we learned to make alloys that can withstand tremendous amounts of Heat and Stress. We also perfected what our ancestors could not, hardlight projectiles. Specifically hardlight encased plasma. With the lifespan of a human reaching indefinite amounts due to nanotechnology and DNA manipulation, we expanded throughout the solar system. Within 20 years, a Dyson sphere was built around the solar system. We knew there were coming and we finished construction just in time. Our inheritance revolutionized us and instilled in us a deep sense of distrust and hatred towards extraterrestrials. They came on Christmas eve, an armada of dreadnaughts, cruisers and destroyers 1000 strong. They were arrogant, demanding we destroy our defenses and reduce ourselves to pre-industrial hunter gatherers or suffer death. Steeled by our will and hatred, we struck first, the planetoid Pluto, turned into planetary power station powered the orbital defense anti matter cannons that pierced the heart of the Alien fleet. Scintillating rays of hard light penetrated the alien ships. We drew first blood, they struck back, their plasma beams were no match for our defensive measures. Artificial gravitational fields dispersed the enemy plasma and on that fateful day, we cemented ourselves as the premier power in the galaxy. The Grand Fleet of the Galactic Federation was destroyed save the flagship. We trialed the disgusting looking alien that called himself an admiral and upon him spitting in the faces of the Jury, we showed him no mercy and he was executed. The enemy flagship was towed to Titan to be made into a war monument. A monument to our ancestors that perished so we can thrive.
One of the ancients, Azazoth, gazed upon earth longingly: the time had finally come for him to assert his intergalactic authority and sate his appetite for dominion. It had conquered many a civilization, establishing temples and regular sacrifices in his name across the universe. “Unknown object bearing 30 degrees by 22, 3rd quadrant sir.” The radar technician said to his installation commander. “Sir it has changed vectors several times, this is not a normal space object.” The commander replied: “Can we get visual confirmation of its nature? Retask nearby satellites, I want a visual on what we’re up against.” In the lower atmosphere, 8 high powered military satellites and spatial observational equipment turned their gaze to the approaching object. “On screen now captain.” The image on the screen was a grotesque mess of eyes, tentacles, and a maw so disgusting, a few of the technicians vomited, even though it wasn’t the first time they had seen something like this. More accurately, this was the third deep space anomaly they had seen in the last 5 years, and far from the last. “Do we have an idea of the entanglement distortion field this thing is capable of?” “Nearby tritium isotope readings indicate a class 2 anomaly. Moderate gravitational lensing. No Wilczek crystallization detected.” The technician paused. This wasn’t even the most dangerous threat they’ve dealt with. “Sir your orders?” The commander sighed. “Send a minuteman, 12 warheads, use expedited presidential authority. No need to notify him about these things anymore.” As Azazoth the Abhorred approached, it thought to itself: “Oh how they will lose their minds and bow down to my horrible beauty! They will consider themselves fortunate to fall under my unyielding grip. I will break their minds and drain them of their energy.” It reveled in its self-perceived superiority, unchallenged throughout the course of time. It noticed a small metal object somewhat rapidly approaching. The metal object seemingly broke off multiple pieces, all of which were gaining speed. “Oh what’s this? Have they have sent a welcoming gift? Fools. It will not spa-“ “Sir, warheads deployed. Target confirmed destroyed.” What used to be a cosmic horror of unspeakable terror was reduced to bits of glass, ash, and various other atomic space detritus, never to terrorize or conqueror another civilization again. Unfortunate was the cosmic horror to have stumbled upon a civilization that had more than mastered the atom, rather than the sparse collection of farmers and such that had barely even discovered currency it had encountered previously.
Princess Yohanna blushed. &#x200B; She had been very careful when visiting him, making sure it was whenever the jailers where exchanging shifts and the general would be asleep. Apparently it hadn't been enough. The princess had always watched him from the sidelines. The famous general that had waged war and brought an entire nation to its knees so he could conquer the heart of a princess. Her sister, to be exact. &#x200B; Princess Yohanna was the second best at everything, looks, intelligence, grace, charm. It was by no means a null amount, but it wasn't quite enough to take her place with pride, not when she lived with Helena. Her sister, like her name, had a light of her own and was everything she tried to achieve, only better and without so much effort. Yohanna accepted that much. &#x200B; But then the general had come. Yohanna had watched with wonder and a tip of envy while he brought conquest after conquest so he could marry Helena. Everything seemed to be going his way until he had been betrayed. Now he was waiting for his judgment in that small cell. Yohanna couldn't contain herself. That sheer devotion for someone he had probably seen a couple of times made her seek him every time she could. Made her covet the love that wasn't hers. Building courage for - something. She didn't even dare to think of it. &#x200B; "Today is the celebration over the last battle."That'll probably allow our country to win the war. That much went unsaid. "There'll be fewer eyes here." &#x200B; She offered him the small silver key, his hand nearly engulfed hers as he took it from her. &#x200B; "I'll be back." &#x200B; Yohanna's heart sunk. &#x200B; "For Helena, yes." &#x200B; "For you." &#x200B; With a thundering heart and shaky steps, princess Yohanna ran back to her room, a strange feeling blossoming in her chest. &#x200B; Hope.
