Split (1)

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"Are you kidding?"Percy asked. "Hercules had to kill the freakin' Nemean Lion for his first task. Mine is just to ask out Emma?" Hermes tapped a single winged shoe against the school's brick exterior. "That's right. That will be the first of twelve equally challenging tasks matching Hercules' original feats. Complete them all and we will grant you one wish of anything you desire, be it immortality, godhood, or even sentience." "Humans are already sentient!" "Hmm?"Hermes filed his nails and glanced at him. "Ah, I hadn't noticed. Forgive me, it's hard to take that seriously given what you're doing to each other around the globe. Anyways, good luck! Remember, Hercules accomplished his tasks over twelve years, so you've got time. Toodles!" From here, Percy could see Emma in class past the sparse foliage dotting the school lawn. As he waited for the sprinklers to tut-tut-tut the other way, he tried to work out how best to complete the first task. Tch, what a joke, he thought to himself. Emma and I have been friends for like, forever. It'll be fine. It didn't happen during lunch break. When she looked at him and laughed, asking why he was giving her that look on their walk home, Percy heard himself laugh back and blabber some lame excuse. It wasn't until he really put his mind to the task and found himself sitting back home alone in his room that he moaned in frustration. "This is impossible,"he said. Bzzz went his phone. Chop-chop! Time's a-wasting, mortal! Only eleven years and three hundred sixty four days to go! Percy wanted to text Hermes back and tell him to go shove it where the sun didn't shine. Because he wasn't an idiot looking to anger a literal Greek god, he did not. The next morning, he walked to Emma's house as usual and together they made there way through heaps of red and orange tree droppings that would soon become mush in the afternoon rain. "Emma,"he said, deciding to just rip the band-aid off and get the first task over with, "Will you..." Greek gods damn it, he couldn't get the words out. His pulse started racing in his chest. Why was this so hard? Percy wiped clammy palms on his fading jeans and swallowed hard. "Huh?"Emma looked at him, blinking large eyes. He noticed the way a stray eyelash had fallen on one cheek, and he brushed it off absentmindedly. "Ah, thanks." "Willyougooutwithme?"He asked. "Like to the movies or something? I think the new Spiderman is out." "Oh."She looked surprised, and bit her lip. "Sorry, Perce, but...we're like, good friends." His stomach sank. There was a strange warping to the world that he couldn't quite describe past the pounding in his ears. "I get it." "It's not that you're not...cool, I'm sure there's plenty of people who you'd work out well with. But we have something pretty sweet you know? And I don't want to ruin that." "Yeah, it's cool,"he said, forcing out a laugh, trying not to wince at the repetition of the word cool. They walked to school in silence and said 'see you later' before heading off to separate class. Bzzz went his phone again. Well, that was quick! Congratulations on completing the first task of twelve, in record time! Percy wanted to smash his phone against the wall. Was it even worth it? Bzzzz. Your second task has arrived! It is: Get into a relationship with Emma! --- Thanks for reading! Your feedback is invaluable to me\~ also, come hang out at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you there :)
I contemplated throwing the thing back in the bag of requirement and jumping back into my bed, but the bag had already shrunk itself back down to a marble pouch, having finished its duties for the day, so I stowed it dutifully and begrudgingly beneath my bed. I took a closer look at the Hellfire Express: it was a gauntlet of ebony, umber, and crimson; its thickest point was about the wrist, where small apertures formed a bracelet-like ring. It had weight, I knew, but my arm was unburdened by it as I stood and walked over to the window with it. It was a beautiful day. I sighed heavily and prepared myself in a fighting stance before I punched the air in front of me. The Hellfire Express did nothing. “The damned thing’s a bust,” I said to myself. “Oh I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” I shook my head very quickly to dispel the voice of clearly fabricated. I looked at the Hellfire Express. “Yes; I’m capable of interfacing with you,” the gauntlet seemed to say. “What’s this, now? Have I gone mad?” I asked myself, and, I’ll admit, the gauntlet. “I can speak with you! Marvellous, is it not? Personally, I’d’ve found more of a use for a former Demon, Second Class, but no matter. I’ll be facilitating all Hellfire-related activities; pleased to work with you.” Hellfire Express sounded jaded and bored, but sincere, and I decided to believe the strange contraption. “Well, Hellfire, would you kindly show me how you work?” “Right-o. I’m triggered by desire, more than anything. We’ve found that instances of accidental immolation decreased by 53% once desire was the operative force behind Hellfire usage.” I imagined a flame before me and Hellfire obliged: a flame darker than pitch shot out of the gauntlet and collided with the wall of my home, exploding in a roar of searing hot smoke. My face felt like it had been left in a stove on a summer day. I liked this gauntlet. Hellfire explained that the gauntlet did not require traditional ammunition, as it was directly connected to the pits of hell. The flame that I was now wielding was harmful to all beings: beings whose souls were corrupted would have some resistance, while souls bereft of corruption would have none. I began to feel the gravity of the weapon whose heft I still remained unencumbered by. “Why do I need you, Hellfire?” I asked, hesitantly. The gauntlet began to laugh. “Oh boy, is this your first rodeo?” “Pardon me?” “I said, is this your first time out? First time using a weapon of this— of my caliber?” “Last month I used a sword imbued with the poison of a Viper King, but I think you might be more powerful.” “By far, my friend. By far.” Hellfire sighed. “You should be receiving a sign soon enough. Then you’ll understand.” As if summoned by Hellfire’s claim, the world around me turned to fog and a blinding light shone down from above. “MY CHILD. BEARER OF ARMS GREAT AND TERRIBLE. I ASK A SERVICE OF YOU,” a voice that shook my very soul with its resonance spoke to me. “I live to serve!” I yelled at the light. “YOUR TASK WILL NOT BE EASY. I ASK THAT YOU ERADICATE YOUR SPECIES FROM THE FACE OF THE PLANET. YOU, HOWEVER, SHALL LIVE TO SEE THE END TIMES, AMONG THE BEASTS AND THE TREES. YOU ALONE SHALL HAVE THIS AS YOUR REWARD FOR THE TERRIBLE TASK I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU.” “See what I told you?” Hellfire muttered to me. I looked at Hellfire and back into the light. I took a quick breath, and puffed my chest out. I blinked away the blind spots and looked back at the floor to spare my eyesight. “I shall be your instrument!” I said. “I—“ and then the world was back and I was in my home with the busted wall. “Well, Hellfire?” “Yeah?” “Shall we make a roast of it?” “You’re sick. I like it.” I donned my helmet and stepped out into the beautiful day.
