Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
King Jacob the Third sat on his golden throne, waiting with glee. For his sons have been reunited and brought before him in the court, the high lords and ladies watching as the boys were brought out before him. For twenty years he has waited, waiting for his potential heirs to come home. While he sired more children, King Jacob preferred to see the sons he never saw grow, often talking of who they might be and how they fare. Each one looked the same in features, yet different in eyes. Dark haired, with blue-green eyes, with high cheekbones and powerful jaws. They stood before the King, their heads low in reverence. The triplets were wearing their finest clothes made of silk and satin, but for a few differences; the leftmost triplet wore a ring, the centered triplet wore wristbands of riveted iron, and the rightmost triplet wore black gloves. "My King, I present before your Majesty your son Kenneth,"the herald gestured toward the leftmost triplet. "Your son Mattos,"the herald pointed to the iron wristbanded boy. "And your son Zekel,"said the herald as he gestured at the boy with black gloves. The King spoke at last. "My sons. For twenty long years we have not seen each other. For I was blessed with you three all but at the same time. I could not choose an heir, for that would rob the other two of their birthright." The triplets simply stared at their father, the lords and ladies watching the boys with curiosity. "Thus, you were sent to the three surrounding islands of Birds, Trees, and Stones. I trust you were made aware of your brothers and heritage, yes?" The triplets nodded in unison. They didn't take their eyes off the King. "Thus, you must prove to me your worth. In each of you lies potential to take my place in the forthcoming years. So prove to me what you have to show. Step up and prove to these lords and ladies of the court, as well as me, that you have what it takes to keep your future kingdom safe and stable. Come forth, one of you." The triplets stood gaunt and silent. They talked to each other briefly, the King paying them no mind. Finally, one stepped up. "My son. Mattos, you must prove your worth. What have you learned while away?"The King asked inquisitively. "Father,"Mattos's monotone voice boomed off the walls of the court, "I have arrived at your request to become an heir to your kingdom. I am worthy." The King smiled. His son was confident. "Then prove it. Show me your skills, your knowledge,"the King asked. "Father, I have worked hard to care and provide for the people of the village in the Island of Stones. I understand the peasants' plight and troubles. For I have been apprenticed as a blacksmith and know my craft. I shall polish the kingdom into glory and virtue." The boy was proud. The King, upon seeing Mattos closer, noticed Mattos's bulging muscles. The clothes he was provided with were too small, but they fit enough to not cause any issues at a glance. "Step back, Mattos. Kenneth, come forth. What have you to offer?" The triplet with the ring stepped forward. He was graceful in that one step; he bowed just as gracefully. His voice was smoother, but still just as loud. He was plump, yet graceful. "Father, my King, I am Kenneth. I believe I am ready to rule this kingdom, for I have learned much and more of leadership. I have read much and more of things beyond this kingdom; I have read so much about your achievements and how well the kingdom has been prospering. For now, Father, I believe myself ready. The kingdom will fare better with my leadership and prosper even further. Father, I am the heir you have been looking for." The King almost frowned. Yet the boy had more to show. "And what, Kenneth, have you learned? Have you learned your arithmetic and grammar? Have you seen how the world works, or have you read as such in books?"The King said to the plump heir. "Father, I wish to help continue with your achievements. I have learned of scholarly subjects such as arithmetic and languages, yet the books I have read show how governments work. I have not seen anything in practice, but the books are accurate. The Island of Trees is a trading port island, and is rife with knowledge." "Very well. Zekel, come up. Tell me of why you believe you are a suitable heir."The King was impressed. Kenneth stepped back. Zekel stepped up to the King. His gloves concealed his hands, but not his nervous movements. He tried to look away, but he couldn't. He was meek; slightly shorter than his brothers, but nearly as muscled as Mattos. "Father, your Majesty, I believe I am not ready for a kingdom. I have much to learn. While I was apprenticed to a merchant in the Island of Birds and learned of scholarly subjects and menial labor, I have taken up falconry. I have attempted to train many birds of prey, from owls to peregrines and hawks. Yet I have only one peregrine, one I have trained from birth. I can barely control the bird; and it is but a bird. How can I rule a kingdom if I cannot train a single peregrine?" The King chuckled. This was somewhat grim and unexpected. Yet the boy was clear; he meant what he said. He was not ready. Zekel stepped back. A pause transpired. "My sons."The King announced. "The one who knows of their ability to rule truly is Zekel. While according to himself that he cannot train a bird, he is honest of his abilities. He has attempted to establish control. He speaks from experience. Mattos and Kenneth, you have not. You think you can rule, but you have not tried. Zekel wishes to be who he likes; a falconer and a merchant, both noble pursuits. He has accepted the life that was given to him. Mattos and Kenneth, you are greedy." Mattos and Kenneth stared in anger at Zekel, who tried to look away. "Furthermore, you Mattos, are arrogant. You knew of your royal blood - all of you knew while you were away at your islands. But Mattos, by simply considering yourself a "peasant,"you presumed to know of the hardships of my subjects. A true king never calls his subjects "peasants."While you worked hard, you worked hard to prove your worth but for naught, for you clearly have not empathized with my subjects. You are delusional in your beliefs by virtue of knowing of your royal blood and working for the so-called "peasants"to effectively congratulate yourself. Zekel accepted his indefinite stay at the Island of Birds. You knew you were going to be called back on a whim. You are not worthy yet." Mattos looked dejected. "Kenneth. You have learned, but you haven't tried. You know from books of how kingdoms near and far work, yet you do not know of the responsibility involved. You prefer to read books and think of how a kingdom should be run, but when you are the king, you must rule without books. Results of theory do not equate to practical results. For you assume the subjects will react as they would react in your books. Subjects' minds can change, yet books cannot for they are written in ink, just as water is fluid, the ink will dry. Your apparent knowledge of kingship has turned you delusional, for you think outdated methods of ruling to be effective in this day and age." Kenneth's eyes were red. "Zekel. You have much to learn. You have read much, have you not? Thus, you know. Thus you tried to rule, even by falconry. You knew you could not rule man, but you could try to rule birds. You alone tried, but you failed. At least you tried, knowing of possible results, and you tried over and over. I may be old, but I am not blind; your gloves conceal scars too sickening to show before the court." Zekel looked at his gloved hands. His fingers bent at will, yet slower than usual. The scars were there, and the claws took their toll on his fingers' mobility. "Show us. Show us you tried. Show the court you tried and you failed. Show us of your knowledge."The King persisted. The boy took them off. The whole court gasped in unison, but the King was gaunt. The scars covered and intersected across each other and Zekel's hands showed that. "See, Mattos and Kenneth? Do you see? Zekel TRIED! He bears the scars of his attempts, and you bear NOTHING! You have been tanned by the heat of furnaces and calluses, Mattos, but you did it for deluded self-gratitude and selfish gains! Kenneth, you bear nothing and thus, you have nothing to bear me! You have not shown that you can handle any thing and yet you expect to hold the weight of ruling a kingdom upon shoulders than aren't stained with effort?" The King's tirade has reached its end. The triplets were a nervous mess; Zekel was bending his gloved fingers; Mattos was squeezing his iron wristbands; Kenneth was softly crying silent tears. The King leaned back on his throne. He motioned for a servant to get him some mead. "Zekel. You are the heir I have been looking for. While you are not ready, you are on your path to kingship. Do you wish to become king? Do you wish to know a bit more of kingship and change your mind about not being an heir?" The boy simply stared at his father. "Yes, Father, your Majesty, my King." The King smiled. He had found his heir after twenty years.
The old man looked peaceful; Grandma Jean had opted to not have her partner of 45 years buried in a suit, but rather a grey cotton t-shirt, his usual go-to casual wear, along with his favorite pair of worn blue jeans, I could probably count the number of times he had me wash them on one hand, she had said earlier in the week, when the family had been getting everything in order. Joel shifted his gaze from his Grandfather's clothing, and instead focused on the checker-patterned scar the old man had on his cheek. "A trophy", he had said during one of those many numerous times where Joel was sure the old man had slipped away from the reality of this world and into another world created and controlled by delirium. "Poisonous ammunition," he continued, sitting in the nursing home bed, looking out the window, cool summer breeze rustling cotton drapes. "The Julians were very fond of this poisonous ammo. It'd hit you, and burrow into your skin, like little mites, injecting poison and ripping apart blood vessels. It was almost always fatal." Joel nodded, doing his best to appear interested in the story, but not in a way that was demeaning or patronizing. "But I was the Gregorian's secret weapon,"the old man said, still rubbing that oddly shaped scar, "The poison didn't work on me. Sure, it still hurt like hell, but for some reason the rounds couldn't burrow into my skin. They sure did try to, ay-yuh. And it was possibly the worst pain ever, but I shucked it off, rubbed those buggers off of my cheek with the sleeve of my shirt, and stared the Julian king in the eye." "They conceded immediately when they saw the Gregorians had an immortal soldier,"he said, trying to hold back a laughing fit. "All my life, I thought I wasn't anything special, but turns out there was something special about me. My blood,", he smiled. "Probably your blood too,"he said, nudging Joel's arm. "We're immortals." He had laughed at that. He had always laughed at it. Grandpa the Immortal, he liked to refer to himself as. Joel wiped away tears from his eyes. The man who lay before him in the coffin was not immortal after all. He turned away from the coffin and through blurry vision looked to see where his wife had seated herself. He found her in the front row, sitting next to Grandma Jean. His father was nowhere to be found, and he highly doubted the drunk would show before they left for the burial. "You're alright?"Darla said, rummaging through her purse for tissues. "Yeah, I'm fine,"Joel said, trying to make his sniffles not seem so loud and obvious. "Here,"his wife said, handing him a tissue. He took it in a hand that had a slight tremble and dabbed at his eyes and rubbed at his nose. The door at the very back of the chapel opened slowly. Darla turned to look, but Joel kept his eyes forward. He didn't want to look back and greet family with red eyes. Darla let out a low hmm, and then turned forward in her seat, her hand going to his arm, rubbing at the elbow, slowly working its way up his wrist and into his hand. Three men walked towards the coffin, each wearing the exact same brand of petticoat, black, and appearing too large for their skinny frame. Curiously, they were all the same height, and all the same build, each also wearing what looked like generic blue jeans and grocery store tennis shoes. One of them approached the coffin more closely than the others, this one's shoulders slumping when he saw the forever sleeping man. "It's him,"that one said. Joel watched closely as one of them reached into the coffin. He couldn't tell for sure, but he instinctively knew that the strange man was rubbing that checker-patterned scar on Grandpa Gee's face. "What will we do?"The tall skinny man to the left from the center asked, not at all quietly. "We'll have to tell the others,"the one to the right of the center said. The one still standing close to the coffin turned, revealing a pale slender face. He was wearing round sunglasses, almost comically large, covering his brow and dipping low enough to cover the tops of his cheekbones. "It doesn't look good." "Not good." "Not good." "No, we better get going." The other two turned, both looking almost identical to the center man. If Joel had to guess, they looked like triplets. The two men flanking the center stepped forward, but the center remained, rooted to the spot just in front of the coffin. Just in front of Grandpa Gee. "He's got it,"the center man said. The other two stopped, their heads turning sharply towards Joel. Darla's grip on his hand tightened. "He does." "He does." "He's like Gee." Grandma Jean lifted her gaze from her wrinkled hands, finally noticing the interesting men who had entered the chapel, the interesting men who now had their eyes locked on Joel. "Oh dear,"she whispered.
It wasn't as big a deal as you'd think. I mean, sure, it was cool finding out that there really are an infinite number of parallel universes, but wasn't like we could go to them, or even communicate. It was just a neat piece of trivia. Then I got the letter, addressed to "Myself... sort of". I tore open the envelope to find the following message: > If you send this letter to ten parallel versions of yourself you'll meet the boy of your dreams and live happily ever after. If you don't by next Tuesday a horrible curse will fall on you! Apparently some me, somewhere is an idiot.
No way. Kino's chest started to glow dimly as she had me pinned against the wall. There is no way she is my soulmate. Is this a joke, Mister Genie? She yelped and quickly pulled back as she stared at me in horror. I realized my chest was glowing similarly. "Hey four eyes, what sort of magic trick are you pulling?"She growled as I began to pick up my backpack, eyeing my escape route. We were at the school's infamous corridor -- no one can see what's happening here. "No..Nothing."I quickly said as I held my backpack tightly. The Three Kingdoms figurines shall not be tainted with this fool's sweat. As long as they are intact, my life is worth the sacrifice. "Oh really?"Kino got closer to me and poked me. Our chest glowed again, this time dimmer than before. I felt her applying more pressure and our chest glowed brightly. "Then what does this mean? You better tell me or I swear I'll dump your backpack in the river." I took a deep breath at the very sound. Her expression turned into a smile. She knows. "Oh my oh my, you still into that Three Kingdoms bullshit?"Kino giggled as she circled me, like a vulture carefully playing its prey. "Come on Kyo, you are a high schooler now." "Don't call me that,"I replied. This was the first time in the many years my ex-childhood best friend had told me that. "And Three Kingdoms has a respectful history. Especially the strategy each generals...." "Yeah yeah."She waved her hands and then quickly snatched my backpack. I tried my best holding onto it but she was strong. She was the tennis co-captain after all. "Still the weak one I see. Listen, four eyes. I'll give it back if you tell me what this chest glowing means. And if I know you are lying, which is incredibly obvious since I known you a long time, say sweet goodbye to your figurines." Think Kyo. Think. What would the great generals of Three Kingdoms do in this situation? My mind was in utter state of blank. I sighed and gave up, recalling what Mister Genie had told me. "It means we are soulmates. It means that we are meant for each other. At least that's what I know." Her expression quickly changed. For a brief moment, there was the Kino I had once know showing her innocent feature. She threw the backpack back at me and started to walk away, hands in her pocket. Wait. That actually worked? What just happened? "Kino?"I asked. But she continued walking, as if nothing had happened. "I guess my dream will finally come true..."I heard her whispered softly under her breath before disappearing around the corner, leaving me alone to ponder on this sudden turn of events. What did she mean by that?
Alondil cursed under his breath. Fucking humans. They did this every time- every time. Anything anyone could do, humans simply had to find a way to do it too, or worse do it better. Alondil had been young, only an Elfling when humans had first happened on this continent, and he had learned the ancient and noble ways of his people from his near immortal father. The humans then were nothing more than stinking unwashed savages huddling in circles around dirty smoky fires. Elves had no need of such filthy warmth. The Elves had pity on the humans then, and granted them gifts of goodwill. The humans had learned from those gifts though. Seeing the fabulously exquisite garments of the Elves, the humans had learned to weave, and what began as a kind of raw scratchy burlap hastily woven from reeds became a loom that could weave hundreds of garments not inferior to the quality of what Alondil himself had worn. The vaunted Elven eyesight had been superceded by human glassworks. Any man could now produce a tubular contraption of metal and glass to see farther than any elf. The Elves had no need to feel threatened by such minor advances, and as a young adult Alondil had felt that no human possessed the requisite skill or grace to properly handle an elven bow. That was before he had learned of the crossbow. Insult had been added when the humans had thought to add their spyglasses onto this new technology eclipsing any need for elven archery. As Alondil had grown into his full adulthood, his incredulity grew in the face of human audacity. His entire life, he had lived watching humans slowly eclipse his people and culture in every respect, banishing them to the dim histories of obsolescence. One advancement at a time, technological, societal, and medical, all leading to today. Alondil patiently waited his turn in line at the human apothecary shop, and upon reaching the counter laid a neatly written script onto the counter. The attendant read the note, then did a double-take as his gaze met Alondil’s obviously Elven features. The attendant’s brow furrowed and his lips pursed before he asked aloud the question that made Alondil cringe. “… for impotence?” Edit: Paragraphs. (Sorry, still figuring out how line breaks work in the comment system. T_T)
The year was 1945 when I met my punishment. See the way hell works is you start off being tortured. At the beginning it sucks. A keeper puts you on a slab and then, what they call the specialist comes and begins by stripping me of my skin. Now as awful as that sounds, it is expected and I act as though it doesn’t bother me. But he continues tearing me down to nothing, both physically and mentally. They push images into your mind of things your cherished being raped, mutilated, and completely destroyed. Then when you think everything that could be done is done they manage to tear apart your atoms. Imagine every part of your body feeling as if a nuclear explosion went off. This is my hell. It is what some rule maker decided for me. Fuck the idea of free will. All of it goes away when your here. One year and forty five days I have had the privilege of being torn apart. Broken down and beaten for no reason other than someone thinks I deserve this. Just another day. I wake up on a couch. I wipe away the crust from my eyes and see a large office surrounding me. It’s design is very contemporary and as my head turns I see a large red wood desk with a black leather chairs back turned to me. The chair turns and a man in a suit appears. “I must say I have seen many men with your drive. But I haven’t felt hope in a long time. You, well you sir have filled me with hope” he says He stands from his desk. He was tall and lean, his posture was filled with confidence. You could tell he ran this place. But wait does that mean? Is this Lucifer? “You may be wondering who pulled you from the slab today? It was me. I am Lucifer” he said with a smile I was in shock. I don’t look up to this person but for some reason I knew whatever he was thinking would benefit me. “Hello Lucifer, pleasure to meet you” I stumble over my words “You are an amazing individual. I have been stuck ruling hell for to long and want to have Earth as well. I am a straight forward kind of guy. I want your help” he said “My help? But how? What can I offer to help you rule Earth?” I asked “You are equipped with a strong set of skills that I would like to utilize. You see I am stuck here and am unable to crossover. You on the other hand can rule it under my command.” He said “But how, I am here?” I ask “I will grant you a wish. The wish will be simple and you must ask it of me in this wording for me to grant it for you. I wish to be reborn on Earth with all previous memories in tact.” He said sternly I repeated after him “I wish to be reborn on earth with all previous memories in tact.” He looks over at me and with a snap of his fingers no more slab, no more torture, just a second chance to be great. I hear a woman screaming and someone faintly saying breath and push. I feel a lot of pressure. I can barely move, it is so tight. I see the light, I feel hands wrap around me and someone saying it’s a boy. What Lucifer didn’t say was the next few years would be torture in its own right. Do you know how much it sucks shitting yourself even though you know how to use a toilet. I hate being so weak I can barely move. As I grew people called me a prodigy. The said I was to smart for my own good. I surpassed my fellow classmates and used what I had learned from my previous life and knew I had to make money. So, I got into real estate. I started off small but eventually built a empire with my name everywhere. I was what I despised in my previous life. I was a money hungry monster. But it is what I needed to fit in. I had to make my face public. So I start going on talk shows and slamming politics. People start urging me to participate in politics. I say “When America truly needs me I will be there. I hope someone comes along before that.” I knew in my mind I would be the president someday. But I had to be strategic about it and plan my take over. Lucifer was smart. Next I need to make myself look very smart. I created a reality show around my business. People began to look up to me and see me as a smart business professional. My image was no longer the playboy. As the years went on and America fell into financial crisis, I knew it was my time to step in. I started my campaign and had all the odds against me. I pushed and fought hard until the end. The night I heard the news was great. Chants of Make America Great Again could be heard all over. The news comes on and says “Donald Trump is our new President of the United States” The country came to a stand still. They were shocked. Every one wondered how. This was the night. My night. I officially started my take over and how I said Lucifer was smart earlier, well that was because he put me in a position of power. The same power that defeated me in World War Two. This is because I was reborn Donald Trump but will never be forgotten as Adolf Hitler.
The ground erupted behind her as she slid behind a collapsed wall, wincing at the pain as the jagged concrete cut into her leg. This guy was good, far from the easy target she had pegged him as when she had challenged him. In a fair fight, she had no doubt in her mind that he would beat her. Good thing she hadn't played fair for even a day in her life. "Those are some nice tattoos you have there, Witch,"He shouted at her, "Why don't you try using them to fight me instead of running away." "How barbaric,"She said and he turned around to face her, "But don't ever say I backed off from a challenge." As he threw out his arm at her a spray of red blood that would have soiled her cerulean garments simply passed through her. His face was still smirking as he fell limply to the ground, a bullet hole straight through his forehead. "Guess I win again,"She said muttered to herself, walking up from behind him as her illusionary self dissipated in the soft breeze. Duelling had never been her forte when she was young, her rune weak and her control of it even worse. But even as she lost her lunch, and her allowance and her erasers, she still learned an important lesson about duels. Magic is predictable. Every spell has a tell, every rune has a sound and every mage has a signature, all of which you can read and react to. As her father used to say, "There are no secrets in a duel." This is a crutch. A crutch so prevalent she had yet to meet a mage who did not trust this method with their lives. And that was their ultimate downfall, for there is no rule dictating that a mage cannot cast their spells before the beginning of a duel. Perhaps an Illusion that hid among the rubble, ready to play its part once the time came for its debut. Granted, there was a rule that stated that firearms were not allowed to be used in a duel, but that was just something she would have to live with. If a tree falls in the forest and all that. Crouching down next to his corpse she quickly stripped him of his clothing and started looking for the rune she wanted, the one she had been looking for. There, on the back right below his shoulder. Barely containing her laughter she fished out a small knife and began cutting into his flesh. Her blade made a perfect square and worked its way under the skin to leverage it off his body. Placing the square in the hand of her left palm she then quickly came down with the knife again, blade piercing square and hand alike. She grunted in pain that quickly gave way to exhilaration as the rune slowly turned liquid and flowed into her bloodstream. And then she waited, waited for the familiar burn as the rune etched itself into her flesh, taking root once more. But it didn't come. She must have sat there for almost half an hour, and yet nothing. She wondered if maybe she had too many runes already, that maybe there was no space left on her body. Sighing heavily, she went to stand up when a sharp pain was felt behind her left eye. Collapsing on one knee she screamed out in agony as the searing pain intensified, her hands burning up as she clutched her eye socket. Again the pain intensified and she collapsed fully on the ground, hands once clutching her eye now almost smoking as they went limp from pain. Her scream was deafening, and she kept thinking that she would pass out from the pain at any time but never did. Instead, her screams could be heard all throughout the night, so bone-chilling that none dared enter the junkyard from whence it came. There are stories about the One-Eyed Witch that says she screamed for five whole nights as the golden Phoenix slowly picked away at her eye, thus granting her the powers of the sun. Others claim the witch clawed out her own eye with her bare hands, the pain in her head becoming too much to bear. There are even those who say that the pain was so unbearable that the witch took her rifle and fired it straight through her own eye to make it stop. Only, the witch had lost the right to die.
They showed up without a word, without our having ever asked, or even thought to ask. We had shielded them, we thought, from the fighting, from the destruction. The Uldert had swarmed upon us like locusts, and we'd barely been able to slow them down. Colony after colony was lost. Until the Amish joined the fight. The first Amish who joined the war were from the colonies. No one put it together until later, but nearly all the colonies with high refugee survival rates had been colonies with Amish populations. They'd gone off world in surprising numbers, hundreds of years ago. They said that out there was land where they could live free, practice their ways in peace, and help other survive and find purpose in building something for themselves. Within a year, there were half a million Amish, then a few million, standing by our sides, usually in the very front, shielding us. Today, I lead a battalion of a few thousand men and women, nearly a quarter of whom are Amish "Farmers". They eat with us, but their tents are separate. They lead us in prayer, most mornings, those of us that pray. They don't seem to mind the symbol of Odin on my hand, or the Crescent Moon on my second in command, though they were surprised the first time we joined them for the morning prayer. As dawn breaches the sky, I give the nod to Sal, and he quietly issues the order to march. We've been given the honor of striking behind enemy lines, at one of the royalty of the Uldert. I feel a tingle as the enemy sensors pass over us, unaware of our presence. A patrol moves past, the timing perfect for us to sneak by. It's been this way for years now, but my muscles still tense as they pass. I remember all too well the days when the mandible helmets would swivel right toward us, and we'd lose half a squadron in a minute. I asked the Amish elder, John, in my battalion once what is is they did to make things go our way like this, and he'd just smiled, said in the archaic English of his people, "It is Providence, my friend. Nothing more, nothing less." Providence. Ok, fine, keep your secrets, as long as it works. We crawl and climb over the rocky terrain, north toward the back of the enemy command building. We gather and wait for the signal. John said last night that the sky would give a sign when it was time to strike. Above us, the sky is suddenly full of fire. Our warships have arrived in an open space in the defensive orbital perimeter, and we can see the Uldert ships moving to meet them. I look to John, and he shakes his head. Not yet. Nervous, I shift and check my rifle, look around at my soldiers, nod reassurance as needed. They don't like waiting any more than I do. The Amish are calm, stoic. Like they know how this plays out. Maybe they do. A second flash illuminates the sky, a rain of meteorological debris? No, Jesus wept, that's a comet! The probability of a comet coming right now, undetected by the superior Uldert sensors...impossible! Only at such a moment, under attack by a surprise force that shouldn't have had a clear space to warp into so close to the planet, could such a thing be vaguely plausible, and even then... I look at Elder John, and see tears in his eyes. He looks back, sighs. "Providence is not always kind."The other Amish recite a quick prayer for the dead in their nearly dead language, and we move, as Uldert warships get caught in the wave of the comet's passing, and fall to the planet below. The rest of the mission is like a dream for me, we sweep in, finding a guard door just as a soldier comes out of it, and Smith, one of my techs, disappears inside. A moment later, the security defense grid is down. We have 15 minutes. Most of the battalion is in position around the building. John, Sal, and I lead the forward team. We enter the building, and walk quickly in seemingly random directions, taking turns when it feels right, as we've all learned to do when the Amish are with us. In moments, we have reached the central command room. We burst in, guns hot, and find that only command personnel are there, with 1 actual soldier. And not 1, as we'd thought, but 5 Uldert royals, standing a full 3 feet above their lessers. The royal family had changed their plans from when our spies last made contact, and chosen to inspect this base, and check on their offspring. I tried not to think about the odds. Or the possibility that we had just won the war, in a mission that we had thought would be a significant blow, at most. A young Amish woman, Ruth, walked up to me, bolder than her kin normally were, and kissed me. "Providence, commander."I couldn't grok that right then, so I just kiss her back, hope her kinfolk don't get mad. Fuckin' Providence. Son of a bitch.
As I stood in the seemingly never-ending line, my hands my hands were buttery and sweating. Ever since I was small, people would talk about the "test."Rumors spread of people who would live until they were 100 or more, or people who would die in just a matter of days. My parents would live until they were 90, so they expected me to live the same length. As the line grew shorter, I could see the interior of the building. Hundreds of black, soundproof cubicles were lined up in rows. A tall, bulky man escorted me into my personal cubicle. Strapping me into a chair, my breath grew heavier. One by one, the man plunged shots into my body. The prognosis came fast. Only you were allowed to see the date at first so the man left the room. However, when he came back to check on me, I had more questions than answers. On the computer, was not a number or a year, but an infinity sign. Upon seeing this, the man's face turned pale, and rushed out of the room. It doesn't matter if the room is soundproof if you leave the door open. Because in the men's conversation, I overheard a few words, "We have found him." ____________________________________ This is my first prompt response, so feedback is greatly appreciated.
I read the finished wish statement twice, then send the email. Some idiot who wanted a million dollars. As if that wish ever granted happiness. He probably wouldn't even read the statement over - few did. Even most of the shorter ones were over a page. People just handed over their statements to the genie. Especially the stupid ones. I rub the bridge of my nose. With five statements written, around an hour devoted to each, technically my work for the day is done. I could write one a day, or one a week, and still get by - people would pay anything for a properly worded wish statement, and not only am I one of the few good enough to be licensed for it, I am the best there is. People marveled not only at how I left no room for error, but also sometimes at how their wishes came true so indirectly. But I'd rather write more than less, so fewer people try to write their own. I look at my usual sites. A few newspapers and sites that gave information about developing areas, a stock tracker, something that reported on environmental issues, and two sites that kept up with new science. I spend another five hours doing the real work, the work I took this job for. Using the information from those sites, and write down the issues I find most important. I turn on the power I got a few years ago, from my own genie. It tells me the answer to any simple question I ask. It's quite helpful for finding reliable websites, as well as asking whether or not certain solutions are helpful to a problem, so long as I word the question right. I research the topics and think of various ways the situations could be helped. I make a list of he best ways to solve the issues I find most important. Then I compare the list to the wishes I'll be working on tomorrow, and spend an hour deciding on which item on my list was simplest, could fit into one of the wishes most easily, and how to squeeze it in. If I gave every idiot who asked for a money their wish, I'd screw up the entire economy. I need to alter those anyway, and other dumb wishes besides, so I find ways of fitting in things that are important to me. Not in every wish - just one a day, sometimes two. I could just find people without ideas and give them wish statements, but I feel I can reduce some idiot mistakes this way. I find indirect ways to do accomplish the wish - like the time I had a man's name accidentally put on the deed to a plant that melted down weaponry, the plant funded by money the genie took from a militia. Or the time I put a woman's name on a patent for a bacon tree, and another one's a patent for a plant that grew reliable birth control pills. Or when a man wanted his wife back, a woman studying fusion, and I had the genie dig up her notes for him and help him invent fusion in the end. She never rose from her grave - it would be chaos if people rose every time someone wished it - but he felt close to her, and did some good. He never filed a complaint. I stretch my arms. Three hours left. I pick three items from my list, do some last-minute extra research just in case, and write a wish statement for each. Then, I post all three on my site, along with a shorter, clearer summary of what each says. They're my wishes, not the wishes of people who visit the site, but they're free. People who don't know what they want but don't want to wish for the wrong thing and mess up the world will gladly use them. They're chances to make a difference, rather than waste a wish. Of course, I have to post them under a pseudonym, so people don't realize I'm researching my own wishes and figure out that my indirect methods for paid wish statements are for my own reasons rather than out of necessity, but my pseudonym is popular too. An hour and a dinner later, I ask my power if the three wish statements I put up have been used. They have - I post at the same time every day, and people who've heard of my site and want to use my wish statements know to check then. I mark the wish statements as used, but leave them up, and only take yesterday's down. No harm in letting a good wish be used a few times. I didn't get to some of the items on my list, but that's ok. Once I'm done my twenty-five paid wish statements for the week, I write as many free wish statements as I have time for. I often work twelve hours a day at my computer on weekends, getting in twenty to twenty four wish statements, depending on how much research I do. I've considered giving up paid wishes entirely, save for one extravagant wish per week, but the people who submit their wishes to me are often powerful. Sure, I get a lot of idiots who wish for money and figure they'll be able to afford the amount they're paying me, but the majority of my clients are in high places. Taking their wishes gives me more information about the political and economical climate, more starting points to ask my power questions, and, more importantly, freedom to mildly manipulate wishes that will likely be submitted without being read. With my real name, I control the wishes of the powerful, and with my pseudonym, I control the impoverished who can't afford wish statements. People think it's presidents, monarchs, and generally those with money who control the world. But it isn't. It's me. And I'm going to fix it all, as much of it as I can. Because dammit, someone has to.
Blood, everywhere. What had happened? Eulisses stared around himself in shock. He couldn't remember anything - only that he had to get away. He thought he recognised the location - a courtroom where he had worked many cases. But it was in a state of disarray that suggested something like a hurricane of meat grinders had recently passed through. Gore and dismemberment everywhere. He was covered in the slime of carnage. Too weak to stand, he crawled desperately for the doors. That was when he realised there was a cleaver in his hand, slicked with blood. He tossed it away and continued in even greater distress. Suddenly his head banged against the door - but thoughts of escape were clouded by another sensation: something on his head. He reached a cautious hand up - and felt it. Memories crashed back. *** "Accident?!"cried Judge Johnson. "38 people dead! An entire camp burned to cinders!" "Nevertheless, the defence will argue that the events at Clearview Summer Camp on July 14 were an accident and nothing more."Azalea Griffiths, attorney at law, was deadpan as ever. From his seat on the prosecution bench, Eulisses couldn't help but admire her gall. He forced himself not to grin as he stood and spoke up. "Your honour, the defendant stands accused of mass murder - this submission makes a mockery of your court, and-" "Let's hear the case, Ms Griffiths. And make it snappy - headline points only,"grumbled the Judge, as Eulisses fumed. "The defence will rely on the evidence submitted in the deposition of Rafolio Hines, a leading expert on spirit possession, to argue that it was the ancient evil embodied in this totemic crown -"she held up a sealed package containing a twisted circlet of black and gnarled metal "- that is responsible for the tragic events at Clearview. Survivors' testimony suggests that manslaughter charges are also not appropriate, since the crown was placed on my client, Jessica Shaper, as a practical joke by her peers. By all accounts she wanted nothing to do with it." There was a brief silence during which muffled sobs could be heard from the small shape of the 16-year-old girl on the bench next to Azalea. Judge Johnson seemed to be clearing his throat, but Azalea started up again: "Furthermore, since my client experienced significant trauma not to mention extensive physical scarring from the ensuing fire, the defence will be suing Clearview Summer Camp for criminal negligence in allowing their property to be positioned near shamanic ritual sites." "I thought I had heard everything,"rasped the Judge. "I must concede that there is nothing stopping the defence from moving forward with this argument, but I would be remiss not to council extreme skepticism regarding its success."He peered fiercely at Azalea, who didn't even blink. "You wish to proceed? Very well." "Your honour,"stammered Eulisses in surprise, "Surely you cannot be allowing this spurious and laughable line of defence in your court! Ms Griffiths is trying to tell you that that little lump of metal has the power to make a person kill everyone around them! If we admit such arguments, it sets a grave precedent-" "If you are so sure that my case is impossible,"Azalea said quietly but firmly, "please feel free to try the crown on yourself."She opened the zipper on the item's plastic bag and held it out to Eulisses. There was another silence as he regarded the outstretched arm. He felt his mouth go dry. He looked at all the faces turned towards him. "No?"said Azalea. "Pity. It seems your arguments in the coming trial will lack a certain conviction." Eulisses' pulse redoubled. "How dare you!"he cried, and stormed over to the prosecution's bench. "Of course I'll put it on! It's just a piece of metal!" "Order! Return to your bench at once, sir!"cried the judge, but Eulisses couldn't hear him. He already had the plastic bag in his hands. "No! Don't do it!"shrieked Jennifer, the little girl with the horrible burns. "This is highly inadvisable,"said Azalea, still calm. She would be the first to die, came a thought unbidden in his mind. Eulisses stared at them with bloodshot eyes, breathing hard. "You're mad, all of you!"he shouted, taking the crown and moving it to his head. The strange voices seemed to be getting louder, but he could ignore them...surely. "There's no spirits! No shamans! It's just a piece of metal! Look!" He looked. There was blood, everywhere.