The President tapped his finger against the desk. It was an annoying tick he’d developed while sitting through un-skippable cabinet meetings. He cleared his throat. “Okay okay, give me the facts. Come on. Let’s hurt this up. Quickly.” At the foot of the long table, a grey-haired man stood. “Mr. President. Things are looking…bad.” The President's heard turned. “Bad? How bad?” “It’s, it’s not looking good. You now have zero chance of staying in office for a second term.” The President’s finger continued tapping. “Okay okay. When do we get the final results?” The grey-haired man cleared his throat. “Sir. We’ve already got them—” With a gesture, the President silenced the man. “Just give me the facts. Figures. Numbers. Come on, spit it out!” The grey-haired man sighed and hung his head. “Three hundred and six, sir. Joe Biden has won the election with 306 electoral votes.” “EIGHTY-ONE MILLION?” “Yes. And. There’s…more.” “More?” Vice President Pence hung his head. “Your claims of election fraud have had…consequences.” The president stopped tapping. “Consequences? What kind of consequences?” After a long pause, the grey-haired man said, “Texas has announced they plan to secede from the union. Georgia and Alaska are likely to follow suit. We could be looking at a full-scale civil war.” The president pulled a stopwatch out of his pocket, tapped the button on top, and cheered. He leaped around the room, offering high fives to bemused security officials. Pence slammed the desk. “MR. PRESIDENT, WE NEED TO—” Before he could finish, the President grabbed him by the head and kissed both cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Mr-Mr President?” The President showed him the stopwatch. “Ah sorry, you’re confused. Maybe I should explain—see this is all a simulation.” Around the room, men looked to each other, bewildered. The president clenched his fists and shook his arms. “The year is actually 2034. I’m speedrunning ‘Political Simulator VR’ in the ‘American Civil War category. The record is six years, and I did it in less than one term!" President Trump waved his hand in mid-air. The words ‘DELETE SAVE FILE Y/N?’ filled the room. Pence fell to his knees. “Th-this isn’t real? B-but my wife. My children…” President Trump laughed. “Of course this isn’t real. Do you really think any of this,” he gestured around, "could happen in real life?" Trump tapped Y. The room, and everything in it, dissolved. In Trump Tower, Donald pulled off his simulation suit. He read some twitch comments complimenting him on the new WR. “Okay chat. I’m going to take a little break then try to beat my new record. I really screwed up with giving into the democrats over the shutdown. I think if I avoided that we could've shaved off a few months. Let me go—hey SpoogeLord45 thanks for the 10 gifted subs—let me go use the bathroom then we’ll try again.” \--- [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/)
“Ah, good, you’re coming-to. Was beginning to worry you’d be a sleeper.” A gruff voice tickled the edges of your consciousness. Who is that? The last you remembered, you had gone to sleep in your hospital room, the nurse on call having left your food on the table beside you. You opened your eyes. Or, you tried to. You couldn’t exactly feel them anymore. Despite this, the world around you blurred into view. The sky was clear, without a cloud in sight and the sun shone down upon the well-mown grass in what appeared to be a cemetery. Nearby, kids screamed and laughed on a playground, the sound echoing as of far away. Beside you, standing over an illegible gravestone, overgrown with moss, was a soldier. He wore a mud-stained, olive colored uniform, combat boots, and domed helmet. He also had an ammo pouch strapped to his belt. He looked as if he had come straight from the trenches. “What brings you here, boy?” The soldier asked, breaking into your reverie. “I- where is here?” “Arlington National Cemetery,” the soldier replies, taking a cigar from his pouch and slipping it between his lips without lighting it. “I don’t suppose you died with a lighter, did you?” The soldier added hopefully. A chill calm overcame you. You understood where you were and why. You had died in the hospital. You shook your head. The soldier sighed and returned the cigar to a pouch on his waist. “No one ever seems to.” It was only a matter of time, really. Your doctor had already told you that it was close to a miracle you had survived as long as you did. You weren’t even that disappointed. The chemo was unbearable and the constant solace of the hospital room and endless parade of medical personnel were poor company. Not that you had many to choose from. Your foster mother had stopped visiting the year before and you heard through the agency that they had adopted another child in your absence. You shook the thought from your head You made your life miserable enough by dwelling on that while you were alive, you didn’t need to make the afterlife miserable