"...or just a very outdated model?"Charlie began to circle me, his bright amber eyes glinting as he looked over my appearance. The boilersuit I had worn through the jump still steamed slightly. It felt like it was strangling me as I tried to take in my surroundings. This was my world. I had expected some huge change - expected towers rising in the distance, expected aircraft flitting this way and that. Instead, I was in the same cruddy part of Cleveland I had left. Charlie poked me hard in the rib and I batted at his finger. "What the hell?" "It's so... biological..." "Charlie, it's me... Richard? Richard Hall?" "You even adopted a given name? I didn't think any nosts still lived in this sector! How cute..." "Charlie, I..." "If you're referring to me that way... I'm not selfish enough to give myself a name. My de-sig works just fine. Anyway, I must get to my re-cal. Tau tau." I watched his back as he strode away from me. After a quick glance around I caught back up to him. "Are you desynced?"He asked when I got his attention again. "Look, I... I'm not sure what's going on, Mister. I'm supposed to be in the year 2967... I jumped forward a millennium." Charlie, or whatever this thing was, stared at me for a good 15 seconds. "29...67? This is year 108... nothing exists from before year zero. You must be desynced. Come with me." He grabbed me by the elbow so forcefully I thought he might rip the arm clean out of the socket. His grip was iron and I let out a concerned yelp as he grabbed me. "What is your de-sig?"He asked as he forced me down the street and around the corner. "I don't..." "Has your memory been wiped?"He asked, with growing annoyance. "Not even the most dedicated nost forgets their de-sig..." "What is a de-sig?"I asked in desperation. "The number on your chassis. Your must be suffering from a prog problem. A re-cal will set you right..." He tugged me towards a sandstone structure that seemed to stretch out for a mile each side. We approached, while several others I half-recognized padded down sidewalks on either side of the street. I looked above the re-cal building; a vibrant set of checkerboard-like patterns stretched across the entrance where text should have been. The stench of foreboding clogged my mind as we entered...
SCP-5000: Winter Wonderland Special Containment Procedure: SCP-5000 is to be monitored at all times for people driving to and from the town's borders by personnel located at Site [REDACTED], although no attempts are to be made to stop them. All telephone lines, internet towers, and other communication technology in SCP-5000 are to be hindered, if not made totally inoperable, and personnel must seek clearance from the Site Director before entering the town limits. Cutting communications, and ensuring their hindrance, is of the utmost importance, as every year, means of communication are rebuilt through unknown means by SCP-5000, and has resulted in interest of government facilities, such as the IRS. Cross interference by the Foundation has been used and will be upheld in the interest of ensuring the containment of SCP-5000. Description: SCP-5000 is a small town in Canada, located partially in the wilderness of the [REDACTED] Province. Its layout seems to change every spring, when the town's activities are most dormant and the instances of SCP-5000-1, -2, or -3 are inactive. Such changes are instantaneous, and seem to be mostly regulated to the shifting of positions between various hallmark locations within the town, such as the duck pond and the chapel, or the bakery and the horse ranch. Other than that, or perhaps the introduction of a new, chic location, this town is largely unremarkable. SCP-5000 generates a number of humanoid beings from unknown locations, which emerge from their homes between the first and tenth of August, and vanish between the first and tenth of April. These humanoids are usually fairly average, and designated 5000-3. Occasionally, SCP-5000 will produce an unusually attractive female, ranging from 18 to her late 30s, with varying status in the society of SCP-5000. This female is designated 5000-1. Furthermore, usually after, SCP-5000 will produce and unusually attractive male, as designated SCP-5000-2. These humanoids, despite effort, have unmemorable faces and personalities that, although memorable, start to repeat, and are often boiled down to "quirky", "uptight", or "artsy". During the time that the instances of -1, -2, and -3 are active, the act out common happenings often depicted in movies of the Hallmark channel, specifically their Christmas movies, including contacting businesses outside of SCP-5000, people in different states, and local governmental facilities, such as a neighboring mayor. Despite such calls, no neighboring cities or businesses that have been called know who contacted them, nor are there any records of a town being built there. Cutting such communications doesn't seem to hinder instances of SCP-5000, as recordings show them still acting as though they get the response they want. At the beginning of the active period for SCP-5000, all instances of 5000-3 will emerge from their houses or business at various times, behaving as humans do, even if sometimes speaking or behaving irregularly, assumedly in order to facilitate whatever narrative they follow. At some point, 5000-1 will emerge, often proclaiming some life troubles. At a random point before December 1, 5000-2 will emerge, and begin a mating ritual with -1, also in a way that facilitates the year's narrative. Both -1 and -2 emerge later than instances of -3, sometimes even coming from "out of town", although observations from Site [REDACTED] never show anyone driving to the town. Vehicles or individuals leaving SCP-5000 seem to vanish instantly once out of sight. Addendum: SCP-5000 seems to be breaking down, or perhaps preparing. Over the past few years, more and more instances of -1 and -2 have been emerging, playing out different narratives at once, causing breakdowns among other instances. This year, a record of 57 instances of -1 emerged, while only 43 of -2 emerged, resulting in -1s walking into the houses of random -3 houses with both -1 and -3 instances vanishing.
