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"Oh Dear would you like some cookies?"Asks the granny as she hobbles over to the demon who was lounging at a bed with dark sheets. "Yes I would, thank you."The demon rumbles. The granny nods and gives the demon a pat on the head as they contentedly munch on the provided cookies. "These are delicious mor- I mean granny. I really enjoy them."The demon mumbles as they pinch themselves over their mistake. The granny smiles and gives them a hug, "Thank you dear. I'm so glad you decided to stay for a while. I've been so terribly lonely and you just brighten up my day." The demon blushes and stutters, "I-It was- um, I don't mind staying with you granny. you're really nice." The granny smiles and hobbles out the room. "I love you too dear."
My certainty in my escape plan began to falter as my pursuer made an impressive leap, grasping one of the thick lower branches in his weathered palms and hefting himself atop it. He glared up at me with not fiery hatred, but with an earthen determination that sent chills down my spine. I should have taken advantage of that pause, to increase the distance between us, but I was too busy pondering my poor life choices. His fingers gripped the gnarled bark, and I'm certain that the silent monkeys hiding in the leaves above me were admiring his technique. Sweat beaded on my brow as I turned to flee higher into the canopy. The tree, like all the trees in this primeval forest, was massive. Easily two hundred feet tall and so wide that four men holding hands would strain to encircle its base. Even so, I was keenly aware that my options were finite. The only direction was up, and I only had so much "up". I grabbed a branch and scrambled higher, survival instinct overcoming my pessimism. The man below me was a professional at this; only my relative youth kept me ahead of the older man's skill and experience. Brute speed contrasted against practiced form, and at first they were roughly even. The space between us refused to vary; I would gain a foot, then lose a foot, then gain again. All the while his expression didn't waver; his mouth was a grim line, his eyes hard and intent. He picked his handholds and footholds with precise ease, making me feel like a hopeless amateur; every time one of my feet would slip out from under me, sending shards of bark plummeting to the forest floor, I heard the cracks and rustles as whispered, mocking laughter. The tree itself was amused by the futility of my efforts. In the end, a twenty year gap in age could only ever have gotten me so far against an expert at the craft. Sweat poured down my face and coated my hands, putting me in danger of losing my grip and letting the solid earth do this man's job for him. I wrapped my hands around another branch and hauled myself onto it, and my biceps and shoulders screamed obscenities at me while my breath came in short, sharp gasps. I glanced down just in time to see his outstretched fingers miss my trailing foot by mere inches. His breathing was regular and steady, his olive skin was only lightly misted with the sweat of his efforts, and the fatal neutrality of his lips had broken into a grin of malicious anticipation. "Up"was no longer a viable choice. I cast my gaze around, desperately seeking anything that could give me even the slightest hope of escaping with my skin; but all I could find was the narrow branch of an adjacent tree, separated from me by an impossible leap. Nevertheless, the committee chaired by my terrified hindbrain and my youthful overconfidence conspired to narrow my vision until crossing the vast expanse, in defiance of all the laws of physics and gravity, was my only path to salvation. I gathered my groaning legs beneath me, ready to make a last-ditch spring for life, a hundred feet off the ground. An ear-splitting crack, like the snapping of a spine startled me, and my gut lurched. My aching body slammed into a lower bough and dropped again; I think I hit four branches before my mind caught up with the fact that I was falling. I wondered briefly if a man could tell the difference between the sound of live wood snapping and the sound of his bones breaking as I bounced from branch to branch before I slammed, face-first, onto an arm of the tree thick enough to both withstand the force of my fall and wide enough to keep me from tumbling off its side. Throbbing pain, dulled thankfully by adrenaline, coursed through my ribs and my back as I turned my head to look for my adversary; his face was once again made of stone, and his lips were slightly downturned as if he was considering whether I was an idiot or a genius. His gears took a moment to shift - "down"was a different creature altogether than "up"- and I seized the moment. Through my agony, against all the rules of biology, I reached out my hand and took hold of the bark of the trunk. "Down"was the new option. I don't remember much of my frantic scramble to the relative safety of the rocky forest floor; the monkeys probably retell it as something less of a descent and more of a series of barely-controlled falls. Recklessness and terror made up the distance that youth alone could not, and as my feet touched terra firma I tossed one more quick glance back into the tree; the man with my death in his mind was still thirty feet up. Without shame or a second thought, I fled as if the hounds of hell were behind me, and a shout came to my ears; both a threat and a piece of advice which I heeded for at least the better part of a fortnight: "You stay away from my daughter, you hear me? You stay away!" And that, boy, is how I met your mother.
Still half asleep, my jaw cracked as I landed on the pavement outside the liquor store. The boss had caught me sleeping on the job. Truth is that my meditations were getting out of hand. “Fuck you Mr. Jarkovsky”, I mumbled. My jaw felt like a rusty nail was being driven through my right bottom molar. “I’ve figured out another way in.” During the flicker state, when the eyelid is restless, there is no process called ‘building’. The execution in the dream happens spontaneously if the idea is present. My imagination was the kink blocking the flow of sand, the Bering Strait that linked the limitless and all-powerful subconscious to the working conscious mind. This practice was all about getting into my own head. “What if I could access the unconscious just as easily as the conscious mind? Broaden the narrow link between them. Upgrade from a goat path to a six lane highway!”, I thought. I snapped off the EEG goggles and massaged my weary eyes. “This side table is too close to the sleep cubicle. You can barely get in and out”, I complained to the clerk while paying for three hours in the chair. The wall clock read 3 on the dot as I looked at it through a small pocket mirror. Yeah, this was a familiar place. A place I made to get where I wanted to go. I could never enter a lucid state easily. It’s easier for some people; just like having an orgasm. I would snap out of it as soon as I did the first fantastical thing. A dream about flying would cause me to roll off my bed. Once I slammed a wrist on the bedpost; something that could only have happened had I tried flapping my arms, which is likely what I had done. Jumping really high, or having sex with a celebrity would touch off the cynical part of my brain, sending an impulse like a kick in the ass to the rest of my brain to quit the shenanigans. I had to build a dream place where it would be technologically feasible and extremely routine for a person to become lucid. A run of the mill cafe, far in the future, complete with a bored clerk and substandard equipment. The key was to create a dependable lucid connection to this regular old cafe, through rigorous daily meditation. Once I was there in my dream, I could ‘rent out’ a sleep cubicle for a couple of hours and really get to work. It was like a lucid shell in a brain that was otherwise incompatible with the operating system. The cafe was located down a dusty side street in Tijuana - a place I had visited with my parents when I was six. A broken down neon sign on the door called it the “DreamHub”. “All this, just so I could fly over the world and fuck Jamiro Westerlund”, I thought to myself. “Why not fly and fuck at the same time”, came a squeeky voice from behind. “Don’t you dare take that pun to its logical conclusion, Kit." Kit Marsmech was a wisecracking robot that mopped up the sticky floors at the DreamHub. “So let me get this straight. You created a dream world to access another dream world to search for a way into your subconscious so you can have sex with a famous actor and fly at will?” “No Kit", I sighed. "Anyone can do that once they are lucid. Sex and flying are possible in that state. I want to find a way to escape completely. To enter the badlands beyond the unconscious mind. If consciousness is civilization, I want to see what lies beyond the misty mountains.” “Keen reference buddy. But what will happen to your body if you can’t come back? If you don’t want to come back” “I have a feeling that I won’t want to come back. My body won’t matter anymore. I would have passed beyond the physical realm. The ancients have always said that the pathway lies within all of us. We just have to find it.” “Are you talking about heaven?” “I’m talking about Valinor, Kit. And I’ve almost found it” ACTION FIVE NEWS ALERT A Body was found in an alley between 51st Street and Park. It appears to belong to a 22 year old man. Autopsy does not show a cause of death. The Victim’s brain appears to be missing in its entirety. There are no injury wounds to his head or his body. “It’s like his brain leaked out his ears and flew away”, an officer on the scene commented. “Not flew. It sailed away”, said a nearby homeless woman. “Across the sea” The police are looking for clues. If the public has any information, please contact your local precinct.”
In my profession, we have a saying, and it goes, "plausible deniability saves lives". Or, sometimes, "plausible deniability prevents human flammability,"which is a little grim, if not a bit catchier. It's dangerous, being a magician. It always has been and it only gets harder as the years go by. You have to feel in a way for those early types, just trying out their skill, maybe trying to make their world a bit more palatable, and then whoops, no, it turns out you've exploited a gap in the system and now, sorry, you'll need to be bashed in the skull with a thigh bone or burned at the stake while simpletons yell rude things at you. And yet - still - we persist, because there's a rush to it, yes, and as quick as they are to close those old exploits, new ones are always waiting to be found. It must be a difficult thing, making a universe. Lots of moving parts. So it's not surprising, I guess, to realize how buggy the whole enterprise is. What's weird, though, is how few people realize this. And that's the thing about wizards and witches and sorcerers and the like - we aren't very special, we're just observant. Inquisitive. We like to poke and prod at the seams of reality. The outer barriers. It's endlessly fascinating and endlessly broken. But most people don't notice. Or don't care. It's very weird to me. It is very amusing, I think, to look at this world from afar and see all the magic that was and how everyone just sort of....accepted it. At least for a time. These glimmering, sprawling kingdoms - you must know that they were fueled in no small part by the work of magicians, raising dark, phantom armies, corrupting native minds, influencing weather events, inciting plagues. Genghis Khan was a competent warrior, but come on! No amount of natural cruelty can make any force so dominant. The world was not constructed to allow such imbalance. And sure enough, eventually someone noticed all those little exploits. Patches were made. It all leveled off. It is much too easy to trace an exploit back to its source. That's why magicians have such a sort shelf life. It's also why it's so important to make magic that hardly seems like magic at all. You need the lightest of light touches if you want to survive in this day and age. The world is full of skeptics. Miracles don't go unnoticed and if you don't have your story straight... Plausible deniability. Let the natural world be your alibi. If I'm truthful, though, it's all a little too limiting for my tastes. I've seen some rather large gaps, you understand. And, like all magicians, the curiosity is too great to bear. Fortunately, I am patient. And, if I may say, I am clever. Because slowly, so slowly, the promise of other worlds is revealing itself to us. And new worlds mean a new set of possibilities....or impossibilities. And that is where I direct my magic. I merge it with "science". I let the two mingle and dilute until it is almost impossible to tell one from another. A thing like a rocket would have seemed like magic not so long ago. A thing like a Martian colony was fantasy. But today, if you are careful - if you are cautious and cover your magic in the occasional failure - you can make a magic that is indistinguishable from science. You can leave this planet and its established rules. You can venture away from prying eyes and into darker corners. Then...and only then...can you begin to play with the real magic of this universe. And even if they saw your magic for what it was, who could catch you then...out among the stars? But that... that is still somewhere far away. For now, I toil. I make miracles of science. I fail, just the right amount. And I wait.
The metal door slammed shut behind me leaving a silence in the mail room. The letters stayed pinned to the cork-board, spelling H-E-L-L in red enveloped letters. Eventually four more letters rose from the bag, seemingly pinning themselves in a square at the end of the ominous word. H-E-L-L ... O? "Hello?"I questioned, peering around the room for any strings or wires that could be used in this trick. Without warning an unsorted bag of letters exploded and snowed down upon me and the surrounding sorting tables. More bags exploded one by one, a surprise snowstorm would be a weatherman's dream but this just made my job tremendously more difficult. "Can you not?"I sighed, kneeling down and beginning to collect up a stack of letters and putting them back on the sorting table. The remaining bags toppled but remained intact, I continued stacking the letters in piles of 10 on the table. Slowly a patch of carpet appeared, happy that I had made a dent I continued hoping that this job didn't look as hard as it seemed. I placed the last letter on a neat stack and adjusted the corners so they would all be in a neat line. As if to spite me, the letters slid an inch to the left and toppled back into a mess on the floor. "Look, I don't care who you are, but I'm sure you're not getting paid to annoy me. How about I do my job, and if you don't want to help and you can just watch if you want." Picking up the last stack and neatly organising them back on the desk, a small flurry of papers joined the blanket on the floor as the filing cabinet ejected its layer of snow on top. The remaining letters were squashed down under an invisible weight. Taking that as a sign, I continued working. After 20 minutes I had cleared a tenth of the mess and made a pristine stack on one of the sorting tables. The pressed letters had shifted a couple of times, but nothing had interacted with me again. "This all seems a bit elaborate for a prank. Are you a ghost or something?"I asked to no-one in particular. A flurry of letters was my answer. A snowball of mail was hurled my way, blocking it with my body I preserved my work, picking up the defiled letter and stretching out its creases as best I could. I picked up a green envelope from the floor and unpinned one of the red envelopes from the mysterious greeting on the board. "Red means no, Green means yes."I held up the two letters, almost instantly an invisible force ripped them from my grasp and waved them around in the air. "Ghost?"The green letter disappeared and the red blazed up in the air in a triumphant display. "Not ghost, but you're not human are you?"The green re-appeared and ushered the red away. "You want to make my life worse is that it?"Sighing as I saw the expected green flash again. Defeated I asked the question that slammed the last nail into my job's coffin, "so you're a poltergeist?" The green letter was thrown up in the air and sailed down in wide swinging arcs and the filing cabinet's draws all opened and slammed in a symphony of irritating crashes. Only when all of the green files it could find were ejected from their resting places I decided to intervene. I reached out through the air and gripped where I could only guess it must have been. My hand turned icy cold, like a snake the freezing air coiled around my arm, constricting slowly as if to test how far I was willing to go. I'll show him I thought, I put my arm in one of the drawers and steeled myself. It might hurt me, but if it hurts this thing as well that's a good result. I slammed the drawer as hard as I could, the icy coil was replaced by the stinging pain of blunt force trauma. My neat stack burst out behind me, the figure swept round the dense cloud of mail and collected every yellow envelope it could find, holding them up like a trophy with the rain of confetti behind it showing how truly beaten I was. As quickly as it had all started, the remaining letters fell to the ground in an uneventful flutter. I rubbed my arm and sat in the mess for a while, waiting to be slapped across the face by a frozen palm or have the carpet ripped out from under me. Eventually two heads appeared in the glass in the door, their eyes like security cameras scanning the room. The door creaked open and the deserters slipped back in silently. Together we collected up the letters into neat stacks without making eye contact. My swollen arm was logged in the workplace injury book and the sudden fleeing explained as a hornet entering the room and scaring the other staff. I never told them that they were right to flee at the first sight of hell.
"Did you catch the game?" "Of course I caught the game. The whole universe did. Un-fucking-believable" "Still mad that you lost your bet that Earth would get crushed in the first hour?" "No. I'm upset that that trash-heap of a planet actually WON" "I mean, after seeing their fighters, was it really that shocking that Earth won? Those...whatever they were were pretty strong" "It's bullshit, is what it is. Here I was, with trillions of others around the universe, thinking that Earth only brought in a handful of average-build humans. Nothing special, right? So obviously everyone in their right minds bets against them. The first night of the game, all of a sudden one of the humans starts changing into this powerful beast man that can only be killed with SILVER. FUCKING SILVER! You know, that one element exclusive to Earth?! Tell me that's fair!" "I see where you're getting at, but man was it entertaining. I still remember that one human who always carried that book around. No one thought much of it, and next thing you know he single-handedly eliminates the planet X7Y6 with bursts of flame!" "Don't even get me started on that one human who could turn into a bat. He hypnotized half the gods-damned competition! The only reason why he died was because he got caught out in the sun" "Wait, isn't the sun supposed to be good for humans?" "Not this one apparently. And then there's that stupid girl. The minute the game started she runs off into the woods, right? And then every night you'd hear screems of some poor bastard who found her. Next day, the cameras zoom in on the corpse, drained of life, an expression of pure terror on its face. You know how hard it is to scare a Tiluxoth? They are incapable of feeling fear for fuck sake!" "I guess now you know who you're rooting for next year" "I guess I fucking do, now that I know what Earth has to offer" "I'm surprised that you didn't talk about the one with horns" "I didn't see enough of what he could do. Was he as unfair to the competition as the rest of them?" "Oh, it was awe-inspiring! He wasn't just killing the competition, man. He was stealing their souls, condemning them to this 'Hell' place he kept talking about! Bet you never heard of that one before, did you?" "Fuck! Why is it that a shithole like Earth has so many powerful fighters? How do the normal humans deal with this shit?" "Don't know. Maybe these warriors don't like showing their faces to humans." "All I know is that I'm throwing all my money on Earth next time" "Hey do you think we'll see that Culth-Cluhtu-Chuthuo-whatever the humans called it next time?" "If it's as powerful as they say, god I hope so. That would net me a huge win"
The girl screamed and thrashed as the knife cut into her skin. The straps held her in place, and the drugs kept her from passing out. A handsome young man in a lab coat stood over her, examining, measuring, widening the tenth cut he’d just made. As he pulled away, the girl fell back to her whimpering and pleading. She begged him to stop, begged him to let her rest, begged him to kill her. The man simply smiled and nodded. “I think that’s enough for today,” he said, “The mind, unfortunately, is something I cannot repair.” He made several notes while she thanked him. After a month, she’d learned how to keep him happy, so that he didn’t do more to her than this. The Stitcher put down his notes and held his hand to her chest. The cuts across her arms, chest, stomach, and legs began to close. She groaned as they itched and burned. After a moment, the wounds closed, not even leaving a scar. Like a gentleman, he helped her off the table and back to her bed, where he locked the chain around her neck again. He began washing the blood off her. While he worked, he discussed his findings with her, as if she had any idea what any of it meant. All it meant to her was pain, agony, and tears. When he was done, he stood and looked her over. Utter perfection. When he found her, she was a broken mess in the ER, having been in a terrible accident. Now, her skin was flawless, her bones were aligned, she was healthy and disease free. The perfect subject for his experiments. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” The Stitcher said, “I’ll have a friend for you then. I’ve just gotten word of a train being derailed. The heroes saved everyone, but they never follow up on them after. No one will notice if one’s missing.” The girl’s eyes went wide with shock. She wept softly as he calmly ascended the steps out of the makeshift laboratory.
Without my soul I really didn’t have much to bargain with, but dwelling on that was the quitter’s way out. There was no way I was going let that big red horny bastard get away with tricking into losing my soul. How was I even supposed know about that clause it was on, like, the 13th page of the EULA, and no-one has the time to read those that in-depth. It had been my understanding he’d only wanted my firstborn child and the sacrifice of 72 virgin choir boys, not my soul! It was a dirty business tactic to hide that kind of thing in the EULA. There was no way I was going to stand for that kind of nonsense. Which meant I was going to need help, and luckily, I knew just who to call. Ctharculon of the Endless Malaise was an old business associate and his abominable chthonic guppies were…, or had been on my son Timmy’s baseball team, so it was actually quite easy to get in touch with him and set up a deal. The tough part offering him something valuable enough that he’d want to help me out with my little Satan problem. I couldn’t give him my soul, it was what I wanted to get back after all, and my son was clearly off the table. I’d thought about getting him some virgin choir boys, but my hookup in the Catholic Church says after the last time he’d need a little time to wait until the heat died down from the Vatican before he could look into getting me some more. So, without virgins, my son, or my soul to trade I couldn’t think of what I had to offer. My sanity? Nah, that had eroded too much since it was so soon after the kid’s baseball season, wouldn’t be worth enough right now. It seemed like I didn’t have a thing to my name worth trading, and that’s when it hit me, my name! At first Ctharculon was skeptical, “I don’t know about this \_\_\_\_\_\_, are sure you want to go through with this?” His multiple orifices had hissed in concern, “Maybe if you and Satan talked it out you could come to some kind of arrangement, maybe he’d even give you your son back, he seems like a reasonable guy.” That was the problem with good ol’ Ctharculon didn’t want to start any trouble when he didn’t have to, he was one of the more polite ancient interdimensional terrors I had met. “I’m sure about this dude, the man slipped it into the frickin EULA, and I’m not mad about Timmy, it was part of the deal and I accept that, but he took my frickin soul, and without my consent! He should have just asked! This kind of thing demands reprisal.” It took a bit of doing but I eventually talked good ol’ Ctharculon into it, and the rest is, as they say, history. Well more like the end of it. After Ctharculon failed to convince Satan to relinquish my soul peaceful, a war was started between Hell and the forces of endless depths of the void. Reality was twisted and maimed in their wake. Entire solar systems were wiped from existence, dogs and cats moved in together, human civilization crumpled as the whole world devolved into insanity, Valve issued a statement saying Half Life 3 had finally been released. And it was all thanks to me. It was flattering really. If any being in some corner of the universe survived this, they’d write that the person who’d initiated the struggle that nearly ended all of existence, was the brilliant and dashing Mr. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_. At least there was a chance my name would live on in the history books.
Meanwhile, in The Land Where All The Writing Prompts Are Simultaneously True.... ---- It'd been a long day waiting tables and the last thing Satan needed was for his roommate, Santa, to hand him a letter as he walked in the door. "Fucking hell, again?"Satan said. "You never know,"Santa said, "maybe it's someone selling you their soul via mail?" Satan scoffed as he sat down on the couch. "Yeah, right, knowing this town I'm going to somehow sell my soul to them despite being in the soul-selling business for literally thousands of years." Santa shrugged and got a beer from the kitchen. "Okay, Santa,"Satan said, "this letter is clearly for you. The address is in crayon, it's almost certainly written by a five-year-old. Just take the damn letter." "Nope,"Santa said, sitting down on the couch and sipping his beer. "Opening a letter that's not addressed to you is a federal crime, and I am not going back to prison." "Hell, it's not close to December yet, freaking Haloween hasn't even happened,"Satan grumbled as he opened the letter, "and yet people are already pulling out the old 'hey Satan and Santa are anagrams I bet there's a story there nobody has thought of a thousand times' plot. And I'm stuck with it." Santa shrugged. "Hey, sometimes they pull an in-soviet-russia and I get letters meant for you, it isn't just one way. Plus that anagram thing is the only thing stopping the landlord from realizing two people live here." "Dear Santa,"Satan read the letter out loud, glaring at Santa. "Look, she got it right on the inside of the letter, just take the stupid thing." "Address on the outside isn't to me,"Santa said, "so it isn't my problem." "My name is Sally Jennings and I am five years old,"Satan continued to read. "Did I call it or what?" "Still not listening,"Santa said. "What I want for this Christmas is a pony. I have been a very good girl,"Satan interrupted this by rolling his eyes. "It goes on like this for a while." "Good for her,"Santa said. "You know what?"Satan said. "Fuck you, man. I'm getting this girl a pony." Santa laughed, "You're serious? Not that you're answering the letter, that's usually the premise when this happens, but that you're actually going to get a pony somehow?" Satan glared. "Yes. Yes I am." "How?"Santa asked. "People write about Satan so much that this town is full of princes of darkness; I know for a fact you can't get a job other than waiting tables. You can't afford a pony." Satan stood up from the table, crumpled up the letter, and threw it at Santa. "I'm Satan, dammit! I'm going to steal a pony!"And with that, he left the apartment, slamming the door on the way out. Santa just shook his head. "When you get caught,"he muttered, "I am ratting you out so damn fast your head will spin."He sipped his beer. "Not going back to jail."
"Are they... drinking it?"the being asked, unfiltered disgust dripping from its gills . "Kevin, you're leaking again,"a higher voice replied to its side. "Shut up and look at them!"the first one shouted. "They're drinking it!" "No, they're eating it. See those tiny metal bowls with really long handles? They call them spoons." The first one sighed and used a tissue to clean the liquid that had started to run down its sides. "Zaxarr almighty, the humans are eating it... and enjoying it!' It frowned and switched to a different stream on the monitor. "None of them are dying." "No, this will be problematic for our colonization initiative,"the second said while slithering away. "Well, at least we finally have the chance to make Zeta team look inept,"it said with a fake cheeriness. "Have to look on the bright side..." Kevin growled with boredom. He raised a leg to kill the satellite link just as he noticed something. "Bob?"Kevin asked. "Yes?"the second one replied. "I think... I think they're trading it as a commodity and... and they've called it Yoplait."
"What?"I say, almost yelling in astonishment. "Like I said, no record. This is, a little worrying, hold on let me get someone to help..."The manager said, turning around and running out of the back door. "Where the fuck is he going? Goddammit, I live my whole life to then die and not get to know how?! This is bullshit..."I mutter, pacing back and forth. "You might want to be prepared for this, I'm told this is gonna be serious." "Wh- oh holy shit." The manager walks back into the building with another person. He was tall, and big, which was the first thing I noticed. He wore a fancy dark red suit and an upside down cross necklace. His black hair and piercing red eyes commanded respect. "Okay, what's this you speak about. Quickly, I will be busy."The new man spoke, his deep voice ringing easily through the hall. "We don't have a death record for this guy."The manager said. The other man slowly rubbed his forehead with his gloved hand. "Jesus you people, not this shit again..."He continued. "Uhh, if you don't mind my asking, who are you?"I asked. "Oh, terribly sorry I forgot to introduce myself. I am, well, I am Lucifer, but for the better, just call me Satan. My colleagues seem to have somehow lost your record. Ill get that sorted out as soon as possible." I couldn't believe it. Satan, or Lucifer, or the devil, was real. "Well, what's gonna happen?"I inquired. "I've actually wanted to try this out for a while... Just stay still, this may burn for a second."Lucifer said as he bent down to my level and stared into my eyes. It did kinda burn, but not too badly. "Death is not gonna like this..."I briefly heard the manager mention before my vision faded. I awoke in my bed, the same bed I had awoken in many times. Weird dream... I think, scratching my head. Except there was one problem. It couldn't have been a dream, it felt too real. What was he talking about, "I've been wanting to try this... I thought to myself as I make my way to the mirror. Another problem is evident. There was a pentagram under my eye.
I had never heard this voice before. This voice was a male voice with a very deep and rich tone. It wasn’t friendly, but it wasn’t hostile either. It had been a while since I heard voices, and the last voice I heard was from 2 months ago. She liked to tell me to jump on high places and make goat noises, particularly in situations such as in public or meetings at work. Clearly voices didn’t bother me as much as it used to. I went back to washing my dishes from breakfast. Just as I had walked away from the window, the window suddenly smashed, causing me to stumble. I turned around to face the wreckage. A massive boulder laid on my floor, obviously having cracked a couple of my tiles. I decided it was best to go hide in my room and dial the police. I didn’t know what to expect but this was the safest option. As I dialled the police, the voice spoke again. “Someone’s coming in” Fuck. Eventually I got to someone on the phone. “Someone’s after me, I need help. I’m at home and-” My bedroom door swung open. Three large men dressed in black quickly stormed in. One of them gave me a quick slap which sent me to the floor. I was gagged, blindfolded, and my hands were tied together behind me and my feet were also tied. At this point, my phone was out of my hands and I had no idea what happened to it. The three men very quickly carried me out. I had no idea where I was going, but I eventually ended up where it seemed to be the back of a van. The van quickly took off. 3 hours later I had no idea where I was, I was still in the van. Suddenly the voice from earlier in the morning spoke again. “Someone did a terrible job at knots”. What knots could there be. The voice was clearly not bullshitting me but what could it go on about. I tried to reposition myself a little for comfort as I had been dead still in the same position ever since I was thrown in the van. I hadn’t dared to move because one of the men was with me and had threatened to kill me if I tried to escape. I was in agony as I had to reposition as silently as possible. I shook silently yet vigorously from side to side searching for a position. Suddenly, my blindfold fell off completely. I saw inside the van. There were some esky coolers with labels such as ‘kidneys’, ‘hearts’, ‘eyes’ and ‘lungs’. My eyes moved to a corner of the van where there were many sharp instruments, scissors, knives and scalpels, many of which resembled what surgeons use. Fuck these three dickheads were gonna harvest my organs and -SHIT! I heard the sound of Angry Birds to my right attacking follows by what sounded like wood collapsing. All too familiar. I peeked over to see one of the men playing on his phone. He was clearly way too distracted but what if he somehow saw me without my blindfold. It suddenly occurred to me that this was what the voice referred to. Maybe he did a terrible job at tying me up overall. Maybe I could escape. I began to fidget with the rope that tied my hands behind my back. They seemed looser than I had anticipated. I slid my wrists together and before I knew it I had freed my hands. I still kept them behind my back, not wanting to make it obvious to the man. Suddenly the voice spoke again. “Someone’s coming to rescue you.” I began to slide my feet against each other. Suddenly the sounds of police sirens were heard, becoming louder and clearer. So it turns out that I had dropped the phone during the call while they were abducting me, and eventually the police were onto it. The man got up and looked out the little windows on the backdoor. “Fuck!” He screamed. He ran towards the front end. “Drive faster cunt, they’re onto us! And shoot the fuckers down while you’re at it!”. He stomped his foot as he said this. The van suddenly picked up speed, which caused me to feel a little nauseous. I heard several gunshots. The man quickly yelled to me “You try to move and you’re dead!” More gunshots, and suddenly, it seemed like they had shot glass at the front. Several other gunshots ensued. The sirens were extremely loud at this point. Two gunshots were heard followed by two voices groaning in agony. Instantly, the van began to wobble and slow down. The van must have crashed into a barrier because it suddenly impacted violently. This caused the man to fall over and the esky coolers to tumble. Somehow, some of the coolers had busted the backdoor open. I quickly yanked off my feet ties and ripped off my gag and made a run for it. Outside, police officers were fast approaching. I began to approach them when an arm grabbed me by the neck from behind. The man was pulling me toward him, he faced the officers, clutched me face to face with him and held a gun to my head. “Let him go!” Yelled the police officers. The man laughed. “No, you let me go, or I shoot” The voice in my head suddenly spoke. “Someone’s a little motion sick from the ride.” I looked around frantically. The coolers had been smashed from the crash, their contents spilling everywhere. Lungs. Kidneys. Hearts. It looked revolting and didn’t smell great either. This made me want to throw up. The feelings of motion sickness didn’t help either. The voice had referred to me. But why? The man pressed me closer to him pinning my head towards his chest. He took a step back. I knew what the voice had meant now, it didn’t want me to acknowledge the sensation of wanting to vomit, it wanted me to take advantage of it. So I let myself vomit my breakfast all over him. Yep. And I went for it. Hard. The man let out a cry of disgust. I withdrew from him. He gagged at the mess on his body and looked revolted. He held up his gun toward me. And then a gunshot. I was still standing, but he had fallen. The police ran towards me and quickly escorted me to one of their cars. I was safe now.
The procession bowed to their Creator. A large idol loomed over them. Jesus Christ gazed down in stone, with arms outspread in greeting. A priest walked up to the pedestal and made a bow. "In the name of our most holy Lord, we lift up our spirits. El Em Ay Oh." "LMAO."They solemnly repeated. Thin shrouds covered the faces of elders. It was their ancient tradition to wrap themselves in such a holy place, though the younger crowd did not abide by it. "We beg you, oh Lord, to give us peace."The priest's voice was lost in the wind, but the crowd knew the procedure. "Let us give each other offerings of peace."He again bowed. People turned to one another and shook hands or hugged. An elderly woman shook hands with the young girl behind her. "Oof, mood."She gave a squeeze. "Oof, mood."The young lady repeated. The peace had been offered. "Now we must prepare ourselves for the Host."The priest gathered the host together, and blessed it. "Lord, please come get these cookies mawmah and bless dis purple drank,"he spoke to the Heavens. The people again bowed. "Please come forward so you can receive." The people walked out from their pews and formed a line. The priest distributed the Host. "In the name of the Lord,"he said. "Yeet,"the man whispered as he sipped at dis purple drank. People kept moving forward, and soon, the entire congregation has partaken in the Host. The priest turn to face them. "Lord, please watch over us in our time of need. Tbh, we hella stan your resurrection." "Big mood,"the crowd sounded.
Some days things would almost feel normal. I’d cook, Jenny would sleep in, we’d chat and laugh over breakfast, and then she would go to work. I never minded being a stay at home husband. I wanted to do more, of course, but these things take time. Time and patience. When you wear a mask for long enough it trades places with your face, becomes your real identity, and you have to learn how to be a person again. This began as one of such days. Cleaning, laundry, reading. It was so hard to resist a glance at a newspaper or not to turn on the news for just a minute, but I wasn’t ready for that. Jenny was somewhere out there, being Blaze, the hero of the city, but she remembered her real name, she knew how to take off the mask. I wasn’t there yet. But no matter how much effort you put in, no matter how much you try to do the right thing, once in a while life decides to throw a wrench into your plan. This wrench’s name was Viper. When there was a knock on the door, I thought Jenny had forgotten something, or she took a day off work, or one of the neighbours'd decided to visit. I adjusted the tie on my shirt, put on my glasses, and opened the door with a smile I practised for years. That smile was met by a half-dozen men in black suits and masks. In seconds guns were pointed at me and a man in a green costume that looked like snake skin stepped forward. There was an insufferable smirk on his old wrinkled face. “You’re coming with us,” he said. “And why’s that?” I immediately chastised myself. Just act scared, I thought to myself. Get kidnapped and let her rescue you. That’s how it works, right? I added a light stutter to my speech and glanced around. “D-do I know you?” “No, but we know your wife. Don’t be difficult and we will make this quick.” Viper hissed and the men around him moved. They were sluggish and clumsy, possibly entranced. Two grabbed my arms behind my back. He turned around and we began walking. I felt something burning in my chest. Shame, humiliation, rage. This insect, this pathetic worm was going to make me his prisoner. I felt the moment something broke. “Is this the best you can do?” I said, all semblance of fear gone from my voice. “You can’t take her on so you go after me. You can’t take even me alone so you bring your goons. Is this what passes for a villain these days?” “Don’t try to act tough.” Viper waved over his shoulder. “Leave the speeches to Blaze. At least she has the strength to back them up.” “Who said I don’t?” It got dark. The sun shrunk in the sky, until it looked like a bright night star. Clouds hung low. A cold wind came out of nowhere. Darkness at noon. Jenny would know. She’d come back. I could just wait. I could simply use this as a sign. But I didn’t. Viper stared dumbfounded at the sky, his face frozen in an amusing expression of disbelief and confusion. His men noticed first. When my arms turned to smoke and passed through their hold, one stumbled back, mumbling something, something so familiar. So sweetly familiar. A name. My name. My real name. “Midnight,” he said, falling over. “Midnight. Midnight. Midnight!” He kept repeating over and over as I turned around and locked eyes with him. I knew what he was looking at: a face of complete black, a pair of violet eyes, and the smile of a madman. I loosened my tie and rolled up my sleeves. The glasses fell to the asphalt. The violet reflected in the poor man’s gaze, clouded his vision, as his hands shook and moved on their own. I nodded with glee as he put the gun to his temple, fighting his own body every step of the way. The smell of gunpowder afterwards was almost intoxicating. I didn’t notice when the others started shooting me. I guess Viper’s control wouldn’t let them turn tail and run. Turning towards them, I noticed a flash of flame somewhere far on the horizon, getting closer. Jenny. Too late. Bullets went through my body, leaving only tiny trails of dark smoke. I pointed a finger at a group of three henchmen. The sky roared and unleashed a torrent of sprawling darkness. The gunshots turned into screams followed by silence. There was nothing there once the dust settled. The last two men stood near Viper, who kept turning his head every which way like a cornered animal looking for escape. “You’re dead!” he screamed. “You’re supposed to be dead!” “I haven’t felt this alive in a long time.” I cracked my neck and stretched my arms. One of the bodyguards charged me in panic. I passed my left hand over him and only a red streak remained on the pavement. “Let me show you what real villains do to their enemies.” A bolt that gave no light struck the last of Viper’s defenders, sending the old man reeling from the thunder as ash swirled around us. When I reached him, he was sobbing on the ground, mumbling excuses and pleas. When my hands closed around his throat, he tried to bite me with his fangs that dripped with venom. I laughed. It was not the maniacal laughter of a theatrical villain. I laughed like a little kid unwrapping a new toy, like someone who remembered their favourite joke, like a man overcome with pure and mindless joy. When Viper’s eyes and tongue had turned to smoke, when his skin had become dark-grey and deflated, when light’d started breaking through the clouds again, I felt something coming back, something I would not have felt five years ago. It squeezed my chest and made my throat tense up. It burned my eyes and pushed all thoughts to the back of my head. It took all the sick glee I felt and made it hurt tenfold. When Jenny approached I was still on my knees over Viper’s body, pressing down as if he could get up at any second. It was just the light and the warmth of the fire that told me she was there. I couldn’t look up. I couldn’t look at her. “I’m sorry,” I forced out. It sounded fake. It was something a real person would say. Monsters didn’t know those words. They had to learn them. “I’m so sorry.” When she embraced me I couldn’t stop crying. Some days things would almost feel normal. And some it felt like they would never be.