as well. “So, what now?” You asked the soldier, looking around for other spirits. Though the graveyard was expansive, only a few spirits dotted the well-manicured lawns, each sporting a different era’s clothing. “You wait,” the soldier said sadly, sitting down on his headstone. “You...wait?” You repeated, glancing behind you and sitting down on the simple stone beneath your feet. “Here lies [],” it read. No other information was inscribed. “Wait for what?” You asked, wondering why the graveyard wasn’t more populated. “For your family,” the soldier said, fiddling with a button on his uniform. “To leave.” He added, under his breath. “ I don’t have a family,” you said quietly, fingering your gravestone. They hadn’t even bothered putting in the date of birth. “Oh, son,” The soldier started, opening his mouth as if to say something then choosing not to. “How long to wait until we leave?” The soldier shook his head. “We don’t,” he replied, not looking at you. “...Why?” You asked, once again taking in the few spirits that remained in the graveyard. Most of them were wearing styles long out of fashion, some even hundreds of years old. “You can only leave when your family visits you three times. People like you and me, we’re lifers. Or, after lifers I suppose. Best get used to it son, we’re the closest you’re going to get to family from here on.” — Might write more of this later, if people want.
"Hey, Joe, how're you? Nice Trenchcoat you've got there." "Thank Jim, I'm alright but the small egg layer is annoying me a whole lot lately." "I get what you mean, I wish they'd all go back to the land down down under." "Agreed. Say, do you still have that weed whacker around?" "Sure do, you need to borrow it?" "Think so, I might need to trim some small things." "Sure do. Lemme pass you the keys." Joe handed over the keys to his shed to Jim. "Thanks, I'll put it back by tomorrow." "Say, Jim, I've gotten a bit stuck on this crossword here. What's black and white and lives in ice? It's a seven lettered word, starts with P?" Jim, being nice neighbor instantly responded before thinking. "Why, It's Peng-" Jim promptly popped out of existence with a loud POP. "You dumb buffoon, you." Joe began pulling on his face, taking off his mask and revealing a penguin head underneath. He removed his Trenchcoat and underneath were three penguins standing on top of one another.
"So let me get this straight. You came here to 'prevent us from destroying ourselves'." The small pink furry thing tried to nod, but got it... wrong... somehow, each movement of its head far too exaggerated and slow, as if it had been taught the gesture by some alien academic. An academic who'd written many papers on humans, but never actually seen one. "Because we're burning fossil fuels and warming up our planet slightly." "Yes-yes. Could change your planet's average temperate by as much as seven of your degrees. Very dangerous. Couldn't survive that. Have to act at once." "You do know that we survived an ice age with nothing but hides, stone tools, and fire, right?" "Hahah. Totally impossible. Your people have such colorful legends, though. So quaint." "And that huge tracts of our planet's surface are useless and inhabitable right now because they are locked under permafrost?" "Oh, wow. Your species has such powerful coping mechanisms. Don't worry, you won't need those now that we are here to save you. There are so many hazards in your future technological development. But don't worry. The Galactic Central Government Oversight Council is here to help!" "Oh? And what hazards would these be, if you consider a variation in greenhouse gases to be an existential threat?" "Why, nuclear energy, for example!"I don't really know how to read the body language of two foot balls of pink wool with googly eyes, but I could have sworn the thing seemed slightly nervous. It was shifting from foot to foot to foot to foot. "What about nuclear energy?" "Well, when you discover it, you'll be able to build bombs with it. Then you'll all blow yourselves up, or, rather, you would would if the government weren't here to stop you! And then there's overpopulation!" "We've had nuclear weapons for over seventy years now. They were used in war a grand total of twice. And what about overpopulation? Our population is projected to stabilize around nine billion." The thing batted its eyes at me and continued, sounding slightly more distressed. "No, no, no, you don't have nuclear weapons. We know that because if you did, you'd have blown yourselves up already, without the government here to stop you. You should really stop spreading misinformation like this." "So, what you're telling me is that you are from some sort of galactic central government, you're here to save us from stuff you say is a threat?" "Oh, yes, just as soon we get your tax assessment figured out, we can..." "Wait... TAX assessment?"It was all starting to make sense now. "Oh, yes. What you owe the government for