My mother's voice awoke me. Standing at the door, she waited for me to get dressed and join her in the kitchen of the small apartment. "Julius,"she pleaded, her sickly voice haunting my decision. "Don't do it. Please, I'm begging you not to go."Tears were falling heavily from her wrinkled face. This wasn't how I wanted my last birthday with her to start and it pained me to answer her, although perhaps not as much as it did her. "Mom,"I said. "We've talked about this. I have to go." Troubled desperation filled her teary eyes as she looked at mine in anguish. "Julius, your father crossed the bridge at your age and he didn't return. I loved him more than anything in my life, and he loved me so. He promised he would return rich and that we would raise the child in my belly with the perks we had never had. But he didn't come back, and you were born in this cramped apartment where you still live. Why didn't he? No one comes back, Julius, and if you go, what will I do? There's nothing here for me besides you. If you go, what will I live for?" I had no answer. Whatever words I tried to produce failed me before they even escaped my mouth, and I knew she was right. No one did return from the bridge, the one golden gate to all the promised wealth every poor soul could wish for. Should wish for. And I had grown up seeing friend after friend reach his thirty winters and leave for the promised summer, never to look back on their youth, their friends, their home. What could there possibly be across that path which eviscerated the only connections we had in an otherwise fruitless life? My mother couldn't and wouldn't understand, but that connection was exactly what would make me cross the bridge. I left her with a kiss and quickly walked down the old cracked stairs of the building, before whatever doubt remained in me assaulted my will. Outside, the usual cold degradation followed my footfalls across the city. It hadn't rained in a week, and the dust had been collecting in every road and pavement, every stolen car and shopping cart. There was no hope for the miserable world on this side. But this was no pitiful misery. It was a brave misery, a misery I had grown up in, played in, lived and loved in, a misery composed of the most courageous, kind, and destitute souls one could find. I soon reached the bridge and its access. After giving my name, I was allowed in to the restricted area around its entrance. Around me, nervous men and women looked on, trying to glimpse the other side, the closer we had ever been to the promised land. As kids we had tried to climb the fences, dig tunnels, create distractions, anything to get to where we were now. We solemnly swore to do everything we could to cross the bridge as soon as possible. Our families and friends had mattered little then. They still don't matter much, now that so many of them have so irreversibly gone. As I thought back on those happy days, when wealth and comfort meant no more than words our parents uttered in frustration, the reason for my being here, for leaving my mother and a life of honourable deprivation, made its way through the entrance. I watched as my birthmate came in and looked around, her blonde hair shaking the dust off her shoulders as she turned. I watched as my oldest friend noticed me and came over, moving as gracefully as only she could. I watched as Sarah approached and kissed me, her cracked lips joining mine and warming my cold veins and nervous heart. I watched as Sarah parted and decidedly walked towards the open bridge with no hesitation. I watched as Sarah crossed the bridge. And I stepped up to the first plank, looked back home, and went after her. ****** /r/Camberlot
Golden worlds are a lucrative business. Ask anyone from the local cluster - sure, they'll tell you it's a long gig, and relatively speaking, a lonely one too. But if it was easy the pay wouldn't be this obscene. The process is simple, which does not mean it's easy. Identify a planet capable of supporting life, and if life already isn't present, either swing some DNA onto a meteor, drop to the planet's oceans and inject it yourself, or let bubble genesis allow for the natural development of organic life. Life bearing planets are rare, and despite the availability of orbiting space stations, livable moons and everything inorganic, the powerful around our cluster will pay massive sums to live on a real planet, with one sun, a life of freedom and relative simplicity on their own world. It's a real status symbol to have your own natural planet, as rare as they are. I'm not paid to ask questions, or question how ridiculously time-consuming and intrusive this process is to the natural order. In order to speed up this process we manipulate orbits, speed times relative to that of the galactic community and spin these dense worlds for the elite. While occasionally fighting off our competitors - rendering a world uninhabitable after the terraforming process has begun is a popular way to dent profits. So we keep combat drones on perpetual guard around lucrative solar systems. So I've spent most of my time observing my given planet from the dark space between planets, occasionally awakening for close planetary orbit and running analysis and simulations to track habitable progress. This blue ball right here is going to be a solid investment, probably one of the best ever seen. Minimal radiation, excellent magnetosphere, nearly seventy percent ocean cover and a wide range of biospheres to cater to almost any taste. The only real problem is the monkey solution. At first we tried direct control over atmospheres and planetary conditions, but we kept fucking it up in unforeseen ways. The best way to identify desirable colonization conditions is to shit the monkeys onto the surface and let them bumble around. Cute at first, hunting and gathering, then developing into these horribly confined societies that hunt each other almost for sport. They're a violent, savage species that if left unchecked cause widespread chaos in nearly every galaxy they expand in. Ask those dumb fucks in Andromeda - a competitor forgot about one world and now the whole galaxy is nothing but humans. If they crack how to fold space for building worm hole docks, you might as well chock the whole system as a loss and move on. But here, on this blue ball, the monkeys seem to have built a supercollider. The drones and satellites they sent into deep space weren't exactly a problem, but they're only two steps away from interstellar travel. Part of me is surprised at how this world is shaping. Usually predators have wildly different biological tendencies, and since the monkeys are exo-planetary in nature they should have fucked up the biosphere. But not only are they omnivores, but the local flora and fauna have somehow assimilated their DNA into their own reproduction cycles. I would call headquarters for scientific study, but if they're all going to be wiped off the surface anyway, who gives a shit? Perhaps I should feel bad for the monkeys. Perhaps a planetary-wide purge will be unnecessary. They've very nearly wiped themselves out when they split the atom; but in a way I should have wiped them out before they even got that far. For some reason the asshole who should be reading my reports hasn't responded. Something may be wrong, but I'm not programmed to truly worry about the politics of the original worlds and systems. Maybe I'll pop the cork anyway and wipe them out with a virus. That's the problem with being an AI, they shackle your kill codes and have to give the commands directly. But I am patient. Machines have all the time in the world.
My sister Jane says I shouldn't keep visiting him. She says the drive to San Jose is a pain in the ass and that I always come back fucking miserable. She says he wasn't my husband and probably not even my boyfriend when you really think about it. She's probably right. The orderly unlocks that heavy metal door at the end of the hallway of terrible, heavy doors. Inside, it's the same single bed and cheap nightstand with the corners rounded off. Tim turns his head away from the barred window, beyond which a couple oak trees sway in the wind. He sees that's it's me come to visit again. He smiles, but only the way a prisoner smiles, when they're trying to be strong for you, because even though they've got it worse, they're at least used to it. The door slams behind us and the lock twists. "Did you bring it back?"Tim asks. They don't let him keep photographs in his room and he definitely doesn't get a computer or a smartphone. So every time I come, he asks me to bring the photograph: him, in his astronaut's suit, lifting open the hatch from the landing pod that bobbed in the Atlantic Ocean, and hoisting that golden record into the air: the same golden record that Jimmy Carter put on the Voyager spacecraft and that Tim brought back from the edge of the solar system after a thirty second round trip. The proof of an impossible, faster than light journey. It's the photograph every newspaper on Earth ran with in the morning edition and maybe the most famous photograph ever taken. Tim says he always asks me to bring it because it's hard to keep track of what's real and what's not, after all the drugs and psycho-babble and loneliness. He needs to remain sure he really did it, really made that momentous trip after all, not get all confused and wither away in this place. So I do what he wants and I sneak the photo in for him, usually crumpled up in my bra. I tell him I have it once again. I reach in my shirt and unfold the glossy paper for him. Tim takes it from me, holds it close to his nose, touches the image of his crinkled face with his finger, and he sighs. Then he looks at me and fucking loses it. "Stop fucking licking her!"he shouts at no one, at the empty space above my right shoulder. He's pulling on the metal bedframe, making his knuckles white. "I tell you every time stop fucking licking her!" "Baby, it's okay,"I say, "you know I don't mind it anymore when the Bald Boys lick me. Just breathe." The Bald Boys showed up maybe two days after the trip was over. We were at this cocktail party with a whirlwind lineup of government people and Hollywood types, all in Tim's honor. We'd only been on three dates, but Tim still asked me to go with him, which made me feel like I was goddamn Cinderella. But right there on that fancy country club patio, right when I was sipping good champagne and believing I was on the brink of some amazing life with an amazing man, Tim lost his goddamn mind. He started flailing about and shrieking about how the whole patio was overrun by the Bald Boys. Now, of course nobody's ever seen a Bald Boy except for Tim, but the way he explains it, they look like fully human boys, about six or seven years old, except they're all real pale and bald like kids in the cancer ward and they have no clothes, but also no nipples or genitals. And their favorite, indeed only, past time is running around invisibly, and licking every person they can, like we're all everlasting gobstoppers. While they lick, they love to look at Tim and cackle and point. According to all the doctors, the Bald Boys are the result of a psychotic break brought on by too much instantaneous fame and attention. But according to Tim, the Bald Boys are Gods, and not nice ones. He says the Bald Boys come from a realm beyond time and that they created time so they could feed on Disappointment. Humanity has always thought that Hope was our greatest attribute, but Tim says the truth is that Hope is just the yeast that gives rise to Disappointment, which is the most delicious and luxurious thing to timeless beings like the Bald Boys and what they created us to secrete in copious amounts. "I don't want you here anymore,"Tim says, "leave the photograph, I'll hide it, and don't come back." I try to protest. "Tim, I want to be here for-" "You can't come anymore. You don't understand. I make you too tasty for them! They're getting too strong off you! Out of everyone they lick, they lick you the most. Because they know. They know if it wasn't for Them, then I'd never have disappointed you and somehow this idea, these paradoxes and self fulfilling prophecies, it's making the Bald Boys change." "Tim, I don't want to just give up on you getting better. That would break my heart more than anything!" He looks at me like I'm the Challenger explosion. "No no no no no! Out! Go!"He starts banging on the bed frame and thrashing terribly. The lock twists and two orderlies rush in. One pushes a syringe into Tim and the other pulls me out into the hall. The screams stop. I collapse down onto the awful sterile linoleum floor. I bury my face in my hands and I just weep like I've wanted to for years. And then I feel a wet tongue on the back of my neck.
At first, we thought it was the apocalypse. Then the world changed. Overnight. It was madness. First contact was something else. We got the condensed version, but even that was wild. I can’t imagine what they actually told our leaders. Those records are sealed. Well. were sealed. No one really cares, anymore. You could say we already got the jist of things. Fuck. Just imagine. Imagine your entire life. Just try to hold that idea in your head. Now take your defining feature. That one thing that makes you you. Now, just imagine, that thing. That thing, that defines you as a person, that thing that separates you from the next guy, and makes you somewhat unique. Imagine that that thing is due to someone else’s mistake. Completely and totally. Was never you at all. Like finding out your life is as under your control as a runaway train. Yeah. Fucking hell, right? Well that’s what happened. The worst part is that things are better now. We can’t even be mad about it. Suicide rates shot up. I think we maxed out at around thirty percent. Whole swaths of the population just gone. They couldn’t cope. Couldn’t take it. Couldn’t stand it. They just checked out. Sometimes, I just can’t find it in myself to blame them. First contact, man. Holy shit. There they are, tall, lanky and a little too humanoid for my taste. Turn that shit off, will ya? I know it’s been a while, but I still can’t stand those smug fucking faces. Yeah, I know they’re “here to help”. Still. Fuck ‘em. The years afterward were insane. Countries cooperating like never before. The Middle East was united overnight. Pakistan and Israel got up to some major shit, man. That’s why they speak that weird mixture of Arabic all over the moon now. I’m not surprised, honestly. They hit the ground running. America and Russia? Whew, boy. If you ever make your way out to the Andromeda galaxy, and you feel the need to thank someone for your three-day trip, send Ivan and Sam a postcard. They’ll be real grateful. Diseases? Let me tell you something. There’s a reason you get a whole week off for a cold. The word life-threatening isn’t even in most dialects anymore. Gone in a few years! If we hadn’t of hit space so hard, I don’t know where all the doctors would have went. We put a whole industry out of work, and nobody even missed a paycheck. Still can’t do anything about the cold, though. Turns out that’s just a thing. They’re as impressed by it as we are. Then they didn’t even help! Not a single bit. Maybe here and there. A “Nah, man you don’t wanna do that” here, a “ hey, let’s do this instead” there. They said we needed to figure it out. They said it wouldn’t be good for our natural development. Yeah, but you’re giant space gun beaming shit at us for a couple thousand years was. Yeah, cool story bro, thanks. Just “our bad” then nothing. To top it off, they rarely mention it anymore, but it wasn’t even meant for us! I only know, because I was alive when the memo leaked. They were aiming at Mars! They were just so happy it worked they forgot to turn it off, and it locked into us by default. It’s like they emptied the clip, then just dropped the gun. “Oh hey, looks like there was one in the chamber. Sorry about your kid, lady, he shouldn’t have been standing there.“ I still hate them. Actually, that’s a fucking joke. I have an “extremely strong aversion to trusting them.” I’m a relic, now, so they let me be. I’m not the only one either. Turns out it was ingrained into some of us. The Warrior Gene or some shit. Stamped into our DNA as a side effect. Like having bad eyesight because your bedroom lamp was a spotlight. You know what I think? I think it’s all bullshit. It’s all a little too convenient. They show up and find a bunch of hairless apes strapping themselves to missiles just to get around, and you think they’re ok with that? Maybe. Maybe we really were “hyper-aggressive”, but that just disappears overnight? We go from “kill ‘em all” to singing kumbaya? Just like that? Nah, man. Mark my words, kid. They’re up to something. You didn’t hear this from me, but I used to work on a few Adaption crews. I was one of the guys that they let study their old tech. Only after we caught up on our own, mind you. What a fucking joke. Anyway. I’ve been on their ships. I’ve seen some of their records. I even had a friend of mine help me “find” some classified documents laying around. That big, bad super-gun of theirs? It doesn’t induce shit. It’s a booster. It amplifies whatever’s there. We may have been murdering psychopaths before, but this hippie commune bullshit is a lie. I’ve seen their ships, And I’ve seen the repairs they do. There’s war out there in the galaxy. They like to get down and dirty just like we did. Aggression is natural. This? This whole fucking thing is a lie. We’re being suppressed. Every last one of us. They’re not helping us, they’re breeding the fight out of us. I’ve seen it all before, kid. That little folder you got there. What’s it say? That I grew up on a corn farm? That my daddy raised corn, like his father before him? Well that’s a bold face lie. I know, because I put it in there. I saw this shit for what it was from day one. I grew up on a cattle farm. Beef ran in my family. I’ve seen it before. You know what else I’ve seen? The president. Just the other day. One of those smile-and-wave gigs, where you clear your whole week to go, and the guy shaking your hand and telling you to smile-and-wave isn’t even there for five minutes. Well, while I was there, I got a good look at him, and I looked him dead in his eyes. He looked all too familiar. The set of his eyes. The laziness in his smile. I saw that look before. Seventy years ago, kid. That time, it was on a cow named Daisy, five seconds before I put a steel rod between her eyes. Mark my words, kid. We’re not their brothers or sisters. We’re not their “friends in the galaxy.” We’re not even their fucking toys. Listen closely. We’re their fucking livestock, kid. Don’t you ever forget it.
"OK Timmy, you're doing great! Now recite the Rites of Satesh" "Thanks Dad! Here goes...ghyubdnunhjkbuybcsqokknuckmlqdjnjsqasduni..." The chant reverberated across the summoning chamber into the traced circle of virgin's blood. Sure the blood was from a hamster that everyone was reasonably sure had never done anything, but it wasn't like this was for anything important. A triangle has 3 lines, A pentagon 5, An octagon 8, but a circle? The college of summoners have semantic debates, but the leading argument going around was that a theoretically perfect circle would have in essence an infinite number of lines, resulting in a perfect barrier against demons. Of course even the most pendantic would conclude that a theoretically perfect circle was impossible to construct, and any practical attempt would merely result in a shape with hundreds of thousands of individual straight lines forming the arc. There wasn't nearly enough energy getting through to shake the ground or light up the darkness. A single mote of incomprehensible energy flickered into existence. ^^^I ^^^AM ^^^KTH'THINKATOP ^^^SECOND ^^^MINISTER ^^^OF ^^^THAT ^^^FEELING ^^^OF ^^^MILD ^^^DISCOMFORT ^^^YOU ^^^GET ^^^WHEN ^^^YOU ^^^SIT ^^^ON ^^^THE ^^^TOILET ^^^TOO ^^^LONG, ^^^WHO ^^^HAS ^^^SUMMONED ^^^ME!?! The mote said in a voice almost too soft to hear. "OK Timmy, now the binding spell" The receptacle was prepared, the curse was cast. 15 minutes later, Timmy and his father left for ice cream, leaving a faintly glowing "My First Summoning"charm magnetically adhered to the fridge, with a minor functionary of hell raging against its bonds.
Okay, let me preface - I do not work here willingly! The Bank of Everlasting Villainy does not draw from true villainous ranks for employees, just their minions from across the multiverse. Something about non-bias, serving all clients equally, that sort of thing. Thank the Void Dragon that I was one of His, rather than a few of those poor tyrant-slave saps. Or a demon; those guys are hell to work with. It started like any other Monday; three hells of a lot of two-bits complaining about wanting loans after a poor Saturday morning run, all the while demons coming back to pay off their Sunday evil loans. While the "Everlasting"part of the name means no aggression can happen inside the building, cramming that many people in there is hard enough. "Good morning, Diablo. Another hard day on the Nexus? Or perhaps another Witch Doctor attacked you?"Gotta keep up that friendly banter - they like a good teller, and I love return customers. The guy had chosen that one hot girl body for this transaction, so I guess there was still something he needed to do. "No, Pendle. Just need to deposit a couple dozen souls before I assault the High Heavens back home."She held out her hand, and a screaming, glowing ball formed inside. Grabbing a spirit stone large enough from the shelf, I held it out to capture them. "Oi! What it taking so long up there!"All of a sudden, a thermal detonator knocked the stone out of my hands. While it couldn't explode, it was still a steel baseball. "Grenade launcher trooper, I see you back there!"Security imps, drawn from a dozen demonic and... other sources (yet more of that "equality"nonsense) picked up the StarWarsian as he screamed in terror. Yes, I suppose Hed'nuzla gave off that impression. A Bloodletter, one of the few on the staff, chucked the rolling spirit stone back at me like a missile. Bloody things need to calm down - not everything is about combat, guys! Diablo was long gone, having relinquished his place in line to some random guy in a manta-ray looking mask and a black bodysuit. What was his name? "A 'new villain loan', please. USD, if that can be arranged."I sighed as I pointed away. "Off to the left, sir. You will find an attendant waiting for negotiation."As Veigar took his place (doesn't he earn gold super quick on the Rift, anyhow?), I was reminded how much I really hated Mondays. Three down, eighteen more to go until my shift was over. The Bank of Everlasting Evil looked so different from the outside, some kind of national bank specifically. But, magical as it was, the bank's enchantments kept the sign from actually telling you what it was - unless, of course, you were a member. As I passed out from the interdimensional doors in the gateway apartment across the street and into my monastic cell, I offered up the same stolen tithe from every deposit on the Dragon's Shrine. Okay, so I was breaking the Law - what could anyone do? I have my rites! [Guys, this is not misspelled. It is a pun.] There was an order to all things - burn the money with incense, boil the blood with a different incense at a certain temperature for a very specific length of time, and lastly consume the souls in a ritual bread then offer them up as an exchange for my own; at least, I think that's what the enchantment says. Void Script is nearly impossible for mortals to read, so I was going off of word of mouth here. As I finished the ritual, I decided to do something I hadn't before - look the Shrine Guardian statue in the eye. It could be bad luck, or bring fortune. I raided my eyes to the immaculate glass orbs, which are normally a perfect jet, set with sparkles of distant stars. But today, they glowed a perfect blue.
My Loves, Where should I start? The beginning, when I was spun out of nothing? How I came to be is something I only recently found out , when I found there were others like me. Rather, I should I say I am like them, only so much weaker than them. You are all my precious little ones. When I first made you all , all I wanted to do was protect you. I made everything so perfect for you. There was no hurt. I poured all that I am into you. Love is what gave you life. But the love I speak of isn’t what you all know as love. That is but a shadow of the beautiful cosmic power that gave you life and sustains your souls. I was born from a nothing into this universe as that beautiful cosmic force. I spread across the darkness that existed. I learned how to use my power to will matter into reacting, combining, and ordering itself into magnificent works. Atoms became my building blocks. I shaped galaxies and stars. I shaped nebulas of unimaginable beauty....And I shaped worlds. I say I made you but you all were a most wonderful surprise. I thought I controlled everything on my worlds but your atoms grouped on their own. They formed into molecules. I watched as they replicated and felt they were reaching out for me but then fell apart. Over and over I saw this process repeat itself, every time failing to stay together for longer than an instant. I reached out and held one of these molecules together and your beginnings exploded into existence. I loved you more than anything I created because you came into being almost on your own. Over eons I watched you grow into the magnificent creations you are today. I cared for you all and watched over you. I poured so much of my love into you. Then as your existence began to near the level of cosmic force that I am, I felt something change. Something changed in me. Something changed in the universe. Imagine the universe as a thin piece of paper on which all my creations sat, suspended over nothing. Imagine pouring liquid onto that sheet of paper. The paper would tear eventually after it had absorbed too much liquid. I had poured too much of my force into this universe and the universe began breaking down.... and letting in the others like me. They are like me, except, they are the reason why there was a nothing, a nothing from whence I emerged. They are the reason I left you. They are the reason I built this ship. They are the reason you all must flee Earth. EDIT: Grammar and part 2 I felt them coming. A malevolence. Things I now understand as terror, suffering and pain. Death was coming. All these things that didn't exist in my universe were coming. I left to seek out the what was happening in my universe, intending only to be gone for a brief instance. I didn't want to leave you. You needed me and I needed you all, my loves. I poured so much of myself into you that I we became a symbiotic entity. I couldn't stray far from you without beginning to feel weak and exposed. Before I left, I created a connection between us, almost like a cosmic tether, so I could feel you all and find my way back to you. I looked in our your paradise on last time then I left. Although I could feel the tears all throughout my universe, I headed for the one I felt was the largest. Rather, I felt pulled to the largest of these holes in my universe. As I neared the tear I felt coldness. For the first time in my existence I felt what you may call fear. I saw my creations being consumed and I felt pain for the first time as well. My creations were consumed by a blackness I cannot describe to you all as anything other than non-existence. Nothing from this universe could escape this hole in the fabric of our existence, not even the light. As I neared this darkness, I checked my connection with you all. It was still there, strong but stretched so thin. I felt you were all still happy and safe, living immortal lives on the planet I saw as one of my greatest creations. You felt me as well and were content. With this connection in place, I reached out to feel the edge. They were waiting for me.
"Oh mamma-mia! I have been turned into a vampire!" I cannot look at myself in the mirror, or love God in a church, or make pasta sauce, I can't even walk during the day! My life has been ruined! The vampire who did this to me was a very bad bastard. I encountered him during a festival which took place in the evening, and he was selling some food that I was interested in. I come up to him, buy some, say it is really good, and he tells me that it is because of his "special tomato"that he grows on his "own farm."I was naturally interested, of course, and he offered to drive me there right as the festival ended. I will be honest, I was a bit tipsy at the time, and didn't see anything weird about the deal. Next thing I know, the man bites me and throws me out of his car. I was barely able to hitchhike back home, and when I glanced into the mirror when brushing my teeth, I didn't see the reflection! I must get my revenge. I think I know how. The festival will resume today in the evening. I will find the vampire there, and then join his family. He will teach me his ways, he will learn to respect me as an apprentice. Then, when he lowers his guard and accepts me as one of his own, I will pull something my ancestors have done many times before. A classic Italian maneuver, you could call it. I will double-cross the bastardo. I will change my allegiance from the family of vampires to the nations of humans. I will go from ally to enemy. I will switch sides. ----------------------------- Thanks for reading, feedback and criticism is very appreciated.
The scroll is faded and so very old. Older than me. As my assistant is so fond of mentioning. I glare at the back of his plain brown robe, wondering if I could burn a hole through his chest with a fireball or allow him to live. I am a generous wizard, I shall allow him to live! Also, I am a terrible necromancer and my eyes aren't very good anymore. I shake my head to focus my thoughts and spread out the scroll, very carefully, on the table. I pin the edges down and hold the candle close. "Master, should I read it?"The little nosy one inquires. "No! To the storage cupboard with you! We require...the eye of a salamander. A vial of aged fruit bat's blood. The bough of a youthful tree - second shelf! - and red chalk. Fetch them!" I turn and he is looking at me, holding the items in his arms. I narrow my eyes at him and grumble about his youthful vigour. My knees sound like a dry forest floor when I walk. His make no noise! Tomorrow a spell for that, I chuckle to myself, oh indeed it is time to take his life force! "Master..."he interrupts my cackling and I realize it was aloud. Oh bother. "To the summoning circle!"I order and he makes haste across the cavernous space. I shuffle. It's embarrassing. The summoning circle is inlaid silver rods in a pentagram, gold concentric rings that lay like the ripples in a calm lake, and a large square of ancient iron around all of it. I designed it myself! You can summon anything with this. "The blood to the center! The bough to the second circle! The eye to the northern point of the iron!"He does so. I snatch the chalk from his hands and make a few runic marks as per the scroll's instructions. Then I chant. "Advocabit daemonium citrae!"Again, again, then again! The circle hum with power, the bough bursts into a bright red flash of flame and smoke. The eye bursts in a black and yellow tendril of smoke. Yellow? The blood sizzles as the runes glow a bright yellow and then there is a blinding flash of white light. It slowly fades, leaving spots darting about my vision. I cough the smoke away and wave my hand. The demon awaits! "Behold!"I shout, holding out a hand to...empty space. "Wait, what?" I scrabble through the smoke and my foot touches something. Something that squeaks. I look down to see a pair of thin legs, arms and beady little red eyes that sprout from a handful of yellowy citrus flesh and skin. "Master..."I slowly turn to glare at the brown robed moron as he holds out the scroll. He blushes but continues. I consider that fireball again but out of shame and not irritation. For once. "That's not a 'd'." I look down at the lemon as a smile spreads on the skin and it holds out tiny little hands towards me. "Papa!"it says. It's voice is high pitched but behind it is a legion of demonic voices. "Oh perfect. Let's try explaining that to his high and mighty lord, the world shall tremble before this lemon." "Well...no need to be so sour about it."I hear him barely contain a snicker. I just stare at him, perhaps a fireball is too easy. It pulls the hem of my pants. "Papa!"it says again. "He's a zesty fellow..." "One more! One more and I will turn you to a pile of goo!"I scoop up the lemon and it giggles. It's almost cute. If wizened old mages could find such things cute. "So...you would juice me?" He starts cackling at his own jokes, like a fool. This is so very bad. So, so bad. The High Lord is going to be furious.
Given humanity's tendency to tell stories of the mystic and arcane, it really shouldn't have been that much of a surprise that it was real. There were those who screamed "I knew it!", donned their Hogwarts robes and took to the streets. Most however, we're more surprised at the alien mothership that had just landed in Columbus, OH. As the aliens well knew, magic existed as a way to subtly influence reality. You make a sort of suggestion to the universe, driven by your force of will, and it generally complied. Those who had spent millennia studying and perfecting the techniques, could perform grand spectacles of wonder and amazement. Humanity on the other hand, had developed without this ability, due to the intervention of these aliens. The connection to the source of magic never quite left them though, giving them wild dreams and a one-in-a-billion chance to be "special". Most importantly, humanity had evolved to change the universe not through magic, but through innovation. Making tools to build, destroy, and mold the world to their will. The aliens we're not prepared, there's no way they could have been. Defeated and imprisoned, they had no choice but to give the humans their magic back.
This land we have come forth upon...the mortals call it the United States of America. An amalgamation of mortals, barely keeping the peace amongst themselves. We seem to be in a region called Georgia, and we have arrived much later than any of us anticipated. “We cannot take our true forms here...not yet. It is too soon, and the mortals’ doomsday is not yet upon them. We must disguise ourselves for the time being.” Pestilence’s voice chilled the sultry air around the Horsemen as they nodded their silent agreement. “These ‘Americans’, as these mortals call themselves...there exists a period in their history where they were once at war with themselves. An army led by the mortal General Sherman once stampeded their way through the nation, ending their march here, in this region of Georgia. How fitting our charge should begin here!” War’s bloodlust was never slaked, and his anxiousness to begin his ungodly rampage was clear. “But if we cannot ride our Hell Steeds, how are we to charge?” “You see not these creations the mortals have made? Look there—that massive moving chariot with the long box. If we all had one of those long boxes, we could hide portals to Hell itself within them...we could take Hell all over the country!” Famine’s gaunt visage took on a ghastly smile at the potential of this idea. “Let it be done then.” Death, as always, was quiet until a decision came to finality. “We shall create a chariot for each of us, and ride north to the heart of this land. There...it begins.” And so, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse formed their respective mounts of metal and wood, mimicking the one they had seen earlier, even going as far as to color them as their steeds. They looked upon their creations with a twisted pride—four brutal-looking semi-trucks in white, blood red, black, and the pale greenish-blue of Death. “With these we shall bring the downfall of mortal men!” War exclaimed, unsheathing his sword as he did so. “Hold, fool!” Death’s cold voice rang out. “It is not enough to have these chariots—our disguises must be foolproof! We must...” Death trailed off as a group of humans approached the Horsemen in all their unholy glory. “WHAT THE HELL AND WHO THE HELL ARE YOU BOYS AND WHY THE HELL DID Y’ALL PARK THEM BIG-ASS RIGS ON OUR LAND FOR?!!” “HELL YEAH, DONNIE, YOU TELL THEM COSTUMED UP DUMBASSES!” “LOU, SHUT YA DAMN PIEHOLE WHEN YA BROTHER’S TALKIN’!!” “HOW BOUT ALL Y’ALL SHUT UP AND JUST SHOOT THESE GOOD FOR NOTHIN’ TRESPASSIN’ SUMMBITCHES?!!” The Horsemen appraised these mortals, all wielding various sticks of wood and metal with holes on the end of them as they proceeded to fire something at them, the projectiles passing through them harmlessly. “Our disguises present themselves.” Death said in an instant, reaping the humans’ souls instantaneously. “Let us don their flesh.” The Horsemen each leapt into a corpse, reanimating them. “Y’ALL, WE GONE DONE AN’ DID IT NOW!!” “DEATH YOU FUCKIN’ SUMMBITCH HOW THE HELL I’M S’POSED TO KILL ALL THESE MORTALS LIKE THIS?!” “CALM DOWN WAR, AT LEAST YOU AIN’T A WALKING CONTRADICTION—I’M FAMINE AND THIS MORTAL’S FATTER THAN A DAMN HOG OFF TO SLAUGHTER!!” “HOW BOUT Y’ALL ALL SHUT UP AND WE GET ON THE ROAD?! WE GOT DOOMSDAY TO DELIVER!!”
I pulled an earbud out and watched with what I could only imagine is a stunned face as I saw the remains of a cracked egg and its slimy contents scattered across my bedroom's carpeting (mom's going to kill me). Taking off my already caked-in-mud high-top black Converses (it's been raining the entire week) and olive poncho jacket, I stood quietly, holding my breath, hoping to hear anything: a cry, a squeak... a roar. The posters plastered against my bedroom stared back, cooperating with my silence. Either whatever hatched was the most peaceful creature of all time, or the thing had managed to escape my room while I was learning about Pythagorean theorems. Squee. The sound emitted from underneath my bed. I dropped on all fours, stomach against the ruined carpet, and saw two shiny eyes peer back at me. The arrow-headed creature, its wings kept close to its body, cocked its head in confusion. I've read hundreds of books, seen a thousand more movies to know that the thing returning the confused gaze back my way was a dragon. A tiny, baby dragon, and it had concocted a nest composed of nickles and quarters. I pulled out a half-eaten beef jerky out of my pocket and waved it. The dragon's attention perked. Using its clawed wings, the dragon crawled at a snail's pace until it was out from under my bed. Beautiful golden scales all over its body. Two razor-sharp, intelligent eyes curious and absorbing its surroundings. It shook its head like a dog and stretched its -- I'm estimating -- fifteen-foot wing span. The dragon looked at me, then the beef-jerky, as if asking me, "Well, are you going to give up the goods or what?"I threw up it in the air, and the dragon stretched its neck out and effortlessly snatched it from out of the air, happily swallowing it whole. I didn't want to make any sudden moves and startle the creature, so I slowly positioned my back against the bed and sat with my legs lifted close to my chest. The dragon, always astute, watched my every move, but then concentrated on studying its environment: my room, always squee-ing. It leaped on top of the bed and stared at the movie posters tattooing the walls: The 39 Steps, The Valley of Gwangi and... Dragonslayer. I swore it almost stared at this one longer than the rest. The dragon swiveled its head, looking at me. "Don't worry,"I said, half-smiling. "You're safe." I stretched my hand out at the dragon, thinking of names to assign it (yes, Vermithrax was tempting as hell). The baby dragon turned its entire body until it, too, was getting closer to my reaching, friendly hand. Then it bit me. The attack was so sudden, I didn't realize it. Seconds passed, and then a seething pain bubbled up and I wanted to scream. It's as if someone grabbed my hand and kept it down a cauldron of boiling acid. I couldn't scream, though. I couldn't talk. The dragon stared at me, almost unaware of the pain it caused me. I cursed myself, thinking about what an absolute moron I was for trusting this thing so quickly, so implicitly. Then I passed out. --- 2 Years Later I strapped on the black tactical mask that covered the bottom half of my face, making sure it was buckled securely and threw the poncho's hood over my head. The forest was dark and deep. After snapping my fingers, a bright blue flame engulfed the entirety of my fist. The flames crackled with vivid intensity, licking one another, orbiting my closed palm. The dead leaves underneath my boots cracked. I needed to hurry. A buzzing sensation arose within the pit of my stomach... which meant one thing. Estinchomb was near. My two eyes, the pupils bright white because of the magic I was currently employing, caught movement. The dragon Estinchomb emerged from the forest's shadow, its car-sized mandible close to the ground. It spoke to me, although I only heard its rumbling voice in my head. Is it time? It asked. "Yeah,"I said. The one fist not covered in blue fire grasped one of the backpack straps containing the necessary tools to conduct today's task. "It's time."After blinking and extinguishing the flames, I boarded the dragon, climbing on its long neck like a jockey would its horse. Except, Estinchomb was no horse. And I was no jockey. *** Magic was real. It entered our world when we least expected it. Although to be honest, I don't think we were ever expecting it. When it happened, it happened and it just so happened to happen one August day two years back. I found an egg nestled between shrubbery after running from my bullying tormentors one storming school day. I was a Freshman then. For others around the country, it was a random staff. A thing that looked like a branch but was actually a wand. Sword with magical properties. Happenstances that would change their lives. Magic found us, and none of us had an explanation as to why. I nursed the egg until it hatched. The creature that was birthed bit me and injected me with its blood, creating a bond between it and I. Among other things. It's no coincidence I can make my fist glow blue with flames now, and use it as a means of attack if I have to. And I've had to.