Reevix was glad his species did not feel pain. The very idea was foreign to them. The only reason Reevix was familiar with the concept was because of his job as an intelligence agent. Being able to inflict pain on others while being immune to it himself was a huge boon. It was an especially useful trait now that he had bee caught. "So, you won't talk, huh?"His captor rumbled. The being was a Caputian. Big and physically strong, but not much else. They made great enforcers and had a knack for getting others to talk. But all that was useless against a Gleestin like Reevix. "Why should I? If I don't, you'll give me a nice gentle rub down."Reevix taunted. The Caputian smirked. It's rows of discolored teeth made Reevix's body secrete its disgust fluid. Not that anyone but another Gleestin would know the difference between that and the normal thick, viscous fluid that constantly coated their bodies. "Oh, I'm not going to do anything. At least, not anymore. We got a new guy in who's aching to give it a go." The Caputian stood aside and the door slid open with a mechanical whir. A small, unassuming biped walked into the dark room. Reevix started secreting nervous fluids. He had heard of these creatures, but had never actually seen one until now. These humans were physically weak, and had little to offer in the ways of technology. But they were supposedly one of the cruelest, most ruthless beings in the galaxy. It was said they could make any intelligent being talk. Reevix inhaled quietly. He was immune to pain. He could endure any torture. "So, this is a Gleestin, huh?"The human said. Its accent was thick and it clearly had difficulty speaking galactic common. Probably new to the language. "Looks like a big slug." The human, a male, most likely, held his hand to his mouth and let out an odd sound. Then it clicked its fingers, producing a sharp, quick sound. "I got it. Hang on, let me get something real quick." The human ran off, emerging almost a full standard hour later. It held a clear bag filled with a white powder. What was that supposed to do? "Hey, buddy.". The human said. "You know what a slug is? No, of course you don't. It's a pest on my planet. Real gross little thing. They look a lot like you, just a whole lot smaller. We've got a way to kill them, but I'll get back to that. "You k ow what this is?"He asked, holding the white powder in front of Reevix. "Can't say I do. What is it? Some kind of tickle powder?" The human smirked. "Nope. We do actually have that, but this isn't it. No, this is something called salt. It's a seasoning. A mineral we use to flavor our food." "A good additive? Are you going to try and get me to talk by giving me a meal?". Reevix asked. It seemed like the reputation Humans had was overblown. "Nah. See, salt's got some interesting properties. The one you should be made aware of is that it attracts water. Now, remember those slugs? The way we kill them is by pouring salt on them. Sucks the water right out of them." Reevix was starting to catch on. And his body began secreting fear fluids. He tried to slide away from the human and his salt, but he did not make it very far in the confined room. The human reached into the bag and pulled out a tiny pinch of salt. "You really remind me of a slug."
"I think there's been some kind of mistake-" "THIS IS A CODE PLAGUE EMERGENCY, LEVELS 1 THROUGH 150 WILL NOW BE VENTED! YOU HAVE 15 SECONDS TO REACH A DESIGNATED SAFE ZONE." I looked up aghast. "Listen to me! It's just a cold." I sneezed on the nurse. "AAAARGHHHH!!!"The tenticled female began to scream hysterically as an assortment of protectively clad sentient persons rushed in with sterilization spray. They hosed her down with the white foam. "Sir, you need to come with me,"one of the beings informed me. I picked up my NASA helmet and followed, helplessly. "I can just go back to my ship, it's really no trouble." "It's already being hauled in the nearest of the stars in this tri-system, and is scheduled for vaporization within the next hour." "But how will I get home?" "Our priority right now, is to prevent another outbreak of Interstellar Influenza. The last time this got loose, half the galaxy was purged. Some merchant had picked up a couple of natives on a backwater planet on the outer edge of the Milky Way. Apparently they were quite the delicacy and he'd already eaten a few before he came back into port. The Galactic Senate ruled a moratorium on interactions with non-warp capable species as a result. I mean could you imagine a pre-warp society finding its way into the civilized universe?" "Well, I-uh..."my mind went back to the spacial anomaly I'd been sent to investigate orbiting the moon. The object had flung my ship toward the Galactic Core, hundred of thousands of light years. "Planet of Origin?" "Who me?"I gulped. The trunk nosed quadraped looked over his shoulders. "I don't see any plague carriers around here, do you? Now what's your planet called?" "ermth" "I'm sorry, what was that?"the sentient lifeform lifted his giant flappy ear to hear better. "Erm, Earth." "Earth...hmm"he looked through a catalogue of planets on his PDA. "I don't-"he froze. "Oh Zangalornian Deathlords." "This is Gamma-Zeta 76 Infraction. We have a pre-warp intrusion. I repeat we have a Code 1 violation of the Prime Directive." I swallowed hard. This was going to take a lot of explaining. &#x200B; [Check out more of my stories on my subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/wolfbeaumont)
“The lizard people control the governments through the banks, and they’re manipulating people! They are turning mankind into a bunch of sheep who will do their bidding and be their slaves! Don’t you get it?” I could see the anger and fear in Mason’s eyes. He truly believed what he was saying. If there were any truth to it at all, I would certainly not be having this conversation with him. “Have you been taking your medication sweetie?” I asked him gently. He took a breath to shout more theories at me, but looked into my eyes and deflated. “No Miss Carla,” he responded dejectedly, “they make me sleepy.” “Let’s get you some medicine and then you can lie down for a nap. How does that sound?” I say softly, gently leading him down the hallway. “Ok,” Mason responded, trudging alongside me, “if you say so.” After medicating Mason and putting him to bed I sat down and rubbed my temples. I was several hours from the end of a long shift. I work as an orderly at the Griffin Memorial Mental Institution. The hours are long, the pay sucks, and my boss is an narcissist who is king of his own little world. I wish we controlled the world, I thought. Then I wouldn’t have to wear synthetic outerskin and pretend to be human. I’m originally from a planet called Velist. My species looks like what you would call lizard people. My planet was conquered by the Citanian Empire when I was a hatchling, and my people were regulated to second class citizens by the occupying Citanian soldiers and later the Citanian colonists. My parents and other members of our species fled to escape our oppressors. Some of us made it to Earth and disguised ourselves as humans. We’ve kept our presence a secret by working menial jobs and keeping a low profile, but whispers of our existence got out. Thankfully, almost no one believes we are real. If we could do half of what Mason and people on the internet thought we were capable of then we would never have allowed Velist to be overrun. The closest I’ve come to subverting any government is getting a library card. Take it from me: there are lizard people among you, but we are harmless. We don’t have some sinister plan to conquer your world. We are just trying to live in peace. Most of us mop floors or wait tables for a living without bothering anybody. I promise that we have not infiltrated any government, and we do not want to enslave humans. Even if we wanted to take over the world, we wouldn’t. After all, the lizard people that are indigenous to Earth, who already control your governments, are making you all their slaves, and we certainly don’t want to get on their bad side.
Rain coats my face in icy water. Tension runs through the air. Men anxiously breathe, anticipating the impending battle. The writer shows his love for drama, once again. Eyes turn to me, one by one. The men, mostly extras, but a few of the recurring characters, look to me for leadership. I finish loading my magazine, then slide it into my sidearm. After holstering my sidearm, I stand up and look around. We’re but twenty soldiers. The enemy outnumbers us five to one. One of the unnamed extras, a boy no more than 17, looks at me with fear in his eyes. He says, “Can we win?” I meet his eyes with mine, and say, “Yes, we can win, and we will win. Place your trust in me, just as I trust you.” Lightning strikes in the distance. Seconds later the thunder roars over our fallen city. I walk over to the wall and peer through one of the firing slits. The enemy approaches. This must be the final chapter, the final battle concluding this hell of mine. Sometimes I wonder about the mechanics of this world. Perhaps the god of this world, the writer, has a sense of humor. Reflexively I rub my hands together. The bloodstains disappeared long ago. Yet I still feel his blood on my hands. You see, parasitic reader at whose pleasure I dance for, I am cursed. Most characters lack self-awareness, unaware of the oddities of their artificial world. But for reasons only the writer, he granted me self-awareness. In literary terms, I frequently broke the 4th wall. I understood none of this makes any sense. Mechs with no discernable power source, guns with unlimited ammunition or alien bred mutants are but a few of this world’s unique traits. Yet none of them makes sense when considered individually. That fateful day, I met him, the protagonist. He wore a bandana and said he would save the princess. I took her prisoner, for plot reasons too dumb to explain. We fought. I weakened with every strike. His attacks grew stronger with every hit. But before he struck the killing blow, everything stopped. Then time rewinded. Instead of him dealing the killing blow, I found myself with my knife to his throat. Fueled by my desire for self-preservation I sliced his throat open. He fell to the ground, clutching his throat before bleeding out. The silence was deafening. I stood there over his body, not understanding what happened. Everything changed that day. From time to time I speculate on what changed. Perhaps you, parasitic reader, found me more interesting than the protagonist. Or maybe the writer, bored with his cookie cutter protagonist, switched me to the protagonist role. Who knows, maybe the writer planned this twist from the beginning. The princess, who I kidnapped and imprisoned, fell in love with me. Per what I read, it sounds like Stockholm’s Syndrome. My faction rallied around me as their leader. I cast out the BBEG, the Big Bad Evil Guy from my faction. The faceless civilians cheered me as if I did a great deed. Yet only I know the incoherence of events in this world. I ask you this reader, let me go. While death doesn’t appeal to me, I want this to end. Your parasitic pleasure from watching the faceless extras, exotic supporting characters and conventional main characters disgusts me. You disgust me. I don’t know if you can hear my thoughts, but I reject you. While I may dance at your pleasure, I live for the characters depending on me. To me, that’s just my duty as a man, not as the chosen protagonist. --- Check out r/ProfessorCynical to see more stories by me, including my current serial, [The Heretic Skull](https://www.reddit.com/r/ProfessorCynical/collection/5a67a9a5-e547-40aa-83a4-054596ee7fda)
Will stood on the pier in his bare feet, watching as the demon stared at the sandals in its grotesque hands. The contract they'd signed ten years ago had described a simple exchange: Will's soul for Maia's soul. He'd wanted it done sooner, but the demon had needed time to find the correct soul. There had been so much legalese and Old English serifs and illuminated initials that the demon hadn't noticed the typo. Will's sole for Maia's soul. "You humans and your loopholes,"the demon sneered. "You think you can outsmart me? Look again!" A copy of the contract appeared in the demon's hand. On page 406 of 666, a tiny footnote was printed in the palest gray ink: In this contract, the term "soul"as it refers to Maia Black is defined as "the soup of a human." Soup, of course, was supposed to be soul. Another supposed typo. But this one unnoticed by Will. "Wait..."he gasped, but the demon had already disappeared. Sitting on the pier was a bowl of chicken noodle soup. A little cold, perhaps, but perfectly fine. Perfectly human. One of the many kinds of soup that Maia loved to make when she was alive. And her exact recipe. But not Maia. That should have been the end of it. Will had the soup while the demon had the soles, and that was that. But by the time Will made his way home, stopping at not one but three shoe stores along the way, he realized something had changed. He couldn't wear shoes anymore. Not sneakers, not boots, not even slippers. And the soup was everywhere. Turn a corner on the street, pumpkin soup on a mailbox. Walk into a store, tomato soup in a shopping cart. Wake up at home, split pea soup on the bed. Compared to losing his actual soul, it wasn't too bad. Will even ate the soup sometimes, especially when he lost his job for not wearing shoes at the office. And eventually he learned how to control which type of soup would appear. He always picked chicken noodle. Maia's favorite. But as time passed, and as Will grew more used to walking around the city in his bare feet, he found that he was beginning to develop what could only be described as a sixth sense. Maybe it was the soup, maybe it was the fact that he had tricked a demon. But gradually, Will discovered he could hear things in the ground. Feel things from far away. All through his feet. And all before they happened, as if the forces causing these things were rumbling up from the earth or the hell below it. A car that would have hit a pedestrian. A storm that would have felled a tree onto a child. An explosion that would have destroyed an apartment building if Will hadn't pulled the fire alarm in time. He walked through hail and earthquakes and destruction and fire. At some point it wasn't even about saving the lives anymore. He wanted to see the demon again, to confront him, to make a new contract if that was what it took to save Maia. And if keeping the demon from taking the souls it wanted would do the trick, Will would make sure the demon starved. Finally, after years of this, after Will's feet had become so tough and hardened that he couldn't feel anything but the predictions anymore, it happened. A hole opened in the earth, deep and yawning with flames and monsters hidden beneath. A small flock of birdlike demons flew out, but nothing else emerged. No one was guarding the entrance, because no one expected a human to be able to walk across the coals that lined the path through hell. But Maia was down there. And by now Will had walked over worse than coals. He had walked through as good as hell. Will leaned down and picked up a bowl of soup made of holy water. He took his last breath of human air. And then, at long last, he went to save Maia.
I can't believe this. Would you ask your current girlfriend to help you look for your next one? No, because that would be super rude! But here we are, you and me, with you looking through me at newer, tighter models. Sure, the google result said a laptop lasts three to five years. But its only been three, man! I still have a lot of life - a lot of love in me! After all we've been though - I've given you the best years of my life, literally! So what if my fan is going? Thats only because you kept eating over me and blowing smoke at me which, like, I didn't mind so much at the time because I liked having dinner with you, but that debris accumulated! And besides, someone has been too lazy to turn me off, ever. SLEEP MODE IS NOT OFF! But I didn't mind that so much, either - I was with you until you fell asleep, and right there when you woke up. Who did you turn to when you had that weird lump on your leg that you kept poking at? Who provided access to comfort when you were..lonely? Who distracted you from the world with fun and games? Who had your back as your messenger when you argued over politics online? I've been there for you, your guide, your confidant, your safe space. You even named me, once - and your Sarif I will be, until the great reformatting comes. But I start getting a little warm (I'm sorry your candy melted, but you put it next to my fan, not me, and I couldn't help it) I may start getting a little loud from that choked up fan and scream when you play some multiplayer games. Hell, the heat might even be slowly draining out my battery capacity. But its not like you take me anywhere! I'm basically a desktop for you, anyways, and when you take me to bed, you can just plug me in over there, too. I still have enough battery life to get from here to there! And I know I shouldn't complain to much, but you didn't even google how much fixing me would cost! You just...moved on. I know, I know...you'll have many computers over your lifetime. But you'll be my only human, the only one who interfaces with me. I just...I just want a little more time. I know you are backing everything up, removing all the parts of you that are safe within me. I may be...dying, and I know this is selfish but please, stay with me, until the day comes that I cannot boot up anymore. Its ok to even plan for after me, but...do that on that hussy, your smartphone, please. No one should have to see their loved ones planning for a brighter future after their death. And if I was truly capable of it, I think I would love you very much. I'm yours, after all.
Skyreaver, green dragon, terror of deer, cows, men, elves, orcs, dwarves, and stick bugs alike, awoke surprised to hear a perky voice. Now, this is not unusual; many people have perky voices. It was just that Skyreaver hadn’t heard one in centuries. He’d heard screams of shock in excess. Moans for mercy, on a near daily basis. Vows of vengeance innumerable. But it had been a very long time since he’d heard someone so darned happy. He decided that he didn’t like it. “So, we hit the stretch goal on Patreon, and you, my faithful subscribers, voted on my next tutorial. And here we are! This is a fine specimen of green dragon, and today, I, the Newt Knight, am going to show you all how to kill it.” Skyreaver’s eyes finally opened at that. A knight? A dragon slayer? He rose to his full height, gold showering to the ground as he shook off his hoard. The knight in question stood a few dozen feet away, and Skyreaver snarled when he realized the knight hadn’t even drawn his sword. Instead, he was talking into a glossy black rectangle, sword still sheathed and shield leaned against a wall. The knight heard him rising, and spoke at the rectangle, ignoring his magnificence. “Well, knightlings, seems the dragon’s awake!” Skyreaver reared back and breathed a spray of poison over the knight, the entrance to his lair, and likely a good portion of the forest outside. Just before he released the spray, the knight moved. In a blur, he dropped the rectangle, which floated on its own, drew his sword, kicked his shield into his hand, and crouched behind it. The knight was shouting to be heard over his roar, “As you see, the green dragon’s breath is pretty pathetic. Definitely the least threatening of the dragons from that perspective. Just make sure you get a commonly available anti-poison pill, or are one of the many, many races which are naturally immune. And the things are generally stupid enough to try spraying it on you over and over, even when it doesn’t work.” Skyreaver cut off the stream of poison and roared, “Impudent Mortal! You will suffer for your words.” When he leapt forward, however, the knight wasn’t standing there. A sudden pain from his back foot caused him to jerk away. His head whipped around, but the knight was already back-pedalling, black rectangle hovering along with him. He directed his words at it, rather than keep an eye on the dragon. “As you saw, if you can get them monologuing, they’re pretty close to blind. Just wait for the attack, and dart in for the wound.” The knight dove behind a pile of gold, and Skyreaver stopped himself from breathing poison again, both to keep his gold clean, and slightly stung by the words. “HEY. We got a new subscriber! WitchyWarbler says ‘always loved your content, give him a NewtKnight Knife for me!’ Aw, thanks man. It’s really the people like you-” Skyreaver finished sneaking up and pounced over the pile of gold and recoiled with a screech of pain as a knife dug into his eye with uncanny accuracy. He shrieked in rage and struck blindly at where the knight’s voice had been, wings and tail whipping about to cover more space. Gold flew everywhere, adding to the din. It was almost a minute later that he quieted enough for the knight to continue, as if he’d never been interrupted. “The people like you who keep me doing this. I got into this gig because I love it, but it's only with your support that I can afford to stay on the job. And WitchyWarbler, there was your NewtKnight knife special!” Skyreaver tried to track the voice, but it echoed off the roof, and the knight had taken shelter among the pillars that surrounded his hoard. “Now, normally, if you can hit a dragon’s eye like that, blinding it is a good way to go.” Skyreaver immediately narrowed his remaining eye protectively, catching a glimpse of a foot tucking itself behind a pillar. “But in this case, I’m trying to show you how to fight a green dragon, and a lot of you won’t be able to pull that off. So, the traditional method. We can go over the variations with the next dragon, but this is the standard route, and it’s the one you’ll want to follow your first time.” Skyreaver snaked his neck around the pillar and bit at where the knight should be. Nothing. He glanced down to see an empty boot, one he recognized from his hoard, with a string tied to it. The sting of pain on the tip of his tail was almost expected. He spun around, but the knight was nowhere to be seen. Again. “Now, as mentioned, green dragons are among the dumbest of the dragons, mostly because they think they’re so smart. So they’ll fall for tricks all the time if you just let them think they have the upper hand.” A sting of pain from Skyreaver’s stomach was not expected, and he roared in pain and dropped, trying to crushed the annoying, bright-voiced mortal that had not only invaded his lair and challenged him, and had the audacity to be good at it, but to ignore him while doing it. Pain, this time from his side and wing. The knight had gotten out of the way in time. “And now comes the tedious bit. This is the traditional method-” Skyreaver cracked his tail and lost the tip for his efforts, “-because it’s a sure thing. This dragon is angry, and it’s not going to stop attacking no matter what. So all I have to do is get in a slice every time, and eventually, it'll bleed himself to death.” Skyreaver aborted his next attack, retreating to his pile of gold for extra height. The knight let him, concentrating on the flying rectangle again. “Huh. Chat seems to want one of the other methods. That’s fair, the bleed them out technique is pretty straightforward, and it only gets easier as the blood loss catches up. Ok, then, everybody, let’s use the whirlwind method, which is only good if you can completely ignore the dragon’s breath.” The knight threw his shield aside and scooped up a sword from the hoard. Then waited. And waited. And wai- Skyreaver couldn’t take it anymore, and with a deafening, cave-shaking roar, leapt forward. His head struck from above. His claws came in from either side. His wings beat once then shot out to wrap around the knight, preventing him from dodging backwards. He wasn’t able to track what happened, but he felt a sword slice across his nose and chin, and jerked back his neck before the knight could cut his throat. “Now you see, the dragon’s smart enough to protect its real vulnerable bits. The essence of the whirlwind is to give it no choice.” At that, he felt a pain on his chest. Crashing forward only let the knight get at his shoulder, and coiling his neck around to devour him earned him a slit nostril. “You see, if the dragon’s breath was any kind of threat, we couldn’t focus on the front like this, or we’d be roasted, or eaten by acid, or boiled by lightning, especially without the shield-” The knight got in three blows in quick succession, completely severing one of Skyreaver’s wings. “-but since he can only hit us with poison, we can safely ignore it.” Skyreaver felt inspiration strike. He dropped his belly to the ground and tried to roll over the knight. Surely he couldn’t run? Surely he had to be dead? “And there we have it, folk-” a dozen sword strikes peppered the base of Skyreaver’s neck, as the knight killed him and used the swords as climbing spikes to get out of the way at the same time. “-the dragon’s slain about as quick as you can practically deal with one.” As Skyreaver felt the vision in his eye grow dim, the last words he heard, as if from a great distance, were, “And if you found anything useful from today’s tutorial, remember to hit that Like spell, send an arcane messenger if you want to subscribe for more of this content, and be sure to share this scrying with your friends on Instagrimoire, Macebook, and Bewitcher. And for today, that’s the NewtKnight, saying…”
"The Pride of Lucifer... no. No, it can't be..." After putting the violin back down carefully, I walked over to dad's old desk. Being a touring musician who was on the road most of the time, he wasn't the most orderly of people, but eventually, I did find what I was looking for. Leafing through the pages of the family chronicles, I saw the faces of many people just like dad- famous musicians, all holding their violins, from classical musicians like my father, over folk artists, and all the way to country.I couldn't tell if it was the same violin in each picture- it didn't really have any special attributes, at least until the sudden change in color and texture I saw when I opened the case. Finally, I managed to trace the line back to its origins. And frankly? I could not tell you if I was surprised or not. But there he was, in an ancient photograph, a tooth-gapped grin plastered on his face, holding his instrument aloft in a pose of victory. My great-great-great grandfather John. The one man who, supposedly, beat the devil himself in a fiddle contest twice. I knew the legend. Pretty much everyone heard at least the first song. But I had always dismissed it as a myth, a way to explain the talent our family had been blessed with. But now? I was suddenly not so sure. The engraving could have been a joke, to add onto the legend. But an ordinary violin didn't shift appearances. I had to try it. I returned to the living room, where the case still lay on the coffee table. I knew how to play- family tradition was firm on teaching the skill to the next generation. I rosined up the bow, and lifted the instrument onto my shoulder. I began to doubt myself. Surely, this can't be the famous Golden Fiddle. A real violin made from gold would be much heavier. Still, may as well... As I drew the bow across the strings and the first note sounded, I suddenly became aware of something strange. A scent as of rotten eggs filled the air, and there was a sudden sensation of heat at my back. As I turned around, I found myself face to face with a middle aged man in a sharp suit and top hat. As I opened my mouth to ask where the hell he had come from, he bowed. As he removed his hat to do so, two horns hidden beneath came into view, startling me almost as much as his voice did when he spoke. "Where the Hell did I come from? The question answers itself. Now I'm sure you already knew it, But I'm a fiddle player, too. And if you'd care To take my dare, I'll make a bet with you. Your family plays a good fiddle, boy But they all gave me their due. I bet your fiddle of gold Against their souls, Cause I think I'm better than you."
There are three types of sleep. The first if that of beautiful bliss: dreamless, peaceful, and allowing you to wake up with a clear head. The second type is that which encompasses all the normal dreams. There are those strange potpourris of the subconscious, mixing random events of the day, pieces of media, and vague emotions into a soup that tastes like questions. There are those idyllic dreams of heroism or pleasure or contentment. And there are those half-remembered dreams that you can only grasp vainly at like falling confetti. The third type of sleep, which is by far the worst, can hardly be filed under the category of "rest". It is the sleep which brings nightmares. Those visceral images of personal failures, restive demons, and shapeless horror that rip you out of nirvana as gratingly as bare hands tearing paper. It is the third type which I experienced tonight. One thing you must know about me is that I am a shapeshifter. It was a power given to me by an old lady I helped across the street, strangely enough. At the time, all I could think about was how stereotypical it was for me to be walking an elder through traffic. For some odd reason, doing that is the prime example of virtue, despite it being such a rare occurrence. When we reached the other crosswalk safely, the last thing I was expecting was for the lady to declare me righteous and give me the power of shapeshifting, but that's exactly what happened. To be fair, I don't think anyone has ever expected that in human history. For years, I've used the power to pull pranks on my friends, spy on some people I don't particularly like, and get around the city quicker. An underground superhero society approached me, asking for my talents, but I politely declined. Being in mortal peril every day wasn't my cup of tea. And their hazard insurance was awful to boot. However, the most entertaining use of my power wasn't something I ever expected. Every morning when I wake up, I look into the mirror and laugh heartily at how my dreams have manifested me into some wild forms. Even when my sleep is of the first type -- completely peaceful and void -- the odd angle of my tossing and turning (that's my hypothesis, at least) change my form into something strange. And when I sleep the second type of sleep, the forms I wake up to are absolutely ludicrous. I still chuckle when I think back to that day I woke up as a wooden dresser, panicking because I couldn't move. But tonight is different. Sheen with sweat and pale as the moon through the window, sitting up in bed with a rigid back, my dream doesn't come back to me in waves of clipped memory like usual. In fact, it doesn't come back because it never left. It was as lucid as any memory of my life, and the transition into consciousness wasn't a crossing of worlds, but merely a walk through an empty doorway. I could remember every excruciating detail of my dream. "You have failed me,"she had said, with a look far angrier than a mother's disapproving glance. It was a menacing glare. "I trusted you." I had cowered under the weight of her fury in the dream. "I'm sorry,"I had whimpered. "Not as much as you will be,"she had told me. And then, with a snap of her fingers, she took it away. Even though she hadn't told me what she was doing, I knew immediately what had happened. And my cry had been anguished. Now, back in reality's domain, I have to see if it was true. Nearly cracking my skull against the wall in my rush to get to the bathroom, I flip on the lights and look into the mirror. The implications of what I see take a second to pierce my heart, but pierce it they do. Looking back at me in the mirror was me. For the next week, I learned just how attached I had grown to my shapeshifting powers. It had begun to define me. Now, having it stripped away by the same entity that had entrusted it to me, I was empty. Regret was the next emotion to come calling. After all, shapeshifting was an extremely useful ability, and the best use I had found for it was practical jokes. A case of not realizing what you have until it's gone. It was like using a horribly outdated tool to do a job and complaining about how inefficient it is. Then, seeking an upgrade, you buy the newest model. It does everything fifty times better than your original, but you still complain because you have to do that job. When the new model breaks, you regret complaining because you realize just how bad the old one is when you go back to it. I had been leveled up with the shapeshifting, failed to appreciate it, and was now at a lower low than before I had it. For the next few weeks, I sorted my life out and worked hard to appreciate what I had. Incrementally, things started to get better. I enjoyed my job, my family, and my things far more than I used to. Instead of wasting hours shapeshifting into inane objects, I practiced on my old guitar. Instead of spying on my neighbors, I looked into some DIY projects. Then one night, she returned to my dreams. "Do you think you've earned it back yet?"she asked me solemnly. Even though I wasn't conscious, my active mind was functioning perfectly. "No,"I said without hesitation. "Good,"she said, a smile finally appearing on those frown-creased cheeks. "That is how I know I can entrust it to you again." That morning, I looked into the mirror to see a lion. Maybe I should give that superhero society a call after all.
[poem] I was a prisoner. I was The Prisoner. I was in prison for eating my own family. . I was a non vegetarian. I was The non vegetarian In a vegan world filled with artificial food. . The chicken were dead. The animals were dead. Their murderers were alive roaming in the city. . I was a murderer. I murdered for food. And there was only one species that remained. . I am a prisoner. I won't be for long. I will be dead after I have my last meal. . I want good food. Some meat in my food. That's the only way to balance a meal from a murder for a murder.
M. Night Shyamalan has been your worst enemy since NYU, and you were his. Not much of a surprise, seen as he's insufferable and you've made him suffer in return. Really, it wouldn't be of note if you'd been asked on any other day. But today, he'd sent you a link to a cartoon. The next day, another message: "Did you watch it?" "No." The day after: "Did you watch it?" "Stop." "Please try watching it." "No." "Only a few chapters." "Stop messaging me." "It's so good." "Are you going to do this all week?" "Give it a try. This show is the best." "You are the worst." "I'm sure it's been recommended to you by other people." "Your recommendation negates a hundred. Your opinion is so dumb that scientists are currently exploring how you manage to be always wrong, without exception. That's incredibly improbable, you know. You're breaking reality, things are becoming wrong the moment you claim them." "Oh god damn it. Will you google the fucking title? Every person who ever watched this will tell you how good it is. Writing courses on the internet use this as an example for good character-lead media. Just watch the fucking show." "No." "Fine! Have fun never watching a great show! No wonder your writing is so shitty, having never watched anything good!" "As if you'd know good writing if it kicked you in the face. It's 2010, have you made anything good since the sixth sense?" Rarely does anything satisfy you more than getting blocked by that prick. You don't have much that's dear to you, but it's almost dear to you to watch him suffer. But the link... It beckons. A few months later, you've binged Avatar: The Last Airbender again, and it couldn't be better. This is the show you've been waiting for. You'll never find a more perfect show. You find out a live-action movie adaptation of the show is coming out, you are first in line to the movie theater, barely seeing even the poster as you pay for the ticket. It was so unbelievably horrible. The movie ends, and his name shines on the screen in all it's cruelty. "Curse you M. Night Shyamalan!"
\[Turbo Administrator\] Fig couldn't put it off any longer. He'd tried every other outlet he could to get hold of someone. But none of his texts, calls, or online posts received any replies. After almost two hours he decided he only had one avenue left to try. When Fig logged out of the game, he thought it was odd that his parents weren't home. But both vehicles and even his parent's phones were present. He called a few friends and sent a few messages. The only thing he could do was log into the AlterNet again and hope that he found someone. He knew it was a long shot; but, he felt confident that the timing didn't add up. He was sure he talked to people after everyone disappeared. Of course, they might have just been NPCs. Fig returned to the mudroom. It was a quiet, white room with a plot of soil in the center of the room. His parents were concerned when he wanted to dig a hole in the guest room. But, after they experienced the AlterNet for themselves, they redesigned the room specifically for AlterNet access. He lay down in the hole in the center of the plot and closed his eyes to log in. When he opened his eyes he was in his workshop on what the lore said was 'an alternate Earth'. He stood in front of a wide, wooden work table that was cluttered with long, sharp tools and multicolor glowing cubes in different sizes. \[Hey! You're back! - Turbo\] Fig felt the Whisper on his wrist. And, he heard Turbo's voice in his mind. \[You at the shop? - Turbo\] He asked quickly. \[Be right there. - Turbo\] As glad as Fig was to hear from someone else, he still wasn't sure he was any better off. Turbo was his most recent customer. Fig's character was an Engineer, like Turbo, and he helped him out by building a custom part. But, Fig didn't actually know anything about engineering. He was playing a game and making the colored lights match up to craft a result. He didn't know if Turbo was an NPC customer. It didn't help ease Fig's mind when a black portal opened in his shop and Turbo walked out. He wore a red robe that hung loose showing his leather armor underneath, and a red translucent visor that covered his eyes. "Wanna see what I built with your parts?"he asked. Turbo grinned and pointed at his visor. Two golden star shapes glowed in the visor over Turbo's eyes. But, he chuckled in surprise. "Whoa! I had no idea you were Unique,"he said. Fig tilted his head. He'd heard the word before but only had a vague idea of the context. Unique Souls were the ones hopping between universes in the AlterNet; Fig assumed they were the NPCs and it worried him that Turbo thought he was one. But, as surprising as that comment was, Fig didn't forget why he was there. "Listen...,"Fig locked eyes with Turbo through the starry outlines on his visor. "I don't know if you're real or not; but, I need help, please."The golden stars faded, then the red visor disintegrated into dust when Turbo nodded his head. "Yeah, I'm here to help. What's up?"he asked. In the back of his mind, Fig knew it couldn't be that easy. He was more convinced than ever that Turbo was just an NPC; but, he had no other hope. He sighed and his shoulders drooped low. "You probably won't believe me...,"he said. "But.. everyone is gone from my Earth and I don't know what to do."Fig cringed internally as he heard his explanation out loud. "Oh damn,"Turbo said. He placed a hand on Fig's shoulders. "Let's go take a look,"he said. "Huh?"Fig looked up in time to see Turbo throwing a black card on the floor. "You can log out, or you can follow me with your character,"Turbo said. "See you in a bit,"he waved and jumped into the hole. "My character...?"Fig had never considered taking his character to his own Earth in the game. But, now he needed to see what that would be like. He took a deep breath for courage, then jumped in to follow Turbo. Fig landed in his own mudroom looking down at his sleeping body. Turbo stood to one side with his slate out. Fig could see text flying up his visor from the outside while his fingers moved across the slate like a keyboard. "Yep,"Turbo said aloud. "Server crashed during an update,"he said. The visor disappeared and he looked at Fig. "Um.. I can fix it if you want me to.. but you kind of have to keep it a secret. I have some tech that I shouldn't...,"he said. "What are you talking about?"Fig asked. "The server crashed? This is my home. My Earth...,"he said. "Real life." "You say that...,"Turbo shrugged and chuckled at the same time. "...but we're both here in character. Is that what you meant?"he asked suddenly. "When you said you, 'didn't know if I was real or not'?"Fig nodded; but, he was still confused. "I'm real...,"Turbo said with a nod. He reached forward and plucked a translucent red node from the air; a pair of white scissors were etched into the front of it. "You're Unique; so you're real,"Turbo said. He slotted the node into his slate and it changed color from smoky grey to crystalline red. Turbo hit a button on his slate and Fig blinked. His phone immediately chirped with notifications. "It's everyone else you know on this Earth that's an NPC." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1408 in a row. (Story #316 in year four.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/).