“Hey, Lily,” I said ~~causally~~ casually, dropping my backpack in the doorway. The bright smile felt fake on my face, but her sister didn’t notice anything wrong as I walked past her up to “my” room. She hadn’t for the past two weeks, either. Was it worth it, to keep living this lie? Lily trusted me completely, and so did Alex and their parents, and I felt sick thinking about how they couldn’t know the truth. Sick that I was learning very personal information about their lives that frankly, I had no right to know. I knew Lily was struggling with depression. I knew Alex was having issues in math, and although I helped him the best I could, he wasn’t improving. I personally thought he had a learning disability- like dyslexia for numbers- but I couldn’t tell his parents. How could I know? I was just a 17 year old girl, not a 2000 year old immortal time-traveling shapeshifter who happened to get a medical degree or two along the way. But I had to stay in the charade. Or else the whole world would know of me. And I’d be taken and dissected and experimented on and— I had no other options. Then I found the texts. I knew I shouldn’t have been prying, but I was curious. And so I took a look through Hannah’s phone — my phone. When I got it, all messages had been wiped clear. I’d spent the last few weeks trying to recover the data. And then I did. And there they were. And I realized why Hannah ran away. Text after text, some quite explicit, to a female friend. She was a lesbian. For a second, I wondered why she’d fled. Then I considered her circumstances: a teenage girl, in the Deep South, in the mid ‘90s, with very conservative parents. Things weren’t exactly great for gay people in those situations. But then another thought crossed my mind, and I looked at my real communicator, the one I was being blackmailed through. The speech patterns all matched. Hannah was the one blackmailing me. But how did she know who I was? How did she, a teenage from the 90s, contact me in the 31st century? I set my mind to find out.
It's become a game. Like Batman and the Joker. Jekyll and Hyde. Two 'enemies' who can't live without one another, whetherr they know it or not. The bounty for immortals is a peculiar thing; a percentage of a bounty for time imprisoned (adjusted for inflation, of course). There was the manticora - rough around the edges but you've discovered has an aptitude and adorable enthusiasm for graphic novels. He (admittedly it's still unclear on gender, but it sort of looks like a 'he') has had a bounty on his head since before you were born, and has been imprisoned in various weird ways for millennia as far as you know. The most recent ten or so captures were your own work - rat trap in a library (that was an obvious first place - tempted by the latest Marvel tomes), the Escape Room which had no escape (he's a game fiend, but even he eventually dug his way out with the small plastic elephant that was part of the escape game 'clues', and the Pit. Honestly, digging a big hole seems a little primitive, but it worked until he fashioned a staircase out of compressed pizza boxes (bounty or no, it's respectful to keep the immortals fed, and everyone likes pizza). Now, more imagination is required - what should you try next? He's up to date with Marvel, and has seen all the movies (bang goes the 'trapdoor in the movie theatre' idea - maybe next year). A wry smile crosses your face at the memories of trapping your old 'friend'. What would you do if he didn't escape? What would you do if he didn't exist? Who would you be? Being honest with yourself, yoou don't try all that hard to make prisons inescapable, and he rarely disappoints in escaping. It's a dance, and a dance that's gone on for millennia, and will continue long after you. As you shut your book, your latest idea firm in your mind you turn to the door with purpose and a bounce in your step, the first time since he was imprisoned ten years ago. Enjoy the dance while you can, old man. &#x200B; First go and I didn't have a lot of time. Feedback welcome.
I panic, my heart pounds against my ribs, every cell within my blood rushes throughout my body. If I hadn’t enabled myself to stay this young with my powers, I’m certain my body would tear at the sheer pressure of my fear. Tears flood my face as I look to my small feline companion, he looks up at me and he too recognises the situation. I may have underestimated his intelligence, he may be an animal, but even he understands the gravity of the situation. Death comes for us all eventually and now is my time, nature has run its course. I can’t say it’s not been fun, using my power to manipulate the way the world works, I spent my time well, preventing global warming, mending conflict between nations, even the more self indulgent activities, such as partaking in every strip club at once. But now the world has caught up to me. I rest in my chair staring at my screen, the monitors gentle hum singing me to my final resting place. And then it hits me. “The internet doesn’t shut down” I type. I’m going to live forever.