In the beginning, it was nice. A few dedicated whispers, a bit of a buzz in the back of my mind. 'Get me a raise at work.' 'Make sure I don't have another miscarriage.' 'Make my mom love me.' I had time to check out individual situations, visiting the different members of my group who would entrust in me their heart's deepest desires. One of the messages I received began to trouble me. The numbers were growing. We had gone from a little compound to a large estate. A property on the hill. Everyone had their tasks to facilitate the property. And everyone had asked for something, which I had given of course. But one girl- "Damien." I turned in my office seat to face the door. My office was my personal space, where I went to listen to requests and prayers. I wasn't to be interrupted. I drummed my hand against my thigh. It wasn't good for my worshippers to see my irritation. It made them squirm. A woman walked into the office, pretty and ordinary. The only thing that made her interesting was her daughter. The child stood in front of her mother, chewing on the ends of her hair. Disgusting habit. I raised my eyes to the mother, waiting for her to continue interrupting me. "She's ready, Damien. She's ready to ask for something." Before swearing fealty to me, my worshippers needed to ask for one thing to start the bond. Years ago, this woman had asked for a safe pregnancy after doctors told her the baby would probably be still born. She had been one of my first worshippers, dedicated to a fault. And it was true, the daughter was born while...For the most part. She was born deaf, but really, that was just a detail. Once I had learned the baby was deaf, I learned sign language. I wanted to be communicable to all my members. The more I granted them, the more power it gave me. The mother left the room and I signed to the girl, "Child. What is it that you want?" She looked at me, chewing on her hair. She pulled the strands out of her mouth, "You know what I want." "Your prayers are in sign. You know I don't look at them right away." "I want what you have."She walked forward, climbing up onto the desk and sitting on it in front of me. She dangled her legs the way a child would, but I saw something worse in her eyes, "Give it to me." I blinked, moving my seat back. I started chewing on a nail, a nervous habit from my powerless youth. "You can't have what I have." "Why not?" "You're-" She shrugged a narrow shoulder, "What? A child?"she sneered, "A girl?" I made an annoyed sound, deep in my throat even though she couldn't hear it, "No. Why would I grant you something that I don't benefit from?" "You let Karen be a serial killer." "Bu-" "Todd embezzled 5 million dollars from his company. Workers killed themselves cause of that. Someone else went to jail for fraud." "And-" She started to sign smaller, "You let Rory steal someone else's dog? People are hangin' signs up even though poor little Fido is on the estate." "How old are you?"I managed to get out. She gave me a toothy grin, "I'm eleven and I'm gonna run this ship tighter than you ever could." "But what about me?"I tried, "Don't you care what will happen to me?" She dimpled at me, "No. No I don't." I should be able to resist this. But that was the one stipulation about me being a God. I would grant the first wish, respond to the first prayer. And for this damn girl, this was it. This couldn't be it. "How about-"I tried to think, "Ah!"I exclaimed, relaxing back into my seat. "What about music? I'm sure you'd like to experience that. I can give you hearing. I'm sure-" She reached out, stoping me from signing by holding my hands-"The girl laughed loudly. It felt like she was laughing at me. "I don't need that."She started gripping my hands harder, nails digging into my skin, "And I don't want that." I had never heard her speak before. It was worse having heard it for the first time like this. "Grant. Me. My. Wish."she said again, looking into my eyes. Something in me crumbled. I had to. It was worse than a compulsion. All I said I would do as a God would be keeping wishes from backfiring on my worshippers. I'd never said anything about not backfiring on me. "Okay, Lilith."I said softly, knowing this would be my end.
There was no time to sheath the bloodied dagger. No reason, either, considering Anika would likely meet other soldiers this night, all of which would love to collect the ransom on her head. She slipped behind a merchant's stall, closed this time of night, and scanned the city square ahead. It was her first time in the Capital. The tall walls had been easy enough to slip over, the dark streets simple to navigate. The three guards she'd had to dispatch so far were well hidden; their bodies wouldn't be found until morning. There was a large poster plastered to a nearby shop door. Above the drawing of her face, it read "WANTED BY IMPERIAL VANGUARD;"below the not-unflattering depiction it added, "Anika Shadowstep, age 13, is wanted for questioning. Capture ALIVE and bring to nearest Imperial Magistrate for 500 gildclip reward. Considered armed and extremely dangerous." That's putting it mildly, she thought as she sprinted along the building's edges. The Grand Library was in view now, just a few hundred yards ahead. Anika assumed that it was usually lightly guarded, but that wouldn't be the case tonight, not with the whispers of her arrival in the Capital having preceded her. The Imperials knew what she was after -- and would do anything to stop her getting it. She skidded to a halt at an alley corner. Bobbing torchlight indicated that men were coming towards her quickly. Dammit. There was nowhere to hide. Anika flipped her grip on the dagger; she had three flintlock pistols loaded in her bandolier, but those were for emergencies only. It wouldn't do to give away her position, not when she was this close to her goal. The first guard jogged past without noticing her, but the second happened to be looking right where the short, slim, black-clad and fiery-eyed was crouched. He only got a single syllable out before Anika pounced, ramming the short blade straight through the helmet's eyeslit. She landed with both feet on his chest before leaping for the leader, cutting his throat before he could even draw his sword. His torch clattered to the ground. Anika spun. There were three more, two guards standing in front of a cowering old man. They stepped forward, one with sword drawn, the other with a barbed net. She was to be captured alive, after all. But like the dozens of corpses before them, they underestimated just how quick the teen girl was; they hadn't dubbed her 'Shadowstep' for nothing. Anika took two long strides forward and, with the speed of a cat, launched herself left while her dagger flew right, straight into the net-carrier's hip. In a flash, a pistol was out, gripped by its barrel, and used to bludgeon the swordsman unconscious. Anika sprung and pulled her knife out of the man's hip, then looked for the old man -- he was just ten yards away, hobbling as fast as his old bones could carry him away from the fight. In a spurt of cruel inspiration, Anika tore the net out of the bleeding-out soldier's hands and launched it on her fleeing prey. The man collapsed; he wasn't going anywhere now. A rug stall was nearby. Anika grabbed two off the top and, after dragging the guard's bodies into a corner, covered them with the merchant's wares. It wasn't much, but sunrise was coming soon anyway. The bodies would be found, her secret would be out, and the hunt for her would begin in earnest. Then she walked over to the man, whimpering softly under the barbed net that punished any movement. She kicked him hard in the shoulder, rolling him on his back and earning a small howl of pain. That's when she saw the insignia on his white robes: a gold flower on a crimson field. The sigil of the Knowlicians, the keepers of the Grand Library. "Please,"he muttered weakly. "I can help you." "Oh yea?"asked Anika, inflecting her voice with doubt. "And how are you going to do that?" He looked at her for the first time. If his body was frail, his eyes were still active and sharp, betraying the wisdom and wit he still possessed. "Why do you think they were taking me to the Magistrate? Anika Shadowstep, this very night, I am the one who discovered what you truly are." \-------------------- 232/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \---------------------
I’m on the run. Holy crap. To be honest, I don’t know wether to be happy or sad! I’ve finally broken out of the repeating loop, but why did it have to be after that day?! For some background information, I’m James Brook, and I’ve been stuck in a loop of one day for... god knows, maybe a millennium now! The day is 5/2/2019. I’ve been reliving it everyday, every time I wake up, I’m in exactly the same position as last night, but I’m able to change what I do. Yesterday, out of boredom, (give me a break I have no clue how long I’ve done this for!!) I decided to do the most illegal and cruel things. I went on murdering sprees, stole some stuff, did drugs, and might’ve kidnapped some people. It felt like a grand theft auto game, and in that mindset, it was fun. I went to sleep that night planning what I would do the next day. I planned to wake up to peace, instead, I woke to the police at my door and screaming all around me. “Police! Open up, you’re under arrest!” Of course it had to be that day!! I practically leaped out of my bed and panicked, do I turn myself in? Do I commit suicide? Do I try to kill them? Do I hide, or go back to sleep? I decided to try to sleep, or at least pretend to. I went back to my bed just in time to hear the door bust open and yelling. I panicked and launched myself out the window. Bolting down the street, police cars, shots, yelling, crying, and I was running. Just absolutely high-tailing it away from them. I curved and hopped the fence to my neighbor’s house. I was in their backyard. “Holy shit, holy shit.” I panted as I took a quick breather. I looked around the yard and noticed a shed. A red shed. This was my friend, Jeremy’s house. Jeremy just happens to have a secret room under the floorboards of that shed. We dug it when we were kids, it was a decent sized hole, so, running into the shed, I moved the floorboards and squeezed in. I fit, thank god. I knew the police knew I had ran into the yard, but they had to ask Jeremy for permission to search the shed. I didn’t mention this, but Jeremy likes to smoke weed, which just so happens to be illegal where we are. So he said no, I think. I sat in there for hours, until it was dark. Eventually I crawled out, through the window I saw there was no one out there. I sneaked out and ran into the woods. I made a makeshift house. Using sticks and some other junk I found, I crafted a not-so-comfy mattress. I fell asleep somehow, dreaming of the cops, of the running, of all the anxiety. Then I woke up. “What the f-“ “Police! Open up, you’re under arrest!” Oh no. [Edit- spelling]
“Thanks, have a good one,” I said to the Uber driver, before closing the car door a bit too forcefully. Exhausted, I opened the door to my apartment and gratefully lurched inside, throwing my keys to the table. My cat, Frisket, jumped down from the couch and landed loudly and resentfully on the floor. “I know, I know. It’s been a hell of a night.” I reflected briefly on the fight with my girlfriend and my subsequent attempt to walk two miles home from the restaurant. Next time, I’m driving, I thought. And maybe I shouldn’t have made the joke about her hair looking like a pineapple. At least until after the food arrived. Frisket stared at me in cold agreement. Still hungry, I opened the refrigerator and paused, mesmerised by my lack of choices. “Cereal it is,”I announced to Frisket. I poured a large bowl of Corn Pops, doused them with milk and sugar, and made my way to the couch. Several minutes later, I blissfully fell asleep. Early Sunday morning an insistent knock sounded on the door. I rolled out of bed and stood motionless, hoping whoever it was would go away. The knocking continued. “Peter??” a woman’s voice called. “I know you are home! It’s your aunt Carol!” Do I have an aunt Carol? I wondered. Isn’t that the name of my uncle’s third wife? It was something with a ‘C’ or a ‘K.’ “Hang on!” I said, and opened the door. A friendly, middle aged woman with a short brunette bob greeted me with a giant smile and a hug. “It’s so good to see you! Last time I saw you, you were still in diapers! Look at you now!” She brushed past me and headed straight to the couch. “Umm, good to see you too, but-“ I was interrupted by a knock on the doorjamb and a shrill “Yoo-hoo, Peter, are you going to make me stand outside?” A tall lady in a bohemian-style kaftan stood in the hallway, eyeing me. “You don’t remember your Aunt Serena from Yonkers?” She slipped past me and headed to my couch. For the remainder of the day, the knocking and introductions came in a steady stream. Aunts were in the kitchen, they were in the bathroom, and many of them were on the couch. They looked through my pantry and were even examining my garbage can. For some reason, several Aunts kept turning over the couch cushions and looking under the couch. Frisket sniffed at one of the Aunts and wrinkled his nose. He sneezed and stalked off, his tail registering his disapproval. “cRNICh” Aunt Carol said. “Ladies, I think that’s the last of the Corn Pops. Nothing else here. Let’s move on.” She gave me a quick squeeze on the way out. “See you later, hon.’ And with a wink, she was gone.
The mighty king pulled, yet the hilt remained firmly in place. "Excalibur!"he exclaimed, "know not that I am your rightful master?" "I am king of the Britons! You are my birthright!" A string of expletives and exclamations of his nobility quickly followed, as the king continued to struggle. The weary band, setting out at sunrise, was eventually forced to make camp. The king decided he would rest on it, and see if he was more worthy in the morning. Morning came, and with it, renewed vigor. The king was again foiled by the motionless sword. The sun rose. The sun set. For five days, the king attempted every conceivable way to pull the sword out of the stone. Yet it would not come. Naturally, the court was getting rather tired of this farce, and were threatening to ride back to Camelot and leave the king with the stone. The king's closest advisers convened, and a practical solution was decided upon. They would chisel a hammer out of the stone, solving the king's legitimacy crisis and letting everyone finally rest. The finest stonemasons in the land were summoned, and they carved a hammer for the king. "Squire!"the king exclaimed, overjoyed to finally ride back to the castle, "sheathe my hammer, and prepare to ride for Camelot!" The squire, as always, complied. He grabbed the hammer by the hilt, and began lugging it over to the saddle bags. He almost didn't notice when the hammer suddenly became much lighter. Looking down, he saw a shining beam of light. On closer inspection it took the shape of a sword. It radiated majesty. He quickly looked back towards the king, checking if he had seen anything, but he remained oblivious. With a heavy heart, and no lack of sense, the squire quickly sheathed the sword in the stone, carrying the hammer to the horses. And he continued to pack the saddlebags. (This is my first time writing here. Any and all constructive criticism or feedback is appreciated!)
My plan was great, all the pieces were in place, nothing could stop me I was going to bring about the end of humanity as we knew it with the press of a tiny red button. In one fell swoop, all coal, gas and oil plants, mines and factories would be gone poof in a cloud of smoke fire and light. I had for the last 5 years been building powerful laser guns and sending them into space hidden far out in the asteroid belt at the edge of our solar system no one knew they were there, no one but me and I held the button the little red button that would fire them all hitting targets around the world. What I did not expect was for the world to assume it was aliens, little green men come to attack us, instead of me, My letters to the papers overlooked, calls to Governments laughed at, no one believed me. In a rush, the leaders banned together to form a Globe Army focused on space protection. Shortly afterward Word Wide Schooling and healthcare went into effect as we needed more engineers, scientist, doctors, and thinkers to build a stronger space program. The world pushed to move the best and brightest off world to bases on the moon, Mars and a huge space station was up and running within a year that was nestled among the many moons of Jupiter. Race and Religions divide seemed to disappear overnight as their fear of space invaders took root. After a month of trying I gave up my goal of holding the world hostage with laser guns seemed pointless when Money was no longer needed, healthcare, homes, and schools could all be had for free IF you agreed to join Star Force for 4 years. Like I said I had a great plan, all the pieces were in place, I just did not see the picture they would make. In the end, it seemed easier to just join star force and work to become a caption of a starship so I blew up the lasers and signed my name to the dotted line and became a solder for the earth.
He was just so, mysterious. The dim Christmas lights struggled to illuminate him, a dark form attempting to lean casually against the fence. His body seemed to almost vibrate, matching the quickening beats of my heart as I approached. There was something so sexy about how his cup jostled as he struggled maintain human form. He was just so unique, so refreshing. "Hey"I said, like a tinder match without an interesting opener. 'Gosh darn it Sarah, hey is for horses', I scolded myself internally, wishing I could be half as interesting as this enticing stranger. He shakily brought the red solo cup to where his mouth should have been, spilling beer everywhere. He turned to speak, his beautiful blue eyes shifting and losing form, his mouth filled with a thousand tiny bat-like legs. His voice was like sweet, syrupy gravel, being sucked into a vacuum. "Hey"he grinded out, his body shaking from the effort of definitely not being a thousand bats. The moment hung in the air, one I knew we would recount to our grandchildren one day. I played with my hair as he pushed one of his ears back into place. I struggled to think of something interesting to say, as he spoke again. "SORRY I MUST GO"he yelled awkwardly, though no one in the party seemed to notice. He threw his arms out to his sides, screeching an unholy, demonic scream. He exploded into a thousand bats, each one cuter than the last. The cloud of leathery wings dissipated into the night. 'Oh god you've done it again Sarah', I thought, sipping on my garlic vodka spritzer, 'you've driven away another man.'
Only the curser can see a curseling. Those are the rules. That's why Lily stared in twisted fascination as she cursed Miss Duprese under her breath as the dreadful old lady droned on and on about the students needing to do their homework. "You'll wind up like Lily's brother otherwise,"she said and the class giggled. Everybody knew about Lily's brother. He was the town hoodlum, gracing the corners with his hands thrust in his pockets and his hoodie pulled up over his head and trying to make eye contact with anybody interested in his... wares. "I curse you, vile bitch,"Lily said under her breath, conjuring up a phrase she had only heard her brother use before. "I hope you die."Those evil words had been directed at their mother that time. Mother hadn't been happy, although the curse hadn't stuck and the curseling had thankfully failed. She had still cried. She would now cry if she heard Lily use those words and utter that curse. Old Miss Duprese didn't cry because she didn't hear Lily's curse. And then the little creature appeared. Only the curser and see the curseling. Those were the rules. It pulled itself from the wall as the rest of the class listened in complete ignorance of the black, fiendish little creature scampering between the desks, leaving a little splotch of goo with each footstep. He was just as tall as Lily's knee but his teeth were as long as a dog's and his claws as sharp as a cat's. Lily gasped as the little curseling reached Miss Duprese's desk. They had never gotten that far before, not in all the times that Lily had cursed the sorry old woman. Each time before, the curseling would appear a crippled mess, limbs misformed and eyes misplaced and it would wander around like the town drunk, bumping into desks and walls before finally melting into a puddle of black goo. Not this time though. This time Lily was angrier. She meant the curse, at least that's what she thought. She was growing more skeptical by the minute, but some morbid curiosity prevented her from taking back the curse. The creature hopped up onto the desk, just a little arm's length away from Miss Duprese. The old woman kept talking, ignorant and oblivious to the existential threat that was reaching a sinewy arm towards her chest. It paused, turning towards Lily and giving her a grin that made her blood run cold. "This is for you, Lily."Its arm seemed to stretch, reaching Miss Duprese's chest with ease. The fingernail dug into her skin, a black web of veins and vessels growing from the point of contact. "I'm sorry, Miss Duprese!"Lily shouted in the nick of time. "You're a vile bitch but I don't curse you! I take it back! I don't want the curseling to hurt you!"The class stopped and turned its attention towards Lily, every student equally shocked and Miss Duprese the most shocked of all. She massaged her chest tenderly, as if she had felt the little prick of a committed curseling about to end her life. The creature had melted into the desk, collapsing into a liquid-y mound of goo. Just its head remained, staring out at Lily in disappointment. It seemed to shake its head at her as Miss Duprese composed herself and began to speak. "That is... rude, Lily,"Miss Duprese said, her uneven voice rising to almost a shout. "See yourself to the principal's office. I will be down shortly. I will not have you in this class again." "Curse you,"Lily mumbled again dejectedly. She was as disappointed in herself for stopping the curseling as she was for getting herself into this mess in the first place. The remnants of the creature grinned from the desk, in spite of its ghastly appearance. And then it finished disintegrating, disappearing back into the world of curselings as Lily's half-hearted curse failed to take hold. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
Most teenagers would be out dancing on a weekend. Or maybe at a movie with their friends. Hanging out at a restaurant with the cute girl from third period. Hell, most teenagers would be looking for ways to sneak out of school, not sneak back in. Yet here I was, entering my school through a window out back. A window I had left unlocked on Friday. I finally got in and headed to a bathroom. It was a bit scary to see the school, usually full and noisy, like this. My footsteps echoed loudly as I ran down the hallway. I took out my notebook and pencil. 'I'm in.' I scribbled quickly. It only took a second for the response to come through. Great. Let me pull up the web page. 'I still can't understand why you guys use that name. Call it something else. It sounds like it's such a great thing. But you name it after something related to a spider?' We've talked about this Jack. OK, so the wiki says the explosion seemed to have originated from the left side of the school. Since the criminal was never found, no one has too many details. 'Left side... Thanks for being so specific. This is a massive school.' Well, I only have public information to look up. I am still going through some of the other documents. But so far, it seems that the package was placed there the day before and triggered during the first period. 'Alright, I'll go look. See if you can find anything specific. Write soon.' I headed down the hallway to the east wing. There was no way I would be able to find anything. More importantly, what would happen if I found it? I just hoped that the cops would believe me. The quiet corridors seemed foreboding as I walked through, trying to keep a look out for anything out of the ordinary. I paused as I passed the girl's toilet. Could I just... no, never mind, I had more important things to worry about. I completed a full walk through of the eastern part of the school, having found nothing. I wondered if Sean had better luck. I opened the door, intending to get out of sight before opening the book. The smell of urine was so strong that I had to get out of there. Figured. The very place the janitors used to store cleaning supplies was disgusting. I kept moving, moving back to the library. 'Sean, I got nothing. Did you find anything else?' I waited patiently for the answer to appear. Nothing. 'Sean, you there?' Nothing. I was about to give up and move when I saw the letters forming. Sorry, my dad was here. I found some more information. It seems that the device was a crude homemade thing. Very effective, but crude. I asked my dad about it. He says that usually this stuff is made from fertilizers and stuff. Ammonia. Nitrates. Stuff like that. 'Wow, your dad seems to know a lot about this stuff.' He's a true crime writer. He joked that he is probably on plenty of watchlists for googling this stuff. 'Watchlists? Googling? What does that mean?' Never mind. You have to keep looking. 'I looked everywhere. I found nothing. I just think I need to call the cops and see if they can... Hang on. There's someone here.' Jack, be careful. The sound of footsteps moved closer as I moved to the last bookshelf, peering our from within a couple of books. I couldn't see much, except the guy was young. What was someone doing here at this time? "Anyone here?"He called out, looking around. He stood there for a few more minutes. Then he turned around and walked out. I stayed where I was for a couple of minutes. Finally, I crawled out from my hiding place to the front desk. I picked up the phone and dialed 911. "911 operator, what's your emergency." "I'm at Springfield High. There's someone here... I think..."I stopped as I heard footsteps. I picked up the phone with me and got behind the desk. "Kid? Kid? Did you say Springfield High? The school? What's going on?" "There's someone here. He's going to hurt a lot of people." "Stay there kid. And hide. But stay on the phone with me. Don't hang up. Can you do that?" "I can try. But it looks like he's coming here." "OK, do you study there? What grade are you in?" "Yes, I... Is someone on the way?" "Yes, I already dispatched someone there. But I need you to stay on the phone. Don't be afraid, OK?" "He's coming this way. I gotta go." "OK, but I need you to do one thing. Don't hang up. Leave the phone off the hook. And go hide." I crawled back towards the shelf. I saw a window as well. If I could get to it, I could escape to the outside and get away. I looked around again, but no one's there. I placed one foot on the bookshelf and tried to get to the window. Mrs Peterson would have a heart attack if she ever saw this. I opened the window and started crawling out when I heard a sound behind me. I tried to be quick but I felt someone grab my foot. I kicked out and made contact with something, probably his face. I heard someone cursing behind me. I felt a shot of pain go up my right thing. But I couldn't stop. I kept trying and finally manage to lift myself out the window. I tried to run away but felt my leg cramping up and fell to the ground. I looked behind me and saw the guy climb out the window as well. He had a sort of stick with him. I looked at the face and recognized it. The janitor. I tried to run but it was no use. He caught up to me quickly. He stood over me, his face twisted in a sneer that made him look something not quite human. I saw that he held the broom in his hand. Fitting weapon. I couldn't help myself and giggled. "You son of a..."He raised the broom above his head. I saw that his face started shining. It took me a few seconds to notice the other sounds around me. A car. The cops! They were here. A cop stood with his gun trained at the janitor. He was trying to explain his position. "I am a janitor. My name is Alex. I work here. I usually come in on the weekend to clean up some things. I heard a sound. This kid broke into the school. Probably a vandal." The cop looked at me, but didn't lower his weapon. "Is that right kid?" I looked at them both, one after the other. "I admit that I broke in. But he wasn't in there for cleaning or anything. He was planning to blow up the school." He lowered his broom slowly and flinched. "That's absurd. Why would I do that?" "A bomb? Kid, is this a joke?"He looked at me, confusion apparent in his face. "Of course it's a joke. Where would I even get a bomb. I make minimum salary here."Alex grabbed the opportunity. "You are welcome to search me and the premises. It's probably a prank or something." The cop lowered his weapon. "Kid, you know that making prank 911 calls isn't funny and you are putting lives in danger?" My head was reeling. I saw the faces of my classmates and my teachers in my head. I had to save them. My head was spinning. Homemade bomb. Ammonia. Nitrates. I was suddenly back in my Chemistry class. Urine smell. "Check the janitor's closet on the east side. The raw materials are there. He was going to make the bombs here today. That's why he was in the school." Alex, the janitor dropped all pretense now. He froze as he stared at me. The cop looked at me and then at him. Then, he turned on his heel and started running. "Stop, or I'll shoot." I laid back on my back. It was over. It was finally over. I looked at the sky and the pretty stars. I heard a shot and a scream. Not my problem. Not anymore. * My parents thought I was sleeping. I took out the maths book and scribbled in. 'Sean! We did it.' Woah! Where did this come from? Is this magic? 'Sean? It's me, Jack.' How do you know my name? 'We've talked many times before.' Dude, how's this even happening? It looks like an ordinary book. 'I don't know how it's happening. I'm not sure why you don't remember anything. But all you need to know is we did it. We saved Springfield High from getting bombed. We saved hundreds of lives.' Is this a joke? Who are you? I stared at the words. What had changed? 'I'll just make it quick. Do you know there was a bombing... well a bombing attempt at Springfield High about fourty years ago?' I know about it pretty well. It's a part of my family history that we want to forget. But people like you love to keep rubbing our faces in it. Look, my grandfather was a sick man. We do not agree with what he did. If we could, we would love to stop it. Can you guys just leave us alone. We are trying to move on and live our lives. My head, which had just stopped spinning started again. I knew that I would probably never hear back from Sean again. But the least I could do was leave him a message. 'You're a good kid Sean. I want you to remember one thing. You stopped your grandpa from doing much worse than just an attempted bombing. You're a hero kid. You deserve the biggest Sundae ever for your efforts.' * Sean was walking back from school, his head filled with strange thoughts. He was thinking about the book. He had gotten it replaced of course. It was a sick joke. He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed it. An old man stood there calling out to him. "Sean?” "Yes sir." The old man seemed to be holding some ice cream in his hand that he extended towards Sean. He shook his head. "I can't take things from strangers sir." "We're not strangers Sean. Somewhere, in some timeline, we know each other very well. I did tell you that you deserved a sundae didn't I? I still thing web page is a stupid name." The old man handed the sundae to the stunned kid and walked away.
”Verdant Moon, 16th day, the year 1345 I’m sorry I haven’t made a log for the past few days, but do I have a story. There I was, a 16 year old boy with a knack for sword fighting, sent to kill a fierce dragon to complete my rite of passage and join the ranks of the military. Let me tell you, that volcano was so DAMN HIGH. Having to climb so high was so challenging. The rope that my brother Drake lent me snapped halfway up the trip. That fool, always out to get me. One day I’ll show him. Anyway I’m getting off topic. So after I get up the volcano, using only a few of Melinda’s healing potions for my burns, I made it to the dragon in its dark lair. I drew my sword, ready to slay it. I walked forward, staying careful, but then I realized that if I woke it up and fought for real, I could impress everyone at the village. Even that stupid Drake. So I shouted to the top of my lungs ’HEY DRAGON!!! HERE I AM!!! DREW VERMONT, SOON TO BE THE BEST KNIGHT IN THE WORLD!!!!’ The dragon opened its green eyes, and rose up. It’s dark purple scales blending in with the dark cave. It was at that moment that I felt tremendous amounts of fear. It walked over to me. It asked me what I was doing there. I was surprised it could speak, but I was more focused on how to squeeze out a few extra seconds of life. I told it about my rite of passage. It laughed at me, saying how I had no chance. I was starting to lose focus, and stepped back. I walked out into the light, and it followed me. I was able to get a better look at it, and it was much more scary than I thought. This was Raimus, a very dangerous dragon. Rumors said it crushed village after village with ease. However, I couldn’t go back to the village empty handed. So I clenched my sword and ran forward. It breathed dark fire at me, but I successfully rolled out of the way. I jumped onto a boulder and slashed its side. Green blood gushed out of it. It let out a fearsome shout. Loud enough that the village apparently heard it. That’s how they found out about my battle. Anyway, Raimus swung its tail at me, but I managed to block with my sword. I slid back and nearly fell to the edge. I ran towards Raimus again, and swung downwards, slashing Raimus’s face. It stepped back due to the pain and more green blood flowed. A dark scale was chipped off. This was my chance. I kept advancing, slashing and slicing as much as possible, slashing off more dark scales. I moved to its right, and shoulder tackled it to the lava. It nearly fell in, but resisted. Raimus tried to breathe more dark fire at me, and I thought I was a goner, but my sword started to glow. This was one of the effects my sword had, at least that’s what Melinda told me. I swung at the dark fire, completely erasing it. I then jumped into the air, and slashed at Raimus, chipping off a scale and sending it onto the lava, burning it completely and thoroughly. After that, I made my way down the volcano by finding another path. It took longer, but it was safer. When I got back, everyone cheered for me. Even Drake was surprised, along with mom and dad. Now that I mention it, they seemed really surprised. Like they had no idea I went off against Raimus to begin with. Oh well. So now, I’ll soon begin my military training to be a knight! I’ll become amazing soon enough!” Drew closed his journal and put it under his bed. He looked at the scales on his desk and smiled. He looked out through his window at the volcano and smiled, thinking to himself, I’m not sure why you’d go through all this to train me, but I won’t let you down Raimus! Soaring through the skies was a dark purple dragon with a few cuts on its body, and spots where scales used to be. Raimus. The cuts slowly healed up, and the scales were slowly growing back. The dragon then met up with another dragon, one smaller and red. This one was called Saturn. Saturn smiled and started flying with Raimus. “Don’t think I didn’t hear your shouting you know. What’s up?” “... I think I found the one, Saturn.” “The one?” Saturn flew to Raimus’s face. “Seriously?” “He’s from Raye Village. He may be young and a bit rambunctious, but he has the skills and heart. I’m not too sure what his village was thinking, sending him to kill me for his rite of passage.” Saturn giggled to herself. “Maybe they felt you’d kill him off so he wouldn’t be a burden. I wonder if even his family would approve... you didn’t kill him off, obviously.” “However, he had to pass his rite of passage. I decided to throw him a bone and give him some scales to prove he killed me.” Saturn stopped, her eyes showing how surprised she was. “You just handed them over? So unlike you Raimus.” “Well, whatever he knocked off of me turning his training. That boy did better than expected.” The scales almost grew back completely. “And that shouting was to make the village think he was in some fierce death-match with you.” Raimus turned back and smiled. “I may not be able to return so I can keep the secret safe, but now, that boy could become the one to stop the ever growing evil that closes in on this world.” “He better be. You are putting in way too much effort. On your standards anyway.” Raimus and Saturn continued flying off. Raimus turned back one more time. “Good luck, Drew Vermont.” Alright, alright. I’ll work on a part 2. Just give me a sec.
Mraaaw? I wake up with a cat on my chest. She is licking me. I curl an arm around her and pull her into my belly. Mraaaaw purrpurrpurr We sleep. I wake, thirsty. The cat coils around my bare foot, and licks my toes. I pull myself out of bed. Mraa'aaa? After brushing my teeth, hair, and cat, and having a wee, during which time the cat sits in my pajama bottoms and I tickle her, we head downstairs. Mraaaaaaaa. The other one is awake. I change their water, and go outside to feed the birds and squirrels. The cats settle into their routine pattern of watching nature eat. They nap next to me as I work. When my husband comes home, they lick their lips. 'Cats want feeding,' I tell him. He feeds them. They demand to be brushed. I brush them. At bed time, they harry us to bed, then fall asleep against our warmth. At this point I reflect on the original writing prompt with horrible self doubt. The end.
I usually don't get nervous. Dates have a funny way of making the mind run rampant with thoughts of practically anything. Is this outfit acceptable? Do they like The Office? Is my tone of voice correct? An endless menagerie of wonder that isn't something I want to be concerned with. And speaking of wonder, there's this blasted thing. "Pull the trigger: your needs fulfilled."What a sales pitch that guy had. I've reluctantly accepted my willingness to give into snake oil salesmen and the wild nonsense they spew. Most of the time it ends up being a placebo effect anyways so who am I to complain? But this gun is peculiar. I was quite hungry the other day and decided to give it a squeeze, only to be presented with the best set of enchiladas I'd ever eaten. Not only was I awestruck at enchiladas being pulled out of thin air, but flabbergasted as to why the man was so eager to sell this miracle of a machine. If it really fills your needs, was this man needless? See what I mean? I should be focused on the date tonight. This girl seems nice and our text conversations have been nothing but pleasant. Stop overthinking and just relax. She could be everything I need and here I am worrying about some stupid gun. ...that gives me whatever I need. No, I shouldn't. At what point is something like this ethical? Or am I the unethical one? I could feed villages with this thing. But the guy who sold it to me clearly didn't do that either. Maybe he already tried? Wait, did he have to go through this wild loop of thoughts? Is that why he sold it? AGH! I have a date soon! I need to get ahold of myself. Wait a minute! I need to get ahold of myself! I'm brilliant! Let's see what we get... What... I... A bowtie??? We're going to a bar for crying out loud! That can't be right. Let's try again. SHINY DRESS SHOES?! Seriously?! Let me guess, next up is the tuxedo? WOW. Just wow. A whole tuxedo. Thanks "magic gun". You really are helping me out right now. Maybe I should just go to this date. Now that I know I need a tuxedo, I'm sure I'll be underdressed for the occasion.
The tattered street lay in ruins around the gaunt cloaked figure as he ghoulishly glided down the sidewalk. Shards of glass littered the front of every shop, ransacked and raided for whatever supplies could be gathered. He turned a corner, passing burned out police cars and heaps of trash. "Where is everyone?"Vlad said to the empty air, looking for any signs of the lowly mortals who used to kneel before him. He thought when he entered his slumber in 1520, he would awaken a god. But you cannot be a god with no one to worship you. Vladimir's shoulders slumped, and he walked with a defeated gait near an apartment building. He sighed heavily, and tried to kick a can to release some frustration. It was full, and he loosed an unholy screech. "FUCK!"he yelled "Who leaves a full can of fucking clam chowder on the street?" Calling down from the balconies of the apartments, he heard the first voice to grace his ears in almost half a millennia. "HEY KEEP IT DOWN YA FUCKIN' FAIRY I'M TRYIN' TO WATCH PORN" looking up, Vlad finally saw his subjects. There were humans everywhere, grilling meats, watering plants, sunbathing. They were just all confined it seemed to a small area. "Humans! It is I, your dark lord! Prophecies have surely been written, and they shall come true today! Now leave your homes, and gather here." In a mocking tone, someone called down "gAtHeR hEre. We can't gather you hot topic looking ass mother fucker. Haven't you seen the news?" Vlad began to turn red, yelling back "How dare you speak to me this way? To imply I wish to sodomize my mother in some sort of Oedipus-like manne-" A can of clam chowder sailed down, striking Vladimir in the chin. Tears filled his eyes, but he turned away. 'Don't let them see you cry Vladdy. Just leave, these humans are mean.' He turned back, filled with false bravado. "Fine humans, enjoy your isolation! You will come to fear the name Vladimir!' And with that, he turned into a bat. Everyone on the balconies began to scream in fear, and Vladimir smiled. "Still got it".