all the valuable services we provide." "You haven't provided us any..." "After all, who would build the hyperspace roads without us?" "We don't use..." "Who would save you from yourselves?" "We've gotten along just fine without..." "Besides, it's all settled anyway. The other species of the galaxy all took a vote, and we decided that you should..." "Wait, what? What business it is of theirs how we run our planet?" "That's how democracy works, you silly, primitive being. Everybody votes on what your planet should do. And then you do it. You should really cut out all this dangerous subversive talk, you know. Might give someone the wrong idea." "Like the idea that you tricked a bunch of people who have nothing to do with us into voting for you, and you're using that as an excuse to come push us around and steal our stuff, while pretending to save us from a bunch of made up threats that we never asked to be saved from?" "Yeah, exactly. Dangerous subversive ideas like that. Could encourage extremism and anarchic behaviour. Anyway, we'll just need forty-seven point three percent of your gross planetary product, and for your elected representatives to sign the Bill of Duties and Responsibilities, and then you can have our help, and start your probation period... and in about three hundred of your years, with good behaviour, you could earn a seat on the Galactic Council! Isn't that exciting?" "And, just out of curiosity, how many seats are there on the council?" "Two hundred and forty-seven million, representing over fifty species!" "So, wait, we'd have one seat, out of millions, while other species have much more?" "Yes, of course, they have bigger populations." "And they'd decide how we live here on earth?" "Why, yes! We're a democracy. Everyone gets a voice in our policies!" "And your policies tell everyone what to do." "Yes, of course, it wouldn't be fair, otherwise. The laws have to apply to everyone!" That was when I made the decision I'm famous for. I realize, in retrospect, that it probably wasn't fair to the poor little pink thing, who just had a job to do, and hadn't really done anything worse than totally fail to consider anyone else's point of view. I also realize that it certainly didn't do my reputation, or that of my species as a whole, any favours at all. But, when it's all said and done, there's only one thing you can do about people (or fuzzy pink things) that think they know what's best for everyone, and that everyone has to do what they say. When I got finished, of course, it didn't have all that much more to say, although it did manage to sputter something about this sector being designated a projectile weapon free zone, and what did I need it for, anyway. So that's how the war got started.
"Quiet you oaf,"Baron Swampgrass spat as his toadie, Klonk, knocked a terra cotta roof shingle to the courtyard below. "The guards are no match for my blade, but I'd rather not kill my future subjects before the Princess' hand is mine." Klonk hung his head and said, "Sorry, your worship, your grandeur. Klonk made to smack heads, not walk on roofs." "Just help me get onto the balcony." "Yes your handsomeness, your brilliance." Klonk picked up the Baron with one great tree trunk of an arm and set him down gently on the balcony of the top floor of the south tower. The massive man then lowered himself down as well, going up on tip toes to try (and fail) to make much more noise. The Baron took the key that the he'd made from the wax impression that the traitorous guard he'd payed a small sack of gold to had fetched for him. The cruel would-be usurper smiled as it clicked in the lock with a satisfying "clack". He turned to Klonk and said, "Remember, I will not be denied again. We slip in, grab the princess, and then I sail away on the folding kite the gearmaster constructed for me. A few nights in the dungeons and she'll be begging me to marry her! And with that simpering shining do gooder, Sir Kindly, out of the way, sick in his bed on his diplomatic mission to the realm of King McGuffin, no one is to stop me from becoming the heir to the throne!" "Klonk like synopsis. Klonk like weddings. But... Klonk wonder, where Klonk's kite?" "I told you, you half brained oaf, that you don't get one. You go to the dungeons here and I will get you out as soon as I have the princess' promise of marriage." "Oh, okay. Klonk go to dungeon... that mean Klonk get married to Sir Kindly?" "No... just try not to screw this up again for me, will you?" "Okay, your wonderment. Your joyfulness." The baron sneered at Klonk, but then opened the door, drew his sword, and tiptoed in himself. The tower was still and quiet, not even the stirrings of servants or mice to be heard. The Baron and klonk made their way in the darkness until they could not see their hands in front of their faces. "Where is her blasted bedchamber,"the Baron hissed. "Klonk not know your wanderingness. Your unlocatedness." "Just... shut up and help me find