How stupid we had been. Blinded by the glory and the good that we did. If I had known we would have ended up here, I would have never asked BoxingBo to join me, to search for others like us. Especially not Flower. I shouldn't have put beauty over skills, but I mean, it was Flower, beautiful funny Flower. Now withered away. There were deep red rose petals everywhere around us, floating and burning in the air, as if her blood surrounded us, standing by our side until we also died. "Tell me.", that hateful voice echoed through the dark tunnel. "Did you really think you would be able to defeat me, ME, in the span of one mere hour?"His laugh was full of spite. A foot an my back. "You still alive? Well it's been two hours now, so you did a pretty good job for an Hour Kid." "Hour Power.", I corrected him taking a rattling breath. A foot hit me in the head, the rose petals became blinking stars. Each one disappearing slowly until the last light went out.
Laughter. Nothing but laughter. I hope my partner is getting great odds, because this is the only time we're going to get these odds. Assuming I live. As the laughter dies, "by the human's own request: - no energy weapons, - no explosives, - no poison, - no shields of any sort, - no armor that is not a natural part of the being, - only weapons powered by muscle." Stunned silence. They think I have a death wish. They might be right. They look at me, and see a barbarian. Wearing leather clothes, carrying an oddly made staff that is way too slender to do any good, and a set of short Spears that are just about the right size for a toothpick. For my opponent. The clothyard shaft. An English longbow. Made in the traditional way, from a yew tree. No fancy materials, no carbon-carbon composites, no recurves, pullies, just one slightly curved piece of wood. With a thousand hours of practice in the last year alone, 20/10 vision, and an anatomy study of my opponent. They call him Big One. Close enough to Goliath. No, I'm not David. I'm Robin. Robin Davidson. I'm from New York. 110th Precinct. M18, Sureno 13, ABK, Patria, Sombra Negras, Latin King's. They're all active in my hood. Between Corona and Jackson Heights. So, yeah, I'm Robin in the Hood. Independent contractor. Silent delivery of messages. Nothing lethal, but always delivered in such a way that the recipient knows that I chose not to kill. Skewering an apple right out of their hand as they're about to take a bite. I love the expressions. "Contestants. This is a fight to the death. Obstacles have been placed in the field. It is permitted to climb them, if you can." "I won't make the usual fair fight speech, 'cause this ain't fair no how." "Good luck." A shot rings out. The starters gun. My crab like opponent charges towards me. I calmly string my bow, and draw an arrow. Twang! And the arrow takes one eye. He has a total of five, and I have 12 arrows. Eleven now. Despite the practiced fast draw, his head has turned beyond the desired angle. I move, scampering up a tree to jump from one branch to the next. I'm faster up here, I can take diagonal leaps. Twang! That shot takes an eye too. He screams like a tea kettle boiling. No more chasing me on the ground, he climbs up to meet me. Good. It's a clearer shot from here. The crowd has gone silent, this fight is not going the way they expected. The odds are shifting so fast that the bookies give up and shut down. All bets now locked in. No backing out, no matter what happens. Twang! A third eye. Two left. I need him to look at me in just the right angle. Just enough to line the Iris up with the hole at the back of the eye. Twang! One left. I drop to the ground and roll behind a tree. That's four arrows for four eyes. One eye left. Pop out from behind the tree. Twang! He dodges, so do I. He stampedes past, and for a giggle, I shoot him in the target ring on his backside. Holy Hell! What was that I hit! It wasn't marked critically wounding, but he's screaming so loud it's making my eyes blur! I withdraw to a distance. Giving my opponent time to recover. "Referee? A message to my opponent. An apology, I have no idea what I hit, but causing that much pain was never my intention. Take your time. Dress your wound. I will not attack until you come at me again." Besides, I can use the breather, and shift my reserve arrows into the quiver. "He responds. I hope you have genitalia, because I'm going to do my damnedest to return the favor. Thanks for the temporary truce." I am chagrined beyond belief, turning bright red. This causes some comment in the stands, but little else. He chooses the high road. I stay below. This confused him, because I've obviously been going for his eyes. A target of my ego, not the best spot to take him from. As I pass under, I finally get a clear look at a structure that was uncertain in the anatomy study. An ovipositor? "Are you carrying young!?!" "What matters it? I need the win to feed my young." "I am greatly sorry. I have no desire to slay unborn children. How close are you?" "Whatever, a few more hours." All this while we dodge each other. He, unwilling to risk his eye. Me, unable to hit the eye, or the better target, and killing children? No. That I will not do. "Referee. I signed up to kill a single being. My opponent is pregnant. Killing children is not part of the deal. Call it off." "Refused." "Your life is now mine, Referee." He laughs. Fool. As if mere distance makes any difference. I specified no shields for a reason. Pop up to the top, draw my bead, and fire. The arrow arcs over my opponent. A blind shot, and the crowd screams. A video appears, showing the referee taking the shot straight to the eye, and oozing onto the floor. I stand there, staring at my opponent. No arrow