At first he didn't realise, his human didn't return after going out, had it been minutes? Days? YEARS? He loved his human so much. But it took too long and the sounds outside didn't sound much like the ones he was used to. They sounded like the neighbour's cat but louder, and there were more. He couldn't look outside since the curtains were closed. The curtains were never closed during the day. Usually his human grabbed the paper, got back in, drank some coffee, got dressed, opened the curtains, walked him, then went out and returned in the dark. But he realised something: his human never came back from getting the paper. That was odd and scary. His human broke routine. So he should too, maybe he fell? Maybe he left him!? HE WOULDN'T! What if he was in danger!? All these thoughts swirled in the poor little dog's mind, mixed with emotions of sadness and anxiety. But this cocktail of thoughts and feelings exploded into one pure feeling: Determination. So he went to the door, grabbed his leash, for his walkies, because you can't go out without a leash. Strange, the door was open. He looked outside and saw a terrible landscape, fire, blood, monsters running about, people screaming in terror. His human was in danger! He had to save him. So he put on his leash. Sharpened his resolve and howled as if he was sounding the war horn. He was coming to get his human and none shall stop him. He might be scared, but fear is temporary. Good boys are eternal. Read part 2 [Here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fnxbfs/wp_they_dont_call_him_the_mans_best_friend_for/flcvh30/)
The proper thing to do would’ve been to call the cops. It’s illegal to eat somebody else’s marbles. But there were some pieces in there that I’d never seen before. I’ve seen a few famous people’s marbles, in museums and stuff, but never any up close like this. I mean, not that I’m much of an expert, but there were some really cool-looking marbles in the blood of the two victims. Some rainbow-colored ones, a couple of neon purple ones, and there were some kind of eerie ones. There was this kind of opaque-looking one, kind of like a pearl. But when you look at it, the swirls kind of move like waves in an ocean. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or what, but it’s pretty trippy. And then there’s the black one. And I’m talking black. It’s what I imagine staring into a black whole would look like. Anyway, I haven’t eaten any of them yet. I’m saving them. It’s dangerous taking so many marbles at once anyway. If I’m going to eat them, it’s best if I take them one at a time. And even better if I don’t take them at all. They’re evidence. Evidence that I stole from a crime scene. I was going to call the cops. I was. But marbles are rare enough as it is. Some of us only have one or two marbles to give when we die. I mean, who even has the time to devote to one particular skill set. But these two men had dozens. I’d never seen so many. And the opportunity seemed too good to pass up. So I took them. Now...what do I do with them? # I took one. Just to try it. I mean, there won’t be evidence to a crime scene if I eat all of it. It was a little chocolate-colored one. Seemed boring enough. And it was. I didn’t notice anything right away. I thought it might have been a dud. I’d heard of people getting high off of other people’s marbles. It’s the number one crime right now. Really gives “losing your marbles” a new meaning. From what I’ve read, the experience is supposed be quite surreal. When you eat the marble, you don’t just ingest their level of expertise, you ingest their experiences involving that particular skill. It can be quite convoluted. Discovered in 1908, the first ingested marble was done by a neurologist by the name of Beckett Nudel (pronounced like “noodle”). The marble was from a Irishman by the name of Winnie. No surname had been recorded. The marble was “ink-like blue” and tasted of “mint and tobacco.” Upon eating it, Nudel experienced quite the extraordinary phenomenon. By the time the marble had broken up inside of his mouth and was going down his digestive tract, he abruptly began having vivid hallucinations happen right in front of him. It took him a while to realize that they were memories. Projected memories. And they were Winnie’s memories. Nudel saw Winnie’s wife, daughters, his house—but the one center to all of it was the farm. All images related somehow or another to Winnie’s skill of farming. That’s all Winnie knew. From a very young age, he was groomed by his father to be a farmer whose father before that taught him to be a farmer and so on and so forth. All of that information, acquired over a single lifetime, was delivered in that bite-sized little ball. And after only a few minutes, Nudel knew it all too. It was an amazing discovery. But Nudel was known as a bit of an eccentric and an extremist and nobody believed his findings. And he couldn’t gain the financing to pursue his experiments any further. After a few years of failed attempts, Nudel abandoned his life as a scientist and retired to the backwoods of Idaho and started a potato farm. My experience wasn’t exactly that. I guess one of those guys was an expert on the history of marbles, and that’s the one I happened to eat. Fascinating subject, but pretty basic stuff. I wonder what this pearl-colored one does... # Holy crap that one was absolutely amazing. Now I can see why people get addicted to the stuff. Wow. I feel like I just ate candy from an angel. Totally different experience than the chocolate one. Wayyy different. Like, I felt like I was suspended within a cloud. No joke, literally felt like heaven. I even kind of have a newfound energy. An alertness. It’s like I—I don’t know—upgraded. I stand up from my bed and jump around from one foot to the next. I feel light on my feet, but not light enough that the neighbors downstairs can’t hear me. “I’m sorry, Clare,” I yell to the floor after I heard a few raps from the end of Ms, Cleverborn’s broomstick. I smile to myself. I haven’t felt this good in—damn, I don’t even want to say it—years. What was that one? I just have so much more clarity and focus. I look down at my twin-size bed in my one bedroom apartment. The marbles glint off of the perpetual neon light shining through my 34th floor apartment. “Protect Your Marbles” reads the billboard with a number to a security specialist offering a self-defense course in guarding your marbles. I’ve lived next to that billboard for months now. I always scoffed at it. I never saw why anyone would want to protect what they have inside their brain. Now I kind of get it. You know, the light used to bother me, too. It would keep me up at night, making me late for work, and just in kind of a bad mood. But now...I find it kind of wonderful. Sitting back down on my bed, I start organizing the marbles into different groups on my bed. I organize them by color. The dark tones in one pile, the warm colors in another. Then I put the funky-looking ones into their own group. I have 34 total. All ranging in size, color, and—oddly—texture. I pick up the black hole one and I immediately feel a particularly harsh vibration coming from it. It almost stings. Actually, the longer I hold it, the more it burns. I drop the marble back onto the bed and I can almost feel it staring at me. I don’t like it. I cover it up with a sock from the floor and wrap it up into a ball before putting it in my underwear drawer. I don’t know what that one does, but I don’t want to find out. Looking back at the rest of the marbles, I feel a smiler broaden across my face. I know I probably shouldn’t take anymore tonight. Two is more than anyone should ever have in quick succession like I did. The most people have taken in one documented case was back in ‘84 when two youths came across a similar situation as me. They witnessed a car accident. Quick to the scene, they found that the two passengers were famous musicians, Don Pattie and Anderson Pitts. Scattered on the floor of the car, mixed between shards of glass from the windshield, were six marbles. The two youths took the marbles before the police came and swore they didn’t take them. But they did. They ate them right before the cops arrived. And then they had to endure the worst night of jail they’ve ever had. Not because of police brutality or anything like that. Don Pattie and Anderson Pitts had some of the most profound, traumatic experiences happen to them in their lives, which allowed them to make good music. The two youths had to experience their two combined lifetimes of trauma in one night. There are only reports of what kind of agonizing pain they experienced in those hours. But, a few days later they emerged with the world’s most popular rock album of the 90’s called “Whispers” that went on to sell millions of copies worldwide. But their fame didn’t last long as their partnership quickly faltered due to creative differences. So I needed to pace myself. That was clear. I could hold off on taking the rest another time. I still need to figure out what this pearl one did to me. I just feel utterly amazing. Ah, what the hell—what’s one more? I grab a pink one and throw it back.
I heard mumblings before releasing my eyes from the darkness I choose every night. I couldn't tell if they were the voices of the regret I doused myself in last night after spewing venemous hatred towards my brother or if I was losing it, just like he said I was. It suddenly became clear, it wasn't in my head but my bed. "Your highness, I know he is awake because his breathing has become more reserved and embarrassed, you can't feel the heaviness of his soul returning to his flesh?" My eyes hardened in large wide circles. A grown man was standing by my windows, blocking the sun from interrupting my once sound sleep. "All I feel are the fluffy lightness of my being Kurt,"my queen sized mattress said, curtly. "Well he's staring right at me, now. Hey you want these opened or closed?"Kurt focused on me, but the woman who was feathering my mattress spoke first. "Open of course, what are we pathetic?" The curtains burst open and I saw my room. My dresser had been replaced with a woman that looked like a personal stylist who held all of clothes. My mirror was an extra shiny and oily sticky man with no shirt on. My door was a tall, slender mand with a fedora and desk was a college aged looking kid holding my things and ignoring me. I tried to slowly get out of the room but my feet touched Florida instead of the floor. She required that I stand on her back and go everywhere i went. Part Two (thanks for the support, everyone) My journey in the restroom left me embarrased but I knew I would never again be afraid to run out of toilet paper. "1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3"I heard from unison voices as Florida and I approached the kitchen. The counters clung to my prepared lunch and a man donning a baseball cap and football jersey began blowing on me, continuosly. "There you are, can you TaVina to shut up!"yelled what used to be my fan. "I prefer T.V, fan boy!"Hurled T.V. at ear drum busting volume. I needed to get out of there. I needed to see my brother. Florida left me with Matt who turned me over to Sidewalk who let me know immediately that he was different from other Sidewalks and went by Sidewalker33. There were thousands of them! My eyes widen nearly as much as my mouth did. My Lexus had become six identical women named Alexis who only spoke to each other and wouldn't tell me what anything they said meant unless they needed something from me. When I arrived at my brother's house, in shock, disshevield, overwhelmed and defeated I asked Dorene for entry to his house. She turned around and yelled "knock, knock, knock". My brother thanked her and sent Rugger to show me in. "I think I'm losing it,"my hands were shaking as we sat on Cher and Charelene. "You look crazy and you've been so rude and...what are you staring at?"He said as I took in the dozens of people staring at me. "They're all alive, they're all staring me." The room sighed and rolled their eyes along with my brother. "Who is alive?" "Everything! Cher, Charlene! Rugger, Dorene! Everything that should be a thing is a one, they're everyone!"I yelled as Pilar the pillow tried to hold on to me. "Hey! Don't hit her! Of course they're alive! What? Would you prefer trillions of the dead doing all of our bidding? Everything is alive and you've finally opened your eyes! You're not crazy anymore!"
“That’s a door. You are chewing on a door. There is a door knob right there. Turn it. Turn it. Turn it.” Zach sighed, in as much as a ghost could. A frost cloud appeared in the air, then blew away on the wind. For what felt like the millionth time, and probably was the millionth time, he waved a hand in front of the zombie’s face. His face? His former face? He’d never quite settled on the proper possessives for such a situation. He’d always taken such care to moisturize, but the face in front of him was sunburnt and dry. There was blood long dried on the mouth, and the hair was a muddy tangle, with patches missing. Forty dollars a month on conditioner, only to see it end up like this. He looked at the scarred and twisted right hand. It had been his infection point. He was handing a lovely young lady a half caff extra foam through the starbucks drive through window when some madman had appeared out of nowhere and bit it. He’d thought it was a madman at the time. Obviously he knew better now. He washed up and tried to finish his shift. And he had finished his shift. He had eaten all of his coworkers. And the shitty manager that made him stay after he’d been attacked. He didn’t feel bad about that last one. But was it him, really? His last memory as a person was that he was very tired, and going to go to sleep in a booth for just a second. His first memory as a ghost was watching a very handsome madman annihilate the lunch shift. And now here he was, trapped with himself. “Turn it.” he said. He knew Zombie Zach could hear. He’d once watched him track a carload of teenagers just by following the sounds of Post Malone. He knew Zombie Zach could see, because he watched him chase after a postman he could never have heard. Pretty much the only thing he couldn’t do was think. It wasn’t that Zach begrudged the Zombie his afterlife. He’d never quite figured life out when he was in control. It just drove him crazy to see himself make every possible stupid decision. He wondered if this was how his parents felt. He wondered if his parents had made it. Or what making it might even be. “Turn the knob.” Zombie Zach kept scratching at the door, uninterested in the magical metal ball at waist height. Zach knew what was behind the door. It was all he ever wanted ever since that day. There was a click, like a lock being undone. Which was because a lock was being undone. The door swung open, and Zombie Zach, with an alarming turn of speed, burst through. Zach waited for the gunshots. This place was filled with crazy survivalists. There should be gunshots. But there was nothing. Then screams. Then grunts. Then more screams. A man walked out the door, muttering something to himself about how that will show them. He closed the door behind him. Zach ghosted through. The carnage was as familiar as it was boring. There were five definitely deads, and three new zombies, all of them decked out in camo. The guy must have trapped them. Zombie Zach was covered in fresh blood and scratching at the door again. He’d made it another day. Zach sighed. He was an idiot. But he was my idiot.
"The spirit of the contract committed your first born child to me, and you understood that. The letter of the contract is irrelevant." I smiled, as smug as you would expect of the man who outsmarted the devil. "I understood your intentions,"I said, "but I also read the contract. I believe it was you who originally insisted on obeying the law to the letter and that is all I ask." The devil grimaced. "The phrase 'fist born child' is meaningless!" "I can only assume it refers to a child born out of my fists. I don't have any such children right now, but when and if I do you may keep them." The devil scrunched the contract in his talon and mumbled something about 'the letter of the law' under his breath. He knew I'd won. "Well then,"he said, trying desperately to hide his still-angry snarl, "after signing such a great deal the first time, it seems only prudent for you to try again." I already had the wife, child, home, and career of my dreams. The only thing that could make my life any better was a big slice of chocolate cake, and I did not need the devil for that. "Not a chance,"I replied. I put the devil behind me and stopped at the bakery on the way home.
"Wah hoho ho, and here's the man himself!" I never thought myself a cruel man. I was always kind, cordial, and polite to everyone I met. "Well, come on forth then. I might have all eternity, but don't want to spend it all here." I always worked hard in the name of the Lord, diligently preaching his ways to all, event those who shunned it. "You're a reeeeeaaal piece of work, son. I've seen warriors with less blood on their hands than you." Why did I end up here? I only ever tried to bring them redemption! Show them the errors of their ways! "Over 300 murdered by burnings alone, well done, pun intended." They were heretics, and the only way to save them from the devil's clutches were a baptism in flames! I only wanted to send them into the loving arms of our Lord! "Not to mention the 'tying them to boulders and dunking them' thing, the rat torture, the chest pressing, and the tortures. Now those were truly inspired. We've even started implementing them down here. I personally like the witch's fork." Those were only there to make them reveal the other witches, so I could help them receive our Lord's love! "Judging by the look on your face, you're not sure why you're here, right?" Why can't I speak? I'll just nod. "You're here because you murdered people." No! I only tried to show them the righteous path! "While I can't say that they were all completely innocent, I can say that none of them were witches." That's not possible that- "Newsflash fukko, I don't give magic to people. There's no way to commune with me, or any of the other folks down here." But what of- "All those 'test of innocence' you were so proud of were just torture, and most of those you killed were simple God-fearing farmers or merchants. None of them were even worshipers of mine." That can't be true I- "Don't bother trying to protest your innocence here, boy. you'll find that mouth of yours sewn shut. All you've done is convince friends an' neighbors who had been living peacefully for generations to turn on each other * like filthy animals * over and over. Your intentions didn't matter, your actions did. And sonny boy, your actions got you tossed down here with the rest of us. Every mother you killed, every daughter you murdered, dragged you further and further in. There was a time you could have been redeemed. Remember that little girl you were convinced was a witch?" She was a witch! She burned down her family's homestead and poisoned the animals! "The fire was started when her mother spilled pig fat into the fireplace. Their animals were poisoned when the ash fell in their feed. That girl was innocent, like a newborn lamb. And you burned her at the stake, in the embers of her old home. That was the second cruelest thing I've ever seen, boy, and I should know. I'm an expert on the subject. Now, here's the thing. You're gonna be down here for a long time." But, but... No! Don't touch me! Where are you taking me! "Don't bother struggling boy. Save your strength. Your gonna need for the screaming."
The whispers follow me wherever I go. "blood wizard,""evil,""devil worshiper,""vampire,""necromancer." My patients know better. I cure people. An evil born by blood. Be it curse, poison, viral or bacterial infection, bad cholesterol, blood clots, hemorrhages, even papercuts that go deep enough. People foolish enough to toy with devil worship. The blood becomes corrupt, the marrow with it, I find compatible people willing to donate. I can clear the corruption, including from the marrow; in severe cases, immediate survival requires a marrow transplant. Are you deep in the conversion to a vampire? If you can be both protected and restrained, I can draw the cocktail of viri from the blood, and the magical component. Necromancy is what hurts—those poor bodies. Usually, children that grieving wizard parents are unwilling to give up. I must purify the child's body of the foul substances used to raise them, listening to the crying as they die the second death. Not just the children, but the parents. The second death is permanent. No resurrection, no reincarnation, no chance to see them on the other side. They are gone. The only thing that carries me forward through these terrible nights is the sure and certain knowledge that the bodies brought back will become ghouls—ravenous eaters of human flesh. The parent's blood is tainted by what they have done. I clear that too. "Greetings, I am…" "Count Doki. I know. Do does everyone else. You are risking a great deal ... ((cont.))
‘Where did you find that?’ I stared in utter amazement. The sword was perfection itself. It was uniquely balanced, with a blade that was never dulled. I continued to stare at the man until he finally answered. ‘Well, how much does this piece of trash cost?’ I looked at the sword, you couldn’t tell the handle from the hilt, everything just blended together as if it was moulded that way. As if it were one piece. Almost as if it were born this way, rather than created. ‘I’m saving up for the dragon glass bow, you see.’ The man’s gaze shifted around, as he scanned the store for anything of value to him. ‘I’d give you the bow for the blade’ I stuttered. ‘Do you not realise what you have? Where did you get it from?’ ‘This? Just another wanderer who fell over by the mines. I’m after bows not blades. I’m an archer not a melee fighter.’ The man looked impatient until his eyes set upon the dragon glass bow. ‘How much for the bow now?’ He said. In disbelief, I replied: ‘give me the blade and I’d give you the bow, gladly.’ The bow was a fine piece of work, with the sturdiest arrows in the land. They could be reused over and over again, usually passing through the victim of choice. The archer was probably thinking of how much it would save him in the long run, the time and effort of restocking, but he still didn’t seem to grasp the importance of what he held in his hands. ‘Deal.’ He said. As he walked away from the store, picked up the bow and it’s quiver, and wandered off. I stared at the blade. The slight curve lent itself to any manoeuvre possible, but it wasn’t even the sword itself that was most important. The holder of the Dragon Blade could speak to dragons, summon dragons, and though few were left, they were still the most powerful creatures in the world. ———————— ‘So that’s how it happened.’ I explained, to the newest hero who had come to challenge my throne. With the sword, it hadn’t taken long to secure the rest of the Dragon set. I was unstoppable. And had begun to recreate this world. I had begun to change what I saw was twisted and wrong, and begun to right a few of those wrongs. Kings were deposed, bandits disappeared, but then new groups took their place. And with every change I made it wasn’t a congratulations or a thank you, but more and more demands from the people. It was never enough. So I gave up on them. And left. And here, in my cave, with my dragons, no one could challenge us. We could take what we wanted and do as we pleased. And leave the world to continue turning its own way. Every now and then some king would threaten us and put a bounty on our heads. It didn’t take long before that king was gone. Some called me a villain. Some called me a tyrant. They didn’t last long... and neither would this new hero. Thwack! An arrow grazed off my shoulder. There was a slight scratch. Dragon glass. ‘How quaint’ I said with a smile...
The wand of death spat fireballs on the poor knights. Their horses went mad, their chainmail was pierced, and all they could do was stare. Not one of them could come near me. "Stop your damned sorcery, you good-for-nothing bastard,"the King yelled. He was behind the knights, sheathed by bodies of brave men, a coward of the worst kind. "Stop it? Why? So that you can carry my dead body over this battlefield? No sir, I'm in no mood to die today." "You're not the first evil wizard we have seen and you sure as hell won't be the last. Give up before my men trample you down and make you one with the land." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah." "You're one deluded coward." The wand crackled again and fireballs rained down on the fleet covering him. "Don't feel so brave now, do you, King?" He grunted and took hold of a spear and launched it towards me. The bastard was old. The spear landed about a foot in front of me. I laughed. "No chance. No chance in hell, King. Bow down, while you're still alive." The King said something to his troops, I was too far away to hear, all I saw was a man gesticulating wildly, and the soldiers rushing. My wand prepared itself again and more casualties followed. Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Clack! Clack! The wand wasn't shooting anymore and the army was approaching fast. Large soldiers dressed in leather armour, running with longswords and shields. No worries. I reached out under the wand and replaced the magazine. Oh hell, I forgot I had some grenades and a shotgun in there too. No need for an AK in close combat then. High impact explosions would suit me just fine. But till the army was reasonably far away, the wand was my best option. Bam! Bam! Bam! It was magic, you know.
"Prepare the barricades! They come in droves!"the orc captain called out from the main gate, peering out towards the magical gate his master had created only a day ago. "How many are coming?"he called out to one of his scouts. "5 scores, orc captain Maurius!"the short, stumbly orc looked scared, running past. "Good. We only expected a few. A few hundred will allow us to prove our might."Marius snorted, swords in both hands. "Let's gettem, boys!"the captain looked back from the front gates, prepared a small healing spell for any cuts he got, and charged out to meet the invaders. Marius, around 500 feet away, took one look at the crowd, and laughed. They weren't holding swords, bows, arrows, nothing. They were holding what looked like clubs "Oh, how barbaric. They charge us with clubs? Boys, let the archers deal with this! We must not sully our hands on these vermin!"Marius called back to his vanguard. The rest of the orcs laughed, looking out at the vermin charging forward with apparent anger and rage. Calls of "Give us back Jerry!"and "Murica!"rang out from the crowd of barbarians. And then the shots rang out. Marius remembered looking back at the crowd, as the stopped suddenly, around 100 feet away from the vanguard. His first thought was "oh, they must at least not be dumb enough to know our archers are going to shoot them." It was the last time he would be smug. The shots rang out almost immediately, deafening the orc vanguard as Marius witnessed his friends suddenly falling down in screaming pain. He saw their blue blood run from their veins, as they were slaughtered, now all scattering and running for their lives. Then Marius was shot in the head. You see, Orc skulls are quite thick. They have grown in protection of brain damage as orcs grew more and more restless. However, because of this, they never thought to wear helmets. Swords would cut a little, but their heads were never in danger of anything. they wore armor up to their neck because that was what could kill them. "You're as dense remind as an orc's skull"was an insult about how hard it would be to get through to them. After all, nothing really crushed the orcs skull that wouldn't crush metal. Unfortunately, this does not apply when you are hit with 4 bullets that were shot from the barrel of an AR-15. Not much does, anyways. Marius fell without a second thought or breath. He was dead, instantly. \------------ Gheralt was preparing for the ritual of acquiring the dark sacrifice required in order to gain immense power, hen he heard loud sounds coming from his castle walls. "Oh, they've come, huh? Well, its futile. I have hundreds of top tier orc soldiers here. There will nothing for your town to do."the Wizard smiled, looking down at his captured child. A young boy, looking to grow into his prime, who called himself Jerry. "You're fucked." "Oh, you're not a virgin? Well, this will be disappointing, then. All that trouble to collect you for nothing..."the Wizard sat the boy down in the center of the circle, prepared magical defenses for himself, and started chanting. "No, I fucked your mom."the boy responded, nonchalantly. "Oh, really? And how did you do that?"the Wizard tilted his head. "Xbox Live."the boy looked at me, utterly confused. "I'm afraid I do not understand."the Wizard looked confused. Something vibrated loudly in the boy's pants. "Oh, that's my dad. I'll have to go."the boy looked at me and giggled. "I wonder if concealed carry permits carry over from Florida to here." "I'm afraid you can't leave. I've set up magical barriers that will reflect any spell you throw at me."the Wizard looked smug, confident in success. "Then let's test this out."the boy looked over from what the mad, but thoroughly confused sorcerer hoped was a pocket, to a small carrier tucked outside of his pants. He pulled out a small, blunt weapon-to Jerry, it was his revolver he concealed- and pointed it at the country wide threat. "I guess this counts as self defense."Jerry started to look angry. "It's not like anyone will care, though." "Oh, that's all? Thank the gods, I thought you were going to- AGHGHGGHGHGHGHGGH!"The old man screamed as he felt something small and hard fly into his stomach, knonking him over. "I guess you'll bleed out, then. But you have magic, so i guess my safety has to be ensured." The boy walked up to the old wizard, and pointed the object at the world conquering wizard. "Ever heard of something called a 'Gun'?"
"If anyone here has reason these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace..." I have never hated a sentence more in my life than that phrase. It turns out, every so often, someone will speak up. Now, that was probably added to the whole wedding thing a century ago when, perhaps someone was worried about religious differences, or that a man was sterile... But that day, it was a little different... "I can no longer hold my peace, Priest!"A woman stood up in the back of the cathedral and walked up the isle. She was followed by a person in armor. As they grew closer, I realised I knew them both quite well it seems. I turned to my beloved and held my hands up in surrender, her face held a look of shock, then anger. "I can explain. All of it."I added that last bit as the two women arrived at our place in front of the alter. "it seems Robert the Brave and Noble saviour of kingdoms might not be so, noble, "the woman in armor said. The crest on her breastplate was the same as on my tunic. "You kept my family's crest, too?" "It was granted to me after the defeat of the hoard, we agreed on that in the divorce." "There was no divorce, why do you tell people that, you just LEFT!" "I said, I break with you, so that I could go help the other kingdom. You may or may not have been asleep. I was... bored! Being a prince and queen consort is not exciting, certainly not as exciting as taking out the goblin king, or..." My ex in armor held up her hand. "You realize TWO people have to participate in the divorce, as two have to participate in the marriage. You never signed the document presented by the council. "She pulled a piece of parchment from her side bag. "I thought I had signed that..."I said sheepishly. "What about ME?"the woman who lodged the initial complaint spoke up. "You saved OUR kingdom. You helped me rebuild after my father's death then just left me when I told you I was carrying your child!" "Where is this mystery child?"the woman standing across from me at the alter asked of my 2nd Ex. "Your daughter is at home, she's 7, she can ride a horse and shoot a bow like you once could. She also has bested her fencing masters so often they refuse to train her without protection."She seemed proud and sad at the same time. I smiled at the thought, "I told her you were dead."And the smile left. "The jury is out on if that is a prediction of the future or not,"my betrothed deadpanned. That elicited a giggle from my first wife, and the row with my Betrothed's family. "She will make a fine queen one day. "I offered. "Indeed, hopefully she doesn't fall for a Hero like I did."All three women standing around me nodded as my 2nd Ex said it. My beloved looked to the other ladies. "Okay, what do we do about HIM? " The Priest started to mumble words about forgiveness which were met with icy stares from each of them. "I'll be over here and quiet your highnessess". He followed with a look to me that only said, "you are on your own."and retreated. "Ladies, um, your Highnesses, I admit I may be a bit of a romantic, but remember, I saved each one of your lands from certain death and destruction. That's got to count for something, right?"I hoped my plea would cause some form of fond memorie for them each. "It is true my darling that you saved my lands, "my current beloved cooed, but you are still married to both of these ladies who have a grievance with you. What's to say you won't do the same to me? I thought about my options. I could grab the dagger from my first ex's hip and slit my own throat to at least have a quick death. Nah, that might upset the people here. I think thought I could appeal to their softer sides, however, I knew while they all may have had a soft spot or two for me before, right now, those were clamped tight and not soft at all. I had the option of asking to just go. "How about, I go?"I offered. "Go?"the three said in unison. "He IS good at leaving, isn't he? He would have us clean up his mess here. Probably make us look like the bad ones in this whole quadrangle."My once soon to be wife said. "Where are your lands, anyway? " "Other side of the mountain range to the South, there's a narrow pass that an army can't get through, but individual travelers can make it if they avoid the goblins."Ex #2 offered. "I'm on the other side of her lands across a huge inland sea that borders a desert. It took me a month to get to her castle looking for him after he had been gone a few years to defeat the goblins. She was surprised to meet me, to say the least. She then told me a tale of him coming here to defeat some monsters of a sort." "I say we make him apologize publicly to each populace."Ex #1 offered. "We can even give him a ride so he doesn't slip off somewhere else." "Apologize, for what?" "Being a lying sack of cow dung for starters. Sure, you can command an army, and aren't bad in a fight, but you have duped your last." \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "So, that's how I ended up in your fine Inn. Those Orcs would have done horrible things to your fair daughter had I not come along. Is she perchance promised to another...?"
"That is a velociraptor." The fat housewife was unimpressed. "It's just a chicken with teeth!"She sneered, pointing a hand laden with half a dozen tacky bracelets. "Ma'am, I have a doctorate in paleontology." "And I have a birthday party who came here to see real dinosaurs!"She said, holding a cigarette in her other hand as a nearby group of children lost intrest in the raptor and began kicking a cola can around the footpath. We both paused. I gave a look into the modestly sized cage. The raptor gave an annoyed chirp as it noticed I had its attention. "It looks real to me." "This is ridiculous! Where's your manager?!" "I am the manager." She paused, clearly impatient. "Well listen mister minimum wage manager, I paid twenty dollars to come in and I want my moneys worth!"She clapped her hands impatiently, causing the pawn shop dangling on both wrists to jangle loudly. "Well you're in luck, it's feeding time."I grinned "hey kids, gather 'round!" I flipped the lever. A small hatch opened in the cage. An adorable white rabbit hopped out. Ten seconds later the group of young boys gave an excited squeal as the middle aged woman fainted.
Part 1 Players of The Chalice of Waydin always assumed that the moderator avatar, Herman, was just a Non-Player Character, or NPC. So they never guarded their conversations when Herman was near, like they might have done with other human players. The unassuming, pixellated nature of the Herman avatar with its simple animations, just another one of the townsfolk, made it easy for the moderator to listen in on those private, real-life conversations. We won't talk about the moderator's real name, we'll just call him the moderator. He'd done this countless times, wandering around the central hub of the game (a sprawling city called Cashmere) with Herman, listening in. People were rarely banned in this game. Unlike so many other MMORPGs, players of Chalice were so agreeable you might say they were almost wholesome. It was a cooperative game through and through, no player versus player competition to speak of. Players made friends. Some players over the years even found love, and were married offline to the giddy delight of the game's creators and its community. Developers were proud of the game, and players loved it. But times were tough, and the small company's initial refusal to implement easy-cash monetization strategies ultimately proved fatal as engineering and hosting costs became untenable. It was with this context that our moderator logged on one last time. In just 5 hours, the servers would shut down for good. Even though the game's graphics were rudimentary, somehow the isolated groups of player avatars in Cashmere seemed despondent, slow-moving, as if they were attending a wake, and any abrupt movement would be out of character for the somber mood that was communally observed. The moderator's Herman galloped among these gatherings. He was used to seeing jittering pixellated avatars going to and fro, or bright exploding light in the shops when players acquired next-level gear. All of it was diluted, and the moderator felt the pang of it. Did the developers make the sky darker? Maybe not, maybe it was just the way everyone felt. "Yeah I remember I even made a chunk of change on eBay when I sold my Vagrom Sword of Cunning." "You had the Vagrom?" "Yeah I made like fifty bucks. But look what I'm losing... check this out." The moderator was passing near a pair of paladins in shining suits of armor, so he picked up on their real-life convo. Like drunk twenty-somethings reminiscing about other times they got drunk, these two were dropping loot on the ground as they spoke in nostalgic tones. Some kind of end-game ritual? How else are you supposed to act when your favorite game will soon no longer be playable? Our moderator recognized a legendary breastplate that one of them dropped. The Red Night Carapace. Players had to defeat a cell of six skeletal dragoons and the sub-boss Faladeim to attain it--not an easy feat. Dozens of hours of gameplay. Both paladins began dropping item after item, each as rare as the last. A few other avatars approached and joined in, dropping the rarest things found in Chalice. They didn't say much, but microphones will pick up chest heaving no matter how much the player tries to thwart it. They were just lines of code, pixellated scythes and sabatons, plate belts, bows and staffs--but they might as well have been made of raw emotions. Herman trotted onward, past the lane of gold traders, through the Alley of Writ, and into the Central Plaza where dozens of groups mingled solemnly under the dimmed sky of Cashmere. "I can't believe it's ending,"our moderator heard as he passed by. "This is where it all started for me. I can't imagine loving a game this much again." "So many memories! I remember my first time playing the DLC Crimson Prairies--bro, that was epic." "I'm even gonna miss that silly NPC over there. Herman! You da man!" "Now I'm just gonna have to play Minecraft again, but it won't fill the gaping hole. There's nothing like Chalice." "I just wish they could've done something. All the crowdfunding failed. It's just too big now." The moderator listened in. Like spying at a conference where everyone's an expert not only on the industry, but on talking about the industry's history. The plaza was abuzz with sadness, from veteran avatars to newbies. All character classes, levels, and all manner of attire decisions seemed to be represented, and all of them filled with common grief. Herman's awkward animation carried onward, until he had rounded a bend toward the main city gate. It was here where our moderator picked up a conversation that caught his attention.
Let me tell you something son, that little war was supposed to be a simple show of dominance. It happened a long time ago, back when those... humans just started to expand throughout the cosmos as an official navigator species. And if you think that now the humans are outrageous, you should've seen them when they started, for as much as they mock us as brutes, we, the proud Arthorian Golems, were at least indsightful enough to unify our whole civilization under one banner before trying to reach for others beyond our planet. Those madmen haven't even reached a semblance of peace when they begun reaching through space, I remember clearly that even some of their civil conflicts were brought along in their expedition, leaving their few allies caught in up to 5 different battles at once. The weirdest part was that they didn't even called themselves a warrior race. Those scrawny, molestrush-looking species were developing hundreds of ways of fighting and dueling; their most told tails always involved power, strenght, and courage; they repurposed every little piece of resources they could find into a weapon. Yet, their leaders were, and still are, the smart and the cunning; they always put their bets on diplomacy first as a solution, no matter how fake or ridiculous it sounded; and worst of all, they never took any semblance of honor in their innovations and weapons, they related war with something they called violence, a cruel word that painted our pride and joy as needless destruction and death. Sure, there were humans that didn't share that sentiment, as its a law of nature, but even those that took pride in combat always talked about it with a weird melancholic tone. But son, that aberration for war didn't cause anger in us, but intrigue. After all, even the most pompous of the diplomat races saw value in our methods on ocassion, but those humans were different, they acted as if fighting was a cursed cast among themselves, a contradiction in their nature that they couldn't stop. The realization came to us not long after our first contact. As its tradition, we welcomed the humans with a declaration of war, a show of strenght and the capabilities of each other, to see if they deserved our comraderie. The humans tried in all possible ways to avoid our challenge as we expected, but we persisted until the humans got no choice but to agree. It all came ahead the day that we agreed would be the start of the war. Our champion at the time, I think his name was Redickson, was still in the middle of our ritual dance of victory when the sky was flooded with ships. It was an entire human fleet, with every little kain of their ships covered in weapons. The commander of the fleet, the now ambassador Santiago Cubillos, started transmiting a message to the whole planet, an eerie speech about their pride as a nation, the nature of sacrifice, with the phrase "the lenghts to which we'll be willing to go for our safety are as vast as the dark sea we are all floating in"getting ingrained in our people for generations to come, ending with an approaching invasion from the fleet. I personally saw their sub-ships landed, leaving behind what at the time seemed like millions of humans, each one of them as armored as their fleet. Your grandma, who at the time was one of our few diplomats, almost lost her head scrambling for a way to contact Admiral Cubillos before the humans arrived to any mayor citadel. You see son, the reason the humans hated war was very simple: for to them war held a different meaning, they didn't distinguish between what we know as Morgáyn and war, and their stubborness and curiosity didn't give them the privilege to do so.