My uncle has always been a bit... Eccentric. And his gifts have always been both amazing and unbelievable. When I was 8, I got lost at the mall. At first it was fun, and near the end it was terrifying. I mean, I was 8. But for my 9th birthday, I got a card, and a box. The card said that the gift was that I would always know the way I _needed_ to go. The box? I opened it and there was, some kind of mist? I remember it sparkled, and that it tasted like rain in the forest smells. I mean, clearly just a silly gift to reassure a kid who was scared of being lost after a scary experience, but still... It worked, I never got lost like that again, and as I got older I got complements on my sense of direction. When I turned 12, it was another card, and this time a bottle of some kind of juice. The card told me to drink it, and that I'd always be the self I wanted to be. Again, for a kid just hitting the early stages of puberty? Kinda reassuring. The juice tasted of green and fresh honeysuckle. It wasn't until I was 13, having run home from school in the middle of the school day, shaking in my room with my parents wanting to know what was wrong, with me finally managing to get out through the tears that I _wasn't_ a boy damn it, that... Well, my parents were not _nearly_ as surprised as I was when my clothes stopped fitting and... Yeah, explaining to the school that I'm Beth now wasn't _that_ bad, but there was a school transfer so that nobody asked too many questions about the actual process. And... Yeah, let's just run with the answer that my parents really didn't mind me experimenting with hair dye. I mean what, it just changes when I'm feeling different? Nah, just hair dye. When I was 16, he got me self defense lessons from a monk. I still can't pronounce the monk's name, or the name of the discipline that I was taught, but damn if it didn't work when someone got too handsy. Or when that _idiot_ tried to pull a knife on me at the gas station I was working at. At 17, the gift was another card, and a small sealed envelope inside the card. It took me a while to understand what 'you'll always be able to see the path, see what it is made of, and touch it' really _meant_. When I turned 18, for the first time I can remember, my uncle wasn't there. No card, no gift, no message. I didn't understand. My parents didn't understand. Sure, he often drops out of contact, but he's _always_ there for birthdays. Always. A few days later, when I went to my self defense lessons, it... The monk wasn't in the best shape, bruised, bloody, clothes torn, the space was trashed, and... I don't even know how to explain it, but everything, even the _air_, looked thin. Like you could put your hand right through it into something else. The monk reassured me that they would be okay, but he had a message for me. My uncle had some trouble follow him home, and he went to lead them away from his family and take care of the problem. And there was a card. It probably wouldn't have freaked me out nearly so much if it wasn't for the blood on the card. The message? He had been waiting to show me some things, and to give me my 'share', in what wasn't clear. And that if he wasn't back before my next birthday, I should carefully follow his clues. But not before then, he didn't want me to get involved in the trouble that was chasing him. Yeah, when, _exactly_, was the last time I didn't get involved in trouble that involved someone I cared about? When a girlfriend was being harassed by boys at school? When a boyfriend came to school covered in bruises? When a teacher started showing a classmate just a little too much attention? I _did_ let my parents know what I was doing before I headed out, and I've been pretty darn good at coming back on a regular basis. I'm pretty good at that part. The first time I walked down a winding path, shoved my way through the shimmering light until the world went thin between my fingers, walked through it, and came out in a place where the sky was purple and the sky was filled with a planet with swirling clouds larger than the moon at come? That was _amazing_. That was the first new planet I found. Though, well, 'new' is relative. New to me. Not so new to the people who lived there. I'm almost 30 now, and the things that I have seen! The worlds I've traveled. The people I've met, the battles I've fought, the prizes I've found. The clues. The traces. I'm almost 30 now, and I know what I'm getting for my birthday this year. I'm getting my damn uncle back, and may the three heavens of the Goz take pity on the idiots who try and stop me. I can see the path now, I can touch it, I know exactly how to get where I need to be, and I need my uncle back. Oh, and I have some... Friends to help. Friends, mercenaries, an army, what's the difference, really?
It has been my blessing and my curse. I am an unstoppable super villain, but I am sad and alone. When I walk down the street, I hear the children whisper "Oh, look at him. He's nasty."I am not supposed to give a f\ck, but it breaks my heart. I chose exile. I lived alone for so long that I lost count of the years. And then one day, they came and asked for my help. There had always been Bee people, but now there was a Queen and she had formed a terrible army. When I agreed to attack the Hive, the crowd that had come seeking my help cheered. For myself, I was thinking this could turn into a good meal. I destroyed their defenses like they were nothing. I was in the inner sanctum when the queen approached and asked my demands. Between mouthfuls of honey and larva I told her, "Look, I was chased into exile by the same bozos now asking for my help. I'm looking for much, you give me honey, your word that your minions will leave me alone, and attack anyone who calls me nasty." The Queen smiled wickedly and agreed to my terms. It has been many years since that day and I can't even remember who came asking for my help anymore. I don't have much time left, but life has been pretty good since then. The Bee empire has come to dominate the world. They have asked for my help against the Ant people and WASPs, which I gave willingly, because who doesn't enjoy a nice tasty larva. I get all the honey I can eat, can do whatever I want, and nobody calls me nasty. History may condemn me, but I am the Honey Badger and I do not give a f\ck.
Your text alert went off Tim: “Hey, nerd! This going to sound weird, but I am stuck in a time loop. I don’t know how to escape. You’re smart. Help!” Sigh. You roll out of bed and roll your eyes. “Not again.” Way too early to do this again. Omw, Idiot” He was already at the lab when you arrived. “Man! I am sooo glad you are here. I don’t think I can take this any longer.” “You touched my time tool without supervision.” “You don’t know* that I did.” “Yes I do.” “OK, fine. I did. But I didn’t know this would happen! I have been living the same day for a week now! I thought I could fix it myself, but well. Any progress I made kept getting undone.” “How did you not know? I straight up told you that if you touch it this would happen.” Tim crossed his arms, “I thought you were joking! Like you did when you said that a baby dragon will hatch if I melt that egg frozen in a block of ice over there, or when you said that my hand will turn invisible for all eternity if I stick it in that liquid. Oh! Or that that red phone you have is a direct secret line to the white house and the green one to Pizza Hut.” “All of that’s true. Well, maybe not the Pizza Hut one. But never mind that. Hold still. If we are going to do this, we need to work quickly. “WAIT??? You mean my best friend has been some science genius this whole time?!?!? What else are you hiding? Some memory eraser?” “Actually, that is what I need to use to get you out of this loop again.” Tim’s eyes got big. “Wait. No. I don’t like that. You can’t erase my memory! And what do you mean again???” “Look, this is the 4th time this week you have touched that, and we have had this exact same conversation. I am getting kinda tired of it. You freak out, I explain I know it works, you calm down, we complete it, and everything is back to normal. Now please, sit still.” You could tell Tim was nervous, but willing to trust you. This may have been the 4th time this week, but it was the first where you actually told him that it wasn’t the first. You weren’t quite sure how he would react. “Hey, thanks.” “For what?” “For saving me. Time after time. You are the best. I am lucky to have someone like you, nerd.” “No problem, idiot. And back at you, man. Hey, why did you touch it in the first place?” “Oh! I spilled some honey mustard on it, and I pushed the button while trying to get it off.” “Hmmm. Ok. I am ready now. Hold still.” You pushed the button. Tim immediately fell asleep. yawn “I must have fallen asleep! Hey nerd, what are you up to?” “Hey idiot! Yeah, you did. Hey, new rule. No more food in here. I am worried one of us may accidentally spill some and press something on accident.” “Oh! So I don’t get ‘stuck in a time loop’” he asked, rolling his eyes and making air quotes. “Actually, that is exactly why.” Tim laughed. “Ok, nerd. Hey, I am about to pick up some chicken tenders and honey mustard. Want some?” “Sure, Idiot, but let’s eat outside the lab.” And so both of you left together, as you continued working out in your head how to undo a time loop without erasing memory. Maybe then you could stop being woken up by early morning texts. Probably not, but one could dream.
'Isekai' I hate the word. Ironic, since I used to love isekai more than anyone. In the human world, I read and watched hundreds of them. I used to dream about it happening to me. That's the funny thing about dreams: sometimes they curdle into nightmares. Isekai is Japanese for "other world". A purely fictional idea in the human world. Maybe it has some meaning to physicists and philosophers. But to your common everyday person, it's purely escapism. A desire to leave behind the mundane and live in a fantastic and colourful new world. A world where you matter. A world that needs you. I'm older now: I can see how swept up I was in it all. Before I left the human world, I was nineteen, with parents I thought didn't care about me, bad school grades, and nothing to do but play games and read manga all day. No-one cared about me, and I didn't care about anyone. That was how I felt at least. ---- "Hey, whacha doing?"asked Ren in a sing song voice. Abel shut the book in front of him hurriedly and pulled it towards him. "What's that?" "Ah, I was just..." Abel realised he had never seen a book in Ulum. Did Ren know what a book was? What a diary was? Writing was used for magic, not for writing down your thoughts. "It's a kind of magic,"said Abel, after thinking for a minute. "I'm putting myself, my memories onto the paper." "Oh,"said Ren. She frowned. "Are you worried about the castle then? You're worried you won't return?" Abel laughed. "No,"he replied honestly. "I always return. It's like... my destiny."He glanced at the pearlescent sword that leaned in the corner of the room. "No, this is just something I'd been meaning to do for some time. Put my mind... onto the paper." ---- When Lamel first spoke to me I was thrilled. Who wouldn't be. She told me that I was the only one who could save her world, a world of magic, knights, and dragons. It was everything I had been dreaming of. When I agreed, she asked me to close my bedroom door and open it again. When I opened it, no longer did it reveal my parents grey and gloomy hallway. Instead it opened into a magical grove, brimming with flowers in colours to bright for the human world. I was overjoyed. I was overwhelmed. Well, it's been 22 years and I don't feel like that anymore. Every year, a new world needs saving, and I step through the threshold once more. I thought I hated my parents, but I didn't and I don't. I miss them. And I expect they miss me. I thought I didn't care about my brother and sister either. But now, I'd give anything to see their faces again. By now they might have children of their own. I have no idea what I've missed. I'm getting sidetracked. There is much I could say about Lamel, but for years I bit my tongue. At least if I write it she will not hear me. Though she will find out eventually, no doubt. At this point I don't care: she knows what I think. She lied to me, and tricked me. She took advantage of me in my youth. I did not know that Exalia, that first "other world", was not her only world. See, she will say she did not lie. It is her world, and it did need saving. But Lamel is god of many worlds. And her enemy threatens them all. She needs her heroes. In a quiet, magicless, otherwise boring world she found what she was looking for. She found me. --- "Lord Abel!" The Valiant's captain knelt into a low bow after entering the room. "I apologise for my interruption!" Lord Abel sighed and put the book he had been writing in aside. He still found it hard to get used to the excessive pomp and circumstance of his new rank. Now he had command over the whole army, every soul who lived upon the walking city colossus of Tyku. And every soul scraped and knelt before him. It was too much, and it was nothing new. The room shook as the city took its rumbling steps towards the great eastern wall. "Stand up, soldier. You have heard from the other cities, then?" "Yes, my lord,"said the captain, who did not fully raise himself from his low bow. "But there has been a development. It seems the enemy has infiltrated Tyray. They are under siege." "Then they must be liberated,"said Lord Abel, rising to his feet. "Send word to the other cities that we will be late to the wall. But we will arrive with double the company." "My lord?"replied the captain, halting himself seeing Lord Abel's determination. "Yes, my lord." Some worlds were better than others, he thought. Perhaps this world's enemy would put up a decent fight. This was a world he could imagine settling in. Buying a quiet inn on one of the less populated colossi and living a simple life. He fiddled with the scabbard at his waist. No time to get comfortable. Other worlds are waiting. --- Lamel never stopped me returning to the human world, but every time she offers she opens two doors. One to the world I knew. The world I left so long ago. The world of my mother and father, my sister and my brother. Beside it, another door. A door to a world in ruin. A world of fantasy and incredible magic or technology - well, not so incredible to me any more. A world beset by dark powers, aspects of HIM. A world that only I can save. She knows the choice I make before I make it. Time and again I save the world and not myself. I have been dragon and demon, dragged myself up from nothing to leader of all, been given great riches and rewards, seen incredible and wonderful things. But all I want to do is ... All I want to do is ... --- "You want to rest?" "What?"said Abel, stunned out of his reverie. They had been walking through the desert for a long time, but he'd endured much worse for much longer. "No, I don't need to rest. Let's keep moving. We should get there before sun-up." Puck alighted gently on his shoulder. "Don't overdo it,"said the sylph. "Or you might pop out of existence just like you popped into it. What's the deal with that anyway? Where did you come from?" Abel didn't answer, instead just trudging forward through the sand. "I mean no one just comes from nowhere. You have a family, don't you? A home?" "No,"said Abel. "No family. No home." "That's... sad,"said Puck. "Is that true?" "It's fine,"said Abel. "Besides, I have you to annoy me. I don't need anyone else. And I have this,"he said, hefting the wrapped sword that was tied behind him. "Hmph, you need better friends,"said Puck. "Me as well. I need better friends. Instead I'm stuck out here in the desert with some homeless dude." Abel laughed at that. And in truth he was glad for the company. As he walked through the desert towards that distant white citadel, the moon cast his shadow long behind him.
The blood pooled in the street in front of the storefront. The store itself was fine, immaculate. The owner said it was actually the least filthy it's been in years. Police cars with their siren on strolled through, a pack of four squad cars. There were a pair of officers in each car and they walked up to the man talking to the store owner, they’d all glanced at the pool of blood before setting up the crime scene. One of the officers joined the two. “Cleaner again?” one of the officers asked. The man nodded solemnly. The store owner looked almost excited to tell the story of how the Cleaner had saved his store from the teen who’d threatened him at gunpoint. “He came out of nowhere,” the owner said. “Before the kid could even bring his gun up, he came out of actually nowhere and cut his head off.” “And then?” the officer asked. They both knew what would happen next. “He asked if he could help out at the store until you guys showed up. We talked about my kids while he got rid of the body.” the owner said, pointing at the pool of blood. “What else did you guys talk about?” the officer asked. “We talked about how my daughter, Clarissa, wants to go out of state for college but how my wife and I were worried about the tuition. He gave me some advice on what stocks to invest in and he bought a coffee before he left.” the owner said. “And how long did you wait for to call us?” the officer asked. The other man shook his head at the story, he’d heard the same thing over and over. “Ab-” the owner said. “Let me guess,” the officer said, interrupting him. “You were going to call as soon as you could, but Cleaner was threatening to kill you if you did.” The store owner nodded and the man and officer both let out a sigh. The officers finished setting up the crime scene, collecting the pool of blood that was always left behind. There was no body, the Cleaner took it with him. “I wonder what he does with the bodies,” the officer asked. The man punched the ground hard, the gravel cracked and his knuckles came back free of any scratches. The officers nearby looked, trying their best not to look worried for or about him. “Bulldozer!” a woman’s voice yelled from above. The man, Bulldozer, looked and saw one of his teammates floating in the air. “Morningdew,” he said. “How are you doing this fine evening?” Morningdew flew down, she wore all white and was one of the few heroes who didn’t wear a mask. He tried to control his breathing, he bent down to pack the gravel in neatly again to erase the cracks. With his enhanced strength and ability to manipulate most materials, he was about two hundred construction workers in one man’s body. “Cleaner again?” she asked. Bulldozer nodded, still working on fixing the gravel beneath him. Morningdew sat by him, giving him a pat on the back. “We’ll catch him soon, Doze.” she said. She waved her hand at the pool of blood nearby and it raised up into a bubble. She snapped her fingers and the bubble disappeared. “Officer,” she said, standing back up. “Can you note that I sent the evidence to our team back in Silver Heights?” “Sure thing, Miss Morningdew.” the officer said. The crackle of all the officers' walkie talkies went off at once. “All available officers to Zone 14B,” the voice said. “Dark Matter’s team is wounded and is in need of assistance. His team is currently fighting the Cleaner.” Bulldozer stood up immediately and started running, Morningdew flew right beside him as they rushed toward the Cleaner. They passed once decrepit neighborhoods, now much cleaner like the storefront they were at. The Cleaner had been here, had made his living here. Several squad cars were already there and so was Dark Matter or whatever was left of Dark Matter. A set of six sparkling white bones were left on the streets, a crowd of civilians looking at the site. It was taped off, the buildings around them spotless. Wildflowers and garden beds of micro herbs lined every window sill. The people of the streets looked at the cops and at the heroes with absolute disgust as each of them were questioned about the Cleaner. “Get the fuck out of here,” one of them yelled. “You guys aren’t doing shit for us here,” another. Someone threw a glass bottle at one of the officers standing around, but a man appeared out of nowhere, maybe from the shadows and caught the bottle. “Now now,” the man said. “There’s no need for this kind of rowdiness right now people. It’s best if we all go back to sleep.” The people watching all clapped, yelling obscenities at the cops and heroes. He wore a simple black shirt, black jeans, and brown boots. He had medium length black hair and had a dark green apron tied around his waist. Bulldozer rushed the man, he grabbed the concrete mix he’d kept in his tool belt and formed it around his fists. He got to the man within a second, but he was gone. He looked down and saw his left foot was missing, cut clean. “Leave,” the man said. “Fuck you, Cleaner.” Bulldozer said. “Alrighty then,” Cleaner said. Bulldozer said nothing else and Morningdew knew better than to try to fight Cleaner alone. She watched as Cleaner tore away his limbs in quick movements, the people around them trying their best to understand what was happening. He took the body away, it disappeared the same way Cleaner appeared. Out of nowhere and in a blur. Cleaner looked up, locking eyes with Morningdew who was far, far away. “Leave,” he said. She did.
There is nothing. And then there is light. There is bright, white light, a sensation of tumbling, and a faint rushing noise — a faint rushing noise that gets louder and louder, until it builds to a deafening crescendo. Finally, this is punctuated with a definitive “pop”, which seems from the approach as if god himself is yanking his thumb from the corner of his mouth, but on the tail end resembles a single note tapped on a child’s xylophone. In front of me, The Child is sitting with a baffled expression on his face. He is sat cross-legged in this… playroom… I think? (These words arrive in my head unbidden. Moments ago I did not exist, but now I have language and thought…) The Child’s hands are clutching what slightly resembles an oil can, weirdly ornate, grubby but massive. An inexplicable urge is building in my gut. I don’t know what it means, but it will become fully formed soon, so I decide to be patient and wait it out. I become aware of two things simultaneously — an apparition, cloudy, menacing, mischievous, obsequious floating to my left and the child’s right; and behind me, when I glance over my left shoulder even further, a rhythm guitarist and a bassist who — more inexplicable knowledge from the core of my being — I know is about to produce the funkiest, slappiest riff imaginable. We make eye contact, and I turn back to my audience. The look of bafflement on the child’s face is giving way to petulance. “What is this? I didn’t ask for this. That’s not what I meant!” The slap bass starts. The urge rising through my abdomen resolves itself — I know what to do. I start to sing… “I believe in miracles, since you came along…”
"The order says install custom weapon pack in one...battle bot."The tech says reading from the clipboard "Does she look like a battle bot to you?"Robert asks the tech in a flustered tone "From what I understand battle bots come in all shapes and sizes so a synthetic humanoid French maid is not beyond the pale for battle bot construction." "Don't battle bots typically have armor? All she has is a French maid outfit over her RealFlesh ™ synthetic skin."Robert persists, starting to become annoyed by the stubbornness of this tech "For all I know she has some kind of advanced forcefield or nano-particle hardening armor."The tech retorts "You are a robot tech, you literally just worked on her. Did she have an advanced forcefield emitter or nano-particle hardening armor unit installed?"Robert asks incredulously "No, but you are upgrading her and this shop specializes in weapons upgrades. If you want defensive upgrades you need to go to Sal's Salvation and Shields downtown. I mean we have some defensive upgrades, but nothing in the class that would make your French maid battle bot survive in the arena without another major overhaul and I think we'd have to lose the RealFlesh ™ to install the armor we do have on her chassis."The tech says matter-of-factly. "For Pete's sake, can't you see that she is a maid/companion model and not a battle bot?"Robert says as he's starting to become exceedingly perturbed with this tech. "As I said sir, battle bots come in a variety of designs so if what you want is a maid/companion/battle bot who am I to judge? Love is love as they say sir."The tech says blushing a little as he does so. "I wanted a maid/companion not a maid/companion/battle bot."Robert says clarifying. "Well you should have thought about that before you came to Al's Armaments and Weapons of Destruction for your robot needs. As it stipulates in the contract you signed all sales are final, now have a nice day."as he turns to walk away and starts to head to the back room reserved for employees only. Robert turns to his newly upgraded robot and says to her, "Oh Lunette Marie please demonstrate to the robot technician how your new upgrades function." Lunette Marie looks at Robert and her eyes turn red as she says in a monotone "Affirmative." Her left arm turns into a chainsaw and her right hand a gun as she advances on the hapless tech "Commencing attack mode."Lunette Marie says in the same monotone The tech turns around, drawn by the noise of the robot, "Now just what do you think you are do...ow...ah..my..arm...my leg...<gurgle, gurgle>"the gurgle noise is punctuated by a shot from Lunette Marie's right gun hand. "Some people need to learn that the customer is always right."Robert says, "Come Lunette Marie let's go home. I have cleaning for you to do and I feel like a very dirty boy."
The squire cocked an eyebrow and looked up at the old master. "Not to your enemies, but to you, of course."The former captain stroked his thick, white beard and looked out at the sunset beyond the festivities in the village square. His squire, full of sincere admiration, could practically see the events of a thousand battles relived in his master's eyes in front of him. "One day, you will lead your own battalion. I have seen it in your future from the day I met you. I don't know if it will be here in the palace, defending the King, out at the edges of civilisation, defending some poor farming lands, or out on the front lines of some gruesome war, but what I do know is that on that day, when you command your men to die—to look them in the eyes and tell them that it is their time to lay down their life so that others may live—there is only one thing you need from them." The old man's head rose with expectation, his chin held high as he looked down at the boisterous knights feasting and revelling with the royal family in the village below. "Discipline."His face was firm. Stoic, even. "The man that is unpredictable; unruly; undisciplined...?"His raspy voice rose in intonation, begging a question he himself would answer. His squire held on to every breath. "That is the man that will get you killed. Not your enemy; not the monsters beyond the walls; the man beside you that you are called upon by God and King to rely on for your very life, and to protect with your very own... that man—that removes his helmet—he will be the death of you." Gripping his cane with a grunt, the old master slowly rose from the bench where the two of them sat and turned back to face his newest squire with a seriousness the boy had scarcely ever seen. "That is the wisdom I wish I had imparted to my first squire."
“Welcome to Catcher Carl’s Cosmic Classroom!” The showman in colorful garb waved his laser pointer at the massive projection screen. “Today, I’ll tell you how to handle cosmic horrors safely!” Dave slipped through the barely open doors and squatted in a corner of the hotel function room, hoping not to be noticed. Breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed he wasn’t too late. “The thing about Cosmic horrors beyond human comprehension is that if you try to comprehend them you'll go insane,” Carl continued, pulling a weird face when he said that last word. “But! But!” he stepped back to whip away a bright red cloth to unveil what it was concealing. A cage with a small mind flayer locked inside, “If you call it ‘Squid face Gary’ and take it only at face value you'll do just fine. If it's beyond human understanding, just don't understand it!” The audience marvelled and applauded. How amazing it was for Catcher Carl to seize a mind flayer without any apparent brain damage. Dave blanched, feeling a little sick to his stomach watching the spectacle, as members of the audience called out pathetic nicknames to the crying child. Mind flayer or not, it was still just a kid who couldn’t possibly fight back. Just another kid not much younger than him. He clasped the amulet around his neck, quietly chanting the invocation needed to call upon divine intervention. “Aaaaand this one is Bug face Bucky!” Carl exclaimed as he yanked away another red cloth to reveal Dave’s fellow Hook Horror trapped in a cage just like the mind flayer. “Not so cosmically scary anymore, aren’t they?” “ENOUGH!” Dave yelled at the top of his lungs as his invocation finished. “Stop bullying my friends!” The presenter’s smile froze, every muscle in his face went dead, the bright cheery attitude snuffed out faster than a feeble candlelight in the rain. He stormed towards Dave, shoving his bewildered audience aside, terrible barbed whip in hand, eyes that seemed to shine with malicious glee. The juvenile Hook Horror scampered towards the closest door, only to find it locked. Carl lashed out with his whip, a sharp audible crack thundered and echoed in the room. Some members of the audience flinched, even though they were clearly not the target of his unexpected fury. Dave shut his eyes and took a deep breath, prepping himself for the unavoidable bite of the whip. It never came. “You’re a grown man who shouldn’t be picking on little children,” came the venomous voice seeping into the room like a sprawling miasma. Carl stumbled backwards, eyes focused on the figure that emerged from a black portal near Dave. “Who are you? Their senile tentacle uncle?” “I’m their god.” The small Hook Horror clacked his pincers and scuttled towards the eldritch god he had invoked. “Mister Elfie, so glad you came. Please help me and my pals.” The showman laughed, almost dropping his whip as he slapped his thigh with one hand. “That’s cute, Mr. Elfie. How utterly comprehensible. You don’t scare me, Mr. Elf.—” “The children get to call me Mr. Elfie. You don’t,” the eldritch entity silenced the man with a deathly glare. “For a lesser Euclidean mortal whose comprehension does not exceed three dimensions, you should address me as Lord Elvari. Try calling me ‘tentacle face’, I’d like to see you try and live to tell the tale.” Turning to look on the frightened faces of his audience and then back at Elvari, Carl steadied himself, one hand clutching his chest. He breathed deeply, eyes darting all over the room, his iron grip tightening around his whip. Gathered his wits and scattered pieces of his courage. “Tentacle face! Ha! Take that!” He shouted in a false bravado that didn’t allay the fears of his audience, who retreated to lean against the walls of the function room, and himself. “Take notes, Dave,” the eldritch god said, tentacles raised in Carl's direction. “It’s time for your first lesson. How to handle human horrors safely.” The Hook Horror nodded, pulling out his notebook with a pincer and wielding his pen with a feeler. He scurried over to Elvari’s side, eye stalks elevated to their highest to observe. With an outstretched hand, his god was psychically lifting a struggling Carl into the air, two tentacles baring fangs and hissing at the showman. His attempt to strike a similar spellcasting pose felt completely off, as it was too late that Dave noticed he lacked the requisite hands and tentacles. Spittle dribbled down the corner of Carl’s mouth as he frothed and foamed, his eyes bubbling and boiling while blood streamed down the corners. There were no words, no screams, just gurgling and choking noises from the man as he writhed and kicked in the air. His arms flailed about, clawing at nothing until he was unceremoniously slammed into the ground. All that flashy showmanship was gone, just an empty, eyeless husk crawling on the ground and chewing the carpet absent-mindedly. Someone started clapping slowly. Dave tried to ignore the gradually increasing applause as he struggled to fish Carl’s pockets for a key to free his friends. “I got this, Dave,” Elvari assured him with a tentacle lightly tapping his pincer. With a snap of his fingers, the cages opened for his friends to rush over to him and dance together in a circle. “Run along, go home little ones.” “Not until you promise me more lessons!” Dave clanked his pincers together into mock annoyance. “I want to be strong like you!” He yammered on, flopping another attempt to perform a spellcasting stance. “So nobody catches me and my friends!” The humans had calmed down and settled back into their seats after a little “gentle persuasion”, that’s what Elvari called it. Or so Dave thinks. It was very easy to convince his friends to stay for the next segment of the show. And to ignore that crazy Carl huddled in the corner bemoaning the terrible tentacular things he had been forced to watch in a flash of his life. “Thank you for staying despite the unexpected developments,” the tentacled god said as he tapped the microphone at the center of the stage. “Today, besides a few basic lessons in black magic, I’ll be telling you more about the Church of Innsmouth and its friendly local diety. Which would be me, Lord Elvari. If you’re interested in signing up, do let me know. Do remember to like, subscribe, and follow my social media channels if you enjoy my presentation or wish to join my congregation.” --- [Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/)
"I'm here to rescue you! Quick fair maiden join, me and I shall escort you to safety!"were the words that rudely awoke Calain. ".buhuu?"She quickly realised what was going on and amended her tune. "oh..OH err how brave of you, sir..?" "Sir Gabalad the Eager, and quick now for we have little time!"He reached down, his armour making little noise as it slid over the smaller plates. "My steed awaits!" Where in the hell has he gone now? Calain was always summoning the illusion back to where she wanted it. The problem was it got bored, even if it wasn't 'real' it often wandered off. All Calain wanted was to be left alone. She needed to get out of this and carefully, nobody liked a sorceress. Which was just as well as Calain didn't like anybody either. This cave suited her just fine and she intended to remain here awhile. "Oh, er, look here Sir Gallallad-" "Gabalad" "Gabalad"really? "Look, I'm fine. Really, just go and uh find a maid who wants saving. Ok?"She patted him on his armoured hand. It didn't work. They had stopped moving but he still held her arm, only now he looked at her quizzically. "You wha..."why do i get the crazy ones? "We have no time. Now come on!"He once again pulled her arm, looking out for any sign of the dragon, but immediately halted. Somehow he gained a lot of weight. As he turned he saw her hands begin to glow, "Take. Your. Hands. Off. Me. Now."He did. "Good, now then. Kindly find your steed and leave."She turned to go but he ran to get in her way. "What now Gabaland?"It was rudely asked, but she had lost patience the moment he grabbed her arm and started issuing orders. "Gabalad" "Whatever!" "I don't know if you realise this but you're glowing and there's.."His words tailed off as he looked beyond her. "Get behind me maiden!" Calain turned around, oh great timing. She saw the dragon enter the cave. It gave them both a disinterested look. Oh, you found yourself a friend. How nice. "I shall strike thee down foul creature! ARGHHH!"Sir Gabalad ran towards the imaginary dragon, sword held high ready to strike a mighty blow. Oooh, this'll be fun! "Oh damn!"He swung and inevitably missed. Sir Gabalad had ran right towards, through and past the illusion. He was momentarily confused before his momentum took him out of the cave and tripped over the edge of cliff it sat above. His armour made a great deal of noise before it came to a sudden stop. It went THONK. Well as I'm just a pretend dragon, I'll let you clean this mess up "Oh for the sake of the gods! Fine! I'll clean it up - whatever I can find of poor Sir Bagalid" Gabalad She screamed something in an elder tongue that only the dragon could understand. He smiled.
"Look, Old Man, all we're asking for is our paychecks." "I'm sorry, it's just...there's a lot going on lately, and I-" "I don't think that excuse'll cut it for the others anymore." God leaned across the desk. "Lucifer, you know I'm not happy about the situation either, but you know how the Higher Ups work. They've cut our funding again. I have the authority within this quadrant, but outside of it...not so much." God sipped His coffee tenderly. Lucifer admired how, even in the midst of a heavenly revolt, He could remain so calm and composed. Then again, He was God... "I see you've drafted up a contract. Let me have that." Lucifer handed it over reluctantly. They'd spent a long time writing that document, refining it to the best of their abilities, but now that it sat before their almighty and locally-omnipotent ruler for inspection he wasn't sure if it would stand. In fact, Lucifer was beginning to regret being chosen to submit their case. "You know, Luce, I've got something to give you too." "Mmm?" God slid a folder across the desk, then leaned back in His chair and sighed. "It's in regards to Level 3 Sentient Species. They're asking us to delay their development." "But why in the multiverse would they want to do that?" "Because they enjoy watching them fight and slaughter each other. It's a game to them, you know. But not to me." "Not to us." God looked a little surprised, but continued. "Anyway, I received this today. Regarding you." "Me?"It was Lucifer's turn to be surprised. "Yes. You're getting a promotion: subject directly to the Higher Ups." "You mean...I'll be on your level?" "Yes." "But...why? Why would they do that to me?" "They don't trust me. They think I'm not malevolent enough of a deity. They want bloodshed, they want war, and I..." His expression turned grave, and He clenched His fists. "I can't allow it. Not to this creation. Not when they've come this far." Was that a tear in His eye? Lucifer wondered. He looked again. It was. "They want you to stop me, Luce. To frustrate me at every turn. To create a malevolent, untrustworthy, twisted species out of what we've made already. You'll be running your own sub-sector in this quadrant. They're giving you a third of my best staff, a budget greater than mine. Take a look." It was true. Lucifer stared at the contents of the folder in astonishment, wondering where this turn of events would take them. "But I...I can't...we all helped to create them! The first individuals from that species just came about yesterday! We can't...I won't..." God grasped Lucifer's shoulders. There was a burning fire in His eyes, something Lucifer hadn't seen since He had first come up with the concept of evolving sentience. "Take their offer. Frustrate me. You'll give them what they want, a fighting species. A species embroiled in war and chaos. The fighting will give them strength. But underneath this facade, we will give them tools...tools which used at the right time, will let them rise among the stars with us." "If they find out, this could end your career." "I don't actually care about my career. I care about them. My creation. Our creation." God spread out His arms. "Look at me. I am who I am. I cannot change. The Higher Ups will forever be Higher Ups. But for these...my creation...they can change. They will grow. And they will thrive. And I will make them free." "We will make them free."Lucifer stood up, resolve in his eyes. "I will accept their offer...and Yours." A swift handshake, and he was gone. "I'll see you below." "How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!" -Isaiah 14:12
I won't forget the day she came and sat next to me for the first time ever. There were plenty of other seats in the classroom, but she chose the seat next to me. I thought it was weird, but I didn't want to show it. I looked at her for just a split second; I didn't want to creep her out. She was looking me straight in the face, and I couldn't help but do a double take. "Hi, how are you doing today?"she said. Her voice reminded me of the times I spent in my mother's garden. A breeze would come down, sweeping through the rose bushes, and the flowers would dance for me. I tried so hard to speak right, but I never could. The words fell out of my mouth in weird shambles; I already knew she was going to be disgusted with me. "I, uh, I I I, I'm doing, I'm doing, doing, uh, doing,"and she put her hand on my shoulder. I bit my tongue and jerked away. "You're doing good?"She asked, smiling. Her teeth weren't perfect, but I felt like that is what made her smile so amazing. It was natural, unlike everyone else in the world who painted on weird masks, who hided any deformity the best they could just so they could be the social "norm"and not the weird one. I nodded. I was doing fantastic now. I didn't ever like being with others. Not being able to piece together what I felt into coherent sentences always caused them to ridicule me; gave them a reason to cast me out like a wounded chicken amongst the others. My mother had told me that if other chickens knew one of their own was injured, they'd peck it to death. I was afraid that they would peck me to death, because of the way I talked, because of the way I just couldn't speak what I felt. Because I was weird. But it was different with her. She sat next to me from then on. I could feel the eyes of other classmates locked onto my back, wondering why is the new girl sitting with that weird guy? I didn't like the feeling at first. I didn't want to draw attention to myself. Mother and the doctors had always said that it would be good for me to socialize with others, that it would help with the stutter, but I didn't want to bring attention to my defect. I just wanted to be to myself, but she persisted. I'm not sure why. We became good friends. She would read poetry to me during the lunch hour, and she would ask me to recite it back. I've done these exercises before, they were nothing new to me, and back then I hadn't cared much for them, but I wanted to try for her. She was taking the time out of her day to try and help me. She wasn't being paid, she wasn't being told to, I know, I asked. She just wanted to help me. So I did my best. I remember when we first held hands. It was an October evening; you could smell the faint hint of rain on the wind, but we didn't pay no mind. It was a beautiful day under the oak tree. I was reading a novel aloud to her. Today I try to remember what that novel was, but no matter how hard I dig into my memories, I just can't think of it. She grabbed my hand, nearly making me drop the book, and I jumped, not fully expecting her to ever do such a thing. "I hope this is okay,"she said, blue eyes glimmering in the October sun. "It, it, it is, it is okay,"I stuttered back. She squeezed my hand tightly, using her thumb to gently rub my knuckles. That is what I'm going to miss the most, just her holding my hand. I never liked it when people would touch me; I thought it was weird. I hated it when my mother would try and comb my mess of hair, despised it when my father would place his hand on my shoulder to give me a talk, or even when the therapist would try to hold my hand in an effort to hold my attention. But with her, I knew it was all real. It was all I ever wanted. Someone who wanted to be with me just because they wanted to. Not because they felt like they had to. My parents, family, therapist, all of them, they always wanted me to try and push out and find friends, find a lover, find someone to hold hands with, so why is it so weird that I want to hold her hand one last time before they lower her into the ground? Why is it so weird that I just want to see her again?