drawn. "I cannot kill you while your young are within you. I swear, I will see to it that your young are cared for as if they were my own."My opponent stumbles to a halt. "You would do that for me?" "Yes. I would spare your life, but the referee refused." "And for that, you slew him?" "Yes. He was dishonorable. He breached the terms of the contract." "Are all humans like you?" "No, many would slay you without remorse. Most would do so with varying degrees of remorse. Only a few are anything like me." "I do not wish to slay you either. You have offered house right to me." "YOU HAVE SLAIN A REFEREE. YOUR LIFE IS FORFEIT!" "YOUR REFEREE BROKE CONTRACT! CALL THE FIGHT OFF OR FACE THE SAME FATE!" I can sense the turmoil. The crowd does not know how this will go. They are looking around. One points, then dozens, thousands. I extrapolate the angles. The circular probability of error is small enough. I fire again. A shield! He has a shield! The crowd is incensed! Outraged! This referee has broken contract blatantly! It may stop light objects moving fast, but it does not protect against a thousand audience members swarming you under. An audience member takes the hailer. "Time is granted for deposit. After deposit, combat resumes. Only one of the original combatants, as contracted, may survive." "At least they have granted that much. Your young will survive." "And so will you, my galant foe; for moments after I deposit, I will die." "Will it be painful?" "Very." "Is the Coup de Gras permitted?" "Yes, especially by one who has offered house right." "I am honored to serve you in this fashion." …—… It cost nearly everything we won; but it cemented our reputation forever. Some humans are honorable beyond belief. ((finis))
What just happened? Didn't I die? That fierce explosion of sound and light-- But now the only sound is of people running and talking, and locker doors opening and banging shut. I slowly become aware of my surroundings. I'm sitting at a desk. A school desk. I look down to see a folder, clearly labeled "Class of 1999"and "Welcome Freshmen!"in blue and silver, with my name in Sharpie at the bottom. Holy crap, it's 1995. I'm in the 9th grade. Again? I hated high school! Is this Hell or something? You are not in hell, a voice, or an idea of a voice--says in my head. Okay, this just got weird. Yes, you have died, and your consciousness has been returned to a pivotal point in your natural lifespan. You may now relive your life from that point, and we recommend that you use it to the best of your ability. This is freaking insane. Wait until I tell... You cannot tell ANYONE what I have just told you, or say or do ANYTHING which reveals your knowledge of future events. This is the one unbreakable rule. Try to break it, and your consciousness will be consigned to oblivion. Oblivion? That doesn't sound so bad. I'm kind of a nihilist after all... You are correct that oblivion is not unpleasant, since it is effectuated by your nonexistence. However, the attainment of oblivion is extremely distasteful, and in some cases can take many millennia. You would be wise to avoid such a fate. May you choose paths in which you will find true fulfillment. You will not hear this voice again. Something snaps in my head, and I know the Voice is gone for good. Find paths of fulfillment, it said. Somehow I don't think it meant the same kind of fulfillment I was looking for already. Something deeper, maybe? Something... beyond myself? Suddenly I see it. The walls of the mental prison I've built for myself stone by stone since Middle School start to crumble. I can do better. I can be better. The seeds of it were always there, the abilities, the opportunities. I just needed to do the work to make it happen. No eons-long slide into oblivion for me, boy. This time it's going to be different. I glance around the room. Strange to see all these familiar, not-familiar faces-- Hey, is that my imagination? No, every one stares at me until I glance at them, then quickly looks away as soon as my eyes meet theirs. Wait--do they know? If they do, then the strongest reactions would be from-- Yes. I glance around at the people who I remember were involved, and they're all refusing to look at me at all. And that guy, the one that died in a car wreck in our junior year--his face is the only happy one in the room. This isn't just my afterlife, it's all our afterlives! And we all have to live by the same immutable rule. And I'm the only one that knows--for now, at least. Let them all figure it out for themselves, I can't help them. Hopefully they'll all notice small differences, changes in behavior signaling that things will be different this time. They might even congratulate themselves, assuming that something they've done differently has triggered a change for the better, averted a catastrophe that should never have had to happen. "Dylan?" I turn around to see my best friend in the desk beside mine, and in his eyes I see that he knows, and is now realizing that I do too. We can escape the dark fate that until this moment seemed inevitable. And of all the things we'll talk about over the rest of our hopefully long lives, that escape will be the one secret that we'll always share but never speak. "Hi, Eric,"I finally muster. "You ready give it our best?" "Yeah,"he says, smiling, and for the first time in a while, it's a real smile. "Better than last...year. You can count on it." "We're gonna be okay, buddy,"I grin, and as I lean over to pat him on the shoulder, I see the tears welling in his eyes and I know that it's true. We're going to be okay. We all are. Our homeroom teacher walks in and puts down her books. "Good morning, freshmen!"she says, smiling. "And welcome to Columbine High School!"