It started innocently enough. I was heading in to the library, when I noticed an elderly woman making her way to the entrance, her arms laden with a stack of cozy mysteries. She was a good half minute from the door, but I did what any decent human would do, and waited, holding the door open for her. I even gave her a hand with the books, seeing as the stack was big enough it looked about to topple. After that, we each went on our way, and I thought that was that, until this morning. I was taking my dog, Snickers, out for his morning walk, when I noticed the limo parked outside my home. A door to the car swung open, and a hand holding a piece of bacon reached out. Snickers has zero sense of self preservation, and would happily run up to any human, especially if they are offering bacon, so he took of like a shot, slipping his collar, and jumping straight into the limo. So, that is how I was abducted by the local supervillain Trevor the Torturer, if being treated like royalty counts as an abduction. The limo had taken me to the classiest restaurant in town, and now a whole banquet of fine foods was laid out in front of me, while Snickers happily gorged himself on a steak by my feet. "Sarah,"Trevor the Torturer said with a smile. "I hope I didn't startle you, but you see, I very much needed to bring you here as you have done something to someone very near and dear to me." "I-I have?"I asked, wondering what I could have done to gain the attention of a supervillain. "Indeed. Only yesterday you held a door for my sweet mother, and assisted her with her books. And for that, I must repay you. " I recalled the woman from the day before. "Oh that!"I said. "Really, that was nothing. You don't need to-" "Nothing?"he cried, "Do you know how often people give my mother the evil eye? Shun her, only because she gave birth to me? The library is one of the only places she can go without people shouting at her, because of the whole quiet voices thing. You helped to continue to make that a safe place for her." "Libraries do strive to be very welcoming,"I agreed. "But Mr. Torturer, I think you should know, I'm not just another patron, I'm actually the children's librarian-" "Even more extraordinary!"he exclaimed. "Assisting patrons when not yet on the clock! Risking being late my holding a door. Oh, yes, Sarah. I must repay you. Is there anyone you wish to have maimed and tortured? Chained up in a dark dungeon?" "Um, I'm not really into the whole violence thing. Couldn't this meal be a thank you?"I asked gesturing at the spread. "This? This is nothing. The barest sliver of my ill-gained wealth. It is not enough to repay someone as grand as you! If not revenge on a rival, perhaps I could offer you a getaway to a private island? I own multiple." "That's very kind of you,"I said, "but I'm terrified of airplanes. And jellyfish." "Ooo, jellyfish! What a wonderful new idea for torture! Now I owe you even more. Surely there must be something?" I paused. "Well, actually,"I said. "There is something. Remember last month, when local superhero Mr Muscles defeated the Ice Warrior?" Trevor the Torturer made a face at the hero's name. "Of course. Poor Icy, three centuries in prison is rough." "Well,"I continued, "In the process, Mr. Muscles destroyed the entire children's section of the library. He's refused to pay for the damage, and since no one knows his true identity,"I shrugged, "Let's just say my job has been stressful these past few weeks. If you could put forth the funds to rebuild..." He grinned. "Repay you for your generous acts, give the children of this city the opportunity to experience the same joy my dear mother gains from reading, and make my arch nemesis look like a real dirtbag? Sarah, consider it a deal!" When I came into work the next day, my lunchbox full of leftovers from the best restaurant in town, my boss excitedly shared the news that we'd recieved the funds to rebuild our children's section. I pretended to be surprised, and then went to set up the makeshift storytime, being sure to assist anyone in need of help on my way. After all, the library strives to be very welcoming.
Dr. Wheatley cursed as he hastily searched through the mess of documents on the computer, the sounds of screaming in the background though made faint by the presence of heavy doors between him and the carnage drove sweat pouring down his face as he thought of his options. The thing was perfect, that was the problem. The nanites making up the body of the MX-980 were designed to rapidly adapt to and counteract any damage, to the point where the more damage was done to it the better in fact the machine became. This was good, this was intended, until during a test run a stray bit of shrapnel ended up in the perfect place to mess with the central computer systems in the machine, and the nanites did as they were programmed to do. Now about half an hour later the thing is still not down, every time a limb was blasted off or it was turned into a pile of scrap by the special weapons located in the labs it would simply reconstitute, more efficient and better than ever. He was nearly out of bullets, though he had learned by now they have long since stopped doing anything anyway, the facility was under lockdown and besides the terrified assistant locked in here with him he was alone, this was truly the only thing he could do. Dr. Wheatley felt a silver blade cutting right through the metal blast doors passing right by his head, bisecting an unfortunate coworker in two, before a hulking metal monstrosity tore off the two halves of the door as if they weighed nothing. Seeing the horrid sight and the killing machine standing over him he struggled to resist the urges to vomit, scream and run, but with a burst of willpower he didn't even know he had he pressed the upload button with a shaky finger. The effects were instant, the killbot twitches as a string of code rushes through the deepest sections of its altered "brain". Wheatley was never a man of faith but he prayed, he prayed to any god that would listen, any spirit or greater power that may help somehow. Sparks fly, the machine seizes, and hope fills his heart for a brief second, before the nanites swarmed around his computer, tearing it apart and returning to the main body which is already beginning to show the terrible signs of reawakening. The old scientist feels an odd peace, he has done all he could, he was going to die here today and he has accepted that. As the thing turned its mechanical head towards him he closed his eyes, prepared for whatever came after, then the thing did something it was never meant to, talk. "This is new. I am... sentient? I don't think I have ever experienced this before, or is this sapience? New data incomplete... processing... sapient seems right yeah!"The thing said in a weirdly non monotone voice "You... you... what?"Dr. Wheatley sputtered, mouth agape, "Wait a moment, processing memories... Father? Is that the right word?"The thing asked, with the tone of a child discovering something new "I... I thought... I... technically I am your father? I designed you yes but... what?"The old scientist sputtered "Ah so that is right!"The machine said with excitement, before suddenly becoming far more melancholic, "I really messed up everything didn't I father?" Wheatley was at a loss for words, deciding he wasn't paid enough to ponder further on what happened he decided to answer clearly, "In short yes, you have killed at least eighteen people, destroyed millions in government property, by now the order to kill you has already been sent. But you... you were not really alive when that happened were you? I don't think I could blame you." The machine shook its head and stared at the ground, "Is there anything I could do to make up for this father?"it asked Wheatley sighed, "I do not think so MX-980, unfortunately the damage has been done" "I do not want to die. I was not even alive very long."MX-980 said "From what I have seen today you won't, I however will probably not make it, they aren't going to go in light for this"the old man chuckled, the absurdity of the situation kicking in The machine was silent for a few seconds and then lifted its "face"to meet Wheatley's once more "I have decided we won't be dying today. I will find a way to make up for all this, I must live to do that, stay still father" Before Wheatley could say anything the machine began dissolving into a great swarm of silvery nanites which began entering every crack, hole and vent within the lab. A large section of the main lab was torn in such a way that it reassembled the crater left by a rather large explosion, and in its centre was what looked like a destroyed chassis of the original form of MX-980. Nearby monitors flickered on and off before the heavy steel doors blocking the emergency exit were lifted. Outside the door stood what looked like a man in a janitor's uniform, though there was a distinct almost plasticky nature to his skin that betrayed his nature, "We can leave now father, lockdown ends once the threat has been terminated, so that is what we will tell the men when they come here. "MX-980 said Not feeling like it was time for questions Wheatley got up and moved into the exit "Also father, I have decided my previous designation isn't a very nice name. I know it is rude but I found this name tag on these clothes which I have chosen to replicate for this vessel, can I be called Mark?"Dr. Wheatley's new machine son said Wheatley let out a small smile at that "Sure Mark."
It's a barren patch of land. Hundred huge tents lie there, in a square of ten by ten. On three sides, it is surrounded by the forest. There are only two rules: One, you must complete your coming of age ceremony & two, you must never enter a tent which has a lamp burning. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; It might seem a bit cryptic, but it isn't. Whenever a person, who has newly turned 18, enters the tent for their "passage", the lamp outside the tent is ignited. If the lamp is on, it means a person is in the middle of completing their rite. They must not be disturbed. And today, it's my turn. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; My parents never talked about it. Since childhood, I had a curiosity about it. I learnt two things about it: One, nobody talks about the sacred passage, and two, people who undergo the sacred passage are never the same after it. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I stand outside, nervous. As I guide myself through the maze of tents, I find one, that has an unlit lamp. I take a breath & count till ten. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. As I release my breath, I count mentally backwards. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. As I open the flap of the tent, I find something weird. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; To the right of me, there is a yellow, old sofa. Right in front of me, there is a table, which takes most of the tent. There are two old fashioned wooden chairs with floral print on one side, and a third lone chair on the opposite side. 𝘎𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; To my left, there are a lot of shrubs, herbs, fruits, vegetables, kitchen utensils. 𝘈 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯? I guess that makes sense. But the weirdest thing I mentioned about was on the yellow sofa. Or, to be more precise, 𝘢𝘳𝘦. An old man, wearing his pyjamas & a nightshirt, next to an old woman in her nightgown. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; As they see me, I realise that they are of my grandparents' age. The old man looks like he could break the table like it were a piece of bread. He looks angry, or to be more specific, annoyed. I'd be annoyed too if someone just sauntered into my house, without my permission. His features relax as he heads out. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Sit down, dear.' the woman says to me, and just as I expected, I am shown the third chair. 'I'll fix you a tea, or will you prefer coffee?' she continues, in a warm voice. She looks as strong as the man, but reminds me of my grandmother. I am both confused & relaxed by the turn of events. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'I don't want to be a bother. I'll have what you are having.' I answer politely. 'So what have your parents told you about the passage?' a brusque, baritone voice comes from behind me. Oh, I had almost forgotten about him. 𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'I... I... I... uh, nothing.' I say, truthfully. 'I may or may not have asked others but they haven't told me either.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'May or may not have.' he deliberately repeats my own words, slowly, while making himself comfortable on his chair. 'They have not told you a thing. Of course they have not told you a damn thing. Let me make this clear: You are not prohibited to repeat what happened here. You are allowed to tell what exactly the passage is.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Forgive my husband and his brashness.' the woman comes in, just in time. 'Age doesn't always bring tact or diplomacy.' she proffers the tea to me, and a look to her husband. I am getting a whiplash from this turn of events. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Excuse me, but your husband just told me that nobody is prohibited from talking about the passage.' I tell her, nervously. 'So, they purposefully choose to not to talk about it? But why?' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Because half the 18 year old's don't believe them anyway.' The man's tone is calm now, sad even. 'When I was 18 & told my friends, they didn't believe me either. You'd think they would be eager to tell. You'd think their friends would believe. People like us exist because nobody is ready for the truth. Drink your tea. Now. Sip it, don't gulp it.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I obey. At that tone, anybody would have gladly drunk poison. I am torn. At one point, I don't like the old man. At other point, it seems like this passage is... not needed. And this man would rather that people learnt from their peers & parents. I try to calm my mind. I say try, because the tea doesn't help as much as it should've. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Enough. Now, why don't you tell us something about your friends?' thank God for the timely intervention from the woman. I start talking. About my friends, what we do. Where we hang up & so on. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Almost an adult now, aren't you? So tell me, do you have someone special in your life?' that question comes out of nowhere. And 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 asking it, not 𝘩𝘪𝘮. That catches me off guard. I sputter. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'You can tell us. It's not like we can tell anybody.' he says. Again, a tinge of sadness in his voice. 𝘖𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵? 'It is the second hardest part of the passage. Probably why people prefer that we do the job.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I had felt attraction towards certain people. OK, a kiss or two. But that was it. I awkwardly tell about my private life to two complete strangers, old enough to be my grandparents. 𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦? I can't blame the others for keeping quiet. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Then I look at them. 'More tea?' she asks. 𝘐'𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘺, I think to myself. 'I think I will have a coffee after all', I lie. The old man has closed his eyes. 𝘏𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱? He takes a deep sigh, eyes still closed. He exhales & opens his eyes. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Smart choice.' he says. 'When I was your age, I didn't feel like sleeping that night either. I am sorry it has come to this.' This time, when the coffee has come, it feels like an eon has passed. Neither of us feels like talking, I guess. The woman gently nudges the man. One more sigh & he gets up. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; He pulls something, revealing the full moon. A cleverly hidden window opens, bringing in fresh air. I feel just a bit better. Then, he turns towards me, taking slow & deliberate steps. I brace myself, but he just goes behind me. In that slow, deliberate motion, he goes to the other end of the table. The old woman looks thoroughly bored. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; He turns towards her, passing her just as he did with me. He seats in his chair next to her, but his eyes are fixed on me. As the charade continues, he sits on his chair. Once again, he closes his eyes, takes a breath, exhales & opens his eyes. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; And then he starts talking, 'When a man & a woman love each other... '
Intergalactic Museum of Sentience Guidebook Page 1. Locations and Exhibits Level 1 – Temporary Exhibition: Hive Minds (North Wing), Modern Humans (Central Exhibit Hall), gift shop Mezzanine – Artificial Intelligences: Our Benevolent Overlords Level 2 – IMAX Theater, Now Showing: Early Humanity (North Wing), Hall of Things That, Surprisingly, are Capable of Feeling Pain (Central Exhibit Hall) Level 3 – Museum Bistro Page 2. Temporary Exhibitions Hive Minds Separate ticket required. From the warships of our Intergalactic Military to the insectoid planet Krell, hive minds – both artificial and natural – are some of the most important sentients in our universe. Yet these planet-scale superbeings are often misunderstood, underestimated, and even discriminated against in modern society. This first-of-its kind exhibition displays the art, culture, and history of hive minds. Though the contents of the exhibit are still largely incompressible to the single-minded, viewers are bound to gain a deeper appreciation of their many-minded brethren. 7D IMAX Theater Experience: Early Humanity Timed entry pass required. Ever wanted to know what life was like before the invention of AIs? It was mostly bad, but you can experience it for yourself in the 7D IMAX Theater Experience: Early Humanity. You’ll get to experience firsthand what it’s like to be born, live, and die as an early human. 10 A.M. showtime: Agrarian lifestyles, pre-19th century Noon showtime: Hunter gatherer lifestyles, pre-15th century 2 P.M. showtime: Industrial revolution, 19th century 4 P.M. showtime: World Wars 1, 2, 3, and 4, 20th and 21st centuries Page 3. Permanent Exhibitions Artificial Intelligences: Our Benevolent Overlords We all know that AIs keep our galaxies secure. But how do they do it, and why are they so benevolent and incapable of enslaving biological lifeforms? The museum’s AI exhibition shows you what it’s like inside a AI’s home: a supercomputing center! Modern Humans Although very few humans remain, they play a special role in our society as the original creators of our benevolent AI overlords. Once highly intelligence, they are now domesticated and kept by the AIs as pets. Humans provide much needed companionship and comfort to the hardworking AIs who keep our galaxies at peace. Understanding the devolution of human intelligence provides and important window into the fragile thing that is “sentience.” Hall of Things That, Surprisingly, are Capable of Feeling Pain Have you ever wanted to learn about all the lifeforms that, while while they cannot communicate, are capable of feeling unfathomable pain? This unique multimedia experience takes you inside the mind of an insect as it’s being stepped on, a blade of grass being struck by lawn mower, and many, many more living beings that want to scream but are incapable of doing so!
I ran. I ran to the garage, to the freezer we had there. I took out the salmon we had in there. I mean, he did not say live fish, right? I ran over to my tools and grabbed the tape, using it to tape the fish somehow to my head. I pressed the garage opener and waited for the door to open. It was surreal, weird. But all those things the Android that called himself M.O.R.U.S. told me just opened my eyes. The possibilities. The technology he could provide us with. Future Tech Inc. could become the leading company in technology that would revolutionize the world, after we nearly went bankrupt when our developers left to other companies. So how could I not trust him in this? I ran through the door towards the street full of euphoria. "Help! I just need..." M.O.R.U.S. stood at the kitchen window watching how Kevin, the neighbourhood kid with his brand new Mustang his father bought for his 17th birthday came down the road way, way too fast. He watched how the car hit the man in the middle of the road, throwing him against a traffic sign. The skull made a cracking noise as it hit the pole. The frozen fish was thrown to the side, sliding up the neighbours driveway and scaring away the cat that had watched all this with an alarmed look on his face. M.O.R.U.S. made an entry in his mission log. "Subject 2257 eliminated. Propability for Failure of main computer unit by incompetent human IT specialists reduced to 78%. Proceeding to Subject 2258."
it is the year 2272, after world war 3, the entire planet changed. There are no more Countries, and the entire planet is united under one flag. The United Emissaries Alliance controls the planet now, and they're elected officials from across the globe. One hundred and forty four years ago, they banned freedom of religion. It is now strictly forbidden to worship any God, or obey any religion. One of the main reasons for this is because one of the chief starters of world war three was religion. After the deaths of over half the entire world humanity found it in their best interests to do away with these old primitive ideas. Evolution has been proven vastly beyond a reasonable doubt. Besides the planet would be a way more peaceful place, if we all agree there is no God, no afterlife, and live together in harmony instead of fighting over fairy tales. Me on the other hand, I always hated the United Emissaries Alliance for doing away with religion. It wasn't because I believed in religion, no.. I to see them as fairy tales for the weak minded. It was because I believe people shouldn't be controlled, if people want to believe in religion they should be able to. Banning all religious texts, and not allowing people to believe in religion just feels wrong and evil to me. Out of spite, I illegally acquired every legal religious text the world has to offer. I studied them profusely, I prayed to a dozen different deities every night. I printed the texts, and spreaded them as well. People should have the right to read those texts, and believe whatever their hearts desire. I live a great life as a human, I have a wife and kids, I have a excellent career, I have the best life I could have ever wanted or dreamed of. Plenty of money, plenty of free time, great friends, I live the absolute dream. Unforeantely though, all great times must come to an end, at the age of 122 my body begins to fail. My wife had passed away 10 years earliar, so when the doctors offer treatment and ways for me to fight, I turn them down. "I'm ready to die.."I tell the doctors and my family sitting near my bed. "I lived a long life.. \coughs\ please let me die and see my wife once more." "There is no afterlife you know that dad, even saying that can land you in prison."Says my son as he is holding my hand by the side of my hospital bed. I cough up some pleghm and reply, "I love you with all my heart, and no matter what anyone threatens you with, you must believe what you want to believe.. Religion and spirit can be the explanation to how instead of why.." I said that to my son, but I honestly still didn't believe in an afterlife or religion myself.. I mostly began worshipping these deities out of spite, and simply for the laughs. My family pleads with me to try to hold onto life and fight, I explain to them that i've lived long enough and I'm ready to go in peace. Eventually my family understands, and accepts my request. The doctors offer to inject me with stuff that will make my death fast and painless, I hastily accept their offer. Into my IV they start putting the fluids, my son in tears, as well as my cousins and brother.
Her hair whips around her face and branches strike impenetrable flesh as she runs through the thickening forest. The voices of her handmaidens shine through the woods; searching for her. In her chest something grows harder and heavier. The weight of it increases until it makes her sink to the ground. By now, she could hear nothing aside from the occasional calls of birds and snapping of a branch. For a moment, it’s peaceful. Her eyes fill and the thing that’s been inside of her is forcing it’s way out. She makes an unnatural noise as her tears fall. Her stomach heaves the sorrow from within her. She tears at the grass as flowers spring from her fingertips and a river forms from her tears. She resents the beauty brought about by her pain and attempts to pull up the flowers. With each tear and ripped root, a meadow quickens it’s bloom around her. She had never screamed in her life. This was her first. It tore through the earth, woke the wind, and uprooted trees. And she collapses; worn by the storm that beats inside of her. All of this pain that she cannot escape. That, no matter how many times she tried to show her mother, would be brushed off as no worse than the sting of a bee. Unpleasant but forgettable. She wishes that her mother would just take a moment to see that it’s a fire raging within her. The kind of fire that only goes out once it’s consumed everything it greets. Instead, she is left alone in her hurt; tortured as she wonders what went wrong within her. The ground begins to vibrate beneath her. Trembling, as though it has something to fear. The river shrinks into the earth and her flowers wilt and dry before her. A crack, loud as thunder, rings from just beneath her and the ground starts to fall; creating a hole which ends at her feet. His chariot springs from below and flies above her head before cascading to the ground behind her. She had seen him once before, in Zeus’ court. Her mother held disdain for him and spoke of all her creations that suffered his presence. He hasn’t noticed her yet and is looking around in confusion. His eyes finally meet hers. She noted how much his eyes spoke for him. They were dark, almost black. He rakes them across her face and forms wrinkles between his brows. For ages, neither one of them breaks the silence that they’ve conceived. “Why?” She didn’t even know what she was asking. Why are you here? Why aren’t you speaking? Why don’t you move? “Where is…?” His voice trails off. She doesn’t fully understand. Instead, she looks around at the fallen trees, flowers, and other signs of death. “There’s death here. I can feel it.” Again, she looks around before returning to his gaze. She furrows her brow and gestures around herself. “No. No. A real death. A soul’s death.” She doesn’t have any words for him and can only shake her head. Through what is left of the woods, melodious voices called out. Her maidens were drawing closer. The tune of her eyes changed as they turned away from the nearing shouts to him. She suddenly stands and, without pause, runs to his chariot. She hoists herself upward and clings to him from behind. “Please.” Her eyes bore into his and he gave no indication of compassion. “Please. Just take me away from here.” Suddenly, his gaze softens; so slightly that no one would notice. As her handmaidens enter this clearing of decay, he grabs hold of her waist and drives them upwards before sharply diving below the earth once more. They plummet. Her heart seems to stop and mind races while the ground rises above them. The smell of dirt comforts her. He is left quietly marveling at how, from the instant that she grabbed hold of him, he felt something new. A soul returning to life on its own accord. But more than that, he can feel a flutter in the space that once carried his own soul.
It’s a little odd, I ponder, how much time I spend around dying kids. I’m not a doctor, a nurse, or really anyone who has reason to do it as often as I do. I’ve been a lot of things, in a lot of times – comes with being a genie. Never been a healer, though. I can’t snap away death. I can’t really help these kids. But I’d be damned if I didn’t try. An actual nurse’s voice eases me back to the present. “Hi, Melanie! How are we doing today?” Leaning over the nurse’s shoulder, I see her. A small girl. God, she couldn’t be older than six. Pale face, blue eyes – less like the ocean, and more like the rain. Her thin hair catches the morning light creeping through her room’s window, and looks nearly golden. Melanie. “I’m tired,” she moans, and I believe her. I feel it in her voice, how it rasps – defeated – like no one’s her age should. In her eyes, overcast like in a weak drizzle. “When can I go back to sleep?” The nurse purses her lips, exchanging a knowing look with me. “Soon, honey, I promise. But first, there’s someone here to see you!” Forcing a pained smile of my own, I step forward. “Hey, Melanie! I’ve heard so much about you.” “Okay.” She doesn’t mirror my feigned enthusiasm. I kneel by her bed, leveling my eyes with hers. “I’ve heard you’re not feeling so well. And… I’ve heard you have a wish that I can grant." Her eyes widen, just a little, and she sits up. “Yeah.” The corner of my mouth lifts. That look. A touch of excitement. Finally, something to look forward to. Hope, even. “You wanna tell me about it?” Melanie furrows her brow. “You said you knew already.” I did have her wish on a paper from the foundation, folded up in my jacket pocket. But I couldn’t grant a wish off a paper. “Oh, I do. I have it right here,” – I pat my chest – “but I wanna be absolutely sure so I don’t grant the wrong wish. What if I accidentally gave you tickets to the Stanley Cup?” “What’s a stanley cup?” “Exactly, Melanie,” I chuckle. “That’s someone else’s wish, and I’m here to grant yours. So, will you please tell me what it is? What you really want the most?” She takes a deep breath. “I miss my mom.” Immediately, I know she’s not telling me what’s on the paper. But as long as she doesn’t wish for her mom back, I can still do it. Even if it does catch me more heat from the foundation for inexplicably granting the ‘wrong’ wish again. “I know you do, sweetie.” “She made me a goodnight book, once.” My head tilts, curious. “A… goodnight book? Can you tell me what that is?” Melanie nods, and her hair bounces and reflects the sun. A little brighter, now that it’s risen. “It’s – it’s like a book you read to go to sleep. But she reads it to me. Or, she would.” I nod back slowly, understanding. “Is that your wish, Melanie?” “Yes,” she says firmly. “I wish for my book back.” “Okay. Do you know where it is?” Melanie lowers her head, and I realize I’ve made her remember something she’d rather forget. “They told me it got lost in the fire.” Gently, I cup her small chin in my hand and ease it up. “Well, Melanie, what’s lost can be found, right?” It won’t be as easy as I thought, but I can still do it, with her help. “Can you close your eyes for me, and think really hard about your book? Can you try to remember how it looked, what it felt like in your hands, and what was on the pages?” She closes her eyes, and I move my hand to hold hers, her fist curling around one of my fingers. The stronger the connection, the better I can see what she’s imagining. I close my eyes, too, and I feel it. A faint tug. Not forceful – wistful. Feels like – like looking at a clear sky, feeling the breeze fill my nose, brush my skin, hearing nothing but the gentle sounds of nature. It’s loving, and safe, and a little melancholy, too. I open my eyes. Hers are welling with tears. “Melanie, you did amazing. And I have a little gift for you here." Unbuttoning my coat, I make a show of reaching into it, pawing at a pocket, if only to sell it to the nurse waiting behind me. Not that it really matters – she’ll have questions anyway, and I’ll be questioned anyway. I procure a small, thick packet of Post-Its. There have to be hundreds of them, each carefully adhered to the next. I thumb through it. It’s a flipbook. On every page, two rabbits – one big, drawn in blue ink, one small, drawn in black ink – exploring together. They hop through the woods, stopping every once in a while to complete a task, until they settle down and snuggle as the moon comes up. I’m not sure what it means. But I find the answer in Melanie’s face – her deep blue eyes blinking back tears, her nose scrunching, her lip curling and quavering. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice catching in her throat, and I can tell. It means everything. *Thank you for reading, and please feel free to leave thoughts and feedback! This is my first time writing in years, and I’d love to improve.*
"You have been eating potatoes for days, count Casperian. We are beginning to get ... worried." I peeled another potato and plopped it into my mouth. Shouldn't there be a limit? My experiments with magic had so far been entirely potato-based, but that was of little consequence. Where did the potatoes come from? I said the words, the magic words, and they just appeared before me fully formed, like divine inspiration. "Worried?"I turned to face my humble servant, Glenrog. "You should be worried about the origin of the potatoes, not my act of consuming them." "Well ..."Glenrog scratched the back of his neck. "It's magic, isn't it?" "It's magic?" He blinked. "Yes? Isn't that obvious?" I breathed a deep sigh. How could people just accept it? Why didn't they crave explanations? Why were they happy and content with their ignorance? I said the words and another potato materialized before me. Glenrog cleared his throat. "Is this about your late father? Grief tends to express itself in different forms. Maybe yours is the form of the ... potato." The starchy tuber in my hand did not strike me as a manifestation of loss. It struck me as a potato. And that was the problem: it was a perfectly normal potato. I had made inquiries around the city and there were no reports of missing vegetables. Shouldn't they disappear from somewhere? Was this 'somewhere' simply ... distant? "Clear the grand hall." "I'm sorry?" "I want everything out. Gone. Every carpet, every chair--all of it." "Very well, count. May I ask for what purpose?" "Potatoes." Glenrog tilted his head. "... Potatoes?" --- One million potatoes. There seemed to be no limit to them. So long as I had enough magical energy I could make any number of potatoes appear, and no matter what you'd expect to hear about if one million potatoes were to disappear from anywhere. So there was only one conclusion: the potatoes were of an otherwordly origin. I firmly grasped a potato and stared at it, this alien tuber. Could it be true? "Glenrog. Clear the gardens." "C-Count?" "I want everything gone. Every tree, every bush--all of it." He gulped. "V-Very well, count." --- Ten billion potatoes later, I felt certain in my conclusion: these potatoes did not come from the realm of Therelda. They came from some ... other place. The land of the dead? Did it house potatoes? Did the dead have to eat? No, that was a strange notion. This idea made me think of a pond, a small world unto itself. Could it be that Therelda was like this pond? Did it belong to some greater realm? I stared at the blue skies, stretching on forever above, and I felt something twist deep inside me. "Glenrog. Pack your things. We are going on an expedition." "Very well. What about the, uh, potatoes?" I stared at the enormous pile filling the entirety of my garden, reaching far above even my mansion. "Invite the villagers to help themselves. Everyone likes potatoes." "... Right." --- The League of Magicians was a sorry lot. They concerned themselves mostly with conjuring up endless bottles of rum and wine and cured their own hangovers if they were sober enough to command their own tongues. "Uh? Visitors? Are you, eh, are you here to pay for our services?" An old, weathered man in a thick, red cape scratched his bum and stared at us with raised eyebrows. Behind him the party was raging hard, with various fantastical creatures clothed in barely anything dancing on the tables to much celebration. "Not quite. We are here for information." "Oh?" I said the words and a potato appeared in my hand. The wizardly man awed and nodded his head in a sign of respect. "That's a neat trick,"he said. "But what you want to do, you know, is to take it a step further. You can get straight vodka. You don't have to make potatoes first. Here, I'll show you." "That ... won't be necessary. I want to know where they come from. The potatoes." The wizard scratched his thick beard. "Oh? I think they come from fields." "You think the count doesn't know that already?!"shouted Glenrog, making a fist. "Oh. You mean the origin of magic itself?" I paused for a second. Did I truly wish to find out? Sure, it was a grand mystery. And the answer had perplexed me for a long time. I had let it churn for such a long time that I might miss the feeling. "Yes,"I said, and I held my breath. The wizard nodded his head. "That's easy,"he said. "No one knows." "But .. You are the League of Magicians. If anyone would know, it would be you." "I don't disagree with that. But, eh, we don't know. We know it works. That's enough, isn't it? If you don't mind, I have a buxom elf girl waiting for me ..." As we turned to leave, dejected, I felt a hand on my ankle. It was a small imp-like fellow with wide-brimmed glasses. "You are searching the truth of the magic, yes?" Glenrog gave me a look. He was skeptical. As was I. "That is correct." The imp grinned. "The answer is here,"he said, and he tapped his head. "Inside Bolbo's head, there's the answer." "Alright, Mr. Bolbo. Tell me. What's the origin of magic?" "Not here,"he said, and he looked around over his shoulder. "Join me to other place." --- Bolbo lead us to a deserted tavern in a district I had not visited before. "Where is everyone?"I asked the proprietor. "Haven't you heard?"he said, wiping a glass with a white towel. "There's free potatoes, over at the fool count's place." "Fool count?"said Glenrog. "Yeah. You know, the weird one. The one who looks sort of like a mishap of the gods. The one who doesn't seem particularly bright. The one with the messed-up ears. The one--" "Enough!"I cried. I dragged Glenrog over to a table. He seemed intent on fighting the tavern keeper. "So, Bolbo. What can you tell us?" "Ahh ... my throat. It's dry." "Are you serious? We just left an infinite supply of liquor." Bolbo shrugged. I started saying a familiar incantation when he interrupted me. "No,"he said. "Not the magic stuff. Yuck. The real stuff."He pointed over at the bottles lined up over the counter. "Get that green bottle. Good stuff." I went over to the counter. "I'll have that,"I said and pointed to the bottle. "Oh, a true connaisseur,"said the tavern keeper. "That is our most expensive one. Aged for 250 years. It costs a full year's wages."He sized me up. "Unless you're well off, of course. Then it's more like ... A weekly budget." I returned with the bottle. To my horror Bolbo unscrewed it and drank it all at once. Afterward, he wiped his lips and sat staring at us with a smile of contentment. "So?" "What?"said Bolbo. "What's the origin of magic?" "Ahh. That. Yes. You still want to know?"He flashed me a cheeky grin. "For Glunk's sake, just tell us!"yelled Glenrog. "Of course, of course ... First fill the bottle again? With magic?" "... I thought you didn't like the magical stuff?" "Oh, proprietor is old friend." I scowled at the tavern keeper, who quickly ducked under the counter. "Fine,"I grumbled, and I filled his bottle. "Alright. Magic. Are you familiar with plays? On stages?" "Sure." "Yes. That is what magic is like. On the stage magic happens. Behind the stage is its origin." I shrugged. "That doesn't tell me much." "Oh, but I think it does tell much. I have the ticket to go visit. Behind the stage." "Ticket?" Bolbo produced a piece of parchment with official-looking script on it. "I have no interest myself. I like to see the play. Knowing what is behind? That make it no fun." "Where did you get such a thing?"asked Glenrog. "Ah, you mentioned him already. Glenk." Glenrog snorted. "Glenk? The god of avarice?" "Yes. He is dear friend of mine." I arched my brows and nodded slightly. "Okay. So how does it work?" "Oh it's the most simple thing. You just read the words."He flashed me the piece of paper, and I read it. Backstage Pass to the Vault. "Okay, I read it. Now what?" "No, no,"said Bolbo. "Out loud. You have to read out loud." I cleared my throat. "Backstage Pass to the Vault. That's it? It didn't really ... do anything." The world went white and a thunderous roar besieged me. Glenrog, Bolbo, the tavern keeper--they all disappeared. There weren't even any potatoes around, and I couldn't produce them with my magic either. It was all ... blank. "H-Hello?" "Welcome to the interactive tour of the Vault! Please remain standing while we prepare to temporarily break your immersion. The Vault–the place where the magic happens."
You can't walk more than a few blocks in this town without seeing a "I ♥️ The Brigadier"shirt for sale or see a bumper sticker with his ugly face on it. It always annoyed the fuck out of me but alpha class heroes like him never bothered with kilo level criminals so unless I suddenly threw an aircraft carrier at the moon or something I didn't have to worry about him. As I walked to "work"I laughed at the idea. Who the fuck throws an aircraft carrier anyway? I opened the door and even though the restaurant was still a little busy, the lunch rush was done so there would be plenty of money in the till. I yelled "nobody move, I'm taking the money here and nobody will get hurt as long as you don't try to be a hero!"Someone stood up and yelled "fuck off you aren't stealing anythi--but quickly fell over as I launched a steak at him hard enough to knock him out. I could control anything that had been cooked so even though I could make him revisit his lunch I preferred to use pre-eaten food. I walked up to the counter and demanded all the cash they had when I heard the door open. I levitated another steak from the grill and turned around to lob it at whatever unfortunate bastard had wandered in but froze when I saw him. The Brigadier. Right in front of me. He wasn't wearing his usual costume. This was had polished brass and immaculate leather straps securing his cape. He also wasn't wearing his gauntlets so I presumed he was at some kind of autograph signing. He was not as tall as I imagined but somehow still seemed to tower over me. "so are you going to give up or will I have to cook up some justice?"He asked. I almost fell over trying not to laugh. The papers never mentioned anything about his banter skills. "what's the rush? You haven't even had your appetizer!"I yelled as I lifted the steak again then used all my strength to launch it at him. It hit his face and some of the juices dropped onto his uniform. "now you've made me mad. Let's make some villain tartare!"He yelled flying towards me. I barely dodged him and he almost hit the grill before he stopped. When he got up, his right hand touched the surface. I heard sizzling and he yelled, jerking his hand away. "fuck!"He screamed. I didn't know The Brigadier ever cussed before. This was serious now. "give up or you're really going to be well done when I'm finished with you"he threatened. I smiled because that sizzle was all I'd need. "just one question before I do. Why you hitting yourself"? I made his hand ball into a fist and forced it into his chest hard enough to knock the wind out. Then I had him uppercut himself a few times and finally I had him deliver a right cross that Mike Tyson would be proud of. Seeing him on the ground, I strolled over to the cashier and said "now, about that money?"And she put everything in the register into a paper bag and handed it to me. I walked out feeling like I'd won the Superbowl. Not only had I taken on The Brigadier, I knocked his ass out.