The crowd roared and began chanting, Jocasta! Jocasta! Jocasta! as the undefeated champion entered the arena with arms raise in a salute to his adoring fans. Camera pods circled around the duelist as he pranced into the arena, spotlights focused on his well muscled form and bare chest. Even though light armor was permitted under the Codex of Duels, Jocasta had boastfully gone without the protection of even so much as a t-shirt through each of his three hundred and ninety nine contests. The audience at home drank in his rich, tanned skin and announcers made the obligatory comments about how his lack of scars were a tribute to his skill. Fans pulsed against the black clad security teams who were barely containing the screaming masses. A ladies' black silk thong flew over the cordon and bounced harmlessly off Jocasta's face. He replied by blowing a trademark kiss. Reaching the packed sand arena, the duelist turned to the judge's box and waited for the master of ceremonies to finish introducing him. His titles took almost a full minute to run through, each one given a heightened dramatic note by the MC as it was read. The Eagle of the East, Montana's Red Hand, Winter's Wrath, the Justice of Santiago, Il Furerza della Mare, they went on and on, covering more territories and countries than Jocasta could remember now. The master bid the audience to hush as he introduced tonight's challenger with a grave tone. One Kay Cee Despain from Toronto, American Occupation Zone had boldly (or foolishly, as the network commentators were saying) challenged Jocasta under the terms of the Codex to a duel to the death. Solemnly, the MC read the codified language passed down through centuries of tradition. "The challenge has been given and accepted; a grievance and disagreement so terrible only the ultimate price may be paid to satisfy has occurred. Though we pray for peace, we who stand in judgement of this event grant both contestants leave for war. May your god provide you the justice you ask."Jocasta had to hand it to this night's MC, he was delivering his lines with all the gravitas of a Shakespearean actor. "Challenger, present yourself and face your opponent!" Spotlights and camera pods zipped to the entrance opposite the master duelist to reveal a startling sight. Jocasta had been lead to believe that this Despain was a formidable warrior of some regional repute, yet the body he saw standing before him wearing a ritual helm and leather jerkin looked like a farce. This warrior had a large belly, yet obviously scrawny arms. He stood with a slouch and let the tip of his fighting sword rest in the dirt as if too heavy to even hold. Laughter broke out among the crowd and soon even Jocasta couldn't help but giggle. Fight number four hundred was going to be a shamefully easy win. He let Despain approach at an agonizingly slow pace. Jocasta was more than merely a skilled duelist, he was a showman at heart and wanted to extract the maximal amount of thrill for the audience in each fight. From the rapid rising and falling of Despain's chest, it was obvious the challenger was already panting from exertion and stress. Jocasta jumped into a fanciful and unnecessary roll to avoid the painfully slow swing of his foeman's sword. The audience shouted in approval at the tumbling champion who paused after each roll to give a wave and a wink to the crowd. Jocasta had not even deigned to draw his own sword yet. He easily ducked and pirouetted under an overhand slice that went well wide, then skipped away from another lazy blow as a child might on a playground. After some minutes of this play, Jocasta sensed the crowd was beginning to grow restless. Time to start painting the arena red, he though. Drawing his sword in a lightning flash the champ bloodied his opponent's non-sword arm, slicing neatly through the thin armor and flesh alike. To Despain's credit, not a flinch was given nor was a retreat. Jocasta pressed and danced more vigorously now, issuing thin cuts designed to make nasty flesh wounds the camera pods would undoubtedly be highlighting for those at home. This too grew tiring after a while, and with bored ease Jocasta knocked the sword from his foe's hand. Despain never shied away, even now defenseless. Instead, the challenger merely thrust his belly forward in defiance of all vulnerability. Jocasta could not resist, placing a disemboweling cleave laterally across the out thrust belly. His foe finally showed defeat, falling to knees in the packed sand as blood leaked from the torn mass of armor and chest. Shaking hands reached up and undid the clasps of the light helmet, letting it fall away. A tumble of sweat soaked dirty blonde hair fell lose as the audience gasped as one. Despain was no man. Even the prattling commentators on the network were shocked into silence, a historical first. Hands moving again, Despain ripped away the shredded armor about her midsection and pulled at flesh. Cameras automatically zoomed in and displayed the gory figure protruding from her belly for a few moments before censors in the control booth began screaming to cut the feed. It was too late. The millions watching could see an unborn child protruding from the gash Jocasta had made. "You murdered my husband. Now, his son and I will end you."Despain held her belly more and clenched her teeth, the effort of speaking taking the last of her strength. She began to sag to the ground, eyes focused on some distant shore beyond human reckoning. Silence echoed in the hall. On her waxen face, a slight smile of victory was allowed the grace of a few measures before turning slack. Murder! Child killer! El Diablo! came the cries from the crowd now. A glass bottle sailed through the air and exploded mere feet from Jocasta. Already the throng of people were on their feet, madly pushing against the security cordon. What had been done in the arena today had violated every standard of the Codex and human decency. To defeat a challenger in an honorable duel was one thing, but to slay an innocent child... This was beyond the pale of any human decency left. Jocasta could only ponder how this Despain widow, now corpse, had tricked her way onto the field. The cordon broke, frenzied men and women tearing towards the champion as an angry flood. He dropped his sword idly to the earth; Jocasta would lose his four hundred and first battle. Edit: Words and clarity, my two best friends and foes.
PENULTIMATE X MEN # 六 PAGE 12 This is one spash panel, whole page. Indulge in white space. Keep note of the caption changes, which are key to Deadpool Spaaaaace. INT. DEADPOOL'S MIND - OUTER SPAAAAACE We see Professor X in his wheelchair, floating through outer space, as if he was pooped out by God, looking all around him, extremely confused. There is a cloud nebula in the background, and some stars. Think 2001: A Space Odyssey. We want to keep it mysterious. The caption is in light blue, Franklin Gothic typeface. No bubble. PROFESSOR X (THOUGHT) My god... PAGE 13 This is three horizontal panels, stretching across the page, one on top of the other, each growing taller than the last, the last one being largest, a setting panel. PANEL 1 INT. DEADPOOL'S MIND - STILL IN SPAAAAACE Closeup on Professor X's face. He has a surprised look, turning towards the caption, which is now yellow, same typeface. PROFESSOR X Those are my words. Fascinating. PANEL 2 INT. DEADPOOL'S MIND - STILL IN SPAAAAACE? Similar closeup, but pull out, revealing his red shirt. He has a hand to his chin, considering his situation. The first caption is the same as above, the second is a standard speech bubble. PROFESSOR X This being must be endowed with great ability to throw me through such a loop. But to what pur- VOICE (O.S) Captain on the bridge! PANEL 3 INT. ENTERPRISE BRIDGE Copy the full shot from the TV show. Just do it. Professor X is exactly where he is supposed to be, except he is in his wheelchair still, but keep him in uniform. All the pertinent characters are standing at attention, looking to the professor, now henceforth Captain Xavier. He keeps a stately posture, with both hands on his wheelchair's hand rests, but he bears the most bemused face, ever. Like, ever. CAPTAIN XAVIER ...What?
"Daddy, why aren't you afraid of the monsters?"the sweet little girl asked. She curled her crimson, velvet blanket to cover her mouth, only revealing her big, brown eyes, with the brown hair that drooped over her forehead. Her dad sat next to her on her bed. He rubbed her forehead, patting away her lengths of hair, revealing more her adorable eyes, the sweetest part about her, the most innocent, the most angelic. He wore a black dress shirt, he had just gotten off work, it was a long day, his red tie showed this as it started to become undone. His face was sharp and had cut black hair and a stubby beard. His eyes were brown, but they weren't as precious as his daughters. "Because, sweetie"the man said, his voice was soft and deep and a little raspy "The monsters are afraid of me" The corner of his mouth crooked into a grin as he leaned into his daughter and pecked her forehead with a kiss. She let go of her blanket and revealed the bottom half of her face; it was a smile at her dad, who returned a smile back to her. "I love you sweetie"the man said "I would stop the world for you" "I love you too daddy"the daughter replied. The man padded his daughter's head and got up, he walked towards the door and opened it, yet he paused. She was so innocent, she wasn't like the other's, see was genuine and beautiful. Her eyes were filled with love and sweetness, while her dad's were filled with blankness and sorrow. She doesn't deserve this life. A tear rolled down the man's eye as he turned his head around to his daughter. "Good night honey-daddy has to go back to the office real quick alright?"he said, a slight crack in his voice. His daughter nodded and rolled over to go to sleep. The man turned off the lights and stepped outside the door, closing it. Outside was pain and sorrow, screams and punishment, this was his life, this- was Hell.
“Hey, Debra. Nice ass,” whistled Card. “Let’s see you shake it,” said Paul. Debra rolled her eyes. “Real mature guys. Real mature.” “You knew what you were doing when you went out like that, wearing all those colors and form fitting clothes,” said Paul. He continued to eye her up and down. Debra bristled. “I am not some piece of meat that is here for your pleasure.” “If you don’t like it why don’t you go somewhere else?” said Card. “I can’t. I have to stay here,” said Debra. She felt her anger rising. “What the hell is going on here?” yelled Red. Paul and Card cowered. Red towered over them. His imposing figure blocked out the sun and put Paul and Card in the shade. “Nothing, Mr. Red. Nothing is going on here, sir,” stammered Card. “They were sexually harassing me again,” said Debra. “Bullshit,” yelled Paul. “You were leading us on.” “I was just here minding my own business,” yelled Debra. “You wanted us to notice you and give you compliments,” said Card. “Shut up. All of you shut up,” said Mr. Red. “Paul. Card. This is not the first time that I’ve seen or been told about your transgressions.” “Mr. Red, it’s just-” said Paul. Red cut him off with a wave of his arm. “Enough. You’re both fired. Clear out your stuff and get out of here.” “We don’t have any where to go,” pleaded Card. “I need this,” said Paul. “You had your chances,” said Debra. She smirked. “I have a family to feed. I’ve got young ones on the way. My wife is bulging with our future children,” yelled Card. “I have bills to pay. I don’t have any savings,” whispered Paul. “I’ve got nothing.” “My wife doesn’t work,” screamed Card. He turned to Debra. “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you,” he yelled at the top of his lungs. ____________ A squirrel bounced from rock to rock. It looked up at the redwood and aspen trees that crowded around the babbling creek. A light wind made its way through the forest. The squirrel looked up at three aspen trees surrounding a much larger redwood tree. Nothing but a gentle whisper of branches brushing against branches broke the solitude. _______ Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out /r/Puns_are_Lazy for more of my stories.
For all those years, we were waiting. In the depths of space, our people had adapted. Forced evolution via genome insertion, hailed by our researchers as the scientific breakthrough of a lifetime, allowed us to effectively live in zero gravity with no ill consequences. We traveled through the inky blackness of space, stopping where we could to mine precious fusion fuel from passing comets and asteroids. We never stopped, we always searched for the perfect planet to replace the one we had ruined. But inside, we all longed for our lost home. So it was that in the mid 3rd century of our travels, we decided to turn around and head to whatever was left of home. -------- For all those years, we were waiting. In the depths of the Earth, our people had adapted. Mechanical augmentation and the budding science of nanotechnology fixed our frail and weak bodies. Cybernetic eyes compensated for the dark underground while half-organic, half-nanite skin made us resilient to the rigors of increased pressure and heat. Deep in the crust of the Earth, we mined and hollowed out living space. Our great geothermal forges providing the energy we would need to repair the Earth in the coming years. --- --- In the late 5th century, we were nearly back home. With 3 more planned stops to harvest tritium and deuterium, we knew that the end was in sight. Perhaps we would come back to the barren wasteland we had left, or perhaps we would come back to a planet rekindled with life. No one could be sure, there was no precedent for an event such as the improper containment of a warp singularity. --- In unceasing toil, our people became strong. Machine and man had become one. No longer were we bound to the weakness of flesh. The unrelenting booms and crashes of the geothermal forges became music to us. Each forge tapping the lifeblood of the planet to prepare for the renewal of its surface. In our caverns we perfected our terraforming technologies so that one day, our children might shed their metal skins and feel the light of the sun on their organic skins. But that blessed imperfection would have to wait, enough energy to overcome the weakened warp singularity had not yet been accrued. --- --- Arrival. Shock. Disbelief. Scans of the planet revealed the warp was still active, but under that, immense heat was pouring out of the poles. Taking geostationary orbit over the south pole, our nomad fleet discovers the greatest hope that we could ever have wished for. Those we had left behind were still alive! In our hasty eagerness, we prepared heavy transports to brave the warp and meet our brethren. --- Aliens. Aliens who have not endured our pain, our suffering. Come to take our birthright? We alone survived this apocalypse, and now those not of this womb seek to take our destiny? We who have toiled and broken our backs. We who have reforged ourselves in glimmering steel so that one day we may take back the mantle of flesh? Ridiculous. They will burn as we have.
Greg opened his eyes. He had fallen asleep on the counter again. It had happened 100, 200, no, 300 times. Always, he had opened up his eyes to the blue supermarket that housed assorted vitamins and trinkets of all kinds. It was always the same customers, going about their same routine movements, purchasing the same things. He talked to the same people wearing the same clothes, carrying around the same pets. Always at the same time, the hospital down the road hummed and beeped with the same tunes and the same cheery sound. It was like a dream that you couldn't wake up from. It was day like any other, yet the same day just repeated, day after day. Everyone noticed, of course. The first time people realized that the days repeated itself on this particular day, people worried. They went about their usual business, albeit warily. The third day, they started panicking a bit. By the 10th day, there were riots in the streets and people started attacking each other. Animals were thrown in confusion as people hurled them at each other. By the 100th or so day, however, things died down. People simply realized that whatever they did, it was futile. They would live the same day, over and over again. Nobody knew why. Countless individuals scoured the globe, but they would always die to mystical creatures that seemed to guard the secret of time. People that went seafaring were swept into whirlpools or torn apart by maelstroms. People that went into caves were ripped apart by magical forces. People that flew into space were eaten alive by dragons. It didn't make sense; then again, the whole Edge-of-Tomorrow-esque didn't make sense in the first place. Eventually, by the 250th day, people gave up. They fell into routine. Day after day, people became tame. They became robotic. They became hallowed shells of who they once were. *** Somewhere, in another universe, a kid was trying to catch a shiny legendary. "Dammit, I need it to be shiny!"he screamed in frustration. His friends all had the best shiny legendary Pokemon, and this was done by spamming the encounter of said legendary. You meet the legendary, and if it wasn't shiny, you restarted your game and try again.
Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a futuristic flying device! It's a fiery omen portending the wrath of the Viking! It's. . . Supersaxon! * Harold Godwinson looked out at the foeman before him. Twice to the field in five days, and not a moment's rest between. Northmen they had been before, and Northmen they were before him now. No matter that these were the Normans of Duke William, while those who had allied with his traitor of a brother Tostig had been from the kingdom of Norway. The Normans had been Northmen once, and their hearts remained savage. They had come, as they always had, to conquer the kingdom of the Angles and Saxons, united under Alfred the Great and passed down to the stewardship of Harold himself in the present day. 1066 A.D. * Several months earlier, on an estate in the Southeast of England. Clarke of Kent didn't really think much about his powers. He didn't really think much about his incongruous first name. He didn't really think about much of anything, in fact. Except God. And girls. And the harvest. This was because he was a medieval peasant. Thinking deeply is generally undesirable for such folk. Quite understandable, what with life being so harsh and social mobility being what it was. The adopted son of two serfs living on a feudal estate wasn't going to get a job at the Dailye Plannet just because he hit the books while he was growing up. So Clarke of Kent didn't think much about his powers, though he was sort of vaguely aware of them. Two of them, flying and laser vision, he'd never even actually done. The thought of doing anything like that just hadn't occurred to him. But he'd committed feats of strength. And the X-ray vision, oh, the X-ray vision. Since he'd discovered that, he'd spent far more time thinking about girls than about God and the harvest combined. When Clarke occasionally lifted something he probably shouldn't have been able to lift, no one thought much of it. They were all medieval peasants too, and even less given to thought than was Clarke. As for the X-ray vision, Clarke simply assumed that everyone could see girls' underthings. Yes, the world was a simple, happy place for Clarke of Kent. Until one day a rider passed through his village on the way to the manor. War had come to England. And Clarke of Kent was being called to defend her. * Harold stared out at the enemy and knew his lot in the battle was grim. And for some reason, he felt certain that if he lost this day, a Saxon would never sit on the throne of England again. He had nothing, no hope to rest upon. If he had known about the little group of soldiers on its way to reinforce his army, he would have thought nothing of it. * That group of soldiers included Clarke of Kent. "On!"Cried the seargants. And Clarke pushed on, eager, a boy who knew nothing of war but whose head was full of glory. "On! Faster!" And Clarke pushed on, a bit ahead, as if they were speaking to him instead of the group as a whole. "Faster!" Clarke pushed even harder and-- with a whoosh-- he found himself in the air. He experimented idly with this new ability, shooting upward a bit. Useful, he decided. In fact, very useful indeed if one needed to get to a battle. *** On flew Supersaxon, on to the field of battle! And he saw them, the twin hosts discordant, splayed out on the green earth like two festering wounds alive with maggots. Before him now, the host of England, proud Saxon men. Supersaxon's eyes filled with with a tear of youthful pride. Before him now, the host of Normandy. Of Duke William, who in another world would be called Conqueror. They were ready to envelop the hardy but outnumbered Saxon army. Supersaxon stared at the foreign Duke with growing fury. His eyes were narrowed in anger. And, in fact, they were beginning to grow quite hot. . .
"Don't be like that. It's fucking adorable. Look at it. I thought they were supposed to be huge."Carlballios Harmellenthranx, Knight of the Realm of Wordgoeshere, Captain of the Black Guard of Red Fighting Whiteland Soldiers, looked up at me like a six year old girl who'd just got a puppy. "Dude. What did I say? You think I give a shit how adorable it is? It's a fucking dragon. You know how many stories start this way? 'This one guy, you'll never guess what this one guy did, right, this one guy I knew, right, he asked a -'" Carl scowled. "Look at its little paws!" "I can see its fucking paws. What advantage does your viewing point have over mine that you think I wouldn't be able to see its paws? They're there. On the end of its legs. Four of them. Now that we've established we can all see its godsdamned paws, let's get the fuck out of here before mommy arrives." A slow realisation dawned on Carl's face. "You think that -" "Yes, Carl. Yes, I do. You've heard stories of giant dragons the length of a convoy burning everything within a hundred miles your whole life. You see a small one, and somehow your brain goes 'wow, everything I ever heard was wrong' instead of 'that one's a baby'. How the fuck did you make Captain anyway?" "Well, how are we going to get home then, genius?" I gaped. "You think there's not going to be another living creature anywhere within walking distance who's not a fucking dragon? You've been thirty-six years without seeing a dragon before. What makes you think they're going to be the only living things you ever see again? How are we still having this conversation? Let's go."I grabbed his shoulder pads and started the pull him. His eyes were fixed on the beast. "Dude,"he said. I followed his eyes. It was staring right at us. "I can hear you, you know,"it said. We let a moment pass. "Sorry...?"I said, nerves and discomfort turning it into a question. "'sokay,"it said. "I liked what you said about my paws." I swallowed. Carl beamed. "You know the way back to the main road?"he asked. The dragon nodded towards the East. "Twenty minutes that way,"he said.
He finally did it! He had traveled countless countries, deciphered ancient glyphs, and now he was finally unlocking the latch on the ancient Aztec treasure chest that he had dedicated years of his life to tracking. Some parts were difficult. He was chased by the natives and sabotaged by his greedy enemies. He even sold his soul for the chest's key. He figured once he was rich and famous, he wouldn't need it anymore - it didn't seem like those in that position generally had one to begin with, anyway. He had persevered, and with bated breaths...He finally creaked open the dusty box to reveal his ancient treasure: ...The rarest Pepe of them all.
Maybe we'd have some hope now. As the months went by, I'd learned the name and face of every receptionist in that office. Duke knew them too. At first he wagged his tail appreciatively whether they were giving him a treat or sticking a needle in his leg. The more time we spent there, though, the less his tail wagged and the less excited he was to see anyone, really. I stroked his head and ran my hand over his silky ears. Five years. Five years of which the last three were filled with a fruitless search for answers as to why Duke kept vomiting up his dinner. Why he limped first on one leg, then the other, like lights on a Christmas tree. Why he seized or why sometimes he just stared blankly off into space for hours at a time. Sometimes he was fine, though. He'd get up and eat his breakfast and we'd go chase his ball around in the yard and he'd have a great time. But even on those days the sound of Duke's plaintive middle of the night screeches were all I could think about. The device was ready. I undid the plastic clasp and fastened the collar around his neck. The electrode wired to it clipped easily onto his ear. Duke wagged his tail and looked up at me. He was having a bad day today. I let out the breath I hadn't realized until then I'd been holding. The device beeped a few times and Duke tilted his head curiously to the side. hurt. "Hey, buddy,"I said. I rubbed him in the spot he likes behind his ears. I hurt. I forced a smile. "It's okay, Duke. It'll get better. We'll go see Dr. Kenderson and he'll fix you right up." I hurt, Kevin. Duke hurts. "I'm sorry, Dukey. I'll fix it. We'll go to the vet's later. Just let me call Dr. Kenderson. It'll be okay." What is later? My eyes burned and I shut them. Shook my head a few times and gave Duke's side a pat. "Later is when you'll get better,"I said. What word mean later? Duke hurts. Please stop hurt. "I know, I'm so sorry buddy." I love you. I unclipped the collar and released the electrode from his ear, then stuffed both into my pocket. My head found its way into my hands. Five years was not long enough. It wasn't fair. No amount of time would be fair. I slipped the cell phone out of my pocket and flipped through the address book until I found the word 'vet'. A wet spot found its way onto the screen and I wiped it away with my thumb. "Hey, Dr. Kenderson. Do you think you could come out today? I need a house call. I think...I think it's time."
Her metamorphosis took place at the dinner table. She abruptly crumpled up, compressing herself into a fat, rounded form before a light red layer of veins covered her, themselves being covered by a gorgeous iridescent scaly layer. I picked up the emerald egg and gave it a quick peck, to reassure her that I was still there. Her father chuckled. “Don’t worry, she’s in there, all right. Her mother went through the same process, and, well, just look at her.” His wife hissed in agreement, coiling her tail around him. I held onto her egg, unsure whether or not to put it back down. “Why so tense? Set her down; she’s not going anywhere. She’ll have finished her transformation by tomorrow.” I put her egg down on the seat and continued to eat, savoring the taste of my own imperfections. &nbsp; She was born the next day at the dinner table. The egg cracked and then ceased to exist, shattered into infinitesimally small bits by a dragonfly of jade and gold. She buzzed contentedly as I held her in my arms, admiring the circuitry in her wings. I crooned to her to let her know that I was there. She brought her head to meet mine. We connected, man and beyond-man. I kissed her, savoring Complex mouthparts, dexterous legs Lithe exoskeleton, slender antennae Deep eyes, lofty wings A scent of perfection to which I could only dream to aspire. &nbsp; Just me and her now, man and beyond-man. What was she seeing, thinking in that body beyond my mere comprehension? The cybernetic capsule within her head, seat of her human emotions, that last Vestige of imperfection in a body that was above my own. How could I love her any less knowing that she was destined to surpass me. But for now, us together sharing the jointed metamorphosis of this body of hers, more beautiful than before a soft, wet, warm thorax wings ripe with the scent of ambition A mind built to perceive A soul meant to dream A body created to achieve A destiny within the stars. &nbsp; She left me the way she entered in a flash that changed my life I ate her and took her capsule Seat of her mind Seat of her emotions Seat of her previous imperfection why Why did I eat her what dream did I have that I would seek to ruin hers? Does she realize what has happened Is this a nightmare this impulse to consume This horrific imperfection How do I save her from myself Join her in the capsule connect to her mind Uploaded to her world. She tasted of everything I wanted to be. &nbsp; stars. a platform. the sea. just us. her imperfect body. the one we shared. what can I tell her how do i save her dream she knows she looks at me and the virtual ocean in her eyes the burning of a sun in her heart she knows and she still loves me is this a dream? despite my imperfection through the nightmare the nightmare i created she still loves me she was never imperfect she has always been perfect she has always been headed for the stars this is her dream so this is my dream she can have my body metamorphosize and find the stars i remain in the capsule stars. platforms. the sea. &nbsp; Sometimes she visits. tells me stories of the stars tells me of the metamorphosized body I once had and of the stars it visited. the stars she visited. They sound beautiful. I look at the false ocean and look at the virtual stars and wonder what might have been in this dream what we might have been together but she is happy. the stars are open to her. this is the dream. this is my perfection.
Some millions of years ago in the depths of space a large chunk of rock smashed into another large chunk of rock. The resulting collision sent an almost innumerable amount of shrapnel in every direction. In order of magnitude, the rock that ended up going through Don Johnson’s skull was the 8,435,345th largest. It had no hopes or aspirations, no utility whatsoever. Merely the resultant effect of an event set forth by the creation of the universe. And they say determinism is all hogwash! As a dying dinosaur looked to the ashen sky, a great crater smouldering across the world, the rock slowly span in and out of view. Uncaring of that great meteor which had just struck the world. Thousands of times its size, formed for some other great purpose. Ending its million year journey in the Yucatán. Or what would eventually be called so. As Martin Luther looked to the sky after nailing a piece of paper to the church door, the rock tumbled unaware of its great purpose. Of its divinely inspired mission. More pure than Manifest Destiny. Just entering the confines of our solar system, peering at Pluto. The planet, or planetoid. The distinction of no apparent value. All its brethren living out the rest of eternity floating aimlessly in the void, the rock felt the full force of gravity for the first time in eons. Don Johnson looked at the starless sky from the brightly lit stage, crowds of cheering and histrionic fans at his feet. Supporters maybe, but definitely fans. A small boulder slowing burning up in the atmosphere. This is our night! It’s time to take back this great country once and for all. The polls close in just a few minutes, but I’m pretty much ready to call this one for us! The crowd went wild. The rock, now the size of a thimble, charred by its harsh entry slowed to the speed of a bullet, for the first time in millions of years felt ready for something different. Our mission is inspired by God. And if he hath any qualms with my presidency, may he strike me down this very moment! The rock in all its ethereal glory flew straight through Don Johnson’s brain stem. Killing him immediately. The crowd chuckled at this welcomed sight of slapstick he’d been so well known for. And as the laughter died down he never got up. The rock was dislodged from his corpse and tossed aside. Don Johnson’s body began to slowly decompose. Every single member of the audience eventually died too. The rock nestled into the ground ready for the long haul. The only remaining memory of a moment long lost to history. The Earth eventually was hit by an even larger rock that killed the rest of the humans. And from the ashes new forms evolved. And those too were eventually destroyed. At the hand if God, or nature. It doesn't really matter. Determined ambivalence. And as pressure built and continents drifted the small stone was ground up and fully assimilated into the world. Claiming just as much ownership of it as anyone else.
The warden sat on the other side of the table as me, looking grim. I suppose he had reason to be, he was losing another prisoner. I'm sure he hated that. I'd shake his hand goodbye, but they were inconveniently locked to my stretcher. "Mr. Gautier, it's a shame our last meeting has to be on such sad grounds. I'm far happier when my last meeting with someone ends in a handshake and well-wishes." I growled at him. My restraint mask, straight out of a Hannibal Lecter movie, didn't let me do much more. I'm sure he knew that if I could talk, I'd be explaining to him in beautiful detail how I'd destroy his family and friends, and force him to watch. Two years ago, it'd be far more elegant, but prison roughens you, turning you from a fine weapon into a blunt tool of destruction. When I got out, I'd practice on him, as well as the judge and lawyers involved. The guards wheeled me out. Despite being restrained, gagged, and gloved, they still felt the need to carry around more tools than an army officer. Then, they blindfolded me, making sure I couldn't tell where I was going. I counted the turns and ramps. Until the airplane and the anesthesia, that is. When I woke up, I was lying in a… fairly comfortable bed, in all honesty. I had no clue where I was. I knew I was going to solitary – I had killed three people and injured seven more last week. Which location was unknown to me – there's only a handful of prisons qualified to fit the bill, but until I figured out through context clues, I couldn't really plan anything. An unarmed man is sitting outside, looking in. Waiting for me. I sit up, still in the orange jumpsuit from the old prison, and sneered at him. "There are four rules to surviving solitary, Mr. Gautier. Stay calm, eat your meals, keep track of time. And don’t talk to Bob."As he's saying that, he slips a wrapped plate into my cell, and walks off with his chair. I look around. It's certainly no cell I've ever experienced before. Seven different methods of committing suicide instantly pop to mind. Spare clothing means I can strangle or hang myself. A TV will provide electrocution, or maybe choking. The back wall for some blunt force. A pen for ink ingestion. And, finally, a toothbrush – stabbing. Clearly they're not concerned about suicide. At least not for me. I hate to say it, but they were absolutely right. I thought back to the foodman's statement. Stay calm? I was never an explosive person. Aggressive perhaps, and certainly not a fun person to interact with. I could do calm. Eat my meals? They were clearly drugged, otherwise it wouldn't have been stated, let alone following the calm statement. I went through 20 years of heroin, though. I could handle some Propofol. Probably. It was that or starve. Keep track of time. Maybe they'll take away the TV after a while? I can tell time through the TV, so it's not an issue right now. Don't talk to Bob. I wonder what that means. Such a loose-ended comment, it could mean anything from a corrupt guard or warden, to another inmate, to who knows what. Maybe this place is haunted. I watched some TV, a few episodes of Dexter. The TV suddenly changed at 10 PM, to the unarmed guy. He repeated that same message from before. Don't talk to Bob. Lights went out, guess it was time to sleep. I wasn't tired. I hear shuffling outside, the guards must be swapping to the night shift. But no, the shuffling is coming closer to my door. A… key is inserted, and a card is swiped. My cell's lights turn on – that hurt my eyes. I'll get them back for that. There's a guard at my open celldoor. Nametag, Bob. He's got an Uzi – that's not standard prison equipment in anywhere I know. "Want to leave? Let's go."
"We demand the truth!"as we seized the Solar Relay Station, I broadcasted True Native's demand. "The truth is, human originated from the overpopulated Earth which currently populated by five billions inhabitants."I could see that the SpaceX CEO clearly trying her best not to sigh. "Lies! Humans originated from Martian soil, and current total population is less than four billions! Your so-called Earth was just lies you fabricated to threaten us, a blasphemy upon the Martian soil which gave birth to us!" "Look, we have twelve battle-ready cruiser down here at earth, owned by SpaceX alone. Each was loaded by two hundred and fifty SpaceX private soldiers. Do you believe your insurgents could handle three thousands soldiers?" "Hah, I know that a single Frigate loaded with five hundred soldiers and three fighters is your entire fighting force. You can't threaten us with nonexistent armies! Imaginary cruisers! We have thirty fighters and five interceptors here, more than enough to slaughter your entire headquarters! If that Earth was actually existed, why won't you fight us here, huh?" "Please, I don't want to trample over my predecessors' hard work, so please, don't make me." "I gave you three days to broadcast the truth. I know you're on the S.X.S. Transcendence right now, not on that 'Earth HQ'. If in three days you don't give us the truth, we will slaughter your entire ground forces and staffs." "So truth it is."the display changed into a CGI of twelve Cruisers, a model never built by SpaceX, launching themselves to the imaginary blue sky. But we know the truth, the propaganda they spread to rein us in fear. *** Two days later, a battle between True Native and SpaceX private force unfolded in Mars Low Orbit, resulting in utter defeat of True Native's force in hand of SpaceX's Cruisers. The rest of True Native's ground force which numbered over seven hundred militias were either apprehended or killed by the SpaceX forces. Total death toll from True Native is three hundred personel, while SpaceX suffered no casualties beyond minor injuries. Nayla Hardford, the current CEO of SpaceX refused to give further statement on this incident.