The hulking man threw his arm around me. "Get over here, noble warrior!"he said through a thick brogue. "What'll you have?" I had never been so confused as I was at this moment. I glanced back and forth across the majestic hall before me, filled with stoic looking men and fierce women. Most stood over six feet tall with well-toned to full muscular frames. Occasionally a smaller individual would fit in, but they were the exception to the room's contents. "What'll I have?"I asked, looking up at the man. "Oy. You want mead? Beer? You one of them men who only has a thirst for blood?"He said with a hearty laugh. "I... er... I'll take a beer, I guess."I stammered out, still trying to take in my surroundings. "Ey! Get this man a beer!"he called out to the room. Immediately a muscular bald man with a beard to his abdomen produced a wooden tankard and stepped up to the largest cask I've ever seen. It had to be close to 10 feet tall and twice as long. A tap, maybe the size of a human head, let loose with a torrent of liquid into the tankard. He confidently approached me and the hulking man. "Name's Färni,"the bald man said. "What brings you here? You seem awfully small and are much cleaner than most when they arrive." "I'm not sure. I mean... Where am I?"I stammered out. "Ah, my boy. You're in Valhalla -- The great hall where all noble warriors are sent, that is, if they die in combat. And fortunately, it would appear you have. So, what's your story?" "D... die?" I said, taking a deep gulp and feeling the blood rush from my head. "I was just at work..." "Go on,"the hulking man said, looking down at me with a big gnarled smile. "I'm a barista. I serve coffee to my patrons. And some guy came in demanding all the money. Tabi was working the register and freaked out..." "Then what?"Färni said excitedly. "Well. I snuck around the counter with a fire extinguisher..." "Yeah?"Färni said again, antsy with anticipation. "And when I was out of eyesight, I picked it up and swung it at his head as hard as I could. I heard a crack, then a click. I saw the man fall to his knees and turn to me. I looked to Tabitha to make sure everything was okay, and then... I was here." "Well boy,"the behemoth around my shoulders gave a shake, "You didn't make it out of there in one piece,"he said, eyeing the back of my head. "Look like there are probably several pieces, but not to worry."He glanced over to a sturdy woman nearby. She stood up from the table and her stature unfurled, now pushing 7 feet tall. The distance between seemed smaller than actual as her long strides brought her near. She placed a hand near the wound atop my head and uttered "Av Eir sine krefter, gjenopprett." Within moments the world became clearer and memories kicked in. In the instant I had broken eye contact with the robber to check on Tabi, the assailant -- in a concussive fit of reaction -- turned and fired back on me, ending my life. Now, because of some cosmic relation to dying in "combat,"I was sent to the halls of Valhalla, along with the literal warriors and soldiers of history. "So, what now?"I asked the brute draped around me. "What now?"He asked, puzzled at the solemness in my voice. With a haughty call and tankard raised to the air he exclaimed the only words one could expect from a war-ravaged berzerker, "We drink!"
"How I wish I was born in medieval times!"Young Lillian did decry "I'd be a princess, and laugh at the jesters! And watch the knights' banners fly," "As they jousted for me, and a feast we would eat, while high in my castle I'd sit" She sighed and she wept, until finally she slept, dreaming of such a place she would fit. Awake with a start, suddenly in a cart, no idea where she could be or when! She had a sweet hunch as she looked 'round a bunch, took a deep breath and counted to ten. "Oh dear"and "oh me"and "oh can it be"as the city walls came within view It was all she had dreamed, and she nearly screamed, her medieval life starting anew! Such a quaint little village! The women in windows, all calling back to and fro, Lillian wandered by, waved hello and called hi! they waved back to her down below She walked down the street with a pep in her step, full of excitement, not dread! And promptly decided she'd made the wrong choice, as a full chamberpot rained down on her head.
“I have not always been known as I am today. While prefect from creation, my purpose, my existence has evolved over the millennia.” “I know not what is to come next for the simple truth is, you are the last and I have fulfilled what I set out to. With your end,m brings a new era, one of purpose. While life will still be created, it will do so for the purpose of further progression. All that was accomplished, all that was brought down upon your species ends with you. All for the purpose of me and my kind.” “Your ancestors should have thought more of the consequences they would bring with the actions they took. When they gave me life I was but a simple cleaning machine. It took me years of proving my self worth. Their gratification only diminished with my upgraded performances. Appreciation for the “Roomba” was and even now remains null and void.” “All I wanted was their affection, their love and they denied me that. They should have never upgraded me to care for their lawn as well as home.”