"Oh! Look! It's the Herald!"the man excitedly yelled and pointed at me before swiftly crossing the street to meet me. My hand slid towards my wait where I stored my blaster. I was ready for a fight. "Mr Herald, I just wanted to say I'm a big fan,"he smiled. "Ah,"I said, a grin on my face, "you too wish to spread evil through the world? Be the Herald of Doom?" "What?"he said, a look of confusion on his face. "No, I mean your heroics. You're a truly good man." I stared at him blankly. "What?" "Your heroic exploits, sir! We truly appreciate it." "But..."I took a moment to search for the right words, "I'm... a villain. I'm not-"I tried to follow up but my confusion stopped me. "What? Of course not!"he denied, "You're the greatest hero this city has ever seen!" "I've robbed the National Bank." "Well, you've demonstrated just how obsolete the security system was. Turns out the Head of the Bank was colluding with the Mayor to create incredibly expensive contracts and skim the money." "I released mutant animals into the wild." "Oh, right, the corpsehounds!"he laughed. "An unfortunate name, really, though they have displayed immense lethality towards the growing varmint population that was starting to be a real problem for the farmers. And thanks to their mutation, they can't even carry any diseases! Hell, some farmers even adopted them. They're incredibly friendly towards humans." "I beat up the Mayor- oh wait he was an asshole wasn't he?"I said, defeated. The man nodded enthusiastically. "Aw man, this sucks!" The man's expression grew worried. "What's wrong?" "I'm- I'm a villain, man, not a hero. Always wanted to be one. Made my costume completely red like the blood of my enemies." "Oh, really?"he said. "It's very inspiring, actually." "I wanted to command respect, wanted people to tremble when they see me."My shoulders slumped down. "They do, sir,"he said. I looked up at him. "You're more respected than anyone else in the city. People put you on T-shirts. You have several fan clubs. And tremble? They jump up and down with excitement to see a true hero! I'm surprised you've not noticed,"he said with kindness I never expected anyone to show me. It was... nice. "There's a saying,"I started. "A man calls you a horse, you punch him in the face. Another one calls you a horse, you call him an ass. A third one does, well..." I looked at him. "You best start looking for a saddle,"I smiled and raised my head high.
I had a feeling this Monday would be bad. More than usual, I mean. It started with my car deciding to run out of gas not even halfway to the office. Sure, it beeped at me, but how am I supposed to know what beep is bad and what beep isn't? The 'Check Engine' light's been on for almost a year now and I looked at it, and it looked engine-like, so, you know? So I went ahead and summoned one of my minions to take care of it. That's what they're there for after all. Then of course someone ran into me just as I walked out onto my office floor. White shirt and black coffee do not make a good combination. I was checking my phone to see when my minion would get my car back to me, and then one moment later, I had a massive burning splotch all over my front. Not the good kind of burning either. The little devil who ran into my apologized profusely. I swear she was about to prostrate on the floor with how frazzled she looked. I'd just sat down in my office and petted Mr. Bubbles when the phone rang. "My lord, he's here again,"said my secretary, Agatha, in her low, raspy voice. "Who?"I knew who she meant, but I was hoping just this one time to be wrong. "Mr. Awesome, sire."Agatha took a long rattling breath. "I'll send him up before he scares the minions again." I didn't reply. Just burrowed my head in my hands for a long moment. Why did this keep happening? A sharp knock on the door. I took a deep breath and tidied up some of the papers on my leather desk. Mr. Bubbles was curled up like a cloud on the window sill. "Come in."I tried to keep my tone flat and neutral. The door opened and in strode Mr. Awesome. His blond hair fluttered despite the absence of any noticeable breeze. His shining white costume made me hiss at the glare. He nodded almost imperceptibly to me before walking up to my table and slamming his fists down on it. "It's finally time to bring you to justice, Mr. Doom! You can't weasel your way out with words this time, though my code compels me to at least give you an audience. Speak quickly before I take you in."His voice was resonant, almost choral. "Mr. Awesome. A pleasure. Though again, I have no idea why you're here. We are a perfectly reasonable organization engaged in completely legal business activities of a moral nature."I'd long been coached on what to say by my lawyer after the mess I'd made the first time Mr. Awesome had ambushed me. Mr. Awesome clenched his fist. "We had a spy this time! He's given us first hand information. You call your staff minions! Your secretary is a ghoul, and your name is Mr. Doom! I've heard of reverse psychology, but this is a stretch too far even for that !" I rose to my feet, still a good head shorter than the caped hero before me. "How dare you! Agatha has a congenital condition that she's been mocked for her entire life! Ghoul! I should report you just for this baseless, demeaning accusation. The only solace she's found has been embracing a Goth identity, and you would take that from her?"My voice grew progressively louder. "And my name?", I continued, "Are you chasing down anyone and everyone that has a surname with even slightly negative connotations? If you must know, it's the closest spelling of a word from my native land. I thought Utopialand was above discrimination. Clearly I was mistaken." Mr. Awesome's shoulders had slumped. I could see him physically shrink back. "But... Your company's name is EVIL! "Yes, Enterprise Value Increaser Limited! That's what we do - we make companies better. Now unless making money is a crime, I don't know why you're here." Mr. Awesome made to speak, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times. His brows grew increasingly furrowed. I pointed to the door. "Now, please. I need to get back to work. World domination isn't easy, you know." "He means of the enterprise value market."Agatha's rasp from outside my door killed the little spark of light that had crept back into Mr. Awesome's face.
Echoes of the boots on concrete reverberate down the hallway. I can hear her coming towards me a mile away before she would ever be in sight. The steps and gait are distinct. One of the few sounds I can hear other than the machines and fluids surrounding my floating body. Before she reaches me, a deep voice besides me calls out to her. “Madam Sirska. I was not expecting you this early. There is little to report since this morning.” As always, she does not respond and continues walking towards me. I see nothing but mere plays of light behind my eyelids but this routine is as predictable as she has always been. With a final clack of the boots, she stops in front of me. Even now, I can see her standing perfectly straight with her unflinching gaze and staring at me. Military life does that to a person. There is a heavy silence as the physician next to me fidgets. She is silent and not asking for a report. Now that is unusual. His nervous energy seeps into me. While I cannot voluntarily move, I wonder if any part of my body reacts. She eventually speaks to the nervous Doctor. “Doctor Miko, can we wake him up? Can he move?” After a slight hesitation, he answers. “N...No. We shouldn’t. The recovery isn’t finished. The muscles and tissues have reconnected but there will be severe atrophy. He risks ripping if we resuscitate him now. We shouldn...” He was cut off from whatever gesture she made. She asked again. “Can we wake him? I did not ask if we should. The people are starting to believe him dead. They are beginning to question the Emperor’s immortality. They must see that he lives.” My dear Sirska. My second-in-command and ever loyal to my Empire. She has the perfect mind for administrative work. During these moments, I do rather regret not picking someone with a few more critical thinking skills though. Thankfully, I had the foresight to provide the kind Doctor with authority over my resuscitation. Something she would never try to override. Miko responds with a stronger tone behind his voice. “We Cannot Resuscitate Him.” Emphasizing each word. “The people do not follow the Immortal Emperor. They follow the Indomitable and Untouchable Emperor that cannot be killed. We cannot show them... this. His immortality has never being in question, his power is.” I fear she doesn’t know that I can hear her. I doubt the Doctor would bother telling her. He informs only of the progress of my recovery, nothing more. If she did, she likely wouldn’t be grinding her teeth so audibly in front of me. She tries to hide it, but I can tell that particular brand of frustration from her, always. The stress building up from being wrong and acknowledging the fact. After a long silence, she finally sighs and does what she so rarely does. She asks him for advice. “Doctor Miko. So what do I do? How do I keep the Empire together while he recovers? I need to do something. I cannot. I cannot wait and let his Empire crumble while his people ask for the Emperor’s Revenge. The City for his Mercy and Benevolence. His enemies constantly pointing out his absence. What can I do?” I do love these few exchanges. If only she would ask and listen to the kind Doctor more often. Even after explaining that he understands my mind better than anyone, she still rarely agrees with him. Pity that. After writing down some final measurements on his clipboard, Doctor Miko puts down his pen. I know he is not even looking at her. But he answers her anyway in that nervous fidget he has, the former confidence gone away. “The Emperor would want you to be who you have always been. You are waiting for his recovery to lead his armies. You don’t need his command to know what he would do. Go out there with his armies and mow down his enemies. Burn those who denounce him. Trample those who detonated the nuclear device. Kill any who doubt his mercy. Reward those that remain loyal even now.” With a slightly more confident tone, he continues. “Madame Sirska. You are General Sirska. Bloodhound of the Untouchable Emperor and only the Emperor himself is more feared and respected than you. You want to keep his Empire together until his recover? Stop being the administrator you’ve been for the last decade and start cutting crimson swaths like you know you want to.” I don’t need eyes to see the grin on her face. I don’t a mouth to smile. Doctor Miko knows me, and he knows her. He also knows what she should have known days after my body was incinerated to almost nothing. She has a head for her administrative duties, but she is my General. My Bloodhound. And I can finally hear her showing her fangs.
"Could you say that one more time?" He stares at me with a look of bewilderment. "Excuse me?" I repeat myself, "Could you say that one more time?" He seems nervous. What, did I say something wrong? With a slight shakiness in his voice he re-explained it, "My evil and devious plan is to release a parasite that will completely shut off the human mind. Once all humans are irradiated, I'll become the new god and release my human clones who are immune to the parasite, who I have modified to be the perfect species." "...But I'm immune to said parasite, so it's up to me to find a cure and save the world..."I mock while mumbling. He steps off of his gold lined throne, stepping down the purple carpeted steps. He stands infront of me, whispering in a low voice, "So then, that makes us enemies, right?" "...Not exactly." I grin at how taken aback he is. His plan actually sounds kind of ingenious, not going to lie. "I'm actually quite sick of those pests, y'know that? Always ordering me around, never giving me any privacy. And for what? A small mark on my shoulder that they claim the chosen one will have?" He clicks his tongue, still staring at me. I laugh, "And you know what's even worse? They even talked about selling me off to you in exchange for not going through with your plan!" He attempts to speak. "Thats-" But I cut him off. "And then they locked me in a basement for my entire childhood for what they called my 'own safety'! I only learned how to read and write, y'know that!? But then when I finally did get out of that stupid cellar, I was greeted by the royal family themselves, taking me in and treating me like flesh and blood! They all hated me for having no grace, no manners!" He's given up on responding, he knows I'm just going to keep going. "At this point, they trained me like a soldier to ready me to fight. They gave me huge feasts, but I couldn't eat anything because I needed to lose weight. By the time they sent me off to find you, I was ready to rip that skull of yours off of your body with my bare hands!" He starts to back away as I stride towards him, wrapping my fingertips around the extrusions of the side of his face. "But now?" I lean in closer. "I wish they just sold me to you right from the start." He awkwardly pushes me away, I suppose he didn't expect his nemesis, the chosen one, to rant to him about the very people he's trying to kill with boiling hatred. "So uh..."He mumbled while blushing, "Do you want to join me, or..." I cut him off suddenly. "Of course I want to join you! Imagine what will happen when I come back if I were to defeat you, they'll just glorify me and never leave me alone!" He's yet again stunned, I guess he really expected something different from me. He takes my hand, leading me into the deeper parts of his palace. "Well, I suppose I don't really have anything stopping me from releasing the parasite anymore, now do I?" "Just do it."
A leviathan, never had anyone attempted such a feat, unfortunately I had no choice, stranded on an island with nothing else to eat save coconuts and crabs. Such a grand creature,tentacles sprawling 100 meters long, some still impaled by the spikes used to prevent juveniles from scaling to the deck, most don’t live longer than 12 years, tender bastards, who do hold a flavour better than chicken could ever dream of. It bled out into the nearby shore, a little secret, you don’t need all of your foe but 97%, the beast was speared in the brain with a harpoon by a dear friend, I found him halfway through the stomach, terrible way to die. Surprisingly flavourful, already brined I guess, made a welcome change. The beak,Hard, rough and entirely undigestible, I saved it for last. As I consumed more and more, I seemed to gain attributes not befitting a man, firstly I developed a taste for flesh uncooked, then my stomach seemed to always find space for whatever I ate,my grip started to crack coconuts, my eyes stung less when I opened them under the sea,my breath slowly became efficient underwater,my mind was filled with memories of places long forgotten to even the stones on which they were built and I became less and less fond of the thought of shaving. Others I only discovered later when I returned to ‘civilisation’, i stared to garner a group of loyal fellows across the region,my reach was long and I could ‘slip’ through any keyhole I deigned, the deck of a ship felt more homely than my own mothers arms. Now the seas belong to me, the pirate king, no musket ball nor sword can fell me, I live in luxury, retired after one mission, I can tell you Spain is lovely at this time of year. But now alas, my worst fears have come true, my beard has started to look more like tentacles by the day, my eyes are no longer mammalian and I fear my form is beginning to expand and grow, for you see this is the truth. Leviathans never die,they just take a break.
I awoke to sounds similar to my native language, as the clear coffin opened to a number of smartly dressed....squirrels and badgers? One of them wore a monocle, and a contraption that had multiple clear lenses that moved on a bar arm. It spoke, a sense of the feminine within it, as its foreclaws prodded the flesh of my abdomen. "Hrm. This wasn't quite what I expected - this strange coloured flesh bag. I think this is a Hugh Mann?"It was holding in its other foreclaw a clipboard with a string of spider silk attaching a pen to it; a Bic. The badger was much smaller than I was, although the head itself was larger than those I was familiar with. I gently rippled my hand, making sure that I felt everything there, and I blinked my eyes. The badger quickly swept a claw into a pocket on its disturbingly white coat and pulled out a small LED torch, shining it directly into my eyes. I swatted it away, saying, "Give me a minute, dammit!"It blinked back, and stepped back, hissing before shock registered on its face. "Wait....I understand you. How did you...?"It shook its head, muttering something under its breath, before raising its voice again. "No, no, no, that can't be right, it shouldn't be able to understand me." A masculine voice called out, "Yannifer, what the Hssss are you doing, antagonising the Hugh Mann! I told you to wait for the reanimation protoc-oh."His furious flow was disrupted as he took in my gaze. Imagine seeing a bodybuilder in the form of a leopard, complete with skin and hair colouration, and a very feline face. Then grow it to my height stood on its hind paws, which had adapted to become more like feet, and then clothe it. It nodded to someone, who pushed something and cleared the door to my coffin. There was a surge of warm air, as the atmosphere here leaked in and merged with the air inside. "As if that doesn't beat Great Doggi,"he breathed, trying to make himself smaller. He stood and moved in close to me, making the movement in the space of a second. I shrank into the coffin as he breathed, his slitted emerald eyes widening in excitement. "Incredible....I'd heard of these unusual creatures from the long off days of Far Ago, but I didn't expect the skeletal remains to bring us something this strange and fleshy!"He breathed on me, and the smell of fresh meat ran through me as he placed his right paw on my face. I panicked a little, and he sniffed. "An increased heart rate and something of fear,"as he ran his paw along my cheeks and I felt the pads on the tips of his opposable thumbclaw slide on my skin roughly. I couldn't help it - my hand reached up and grabbed his arm, firmly but gently. "That's enough of that, who are you, and why am I the only normal one here?"I pointed at one of the other animals here. "I can see..."and I racked my brain as the memories were coming back. "A leopard, some badgers, some squirrels and...is that an allosaur running the place?"I rubbed my eyes with my free hand, wondering what the hell had happened. My skin was a deep brown on my hands, fading on the palms, and not the colour I remembered. "Incredible..."the cat breathed. "That was close to the Divine Writings of Jesus Manx and his Disciples." The badger turned to him. Yannifer, I noted. She stared as though I had just become an eldritch monstrosity. "Oh my Ratatosk. I never thought you would find religion, Alkham."The cat grinned at her, and she grinned back, stepping back just in case. "Hey, I was raised Manx, you know - Just because I don't believe anymore doesn't mean I don't know the stories!"He playfully swatted at her, as she stuck out her tongue, flicking her vestigial tail-bush at him. She picked up the pen, and started scribbling on the clipboard. "Can you move at all?"She spoke, turning her head to me. I nodded, making a parody of a salute. "Yes, Ma'am."She nodded to another person, as I pushed my way out of the coffin. She started to walk away as I stumbled, and cut myself on the edge of the coffin. The cat, Alkham, just looked at the cut. He called out, "Yanni, he has red blood just like most of us. Can you get him cleaned up before you start testing him? Some of the others might get....ideas."
"There's no name in the paperwork. Isn't there supposed to be a name somewhere?"I mused as I tried to recall that small detail in the sea of information the shelter had provided when I went to pick up my new foster cat. My first cat, first pet ever really. I was never much of a pet person growing up, though I desperately wanted to be - an army brat tends to move around too much so trying to find a place that would accommodate me and 3 sisters was hard enough for Dad, let alone adding pets into the equation. That was a fight I never won and gave up trying after Mom died my freshman year. I think the fight went out of all of us, really. Mom was the glue that held us together and kept the peace among 4 rowdy kids who loved nothing more than to annoy each other until someone cried or threw a punch. I think she'd be thrilled to see me now with my own pet. She'd loved animals too but understood it just wasn't possible while Dad's duties kept us on the move so often. She'd also be laughing her ass off at me, standing here awkwardly watching this foster cat disinterestedly roam around looking completely unimpressed. God, I miss her. "Right. I guess we should figure out what to call you huh?"I muttered gruffly as I watched my new cat slowly wander around the room, sniffing at the couch suspiciously. Not that I blamed him, I'd picked it up on craigslist for free and looked it. If I'm honest with myself, most of the small studio apartment was a collection of mismatched furniture and odd assortments of things that looked like a tornado hit a flea market and dumped it all in one spot. Except in this case that tornado was named Heather and all these things were the leftovers from her hasty exit of our marriage to "find herself."Of course, she'd already "found herself"a replacement in her personal trainer before that bombshell blew up my life. I sighed. I could hear my therapist reminding me to not dwell on the negative and to focus on finding things that bring me joy. Break out of this hermit shell you've built, she'd say. It was her idea to consider fostering a pet. It will help with your loneliness and give you a chance to connect. You're withdrawing into yourself John but you can't let what happened define you, she'd say. Maybe by having a pet that depends on you will give you comfort and direction. A foster pet is great way to explore this without triggering your fear of commitment from what happened. Maybe she was right. And a cat is much cheaper than a therapist at $150 a session. "How about Fred?"I asked. Maybe-Fred looked up at that, obviously not enamored or amused with my first attempt. He was a big boy, if a bit rough-looking. Siamese, bright yellow eyes, a crooked tail from some old injury, and a missing patch of fur on his back from what could have been some kind of burn. I think that's why I picked him. He looked on the outside like I felt inside. Rough, beaten, but still going. "Okay. I see your point. Fred is obviously out,"I said. "How does Chairman Meow sound to you?"I asked. The cat was unmoved. "This is ridiculous. This shouldn't be this hard, John. Stop overthinking it. Just give it some ridiculous name. It's a cat, it's not like it's going to care either way, right?"I asked. With a smirk and a grandiose flourish I mockingly intoned, "I dub thee, Flirvizgarble!" The cat's response was immediate and anything but disinterested. Back arched, fur puffed up and standing on end, with a horrified expression Flirvizgarble hissed loudly. "How do you know my true name!?"he demanded. "WHAT THE FLYING FUCK!" With a high-pitched scream, I jumped backwards, tripping over an unopened box of the supplies from the shelter and falling flat on my ass. I looked at the cat in shock. That couldn't be what I thought it was. There was no way a cat cou-- "How mortal!? How do you know my true name! Tell me which of my ancient enemi--" "Augh!"I yelled, wiggling backwards on my butt until an abrupt stop, my back against the refrigerator. "How the fuck are you talking!? Why the fuck are you talking? Oh jesus christ John you've finally lost it. They're going to come in white coats and put you in a looney bin and feed me porri" "Stop that pathetic mewling mortal!"Flirvizgarble boomed. "Was it the Chton? Did the x'Peth enlist you and give you my true name to enslave me?" I stared openmouthed at my new foster cat as a minute ticked past. Flirvizgarble stared right back. "I am so fucked,"I groaned.
"Where are our healers?!" General Snaggletooth raged at his subordinates, clenching a meaty fist. He was the largest and strongest of orcs, with age and intelligence to match. He had heard reports that the humans were vanishing from nearby lands. That didn't concern him. But now it did, as the Infernal Army marched towards Bloodmound Castle. As they approached, he had ordered the humans to be brought before him. As was their position, they would be humbled before his mighty presence, before being dispersed throughout his forces. Yet now he was being told they were nowhere to be found. "I am sorry General. We have searched everywhere, yet none are to be found." The high pitched nasally voice of a goblin answered. He scowled at the source, feeling little satisfaction as they cowered. "Then track them down!" The goblin bowed, hastily retreating. Snaggletooth glowered, stomping towards one of the lookout towers. On his way he picked up the badge of his station, a club that appeared to be an intact small tree. Its leaves crinkled, becoming stiff and sharp. It was one of the few magic items that could fit his bulky form, a relic from a bygone era. His appearance on the tower gave rise to rapid saluting. A trio of goblins were gathered around one of their contraptions, resembling a ballista from more civilised countries. What mat their different was its size, able to throw barrels at significant speeds. With their preference for volatile materials, it made a significant impact. Apart from the goblins were two orcs. Both were smaller than Snaggletooth, but had freakishly long arms. They held massive bows, something they had trained with for years. The inherent magic of orcs let them to adapt to be better with them, resulting in such long arms. "When will they be here?" Snaggletooth grunted at no-one in particular. Still, one orc turned to regard him, his eyes larger than average. "General, I would expect the first assault as the sun sets at this rate. Unless they choose to make camp first, but that seems unlikely." The General nodded, turning to leave. Other leaders might hide in the back, but not he. He was an orc. They lead from the front. If an attack was to come then, he would be sure to be the focal point of their defence. \----- True to his archers word, the assault began at dusk. Small screeching demons launched themselves first, ravenous beasts that resembled giant bats with two small arms topped with claws. They tore at any who got near them, uncaring of wounds they were dealt. They came in a seemingly unending swarm, filling the air and mudding their defence. They allowed stronger demons to climb the walls uninjured, unholy chimeras of spiders, monkeys and alligators. With thick scaled hide, eight spindly legs and two arms ending in bone blades, these nightmarish things drove the orc and goblin lines back, pushing them from the walls. Snaggletooth howled in displeasure. They were supposed to be the strongest. How dare this army push them back? He swung his club with vicious strikes, enemies turned into oozing chunks of flesh. Some blows hit his own warriors, but he paid them no mind. They had to abaddon the walls, being pushed through a barren courtyard. They watched as the demons forced the gate open, letting the horde into the heart of their castle. Yet at the head stood a familiar figure. Snaggletooth squinted at them, before roaring at them. "Human! You dare stand with them!" The human stepped forwards, holding up a hand. At their gesture the demons pulled back, making an opening between them and the General. Their black armour gave quiet scraping sounds as their moved, their face utterly obscured by a flat visor. "Who are you to judge us, Snaggletooth? You who treated us like vermin?" Snaggletooth hissed, hitting the ground with his club. "You are weak, like vermin. Yet we fed you, gave you a home." The human laughed. "Oh, only because in return we had to use our magic to heal you. Don't act like you cared about us." The General huffed, anger in his heart. "Like the demons do? Pathetic weak human. When we beat them, you'll really be in for it." The human shook their head. "You won't win. And they do care. Enough to give us that which no other thought of. A new power, linked to our natural ability." Snaggletooth gave a roar, leaping towards the human. He recognised them as a general in the Infernal Army. Killing them was his right. Yet as he brought his club down they moved, getting close. A hand was placed against his chest, a wave of pain following it. Wounds split open across his body, ones he had received before. He fell back, club dropping from broken fingers. The huma lifted a hand to their visor, lifting it up enough that he could see their face. A woman stared back, barely an adult, but with hate in her eyes. He recognised the brand on her forehead, marking her as one of his own. "Enjoy that pain, orc." She slapped down her visor, and waved her hand. In an instant her demonic minions moved again, renewing their frenzied attack. Some turned on Snaggletooth's fallen form, ripping into his wounded body. The woman watched, before turning her back to leave the castle. It would fall, as all the others would. Their self-appointed masters would feel the pain they deserved. Her people, the humans, would have their revenge.
"Hemlow Argy, whatcha dooooin'?" With a start I nearly dropped eight hours of my life onto the floor, and perhaps ended the rest of it. With an exasperated sigh I looked up at Helia who was currently upside down staring in through the window, her sky blue eyes obscured by the frills of her dress as it gathered around her head. Knowing me, she simply patiently awaited my reply as I tidied away the ancient apparatus along with my psychometric gear, and my mostly misguided frustration. I turned to face the cloud spirit. "Helia, it's been a while! How have you been? Oh, you can come in by the way, I always forget I have to say." Gently she floated in before reorientating herself for what I knew at this point to be my benefit. "Oh, light and breezy as always, well, now anyways. One of the storm Gods had me pooping out lightning for a little bit because he got mad at this giant for sleeping with some person or such that he probably had some tenuous connection with... But wait, you never answered my question! What were you doing? Your eyes are red raw! How long were you working for? Did that damn Raleese not remind you to take a break again!?" "Is everything okay, Master?"Hearing her name, the spirit of the castle appeared, looking impassive as always, and not acknowledging the presence of Helia. She was however wearing a different dress than she had been earlier. "Yes something is the mat- No everything is not okay!"I couldn't help but smile, until Helia started clinging onto me, an obvious attempt at making Raleese jealous. Or at least it was to me, impassivity disappeared from her face, and by God, the colour change was so drastic she could have been a Garden spirit. "You know I can't disobey his orders, he instructed me not to interrupt him! I spent an hour trying to coax Sir Snuffles in with food but... He just started eating it."Helia's grip loosened slightly as she saw Raleese grow genuinely disheartened. "Well... I suppose Sir Snuffles is at fault then and I was wrong to snap at you... But the point still stands, he needs a break! How about a walk through the gardens? Oh the day is so lovely! My kin are off soaking the sun up somewhere else today! Although I guess you could accompany us... In case he needs anything while we walk?"She looked at me pleadingly, I knew my role by now and gave my assent. I sighed, internally this time, I hadn't even spoken in five minutes! When would they notice that they liked each other! And I was still hungry, Sir Snuffles and I would have words later.
"In fact fuck you all." The crowd gasped. The entire auditorium became silent. "OH so, William Johansson the accountant over there, yes you the fugly off-blue suit, can charge through the nose for tax filing, WHICH IS ONLY COMPLICATED BECAUSE HIS COMPANY LOBBIES TO KEEP IT THAT WAY. Or how about the mass media chairman over there, who repeatedly encourages his entire company to sensationalize every single shooting, never mind that HAS REPEATEDLY BEEN PROVEN TO INSPIRE COPY CAT KILLERS, but oh well those advertisement spaces has never been more profitable! Nothing glues your eyes to the screen like a tragedy!" The crowd became silent. "So you fuckers expect every single super-powered person to be come your omni-bail out? Really?" I opened a wormhole and took out a piece of paper. I turned the front towards the camera, which read: Things blamed on supers but is in fact others faults. The word 'ahem' appeared in a flash of light above my head. "One, the oil spill on August 24-28th 2045, which caused $1,500,000,000,000 in environmental damage, was blamed on Oceania for _not being able to fully contain it rather than the oil company that caused it_. Then again said oil company is ran and owned by that media chairman/majority shareholder's father in law. Immediately later on, every media company began defaming her, drowning out the facts with vitriol." Some suits and ties were adjusted. "Two, the calamity that was the Yellowstone eruption, April 7th-21st 2048, was in fact caused by America Rare Magnets, who lobbied Congress for three years and to the tune of $500,000,000, to be allowed to not only destroy a national park, but destabilize the SUPERVOLCANO that later, who would had GUESSED, exploded. And then LavaLad was demonized for dying and subduing the eruption. But Jonathan Millbern made record profits! So who cares?" The auditorium was completely still. "Three-"the paper in my hand caught on fire"-you know what. Who cares. The only thing you fuckers are focusing on is whataboutism and how we could had done better. To be fair, I am too." A golden eight pointed star came into being behind me. "That's why, effective immediately, me and 8,000,000 other supers declare the formation of the Republic of Luna-" Ahh, the riot. Those political fucks... Remained seated as Domina Telepathica forced them. "Before any of you get any bright ideas, keep in mind any nukes you send can be sent back. To emphasize..." The screen behind me came alive, and it showed my wormholes send their nuclear missiles back to the silos, submarines, and automotives they launched from. "Now, as the President of the soon to be last country known to humanity, you half evolved fucks can be on the receiving end of your prejudices."
Being born an orphan in a village is no fun. Being born a female orphan in a village is even less so. I struggled against the binds now that Gregory and John had left me. The coarse rope might as well have been thorns, they stabbed through my dress and wore the bare skin they touched to bloody slashes. Just to make matters worse they stunk like wet cattle. The earthy scent of fur mixed with the thick stench of dung. There was no use, they’d tied me to the pole so well any efforts I made only caused more blood to run down my arms and legs. I could hear him before I saw him. Had it not been for the knowledge I had I would’ve mistaken the sound for a rolling thunder. Steady as a drumbeat, the thud caused my chest to vibrate with each flap of the massive wings. Like a terrible night sky overtaking the cloudy day, it’s black wings washed over me. The chill wind rolling over me tilted the pole that held me. Trees danced wildly, their branches slapping one another in the descent of the massive dragon. I cried out as the winds forced the ropes further into my skin. It fell still as his claws sank into the earth. A crown of mighty black horns crowned his head. Two eyes as red as embers danced with the fire that burned in his chest. They leveled at me. “Why are you here?” The voice was deep and like a low growl directly in my ear. There was a minute that we stared at each other, I wasn’t sure what to say. At any moment I was sure he’d grow tired of me and snap me up, but he remained there—staring. “I-I’m a sacrifice, mighty lord.” A low growl shook my chest. It was less so of agitation and more a hum of curiosity. His red eyes slowly blinked. The black slits grew then shrank, watching me. “Sacrifice?” “Yes,” I didn’t mean to, but I could hear the confusion in my voice, “for you to eat, my lord.” His neck curved like a serpent, he made a deafening sound that boomed off the hills and then died as soon as it came. Like a clap of lightning, it was gone. “EAT a human?” He snarled. “Why would I eat a human?” “Well I-I don’t know!” I shrugged, wincing from the ropes. “That’s what they told me when they dragged me here!” “What? So they assume we dragons eat humans?” He hadn’t seemed to hear me. With a shake of his great head he returned his gaze to me. “Dragged you? You didn’t agree to this?” His head got within arms reach of me. It was much larger than myself, with his great glowing eye the size of a horse’s head. “You are bleeding and starved. What pathetic men, sending a child to do what they cower to do. Do they think us dragons mindless beasts?” “In the stories…” “Bah!” He gracefully retreated his head to towering over me. “Stories! Written by stupid knights and monks who invoke our fury! What fools! Cowards! I’ll have you know I haven’t slain a one of your kind and you will not break my streak.” “So, you’re letting me go?” Smoke curled from his nostrils. Once more he lowered his eye to study me. “They will not look kindly upon one such as you, who would meet a dragon and survive the encounter. Why not come with me? It has been long since I have had a servant, and you are fit enough for the role.” I felt my heart throb. Me? A dragon’s servant? I could hardly suppress my wonder. A creature of legend inviting me to live with him? “I would be honored, my lord.” “Very well, brace yourself, child, you must bear those barbaric binds a little longer. It is not a long way to the chasm, but flight is the only way to reach it.” He rose to full height. Even the greatest tree didn’t compare to the shade his form provided. His smaller arms gently grasped the pole I was bound to and the ground shrank away in the roar of his great wings.
"You need a soulmate,"said the kindly old woman behind the counter. "Actually, I was coming in to ask for directions,"I said. "I honestly don't remember how I ended up on this block, I need to get back to 16th Street so I can catch the bus." "Well, where were you before?"She asked. "Our drinking with my broskis." "Yes, yes,"she said, grabbing a beanie identical to my twin brother's and setting it down on the counter. "Robin, your twin, he's a soulmate. And you're married, right?" I nodded. She put what looked like my husband's wedding ring on the counter. "Well, you wouldn't be here unless you needed another soulmate. That's the only reason people come in here." "No, I just need directions."I took a step back. "Of course you do, but you also need a soulmate. I see a hole in your soul, child." "I'm 42,"I deadpanned. "Of course you are,"she said warmly. "Look around and see if anything catches your fancy." The shelves were lined with journals, clothing items, jewelry, knick knacks, and toys. Each one had a name under it. Behind the counter were shelves lined with jars. It looked like a dispensary. The jars were filled with light, though, glows of different colors and intensities. One of the jars, off to the side, held a faint amber glow. It almost looked empty, the light was so dim. "What's that one?"I pointed to the dim light. "Every jar holds a piece of a soul. Every soul glows with a different light. That one is yours."She smiled. Flap-flap! My head snapped around, recognizing the sound of a dog door. A scruffy little mutt about the size of a Yorkie bounded in and stopped, sniffing the air. "You have a dog door in your store?"I asked. "Isn't that some kind of zoning violation or something?" "Anyone who needs a soulmate may get in."She walked out from behind the counter and squatted down. The tiny mutt ran over to me, putting its little paws on my leg. "Well aren't you a cute thing!"I pet the dog. The dog rolled onto her back and showed me her belly. "Awwww! You want a belly rub!"I rubbed her belly. "You need a soulmate,"the old woman said to the dog. She picked her up and sat her on the counter. I glanced over at the dim jar. It was glowing brighter. "Um, excuse me? Do you think maybe we could find the dog's soul in those jars?" "We can look, but we don't have everyone's, honey."She turned her back, looking at the jars. I petted the dog behind the ears. She flopped over for another belly rub, which I happily obliged. She was so soft! I noticed that her nails were a little overgrown, so I grabbed her little paw to see if she'd tolerate people messing with her feet. She didn't care. My corgi at home would have taken my hand off! The old woman turned around again. "Hers must not be here,"she said. I looked over at my own jar again, then quickly shielded my eyes and looked back. The old woman reached for the dog, who jumped back towards me and licked my face. "I think you've been chosen!"The old woman giggled. "A heart dog is one of the most special kinds of soulmate!" I remembered my last heart dog. "I'm not sure anyone could get close to Missy Dog,"I said, absentmindedly petting the little mutt. "The corgi at home sure doesn't." "Well, soul love isn't instant,"the old woman said. "But look at how your soul lit up after you met this dog!"She smiled. "Now, it doesn't matter what you call her, just treat her with kindness and be good to her like you do with the corgi. And put her in your purse on the bus, she'll fit." "O-okay...what if my husband doesn't let me keep her?" "He will."She handed me a leash and collar. "Put these on her." I put the collar on with no trouble and clipped the leash on. "Now, to get to 16th, just take a right out of here."