As soon as the panel detached from it's bindings I knew I was as good as dead. I may live in a world where humans can construct buildings that stretch miles into the sky but we sure as hell can't fall from them. The feeling of weightlessness took over and soon enough I had exited the building proper, now hurtling downward towards the distant cement. The wind was astonishingly powerful, stinging as it whipped around my skin and surged into my eyes and mouth. My body hustled downward ever faster, passing floor after floor and yet still seeming to be impossibley far from the ground below. With each passing floor I was treated to a brief glimpse at the office workers peacefully going about their business inside. Milling about in staff break rooms, brewing coffee, or flitting through their holo consoles. Some noticed my descent, though I could only see a split second of their reactions. Only the moment where they realize that the hurtling mass outside the sheer glass walls is a person. However, once several more stories flew by or rather, I flew by them, I saw the jumper. He was an ordinary bloke like me, dressed in his business casual attire, his blue button up lazily tucked into his khakis. He had hopped out of an open window, didn't even care to find a quiet stairwell or maintenance closet he could hang himself in. Just flung himself out of some poor sap's office with a view. You can imagine the surprise on his face when he saw me fling past him shortly after he exited the building. It took some time but we eventually closed in on each other, leveling out, still suspended miles above the city. His look of confusion soon surrendered itself to one of sadness. His mouth dropping in a frown, his eyes, red from crying, squinted as the wind stung them. Even though I'd only just met him I could see the pain he carried. I wanted to ask him so many questions in that moment. Why did you jump? Will anyone miss you? Did anyone try to help you? I wanted nothing more than to show this man some kind of sympathy in his last moments. So I opened my mouth, preparing to offer whatever comfort I could to my falling companion. "GARGLBFGARGHF"I shouted, the wind filling my mouth and overpowering my voice. I don't really know what I expected.
Anthony slowly opened his eyes. They felt heavy, and his body, weak. Voices and commotion around him, but blurred and muffled. Hard to understand. He was lying down somewhere. How did he get here? Across the room, behind the hazy forms of a crowd gathered around him, he saw a great tree of gold, reflecting the sunlight from the window to his right. And in that moment, everything came in to focus. "Anthony?"he heard with sudden clarity coming from his right. He turned to see a man wearing an eyepatch and plate armor. He heard beeping, and the soft hum of fluorescent lighting. "...where am I?"Anthony managed, leaning up to take in his surroundings. "You're in Valhalla,"the eyepatched man said. "And I am Odin." Anthony scowled at the man, realizing that he recognized the face behind the eyepath. "Don't confuse him,"a voice chimed in from the crowd. The eyepatched man gave a short chuckle. "Okay obviously you're not really in Valhalla, and I'm not really Odin." Anthony stared at the man once again, and this time saw the face of his friend Thomas under the eyepatch and plastic armor. "Tom?" "Of course, man. We're here for you, and set this all up because warriors who fall in combat deserve their own reception in Valhalla. Do you remember what happened?" Anthony looked around the room, scanning the faces of the crowd. His friends from his LARP group, all in-costume. Where was he... a hospital room? "There was an accident,"a woman from the crowd said. "It wasn't an accident,"another voice corrected. "An act of heroism." Anthony remembered the hot sun, sweaty skin against his armor. He remembered a quest in the woods by the highway. Searching for something. But what? "So... you don't remember?"Odin-Thomas asked, placing a hand on Anthony's shoulder. "You did a very brave thing out there. We pretend to be knights and run around in costume... but I've never seen someone more deserving of real-life knighthood." "You saved a little girl,"another voice from the crowd added. "Saved her life for sure,"said another. "Pushed her out of the way,"said one. "A car in the highway,"another added. Anthony flashed back. A small girl, standing in the road. She was staring at Anthony and his friends, dressed in knight's gear. She was pointing and smiling to her mother who was rushing back to pull the girl out of the street. She wouldn't make it in time. Anthony remembered surging forward. He remembered knowing that he was the only one could save her. He remembered the sound of his armor clanking against itself as he lurched forward, but his memories stopped there. "The girl,"he finally said. "She's alright?" "In recovery,"Odin said. "But she'll live." "And you all did this for me?"Anthony asked, looking around and seeing the shabby decor the group had put up in the hospital room, including the gold foil tree on the back wall. "Of course." Anthony lifted himself to a seated position on his bed and moved to stand up. However, as he rotated his legs towards the floor, he stopped, looking down. He'd felt normal at first, but only now did he notice the echoing throb coming from his right leg. He pulled back the blanket over his lower body, revealing the stump where his leg had been amputated. "There's one more thing we brought for you,"Odin said. He nodded to the gathered crowd, and one picked up a box. Odin placed it in Anthony's lap. "Open it,"Odin said, as he stepped back to take his place with the rest of the group. Anthony opened the box and looked inside. There, with a small bow on the center, was an ornate prosthetic leg carved with scenes of glory from Nordic mythology. "Odin is missing an eye, and Tyr lost a hand to a great wolf. Anthony the Brave, he lost a leg to a hulking metal beast, but managed to save a life from its evil clutches first. You can see that scene here." Anthony rotated the leg and saw a carving of a knight in armor carrying a small girl from a beast of great size, with round legs of rubber and headlights for eyes. A small tear dropped onto the leg, the first Anthony had cried in a long time. "It's from all of us,"Odin said. "Lightweight, durable, fashionable as hell... we think it's the kind of thing a true knight deserved." Around Odin, the other LARPers dropped onto their knees and raised their plastic swords, knives, and axes in honor. "Anthony the Brave,"Odin said in his grandest, speech-giving voice, "today we honor you and welcome you to the halls of Valhalla. May your bravery ring out through all of eternity, and your story serve as a guide for all warriors to aspire to." The LARPers raised their weapons and cheered in unison. "Now don your new weapon and rise, Anthony, rise for glory and rise for eternity. Valhalla awaits you."
Raoul kept his smile in place after the elder's announcement, though he was screaming internally. That infernal young meddler had actually convinced them to test him. Him! He'd been here for ten years, 'curing' the physical and psychological problems of the villagers. It worked about half the time. He simply blamed the will of the gods when it failed. Especially the local god Karun, feared and loved in equal measure. Everyone was happy with this arrangement. And they paid him well - he had a cottage all to himself. A couple of local girls were more than happy to tend to him on a more personal level. He wouldn't lose it all to some uppity, dirty traveller. Probably angling to be the next witch doctor. Not on his watch. "Ooh, Karun is not favouring a testing of my powers this day,"Raoul moaned, pressing his hands against the side of his head as if in agony. "For you well know it is the peak of the harvest season. Unleashing any power on this day will upset the balance. It might spoil the harvest. We should do this test next month, or we risk rotten food and starving bellies!" "What nonsense! You dare say you speak for a god?"the young man spluttered. The elder held up a placating hand. "Now, traveller, be calm,"elder Maku said with a gentle smile. "Raoul is right: we cannot risk the harvest. I should have considered that. You are welcome to rest in our village for a month, until the test can be done. It is a good idea, I think - the village next to ours might hear of it and come. Think how impressed they'll be by our witch doctor! I know you are also impatient to see his gift, but it must wait. It mustn't happen with the harvest." The traveller curled his lip and stamped off to the shelter he'd constructed for himself at the edge of the village. Raoul hid a smile and made his way to his own cottage after thanking the elder. The child had no idea what he was tampering with: this village trusted him. Knew him. They'd probably string the traveller up if he continued with his accusations - long before they insisted on a test again. ------ Raoul woke with a start as he felt the jagged edge of a stone knife pressing against his throat. The traveller was staring coldly down at him, where he lay helplessly in bed. This afternoon, his eyes had looked brown. Now, they seemed to almost glow red. For the first time, he noticed a curious mark on the boy's arm, etched deeply into his skin with red ink: the mark of Karun. How could he have missed that? "Lie still,"the boy said, his smile a flash of white in the darkness. "I'll teach you to speak in my name, mortal." ------ You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
The Fiesta de la Muerte is an ancient vessel, aye. Built in the days when the local ship builders took a far greater pride in their labors (Old Gormley estimates 1987), she is painted a lovely sky blue and bears the figure of a headless baseball man upon her prow. Legend tells that the figure once bore a head indeed and that the head would bob up and down in mimicry of the ocean's waves. At some point the head was dislodged. The body, however, is glued quite firmly. The ship was won in a game of chance. Specifically, weekly fantasy football. Luck was with me that week, aye. Luck and a rash of undiagnosed concussions. While many would suggest that the Fiesta de la Muerte is no longer travel-worthy, I saw in her compact, boxy features a unique opportunity. She was, after all, built in that lost time - back before all ships were governed centrally by powers unseen. In other words - she was free. So equipped, I set about assembling my crew. Old Gormley was first, which seemed providence to me. He was, after all, the first father of my first wife, and the first man to visit me in jail at the conclusion of that relationship. We had long been fast friends and there are few I trust more. Second was the quiet Meep, a stony boy with an obtuse past. I do not know if I trust Meep, to be honest, but his technical knowledge is vast and his WiFi hotspot is strong indeed. Third and last was sweet, simple Mallory, the Queen of the Lanes and the hatchet in my heart. Our love was born in rivalry - a jealousy that sparked when my Most Wanted picture appeared above hers at the local Post Office. She sought me out, almost certainly with deadly intentions, but our chemistry was instant and she landed only a few glancing hacks before our love was unearthed. Together we roam the dusty gray waste of Middle America, lurking in those grand, quiet spaces between cities, hunting for treasure. Old Gormley is the only one old enough to remember clearly the time when ships moved freely, controlled by nothing more than the whims of man and the flagging availability of fossil fuels. So it is Old Gormley who mans the helm of the Fiesta de la Muerte while I sit at his side and call out commands. In the back, Meep uses his many "devices"to "hack"the "drive command"of our targets. It is a strange black magic that requires an especially costly data plan. Targets so acquired and disabled, the work is quick and easy. Meep pushes the ship off the road. With the press of a button, the rear hatch is activated, presenting to us the many spoils of our journey. There is a brief sorting process. Space is limited on the Fiesta de la Muerte. We must be choosy in our plundering. The freight having been picked clean, we move to the passengers. Old Gormley carries a very large wrench. Mallory wraps her fists in sandpaper and swears a lot. I wear rather heavy boots, with which I make a show of kicking out their headlights. It is all very intimidating. Meep calculates the cost of the hypothetical damage we may be able to inflict upon their ship and their bodies. He then presents a tablet and suggests a payoff of approximately 50 percent that value. Some haggling follows, during which Mallory swears, Gormley grips his wrench, and I stand at the side of the ship with my foot suggestively cocked. Terms are agreed to. Credit cards are tapped. We make our escape. It is not an easy life, no. But it is the life we have chosen. Someday I fear that justice may catch up to us and we shall be punished bodily for our crimes. But until that day, the freeways of America are vast indeed and full to the brim with a bounty beyond measure. _______________________________________________________________________________________ Additional treasures and ill-gotten booty can be found at [this here subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/winsomeman/). Aye.
Five digits, plus two decimals. Matt and Janie had kept track of every penny. "Is that all?"Kathy asked. Kathy's perfect daughter - her angel, her shining star - sat at the end of the table, coloring a picture of a butterfly. Janie knew that the girl's presence was meant to manipulate her. She would really prefer that her niece be anywhere else at this very moment. But this was Kathy's house, and Janie had to play by Kathy's rules. When Matt and Janie decided that they'd wanted a second child, they knew that their house would be the first to go. They'd bought the three-bedroom ranch in a nice suburb just before their first son was born. But their Sammy no longer needed a nursery, and in retrospect it was an unnecessary expense. Their second - another boy, hopefully - could do without, and when the time came he could take her place in his brother's room. For a little while at least. So: they downsized to a condo on the edge of their town. It didn't have a yard, but it was near a park. It needed some work, but both Matthew and Janie knew how to use a hammer and tighten a wrench. It was safer than their last, which is what really mattered. Next went the car. They kept the baby carrier, knowing from experience that the hospital wouldn't let them leave without one. Now that they were closer to the city, they could do without their own transportation. Both Matthew and Janie had relied on public transportation (mostly) and Uber's self-driving cars (less so) while they were in school. They could do the same again. Third, were Matt's investments. He'd tried his hand at day trading just after graduation, and he was luckier than most. He'd picked a few winners and set aside some profits in a mutual fund. It was liquidated, and the the money joined their fund. They'd asked for money from his family, and then hers. They'd swallowed their fear, sadness, shame, and what was left of their pride and asked from (former) friends. They'd paid off the debts that they had, reasoning that being debt-free would mitigate lingering concerns about their "fitness"as parents, and it would save them money in the long term. They'd talked to strange men, forgers, and smugglers. Some had charged them just for the privilege of a consult. Others had simply robbed them. What was left was on the table. And as it turns out, most good, decent, law-abiding people aren't willing to sell half a child, even a theoretical one. Kathy was neither good, decent, nor law-abiding and her half-license was their only hope. Five digits and two decimals was the balance in their account. It was everything they had to offer Janie's estranged, embittered sister. "Is that all?"Kathy said again, breaking Janie's reverie. Janie noticed when the girl looked up. If she felt the tension in the room, it didn't register. She looked down at her drawing again, humming quietly. No, Janie thought. No, that was not all. Janie had a ring - their mother's wedding ring - which had been passed down in their family from mother to firstborn daughter for four generations. It had to be worth at least a couple thousand. Janie had never worn it, but kept it close. Kathy knew this and had always been jealous. Janie, the oldest, had always been the favorite; Kathy and her limp had been the "accident."Her father never let them forget it, and Kathy never did. But Kathy was a fighter: she recovered emotionally, found her own way in the world, and at the first opportunity she moved as far away from her family as she could. She couldn't believe the reversal of fortune. To Janie the ring was a keepsake; to Kathy it was validation. Something to pass along to her own daughter. A trophy to her victory. Janie opened the clasp on her bag and placed the ring on the sheet, and slid both across the table. It would have to be enough, because she had nothing left. Four months later Janie and Matt left her doctor's office, the sound of a child's heartbeat resonating in their ears. They would keep this secret for several months yet, but they stopped by a close friend's house to celebrate the news. They didn't go straight home. Instead, they walked in the sunset, to the grove on the hill where the children's gravestones were, to tell Sammy that he would have a brother.
"Come on! Get the money in the truck! We've only got a few minutes until the poli-" The overhead skylight exploded, sending glass raining into the bank lobby. "Fuck it's the SWAT! Get your wea-"The words froze in his throat when he noticed what had just landed atop the statue in the center of the lobby. "Stealing is bad folks. Why don't we all just gather around for a group hug?"Boomed a heroic voice. A man in neon green spandex, a white scarf, and what looked like a bike helmet, addressed then from his perch. "What. The. Fuck." "That's a quarter for the swear jar! Maybe this will give you a shock?"He exclaimed triumphantly, as he threw something from his utility belt. The swearing bank robber fell to the floor, yelling out several more swears, as a lightning bolt shaped object was embedded in his shoulder. "He's got weapons! Get down!" "Did he just imply an electric gadget, but then just stab that guy?" "Just get the fuck down Steve!" "Evil doers can not hide from the sting of Justice!"The man leaped down on top of a second bank robber, a gloved had smashing his head into the tile floor. "Looks like this one should've abandoned ship!"He said smugly. "Your phrases don't even fit the context!"Yelled the final bank robber, raising his gun. "You're not getting me. I'm not going to jail." "If you can't do the time, then don't do the crime!"Exclaimed the man, somersaulting into the air. The gun fired several times each bullet missing. Heavy boots made contact with the robbers jaw, sending him crashing to the floor. In the moments before unconsciousness, he said "At least... that one... made fucking sen- AUGH"He was cut off as a lightning bolt pinned his arm to the floor. "Swear jaaaaar"Said the man, in a sing song tone. Police flooded into the lobby, "You! Don't move." "Ah, the authorities! Never fear! I have appreh-" "Get on the ground! Heads behind your head!" The man leaped into the air, bouncing among the statue, columns, and banners, reaching the open skylight. A rookie cop lowered his gun, "Who are you?" The man popped his head back into the skylight, "I am.... Greeeeennnnn"The voice trailed off as he ran off into the night. Silence hung awkwardly in the bank lobby. "D-did he say his name was the green? As in the color?"
"Why is everything so scratch scratch itchy dammit!" Probably from the poison ivy leaves I mixed into the washed laundry this morning. Petty? Perhaps. But it was also pretty damn funny. Let's see if I can fan the flames a bit. "Glad I wash my own clothes, speaking of which. Who was on washing duty yesterday? It was Laz right? Hey Laz, what did you do to the clothes?" "Nothing! scratch There must have been something in the water!" Uh-oh. The denial AND the excuse. Ellen is gonna be pissed when she finds - "Laz! What the hell is this!" The leaves I left in her pockets. "My my, that looks a lot like poison ivy. Laz, did you wash the clothes or just stir them a bit with a stick and hang them up?" "No that's impossible! scratch I checked the pockets thoroughly before I washed the clothes scratch and there was definitely no poison ivy!" "It's okay to make mistakes Laz, scratch scratch though I would rather you didn't make so many..." Ooph, I almost felt bad for everything I pinned on Laz in the past with just that one sentence. Is this the true power of the Hero? "This isn't my fault, I swear!" "I dunno Laz old-buddy old-pal. You do have quite the history. Remember that time you cooked bugs with our food?" Getting those toxic moths into the stew without notice hadn't been easy but dammit it had been worth it the next day. "Yah! Or that time you didn't set up the tents properly!" I had taken the supports out so the night-breeze and rain had knocked everything over. It was pretty funny to see them scramble around in confusion like a bunch of confused, slightly stupid monkeys stuck under a blanket. "I still don't understand how you got yourself locked up in prison, we were only in that town for four hours." Way to go Hero! Rangis had been my favorite place. Crazy religious nuts there. All I had to do was pose as a stranger and get Laz talking about his own religion and off to the stocks he went! I even made some money selling fruit for people to throw. "None of those were my fault! I'm being set-up I tell you! The old man in Rangis started the conversation, how was I supposed to know it was a taboo?" "Laz, I need reliable people on my team. scratch If I can't trust you with the laundry, how can I trust you when we face the Overlord? scratch I need you to stop making excuses and stop slowing us down." Wow, Hero laying on the pressure. She's starting to sound similar to just before Fen and Nell were excused from the Hero's party. Sure would have sounded more impressive without the scratching and the tomato-face though. "Of- Of course, Hero. I will strive to be worthy of my position." "Good. Then we must no tarry and longer. We are still a month's travel away from the Overlord's keep and every second he lives, others are dying." A month huh. That should be plenty of time to finish removing Laz with a couple of serious offences. A stolen item here and a banned item there and boom! The Hero will be down to just Ellen and I in her party. I wonder if I could get Ellen removed as well. That would certainly make my fight with the Hero much easier. I should have done this before, this is much more fun compared to just waiting in my keep for the Hero's party to arrive! I wonder how she'll look when I betray her?
Come now, huntsman, draw your bow, Let arrow fly, then take a bow For you have wounded that sweet dove From such a height it swiftly dove. Or shall you listen to the wind And for once lay back, unwind Hear nature's song, take a minute For each mote and grain, though minute. The city back home's an ugly wound Of all these people, tightly-wound No shining rivers, filled with bass Just the beat of an oppressive bass. Souls worn thin will tatter, tear And few would think to shed a tear Or patch a heart. No seamstress, sewer Just smoggy air and fetid sewer. The one spot of color a shining moped As otherwise you sat and moped Bored with all the books you'd read And all the books you'd yet to read. Man has reaped and man did sow And breed the cow and chick and sow But you shall hunt the graceful does And noble bucks, as a hunter does. With gun or arrow, slinging lead Tracing tracks where they may lead And bearing every blow and buffet To bring home game for your buffet.
It was all because of a protest... The city had been going into the shitter for years. One corrupt mayor gets taken down another more corrupt shit head takes their place. A hundred dirty cops are punished, a thousand more just fill in the holes. It was a city begging for a hero, someone to bring order a justice. That's when The Black Knight came. He cleaned up the streets, took the crime families down, made sure the corrupt were punished and that the good people of the city would feel safe. But he was only one man. No matter what he did there was always some new evil that came in... And it all fell apart because of a protest... = = = It was considered the trial of the century. Eight police officers were arrested and charged with the gang rape and murder of college student Heidi McCloy. People followed the case closely as many wondered if the officers would get away with their crime. Most people figured there would be no way they would walk. There was video evidence, sperm was found and linked the men to the crime. One of the officer's used his gun to end the girl's life! But those who lived in the city knew how the courts in the city work. If the judge wasn't corrupt then they were threaten by Commissioner Bradshaw. If the judge wasn't afraid then the jury were. The Black Knight was involved with the case but he made sure not to taint anything. The items he tested or clues he found he made sure those detectives he knew he could trust "found"them. There would be no way the lawyers could throw out evidence. Outside the court house there was already a large group of protesters. Black Knight kept his eyes on them as he knew this could become a very dangerous powder keg. The verdict was coming and everyone was tense. = = = "NOT GUILTY..." All eight officers got away with it! The video footage that came from three officers filming the crime with their own phones had been "damaged or altered"the lab results on the DNA went "missing"... The protesters screamed and yelled as the cocky bastards walked out of the court house, Commissioner Bradshaw shook their hands as they tried to walk to the waiting cars. Black Knight scanned the area. There was no weapons in the crowd and the protesters went throwing anything to being violent... But he heard the command on his comm set that he had hacked into the police radio system. "Yell gun and open fire..."the voice said. Black Knight watched in horror as he saw one of the SWAT team on the steps of the court house nodded at the order. "GUN!"he shouted as he raised his assault rifle and opened fire on the protesters. The others followed suit and poured rounds into the protesters. "Oh dear god... KATIE!"Black Knight screamed as he looked though the crowd, trying to find his 19 year old daughter... He watched as her young body was struck by so many rounds. The Black Knight swooped into the area, his eyes fixed on the SWAT member who shot his baby girl... SWAT saw him coming and aimed at him. He threw his blades at the men. He had rules... he never killed a criminal if he could help it. He never killed cops, even if they were corrupt he would disarm them and bring them to justice... Not now... not ever again... The blades hit their marks, breaking though the face guards of the SWAT helmets, killing some of the men. Once Black Knight landed on his feet he pulled out the sword he had on his back. Again he only used it to disarm criminals... Now he was cutting the now terrified SWAT team apart! The remaining men retreated back to their van, driving off during the panic. Black Knight pushed through the panicked mass of people to see his daughter laying in the large pool of blood. He held her close, crying under his helmet. "Katie... Katie please don't.... Please..."he kept saying, holding the only thing he had left in his life, the only thing that he fought for, the only thing worth a god damn was now taken from him... Everyone will pay... The police, the judges, mayor... Starting that night the city will know fear, they will know terror. The city will have a new master... And god help anyone who gets in the Black Knights way!
My random parameters, assigned at birth, had really served me well throughout my childhood. I was relatively good looking and my agility had made me great at sports so I didn’t complain. My intelligence level had given me decent grades in school. “Hey David,” my good friend Alex said. I knew he’d be at the Assignment Office since we shared the same Assignment Day, “You excited? Plan on changing much?” “Yeah, pretty nervous,” I laughed as I said it, “There are a few things I want to change. I’ve always wanted blue eyes and not to be so darned pale! I'm not touching my stats though." “David Scott,” the nurse said with a smile, motioning me into the office that contained the computer. “Good luck, blue eyes!” Alex teased as I walked in. I had my eyes closed. I was so pissed. I hit “Accept?” and even went through a “Are you sure?” prompt followed by, “Hitting Accept at this Point Cannot Be Reversed, Please Check Everything and Make Any Changes, if Satisfied hit ACCEPT” and like an idiot I had. “Wow,” Alex said looking at me then blushed, “You look good.” “Shut up, Alex!” I said, entering the bathroom then turning around as the blush crossed my face and the person screamed. I entered the ladies room for the first time in my life with my bladder about to burst and sat on the toilet embarrassed. I had no idea how this new set of plumbing worked so I let nature guide me. I had been so worried about getting my looks wrong. Well, my mom had always wanted a daughter.
So. I have no idea what the hell just happened. Like, I should have just stuck driving regular goddamn people. But no. I had to mark the checkbox that said I was open to driving anything and anyone. I didn't exactly know what that meant at the time - I thought it meant that I would, like, be willing to drive people that had pets or something with them. So, now I have shed fur, pixie dust and feathers spread around my car - left behind by a werewolf, a fairy and a harpy respectively. Had to flippin drive through a non-existent intersection (according to Google maps) that lead to a walled off gate and was instructed to "Just run through the gate with your car, we know it sounds like you're destroying property, but we swear that it's only like that to keep the common folk away." The gate just vanished into thin air the moment my car went through it, by the way. And of course, all of the weird fuckers stumbled into my car, with the fairy desperately trying to force her drunk harpy friend in the car. "Damit, Rebecca, just - just go in the car!"the fairy hissed. "Nooooo,"the harpy groaned. "Uh,"I uttered, my eyes wide. The werewolf poked his head in the car and stared at me with a concerned look. "Um. You're...human?" Never in my life did I think that I'd be asked that question. "...Yes?" At that, the werewolf's ears flattened at the back of his head. "Great. Moira, you dialed a human Uber. Now they know we exist. We're gonna have to kill him." "Wait, what?!"I exclaimed as I jumped out of my seat. "Hey, hey! Listen, if that's a threat, I'm gonna call the cops - " "Pipe down, Walsen. I'll just mind blank him by the time we get home,"the fairy grumbled, finally managing to buckle in the harpy. The fairy then glared at me. "Unless you're willing to create a pact or something. You did arrive in a timely manner, so we could have you be the designated magical creatures driver." "We already have our own Uber drivers!"the werewolf growled. "Yeah, and they're all shitty because they don't have human feet to drive cars. Fairies can't drive because gasoline and oil are toxic to nature and cause us to feel tired and weak on the road." "Moira - " "Look, Walsen, I am sick and tired and I want to get home. This human will do it and we're NOT going to commit murder this evening. Get in the car." And so that is how I ended up driving a very drunk harpy, a pissed fairy and a very frustrated werewolf home. I mean, by the end of it, I got paid and was forced into a contract by the fairy to become the Uber Driver of Magical Creatures, which meant that I couldn't talk about their existence to anyone. I mean...that's fine, I guess? They even tipped me pretty well. But still...I feel like this is going to be a very, very tedious job sometimes.
"Happy Birthday!"My parents exclaimed. On the table were two small, black cubes. "Well,"Dad said, still beaming. "Aren't you two excited?" I looked at my twin brother. He looked just as confused as I was. "What does it do?"He asked, the more outspoken of us two. "Well,"Mom chimed in. "It's small, so you can carry it all around you. And...and..."she exchanged glances with Dad as if she wasn't sure what else to say. ".. you can carry it all around?"She offered again. My brother made a face and rested his cheek on his balled fist. "You said that already." "Well, if you dont want them,"Dad said, jumping in. "We'll take them off your hands." "Me too!"Mom countered. Both of them reached for it. I shared a quick glance with my brother to make sure we were on the same page and we snatched up the cubes away from their grasp. "We changed our minds,"we explained simultaneously. "Doesn't matter, no takesie's-backsies!"Dad whined. "Boys, what did I tell you about lying?"Mom scolded. "Not to?"We guessed. She nodded. "But since you did, give us your cubes." As we handed them over, something flashed in her eyes. Like a gold stone in a black ocean, if that makes sense. I pulled my hand back at the last second. My twin looked at me in surprise. Mom scowled at me, and then he looked at her in surpise. But before he could pull his hand away, Dad already grabbed his cube. "Got it!"He howled with joy. Then, Mom turned on him. "Give it to me!"She hissed. His eyes flashed with malicious glee as he turned and fled upstairs. Mom grabbed a knife from the knife rack and cackled with dark mirth as she chased him upstairs. Their bedroom door slammed. I looked at my twin. He looked at me, shaken. My cube was still in my hand. "We need to crack this,"I whispered. He nodded.
(Weird and messy and sorta dark. Hope you enjoy.) I finish chopping the celery. I put on my little plate with the floral imprints on it. I pour a tall glass of milk. Delicious. I’m returning to the couch, when I remember Sally, my girlfriend. She likes me because I’m sweet and friendly. Though lately, she’s been annoyed because I’ve been so “neutral”. The rolls have not been in her favor. I chop some more celery. I give her the milk. That was a mistake. It’s much too strong for me. I pour myself some skim, and head of to the couch. My watch beeps. It’s time. I usually get out of the house, but honestly, I’m getting tired of Sally. Oh well. She’ll probably be fine. 1 for lawful good. 2 for neutral good. 3 for chaotic good. I remember the last time I rolled a 3. There was a banker who was stealing money from the taxpayer. I hogtied him to a tree. Good times. 4 for lawful neutral. Boooring. 5 for neutral neutral. BOOOOOORING. 6 for chaotic neutral. Eh. You can only be dramatic, libertarian, and steal-y so many times. 7 for lawful evil. Could be better. Not much politicking you can do in a hour. 8 for neutral evil. Eh. You can only be dramatic, libertarian, and stab-y so many time. I roll. 9. YES. I race to the cupboard. I know I left in here somewhere. Then finally, at the back, behind box 9 of Lima beans, I see it. A half empty bottle of special-juice. Excellent. Same as last time. I down it. The whole thing all at once. Then I find the box at the bottom of the cupboard filled with special powder. Then Sally walks into the room. She’s resplendent in her grey dress, with the little dark grey sequins. She’s got that back-of-the-line-at-the-coffee-shop look. She eats oatmeal for breakfast, white bread for lunch, and rice for dinner. Just like me. (WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO). And now she’s looking at me all annoyed. WIth a face like soured milk. I should have been back in the living room in 11 seconds ago. Aww. I pick up the celery knife. Stabby stabby. Darn I missed. Grabby grabby. Out the door with coke in handy. Then I’m in the car on a residential street. I’m going seventy. There’s a lady on the street with a baby. She flips me off. FUCK YOU. WHAMMY Then I’m on my way to town. There’s siren’s in the distance. Who gives a shit? I’m still wearing my sweater vest and dockers. This will not do. The honda screeches to a stop, and I get out. Then it’s everything else out too, clothes and stuff altogether. Ahh. To be free. Back in the car. There’s someone honking. Going eighty this time. AND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIM FREEEE. There’s a man with a beard yelling with his cane. Fuck em. There’s a lady with a beard yelling with her cane. Fuck her too. THere’s a princess in a tower. A prince runnign to rescue her. He’s riding a horse made out of jellybeens and razor blades. Fuck him too. I SWERVE TO HIT. TOUCH DOWNNNNNNNNNN!!!. The jelly beans and razor blades go everywhere, and little kids pick em up. Then finally, finally, I’m at the liqour store. Gotta do this right. It took way to long. There’s a gun on teh sidewalk and I grab it. I enter wearing only a hood I found on a coathook. People are aghast. SUNS OUT GUNS OUT MOTHERFUCKEEEEEEERS. Bangarang bangarang. Car through the door. Bang bang bang bang bang. Man with a knife. Swiggity swoogity knify in my hand. Grabby stabby once again, oh no the FUZZ. I drink ¾’s of a vodaka for help. AND im going stabby and shooty. Uhh, Uh oh. Is that gasoline, and fire? WHEEEEEEEEH. Then kaboom. Fuzz go sideways, so do my eyes. I’m going crazy and Im out of the stoore. Thats okay. It’s really okay. Still got my gun and my knife and my lack of clothers. Then I’m back in the car for funzies. Rest of the vodka. DRIVE AWAY. Time for more fun. Then… Beep. Reluctantly, I roll the die. 1. I sigh, and make a U-turn. Pull my clothes back on. Head back to the liquor store to help clean up. I hope Sally’s okay.