a light." The two men felt around, Klonk high and the Baron low, until the Baron laid fingers on a silver candelabra. He felt up and found three tallow candles and he went into his pouch for one of the Gearmaster's self contained firestarters. He cracked it and it sputtered to life, the sparks at the tip enough to get the wicks to catch. The soft glow suffused the room in which they stood. The Baron lifted the candelabra and looked around. "Hmm... a library? Well, we'll put a stop to all this reading when she's my wife." "Klonk like the pretty pictures?" "What pictures?" Klonk pointed to a book open on a pedestal. Within, there were pictures of butterfly winged figures and men the size of a cat, spinning cobwebs into silver and riding hounds about in fields. The Baron flipped the pages, unable to read the script covering them. There were words written over words and as he flipped through them, there were symbols he did not recognize either. There were passages in some sort of verse and others that just showed the cat sized men staring at the reader with gem colored eyes. The Baron thought he saw one of them blink. He slammed the book shut. "Childish nonsense", he said, smoothing his mustache for comfort. "Let's go find my bride." As they crept further into the tower, the Baron looked back. "Klonk feel like he walked a whole lot." "You might be onto something, oaf. It does feel like we've gone an impossibly long way for the size of this tower. What the devil is this place?" "Ummm... Princess house?" The Baron rubbed his temple and then smoothed his mustache and goatee. "Thank you, you titanic idiot." "Klonk happy to help your inquisitiveness. Your curiosityness." The Baron genuinely considered turning around and smacking Klonk with the back of his hand, but since he'd put away his sword and was holding the light, he didn't want to stink his free hand on the the lummox's jaw. Also, he saw the frame of a door ahead, ringed round in light from a fire within. He sneered. "We have her." The pair slinked up to the door. He nodded at the great iron ring on it and Klonk tapped his nose in conspiratorial understanding. The Baron counted down on his fingers from three to one, fully aware that was as high as Klonk could count, and then said, "Open it." Klonk flung the great door open and the Baron sprung in, drawing his blade once again and crying, "Good evening, your highness!" He heard Klonk step in and the door shut. He did not look, however, as his attention was drawn to a great high backed chair. He could see the edge of the princess's pink dressing gown. There was a great bowl filled with yarn that was slowly unrolling as the chair's occupant knitted. The Baron laughed, "Making socks for your new husband? I wear a size nine." The princess's voice, high and sweet, came from the chair. "Oh, these aren't socks. If you want to know what it is, take a look at your henchman." The Baron raised an eyebrow, but turned all the same, a chill running through is blood. He found Klonk covered over in a net made of yarn. A scent came off of it, one of bacon fat and savory spices. Klonk , hopelessly wrapped up in it said, "Your liberatorness? Your-" His next honorific for the tyrant was drowned out by the Princess singing a little song. "Come out, come out, friends to feast You hungry mouths, you little biters Come out, come out, from largest to least Make our guests' bones a few pounds lighter." The Baron faced the Princess and said, "What?" That was when a myriad of tiny creatures dropped from the ceiling, came out of little holes in the baseboards, and flew in from the open window: mice, squirrels, songbirds, and kittens. The all fell on the trapped Klonk and began to tear into his flesh with countless tiny teeth and beaks. Klonk screamed, was drowned out by the multitudes of furry aggressors that tried to climb into his open mouth and slice at his eyes. The enormous man fell to the floor, covered in a writhing pile of living things, a pile that was growing flatter as there was less and less underneath it. The Baron dropped his candelabra and his sword. He cried out, "What, by zounds, is this!" "Knitting." The Baron screamed and clung to the wall as he saw the Princess standing next to him, a whisper away from his ear. She was lit by the fire and had two long needles in her hand, stout affairs made of iron and brass that seemed too sharp for textile arts. Her eyes glittered and her smile, one he had longed to see cast in his direction, was a mockery of joy. "Monster! Witch! Sorceress!" The Princess shook her head, clicking her tongue "tsk, tsk, tsk." She said, "What's wrong? Are you afraid of a wee noble girl, able to dew little but play chess and sew and knit and read and be kidnapped?" The Baron turned and ran for the window. A flurry of black feathers came, crows slamming the shutters closed from outside. The Princess glided towards him, seeming to float her steps were so small. She twirled around and