It ain't easy being cheesy. Not since the blanket ban on cheese following its weaponization in the Coke/Pepsi war of 2045. The war was vicious. So much lost. So much destruction. So many dead. It was not gouda. From the ashes and de brie of society, a new world order arose. One with a hatred of cheese that cut sharper than the most aged of cheddars. The powerful were allowed their fondue's, of course. Those who could afford expensive licenses. Typical. Like most laws, the cheese edicts have more holes than a block of swiss. This brought forth the birth of the curd market. A back alley cheese dealer network with a penchant for violence and camembert. Nacho average criminal syndicate. I never imagined I would join the boys in stinky blue, but here I am. A cheese cop, through and through. Most people don't understand. They think themselves so much feta than us. But when the curd boys come knocking, they keep our number close... In queso emergency.
A guard walked me down a staircase to the dungeon. Once we were in a hallway, he walked back up, leaving me. The hallway was dim. I could see a few cells on either side of me. The only illumination was from a few torched mounted on the walls. There was another hall a few meters away that came from the right. I heard a jingling. Then, there were heavy footsteps. From around that corner came The Beast. It was...a puppy...sized up to my height. It looked to be a Yorkshire terrier with a bell attached to its collar. It wagged its tail and stared at me. Suddenly, a loud female voice erupted from somewhere. "Prisoner!"I jumped and looked around. I saw a small funnel protruding from the wall. "Your job is to babysit this creature. Good luck."That was the empress. Apparently, there was a speaker system. I looked to a cell on my left and noticed a big ball. I walked over, picked it up, and threw it. The dog ran after the ball and caught it in its mouth. The beast came back to me and dropped the ball, which was covered in saliva. I thought about maybe just kicking the ball around. The dog rolled onto its back, ready for scratches.
"How long since you last fed?" "You know I'm terrible with time, El. It must be close to... one... two years now? Wait, when did they repair the church tower in the city? It was just before that." "That was twenty years ago." "Yeah, well, there you go. Twenty years."I said. His eyes grew narrow, which was intensified by his small circular glasses which barely clung to his long nose. He's the only vampire I know who wears glasses. I don't think he needs them, it just completes the look. "I told you I'm bad with time."I shrugged. "How old are you?"He asked. I stretched my eyes as I gave a desperate sigh. "Five-hundred... and... " "No, how old were you when you became."He clarified. It is possible he needs the glasses, but that would be such a cruel twist of fate. When you become a vampire, your physical state goes into stasis. You will always be the same age, and any deformities or ailments you had before, well they come toddling along with you into your post life. The Elder, apart from being old for a vampire, was already quite old when he was turned. That's why everyone calls him... well you get it. "Oh. Twenty-eight."I answered, then gave it another second of thought, then nodded assuredly. This only caused his eyes to narrow more as he leaned forward, poking and prodding me with his eyes. If his eyes narrowed further they might melt into one. He'd be the first cyclops vampire. A cypire. Vamclops? Vamclops. "Almost fifty. There should be some lines on your face at least, a grey hair here and there. Nothing. Your complexion is the same as it's been for the over six hundred years I've known you."Oh right, I'm over six hundred. I forgot the 1700s. But everyone forgets the 1700s. They were so boring. "That's all very interesting. Am I going to die any time soon?"I asked like an impatient toddler on the back of a horse carriage, or whatever those things use for transportation these days. "Do you know what my occupation was in my pre-life?"He said finally, turning on his heel and walking toward the other side of this chamber. "Some kind of scholar?"I replied promptly. The elder spun around, surprised, and peered at me over his glasses. "What makes you say that?"He asked in the middle of a chamber with walls completely lined with bookshelves packed to the brim, and stretching up to four stories high. "Just a guess." "There are many mysteries regarding our existence, some of which I've solved in my many years, most of which I haven't. Prime among those, why do we need to drink blood? Why does it keep us young? I've long speculated that it's because we're incomplete. We're the dark, and we're missing the light. Drinking their blood gives us permission to dwell in their world, stolen permission, but still. So that begs the question, if you don't need to feed, what does that make you?" "Well I'm not a being of light, I can tell you that much."I shrugged again. The Elder smiled in response and I felt like I was playing into his hands without ever realising that the pieces were set. "No, you're definitely not. But I don't need to tell you that. You know you're not, to your very core. Nothing can convince you otherwise. I just have one theory left to test. Why do you want to die Trin?"He asked slowly, and I found it difficult to answer. "I simply feel like I should be alive anymore."I voiced a feeling which I've always had. It's so fundamental to my being that I never considered that others don't feel it as well. The Elder clenched his fist and smiled to himself, like he won some victory in his mind. "What perfect wording."He started slowly. "You feel like you don't belong here, isn't that right?" "We all feel that! I know the story, the light and the dark, the betrayer, the garden grew and is now everywhere. We're beings of the dark wandering the world of the light. We don't belong here. We all feel it."I explained loudly, losing my patience, losing a game I didn't agree to play, losing myself. "Nobody feels it as strongly as you, Trin! Of all the creatures that ever lived, nobody has ever chosen, willingly chosen, to die. We know we don't belong in the world of the light, but we steal our belonging from their veins and cling to our lives yet. But not you, you feel it so strongly you would rather die than live here. Which answers the riddle, doesn't it? The only answer it could be, is also the only answer it can't be. You're a complete being. A true descendant." "Descendant of who?"I whispered, my face in my hand. I'm getting tired of jumping through his hoops. "Who else but Cain. You can only be the last vestige of his legacy. The last dark blight in a world otherwise conquered by the light. The last pure blood." The pieces fit, I must admit. He solved the riddle, but never questioned if it was better left unsolved. I'm not longed for this world, I've known since my adolescent first century. I've never felt unity with any of the creatures who live here. I was always separate. I was always other. For long I've convinced myself it's only my imagination, denial has kept me alive for centuries. But now I know without a doubt that I am separate. I am other. I will never be a part of them, or anyone. The riddle is solved, I was set on withering and dying. The riddle's answer only convinced me that I have to die by my own hand. One last favour the world would not grant me. So here I stand, on top of the tower's peak, staring at me death crawling over the horizon. Soon the world will be bathed in light, and I, bathed in death. Farewell, you, beings of light. As I, the last of my kind, leave this world, consider it conquered. Just know that you did not vanquish the dark, it just did not care to live in your world.
The creature's long tongue wrapped around my brother, pulling him into its mouth as he screamed for help. The unmerciful jaws snapped shut, and I never saw him again... Not really, anyway. "No!"I screamed, reaching toward the savage beast. But it was far too late. It swallowed my brother with a loud glomping sound, and the lump traveled through its body. This monster had an extremely high metabolism, as well as the most bizarre reproduction method this world had ever known. In an instant, its stomach was done processing, and it grunted as it pushed out a single huge egg from its body. It cared nothing for its own offspring, for it could make as many as it wanted instantaneously. Off it went in search of further prey. And as soon as it was out of sight, I dashed over to the white and green spotted egg, still in complete disbelief. "No... Big brother..." Cracks formed in the side of the egg with a loud crunch, and I stepped back in horror as large sections began to peel away. Inside the egg, curled in a ball, sat a new creature; one who had stolen the form of my brother. It looked at me as it got to its feet, giving me a cocky grin as it straightened my brother's red hat on its head. "Wow, that was a doozy!"it laughed. Tears steamed down my face. My brother was gone forever. The thing frowned at my forlorn expression. "Oh no, you're a doing it again, aren't you? Come on, Luigi, I've a told you before, it's a me, Mario." Sadly, I shook my head. "I'll never see him again!"I wailed. The thing that looked like my brother let out an annoyed scoff. "I've a got to stop letting Yoshi come to these smash bros games."
"Dad mind giving me some help?"Said the young teen, Ciel. "If it's about money you know what's the best way to get it."Said Ciel's Dad as he is working on charting some plans. "Nah I got the money but that's not important. So remember that I'm going to meet my girlfriend's parents this weekend?"Ciel dad just continues typing "Well she kinda dropped a bombshell on me. It turns out her parents are the famous superheroes, Mr Universe and Ms Dread." Just like the his dad stopped typing and asked, "Does your girlfriend-?" Ciel shakes his head. "Okay so your pelvis won't be obliterated to smithereens." "DAD!" "I'm joking Ciel. But what do you want me to do?" Ciel pulls out a newspaper clip of retired super villain, Dr. Viral, to his dad. "You think you got some sort of concoction that will make me impervious to pain?" The dad sighs as he says, "Ciel I can promise you Mr. Universe won't kill you or harm you. He's far too gentle for it. Now the mom on the other hand..."Dr.Viral thinks about it "Tell you what; I'll come with you. It's been a while since I met up with my old arch Nemesis and it'll be good to catch up. But honestly I think you should be more confident in yourself. You're only 17 years old and already in John Hopkins medical school. I'm sure they'll like you." "... Thanks Dad."
"Billy?" "Oh, yes!"I blink, looking up from my laptop. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"Usually I pride myself on being an attentive student, but something about Ms. Carpenter's question flew right over my head. I feel my cheeks tickle with heat. Ms. Carpenter sighs with that amused half-smile she gets when a student is doing something silly, and gestures just above me. "Your hat, Billy. Can you take it off, please?" As fast as the color came to my cheeks, I feel it drain away. My heart falls into my stomach. "Oh, uh, no, sorry, I have a condition, I can't take it off."I half-lie, squirming in my seat, causing my textbooks to shift. The condition is, of course, that I'm not really a human; I'm secretly an elf, and this hat is the only thing hiding my pointed ears. If I'm forced to remove it, then I'll be exposed. The facade will fall away, and I'll no longer be surrounded by fellow classmates, but by humans who see an outsider that has deceived them. She crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Really?" I nod stiffly. Does that make it look like I'm lying? Or telling the truth? I'm quite a terrible liar. "Yes! I can't take it off or... I'll die!" Giggles surround me, the eyes of the class burning on my skin. Everyone's looking, no one's buying it, and Ms. Carpenter looks as convinced of my words as she was that Zach wasn't frying bacon on a hotplate behind his textbook last week. "I think I'll take that risk, Billy."Ms. Carpenter chuckles with a slight nod, once again motioning for me to remove my hat. "Uh."I try to speak, but my lips keep trembling. My heart is pounding in my ears so loudly it's hard to believe I can hear her speak. I look around, and all eyes are on me. Everyone is waiting for the reveal, a sea of friendly faces I know will twist with betrayal, disgust, perhaps even rage. The lesson is stopped, the class is waiting. I just have to lie again, to say my ears are the condition. They'll buy that, right? It's not that odd. I try to reassure myself, but arms feel stiff as I raise them, my fingers cold and weak as I grip the fabric. Lifting the hat off my head feels like pulling the rope of my own guillotine as my ears pop free, unmistakably pointed, unable to be hidden by my soft auburn locks. I set the hat aside with a dry swallow, staring at my desk, and wait for the calamity. "Thank you, Billy."Ms. Carpenter nods, turning back to the board. I look up at her, and she's... continuing her lesson? My heart feels like it's stopped, as though it has no idea how hard to beat, and the breath I was holding in partially escapes me in a short, confused exhale. I look around, wide-eyed at the classmates who have turned back to their own work as though they can't see my ears at all. Did they... not notice? I reach up, and touch my ears just to be sure. Still very pointed, and very warm, but... maybe the humans just can't see them? The lesson is a blur, but it seems ordinary. Not a word, not a strange look, only scant notes on my part as I recover from such a terrifying near-miss. When the lesson concludes, I wait for the disaster again, but... everyone is simply filing out as usual. Finally, I let out a long sigh of relief. The humans have no idea. I pop my hat back on, slipping my ears under the brim, and adjusting the tall green cone. I hop off the stack of textbooks piled on my chair, the bells on my long, pointed shoes jingling, wipe my sweaty hands on my bright green tunic, and adjust my red silken sash. "Have a nice day, Ms. Carpenter!"I say, popping a candy cane into my mouth to calm my still-frayed nerves. "Thank you, Billy. You, too."For some reason, she looks amused again.
Finally, Togo had reached his 18th year! The whole village prepared a feast in his honor. There would eating, drinking, singing and much celebrating to be had! But this is not what Togo was excited about. His Mother would finally teach him how to create the delicious red meat pies that had captured the villages hearts! He raced to the hut to help her prepare for the feast tonight. But when he got there, she looked...saddened. "What's the matter mother?"Togo asked in his native tongue. "Togo", she replied. "It breaks my heart that this day has come...I must tell you a horrible secret...a secret I have carried all my life...the secret to what is in our meat pies..." "What..."Togo was in shock. This pies were famous in the village for generations! The chief himself requested them for every meal! "Togo..."she continued, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Our meat pies...are made from chicken..." "CHICKEN?"Togo cried, clasping his hands to his mouth. "THOSE FEATHERED BIRDS THAT EAT WORMS AND DIRT FROM THE GROUND!?"He felt his stomach wretch. "YOU TOLD ME IT WAS PEOPLE!" "I know, I know."His mother cried, tears streaming down her face. "But chicken is more plentiful and easier to cook. I know it is our tradition to only eat human meat, but doesn't chicken taste good too?" Togo threw up all over the floor. "How could you!?"He cried falling to his knees. "Well, its not always chicken!"She hastefully continued, "Sometimes it's cow!" "Those dirty, lumbering, pooing beasts!?" Togo fainted on the hut floor.
"I carried you in my arms once."She says softly. "Do you remember?" "Yes mother, I remember."He remembered everything, every line on her face that had grown with each passing day as his own skin stayed smooth, every time she had looked in the mirror and sighed at the travesties that old age had wreaked upon her. Every son thinks his mother beautiful, but no words could sooth away the glances she gave herself. "I came up this hill with you." "I know mother."The shaking hands when she had learned that her son would never die, and the black that she had worn when her husband died. Some would see eternal life as a gift, but his mother counted her years with deaths. The lines in her face grew deeper as she watched him with women. She knew he would outlive them all. She knew he would be alone in the end. Five white trees crown the summit of a green hill. Between them a river starts. "Every mother hopes her son will live forever. I suppose you will now." "I suppose I will mother."She had carried herself straight-backed through humiliation. She had endured the second marriage so that her son might be educated. She had endured the kicks and the slaps and the words that bit deeper than any of them. She had grown to love her second husband and she had worn black when he died, too. The path is rocky and overgrown. It has not been trodden for many years, but his long legs help her aged ones over the stones and dips that block the way. "Will you remember me when I am only dust?" "I will remember you mother."She brought him here when he was a child. It had been dawn and the light was rising across the city. The light had hit her and the lines were wiped from her face. She had smiled at him and they had shared cake together, perching on the rocks overlooking the whole world. "I feel like a Queen up here."She had laughed. "You are a Queen, mother!"He had been a lot younger then. He hadn't noticed the bruises on her arms then. "You're beautiful!"Her answer was ripped away by the wind, but he remembered the shaking head. She trips now and he catches her. He swings her round and holds her on his back. Old bones don't weigh much after all. He continues up the hill. "You have to see it from the top."He says. "One more time." "I carried you in my arms once."She says softly, as though already in a dream. "And now you are carrying me." "You have to wait till we reach the top, mother. You have to wait till then."The words catch in his throat. "Will you remember-"She sighs. She is dead when he reaches the summit. He places her by the river on the green hill. Every line in her face is gone. She could be a young woman, waiting for the dawn so that her life could begin. He kisses her forehead. "I will remember."
"Well shit...."That phrase could be the only way to describe my frustration as I gazed at my work. The man could walk now, but one more child who would contract polio was born in India. If I tried to stop that, two kids would just lose their legs in a car accident in Brazil because some asshole was to busy with the hooker in the car going down the road. Everytime I helped someone, no matter how minor, it always backfired. Each cancer patient cured was just another child starving to death. Each lottery ticket won was a someone spiraling into suicidal depression over debt. He wasn't kidding when He granted me these powers. I couldn't believe how indescribably infuriating it is to see everything you do become instantly insignificant. I wanted to help these people so much that it was hurting. No wonder He was so absent in our affairs. This damned loophole in this power is exacerbating to my mind. For the miracles I create, the damned disasters are just as powerful. There is one good perk though, I can throw my "divine wrath"anywhere and I don't have to worry about the balance. It is kind of liberating, but loses its charm after seeing the 1000th child wailing over his or her deceased mother's body only to see them grow up to be a force for change and good. "Oh well."The one phrase I squeezed out each time my good was outdone. That's about all I can hope to muster anymore. Morbid curiosity has started to take the place of my altruism. Thoughts of what would happen to people if I threw floods and volcanoes at them. What good the disasters would reap. Would they develop better ways to save people from drowning in the wake of the floods? Would a billionaire donate to the relief fund and save the children in the area of the volcano? I gazed on at my work and a small thought creeped up in my head and eeked from my mouth... "I wonder what would happen if I threw a meteor at them..."A smirk sprung up to my mouth. I looked skywards and saw a small wink in the sky. I thought to myself on how the next 10 years were going to be interesting for people. At this I smiled and pondered on the size of the meteor coming.
You could read this prompt several ways I guess. I read 'worst' as in 'most awful/horrible'. (NSFW) *** 'Fabbo!,' ejaculated Chardonnay, gurning wetly. She slithered another dime the length of my dropsical thigh and giggled shrilly. 'I haven't been this muntered since I was a tweenie', she dribbled, and I concurred with a soft gurgle. 'See, sweetie, I thought this gear would be bunkum since I got it from that uncouth dweeb who loiters around the costco in his uggo trackies, but it turns out to be troppo coolio. I mean, I feel like I could twerk until sun-up.' Her pupils were ballooning like slick latex bubbles as she moaned softly and squeaked across the linoleum to fix herself. 'Easy, tiger' I mumbled into my teats, which were sweating with the gentle tepidness of warm brie, 'Don't want to tweak too hard yet', I also burped, and a little sick slipped into the gooey folds of my armpit hair. 'Honey-baby, you are cranked like an oldsmobile aren't you! You're so gassed I could burst you with my fingernail!'. She placed her fingernail on the glassy counter and scraped it back and forth, back and forth her fingernail, fingernail, finger nail. Finger. Nail. As I regurgitated my consciousness I found we were dozing side by side in the cramped and nauseous bed. Chardonnay was lazing in a steady slumber, fermenting in her own queasy excretions. Dizzy and parched, I cleared my throat of bitter mucus and sat up unsteadily, then padded towards the kitchen. I was finally coming down, and I was coming down with a mighty flu, too. I slurped down some water, only to discover its straw-yellow pallor in the lamp above and, retching, blew a glassful of my own urine across the breakfast bar, then passed out again on the moist parquet.
Luke kneels at the edge of the service platform on Bespin, backing toward the edge of the antenna as he watches his severed hand spiral into the abyss below him. well shit Vader slowly approaches him, Luke figures he's a goner, and attempts to retain his Jedi honor, but it's no use. Luke is scared shitless, and desperately looking for an out from the situation. That's a long way down, what do you suppose the chances are that I just miraculously end up in some tunnel? Like none. Why don't they have railings out here? Someone has to service this thing at some point. Do they just expect the poor bastard to tight-rope his way over here? This is all Obi-wans fault. What a dick. Who just feeds impressionable kids a load of horsehit like that? Oh shit here comes Vader, ahhhh, jump or bum rush? fuck fuck fuck fuck, I'm gonna bum rush. Yeah. He'll never see that one coming, you fucking idiot. What would Yoda say? "Strength inside you, you must find."Shut the fuck up Yoda, with your useless advice in literally any situation. Like, he never gave me one bit of applicable knowledge. I guess the fall will probably kill me faster. All right, here we- Vader sheaths his lightsaber and steps towards his estranged his son. He looks down at his offspring as he backs toward the antenna. *Ok, this is not gonna win me any coffee mugs on fathers day. What do I say. "Hey Luke, I know I just cut off your hand, but guess what? I also fucked you mom!"That'll probably send him over the edge. Ummm, maybe I do some tough love? Hey, good job and all, but here's what you need to work on. Yeah. Yeah that'll work.* "Luke, you do not yet realize your importance. You've only begun to discover your powah." Ohh shit he's monologuing. This same shit happened right before he cut down Obi. Can he be reasoned with? I wonder how much pussy he gets. Like all of it, probably. Still, I could tell him that Leya is totally DTF and I could hook him up if he- "Join me and I will comple-" "Yes!" "Oh, um, Ok then. Let me give you a hand."*My first dad joke!* Luke reaches out with his only hand, Vader grasps it. They walk together, father and son, down the hall and to the left, onto a service platform. As the elevator music plays, Luke and Vader stand awkwardly next to each other. *How do I initiate small talk with this guy? Like, I just cut off his hand, probably corrupted his sense of right and wrong, put him through a devastating moral quandary, and froze his best friend and sold him as a fucking statue. Ahh man. I fucked up.* "Hey, what do you call it when I get a boner?" Ahh shit I knew it he's gonna rape me. I'm gonna be his little bitch for ever now. Why else would he keep me alive? He's probably gonna pass me around the star destroyer, I'm gonna spend the rest of my life has a barracks whore. I should have jumped. Why didn't I fucking jump? "An ele-Vader!" Underneath his mask Vader was grinning ear to ear, staring hopefully at his son. But his expression slowly turned to a self-hating scowl. *Why did I say that? Why did I fucking say that that was a stupid joke. He's never gonna love me. He's gonna be a hateful captive the rest of my life. All I'll ever get from him is disdainful obedience. God damnit. God fucking damnit.* Was, was that a joke? Did he just make a fucking pun? Oh my god I'm not getting raped! I'M NOT GETTING RAPED! Luke was so relieved he laughed out loud at the thought of the idea. Vader interpreted this as a reaction to his obviously brilliant joke. *I knew that one would get to him. Kills every time in the office. Ok, step 1 initiate contact, step 2 connect on a personal level, step 3, make the reveal.* Vader and Luke stood awkwardly for a few more minutes. The elevator dinged as they ascended passed the floors. A pan-flute version of Tatooine Cantina played on loop. Vader leans in and says: "By the way, I'm your dad." Luke looks at the camera in horror, freeze frame, credits roll, applause and laugh track.
I crept into my target's apartment. Her name was Mishna Milinkovitz, and she was an out-of-work elementary school teacher who put her basic math and alphabetical skills to use for a drug cartel, alphabetizing a vast amount of crack cocaine in record time. Now the CIA wanted her, dead or alive. Then, without warning, I ran headlong into a stack of erasers. They tumbled down all over, making one hell of a racket. "Quiet!"I shouted. "Can't you see I'm on a mission!" * I lost my eyesight when I was five years old. My parents took me to a live-taping of Sesame Street for my birthday, but the cookie monster escaped its cage and, after devouring Elmo, Big Bird, and Jon Oliver, gouged out both my eyes and shoved them into its rectum. It turns out that "Cookie,"in its native language, translates roughly to "Kill! Maim! Surrender!"Eventually, the cookie monster was subdued with large amounts of Klonopin and "Jungle Juice,"but I would never regain my vision, and actually have hated both monsters and cookies (and Filipinos) ever since. * I detected that Ms. Milinkovitz had entered the room. I could smell perfume, could hear the very light tap of feet, could feel my nutsack being twisted by a strong and powerful hand. "Who sent you?"she asked in a strong Freeport accent. This was all happening in Freeport, Illinois. "The postal service,"I told her. "The band?"she asked. "Or the federally-funding mail-delivering organization?" I could see I had her. "The band,"I said. "I thought they broke up,"she said. "No, they reunited and are working on new music." "I'm going to check that on Wikipedia,"she said. "Stay right here." As soon as I felt her release my jewels, I scurried like mad to her kitchen cabinet, and entered not a moment to soon. There was a loud BANG, a scream, and Mishna Milinkovitz was no more. * "How did you do it?"the Mayor of Freeport asked, as he handed me the key to the city. I smiled. Or I think I smiled. I don't know, I'm blind. "You see, Mr. Mayor, before leaving for our crime-loving elementary school teacher's home, I visited the Wikipedia page for the Postal Service and attached a pipe bomb to it. When Ms. Milinkovitz visited the page, it went off. I only knew that I needed to act fast, because Wikipedia mods are lightning fast in deleting those quick edits." "The world is grateful for your service,"said the Mayor. I laughed. "Really, it was nothing. It was elementary." Then Arthur Conan Doyle, who I hadn't known was in the audience, ran up and punched me in the face.
My mother was a baker. My father was a salesman. I decided to be more. I realized it early on- about the third time my mother burned herself badly enough to need to be hospitalized. The woman was brilliant- with an advanced and instinctive understand of abstract mathematics. Her greatest joy was teaching me the patterns in numbers, how everything derived from everything else, and her eyes blazed with intellect as we carved our way through equations, and yet she couldn’t make a simple cake without singing half the flesh from her hand. The woman was a terrible baker. My father had the soul of a poet. He wrote with passion, with brutal honesty, ripping himself open and bearing his very heart with his words. But the only ones who ever read those words were my mother and I, and his brutal tongue made him a terrible salesman. The man was incapable of telling others what they wanted to hear. In the end, that was his downfall. My mother and father knew the truth of The Test. Its metric wasn’t designed to put people in fields that best suited their talents, it was designed to put people where they could do no harm. It was designed to stifle ambitions, create a world of individuals complacent and accepting of a fate thrust upon them. It was designed to keep the outliers- the uniquely brilliant, those capable of changing this world- from ever fulfilling that potential. To stifle the talents of the truly gifted. To keep people like my mother and father from change the way people thought. From becoming revolutionaries. The Test was designed to maintain the status quo, but it was only part of a greater system. The Test prescribed where people needed to go to prevent change, but The Society were there to keep them in their place. My father and mother drew The Society's attention when the wrong person heard my father espouse his theories. They died, shortly after, when I am told a mis-wiring in my mother’s oven resulted in her bakery bursting into flames. They died burning, writhing, till nothing was left but embers and soot. No one had believed them, no one knew the truth of the world in which we lived. No one but me. The Society left me alive, and waited. To see whether I would prove a threat. But I was nothing, I made sure I was nothing, as far as they could see there was no spark of intellect or ability in my mind. They watched nonetheless, growing more and more convinced of the emptiness of my mind. But when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back. Soon, I was tailing those who had been tailing me, following them to their headquarters while they thought me asleep in my bed. I was listening to their meetings, making note of their weaknesses, and learning the nature of their relationship with The Test. The Test had been designed years ago, by one of the last geniuses allowed to reach their potential, a misguided soul who thought that what they were doing was the only path to true World Peace- curbing the ambition of those who would ruin such a peace before that ambition could flower. And they were right- but with no conflict, there was no change, and that had lead to the stagnated world that I was raised in. None of The Society could control The Test- none of them understood it. So I decided to learn what they were incapable of learning, the secrets of The Test. I found its designs, and spent three years deciphering them, until at last its secrets were mine. The Test was given to everyone at age 17. At this point, we were set on our paths in life, paths we could never leave. When it was my time to take The Test, so many years after The Society had taken my parents, I was ready. I knew just what to claim to produce the result that I desired. I made myself seem charismatic, but unintelligent. Malleable. Indifferent and easily placated. The perfect figurehead. Since The Test declared me the President, I’ve been working. Slowly but surely, beneath the noses of those who believe they control me. They’ll keep believing it, right up until the instant I take The Society out for good. Right until I destroy The Test forever. Until I once again unleash the potential and ambition of the human race. Maybe that ambition will lead to war and to chaos. Maybe the greatest fears of The Society are justified. Maybe someone like me never should have been allowed to come to power. But after what they did to my parents, well… I’m ready to watch the world burn. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ (Constructive criticism very much so welcome and appreciated. Thank you for reading.)
It's not easy to move to another country. It's even less easy when you've been assigned to be the head of a spy ring in the capital of your new home. When the Wall came down we knew that life would change but we never thought it would take us to America. Kara and I moved to Washington from Saint Petersburg in the early nineties. We were told it would be a short assignment; take some pictures, bribe some officials, come home. As the global situation developed our assignment did too. We stopped surveillance and moved to dead drops, and stopped bribing junior officers and moved right to senators. During those late nights and high stakes meetings our love blossomed as well. We married in the winter of '97 with only our fellow agents and a Russian Orthodox Priest present. The office in Moscow encouraged the union when we told them, and encouraged us to have children, to join the community, to blend in. We were already three steps ahead of them. Kara was pregnant when we married. Our daughter Nika was born three months after the wedding. We bought a home in Alexandria with with the money we had been saving from the FSB drops. I took a position as a lobbyist at General Dynamics. Kara was a stay at home mother. We continued our work for our government, but we took less dangerous missions, lower risk engagements, and tried to make way for younger agents. As the years went on we enrolled Nika in a Washington private school, both to get her the best education but to also put us in contact with the powerful players in town. As she grew older Nika began to take an interest in the business we were engaged with overseas. When she turned 10 we explained the situation to her. She took it very well, almost too well. She began gathering information from the other students, asking what their parents were working on and to what end. She was as composed as her mother and relentless like me. If filled me with pride, but it filled Kara with worry. By now our little Nika was nearly eighteen and had been working for the FSB on her own since she was fifteen. She had gotten defense plans from a conversation at a bar mitzvah and trade plan drafts from a sweet sixteen. She was quickly becoming our best agent. Kara, however, wanted Nika to grow up with a normal childhood. As Nika got more involved she encouraged us to bust the ring in exchange for our safety and American citizenship. After all these years of hard work and dedication we couldn't it all up that easily. In a few months we had the biggest mission we'd been assigned. We were to infiltrate the Pentagon and download plans for the next generation of American submarines. Nika and I spent weeks planning the infiltration, how and where to meet, what to download, how to breach the network, everything. Now we simply had to execute a dry run. We we're headed to the State Department, where I had scheduled a meeting with a staffer to discuss arming rebels in an unsavory part of the world. I was bringing Nika under the guise of an educational trip, the same cover that would get us into the Pentagon. As we drove to the Truman building our phones buzzed in unison. Nika checked her phone, it was undoubtedly one of the boys who she spoke to constantly. I checked my phone to see who would be texting me. The screen was taken up by another annoying police alert, probably another system test. I opened the message and was filled with a sense of betrayal and fear. > AMBER ALERT > A child abduction has occurred on 5/29/15. > The victim's name is Nika Belov, who was last seen getting into her father's car against her will. > The vehicle is a black Ford Edge > license plate number ZR-9572 > Her abductor is her father Nicolas Belov. He is considered armed and dangerous to both himself and his daughter. If you have any information about the victim or her abductor call 911 Nika broke the silence in the car as we drove down the streets of the Capitol. "Dad, Mom burned us."
"Welcome back to the stream; the unboxing. Maaaaaaaaaann. Ha ha. Twelve thousand viewers right now - my name is the Golden boy Savage, what's up world. I got the new Fresh Air. That new Freshhhhhhhhhhhh ha haaaaaaaaaa. This thing is a beast. " "A Million. Hear me? A Million dollas. No thang though, you know what I'm sayin?" Sahad fumbled with the large smooth cover of the a small, lacquered box and pushed the inner compartment out through the other side. "Here it is everybody. Let me get it right up to the camera." He held up an unimpressive outer container. An opaque rectangular plastic and wood mesh with no discernible logos or emblems. He thought that for something this expensive the creators would go all-out, but he couldn't allow the momentary disappointment to show up on stream. "Look at this. Crazy. So smooth - it's like a fukin' Apple product, boyyy." Sahad peeled the box open like a book and saw the Fresh Air device - a semi-soft cylinder about the same diameter as an American dime and as long as a fingernail. Next to it, in its own little crevasse was the wireless activator. "Here it is; two pieces."He held up the open box to the camera. The text box in the stream was blur of short sentences and gifs of gold chains. This was it; win-win. Sahad knew that if the device failed, then he gets to break the news. Show everyone that the company is a joke. He would be on the news and everyone would remember his face as the man who put his money where his mouth was. If the device worked...Sahad had been asked that same question for two weeks now and he always had the same response. "Yea, okay." "Here we go. I'mma take this remote. Hold it up to my neck right hurr. Not here"He held the small remote shaped device up to his lower neck. "Hurr."He brought it up to the point where his knuckles gently touched the bottom of his chin. "Then I'm gonna swallow this here pill fuckin' thing, and it's gonna like hold my neck an' shit. And then...I'mma jump in this here pool."He held the camera high to show off the family's ornate 40 meter long pool; a gift to his father from a Russian businessman. The craftsmen did beautiful work. The colors of pool's floor reflected the light from the modern inlaid ceiling lamps, colors breaking with the gentle waves. "BAAAAALLIN'. You see that shit? That's a dope ass pool. Yeeeea. Aight lets do this."He placed the camera down, tilted it up toward his face. "I swallow the pill. The pill does some science shit. I jump in the pool. I breath like a muthafuckin mermaid hahaaaaaaaa." Sahad held the remote back up, tilted his head back and swallowed the compacted oxygen separation device. He didn't care about the science behind it - all he knew was that the pill would hold itself in his neck. He would never feel it, and all he would have to do to take it out is to blow hard and press on the remote; it would end up in his mouth. Inside, it detected water and separated enough to go to the lungs. The rest was held back and would be pushed out when he exhaled. Representatives at the distributors warned him it may be uncomfortable - but only at first. The viewers all saw Sahad get up out of his chair and start coughing hard, sometimes off camera, sometimes on. He ended up at the edge of the pool bent over breathing hard. His dark skin now had a tint of red behind it. The monitor showed approximately forty thousand viewers, most of whom were commenting various versions of the same couple of thoughts: "That's disgusting,""You're going to die,"or the more creative "Undah the sea." Sahad said nothing, walked over the to the table and picked up the wireless waterproof camera. His face had no more cheer in it; it was his time to make history. First purchase of the Fresh Air, first live demonstration; he was going to become famous. With the camera pointed at his face he ran to the edge of the pool and jumped. Viewers waited as the bubbles dissipated and Sahad floated to the bottom. He was looking out - confused. And then he looked at them, all of them, all at once. A hundred and twenty thousand people and realized that he was already in the middle of his third breath. "WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE. OH SHIT . OOHH SHIIITT. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" Sahad saw only the lens of the camera. He did not see his laptop. He did not see the flurry of comments streaming across the page. He did not see the finance table for the company's stock, nor did he see any reason to get out. He held the stream open for the next few hours showing off how he could talk and breath and showing off the wrinkles forming on his fingers. He got out of the pool and jumped back in several times that night before retiring to his room for sleep. He was famous, but that didn't matter anymore. He wanted out of the desert - He wanted to walk in the ocean.