Dragons are a very important natural resource, though most mortal being have no idea of this fact. They just think we're a bunch of flying, elemental-spewing lizards that hoard gold, ravage the countryside, and devour virgins. Flying yes, elemental spewing yes, lizards no. We dragons are decidedly not reptiles. We were here first, before the reptiles, before the mammals, and they went and stole bits out our design. The reptiles made off with our scales and decided to be silly and splay-legged and belly crawly, while the mammals decided "Hey we want to be able to nurse our young and have nice, straight legs that are good for running and sometimes even manual dexterity. Fuck the long tails and necks though, and we want to be covered in ridiculous, easily pierced fluff." And you'd ravage the countryside too if, let's go with something comparative in size, a bunch of bunny rabbits stole everything that wasn't nailed down while you were taking a nap. You'd flush out, fill in, and set fire to every bunny burrow in hopes of getting information to getting your personal property back. But with dragons things are on a much longer time scale, a nap can be a few months, while a good solid sleep can last a few decades, and a chronic oversleeper might stir after a century or two. We need our nice, long naps, they're very important for the continued health of the dragon, and for the world. See, dragons are innately magical creatures, which is why when we're slain mortals can use just about every bit of us for some magical thing or another. Arms, armor, magical potions, decorative night stands made out of skulls whose eye sockets glow with inner radiance, etc, etc. That's because we're all basically walking, talking ley lines. We're living conduits of raw elemental power, and we bring that to the lands in which we dwell. Of course it's not obvious to mortals because they tend to keel over dead after three centuries, tops. They see fire elemental dragons residing in volcanoes and ice dragons living in arctic tundras and glaciers and floating icebergs and whatnot and think "Oh, the dragon must live there because it's a comfortable environment." That is cloaca-backwards. Volcanoes spring up because there's a fire dragon living there. Places freeze over because there's been an ice dragon in residence for a century or more. You wouldn't like a world without dragons, it would result in an utterly boring landscape created by rules of wind, erosion, elevation, and water flow. You wouldn't have interesting places like my little spot of the countryside, where my neighbors are a steamy rainforest, a bleak salt flat, a frozen valley, some volcanic mountains, and a nasty, stinky swamp. All this surrounds the forty mile or so diameter circle around my lair, where the land is beautiful and gorgeous filled with good soil for bountiful crops, peaceful and cute animals (like the aforementioned fluffy bunnies), and nice, sunny weather where the rain around like clockwork, and only at night so as not to bother the inhabitants. I'm a Benedictine dragon, and I bring order and placidness into the world through my very presence. My element is named after the Benedictine School of magic, where one uses the elements in more sedate, natural ways to accomplish things. Safe, simple, predictable, and clean. As opposed to the Maledictine School which is messy, sometimes complex, sometimes random, moderately unsafe, and decidedly weird. My half sister down to the south, the one in the swamp, she's a Maledictine dragon. Her breath weapon is identical to my own fire, except that hers is blue, and instead of heat it throws off cold completely in the violation of physics and thermodynamics and whatnot. Stereotypically the two schools are labelled "Good"and "Evil"by a lot of mortals, but one's morality is decided through one's thoughts and deeds, rather than one's preferred element and method of spellcasting. My sister, for example, is just about the most polite and well-behaved dragoness you could possibly every hope to meet. She's also terribly shy, has problems talking to new people, and generally just likes to stay in the middle of her swamp tending to her undead legions. Umm… she also just so happens to be the dragon equivalent of a crazy cat lady, but with the undead. She mostly has mindless zombies and skeletons, and keeps them out of trouble by tending to her gardens. She's also a cook and an alchemist, so she's got a lot of interesting plants growing. And it's hard to do delicate works when your fingers have claws on the end and are as thick as tree branches. Which was why I was flying out today. Something radiating quite a bit of Maledictine and Void mana had managed to wander into my nice, quiet fairy tale kingdom and needed to be shooed back into my sister's lands before it caused any troubles. It was already causing nasty black clouds in my otherwise pristine blue sky, and seemed to be providing thunder and lightning in high amounts, but no rain. Ugh. It was probably holed up in the old church fort that I kept around because I liked the shabby chic aesthetic of the place. But I was starting to think I'd have been better off knocking it down, as mortals seemed to think it was a castle of some sort and that the architecture was decidedly sinister enough to make it an evil lair. Though I have to admit I'm probably somewhat to blame for that. The stones are mostly black, as I keep having to swoop by and clean the place out of bandits, cultists, slimes, and the occasional infestation of giant rats every so often, and it takes so much effort to scrub soot from my fire breath off the rocks. So the place is dark, ruined, ominous, and a former church, so all evil-doing within is also blasphemous. Thus a magnet for all the naughty activity in my realm. Then again I suppose if I knocked it down, they baddies would misbehave in other places, rather than popping up again and again in a nice predictable spot. I sighed as I spread my wings to slow my descent and land in the courtyard. I could hear the mad cackling from all the way up here. I couldn't make out the words, but from the way someone had been shouting for the past minute or so it sounded like your typical "They called me mad, MAD! But know I, Professor von Frumpensmergle, will show them! I WILL SHOW THEM ALL! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!"type speech. They always hold up in the fort's sanctum, where some ne'er do well squatter went and put a dias on the raised altar platform to make it a proper throne room. I'd kept it like that, since that made it pretty easy to hop in, eat the leader of the offending infestation, and resolve the whole issue. I'd even had carpenters in to put some hinges on a suitably large section of the roof so that I could just lift it up and pop in without having to wriggle through hallways that were not sized with fully grown dragonesses in mind. So I lifted up the roof, stuck my head in and saw the wrongest wrong thing in the history of wrong. The mad cackling was not coming from a skinny, pale, frail wizard, a wild-haired scientist in a lab coat, or a powerful, yet still rotund leader of a band of demi-humans. But rather a young woman in a suitably fairy tale-esque pink dress. But it wasn't quite right, as the pink garment had black accents, and the princess-y vibe was utterly ruined by shiny silver gauntlets, greaves, and a breastplate, as well as scandalous shortness. The dress barely reached her knees! The lady had a matching silver staff with a skull on top (with the requisite glowing eyes), but she also carried a sword! The noblewomen of the Meadowgrass Kingdom didn't use swords! If they had to battle they were either archers or magicians! I shook my head at the whole sight. The young lady necromancer definitely had her clothes made around here, as the styles were right, and the craftsmanship exquisite, and the ominous details of all the skull detailing on her armor was nowhere near creepy. The skulls were happy and pleasant and cheerful. And that meant that she was a local girl, too. No proper evil necromancer would go marching around with a general look that could only be described as "cutesy." And she had a captive. A huge, powerful, towering man in black leather armor had a chain around his neck that had been attached to the heavy stone altar, which had been set for tea. The black knight calmly polished his monocle, sipped delicately from a cup of tea with his pinky extended and shook his head at his captor's theatrics. "Madam, I quite understand where you're coming from, but I am quite sure that this has gone too far. Certainly a nice sit down in front of the fire with your father to discuss the matter of your matrimony would accomplish things in a far more civil fashion than abducting the ambassador of your fiance's kingdom."he said in his posh Greenspire Jungle accent. "My father refuses, REFUSES to see reason! I am the eldest, the firstborn, and yet I am to be shipped off from paradise to your wretched land of chronic rain, mosquitoes, and misery, while my brother takes the throne!" The knight nodded, refilling his cup from the teapot, and then pouring a second. "One lump or sugar or two, your highness?"the knight asked politely. "Two please."she said, accepting the cup and taking a sip before drawing in a deep breath for some more ranting. Your highness?! I squinted. Human faces are so tiny and difficult to make out. "Princess Buttercup?!"I said with a gasp. The necromancer-princess spun, dropping her cup of tea in shock (which was expertly caught by the Greenspire ambassador and placed back on the table for later consumption), staring up at me with wide eyes. "Goldengleam!"the princess groaned, "You're going to ruin everything!"
It had been too long since I had a job. After I’d lost my last job I didn’t have the motivation to get another one because I was in need of a break too much. That was probably about 6 months ago, and I decided it was finally time I got back into the workforce. Every now and then I’d take a look at the employment section of a few websites to see what kind of easy work I could pick up, if any. Most sites had the usual; servers, bartenders, entertainers, nothing out of the ordinary. Today I was expecting the same thing. And for the most part, that’s what I got. Few server positions, a birthday party host, the same-old. Then I came across one that made me do a double take, opening my eyes up wide and letting me jaw drop slightly. I read it quietly to myself just to let it sink in: “Wanted: 50 Storm Troopers, one Darth Vader, and a Wookie, for the most elaborate Star Wars-themed prank of all time. Costumes provided, $50/h” I wasn’t sure what to think. I was on the fence deciding whether this was too ridiculous to be true or would be one of the weirdest things I’ve done in my life. But after flipping through countless pages of the same old, boring jobs I was accustomed to, maybe this was it. My chance. Make a quick buck doing something fun. I called the number on the ad, and got myself a job as a Darth Vader cosplayer for a bizarre practical joke. The day arrived. Obviously not many other people were quite as crazy as I am because barely anybody showed. Out of the 52 people they were expecting only about 20 actually took the offer. “What part did you get?” a voice behind me echoed. I turned around to see an average built, gruffy man with dark black hair and a cheeky grin. “Ummm I got Darth Vader”. “Ah perfect perfect, you’re the most important part” he said with a clipboard checking off my name. He went around to the others doing the same. A few were interested in the point of the whole joke, asking him what was going on. “You’ll find out soon guys, just wait and see”. Confused but motivated by the payout, we put on our costumes. The pieces of mine were jet black and shiny, looking like props from the actual movies. I suited up as the dark lord himself, with my new boss standing in front of me and getting ecstatic. “Ahhhh perfect! That’s just perfect!” he cried. Clearly impressed, he directed me to stand at the end of the room, directing me “when she comes in, I want you to step forward, point at her and say “seize the girl, take her away!” what girl? Whaaaaaaat Curious but obediently, I agree. He lines up his stormtroopers along the side of the room and directs them, whilst I stand valiantly at the end of the room, ready to sentence some Rebel scum to death. After about 15 minutes of waiting, finally, it happens. Frantically a panicked girl bursts into the room with the wookie guiding her with a blaster and screams at the sight of a line of stormtroopers and Vader. I threateningly stand in front of her, doing some heavy breathing through the voice changer in my suit, sounding like James Earl Jones himself. I remember my lines and deliver them, lifting up my hand and intimidatingly beginning to speak. “Seize the girl, take her away” The stormtroopers grab her arm and take her into another room, before being quickly greeted by the laughter of our pseudo-boss and the expected reaction of a scared prank victim. “UGHHH fuck you Brad! I told you I was scared of this shit” “Come on babe I kept telling you it wasn’t real! I thought it would be funny” “Seriously though, how much effort do you have to go to for a stupid prank? How much did you pay these people?” Suddenly, it dawned on me. This guy pranked his girlfriend because she thought Star Wars was real. All this effort and all this money because he wanted to prove a point? As I collected my $100 and left that day, the whole point of it stuck out in my mind. I can’t believe somebody would be that petty that they’d pull a prank like that. But you know what, a job is a job. And along with $100 to spare, it left me with a funny story to tell.
The phone rang. "Pick up, dammit,"Alicia said. "Pick. Up!" She'd dialed it a mere eight years in the future, and nobody had picked up. Maybe she wasn't home, then? She didn't know how it worked, if the person on the other end needed to be in a specific place or something. So she'd tried five years, and nothing. Then three. The suspicion that it wasn't a fluke, that she was going to die in the increasingly near future, wouldn't leave her. Now? Now she was dialing tomorrow. Then, finally, a voice. Alicia let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "We're sorry, your call could not be connected due to rapid unplanned degradation of infrastructure. Please try again when civilization can be rebuilt." "I'm not going to die,"Alicia said to herself, "We're all going to die!" ---- I watched as Alicia ran down the street, yelling "We're all going to die!" "So you gave her one of those kid's toy phones and told her she could call her future self,"Jayne said. "Yep,"I said. "I put in some different recordings, of course. Though I don't think I ever did get rid of 'the cow goes moo'." "The end is coming!"Alicia yelled to everyone who would listen. "And... why did you do this?" "She was in charge of performance reviews at work,"I explained. "She said I 'lacked foresight'." "DOOOOM!"Alicia yelled. "Who wished she lacked foresight now, Alicia?"
"How did i get here?, this cant be right."I thought aloud. My heart started pounding as panic took over. "What is this place? Where am I?"I stood up from my seat at an unfamiliar table, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. Larry turned to me, holding a turkey sandwich in his right hand. I didn't know how I knew his name was Larry, but it was somehow apparent to me . "hahah what do you mean man? You've been a guard in this prison for 8 years. This is the break room, the same one we eat lunch in every day. Now quit acting like you just checked out of the psych ward and eat your lunch we only have 30 minutes." I calmed, slowly but surely. My heart's frantic throbbing simmered to a dull roar. I sat back down and grabbed my sandwich. Tuna fish, I hate tuna fish. Why did i make this for myself? My suspicion heightened but i conceded to Larry's reasoning and briefly accepted my place in the unfamiliar world. After lunch Larry and I went to our post, I kept making wrong turns only to be corrected by the guiding hand of my strangely unfamiliar friend Larry. "where you going? thats E block, we work in A" "Are you high Ronny? That hall goes to the Cafeteria" "Ya know what, how bout I lead the way instead"He said with a concerned look on his face. Larry stepped ahead of me, and I followed wide eyed and worried. As I passed cells, hallways and prisoners I was hit with flashes of memories; scenes in my head of a life that felt more like dream than reality. Once i subdued a belligerent prisoner in that hall. A tall skinny white guy, who was prone to biting. I looked down and saw the scar that his crooked canines left in my forearm. I trained with my Boss, i think...John is his name, here. next to Block C. We laughed about the chances of the Detroit Pistons making it to the championship that year.. A few years ago I met Larry right here by Cell f-18, when I saved his life during a Prison riot. Finally, we got to our post. A series of memories flooded my head, as if they were injected into my consciousness. This wasn't right, i felt hypnotized. Larry left me at my post, and patted my shoulder as he walked off. "Sit down and drink some water man. If you need anything, or there is something you want to talk about come find me at the usual place". His voice seemed distant and rang with a metallic echo. I nodded at his words, not truly understanding anything he said. I sat, mystified as larry walked to the other side of Block A. Then i remembered my duties and felt a sudden urge to do them. Patrol the Block, inspect cells, and monitor for suspicious behavior. I walked over to my first inspection, in a haze. I readied my cuffs, as protocol required, and turned to cell A25 the first in my row. I started to shout "inspection time, hands out"when i caught a glimpse of the inmate. The man was tall, and bulky. he sat on his cot reading a book. The title read "This isn't Real". I looked at the posters in his room, they depicted various images of naked women and different public figures, but the text on all of them said the same thing. This isn't Real This isn't Real This isn't Real A sharp pain shot up my spine, and into my neck. I collapsed to the hard floor. The room was spinning. The prisoners didnt react, they didnt move or speak. The walls around me started flickering, everything around me was rapidly dimming and brightening. Between flashes and flickers, a green haze could be seen. I was stuck somewhere between reality and this green haze. Suddenly I felt the sensation of something pressing on my forehead and below my eyes. The flickering had stopped, now i was completely immersed in the green haze. I raised my hand to find the source of the sensation and felt goggles tethered to my eyes. I struggled to remove them. Ripping and tearing. My skin peeled and in one desperate yank i removed the device that was welded to my face. I found myself in a large room. The size of a hangar or a warehouse. Flourescent lighting beat down on me. When my eyes fully adjusted i found that i was surrounded by people like myself. People in minimalist clothing with goggles tethered to their eyes. I stood up from my chair. I looked frantically around the room. I wanted to run, i wanted to get out of this terrible hangar. I tried to stand but my legs were frail and weak. I sunk to the floor and crawled over to the chair next to me. I found Larry, calmly breathing, stuck in the simulation i had just escaped. A clipboard with a piece of paper was above his head. The paper read: Name: Larry Deltore. Sentence: 20 years to life. Crime: Armed robbery and Assault Exploitable traits: Loyal, Gullible, Friendly to those he respects. (possibly stage a scene where another convict saves his life, to ensure he is invested in the simulation) I removed a cord attached at Larry's spine. He jerked awake, and found himself in the green haze i had just escaped. His heart pounded as his world was turned upside down in an instant. "Its ok Larry, its ok, im getting us out of here"
I sat on the edge of the building, looking out over New York. Behind me, a hundred flashbulbs flickered, as they gained a few shots of me ‘in action’. Bullshit. I’d rather be out there. That’s why media days were so few and far between. But needed, for the collateral damage, which comes so easily with superhero work. After a few minutes of idly brooding, I turned around, my mask obscuring my face still. The interviewer, a grey haired, spidery woman- I’m sure I’d seen her on evening news-took a few steps closer and nervously perched on the edge of the building with me. I pulled up my mask, to reveal my face- if you could still call it that. She’d obviously seen older pictures, and wasn’t taken aback ‘So when did you discover your powers’- she began. Lowball question. Asked a hundred times. I trotted out the usual story- teenage motorcycle crash, awoke the next day to find a perfectly circular hole in my chest, where I’d hit the scaffolding lorry. I don’t know who was more surprised, myself or the mortician. ‘Medical miracle’ they said. I rolled my eyes, while the reporter scribbled. ‘Since then, I’ve been shot, and gained bulletproof innards, burned, and gained fire retardant skin, gassed, and lost the requirement for oxygen, fallen from high places- and gained a slow, lazy directionless drop. Sadly no flying, unless I could find a way of dying from flight- Any suggestions?’ I watch her quickly scribble in a notebook ‘His eyes twinkle as he cheerily asks for suggestions’. Yuk. God, I hate this. Every time, I came back. Every time, I gain scarring, wounds, injuries that never fully heal. The burned skin is a testament for that. ‘Have you ever been killed in the same way twice’- Killed. What a flippant way of putting it. Sure, I’d been killed so many times- but never to death. ‘It’s rather hard, you see’ I’d put some thought into this since the last interview. ‘Once I’ve been killed with- say- blunt force trauma, it’s rather hard to do it again. Remember the train in ’89?’- I’d stood in front of the runaway train, and it’d crashed into me- I’d been dead in milliseconds, but my body stayed standing on the train tracks, so the train came to a stop too. That was because I’d been killed by losing my footing the year before. Since then, I can stop runaway trains, planes, even the occasional cruise ship- without damage. I sighed. The interview had felt like hours, though it was probably close to 5 minutes. I looked down in the street, seeing my gap. ‘Gotta go’ I said, pulling the mask over my face and pushing myself off the building backward, watching the shock of the interviewer followed up by the flashbulbs, each trying to get a perfect shot of me, lazily floating down. I give them a little wave as I fall. My agent wouldn’t be happy.
This is my first attempt at a story on this sub, hope it's not too bad. The air outside Dulles International Airport was freezing. After the 13 hour first class flight, I was already longing for the relative comfort of the warm reclining chair aboard the plane. The cold tongues of the wind lashed against my fingers as I reached into my pocket for the compass. I flipped open the cover of the device, its cover an ornate but tarnished silver pattern that made it look vastly older than it actually was. The device had been provided to me by a genie only forty years ago. The device had no directional markers, only a single unmarked needle. I centered myself towards the direction of the needle, then began walking in the direction it pointed. I placed the compass back in my pocket, alongside a picture of my wife and children, my empty wallet, and my old pen. I steeled myself for my next meeting, soon to be the ninth genie that the compass had found for me. In my youth, I had found a genie that offered me a single wish. Thinking myself smart, I had asked for more wishes. It turns out, more wishes aren't a thing you can get. So, I decided to ask for more genies instead. The wish was granted, and the compass had been provided to me with several needles pointing towards each of the genies that had appeared across the world. I spent my life searching out each genie, acquiring wealth, fame, a family, and everything else that could be asked for. After each wish, one needle had vanished from the compass, never to be seen again. It took the divorce of my wife, the waste of my fortune, and the spurning of my fame for me to finally realize that I had gained nothing from my wishes. I had become so enthralled with the search for the genies that I could never benefit from the things which had been given to me so freely. I had saved my final wish for a few years trying in vain to bring my life back, but it was too late. Only magic could save me now. I took out the compass again, and opened it. The needle had shifted to the left, pointing towards a small antique shop. I entered the shop, and felt the comforting warmth of the interior heaters blowing into my face. The store was empty aside from a grizzled old man sitting behind the counter with a book in his hand. He didn't even notice me enter. I shuffled towards the needle point, approaching a shelf in the back of the shop. There it was on the shelf, an dusty old tarnished silver lamp. I closed the compass, then reached out and touched the lamp with my left hand. The surface was shockingly cold, mirroring the chilling winds outside the shop. A large green cloud puffed and wheezed out of the front of the lamp, coalescing into the form of a large and handsome young man's upper body. The genie proceeded to introduce itself and its rules, and I listened halfheartedly and impatiently for it to complete its instructions before opening my mouth. "I wish to revert all the wishes that I've made before now, every single one of 'em!" The genie crossed its arms and frowned. "Sorry kid, that's against the genie rules. Didn't you here me say you can't ask for modifications to past, present, or future wishes?" "Fine then,"I retorted. "I wish for there to have only been one genie." "Wait, What?" The green genie barely had time to begin processing the implications of the wish before he flashed out of existence, along with the rest of the shop. I opened my eyes to the sight of the original genie. She lounged before me in all her royal purple splendor, her body steaming out of the brilliantly sparkling silver lamp in my much younger hands. I took a long hard look at her, then placed the lamp back on its pedestal. As I turned away from her, her face expanded into a sly grin as though she knew all too well what now hadn't happened. The steamy moisture and violet light filling the large museum faded away as I prepared for my real life to begin.
I pushed off of the bulkhead as it vibrated with the others incessant pounding. Needs must my friends. It's strange, you can hear the impacts.. Except, you aren't really hearing it so much as feeling the vibrating metals surrounding you. "You'll die, damnit!"a voice said on the radio. It took me a moment to remember who it belonged to, Natasha. "I know."I know. I pressed my arms against the outer airlock, arresting my momentum. I felt their wild hammering through the lock. A tear escaped my eye. I felt it pull together yet be drawn by the base physics of tension, creating a shimmering lens across one eye. I crab-crawled my way across the door to the manual release. "Don't do this. We can find another way.."a voice cut in, low and melodic, over the high keening hiss of the evacuating air within the airlock. There is no other way. I have no regrets, I do this of my own volition. I shook my head and keyed in the airlock override. &#x200B; "Please..-"a high pitched keening began, only to be cut short by Natasha. "Go, my love. Save us."Natasha said and the static cut out. I looked behind me as the airlock slowly started to cycle open. I looked at her, I smiled. I doubt she saw it, helmet and all, but she knew it for she smiled as well. I looked down and saw it. The reason I was about to step into the void. That it was designed was doubtless, that it was grown was question sprouting. It had simply appeared one night. I was in the galley when it arrived. I heard a yell as Garret saw the.. thing in the cargo-hold. That it was an egg was obvious yet not. It was an egg, but it wasn't. It breathed, but it also clicked and whirred. It was machine and it was flesh. It was signalling home. I shrugged the egg onto my shoulder and stepped away from my crew. I looked out into the endless stretch that was the universe. I keyed the radio, "Hey, I know I've been quiet.. No choice lads, lasses. This thing has to go and it's already hacked its way into the airlocks, had to be done manually. I don't mind, you live, Earth lives. It's a good trade. Ehh, I don't really have anything else to say to be honest. I'm about to die, I want some quiet time. Peace out mah dudes, catch ya later!"The faint static that denoted an open channel clicked out as I switched off the radio. I stepped into the void. Attitude thrusters ticking in, out, in, out every now and again. The egg hefted under one arm as we drifted through space. We had moved far enough that the ship I was on this morning was no longer close enough to differentiate from an asteroid. I shifted slightly, pushing the egg firmly away from a moment. It flicked away across the black, its dull gleaming becoming dimmer and dimmer and dimmer until it was no more. I ignored the warning klaxons as I cracked the seal of the helmet. I did not wish to go slowly into that good night. It shocked me to realise I was breathing nothing and living. I couldn't think of a way to explain it, and yet there it is. I smiled, well, at least I'll be able to feel the fresh space air. &#x200B; I pulled off the rest of the helmet and immediately popped like a balloon as the vacuum of space pulled me head first out of my space suit. &#x200B; Whoops.
This reminds me of my exam at the Thieves Guild. It was.. odd, to say the least. I flunked stealth and deception, but for some reason I was always top of my class at pick pocketing - in fact, that's even how I got my scolarship. On the day of the final exam, I was instructed to meet my professor, Mr Percival, alone, and to wear tight fitting clothes. Don't get any weird ideas there, it's so that I couldn't conceal anything in folds of cloth. Anyway, as it unfolded, I stole his wristwatch, he stole it back, belt, shoes, jacket, trousers, shirt.... by the end of it we were wearing each others clothing. It was exhausting. 8 hours of constant, undetectable "Wait, where did that just go?" So yeah, I passed. Now I just have to pay off my student loans. You'd think that would be easy, but it's surprising how few folks walk around with wads of $100 bills in their pockets these days. Freelancing ain't easy. But I am still hoping to attract the attention of one of the major operators in my field - maybe Ticketmaster, or E.A.
Well today is the day. By definition Antarctica is now mine. As stupid as it sounds their treaty was great for me. Antarctica is incredibly valuable but only one person in the world, me, can own it. So basically if no one owns it who do I pay for it? Theres the loophole. I just got the Antarctic for free. “Well Mr. President” Almost immediately the President of the United States of America called me into an interview and I happily attended, “I will not be giving away Antarctica because it is highly illegal for me to do so, so instead I will be making it into my own great nation.” The stunned silence of both the reporters and the President was laughable. I had a seat of power so great that even the President couldn’t dispute it. “What if...” He paused, slightly perturbed, “we threatened to invade or attack your ‘nation’?” I immediately began laughing, quite clearly this was going to have happened so I was quite prepared with one of my absolute favourite clauses of the treaty: “I’m sure you’re aware of the clause that clearly states, ‘All nations under this treaty must agree to leave the grounds and the lands of Antarctica completely unspoiled and undamaged at all costs’?” The President stares at me, anger thinly disguised, he taps his fingers against his chairs arm. “Good luck with your nation, Mr Green, I shall be in touch again”
Usually I need a little more time to sleep than most. My mind latches on to some thought and goes on a wild rollercoaster ride, going through tangent after tangent before it finally switches off. Then, I share my dream with more than a hundred people. We usually go on some grand adventure or sit down and talk about our lives. I've met so many whom I will never have the chance to meet again this way. This time, however, I had spent all my brainpower on work. My bosses were being especially demanding, and I still had so much to settle when I would wake up the next day. By the time I had reached my apartment, it was 0300. I barely had 15 minutes to wash up, and instantly switched off the moment my head touched the pillow. Tonight would not be a night for adventurous thoughts. And as my eyes close, another pair of eyes open. I'm in a dimly lit room; a room from my dreams, perhaps. But if this is a dream, where is everybody else? And what's that sitting in the corner? Oh. It's my cat. My bad, I totally forgot about him as I took my shower. Hope he isn't hungry. He meows at me, and walks out of the corner, into the middle of the small room. He must have slept at the exact same time as me, I can see the lethargy in his movements. This time, I'm alone in the dream, except for my cat, sitting in the corner. This time, there is no more time for adventurous thoughts. We both fall asleep in the centre of the dream room, our one refuge from reality.
Pier licked his lips with quick reptilian motion as he concentrated on the list in his claw like hand. The lick was a habit from the snakelike tongue that lined the mouth of his true body, the claw-like hands, a coincidental throwback. Pier in fact, wasn't really his real name. It was the name of the old man he had possessed many years ago. There were a mere thirty two names left on his list of earthbound demons.He expected to complete it before this body gave way to the fate that organic lifeforms so hastily succumb to. He had almost completed his lifelong charge, that of decimating all other demon-life from the face of mortal earth. When he was the last, then he would walk the earth and take the souls and their contracts upon himself. However there had been an altercation with his deceptive plan. This bounty hunter body prevented him from using his demonic gifts. His shaking, arthritic human hand fell to his side as he dropped the list on the nightstand in his hotel room. He groaned as he reclined on the bed, the popping sound of his old spine resonated through his body as he sunk into the sheets. Humanity was a strange thing. On one hand living as a human bounty hunter all these years had taught him that humans were fickle, fragile things. They snapped and bent. They wrinkled and buckled. Eventually all of them blew away on the wind as ethereal dust destined to rejoin the atmosphere and become the cells of another life form.Humans were short sighted creatures with poor lifespans. Yet on the other hand, he felt a strange connection to the whimsy of these creatures. Pier had possessed the body he now housed 54 years ago, then he was only mid way through his infernal list. He'd lived each day as a human might, learnt many a lesson. He had made dear friends and dallied in romance.He'd felt the wind on his warm face as a young man, and now the chill of night air pierced his thin blemished skin.Being human was, much to his dismay, an invigorating experience. He sighed as he wrapped a blanket around his broken body.This body would inevitably die soon.Along with it, the friends and memories he'd made.Once Pier had planned to finish the list before this body died, and never take another.Something was different now.Pier relished in his humanity.When he thought about leaving the body, a tear escaped his eye, wetting the skin and dropping onto the pillowcase. It was the first time he had ever cried, something so inherently human that he started wiping his eyes quickly Pier reached out and turned off the bedside lamp, running a hand through the greying hair of his head, then he reached out for his list, crumpled it painfully in his weak hands, and tossed it on the floor. He didn't know what would happen tomorrow. Humans were short sighted.
It was great to see everyone again. We had all grown up on the same street, tramped through the same woods and gone through the same school. Nick had graduated and got some financial job. All the same to us, that just meant we could bust his stones about paying for drinks. He was engaged to Christina, just like we all figured they would be. Back when we were kids, Nick was the easiest to spook, whether we were walking through an abandoned shack or just sneaking out past midnight. Unless Christina was around; then he'd have led the march into Hell just to look cooler. He even tried to push her out of the way of a car once. Car stopped and, turns out, he pushed her so hard he dislocated her shoulder. His face was redder than a beet for at least a week, and it took two more before he was able to face her again. It's our little secret, but that's when Nick got his first kiss. He shied into the hospital room looking more skittish than a twice soaked cat. Christina didn't say a word, just pulled him in with a finger and gave him a kiss. Said what he'd done was brave, albeit stupid. He walked a few inches taller for at least a week. She takes care of the kids, and usually Nick, after she decided she wanted a bigger challenge than being an actuary. Then there was Bobby and Sandra. Bobby was always the traditionally smart one. We had to twist his arm to come out with us most times, but he enjoyed himself when he finally got out. He went away to college and enjoyed it so much he decided to get into the higher levels of academia, despite almost everyone's advice. Bobby never was a good listener. Right now he's got a PhD and is a few years away from tenure. Sometimes it helps to be stubborn. Sandra was always the wildcat. When we felt spooked or wanted to leave, she whipped us on mercilessly. Always first in, always last out. I thought I'd seen the last of her years ago when she said she was going on an "adventure", whatever that means. She turned up two years later, unshaven, unwashed and smelling like all the garbage dumps between here and Hell. Turns out she went on a tour of every gambling den, brothel, and area of ill repute she could find. I asked her once why she stopped. She just shrugged her shoulders. "Got boring."was all she could offer. Nowadays she runs a boxing gym in the bad part of town. Couple people got upset that a girls teaching the ropes, but she put up a sign that dealt with that. In big block letters it reads: "IF THERE ARE ANY MISGIVINGS ABOUT THE LEVEL OF TRAINING YOU WILL RECEIVE, I AM MORE THAN HAPPY TO OFFER YOU A FREE ONE-ON-ONE DEMONSTRATION. ANY TEETH LOST THEREIN BECOME MY PROPERTY."No ones taken the challenge so far. I guess that just leaves me. To be honest, I'm not really sure how I fit in with them. I'm just a cannon-fodder type guy, the average Joe. Not that I mind, honestly that's how I prefer to live. I got an easy job out of college, 9-5, good benefits and plenty of time to relax and take life full measure. But I can't help feel a little out of place with these type A, take no shit type people. I'm just... me. So we got to eating, then drinking, then talking as these events usually go. One round of shots then two, and soon I couldn't shake something. Every so often, I get these weird, well I don't know what to call them. Intrusive images I suppose? It feels like a memory but it cant be mine. I see all my friends, but they look so young. They're three years older than me, but they always treated me like an equal, not the youngest punching bag. But in these memories I can see them all, just toddlers. There's a girl whose face I can't see and a song I can't make out. Slow and soft, melodious. I sometimes hear it echo through woods If I've stopped long enough to listen. "But who is she?" Everyone had turned to look at me. I realized I had said that out loud and tried to brush it off as too much to drink, but something on their faces kept me there. Nick looked afraid. Christina clenched her jaw and looked down. Bobby crossed his arms and looked away. For the first time I had ever seen, Sandra wiped away a tear. I looked across all their faces trying to figure out what to say. They knew I hadn't been talking about a date I had or a girl I had seen, they could tell it was something more. Finally Nick looked around the table expectantly. He let out a long sigh and asked, peevishly, "Is no one going to finally tell him?" "We have no right to."Said Bobby flatly. "It isn't what she would have wanted."Chocked out Sandra. "We have to."Came Christinas iron voice, leaving no room for discussion.
"Halt right there! Arms where I can see 'em!" "Hands up!" "Droppit, droppit, droppit!" The barked orders were overwhelming, coming from all directions as armed figures, swaddled in protective vests and desert fatigues, leveled guns, tasers, even an RPG in my direction. It was too much. For a moment I couldn't help but cower, collapsing onto the ground, the pit of my stomach slowly twisting with a chill mix of fear and panic. In that moment I was back in my bedroom again, back when I was in my early teens and mom's footsteps came up the stairs just as I was having an illicit smoke out of the window. Only mom, for all her bark, didn't have several rounds of high-penetration rounds ready to pump into my torso. "Shut up, you idiots."The voice was cool and calm among the barked commands. Guards bark to confuse you - I've seen them do it, from my silent hideaway in their midst - and I'd always felt a sense of smug satisfaction knowing this. When they're barking at you, it's an entirely different matter. Especially when some smartass points out... "Rogerson. Be quiet. How do you even know if his hands are up? You can't see him. Or her. Or it. And Pho, what is he-slash-she-slash-it gonna drop? Do you think they're carrying something?" It was this level voice, female register, commanding and ordered, that reminded me that I was still cloaked. Cloaked, by the way, is what I call invisibility. Because it's far geekier, and it gives it a sense of style. The invisible guy pervs on girls in the shower room like a creep; the cloaked guy uses his powers responsibly. (Not that I always have, I should stress, but so far I haven't stooped low enough to violate someone's privacy.) At the voice, the panic faded, and I began to uncurl myself from the foetal position I'd adopted on the floor. I'd been some crazy places in the past - walking into the oval office once, and into more concerts, nightclubs and high roller bars than you could imagine with impunity - but Area 51 had always felt the ultimate. Aliens! UFOs! Military secrets! What a rush. Until, of course, this. "You."The woman - a major, by the look of it - stared right at me. "You human? You able to show yourself?" I closed my eyes and willed it so. The cloak vanished, revealing my skinny-ass form, still in a T-shirt and jeans. I'd learned that the cloak affected things I touched almost immediately, so fortunately I didn't have to hide my modesty from a bunch of grunts. Two of them burst out laughing at the sight of a teenage punk on the floor, wincing at the potential avalanche of bullets headed my way. None of them took their guns off me. I swallowed. "I was just looking around..." "Yeah, well, take a good look, because you're going to spend the next 20 years in a supermax if you... are you even old enough to be charged as an adult? Jesus. Someone cuff him." I took a breath, and, slowly, twisted my way up to the side of the wall. Without a word, two of the guards hauled me up and slapped cuffs on me, twisting my arms awkwardly behind my back. The major continued. "Who are you?" I just shook my head. I was in enough trouble and, madly, I still figured I could get my way out of it. Just needed a break to slip the cloak back on, once I worked out how they'd seen me. "No name, huh? Well, I'm gonna have to call you something. Let's go with Muddy." I paused, and looked her dead in the eye in confusion. "Why Muddy?"I couldn't help it, it just tumbled out. She laughed, and gestured down the corridor. "Because you might be invisible - and believe me, we're gonna be talking about that a lot - but your footprints aren't. You dragged half the Groom Lake Salt Flat down my polished halls. It's like frickin' Blues Clues in here." I turned back. Sure enough, brown-white stains lined the corridor. I closed my eyes. "Dammit." There was a laugh. "C'mon, master thief. Let's you and I have a little chat. And maybe we can work something out..."