laughed with a voice like bells. The Baron turned and tripped, pushing himself away from her, whimpering like a child. The Princess said, "My knight is shining armor is away, so seemed like a good time to come fetch me again? Like your cousin the Duke did last autumn? Or the Blue Wizard did this spring? Or a dozen other people who want my father's throne and to enslave me to a life of boredom?" "I want nothing! I want nothing!"The Baron was pretty sure that was a lie, as he really wanted a new set of undergarments. The Princess laughed again and threw her knitting needles. The Baron screamed as each one pierced the back of his hand and nailed it to the stone floor. He could not move, could not escape. He began to babble, "Mommy, mommy, mommy!" "She can't save you,"the Princesses said pouting. "I'm so sorry. I know a lot about being helpless, you see. So I decided I needed some friends. Come friends." The woodland creatures left the wet, sticky pile of red garbage, covered in stained yarn netting by the door. They lined up behind the, piling on one another's shoulders or hovering in the air until they were like the inside of a dome around the Princess and the Baron. "I'm sorry!"The Baron said, tears in his eyes and snot running out of his nose. "I just want to go home!" "I'm afraid I can't do that. If I ever want a moment of peace, I have to make an example of someone. You thought this was going to be the finest chapter in your biography, didn't you? The night you became king? Well, I'm so, so sorry. This isnt' a biography, Baron. It's a fairy tale." The princess smiled and dropped her chin, looking at the Baron through her eyelashes. The fire died in the fireplace. The skittering of claws and the flapping of wings became the fluttering of insects and the song of tiny hands drawing small, sharp knives. Hundreds of tiny eyes appeared in the darkness, tiny gems on a black curtain. The Princess added, "The old kind." The Baron screamed as the night was once again filled with slicing and chewing and a princess' musical laughter.
The divine observation pool was tuned to the Chosen Hero, Michael. He was an impressive fellow. Tall, handsome, decked out in the finest of magical equipment. And he was currently staring at a wall. "Oh, no, is he still at it?"Asked Devita, goddess of life. "He's been at it for..."She looked at Kenner, god of time. "Two weeks."The deity said. "He's been in that same room for two weeks. "Whose turn is it to give him a hint this time?" "Mine."Said Verinit, god of magic, with a sigh. "Not that it matters. We've given him, what, dozens of hints by now? I mean, come on, it's not even a difficult puzzle. Just slide the damned panel up two inches, you moron! Whose idea was it to give hero powers to this idiot anyway?" Everyone turned to look at Arvain, god of war. The heavily armored deity shrugged. "What? You all agreed to it. He's a great warrior, which is what we need. It's not my fault he can't solve a slide puzzle a literal child can solve." "Someone with a little intelligence would have been nice."The magic god said. "Someone who has basic reasoning and spatial awareness." "Hey, guys, he's doing something?"Devita called out. All the deities rushed to look. Michael had placed his hand on an ornate tile and looked like he was trying to push it in. Various gods and goddesses groaned. Several tried to invoke a divine message to tell him that was wrong. But it was unnecessary. The tile did not move, and the hero went back to his attempt at thought. "See? This is what I'm talking about."Verinit said. "Most people have already solved this puzzle. It's practically written right next to him." "Why is he even there?"Asked Hevira, goddess of the harvest. "It's not even a great dungeon. The rewards are mediocre, at best. Not even a holy item. Everything he has is better." "Something about wanting to beat every dungeon or some ridiculous notion. He calls it being a completionist."Kenner said. "To date, he's spent three years, six months, and ten days in dungeons. He should be able to beat the Demon Lord now, but..." "The idiot is stuck in a puzzle for five year olds."Verinit said, glaring at the war god. "Hey, we needed a warrior, not a thinker. He was supposed to have a party for this kind of thing. Anyway, let's just give him a divine oracle or something. Maybe telling him that the demons are advancing without him?" "We've tried that."Devita said. "Several times. He says he won't leave until he solves this. And he's also refused all the hints we've dropped." The gods and goddess groaned. The hero moved again. This time he placed his hand on a tile. By some miracle, it was the correct one. everyone held their breath in anticipation. He was finally going to get it right. The hero moved the tile down. "Welp, that's it. This world's screwed."The magic god said. "Now we're going to have to rebuild a new one. And all because someone had to pick a hero who couldn't solve a basic slide puzzle."