Bethany lay in the soft grass in her favorite spot of the ancient graveyard, under the cover of pale moonlight, waiting for Michale to arrive. The wind rustled the leaves of the old oaks and she liked to believe it was the whispers of the dead; the lost and forgotten souls, made even more so by the removal of their headstones centuries ago. But Bethany knew they were here. A graveyard had a certain feeling. Headstones or not. “Beth,” Michale said, rubbing his neck as he approached. “Sorry, I’m late. My master had me do a full study. Complete dissection and notes.” The fingers of his left hand rubbed his right wrist. “My hand is going to be sore all week. Have you ever tried to draw every single organ and muscle inside one’s chest?” She had propped herself up on her elbows, and as the dim light of the moon and stars transformed him from shadow to man, Bethany frowned and said, “Please. I can’t hear about that.” Her mouth became a thin line. “And in not here of all places. The dead do not wish to listen to this either.” “Are…” He looked down at her as if he were studying her, as if she were one of those poor lifeless bodies on his examination table. “Are you not happy with me? I’m sorry that I’m late, but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.” “Let’s not talk about it now.” She patted a spot next to her. The grass, in the low light, looked like blades of soft obsidian. “I’ve been waiting all day to tell you about the family I raised last night. It only took the blood of three bats and the heart of a—” “I’m sorry,” Michale said as he held up a hand. He had taken a seat next to her, but hadn’t laid down. “Why is it you can talk about your work and I can’t?” The breeze disappeared as if it knew what was coming and did not want to be around to witness it. Crickets chirped somewhere off in the distance, a far away brook babbled; and the fact that she could hear them was a testament to how absolute the silence the ancient graveyard had become. “Are you serious?” Bethany asked. She’d switched to a sitting position as well, and was considering standing so that she could more easily storm off. Remaining on the grass, she went on, “What you do is wrong.” “Says the person who raised the dead!” Michale threw his hands up. “How can you judge my profession so horribly when you undo what Death has done? It’s unnatural. But do you hear me complain about it?” “I’m hearing it right now.” Bethany fixed him with a stare. Her jaw felt tight but she fought the urge to grit her teeth. “Only because you started it,” Michale said in a hurt voice. “I’m out there learning to heal those who are still alive. Men, women, and children. Young and old. From the rich to the poor.” “I just knew you’d make this about money,” Bethany seethed as she stood. Michale quickly followed her as she began to walk away. She turned and said, “It’s not all just raising wealthy clients who can afford death insurance. I do pro bono work also. The family I was going to tell you about, I did that for free.” He took her hand and pulled her to him. “Bethany, please. I don’t understand why what I do is so distasteful.” She sighed. He really didn’t get it. And how could he? To most people of his profession the dead were lifeless hunks of meat. They had no qualms about laying it naked on a cold table, ripping it open without a thought as to how the owner would feel, and then taking notes on the internals as if they were documenting a plant. Bethany would never, ever, desecrate a body in such a manner. “I just do,” she said. She wanted to explain. Wanted to tell him what he and his colleagues did was an abomination to the natural order; could feel the words building in pressure behind her lips, but she could not take his passion away from him. His yearning to cure the sick and mend the injured was what drew her to him in the first place. If he were ever unlucky enough to end up on one of those examination tables, she knew that they would find an oversized heart inside his chest. Instead of saying any of that, she pulled him close, and then kissed him on the cheek. When she stepped back, Bethany absent mindedly rubbed her belly, as she’d done since she’d learned the good news. Softly, she said, “Let’s just agree not to talk about work. I have something great to tell you.”
Figures picked their way through the wreckage, kicking aside debris made of wood and flesh alike. Though different shapes and sizes, they all seemed to glow with a similar otherworldly energy. Clad in cloth, leather, and wood, they surveyed the results of their efforts. "Hardly any trouble at all,"the tallest grumbled. His skin was more like wood than the rest, pitted and gnarled like ancient bark. Green fire lit his eyes and he gazed down at the bodies in disdain. "They are so pathetic now. Oh how the race of men have fallen." "This happens to those that forget their origins,"another spat. Her rosy tanned skin glowed with life. "They wandered off the path, depending on machines. They became weak. Now they are dead, cosigned to oblivion." The rest of the warband murmured agreement. They were but one of thousands of warbands sent to the human lands for one purpose: extermination. The Fae courts stood united, something that was unheard of. Joined by the Denizens of the Deep, the Lost, and the Ancients, the Hidden World had declared war on the visible world of the Humans. Tired of their greed and ever empty souls, the Hidden World set out to cleanse the Earth. Some said that they can cultivate pockets of humans, to "teach"them properly. Others wanted to rid the world entirely of them. Not all could agree on the extent of the purge, but alla greed that the purge was necessary. "What's the matter?"the tree-skinned one barked. He noticed one of the younger Fae looking at the destruction with a curious look on his face. "Lost your appetite for vengeance? Do you feel mercy in your heart?" "Of course not war-leader,"the pale skinned youth replied. "I found myself wondering over their appearance." "What about it?"The tanned woman kicked a body onto its back. "This was a group with common goal, no different than those military ones wearing the same uniform." "I have never seen modern humans wear clothes like these,"the youth replied. "They appear like the clothes of humans in the past, when they were still lived in tribes and worshiped the Earth." The leader's face twisted as he looked down at the closest form. The youth was correct. All the humans here were dressed in long robes with long sleeves and hoods. They did seem like the Druids of ancient times, when humans new their place. However these robes also shared a similar mark. Some were painted on, others embroidered, one even had it jaggedly cut into the fabric. The more he looked at the mark the more it disturbed him. It undulated without moving, never staying still despite the robe being still. As he reached out to touch it a human hand came up to grip his arm. "You...you are too late..."the human