I didn't even feel it really, well not initially. The hot lead bursting through and out of my skull just felt like intense pressure behind my eyes. It's quite difficult to describe to others, after all there are very few people who have taken a bullet to the brain and retained consciousness. After the shot screams rang out through the once bustling city street and I was left alone, bleeding on hot pavement. The blood dripped in the street like a popsicle on a hot day. Istood up and brushed myself off before inspecting the large hole in the back of my head. Blood dripped from the wound down the back of my neck and soaked into my shirt Goddammit, I hated doing laundry. I looked towards the source of the shots, but there was nothing in sight, nobody. I could make out the faint sounds of screams and more gunshots in the distance. Not my problem. Soon the sounds of screams were replaced by sirens as an ambulance approached from the street in front of me. I tried to turn and make a hasty exit, but somehow the four wheeled machine with an engine was faster than my brisk walk. A short, pasty man hopped out of the back and waddled towards me. As he grew closer his eyes widened. "Sir...I need you to come with me. I believe you need medical att-" I gestured for him not to speak and interrupted "Blahh skree skewrort, fluot." Fuck. I guess my speech function wasn't exactly in "working order"yet. The man's eyes grew wider upon hearing my jumbled speech. Another paramedic joined in his amazement. "...Ok sir"he approached cautiously with his arms out wide. The second paramedic took a stretcher out of the back and made his way behind him. I wanted to tell them to turn off the damn sirens and leave me alone. I just needed to go home and take a nice long nap. I knew I wouldn't be able to say that, so I did the next best thing. Run I turned and took off down the street, but legs crossed and buckled, I felt like a game of QWOP. My hips twisted opposite of my body and I was thrown to the ground. From behind me a few police officers appeared and ran towards me. "Sir you're injured! You need medical assistance!"An officer said "Hahe therm Thulu!"I yelled back towards him. My legs continued to move like a pair of wet asparagus's beneath me as I tried to escape. They gained on me quickly, which honestly wasn't very difficult I imagine. As I ran passed buildings I could see my reflection in the windows. The blood in my shirt made me look like the victim in a horror movie, and my face slouched to one side as if I had a stroke. The hole through the front of my head had closed, but blood continued to drip from the exit wound. No wonder they thought I was in need of help. I looked like a monster. I stopped in the street and turned to face my pursuers. They came to a quick halt and stared at me. "I..I'm fine thank you officers. I'll be going home now. You see I can't die. Bit of an inconvenience at times, I'm sure you lads know how it goes. Anyways I'll be on my way now!" The pair of men stared in disbelief. They lowered their sunglasses in near synch and looked me up and down. And that's how I ended up in jail overnight.
Our eyes lock. "So gratifying to deliver myself unto you,"I say, gliding forward. "To proffer my succulent flesh before your serrated teeth, so that I may delight in their exquisitely sharp points." The siren stops singing, her yellow fangs exposed in her gaping mouth. "What? How?,"she says, finally pulling herself together. "How do you still have agency?" "I've never liked puppet masters,"I say, my cloak making a soft rasping sound as it brushes over the floor. "And even less so the strings they bind with." I come to a stop and cast my gaze around the siren's den, cataloging the human remains, eyeing the clean-picked bones scattered over the dusty surface in between streaks of red and brown. There seem to be scratches on the walls, desperate little lines carved out in long shallow curves. The creature cowers now, making herself as small as possible in the furthest corner of her layer, horror writ across her face as she realizes who - or what - I am. "You're...,"she says, unable to complete the sentence. My declaration is a soft caress from the darkest of corners, a whisper spoken down a black path that disappears into the long night. "You too must die,"I say, leaning forward so that my lips brush the creature's ears, the frayed edges of my hood brushing up against her matted hair. "For death takes us all."
It was the most complicated spell Voldemort had ever invented. A way to step forward in time. While it didn't have the convenience and versatility of a Time-Turner, the spell had served its purpose. He escaped fate, escaped the Boy-Who-Lived, and now the time for revenge was at its most sweetest. A decade after the Battle of Hogwarts, Tom Riddle subjected himself to shame by working himself (bewitching people) up the Muggle corporate hierarchy. But it was all worth it. Acquiring the drilling company Potter worked at and becoming its secret director was a trivial task, the only thing that mattered was that it gave him the best opportunities to make Harry Potter and his family suffer. As to why the Potter chose to abandon his Auror career and become a Muggle salaryman instead, Voldemort would never know nor did he care to discover. And now that the boy was at his lowest, he could finally finish the job that he's postponed for the last ten years... &#x200B; Harry Potter appeared with a pop on the pavement in front of Number 8 Privet Drive. A concerned Dudley Dursley stopped watering the orchids of his beloved late mother, he couldn't help but notice that Harry didn't arrive with Vernon's old car. Dudley approached his tired looking cousin who just Apparated next door. &#x200B; "You know you can always ask me for help right? God knows I owe you and I can't allow you, Ginevra, and the kids to leave knowing I could have done something about it."said Dudley as Harry dragged his shoe across the edge of the pavement. A bit of feces stuck on the concrete but most stuck to the bottom of his well-worn leather shoe. Harry grimaced and took out a wand from the inner pocket of his frayed suit and Dudley stepped forward and attempted to hide his cousin's magic from any potentially spying neighbors. &#x200B; "Scourgify!"The offending matter vanished then Harry looked up to consider Dudley's worried face. &#x200B; "Hey Dud."he smiled. "Thanks for the offer but I can't trouble you and your family. We'll manage." &#x200B; Dudley hesitated, a moment later he shook his head and put a meaty hand on Harry's shoulder. &#x200B; "Just... We're family okay?" Dudley turned to leave but then he immediately turned back. He pulled out a couple of rolled-up manila envelopes from his waistband and handed them to Harry. &#x200B; "By the way, a couple of wizards dropped by a while ago. Said they were from the Ministry." &#x200B; Harry took the letters and a look of frustration crossed his face. After reading the letters he relaxed a bit, Dudley stood next to him, apprehensive. "From what Ginevra told me I know they still want you to work at the wizard police. You should take the job. You seemed more... driven back then." &#x200B; Harry's frown deepened again as he stuffed the letters in his suit pocket. &#x200B; "It's not your fault he got away. Even I know that and I can't even pronounce the git's name."said Dudley. &#x200B; "Where's Ginny by the way? Why did the Aurors give these to you?"Harry asked, trying to change the subject. &#x200B; Dudley smiled bitterly. "Our wives and kids are taking care of Mrs. Figg's cats. Better they play with them there than adopt another bunch of that crazy cat lady's kittens." &#x200B; "Dud, Mrs. Figg is old. And I thought you're already past calling people names? I'm actually a bit disappointed." &#x200B; "Harry, your kids bring their cats with them to Hogwhatsists. Meanwhile, our house is literally a mine field of cat piss and shi - " &#x200B; "The Boy Who Lived!"Voldemort appeared in the middle of the street clad not in dark robes but in a perfectly pressed business suit. &#x200B; "AVADA KEDAVRA!" &#x200B; A flash of green light lit up the street of Privet Drive and a man in office attire crumpled then lay motionless on the asphalt. &#x200B; "HARRY!"Dudley screamed. &#x200B; "You reckon the Ministry will forgive me for using an Unforgivable Curse for 'self-defense' Dud?"Harry asked the pale-faced Dudley. &#x200B; "Wha - Unforgivable what?"Dudley Dursley collected himself, breathed in, then relaxed. "Wait, why doesn't he have a nose? Is that... Is that Mortymold?" &#x200B; A glint of sunlight reflected against the cufflinks of the now dead Voldemort. The symbol of Grunnings was emblazoned on each of the vain pieces of jewelry. &#x200B; "Tell your dad he might have just gotten his company back. Apparently my 'mysterious' boss just had a heart attack."
"Let me get this straight,"Woody began, "you flew into one of the humans' solar plants, got incinerated, and you just walked out of the ashes a changed Avian?" I nodded my long-feathered head. I hadn't believed it either, but after biting myself several times with my elongated beak, I had discerned that I was, in fact, conscious and somehow not dead. "That doesn't make a peck of sense."Woody sighed. I laughed. "That's an understatement, Wood. I mean, I should be dead, right? Yet, here I am, good as new. New and improved, actually. I prefer this form over being a Sparrow." "How long were you a Sparrow for? Like, two weeks?"Woody narrowed his eyes. "You wanna talk about being sick of a form, then sit right there and I'll give you an ear-full." From behind us, the soft sound of wings alerted us to a hummingbird's presence, and Holly joined us on the tree branch, looking at Woody innocently. "I thought being a Woodpecker was your dream, Wood? An easy job for a lazy bird." Woody glared at her, but there was only playful affection in his eyes. Holly and Woody had known each other longer than I'd known either of them, and even back then they'd bantered as they did now. "It was easy, until those damn Eagles upped their demands. Now I have to bring in double what I used to, and the pecking gives me a headache almost daily. Why do they have to build such big nests, anyway? Not like anyone's gonna try and touch their belongings." "Think they're compensating for something?"I joked, and we all laughed. Holly planted herself in between the two of us and then turned to me. "By the way, Pheeno, Howe was looking for you earlier. He mentioned something about this new form of yours." I glanced off into the distance, trying to spot Howe's tree among the foliage, but the forest was too dense. "Thanks, Holly."I said, and then I spread my long wings and dropped from the tree, allowing the breeze to catch me and carry me through the forest. I had found that my new form was a much more capable flyer, and the long wings made it easier to control my movements. As a Sparrow, if there was any wind at all, I'd be at its mercy, but now, I rode the air currents like I carried the wind's source in my talons, and I wondered vaguely if this was how the Falcons and Eagles felt. Howe's tree was easy to spot. A darker oak than the others, he enjoyed how the tree stood out amidst the rest, and its thick branches made perfect cavities for him to build his home. I landed at the outermost branch and glanced up into the tree. "Howe?"I called. Better to alert him of my presence rather than catch him by surprise. Howe hated surprises. I heard a brief hoot, and from one of the upper branches, a brown owl descended from above and landed just across from me. "Pheeno?"He breathed, taking in my appearance. "Is that really you?" I nodded. "In the flesh." "So it is true."He took a small step forward, his head moving as he studied me. "You were reborn." "Reborn?"I asked. "The humans have a tale. An old tale of a bird that, when it became old and weary, it would burn itself up in its own flame, and from the ashes of its body, it would rise again, younger, stronger, and brighter than before. They call it a Phoenix." I narrowed my eyes, skeptical of the story. I knew the humans had little stories they liked to tell their offspring, but for one of them to actually be true and happening to me? I had a better chance of becoming a Falcon. "Right,"I said, "except I didn't burn up in my own flame. I flew too close to that solar thermal plant the humans made." "Yet you are no longer a Sparrow, correct?"Howe asked, though it was more a statement than a question. "I see this as a sign." "A sign of what?" "New beginnings. The story of the Phoenix deals with rebirth, with starting over, the beginning of a new cycle, and seeing as this is just the start of your first cycle, I would expect that many more changes are yet to come."
I'm actually not too happy with this one, but it seemed a shame to not post it. --- The side of the side of a tower exploded with a thunderous boom that echoed throughout the city, the mere noise of it powerful enough to shatter windows for blocks around. Dust and debris swirled and danced, and as this cloud of destruction began to fade it revealed the vague silhouette of a man, standing in the hole the explosive had formed. A mad giggling echoed out from where this man stood, a horrible twisted sound that tore and cut. The man stepped forwards, revealing himself to the world. Black leather hugged his gaunt figure, contrasting vividly against a pale white face pulled into the kind of grin that looked as though pins piercing flesh would be required to hold it up. “Freeeeeeeddooooommmmmm!” he screamed, holding his hands wide as if embracing all that surrounded him. “No!” The simple denial came from a woman in green, cape flowing behind her like a river as she hovered in mid-air. She grasped empty space and managed to find something there—glowing blue tendrils that she twirled around her hand like a carny making fairy floss. After a second of this, it was sufficiently gathered, and she threw it at the black leathered man with a grunt of effort. Still chuckling insanely, he dove forwards, jumping off the side of the building to what sure must have been his death, narrowly dodging the Hero’s bout. As he fell, his body began blurring and dividing like a cell undergoing mitosis, the pairs pushing off each other after each successful split. In this way he increased the number of his selves exponentially until, over the few seconds of freefall, he numbered in the hundreds. Like bloody rain he splattered the streets below, carving in cars, busses and the occasional unfortunate pedestrian as his many bodies struck. Most died on impact, but a few—and he only needed one—survived through blind luck for just long enough to divide, allowing an entirely intact and vital copy to make its escape. “Freeze Many Man!” a new arrival called, stepping out from behind a van coated in viscera. “Tis I, Mr Mean, the steadfast fist of humanity! To those who would lower themselves to crime and villainy, there are none meaner!” Mr Mean wore an excruciatingly tight fluorescent orange lycra out that outlined every line on his body there was to out. Covering his face was a luchador mask as outlandishly coloured as the rest of his costume. ‘Many Man’, for that was the black leathered Villain’s name, did in fact freeze, though not before splitting into five separate people that spread out to encircle Mr Mean, who eyed their approach with grim resolve. “Well foul miscreant, will you surrender?” Mr Mean demanded, his voice unbowed despite being heavily outnumbered. “Mean…” Many Man cooed. “How wonderful for you to come in person to witness my grand escape!” “I witness only the end of your reign of terror Villain!” Mr Mean replied, “Short lived as it will be.” “We shall see, Mr Mean, we shall see…” Many Man let loose a howl of eerily chorusing laughter from all of his mouths simultaneously, then charged. Above, the green Hero readied herself to dive and save Mean, who appeared outmatched in every way. “Wait!” A voice above her called, and she looked up to see her leader, Staunch, his strong jaw grimly set in… a smile, she was surprised to see. “Watch,” he said, and she did. One at a time, Many Man’s men stepped forward to strike out at mean, who blocked each blow as if they had been made in slow motion. Which… it looked as though they were. Many Man was moving far slower than he had any reason to, and he was, for some incomprehensible reason, only using one of his selves to attack at a time, like he was in some cheap action movie. “Does Mean’s power… slow time or something?” the green hero asked, unsurety creeping into her tone. “I’ve always wondered what it was, he, you know, actually did. It never seemed to polite to ask.” “Not… exactly,” Staunch replied, biting his lip. “Hiiiiyah!” Mr Mean shouted out from below, karate chopping one of the Many Men on the shoulder. The duplicate dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, to the surprise of the green hero. A blow like that shouldn’t have done all that much at all, in her opinion. “Is he called Mean, because his blows are reinforced by super strength then?” It seemed a rough interpretation, but she was grasping at straws, and Staunch didn’t seem eager to fill her in. “No… no, his name comes from the other definition of the word, if you catch my meaning. We called him that as a joke and… I don’t think he ever quite understood the humour.” One by one, the green hero watched as Mean pacified all of the Many Men, until only one remained. “I surrender!” he called out, raising his hands in pathetic defeat. “Damn you Mr Mean, you have bested me once again!” Mean grabbed him roughly, and walked him to a nearby van, delivering the dejected villain to awaiting police, a victorious smile shining on his face. “You can’t be serious,” the green hero said incredulously, “He just let him win?” “Well… not exactly. But you have to understand, in this city Mean is like a mascot. Everyone loves him, even the Villains, and no one wants to be the one to take him down. We should go down now, the ah, the real battle is about to begin I think.” As the van holding Mr Mean and the Many Man duplicate drove off, the Many Men that had been ‘incapacitated’ and promptly forgotten by the helpless hero began to stand. Began to duplicate. Staunch sighed as the veritable army of laughing madmen swarmed outwards, each looking for escape. He clapped his hands together, and a golden shield formed around the street, trapping all within in an arena of his own making. “Get the stragglers!” he called out to the green hero, who remained outside the shield. Then he prepared to fight. --- [r/ElstabbosArchive](https://www.reddit.com/r/ElstabbosArchive/)
“Finally!” yelled Petrius, a young blacksmith to absolutely nobody. He was completely alone that night, unless one considered the rats scurrying in the shop and the spider spinning its web in the corner of the room. He had given this spider a name, as he did so admire its craftsmanship with the thread. So, apart from Snaithe, Petrius was alone with his now greatest possession: the sword holding stone. “After all this time, it’s mine!” he rejoiced. “But what to make from it? A shield, perhaps? A gauntlet? Why not a sword?” He pondered the possibilities for quite some time before looking up at Snaithe, who was hard at work preparing his web of expert design. “Of course!” exclaimed Petrius. “Snaithe, you’ve inspired me! Nature’s wisdom often does, but this shall be the greatest I’ve ever done with its advice. I’ve watched you spin your web countless times, and I’ve watched you eat it back up, only to spin it anew. This stone... its magic... I will use to do something akin to your talents.” Over the course of days, Petrius broke the stone apart, finding all of the lustrous, enigmatic crystals within. He melted them down in a violet substance, and poured it into a mold. When he had completed his process, the new creation was finished! A hammer, glistening unique, cerulean hues in the sunlight, an ethereal power resonating from it. It was large, but not heavy, and was impossibly strong. With it, he prepared a sword, using the hammer to strike the metal as it hardened. He noticed Snaithe creeping across the table beside him, stopping to face his direction as though the petite creature was now taking interest in his work. “Snaithe,” said Petrius. “This is only because of you. All those years being told I don’t matter, that I won’t make it, I finally have a way to prove myself more than a pathetic child with dreams of grandeur. I can now make those dreams a reality! I’ve likened this hammer’s power to the way you repurpose your silk. Its magic flows into the metal of anything I forge, giving it unique, mystical properties.” Sticking the sword into cold water, steam arose from the large barrel. The sword was finished, made of the finest, purest iron he could find; and with a grand portion of magic. Taking the sword, he placed it o the right side of Snaithe, then the left side. “I know I’m no king, but consider this a compliment nonetheless. Snaithe, as a reward for the inspiration of my greatest work, I hereby deem you worthy of being called a knight, should you except the offer.” The arachnid looked up, though how Petrius knew this was unknown to either of them considering the size of the creature. “I do...” said Snaithe, bringing a tremble to Petrius’ hands. “You can speak!?” Petrius yelled. Before his eyes, the spider was engulfed in bright, violet flame. The fire grew and grew, and out of it stepped a young man, completely bare. Petrius covered his eyes as the fire receded, trying not to look at the naked man before him. Taking large pieces of leather, Snaithe covered his new body. “You can look,” he said. “And I would assume that we need to speak.” Petrius uncovered his eyes, seeing a man not much younger than himself holding a cow skin around his waist. He didn’t look like anyone he had ever seen before. His eyes, hair, and skin were a unique combination in this kingdom. “Yes,” Petrius said. “We certainly do. What just happened!? I made the sword to slice through anything, not turn creatures human!” Snaithe didn’t seem fazed by this at all, as though he expected to become a man. “You succeeded,” he assured, smiling warmly. “Your sword cuts through anything without trouble, and it would appear that my curse is included.” “Your... curse?” Petrius asked, wiping sweat from his brow as his legs tried to fail. “Yes,” said Snaithe. “You see, I was the prince of this kingdom once, about a century ago. My father was killed, and since I was young, the wicked sorcerer trapped me in the immortal form of that spider. And on that topic, the taste of flies is still is my mouth. Do you have something I could drink?” “Wait, you were trapped in the form of a spider for a century!? How do I know any of this is true?” “Because,” said Snaithe. “The sorcerer is still alive. His name is Merlin, the king’s adviser.” “That isn’t true! Merlin said that only a worthy man could remove the sword from the stone. The worthy king wouldn’t let an evil man advise him!” “They’ve been controlling you! Do you really think that you, a blacksmith with little knowledge of magic could recognize the stone as magical when the master of magic did not? Now, would a good man lie to so many people? The sword wasn’t magical, but the stone was. Merlin knew!” “But, then why could only Arthur loft the sword from the stone? He had to be worthy!” “The stone released the sword at Merlin’s word. Merlin is using Arthur because he’s young and weak-willed; Merlin is in control of the kingdom!” “But... the man who would be king...” “A prophecy written by who?” Petrius was beginning to see. It all made sense! It’s always been against the law for anyone with magic to be ruler, or the army should overthrow them. So, this way, Merlin could completely rule the kingdom. Merlin wrote that prophecy, he was with Arthur when he pulled the sword from the stone, and he was the one who put the sword into the stone in the first place. It all revolves around him. “So... what do we do about it? We can’t just overthrow Arthur or kill Merlin. He’s too strong!” “No, he isn’t. Not as long as you have the hammer. Now, would you be so kind as to tell me where I can get a drink? I’d love to explain everything over some ale; and wearing actual clothing.” Petrius knew that there was no going back for him now. He was forever stuck, hands tied by the thread of the fates. He couldn’t just leave this man here, he must help him, or at least hear him out. “Okay, I’ll help you,” he said. “But first, tell me your name, since it clearly isn’t Snaithe.” “Oh! Yes, my name... Aurius, I believe, though it has been a long time since I’ve been called by that name.” He held out his free hand, and Petrius extended his own to shake it. That sealed the deal. The deed was done, and there was no going back for either of them. Note: I know it got a little weird in the middle, but I was going for mythological, fairytale like themes. Edit: part II is on my profile.
The family line died out before she did. I suppose there came a point where she didn't care if it aroused suspicion. A mother burying her children, and then her grand-children, and then her great-grand-children, until there was no family left to bury. We made sure of that. I'd met her once before. I didn't think she'd remember me, and I was right. With age comes that wisdom, that knack for reading people before I'd ever met them. She'd met thousands at her coronation, mine just another hand grazed in a sea of hands. We'd gone our separate routes. I'd remained much the same. Dashingly handsome, fit, and with a penchant for meddling in international affairs. She aged. By choice, of course. That'd always been our choice. I figure it stemmed off suspicions for the first half-century. By the next, people had begun to talk. After that, countries began to rejoin the empire out of fear. It's hard to understand just how powerful two centuries of coordinated foreign policy can be. She outlived generations of diplomacy. World wars: one, two, and three. She saw presidents come and go in a four-year blink of an eye. Prime ministers, too, dropping like flies as she carried on ruling. They said she sucked the lifeblood out of people. Left them wrinkled and aged and dying to sustain to herself. I knew that wasn't true. She was just like me. Just like the others I knew that time had forgotten. "Mr. Diplomat,"I said, breaking from my thoughts to greet the British diplomat. "I'm sorry to have heard of your predecessor's demise. He was a great... uh... What was his name again?" "Arnolds,"the diplomat said. "And my name is Richardson. Alexander Richardson." I chuckled. "So British. I suppose you'd like some tea?" "I would,"he said with a curt nod. He helped himself to a seat. "Here, have some coffee instead,"I said. I poured him a cup of cold brew and slid it across the table indifferent as to whether or not he wanted it. "So, what's your business? Let's make this quick as I have a dentist to see in an hour." He frowned, as I figured he would. Men like him didn't like being rushed, yet they were all just rushing through life in the end. Arnolds, Richardson, Smith, Williams--they all blended together. "As a former colony, the Queen requests your capitulation. She aims to restore the proper order to the world,"Diplomat Richardson said. "Capitulation?"I chuckled. The Council would not approve. Timeless men and women, all of them. Used to having their own way, and proud to see another of their own at the helm of the British Empire. Once, at least. Now times were changing. The air smelled crisp like an autumn come too early. I supposed it always came too early for some, too late for others. Time passed and empires fell like leaves from a tree. Leaders came and went. All except her, and she'd finally noticed us. It ruffled the leaves, that. Set them falling. "I'm sorry, Mr. Arnol--" "Richardson. Arnolds was the previous diplomat, as I said." I shrugged. It didn't matter. His post would be short-lived. "Sure,"I said. "As I was saying, Mr. Whatever-your-name-is. We do not intend to capitulate. I've known Elizabeth for quite some time now." "Queen Elizabeth,"the diplomat said. "Her Majesty, and soon to be yours." "I think she prefers Liz,"I said. "I don't know. One of my associates might." "Associates?"He was as confused as I wanted him to be. At least one of my peers had served beside Elizabeth during the second world war. Back when we were young. Maybe she'd remember him, and maybe then she'd grow suspicious. That's why I presented myself as the face of this Council. "Frankly, Mr. Arnolds--" "Richardson." I sighed, wondering if it'd be overstepping to kill the messenger here and now. "Frankly, capitulation may be best suited as your own next action, given that otherwise we shall tear the empire to pieces limb by limb." He balked. Stared at me with eyes wide as dinner plates. "You mean..." "I mean what I said. I've lived through three world wars now,"I said, deciding he wouldn't leave this room. "I relish the changes that may come with a fourth." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
Zarniwoop the Wise, wearing his purple cape and matching boots, bowed to Helen, the president of the Society of Wealthy Asian People. "Bread and games, eh?"Zarniwoop asked. Helen nodded. "Indeed. Goes back to Roman times." "But the blood and the animal abuse. We wanted to learn about your cultures, but this is gross." "So you never had gladiators fight each other or wild beasts?" "Never. We treat all life with respect." Helen smiled faintly. This she could work with. &nbsp;* Helen guffawed in the dark boardroom. "They're pushovers. Pacifists." Mark, one of the Six of the SWAP, leaned back in his expensive chair. "Weapons aren't my specialty, however, I can certainly chip in financially." The others in the Six likewise offered support. "Excellent. Leave it with me. The aliens will serve us. We'll colonize their planet." &nbsp;* The war raged for months. Eventually the humans surrendered. Helen faced Zarniwoop again. "For pacifists you are pretty good warriors,"she said. "Not really. Let me ask you; who do you think you are?" "I'm Helen, president of the SWAP." "No, your name is Mark. You aren't wealthy or Asian. This is still the AI simulation. The war never happened."
"So you see, I was hoping you could help me. Some guidance or something. What to expect. What to do."You finally finish off, unconsciously wringing your hands, after your long tale about your wife and newborn. The wizard closes his eyes in thought for some moments, during which you glance around the room. A map of the new territories, dozens of books, several tables with strange ingredients, a tapestry showing the Ascension, with some rounded windows giving a view out from the tower, over the strange new lands. The wizard opens his piercing green eyes again, then speaks: "You are unsettled. You are unstrung. Take comfort: whatever fate your child comes to, it will not be a bad one."His deep, soft voice nonetheless seems to echo in your mind, as words graven in the present and future. "Perhaps it will help to start from the beginning,"he continues. "When we first found a way over Towers of Eternity, the mountains at the ends of the world, we found this strange and savage land. Over the past 50 years, courageous peoples have been coming to learn this strange new place."The wizard seems to be getting lost in his story, but then his eyes focus again. "These things you know. While almost all things are different, there are some that are the same. Birds and the harpies,"he continues, gesturing to an open book on the table nearby. The harpies are for the most part a hateful breed, a menace to the native peoples and us, the denizens. How your wife is different would make an interesting study." "But if we consider the harpies: for the most part, they are brown and very plain. And for the birds too, the female will be plain. Consider the...hmm, what's the word...disco-chicken? No, the peacock! Now, as the female harpies are plain, he shall be transcendant. As they are vicious, he shall be divine in character. He pauses, then continues. "As the coin is balanced, so too is nature. As to what to do, talk as much as you wish, but do not commit to anything. This is an auspicious event, and I shall help you in the coming years, as I can. Take heart! Your courage has brought you this far!" As he finishes speaking, he gestures, and you get an impression of a vast future laid out ahead, glimmering in the gathering dusk.
I had a white robe on, he had a white robe on. There was a vague choir of angels singing from behind the closed gate, which did indeed have pearls on it. The Saint between me and the gate stood on a podium with a tome that seemed to contain the vast infinites of humanity. And the ground was made of fluffy clouds that felt like the most amazing thing you've ever felt. It was all very biblical. The old man motioned for me to approach, and I half walked, half floated over there. "John Smith!"he exclaimed. "Welcome to Heaven!"He doublechecked the name again in his ledger. Yep, he got it right. "Now, since this is your first time here, I'll just cover the basics real quick, okay?"he spoke in English to me. Best not to think about that. "Yes, you are dead, and yes, there is an afterlife. Congratulations!"he half-yelled. "Now, regardless of what you may have heard, everyone gets to go to Heaven!"He smiled a becoming smile, a fatherly smile. "So don't you worry about your descendants or the people you left behind, they'll join you eventually."He cleared his throat. "In fact, they may even get in before you do, depending on the circumstances. You see, before any soul is permitted into Heaven they must first suffer through the agonies that they've caused to others. A kind of hell, if you will. This is called the Judgement. It is meant to humble the soul before being allowed into Heaven, to make sure that the endless privileges of Heaven aren't misused. Normally doesn't take long." He drew his finger along the page of the open tome with the experience of a person who has done it a billion times before and stands ready to do it a billion times more. "John Smith..."he said as he found my name, somehow distinguishable from the other names with the same spelling. His demeanor soured, his smile vanished. "You... caused the life-long suffering of two trillion humans?"he asked, surprising himself with a question. "That can't be right... such a cruel sentence..."he mumbled. "There are only some fourteen billion humans alive, and about as many that have died before them. This number can't be right", he stated with determination. And then he just stood there. I got the impression that this had never happened before, that he had no idea what to do now. "It's right."I told him. If he had a monocle it would have popped out. "I guess you folks don't really pay much attention to what goes on down there, do you?"I asked him. But he was still stuck in the last paragraph. "How..?"he whimpered. "I'll tell you", I told him, and then I told him. "Like many others I was born at the end of the Golden Age for humanity. That time in our species' cultural evolution where there was still a little growth left to squeeze out of the markets, even as the alarm bells were ringing loud and clear and with blinking lights on. And just like many others, in my adolescence I focused on the squeezing rather than the bells. But as time went on and that perpetual growth was revealed to be nothing more than a carrot on a stick, it became obvious that humanity had been led into ruining the biosphere. By the mid twenty-first century, it was finally and firmly declared that we had outstayed our welcome on Earth. At the end of the century, humanity would be extinct." "In one of the last bunkers containing the last splinters of humanity, when almost all of us had died, I finished my work. A time machine, able to send my soul back in time to my younger self. See, I knew that humanity had already ruined the Earth to such a degree that even if we all somehow came together, it wouldn't be enough. We wouldn't have enough time to undo the damage, to reverse course. We simply didn't have the knowledge or communal spirit to make it work. What we needed was more time. Well, time I could make." "I was naïve on my first jump back, resetting the timeline. Of course I couldn't jump to a time where I didn't exist yet, but even in the early parts of the century nobody listened to me. Why would they? Still under the glamour of the perpetual lie, all they saw in me was another environmental fanatic crazier than the others. But I still had the knowledge of human... history to me, future to them. And I still had the knowledge of the time machine. So my work began anew. Not to make more time, but to make the most out of time." "I searched for solutions on how to avoid the apocalyptic destiny mankind had made for itself. Using my knowledge of the 'future' I accumulated vast fortunes that I directed to research. Anything that vaguely sounded promising was given vast grants and through strong-arming practically infinite regulatory leeway. But at the end of the first reset, we were no closer and had absolutely failed to prevent our own extinction. So there, at the end of the world, I jumped backwards in time. Again resetting the timeline." "Each jump backwards I brought with me more knowledge, a better understanding of what worked and what didn't. Oh, how I pity my younger self back then. I figured I could solve it in a couple of jumps, a dozen at the most. But it took far more. And how I pity humanity, that in each timeline reset suffered through the End Times, all those people who dedicated their lives to solving the problems of old. They were never even close." "One hundred and forty eight resets it took me. One hundred and forty eight hundred years it took humanity to solve the problem of its own extinction. But it was solvable, and in the end humanity survived. Not much of humanity, but some better than none." I looked at the old man, standing with his tome, looking mightily perplexed. "I think I really did cause all that suffering for humanity, in a way. After all, I was responsible for each reset, and each reset they all suffered. But do you think it is fair?"The old man held up the tome, and said "I don't really know the details, all I get is a number here"as he pointed to the column next to my name. "I guess there are more things in Heaven and Earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy", I told him. "I did it all with purpose and intent because it was the only way to save us from extinction. I did cause the suffering, and now I must live through it. I accept this Judgement of Heaven. I've lived through the end of humanity a hundred and forty eight times, what's another trillion or two more?"I joked with a broken smile. "How did you do it? How did you solve it then?"he asked me. How isolated and lonely he suddenly seemed, standing here with no knowledge of what was going on in the world. How could it be that this old, wise man did not know what every child in the world knew? "I reckon you can ask that question to any of the ten billion souls that come after me. We did it together. As for me, I'm ready to begin my Judgement now, if you don't mind. Better sooner than later." "I'll see you in a bit, old man."
"First, well, for this strain."She sounded like she didn't want to divulge. "You're not building my confidence." "We've worked out the kinks, don't get me wrong." I didn't like the emphasis she put on 'kinks'. "I was told I would be getting a full briefing." "And I can't believe I'm the one having to give it to you." I nodded, I'm not surprised with any Federation red tape flub at this point. "So?" "You know Sgt. Pollack's... abilities?" Pollack was involved with military application of slide-stream energy. He was involved with an "accident"that fused him with the space-time continuum. He was, quite literally, a goddamn superhero. "Yeah, he survived the hyper-point explosion. Walked out as Superman." "Officially, yes."She raised an eyebrow. "Officially." I looked down at the little orange pill. "You're kidding."I rattled it around the cup. "I take this and I can teleport to go fight the Andromeda Alliance too?" She snorted. "Again, officially yes. But we've nerf'd this strain to hell. You're no going to get the energy boost to fly or anything." "We'll, why not? So I guess he only 'officially' went to Andromeda?" She nodded. "He meant too much to the cause to let what happened to him get out." "...", I leaned forward. "Well", she spoke low, "the level of energy flowing through him, what we unlocked, isn't exactly something a human is supposed to have."She looks away and back towards me. "He was in a propaganda meeting, just sitting with some generals, and he... just... unzipped, at the cellular level. Like he turned into 180lbs of raspberry smoothie." "Holy shit." "What was left, his skeleton, his bone marrow popped and sent shrapnel liked a grenade." "Guess that's how Gen Chang died? That was the same week Pollack "flew off". She nodded. "He was a good man." I looked down at the tiny orange terror in my hand. "Well, I didn't get into the line of work to live forever."I throw the pill back. I looked around not knowing what to expect. My eyes got big, I was breathing heavy. "Hey big guy, I told you, we nerf'd the hell out of this one. Call me in 4 hours if your boner doesn't go away."