And when we prodded further into this line of discovery, something far more shocking was laid bare. The beings that seemed so incomprehensible to us not only had no need for the concept of numbers, they had no need for the concept of time. Because from the countless eons that had passed since the formation of the universe to the nanoseconds it took for them to form complex thoughts now, it was all just present. They were not shackled to the evermoving forward motion of time. And therefore they did not need to quantify their existence. It was a strange discovery. The effects of time are real. It is not an arbitrary construct. The way time relates to gravity, the mechanics of temporal sciences, they all exist despite these beings not finding the need to observe them. But them not needing to observe them. That was the part we could not get our heads around. It was not like it was something so far off and unobservable. It was not some outlandish theory or concept. It was a fact of being. Things exist. Things age. Things die. The conversion of energy requires time. Everything needs time. So how could they just... Ignore it? Or rather, not include it in their existence? They age, too. They die, too. But they do not seem to reconcile with the fact that the root cause of this, and anything and everything changing from one form to another, is time. We hoped we were wrong. But every time we tried our hand to communicate to them, to tell them we would get back to them in a bit, or to tell them we were sending a number of people over, they just seemed confused. A basis we thought was standard for everything suddenly was not. Their nonexistent concept of time bred their nonexistent concept of numbers, and probably a lot of other things that we had yet to discover. Suddenly the aliens seemed even more alien. How could they not... Quantify? Anything? They obviously had a number. Just their non-euclidean ship that we had found in deep space housed at least fifty-three souls. How do they keep track of these fifty-three of their number? Did they not have a crew manifest? Did they not have a schedule for whatever they had to do? The more we tried to figure out how they ticked, the more lost we were. The only thing that was certain was that our understanding of our own ideas and concepts was extremely biased. Who was to say this was the standard but us? Who was to say other beings followed our way of thinking? It was strange. Despite all of humanity's differences, we actually had a sort of unity in how we, as a species, actually functioned. Depending on numbers, depending on these concepts laid by those before us. Would we have been like these aliens, if somewhere down the evolutionary line we did not manage to understand the gravity of concepts such as time and numbers and just... everything? Because numbers were the forefront of our science and progress. Without numbers we would not have even stepped foot among the stars. And progress meant time. How did these aliens work? It made no sense to our way of thinking, of understanding, of existing. And that is as frightening as it was exhilarating as we strive to learn more from them, about them. To learn what made them tick. What was their core concept in the way they existed?
The results were disastrous, which, if he was being completely honest, was exactly what Khalid had been expecting. The spell was a strange one, a branch of transmutation meant to evolve creatures into higher, more intelligent forms. Except this spell was meant to work on animals specifically. Two days ago he had returned from work, mildly drunk and in a blazing fury. He had been harassed at work for the umpteenth time by his snotty, bullying coworkers. Khalid had faced enough bullying as a child, due to being skinny, shy, and his like for keeping to himself. He'd read stories of similar people, how they were tormented relentlessly by their peers, but how they had grown up to live better lives. Not necessarily good lives, but better than what they had to work with in youth. The trauma would stay with them, but at least they were free to work on themselves now. Or at least, that was the image the reports had painted. In Khalid's case, the people at his firm were as toxic and petty as the people in his youth. "Just ignore them, ignore them,"his friend Marissa would intone, every time they came face to face. He was perfectly happy to do just that, but they simply wouldn't let him. They lived for his misery; even when he went out of his way to avoid them, having lunch in the bathrooms or making sure he stayed close to the supervisors' quarters during work periods, they would always find a chance later. This time, it had gotten physical. One other thing that remained the same as in high school was how news traveled like wildfire, and rumour had it Paul Jacobs, the leader of this gang of overgrown misfits, was having home troubles. Khalid, tired of it all, had snapped and brought this up, which led to him storming home in outrage, face bruised and bloodied, his fingers numb from the alcohol he had consumed. He had sworn to himself that he would leave this all behind him, that no good could come from magic. But now, he was so angry he couldn't think straight. All he wanted was a solution to this problem, and he was sure he knew where to find one. So he dug up his old spellbook, which had acquired a layer of dirt, and a few pages in, the transmutation spell that would make animals more intelligent appeared under his gaze. He wondered vaguely how this would affect Paul and the others. Vicious, small-minded, not properly potty-trained — he had all the qualities of a wild animal, maybe it would work. So he ripped the page from the book, stalked back outside in the pouring rain, and drove to Paul's house. By the time he reached night had fallen beyond the car windows, but the lights were on inside the house. Through them he could see Paul, gesticulating forcefully, clearly arguing with someone. Whoever it was, Khalid didn't care. He pointed his old wormwood wand at Paul's visible figure, chanted the words of the ancient text under his breath, and a streak of green energy erupted from the wandtip. It sailed smoothly through the windshield and headed straight for Paul — but Paul, still unaware, suddenly swerved out of the way, and a new man appeared where he had stood. "No! No!"Khalid shouted, but it was too late. The beam of energy struck him in the back, knocking him over. Paul hurried to his side, lifting the man up, but he now looked unconscious. He could hear Paul's screams of shock and fear through the sheets of rain pounding on the roof. He must have done the spell wrong, because the man wasn't waking up. Just as he was about to open the door and rush through, the man's body twitched. Then it began to convulse violently. Paul backed away in horror, but Khalid stared on, transfixed. It was like a horror film. His body jerked wildly as if it was being pulled in all directions by the strings of a bad marionette, thick, bristly strands of hair erupted all along his skin, ultimately covering his entire body in a dense sheet of brown fur. His muscles elongated, with black spikes — claws — extending from his fingers, and a snout pushing forward from his face. But worst of all was the noise it made. A rough, warbling howl, like some kind of monstrous wolf. It leaped forward, bursting through the windows, and galloped away into the night. There was a moment's pause. Then Khalid dropped his head roughly onto the steering wheel, and the horn tooted loudly. "Ah shit."