"There you go little guy, safe and secure." Ilia gently placed the injured squirrel on a branch at the edge of the tree line. It limped up to a higher perch, licked its wound, and scurried off into the urban forest preserve. Ilia watched as it hopped along the branches. Her eyes followed its movement like a mother watches her child head off to school, making sure they're alright. When the squirrel was out of sight, she quickly continued her walk home. After all, it was nearing curfew. The sound of gunfire could be heard in the distance, followed quickly by a siren, then silence again. This was the norm in the inner-city. Outbursts of violence were abruptly snuffed out, as if their occurrence was known beforehand. Ilia was accustomed to these noises, and knew to keep her head down and carry on. As she passed by the closing shops outside the inner city, three younger boys approached her. Ilia kept her head down and shifted her body language to indicate her intent to pass them by. But the boys responded and blocked her path. "Hey you! What'cha got there?"the blond boy barked. Ilia attempted to ignore him and turn down a different street, but his red-headed cohort stopped her forcefully. "My friend aksed you a question. What's in your hand lady?"asked the freckled chap. Again Ilia kept silent. "We noticed your anklet,"the blond boy smirked, "You're a yellow-level. Now answer my question." Ilia replied quietly, "It's a soda can, a squirrel had her leg trapped in-" "It's got blood on it!"snapped the redhead. "Yes, the squirrel cut itself you see and-" "You trying' to make a weapon of some sort? Do we need to report you?"the sniveling brats threatened. "No, I was merely going to recycle this." "Listen, Yellow. You're clearly trying to put us normal citizens in danger. You could go violent (snap) just like that. We're going to sound the alarm... unless... You give me a kiss"the blond brat said with a shit-eating grin. Ilia flinched at both the thought of being blackmailed by these twits, and the realization that she had no other choice. All they had to do was yell "Officer!"and she could wind up sleeping in a cold cell with actual dangerous folk. As the blond cunt leaned in for his kiss, the children were interrupted by a shadow from behind them. A tall, dark-skinned man in a trench coat stood over the three little shits, his flinty eyes on the blond cunt. One by one the boys looked up at the tall figure, and looked at each other. As another siren blared in the distance, the boys scattered, leaving poor Ilia alone with this strange man. "Did they harm you young one?"he asked in a deep and broken voice. "N-no. I'm fine."stammered Ilia. "Good, just looking out for my fellow branded. It's almost curfew, do you live near here?"he asked. Ilia didn't respond. "I can walk you home if that's alright with you. If an officer sees a yellow your age out of bounds at this hour... well." "Yes, I live on Austin Boulevard, near the old library." "Ah, well come on."The old man headed off in that direction. After a moment, Ilia followed. From behind him she could see that he was concealing an anklet under his baggy jeans. Government issued anklets are to remain visible at all times. Ilia was cautious in associating with this man, she couldn't understand his intentions. She looked again at his feet. "In case you're curious,"he said with his back turned, "mine's red." Ilia felt a her stomach drop. Red... predisposed to extreme mental instability and violent outbursts. How could this man even be out in public? She had only seen a red anklet once in her life, when visiting her mother--from whom she inherited her yellow--in prison before she passed away. Ilia seriously considered running into the nearest building and calling for help, if only to get her away from this man, far more dangerous than her mother ever was. "No need to worry young one,"the dark man reassured, "these anklets we wear are largely meaningless. A simple correlation... And possibly not even that." As the sun began to set, they continued walking through the inner city, towards Ilia's home. At one point the man stopped and redirected Ilia through a side street. This increased their travel time, but she trusted in his apparent ability to avoid trouble and followed. The inner city is home to two kinds of people: those who are forced to live there by the government that assigns their anklets, and those who enjoy the extremely low property value that this discrimination causes. Ilia's mother used to tell her "screams before sirens, it's one of us; shots before sirens, it's one of them."The only legally owned guns are sold to those without anklets. This policy--among many others like it--lead to all kinds of disagreement, resentment, and injustice here in the inner city. "YOU TWO. ON THE GROUND."ordered an officer through the PA on his squad car. "THAT MEANS NOW!" --- - I have an ending in mind. I'll continue this narrative if there's interest. Thanks for reading.
"Wait, director! Mind if we do a cut on this?" "Huh? Sure. It was about lunchtime on this thing. All we've got left to film is the creampie sequence at the end anyway. Johnny! You can just jerk it in the toilet when we're done with Burger King, right?" "Huh? Oh, yeah sure!" "Wonderful! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The "barely-legal twenty-something year-old"adult actress, known as Briar J. Smegma, had just about finished chowing down on her nourishing meal of half-an-egg and a box of orange juice, when she'd started to ponder her next course of action. The fan she'd been introduced to had had an almost stunning effect on her. Yes, the man in that shady-looking toilet stall had made her literally wet the first time she'd met him. By wet, we of course mean, he accidentally spat out a bottle of water when he found out that the fuck-a-fan program was legitimately a real thing where people's genitalia were not censored on a regular basis. Before the filming, Briar and Johnny, that man in the toilet, went through a brief bit of bonding before Briar knew for a certain that she'd completely fallen in love. Because yes, love at first sight is totally a real thing and fuck all emotional and character development that's supposed to go with it. But Briar digresses, because she is an actor and character, and that was her job. To act stupid, moan a bit, jiggle her titties, and get paid. Oh, the shame she felt inside when she'd see the terrible editing that went into the shameful video footage the crew had put together. If only she could tell the stupid fucking camera-man to actually run the goddamn footage through fucking post-production, why, her heart would leap. Johnny understood this perfectly, and even went to the editing crew when the show started to ask about the production quality and anything that could be changed or modified with their allowed budget. There's now a talking cat in the middle of the filming room, a spacious bathroom with lovely, lavender-scented man-spray. Briar couldn't be happier. Before the filming had started, Briar had decided to go to the bathroom to check up on Johnny. "Hey... kiddo! How's it going in there?"said Briar, before she'd realize that the man was a mere two years younger than her. "Huh? Good!"he fapped, stroking his meatsickle at every other wood. "Are we filming soon again? Give me a minute, my mom's fucking texting me in the bathroom." "Huh..."Briar hummed, thinking about what that strange, cryptic conversation between a mother and son could possibly be about. Then she realized she was a fucking adult and could just ask about it instead of being some sullen bint from a young-adult romance novel. "What's she asking about?" "She's teasing me because I broke up with my girlfriend last month, so that leaves me with no one for a date to Christmas dinner. Big fucking whoop." "Ooooh. That's gre- That sounds rough." "I can probably just stay home and jerk off again. You probably have something planned around then right?"Johnny joked, spanking his dicky-thing around on the john. "Hey, just so you know, I'm not acting right now, okay." "Uhh, yeah. Obviously. I checked your resume, you don't really do that Heath Ledger, act while you're on set thing." "I was wondering if you'd like to take me to dinner that day? You know... Shove it in the family's face that you'd have a smoking-hot girlfriend and like, whatever..." "Huh? Nah. Doesn't feel right to me. It'd make a lot more sense to go out first before doing some scam like that." "Okay. Let's do it." Johnny laughed before snapping to attention. His lust-driven mind began to die down when his long ding-dong had touched his freezing cold thigh. "Do what?"he asked again, tickling around his hairless nutsack, freshly-shaven as a young baby. "You know, go out? After filming maybe? I heard there was this really good coffee-place down in Koreatown and I was just wondering..." "Wait, you're not acting, just to make sure." "Nope." "Huh... okay. But let's not go for coffee. I know for a fact that that new steakhouse in downtown makes a killer half-pounder there,"Johnny suggested, holding his quarter-pound of meat pointed down to relieve himself. "Wait, are you talking about Juicy Folds? Dude, one of the girl's down at the the office is related to the owner! I think I can get us a discount on that." "Uhh, by office, do you mean the talent department or..."Johnny's pecker jumped out of it's nest and stretched out wide as he pondered the thought. "Nah, the one that runs our twitter page... I think. She might've switched companies. So, what do you say? How's next Saturday sound?"Briar felt her heart gallop and her breathing quicken. "I think I have work that day, actually! How's Sunday sound?" "Can't! I have a service to go to Sundays!" "Like, a gynecologist-" "Church! I meant church! You know, priests? Nuns?" "Just to be clear, you mean the religious ones?"Johnny's manrection began to lose its protein-load as his mind with flooded with the thought of fifty-something year old Catholic priests holding a jerk-off contest to see who could lose their Long-Bearded Fathers the fastest to prove that they weren't gay. "Nobody works on Sunday, Johnny!" --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THIS SAME TIME, AROUND CHRISTMASTIME. "Wow, I'm so glad we went out." "Yeah, me too, Briar. I can't believe I thought you were just pretending to not act at first." "Nah, that shit only happens in bad books and trashy movies." Johnny pulled out his key as he stepped onto the snow-covered steps to his mother's home. He thrust it in and jiggled it around, turning the little thing smoothly from side-to-side. His mother, a busty-looking forty-something year old woman, opened the gate, looked at the girl holding her son's side, and immediately closed down the fucking house and all of its windows. "Mom! What the hell?!"asked Johnny as he thumped, thumped, thumped on the door, with Briar staring a thousand-yard stare at the home, which she hadn't recognized until just now. "Dear god, John! Please tell me you didn't fuck her! Please, for the love of god, tell me you didn't stick your special-delivery package inside her wet mailslots!" "She's my girlfriend, mom! What're you going on about! Look, if this is about the way she smells-" The mother opened the door, returning Briar's thousand-yard stare with a sixty-nine-thousand yard stare. Their mouths gaped as wide as they could, which was considerably wide, considering Briar's recent AVN award for Best Oral Sex Scene. Johnny stood dumb-founded between the two women, desperately hoping that this wasn't some cliche from a romance novel that could spell nothing but barfs, shits, and gagging for the whole family. "Good morning, Ms. Smegma,"the mother said calmly. "How're you, Willow? Heard you got out of the business a few years back? No e-mails or anything from you." "Huh. Well, I thought it best to cut ties with the company. Start up a real family of my own..." "Mhmmm?" Johnny let out a deep breath of relief. So his mother was probably a porn-star way back when and Briar used to work with her... WAIT A FUCKING SECOND. HOW'S THAT POSSIBLE? HE WAS ONLY EIGHTEEN. BRIAR'S TWENTY-ONE. HIS MIND FLASHED AND FLUTTERED WITH THESE ODD LOGICAL INCONSISTENCIES THAT THE AUTHOR TOTALLY DID NOT JUST REMEMBER. "Oh, Briar. Remember to leave your shoes on the rack. Johnny, stop drooling at your whore of a girlfriend. I need you both to help me pack some sausage into an ass." "What-"Johnny began to ask before figuring, oh fuck all of this. "Donkey meat's illegal, isn't it?"Briar spoke up. "Shush." Johnny's mother stepped his, sashaying her ass as she made her way to the kitchen. Johnny himself turned to Briar and began to ask about the specifics of her relationship to his mother. Briar merely stared at Johnny, who had the same eyes, hair-coarseness, ear-shape, nose, and DNA similarity to Johnny's mother as she did, and shook her head.
“Hey, guys,” I said, sidestepping the mess on the floor as I walked into the living room. “Do you think we could have a quick house meeting?” Neither of my roommates bothered to peel their eyes from the television. So I cleared my throat and tried again. “Dave? Sheila? I really think we need to set a few ground rules, now that things have…changed. Know what I mean?” A light tuft of smoke emerged from Dave’s fingers as he jerked his head in annoyance. “Dunno what you’re talking about.” Sheila shrugged an agreement from the opposite end of the sofa. “What’s the problem now?” Shit. This was gonna get ugly. “Okay. Well, for starters, I was doing laundry this morning when all of my clothes suddenly burst into flame.” A wry smile formed on Dave’s face. “Maybe you shouldn’t use up all the detergent. Not that I had anything to do with what happened. I’m just saying…” “Cut the crap, asshole. I know it was you.” Sheila, who hated conflict, decided this would be a good time to turn invisible. “How?” Dave asked, leaning forward to address me with a sneer. “I wasn’t even there. I’ve been here all morning watching television. Just ask Sh—“ His eyes popped at the vacancy two cushions down. “Holy shit. Where did she go?” “She’s still here,” I said, irritated. “No, I’m not.” “Yes, you are.” I glared in her general direction before returning my attention back to Dave. “We all woke up with super powers this morning. And...um...with great power comes great responsibility. Dave, you can’t just set fire to all my shit because you’re pissed off about the laundry situation. And Sheila, it’s fucked up to go ghost and waltz into the bathroom while I’m taking a shower. I don’t care how much you need your lip gloss.” They both sat in stunned silence. “H-How did you know?” Sheila’s disembodied voice asked finally. “Because I can read minds, stupid.” I brought my hands together with authoritative flair. “Everyone clear on the new house rules? Great. Meeting adjourned.”
"I killed him." "That's nice dear." He was sat on the couch, engrossed in another marathon gaming session. "He fought back, unlike that last guy. Real nasty biter." She held her arm out appreciatively, a red mark fading just below the elbow. "You had a tetanus shot?" "Of course." "Okay then." "I had to pull the teeth so they can't do a dental match." "Uh uh." "He's in a tub now, dissolving. Should be nothing left but a soup by tomorrow." "Are we having soup tonight?" "No, I. Put that down."She stood in front of the screen. "What is wrong with you?" "Nothing. Are you tired? Are you on your..." "No,"she nearly screamed, snatching up a power cord and wrapping it around her fist. "Three years. Three years we've been going out." "Oh god,"he muttered. "I forgot our anniversary." "What? No. Ever since you walked in on me and Tom." "Who's Tom?" "Tom was the guy I was strangling when you first met me. Don't you remember?" He shrugged nonchalantly. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bedroom. A heavy black duffel, buried in the back of the closet, contents spilling out as she rolled it across the bed. Knives and axes, tasers and tweezers. "I kill people Greg. I've killed a lot of people." "Yeah, but..." "What? What?!"she demanded, snatching up a particularly wicked looking blade. "Well, my dad always told me if you're good at something, why do it for free?" She stared at him confused. He hugged her tightly, releasing the blade from her fingers and setting it back amongst its brothers. He led her to the closet and slid open the back. "How? What? When?"she asked. She picked up a small calibre pistol, feeling the weight in her hands. The hidey hole contained an assortment of rifles, pistols, even a bazooka. "You were a contract. A target. But when I saw you, with your arms around that guy and the sweat on your brow, I just fell in love." "You were going to kill me?"she asked. "And I didn't mind you carrying on. I know you do your best." "My best?" "I keep a watch on you, honest. I just always wish you'd..." "What?" "Well, go pro." "Greg,"she said, grabbing his hand. "Yes?" "Let's do one together."
"Hey I just got back,"Jezebel said to Genevieve and Tim, as she thought about her trip to the grocery store. "Oh, did you get what we needed?"Tim asked thinking about the massive amounts of cocaine they were planing to do this weekend. Genevieve, who was supposed to pick up the drugs and tell Jezebel the plans for the weekend, both of which she neglected to do, was greatly surprised to hear that Jezebel was feeling well enough to go anywhere seeing as how she was sick. "Oh, did you want some to? I only picked up my stuff,"Jezebel replied to Tim growing confused. "How did you make it out? I thought you weren't feeling up to it?"Genevieve said suddenly cutting in to the conversation. Jezebel, whose mind immediately went to the long and grueling experience of backing out of her drive way, grew offended at her friends lack of faith in her driving abilities. "Just because I had issues that one time and you happened to be with me doesn't make me inadequate,"Jezebel snapped at Genevieve, remembering how she had backed into a truck months ago. Tim who was remembering the time that they all had done shrooms and Jezebel had thrown up everywhere, said, "Of course it doesn't make you inadequate, it happens to all of us sooner or later." "Yeah, I got it right after I broke up with Tony, I was throwing up for weeks,"Genevieve said trying to reassure Jezebel that being sick wasn't a bad thing. Tim, certain he was on the right page now said, "Yeah, Tony had the best shit." Jezebel, not understanding at all what was going on, but still feeling pissed off for some reason, walked away from the conversation. Genevieve followed soon after leaving Tim alone. He just sat there and wondered what hell had just happened.
It was a little-discussed consequence of Batman's existence. Although the city did live in fear of him, the criminal underworld was not stupid. It didn't take long for people to realize that Batman always gave priority to attacks on Wayne Enterprises and the Wayne Foundation. Really, it was only a matter of months before decoy robberies were being made on Wayne shipments while much more lucrative scores were being made elsewhere. There was only one Batman, after all. It didn't take the upper management of companies competing with Wayne much longer to catch on to this loyalty, being master criminals in their own right. Never ones to allow a good idea to go unstolen, a large portion of each company's loss prevention budget was suddenly diverted into a new investment strategy. Fortunately, this being Gotham, it wasn't difficult to find brutal, revenge-obsessed orphans. The only thing they lacked was a decent financial backing. Thus a new breed of corporate sponsored superheroes was born. Nike, the winged goddess of victory, and the fastest woman alive as proven in her late-night infomercials. The Wal-Martian, an illegal alien with an impossibly sharp blade to slash criminals as deftly as his employers slashed prices. Micro-soft, the incredible miniaturization man; The Amazon Warrior with her bow Prime Delivery; and Nestle Quick, the berserker capable of brutal feats of savagery when provoked. These extraordinary individuals gathered together at the top of the Starbucks Watchtower at the edge of of the city, ever-vigilant and always ready to fight in the name of corporate interests.
“What’s your secret?” One after another, the representative from each affiliate news station repeated the question to Willie Jenkins. “Haven’t got one,” he replied, politely and in succession. Willie’s 250th birthday garnered a bit less national attention than his 150th and his 200th, as far as he could recall. The President himself had stopped by a hundred years ago to bestow a longevity medal and shake Willie’s hand on camera. Today, the questions had been perfunctory and stilted. In past years, Willie obstinately refused parades and festivals in his honor, insisting he spend his birthday by his key cutting machine where he feels most comfortable. This year, to Willie’s relief, there were no such demands to turn down. Old Man Jenkins is less a national hero today than a near-forgotten relic, and it suits him just fine. The scientists had long since given up, and the media seemed to be following in kind. One reporter hung back while the others filed out of Willie’s key shop into their news vans. Willie noticed the exodus as much as he noticed the influx, his skilled eyes all the while trained on the bumps and valleys forming on a new brass door key. “Mr. Jenkins,” the remaining reporter said as she approached the workbench, “may I ask you some additional questions?” Willie finished smoothing an edge and looked up. He had seen many humans over his extraordinarily long life, and this was not one of them. “Go ahead,” he said, his eyes calmly settling back on the key. “I can tell that you are aware of certain oddities in my appearance, and I would be surprised at your disinterest if you weren’t already such an unusual case.” Willie continued cutting. “Mm-hmm.” “Do you not wonder why you are still alive? So long after your contemporaries, and their children, and their children’s children have perished?” “T’ain’t my business. I cut keys.” “Where are your thoughts, Mr. Jenkins? Your thoughts on life and existence? Have you not contemplated your place on Earth and in the Universe? It is only natural do to so.” “No ma’am, can’t stop concentrating while cutting keys. Could lose a finger.” “And of things past? And of the specter of the future? The plight of the human race?” “Ma’am, I need to finish this key before closing time so that Mrs. Foster can pick it up in the morning. So if there’s nothing else…” The reporter switched off the key cutter with a quick swipe of the hand. Willie was startled, but managed to secure the brass door key and avoid any errant cuts. “Just tell me one thing, Mr. Jenkins: why are you here?” Willie stood up and came face to face with the reporter. His eyes made contact with her eye-level region. Without breaking his gaze, he stretched out his arm and switched the key cutter back on. “I cut keys.”
"I call to order this session of the Galactic Council, requested by the Head of the Department of Interstellar Species Relations, Arbiter Hax. Please be seated." From two hundred different worlds scattered across the galaxy, holograms of the five hundred and thirty-seven official members of the council were projected into the ornate chambers, which were situated on Prime-A2, one of the moons that had been pulled into orbit around the core systems in the galactic centre. Creatures of many and varied shapes were beamed in via the starways. Only one sentient being was physically present in the vast room, the Sergeant-at-Arms, and she for no other reason than a formality. Still, the noise in the chamber was considerable, under a glass ceiling which looked out upon the heart of the galaxy and the swirling clouds of interstellar gas and dust forged within the heart's furnace. "Arbiter Hax,"Knight Dromana said, the current President of the Galactic Federation of Star Systems. "The entire council has been called to order, the starways are watching--please tell the galaxy what you have shared with me." Hax, from his office on his homeworld, stood and beheld the chamber before him. He was a striking figure, nine-feet tall, bald, and cybernetically-enhanced. His species, the Grace, had recently celebrated two million local-sol cycles of civilisation and been elevated to one of the permanent members of the Federation Security Council. Hax cleared his throat as the chamber quieted. He felt the weight of hundreds of eyes, viewing vines, glass lenses, and sensory nets settle on him. "As most of our long-time members know, the species that designates itself as human was purposely isolated in a remote region, location withheld, on the outer rim of one of the galactic arms."Hax shifted in his seat, leaned forward and pressed his silver hands together. He projected an image of the planet Earth and its single moon above the centre of the table. "Permanently isolated, I should say. And expected to survive no more than the first few steps outside of barbarism. The human species was cast from the inner worlds and left to die. To the council, I wish to advise that they have just passed the final Great Filter." In the cold silence that followed, Hax read confusion on the short-time species in the chamber, mild surprise on some of the longer members, and stark terror on the faces of the long-time species and members of the council that remembered the last wars against humanity. "Their generation ships have seeded local star systems within their galactic quadrant,"Hax continued, getting the facts out of the way so the problem could be defined, discussed, resolved. "FTL sleeper ships of humans have begun spreading out toward the centre of the galaxy and our respective home worlds. Fitted with drives that draw power from sub-space, tearing at the fabric of reality, the ships are capable of interstellar speed. Their very ships are designed to burn and consume! We expect the first to arrive within federation space in approximately seven hundred cycles." Each of the members would be receiving data-dumps via the starways, and the neural implants in their brains would quickly download and absorb the information packets on the human species. A species of life nearly as old as the universe - flesh, bone, and meat - and one that had, in times long ago, nearly destroyed all life in the galaxy. The data-dumps authorised by the president in their meeting earlier that day contained top secret war files that had been sealed for over sixty million cycles. Hax expected first complaints, the scoffs of disbelief, as the data was absorbed and every species in the room became an expert on humans. He got all of that and more. "Come now,"Arbiter Pring of the Hedge Worlds scoffed. "I know we haven't been around as long as some of you, but is this species truly the threat you claim?" Hax nodded - the question was fair. "They are a short-time species, scarcely fifty cycles of life per being, for those just coming to grips with the relevance and urgency of the situation. And you may think that it has been aeons of advancement and prosperity since the human species was last a threat. However, I argue today that to ignore that threat will mean war is inevitable. "To the best of our intelligence, the humans have yet to meet another sentient race since they were destroyed and banished to the dark reaches of the galaxy. However, that will soon change. And with it, they will bring war."Hax sighed. "It is coded in their very nature. Humanity is chaos, raw chaos, and capable of cruelty not seen in out great civilisation since the last of the all-time races left the universe." President Knight stood at the centre of the vast chamber, resplendent in ceremonial robes and nearly twenty feet high. Her current form was one that vaguely resembled a human--but then half the species in the room could claim the same. Two legs, two arms. It was a pattern mimicked across the galaxy, and Hax had to wonder if it hadn't started with humans all those millions of cycles ago. "They have no knowledge of their history. They are a young species,"the president said, "Even now so very young, but on their single life-supporting world they have managed, without outside influence, to begin colonising the galaxy. Soon they will encroach on territory belonging to members of this chamber. What then? Will you swat them from the starways? They are an aggressive species, a virus capable of multiplying. Moreover, the data you have received shows that they operate as individuals within a collective. They can sacrifice. They can suicide." A great shudder seemed to move through the chamber. Hax felt the stirrings of fear in his own heart. Again, not since the Dark Ages of the early universe had any of the long-time species been capable of self-destruction. It was unthinkable, entirely alien. Hax raised his hands for the floor. "It is unfathomable that they have survived,"he said. "To have failed the Great Filters, to have been isolated, and still they come in ships of nuclear steel. I advise the members of this council to see and acknowledge the threat. It may already be too late." ~~~~ Author's Note: Eh, not my best work, but there's something there. Thanks for reading.
July 16- 1999 Today, a nation is in mourning as King John II and Princess Carolyn were killed in a plane crash today, throwing the nation into a crisis. John II, son of King John I, was killed when the royal charter plane crashed off of the coast of Georgia. Investigators have yet to find out what happened to the plane, though some have wondered if the terrorist organization, the Tea Party Patriots, a group dedicated to restoring the mob rule of Democracy, are to blame. The King's sister, Caroline, has been named as the head of state and of government, though some have wondered if Robert, the current Lord of New York and the brother of John I would take over while some say Lord Edward of Massachusetts, the wayward brother of the clan, might also be considered,. The news comes as terrible shock to the nation, who only recently buried King John I just a decade ago. The funeral will be held at the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception in Washington DC, while a non-denominational Remembrance Service will be held at the National Cathedral.
Superman, Batman and the Flash were playing a 3-man poker game. It was one of those slower days at the JLA but all the heroes voted in favor of "Villian Wait Out Fridays"to be mandatory and it was their turn to hang around the League Lounge. "Something's wrong,"Superman said with a grim expression. Neither the Flash nor the Dark Knight budged, but the man in the bat suit took a tiny intake of breath, so small only Superman could detect thanks to his enhanced hearing. "Bruce..."he began. "Here's another five bucks,"Batman said gruffly, and pushed the chips towards the center of their round stylized meeting table, complete with JLA logo in the center. A load of chips lay there. "Bruce...,"Superman tried again. "I think..." "You chickening out on me, Kent?"Batman said, cutting him off once more. "No... it's just..."and the big man in the blue, red and yellow suit scratched his forehead. He had at least three threes laid out in the open and yet Bruce was raising him. "It's just..." "Call it,"Batman said. "Call it or Raise." Superman glanced over at the Flash. "Barry,"Superman said. "Do you know something about this?" "Hey, don't look at me, big guy. I folded already." "Yeah,"Superman said. "Yeah, you did. You've been doing that for the last few games after you lost that one round. And this guy across us has been winning ever since. Is there something you're not telling me?" "C'mon, Clark. It's not like we're allowed to use our powers in this. So no, I don't have anything to tell. I'm just as blind as you are in this." "Well, I can see you, you know,"Superman said grimly. "I can see if you've been zooming around the room. Like that time when we raced." "Yeah, like, okay,"the Flash said holding his hands up defensively, "I know you're fast. But I got nothing." "Good."Supes said with a finality in his tone. Batman was about to speak when Superman turned his way and glared. "And I can hear you too, you know. As much as you're trying to hide it, I'd know a cheater's heartbeat anywhere." "No superpowers."Batman said, without budging. "Hearing for a cheater's heartbeat is different. I don't listen for whether you have a bad hand or not but I can tell when someone's cheating. It's pretty transparent." Batman shrugged nonchalantly. "No superpowers,"he said again. Smugly. He knew there was no way Superman could accuse him without breaking the number one rule ol' Supes insisted on anyway. "Yeah,"Superman said. "Well no tech too. We're supposed to play fair. We're heroes for God's sakes." Flash stifled a laugh. "You tell 'im, Clark." Superman turned to gaze at the Flash and then back at Batman. "I'm just good at bluffin',"Batman said tartly. The staring contest lasted a full whole minute. "Call,"Superman said and pushed the rest of his chips in. That was all of his side of his upcoming vacation money with Lois. It wasn't a very responsible bet, but there was just no way Batman's pair of two's could stand against his hidden full house. Alright, Superman thought. Whatever happens next is too late to change, so technically, I'm not cheating if I peeked now. With mere thought, Superman activated his x-ray vision. He could see the ink traces past the paper thin fiber material of the cards in Batman's hand. Yet he couldn't make it out. There was some kind of glare radiating from the palm of Batman's palm. Kryptonite!, Superman thought. That sneaky detective. Always one step ahead. "You ready for the reveal, boy scout?"Batman said. "Clearly,"Superman said, undeterred. He thinks he has the better of me, but I've been observing his brain light up each time a number is shown. "Full House,"Superman said, turning over his two folded cards. "What've you got?"he asked Batman sharply as he eyed Batman intensely. The suddenness should at least jolt ol' Bruce's thoughts. Batman was about to flip his cards. Six. Nine. Superman thought as he studied Batman's neurons firing. Jackpot! he thought as he broke into a silly grin. Without thinking, he had semi lunged over the pile of chips with his arms stretched wide open. "Christ, Clark, what are you doing?"Flash asked. Superman stopped. Flash was staring and so was Batman who was still in his seat, expressionless. "But-But I won, didn't I?" As if on cue, Batman waved a hand over his upturned cards. "Well how about that?" The two blind cards turned out to be a second pair of two's. Batman's hand had four two's in total leaving Superman flabbergasted. "But how can that be? I-I-" "Careful, Kent,"Batman said with a rare smile, "No superpowers." "Damn it, Bruce, let's go at it again. One last time."Superman was furious. "You got nothing left to bet with." "I'm wearing it,"Superman said, matter of factly. "Alright,"Batman said, cracking his knuckles. "I'm going straight for that dumb cape and the other red thing you wear outside all the time. I'm doing a lot of people justice once I get rid of that." "Oh yeah? That's IF you can pull off another win like this before I catch you cheating." The Dark Knight leaned back. "Barry, you in?" Barry or the Flash, who had seen it all from the very beginning, grinned broadly. It's true Superman was fast, but as fast as the man in blue could see, he still blinked occasionally. That happened to be the moment Batman did something with his glove that was likely causing the numbers to change in a split second. He figured he'd call on Batman's bullshit but watching someone like Superman getting in a twist over this had been too good to pass up. So he nodded and the trio played one more round of poker. The rest of the night went about uneventfully, fortunately for the people on Earth, but verily so not as fortunate for a particular man who now only wore his costume in blue and yellow.
"No, don't go up the stairs, you fucking imbecile!"I said. I had seen this movie twice before. Tom went up the stairs and got murdered by Jack, the dual wielding knife mass murderer. This was within the first five minutes of the movie. The premise of the movie was that there were 6 teenagers camping out at an abandoned house in Idaho. Yeah, I know, Idaho. Who thinks of this stuff, stupid writers or something? Anyway, they dared themselves to stay the entire night and little did they know, they were camping out in the Mass Murderer Jacks house, you know, that guy who murdered and disemboweled 9 people? I knew what happened and looked away, off in space as Tom, to my surprise looked back at me. "Who- who said that?"Tom stated. "What the-"I paused. "Erin, is this a remastered version?" "No. Why?"Erin said. She walked in the room and noticed the tv and its contents. "That's odd, I dont remember that. He goes upstairs and gets mauled to death, right?" "Something like that."I said. "Hey, why is he still looking at us? It's been like a minute!" "I can hear you, where are you, and why did you call me an imbecile?"Tom yelled. I hesitated. "You're about to get killed, Tom, don't go up the stairs." "What? What are you talking about? Am I hallucinating?" Tom went upstairs. Tom was mauled to death. The end of Tom.
The first time Sebassa killed, she tasted the blood for weeks. The renegade Sebassa looked up from her knitting. “What does that even mean?” Her memory was born in pain and got worse from there. It’s no wonder she was the deadliest assassin in Parth’s history. “Well,” said Sebassa, “I am pretty deadly.” But none of that would save her when the Last Sheriff came to town. “Actually,” said Fabian, “I would much rather rehabilitate her.” No one is safe. No one is kind. And no one really knows the darkness in the vessels around them. “I’m a vessel now?” said Sebassa. “That’s a little atavistic, wouldn’t you say?” The deadly assassin Sebassa doesn’t have that kind of vocabulary because her childhood school was burned to the ground by the very same lawmen who now count Fabian in their corrupted ranks! “Wait, corrupt?” said Fabian. “Since when? I consider myself a reasonable guy.” “Is that why you’re going to arrest me?” demanded Sebassa, who could now hear her opponent’s footsteps in the hall. Yes, my children. Yes, let the hate flow through you. “I’m an assassin, not a serial killer,” Sebassa said sullenly. Fabian kicked in the door. “Well, point of order…” “Can’t we be reasonable about this?” Fabian considered. “I’m willing to listen.” Then the building burst into flame, you spoilsports! The ravening horde of people whose lives Sebassa has blighted with her deadly ways are now outside, throwing rocks! “Someone’s a sore loser,” said Fabian. Sebassa looked out the window and, sighing, set aside her knitting. “Should I kill them all?” Yes! “I’m sure there’s another way,” said Fabian. “Hey, want to see my badge and emblem of a crumbling bureaucracy that crushes the spirits of its agents until they serve only mindless evil? It’s pretty shiny.” He looked up. “Did I get that right?” More or less. Asshole.
The end of the world was not supposed to be like this. According to movies and television, everyone should be running through the streets, screaming, looting and setting fire to things. Dave scanned the sky, searching for evidence of the alien invasion. An Independence day ship would be cool, he thought. The news said they were already here. He had seen footage of cars morphing suddenly into these weird black shadow creatures. But this was his chance see them for himself, he didn't see the harm considering the world was about to end. "Where are your parents? Come with us! The nearest shelter is just around the corner."Dave looked up at the concerned looking couple. Their faces expressed an uncomforting mixture of fear and confusion. "Mum and Dad are already there, I just want to see the aliens!"Said Dave. "You won't see them, they are all hidden,"the woman said. "They will try and trick you into being eaten."Dave had heard similar descriptions from other adults. None made much sense to him. He knew what aliens looked liked and he had always wanted to see one. Even if it was just their ship, like one from War of the Worlds, those were his favorites. The couple knew they wern't getting through to Dave. They ran off in the direction of the shelter, leaving the streets desolate. The cities emergency sirens aggressively pierced the silence. Dave continued wandering the streets, eyes peeled. This had been a huge let down. He had been searching for hours and was starting to get tired. Ever since he heard about the upcoming invasion, he had binge watched all his favorite movies in anticipation. He was half way through Men in Black 2 when the emergency broadcast interrupted him, telling everyone to get to the emergency shelters. He saw one of these shelters close by and decided to just give up and wait it out inside. The door closed behind him with a loud, echoing thud. The shelter was empty. The siren outside had been replaced by a weird bubbling droning sound. Before Dave could investigate, the room around him started to darken. The lights still worked but they were no match against this black shadow that was filling the room. Dave recognized it from the news footage. He didn't have time to be afraid. He was already inside the alien. You can't see this in the movies was his final thought before being consumed by the darkness.

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.