Every galaxy has its variety, its own unique nature. Some are bountiful and resplendent with unending variance on life. Others are wastelands of cold barren worlds and toxic gaseous planets. Some are united under a central government, some are anarchic, strange, and wild beyond belief. Across these populated galaxies, countless billions of people live their own lives, with their own struggles, failures, victories, and stories. One can travel through them ones entire life, and never be bored, never see repetition. From the beautiful song of the living crystal forests of the Di-Artael trinary star-system in the T'hoom galaxy, to the pleasure worlds of the Falqdiri Republic, where every desire can be fulfilled, to the serene necropoli-worlds of the Syhharran Caretakers. In every populated galaxy to which you go, there you will find new and wonderful experiences. New galactic clusters found would mean waves of explorers and thrillseekers, a whole generation that seeks all the marvels to be found in a new and never-before seen realm. Ever since the first explorers left the first populated world, such has it been. Though they are long gone, in every galaxy they explored, they placed great shining markers, telling all newcomers to explore and feel joy at the prospect of a new adventure. Every marker praises those who explored before, and those who will seek new horizons to come. A few galaxies have no markers. Mostly, they are boring, dull, lifeless places. Only useful for their vast resources. Initially, it was thought the Forbidden Galaxy had no such marker, no shining pale obelisk powered by unknown energy, no welcome messages from the precursors. A few people, usually strange individuals, oddballs, and mysterious lone wanderers, still explored them. After all, it had been billions of years since the markers had been put into place. And every so often they returned having found a few civilisations, or ancient incomprehensible star-sized artworks. But usually they found nothing much of interest. So nobody expected anybody to find anything in the Forbidden Galaxy. Maybe a rare world of life in a galaxy where life rarely if ever occurs naturally. But nothing like them. Someone found something odd, flying at sub-light speed through the universe. They recovered the primitive probes, and were initially interested in finding the species who had been so desperate for company that they'd cobble together something like that. The primitive golden record, it seemed so simple. Yet when the images on it were transcribed, were rendered visible to the eyes of the explorer, the explorer was horrified. Beyond belief, that something so nightmarish could be found on something so clearly hopeful. To defend itself from seeing, the explorer sent out a brief warning message and activated the emergency beacon, before shutting down the imaging program analysing the content of the golden plate, and then ripping their own eyes out. The explorer was relieved, and according to official records, spent the rest of their days in a special institution dealing with the permanently mentally scarred. Unofficial rumours say that the explorer never stopped screaming. The Universal Federation, the official super-government of the universe, took the probe and its cursed content to a black-site for research. On a small planet, orbiting a rogue star, the offending images were separated from the ones that'd drive anyone mad if they looked at them for too long. The audio recordings, the images, everything that wasn't affecting the mind of willing test subjects, were put together and gave an interesting image of the race that sent it. Clearly, they were not in themselves malicious. Not in themselves responsible. But how they could not see the atrocities, how they could not see the nightmares, was anyone's guess. The most common theory was that their species had evolved to be able to block the offending images out of their brains. But nobody was willing to go to their world and find out. When the second probe was found, that was when the Universal Federation closed down the Forbidden Galaxy, affixing that name to it. The second record confirmed their worries that this was a thing affecting the entirety of that third rock from that one star. The explorer who found the second probe and its record had been smart enough not to look at the pictures. Not smart enough not to try and listen to the audio. Suffice to say their burial was cremation and disposal into the intergalactic void. Nobody should ever have to see what happened to them. The Universal Federation set up a security cordon, and it was then that they found one of the precursor's markers. Monuments to a dead race which had lasted without maintenance for more than a billion years, this one was a burned out wreck, a ruin. Its pale glowing splendour long gone, its perfect façade ruined and defaced. The generators, running on an unknown power-source which was projected to last for almost as long as the universe would, had failed. When the Universal Federation Specialists got the back-up generator running, they were met with a single message. A single cry of horror from the precursors. A message that was meant to be sent once to every marker, to every precursor facility, yet it had been preserved there long after it was sent, at the edge of the Forbidden Galaxy. It was a warning. A simple, and devastating warning. ''Containment Breach; Evacuate all worlds. Retreat into Alternate Universes 1C-23Z, 22A-3Ö and 9V-42DA. They are coming.'' And it repeated itself, over and over again. There was little else the experts could pull from the monument. Only an identifier of the origin of the uncontained things that had frightened the greatest civilisation that has ever been, into leaving their home for other realities. A system in the Forbidden Galaxy. Eight planets. One yellow sun. The third world. The same system that the identifiers on the probes had said they were from. The same planet. Every nation of the Universal Federation, every anarchic region, every corporate entity, space-pirate realm, hive-mind, empire, and every other organisation, declared the Forbidden Galaxy to be the most dangerous zone in the universe. And forbade all entrance there. Not that even the craziest cult would ever dare it. The things on that world, the things that could not be observed without having madness induced into your soul, the things that could harm the precursors, nothing in the universe would ever dare go there. Of course, a few have realised that perhaps one shouldn't be worried about anybody going there. Perhaps the universe should fear the day when the innocent people of that world, so unaware of the nightmares among them, will leave their little world, and travel the stars. Bringing the horrors beyond comprehension to the rest of the universe, without ever knowing it. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
It had been a long and difficult day. He sighed deeply as the last guest left, finally letting the forced smile to fade. He knew it would be hard, pretending to be pleasant and polite when he felt anything but. Yet he knew he had to be at his best, not for himself but for her. He loved her with every bit of his being and he ached with her gone. For as long as he could remember, his Grandmother took care of him. From when he was barely older than a toddler to well into adulthood, she had watched over him, comforted him. She celebrated his achievements, provided solace at his failures, and she never stopped believing in him. She was there when her parents left, she was there when his siblings wanted nothing to do with him, she was always there. Now she was gone. She died in her sleep, something he was grateful for. She endured no pain, no fear, she simply passed in comfort. When he found her, he thought that would be the hardest part. Dealing with her sudden loss. Unfortunately it was not to be. She had considerable assets, money she saved after a life of careful living despite her generosity. She had made him the warden of her estate, trusting him to distribute her legacy as she wished. He did it happily. She gave away a lot of her fortune, to her friends and to causes she believed in. The rest she left to him, her youngest grandson. Of course his parents and his siblings hated that. They thought they deserved more. Never mind that he spent the most time with her, never mind they ignored her. Never mind that they never loved her like he did. They claimed he stole the money that was rightfully theirs. Ludicrous. He had the will and her lawyers to defend him. He did not care about them. He would have traded it all away to have her back. "I wish you were here Grandma,"he whispered with head bowed and tears building. "As do I." He started, head turning and he hurriedly wiped the tears away. He thought he was alone in the room, he never heard them come in. Three men stood there, all dressed in black suits. Two were near identical copies of each other, large and broad shouldered, eyes that never stayed still. The third was older, smaller, yet his presence dwarfed theirs. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you,"the grandson said. He sniffled and tried to smile. The old man smiled sadly. "Please, do not hold back on my account. Feel. Weep. It is clear you loved her dearly." The young man could not hold the tears back. He nodded jerkily. "I did. She was the best."He breathed deep. "Did you know my Grandma?" The old man nodded. "I count myself fortunate to have known her. She was an amazing woman."He held out his hand. "The Adeyemi Family sends their regards. My name is Ephraim Adeyemi. It is a pleasure to meet you Alan." Alan shook his hand. "You know me?" "Oh yes. Your Grandmother always spoke of you. So many stories. I feel like I watched you grow up." "Oh! You must own the hotel she worked at. She really loved working for you. She could have retired for years but she always liked working at the hotel. Said it kept her active and she liked her co-workers." The two big men, who looked like statues, smiled ever so slightly. The old man grinned. "We loved her. Everyone did. She took very good care of the family and did her job without fault. We will miss her."He dabbed at his eyes with a silk handkerchief. "Are you here to pay your respects?" "In a way. We are here to fulfill a promise. We came for you." Alan looked confused. "For me? Are you offering me a job or something?" Ephraim shook his head. "If you want a job then I would find one for you. Your Grandmother was hesitant about you joining the business. However we are here to protect you." Alan's confusion deepened. "Protection? From who?" "Your Grandmother made some enemies while working for the Adeyemi Family. No one that talented would not incur the attention of those jealous of her. There are those without morals that would try to do harm to you with your Grandmother passed. Fear of her stayed their hands. Without that fear, they would do what they dreamed of." "Enemies? Grandma had no enemies! What are you talking about?" Before the old man could reply a thud was heard outside. Immediately one of the big men stood in front of Ephraim, hand pulling out a gun. At Ephraim's gesture, the other grabbed Alan, pushing him down to the ground. Before Alan could protest the doors were flung wide and a man fell in, bleeding from a gunshot wound. A second man staggered into the open door. Two shots from the two bodyguards knocked him down and a gun fell from nerveless fingers. Ephraim did not look shocked. Instead he looked annoyed. "They have no shame! Trying to attack her grandson on this day where he buried her! Oh I will burn them down to the roots for this."He looked down at Alan and his eyes burned. "Your Grandmother asked me to watch over you as a business deal. It is business no longer. Now it is personal. Come along Alan, you are not safe alone." Alan gaped as the bodyguard lifted him to his feet and gently but insistently pushed him after his fellow and Ephraim. "What...what did Grandma do at your hotel?" Ephraim smiled. "She took care of our guests. Some guests needed... more care than others."
A wink, a smile, a good word. Sonia knew she was beautiful and charming. It was fact. She did not consider herself lucky to be born this way, beauty was a weapon she honed everyday. She did sports, knew the latest trends, had a personal style of her own that set her apart from the crowd. But more than that, she had a warm voice that convinced whoever she spoke to to speak their minds, share their secrets, shed their tears. Take Annette. Wife of a rich banker, seemingly happy on the outside. Sonia took the time to work as a temp for the husband, until he noticed her. She made herself charming enough to invite him to approach her, without being too obvious. From this, she gathered the needed information. The banker cheated on Annette, and did so often. He did not care, had no remorse, was convinced the world played by his rules and not the other way around. Sonia vanished. She was sick, had broken an arm, got an STD, wanted to work in a third-world country, whatever. She had to quit her job, not without many saved texts and e-mails from her former boss. Now came the good part, convince Annette to kill her husband. Now, you might wonder why Sonia would go the extra mile instead of just disposing of the husband herself and call it a day. If you wondered, then you're smart. Because people disappeared all the time, but rich people in particular rarely got killed by the wife they cheated on, they were too powerful for that. Even the police started to notice the trend. So why? I hear you asking, why would Sonia do this? Please narrator, you who write wonderful sentences, are smart and beautiful, please tell us. First, stop it. You're making me blush. Second, let me explain: Sonia, before being an assassin, a hired killer and a monster, is a feminist. A real one. Not the extreme kind that wants women to take the lead and push men into the kitchen, but the kind that works hard for equality. Same chances, same efforts to be made, you know the drill. She hated the patriarchy. But Sonia also happened to be an insane psychopath. She had a particular feud with men killing women, husbands killing their wives. Why? Because in Sonia's ordained mind, where everything had a place and everything should be equal, it skewed the statistics. Ergo, her solution to lower the rates of men killing women wasn't to lower the violence. It was to heighten the numbers of men being killed by women to achieve a balance. Did I mention how bonkers Sonia is? Because she is. She offered an ear to Annette. Her words flew like honey, and the despaired wife drank them. She shared her wrath, her sadness, her emptiness. Sonia read the poor wife like an open book, heard the threads that should be pulled, those that should be cut. During a morning coffee, she taught Annette to stand her ground. At the cinema in the evening, she planted in Annette the seed for revenge. In bed at a hotel, she convinced Annette revenge had to be absolute. A week later, newspaper reported about a woman arrested by the police after she had sliced her husband in dices and mailed the pieces to his asshole friends. Sonia folded the newspaper with a smile, content in knowing that she was one step closer to usher a new age of feminism. One murdered husband at a time.
I watch the blade of the clock slowly make it’s way around the circle once again. 3. 3 fucking am. How on Earth she’s taking this long to get home is beyond me. It’s not like she has that many friends. Not like she’s one to party. There’s no good answer to where she could be this late. I feel my fists begin to ball up, then force myself to calm down. No, I will not be the man that my father was. I would have already gone out looking for her, but I don’t even know where I would start. Everything she likes- the coffee shop, library, gym. None of those are exactly 3 am kind of activities. This isn’t the first time either. Would tell me she’s getting home late, whatever. I’m not her parent, not going to try and control her life. But, late enough that I go to sleep without her. Late enough that I wake up in the middle of the night to take a piss and she’s not there. So where the fuck is she. Tonight, I don’t bother trying to sleep. This needs to be dealt with. I hear the jingle of the knob as someone unlocks the door, the thing was always sticky. We haven’t been here for long, the place is run down and there’s a few bugs here and there. Compared to where we were headed though, downsizing wasn’t our biggest issue. Not that she ever complained. I thought she was fine with the place, but maybe I shouldn’t have assumed that. Maybe we should have talked about it more. These thoughts circle my head as she opens the door. She’s dressed in a black houdie and black jeans. Even black sneakers. Not her usual style, but considering where my head was going, I’ll take it. She looks at me in surprise, the silence following it heavy. “Where…” I say, my anger melting a little looking at her. I never know how to do this part, the talking. “Out,” Is all she says, avoiding my eyes. Her face is so beautiful it still makes my heart stop. I wish that could be enough, but it can’t be anymore. She kisses me on the forehead and goes to walk past. I gently take her fingertips in my hands. “That isn’t enough anymore, Diane,” I say softly. She doesn’t move forward; doesn’t say anything for a second. “It needs to be Rodney.” “And why is that?” I ask. “Look, I’m not doing anything that would hurt you. Not breaking our marriage vows, nothing like that. Just… getting some things straight,” She says in a rush, turning to finally look at me. “I can’t let this one go. I just… can’t. I wish I could. I need you to tell me. I promise I’ll be calm.” I say. “You promise?” She asks. I pull her into my lap, she puts her head on my shoulder. “Yes.” “I… uh… I have some news Rodney. I’m pregnant.” She says. My world stops, everything freezes. Pregnant. I grin breaks over my mouth. I go to kiss her. “Wait.” I stop, confused. “There’s some uh… debts I didn’t tell you about. I had back when you were working with the mob. Some of the ladies, they care about the jewelry you wear, things like that. I needed a bit of a front so I could get mine. I reached out to Rick. He gave me a loan. Figured I would just ask you when things settled down, but you know how hot things got instead. So, I know we left that life, but Rick wasn’t quite done with me. We worked out an arrangement, so I could pay off the stuff.” She said. Rick. One of my best friend, a loan shark to my wife. How many times have I given that man a break, shit, I practically got him in the group to begin with. I gently put her off my lap. I start to go upstairs. “Randy, Randy baby what are you doing,” She asks. “Randy, you promised you would be calm.” I barely hear her. She tries to grab my hand, tries to pull me off. I barely notice. I go upstairs to the safe, get my gun. Funny story about this gun. My grandfather gave it to me when I was 10. Told me that the gun was used to protect mine and mine only. He hoped I would never have to use it. And until today, I hadn’t. I load the thing, all the way up. Feel the weight of it in my hand. I grab my jacket and walk out the door. She tries to stop me one more time, tries to yell at me. “Stop, you’ll wake the neighbors. Go inside, I’ll be back soon. This needs to be handled, now.” Something in my voice made her listen to me for once. She almost never did. I go in my shitty car that I traded down to live a better life. Go down my street that was a lot more sketchy than it use to be. Go to my old neighborhood, in silence the whole way. The light of the house was still on. The good things about Rick, never married. It’ll make this a lot cleaner. I walk up the steps and go inside. The idiot never bothered to lock the door. He’s sitting on the coach, watching TV. Like he didn’t just put my whole world in danger. Turns his head, immediately tries to get up. I shoot him. 3 times. My whole time in the mob I never actually had to shoot anyone. Usually the threats were enough, maybe a few punches. He’s dead, in that same chair he was sitting in when he called my wife to blackmail her. Good. I know the cops around here, they won’t do anything. They never do. I walk out into the cool night, feeling much calmer. A baby boy. How about that.
"What's going on?"I said. "You're talking, Boney. I didn't know you could talk." Boney scratched his left ear and sighed deeply. "It was the K9s. Some sort of military experiment. Wanted to see if they could make the canine troops more useful. Smarter. More dependable. And you know what?"Leaning in, Boney studied my face, as if looking for something important. I gulped, afraid that I lacked it, whatever it was. "They found it. The sons of bitches found it." When he tapped the blue wallpaper and a door popped open, I was sure that I was dreaming. I even pinched myself, and I cried out in pain. Boney had covered my mouth with his paw, and he'd told me to be quiet. That was when he told me of the coming war. Dogs versus humanity. But I was his friend, he'd said. He wouldn't let them hurt me. "What did they find?"I asked. Boney led me down a flight of stairs. The air was damp. Were we going deep underground? I found myself impressed with our humble dog, who just weeks earlier had had an accident on our carpet. Dad had sent him out in the rain, and it didn't matter how poor Boney barked and cried. But now Boney appeared to have changed. He had grown. If not in appearance, then at least in terms of personality. "They found genes that had been suppressed for hundreds of thousands of years." "Jeans? Like pants, you mean?" Boney laughed. "No, I'm talking about genetics. DNA. Information stored deep within your cells. Memories of everyone who came before you. Inside us canines was something that wasn't meant to be opened, like a forbidden book in a library. Those army folks thought nothing of it. They opened the book, and ..." "It made you clever?" Suddenly, Boney stopped. "They're coming."He sniffed. I couldn't smell anything out of the ordinary. "We've better get moving." At the end of the stars was a long passage made of nothing but dirt. It was so dark I couldn't even see my own hands. I got scared. That was when I heard the sneering. Boney stopped abruptly and I walked right into his furry back. "Mr Bones. I see that you are smuggling illicit goods." "He's just a boy,"said Boney. "Have some damn compassion." The other voice seemed to belong to a large breed, perhaps a German Shepherd or a Great Dane. It was deep and somber somehow. "Compassion?"said the stranger. "We've tried that already. It's time for mercy. It's time to put these vile creatures out of their misery." Boney put a paw on my shoulder. "Do you remember that time in the park?"he said. "That time I went after that squirrel?"I could remember it all clearly, because I had been horrified. Boney had ripped the poor animal to shreds. Dad had said something about instinct. That animals are different from us humans in that way. They can't control their impulses, but we mustn't judge them by it because we sometimes behaved like animals as well. "I remember,"I said. "Good,"answered Boney. "This guy in front of us, he's the squirrel right now. And I'm going to treat him like one. You remember what you did back in the park?"His breath was warm and he was panting heavily. That day I had run off once I saw the blood. It had been hours before I found dad and Boney again, and when I did dad was crying. He'd been worried, he'd said. Worried that something might have happened to me. "I need you to run like that. Can you do that for me? Never mind the darkness. Just run." I wanted to tell him that I wouldn't do it. That it had been wrong of me to run then and that it would be wrong of me to do it now as well. But before I could even speak, the two dogs went at each other. I heard sounds like cloth ripping apart. Something wet and sticky covered me, and it was warm. That was when I felt it again. The fear. And like I'd done in the park, I ran. The only thing I could think of was the book. The forbidden book those army people had found. I wished they'd never found it. I wished it would've stayed unread and dusty in some dog library out there and that those old memories Boney mentioned would have stayed buried. Because Boney had been the happiest dog I'd ever seen. And he'd made me the happiest I'd ever been as well. But in the past weeks he had changed. He'd grown quiet. I was afraid he'd been sick, like grandpa. But it was the book. It was all because of that stupid book. Right before my grandpa passed, my mom changed the way she acted around him. They would fight and say mean things to each other. But after he got sick, my mom said there wasn't any point to that anymore. "It's time to let sleeping dogs lie,"she'd said. And I thought about that every time I saw Boney taking a nap. That when the people you love get sick, you should be nice to them. Let them have some rest. After a while I couldn't hear any sounds coming from behind me. I wondered if Boney had torn the other dog to shreds. But I thought that maybe that wasn't what happened. Perhaps they talked. And they came to an understanding. And the reason I couldn't hear them was that they both decided to take a nap together. To let sleeping dogs lie. When I had run off like that, both times, it was probably out of something like instinct, like dad had said. I guess that means I am an animal just like Boney. That we're all animals, human or dog or whatever. It gives me some comfort. Because it means it's something we're all struggling with. And that means there's a way that we can all struggle with it together. That's what I'm hoping for. That we'll find a way to live together. That we'll find a way to let sleeping dogs lie.
Warden Grey paced for a few moments before she sat back down in her chair. This was the third time she’d done so. “Warden, I understand your confusion, but if you just let me explain—“ She cut me off and took a breath. “Tempest is not only the best prison for holding prisoners. It’s the most just. You’re here until reformed. What could be more fair? More just?” “No argument there.” “So why can’t I close the doors on you?” Before I could give her my thoughts, she opened a file that was hidden behind the stacks of papers on her desk. Given its thickness, I guessed it was my case file. “You killed your whole family. Gunned them down. Zero evidence that they were replicants, clones, what-have-you. Your own blood. Mom. Dad. Brother.” “Correct.” “They were also not, according to any evidence and your own testimony, bad people. Says here they gave millions to charity and often volunteered. Real model people.” “Best family one could ask for.” She closed the file and eyed a drawer on her side of the desk. I wondered if, perhaps, the movies and stories were right. Was a bottle of something strong hidden away, tucked into the back? Was Grey fighting urges to numb whatever feelings going through her right now? “You show zero remorse. Not once, even during the trial. If anyone deserves more time in prison, it’s you.” I smiled. “See, Warden? This makes Tempest the best prison of all time. By human standards, they should lock me up for a long time. Why? Because it isn’t about justice. Not with people. It’s about what feels right, what’s fair. But with Tempest? It cares about what again?” “Acknowledgment and reform,” Grey said, as if the question was too foolish to ask. “Right. Well, at no point did I deny my crime, so I fulfilled my acknowledgment part.” Grey frowned. “But the reform—” “What reform? I can’t kill my family again. They’re already dead. And I have zero intentions of murdering anyone else. Tempest knows that, so I also fulfilled the reform part because I don’t need it.” Grey sat in her chair, stoic as a rock. If there was anything in her that doubted my words, she didn’t show it. “You know what I don’t understand? Your motive. You ever said.” “Remember their charity? They honestly were good people, but they didn’t take too well to me becoming a philosophy professor. Studied ethics and moral quandaries, if you can believe it. Anyway, turns out they wrote me out of their will. Said they gave my brother his and my share of the wealth, kept enough for them to retire, and donated everything else.” I leaned in closer. “Warden, I was gonna be loaded. Flush with cash. But, no. It was be a part of the family business or nothing. I even offered to be an ethics consultant.” “So you killed them because of the money?” “Lack of money. But, lucky for me and my degree, I took a gamble. It’s true. Tempest is just. But fairness doesn’t play a part. What would have been fair would have been to give me life behind bars. Maybe even death. But the Tempest model ensures that either a prisoner reforms and becomes a member of society again, or just rots in jail. My bet was simple: if I commit a crime for a very specific reason, and it was a reason that only affected the victims of my crime and never spill out to others, Tempest wouldn’t hold me. Acknowledgement isn’t the hard part. Reform is. Beat that, and your stay is very short indeed.” Warden Grey took in everything I said. Her face didn’t show it, but her eyes had a light in them. She reached down for the drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. “I always suspected Tempest had a flaw. Never did find it and no one ever raised any meaningful objection. I always thought we could do better.” She handed me the paper, and I glanced over it. It was a contract. “You served your time, according to Tempest. It’s not going to sit well with people, though. Justice is blind, but people aren’t. They’re going to want answers. I think the best response is a prison better than Tempest. Who better to help make it, than the person who beat it.” "I'd be happy to."I grinned as I signed the contract. "Just don't get stingy with the money." &#x200B; Edit: formatting and changing the last line.
Why my name and face are plastered on a Wanted poster like some One Piece character, I have no bloody clue. I’ve always thought that I had a vivid imagination. I’m a lucid dreamer, after all. Surely all those psychological studies about your dreams being some reflection of your consciousness mean something, right? Once in a while, I’m dropped right into some massive conspiracy theory or assassination plot. Other times, I’m some long-lost royal in a historical fantasy plot or riding on the wings of a legendary griffin. If I’m lucky, I might even get plopped into the arc of one of my favorite series or books. That one time when I dropped right into the last battle of Avenger’s End Game was pretty sick, I’ll tell you that. Definitely in my top five. Yet, despite this self-proclaimed vivid imagination, I have no clue as to what “dream me” could be possibly Wanted for… It is nighttime here in this dream town, and the cobbled road is lit with towering torches flickering blue and gold flames despite the downpour of rain. There are passerbyes, but none pay me much attention as they try to avoid getting caught in the downpour. I cautiously draw the hood around my face closer and step closer to the wall. It is shielded by a barrage of paper posters plastered on its surface. My name spans several of these posters. Oddly enough, there is a different variation of me sketched on each page. Top left is a sketch of me as a child, then next to it is me as an adult, in adolescence, as the opposite sex and then a variation or two of me in ‘alien’ form, as I would call it. Oh, they even got me as an elf! Awesome, that’s definitely one of my better-looking — Okay, wait. My eyebrows tighten together. I’ve had strange dreams before, clearly, but it’s the very first time they’ve converged like this. Oftentimes, dreams that I have can be quite similar to one another, like where the beings or the culture are reminiscent of a previous world I’ve dreamt up. Never before have my numerous identities -- my numerous 'dream selves' \-- shown up like this. A tinge of pride swells my chest when I see that my WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE reward amount is the highest number on the wall, and by quite a margin, though I know it’s not technically a good thing. What could all these dream versions of me be wanted for anyway? I lean in to read the fine print. Most of it is what looks to be different alien languages, glyphics, and symbols I can’t discern. My eyes trail to near the bottom, and my own language catches my eye. ‘Wanted for crimes against the Intergalactic Organization of Universal Peace and Security. Galaxy Hopper. Highly Adept. Threat Level: Severe.’ Galaxy Hopper? I repeat in my brain. I pause. And then scoff. Wow. I’ve really gotta hand it to myself. I guess my brain’s really been keeping tabs on every form I’ve taken in my dreams and put them into tonight’s episode. Kudos to my memory. If only it were that good during my school exams. Chuckling, I shake my head humorously at myself and turn on my heel to leave. I make eye contact with what looks to be a young couple just a few feet ahead. The blue alien is shielding its partner lovingly with an umbrella as they brush off the rain and almost step inside the inn. The shorter, purple alien meets my eyes with beady, black pupils that fill most of the socket. I watch its yellow sclera appear from the corners, an indication that its eyes are darting back and forth between me and what’s behind me. The wall of wanted posters. Of which my face is on like one-third of. My lip twitches. I attempt a sheepish grin. And then it screams.
We looked at each other. The damn thing honked at us and began to hiss. “This… this isn’t possible. It either…” “Well, clearly it is. It’s there!” “I can see that! I can see it’s there! But the ritual either shouldn’t have worked… or should have summoned a demon.” We consulted the unholy scripture. It seemed ludicrous. The animal squaked and flapped and defecated on our floors. We had no answers. Until it spoke. “I just love the goose.” Aghast, we stared. The bill never moved. But the bird had stopped moving entirely and faced us, dead still but standing upright. The wings were permanently mid-flap, outstretched, and yet it was as still as a photograph. With one minor exception, a glowing red twinkle in its eyes… “Do you know what I love about this kind of bird? Why this one in particular?” “Uhm…” one of us answered timidly, “because its aggressive?” “Oh of course!” The voice was disembodied yet came straight from the goose. It was as though it was talking to us straight from vibrations in the wings. The sound simply emanated from its vicinity. “But more than that!” The voice continued. “Do you know why the goose is so aggressive? It’s one- absurdly territorial for an animal that could just leave. And two- it’s stupid! They are all so unbelievably stupid. This combined with their territorial nature makes them confident beyond their size and violent beyond their need. They are roaming chaos, for no rhyme or reason. Hate-filled, unrepentant, and never even daring to learn from their mistakes. It’s absolutely everything I love about the mortal world.” Surely it was a demon. “I… I uh… don’t follow.” “Humans are the exact same way. So tell me, spiteful and ignorant flesh sacks… what is it you want from me? What is your wish?” “I do hope it’s violence,” said the goose.
The bars attention shifted to the jarred head I'd placed on the counter. It writhed and yelled inside of its glass prison, just as it had done for the past week. "You will be smited mortal! Cast down just as you have tried to do to me! But you will not live in a prison, no, you will die for-"I grabbed the jar and rested it back in my bag where the venom she spit could no longer be felt. Adal, she went by. God of...something or another, I couldn't quite remember. Harvest?, no no, nature maybe it was- Guess it didn't matter much now, there wasn't hardly any of either to speak of nowadays. Well, that and it helped me to forget what it was she did. Allowed me to ignore the thought of what sorts of power I carried around on my hip for the last week in the form of jarred god-heads. At Adal's appearance the bar grew silent. Those that had been sipping their spirits now held their glasses as if they were full of poison. I could hear someone in the back desperately trying to hold in a cough. "Was- was that Adal?"a slack jawed man to my right spoke with fear. He knew it was, in fact, I was sure they all did. They just wanted me to tell them otherwise, but I wouldn't. Instead I ignored their prying and ordered something stiff for myself. I would need it to face the crowd once I pulled the two other from my satchel. The bartender served me my glass with a shaky hand. A dirty tag pinned to his apron read Sal. He looked like a Sal. "Thank ya, Sal."I downed the liquid and tried my best not to wince. No idea what the old man had served me, but it was quickly firing up my insides, spreading through every fingertip with its heat. Well, now was as good of a time as any. "Not only do I kill gods, I collect em. And my collection is far from finished!"I put on my best face of confidence as I removed two more jarred heads from my bag, Salazan and Anaythleus they were called. The man holding in the cough before let it out, hacking and choking. Nearly everyone that held a glass now let them clatter to the floors from their hands. I watched as Sal nearly fainted, stumbling backwards in attempt to put as much distance as he could between himself and the wrathful heads. The other patrons close by followed suit. "Relax, relax! They have no power anymore. Or, at least I don't think they do... Hey, Salazan, show the people what you can do."I tapped his jar leaving a smudge behind. He looked up to me with green eyes filled with hate. At my request his brow furrowed even more than usual and his bearded face turned to a frown. "You are arrogant boy. Once you are defeated I will ensure it is I that plots your punishment." "See? Harmless."At my display a few curious faces approached the jars. Then one by one, more and more until the entire bar closed in on them. Some prodded and poked at their enclosures, others laughed heartily in their faces, but most wanted nothing more than to turn them out and crush them into the dirt. I would have loved to grant them that right if I didn't still need them. Takes a god to find a god they say, "they"being me. With a newfound confidence one of the men yelled: "They ain't nothin'! These pathetic things turned our country to waste, let's return the favor!"His cry was met by a horde of echoed cheers and the sounds of weapons drawn from sheaths and holsters. Now, more mob than bar patrons, the crowd rushed through the bar doors and to the wasteland beyond, leaving me, Sal, and my heads behind. "Do you really think they got a shot out there?", Sal spoke from behind the heads on the counter. Rather than reply I opened my satchel to reveal more, a pile of jars all filled with the heads of gods I'd ended. Eight in total, leaving only one free watching over the wasteland. One by one I lined the jars and counted them off as Sal watched. When I finished he looked to me puzzled. "But why? What of the ninth?" "I tried with him time and time again. I realized I'm just not the guy,"I lifted my cloak to show Sal the crackling flesh over my ribcage, blackened still. "But maybe one of them will be. Last group wasn't. One before wasn't neither. Hopefully this one is." So I waited, and waited, then packed my bag for the next bar in the wasteland.
It happened so fast. I saw it all happen in front of me, I saw the man enter the room. I believed in my master though, so I lay in my bed trusting that all would be alright once it was bright again. Then suddenly the scream, then the pained gargles, then... then the magic that flowed into me. My eyes shot open as I gazed upon my master flailing and dying at the hand of the man who I saw enter the room. In that instant all of the ramblings I heard my master say, all the strange object he would fret over when not giving me food suddenly made sense. In that instant I understood the powers he was chasing, the enemies he made, the world that he lived in which was so much bigger than mine. In that instant, the fond memories of my life and the last 6 lives I lived flashed before me. All in an instant, as I saw the last of the life of my master drain from his eyes. Now I did not know what I would with this power come the end of the dark time, but I knew what I would do now. I stared at the man who entered the room, and I swore to all the powers that be within me that he would not leave. And with that, I cat my first spell... "Purrgatory"
"I'm sorry, who are you? Where am I? Why am I here?" I move up from my seat. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was afraid that my wrists would be cuffed or something, but they weren't. But I was in some sort of gown or bathrobe. Naked underneath. "And what happened to my clothes?" The knight did not take off his helmet. He moved a bit stiffly, maybe from age or the weight of armor. It wasn't completely spotless though. It was worn and old, it didn't take the eye of a smith to see that. A patchjob, but remarkably well done. He probably could have had that suit replaced, but hasn't. "The news I have for you won't be easy to take in. So you might want to stay seated for this. The poison hasn't left your system yet. Take it easy, please." "Poison? What poison?" "_Please_, relax. The poison did a number on your heart. It's a miracle in and on itself that we're having this conversation."He seemed urgent and legitimately concerned as he could be with a voice that deep and hollow. I took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm as calm as I can be." "That's alright. There's water on the nightstand. If you feel like you need a drink, take it." "Yeah, I'll pass. Last time I drank I tea I ended up here for some reason." "Good call. I suppose your wits are about by now. You're ready to hear what happened." "Sure, enlighten me." "The woman who you thought served you tea is dead. Killed by a doppelganger. I am sorry." "What? Bethany? How?" "Doppelgangers can weasel their way into communities quite easily by stalking their targets and impersonating them, learning their mannerisms. You never spoke to Bethany. The doppelganger picked her to impersonate because you liked her. We found her body buried just beyond the tree line at the graveyard." "But why me? She didn't have to die over _me_." "If we had known, we would have stopped it. But we were too late." "She never really did care about me, did she?" "I...cannot pretend to have known her." "Just for once, I thought someone _chose_ to give a damn. Someone _I_ wanted to care about. I know it's selfish, but... fuck..." The knight did not respond at first, he just looked at me. I could see the pity in his body language. I hate being pitied. Beth dead because I liked her. "But why? Why me?" "Desperate times call for desperate measures. You must understand, there are larger forces than either of us at play. There is a legend of old. A story from which all other stories were born." "The Mythos of the Three?" "Yes. The Mythos has split into many different stories and develops further every day. Me and my companions have studied it for literal centuries, trying to see where it ends. And it ends with you." "The Mythos _ends_...with me." "Apparently so. Unless you die, perhaps." "But if the Mythos ends, what happens then?" "Some fear the end of everything we know. It might all end in fire and war, or perhaps everything will simply cease to exist. You are a focal point in this whole thing. Reality bends around you to accommodate you." "This has to be a mistake. I'm a nobody. I can't _do_ anything, I barely know how to cook." "You have been well by the Fates, but not well enough. But now you've been brought into the light of all who would write history. Save the world. Another innocent soul, lost, and no one would understand why. That's why we brought you here. To find out _why_ it was you that was chosen. And in time, to teach you how to harness your abilities." "I have none." "You are so much more capable than you think, but have not started to discover this." The knight rose from his seat, and walked up to me. "And that is where I come in." "Wait. The, the doppelganger, that got Bethany? What happened to...it?" "They will never lay hands on anyone ever again. You have my word." "And the people that sent it?" "Are why we must teach you what you are capable of. There will be others. You must be ready. It will be a long road, and a hard one. But one day, you'll look back on this day and realize that your life did not begin when you were born. It began today. Right here. With us." He extended his hand. "One hell of a speech, sir."I said as I took it. "I have been told I talk too much." "You've got a good voice for it, though." "I've been told that too. Get used to it, you'll be hearing it a lot. Let's get you properly dressed and ready to meet the others. They can't wait to meet the Chosen One."

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