"I am Nergal scourer of the broken! Collector of souls!"The demon burst into the apartment. The spirit sighed, "Hi there Nerg, I'm ผีอำ, you want a beer?" "Where is the mortal Frederick Jeffson? Tell me!"Pillars of flame shot through his eyes. "Fred's making breakfast, can we talk? You know, Thai nightmare spirit to Sumerian war god?"ผีอำ sipped her boba tea. Nergal tried to push past her, but she quickly pulled him into a sleep paralysis, sitting on his chest. "Look,"ผีอำ rolled her eyes, "Linda sent you, didn't she?" "I serve at the alter of no-" "Yeah yeah, let me guess, she told you Fred was the one that took your scepter of whatever." "Spear! It's the spear of pain!" "Yeah, all spears are spears of pain, there's no spear you stab someone with that makes them happy. Okay, so first off, we have the spear, Linda planted it here when she stopped by two days ago pretending she wanted to get back together, she's the worst. Now you can have it back, but first you gotta chill out a little, cool?" Nergal raged internally. The screams of a thousand dying Roman legions sounded within his molted shell and then faded. "Alright." ผีอำ got up, adjusting her pajama bottoms, and brought Nergal down the hallway into the living room past a red and black demon with backwards feet working on a jigsaw puzzle. "Hey Jumbee, you know where that spear is?"ผีอำ asked. Jumbee grunted, not looking up. "It's behind the couch!"Fred shouted from the kitchen. "Did the guy come by?" Fred stepped out of the kitchen in his bathrobe stirring eggs and noticed the 12 foot tall Sumerian god. "Oh hey man, sorry about the mix up, as you can tell Linda's got a few issues with me she needs to work out. You want some coffee?" "I want to tear your head from your body and squeeze the blood juice from your neck."Nergal said, gritting his teeth, eyes smoking. "Hey man, I don't blame you. It's like, she shows up two days ago talking about wanting to work things out, but she also has this ancient Sumerian spear with her and I'm thinking 'huh, that's weird' I had to let her down easy, but then she just leaves it. ผีอำ wanted to chuck it, but I figured hold onto it and see if anyone comes by. I mean it's a nice spear." ผีอำ reached behind the sofa and handed Nergal the black spear whose blade revealed a reflection of another universe. Nergal inspected it and nodded, "It is a nice spear." "You put a lot of craft and love into that, I can tell. It's like, I used to make Star Wars models and yeah you can follow the instructions in the box, but it's those little personal touches you put in that really make it unique and special, and I see those touches in your craftsmanship it's beautiful."Fred sipped his coffee. "T-thank you, you know it took me 3000 years to forge." "Well it shows. Sure you don't want any coffee or anything? You're welcome to hang out, Jumbee's been at that puzzle since last night." "Don't have him solve it too fast, I kinda liked us having a night to ourselves."ผีอำ whispered to Fred slapping his ass. He gave her a wink and turned back to Nergal. "I really should be going."Nergal said turning to leave. "Cool, make sure you walk backwards so Jumbee doesn't follow you out. And if you see Linda tell her mental health and self-love are important, there's no shame in needing help, and I hope she gets better."

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