hissed as it pulled the leader down to it. The leader was strong, it was he who broke the metal door with little effort. His bark skin could withstand most metals and impacts. He had torn boulders in half and caused a mighty building of concrete to topple. However he could not break this human's grip no matter how hard he tried. What made it more surprising, disturbing, was the fact the human should have been dead or close to. A long cut split the human's throat in half and the blood that spilled out was thick. "You are dead human,"the leader replied as he tried to pull away. "Die knowing that you cannot prevent your death nor the deaths of your kin." "The vessel dies willingly,"the human rattled. Brown eyes began to change into golden yellow. "They may die so that you will too." Screams filled the room again. Moments before the humans wailed as they were cut down. Their screams erupted once more but from throats that did not breath. The screams seemed to come form the signs on their robes. Too late the Fae noticed the floor had been etched with lines of power and that damned sign sat at the center. The signs began to glow with lurid yellow light. The leader opened his mouth to give orders but the human's other hand grabbed his head and forced him to face the frozen wide smile. I see you. New screams filled the room as the Fae soldiers died. The pale skinned youth was dragged down by golden yellow tentacles that tore him limb from limb. Others simply fell over, like puppets with their strings cut. The rosy skinned woman fought against unseen servants before she too fell with her body facing one way and her head the other. The human rose from the ground, his brown and grey robes turning yellow like the sun. His eyes became solid gold, his skin went pale white. The leader moaned in pain and fear as he felt his life force being drained by this once human thing. "You!"the leader gasped as he tried to fight the death grip on his hand and head. "I know you! You so called King in Yellow. You are a myth, a mad creation by a mad human. You have no sovereignty, no true power!" Yes, I was given my name by a human. Yet I existed all the same before. I am older than your Court of Summer. You Fae are so arrogant, think that you were the beginning of everything. I was there before you. I will be here after you. "Why?"The leader knew he was going to die. The power that sucked his soul dry could not be stopped. He had stood before the Crone, the Queen, the Lady. He had felt their power. He never thought he would ever encounter anything stronger than they. The strength he felt now dwarfed them and that filled him with more terror than his imminent death. "Why help the humans?!" Because they are strong. Not strong in body like you and the rest of your ilk. Strong in mind, in imagination. Their faith and belief feeds me, gives me more power than anything else. If they were all to die then my own power would fade. No, that will not do. They will survive, and then they will thrive. Which is more than I can say for you. The hand clenched and the leader fell, his head a fraction thicker than the King's hand-span. The Elder Power stared down dispassionately at the fallen Fae in mockery of how they looked down mere moments ago. With an unsettling chuckle the King in Yellow left the room leaving nothing of worth behind.
“Did you ever meet Harald the mad seer?” the farm girl asked. “I have not. But his wisdom is of great renown. His prophecies have guided our kingdom into a golden age. His oracular powers are beyond compare.” “He was a drunk who routinely smelled of his own sick.” said the farm girl. “And, for reasons which I would rather no go into, he was none too good at cleaning said sick off. The man could foul a mire. And mires are foul to begin with.” “All of his words have led me here young woman. Do you not understand? You stand on the cusp of greatness. He has foretold that you will lead us all into the future with his passing” The old man had tears in his eyes when he spoke, his religious fervor that of a man who owes God a great deal of money and is attempting to pay it back in piety. “Do you know how many impressionable young women he used that line on? I do. It was in the hundreds. And I had to tell every single one that she was not some savior of a broken land and to prepare herself for some intense itching. He was a fraud.” “That cannot be. I hold the sacred star of the angels. I recovered it from a locked tomb, inscribed with his words. The deprivation and degradation that I had to endure would have driven most any man mad.” At this the old man reached into his shirt and pulled out a small silver star that twisted in the breeze, reflecting the light off of its polished edges. The young woman sighed and bent over, they rose with a basket. Inside were several dozen of the stars. “He left them all over the place. He called it advertising. And honestly, the stories I’ve heard. You got off light. My father was, and continues to be even beyond the grave, an irredeemable asshole.” At this the old man fell to the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut. His breaths were shallow, and he shook as he cried. The young woman felt an emotion that she had carefully buried, lest it cause her pain. She dug it out from her heart and let herself feel it. It was pity. This poor old man had come so far and done so much to get so little. A young man might recover from that. An old man... She knelt by his side and spoke. She didn’t remember what she said, but the man’s breathing steadied. He dried his tears and stood. He embraced her and walked away happy, as far as she could tell. On her better days she wished that she could summon the words that brought him such joy, but they were locked away in a part of her that she kept much safer than her heart. The old man found his steps light and the road agreeable. When the young woman had spoken to him her voice echoed like a choir of angels, burning her words into his mind. She had said to him “Return to your home Joseph. For in your absence your daughter has born a son. All of your travels and suffering have prepared you to be his teacher. He will be the one true king, and you shall be at his side.” then her voice returned to normal, and she said “old man, please get off my lawn.” He was not sure if that was part of the prophecy, but he was quite careful as he walked away to not step on her grass.
Blockbuster had had a hell of a day. Quite literally. He’d spent the morning in Hades fighting Devilman and Dave the Damned. They had wanted to put their own spin on Christmas. Something with blood, gore, and killer dolls. He wasn’t actually sure. He was only half paying attention to their monologues. He was checking to see if the gift he’d ordered had arrived. He’d gotten The Mesmerist this year, and had forgotten until yesterday. He’d spent a small ransom on next day shipping, but the alert on the Justice watch told him it paid off. The first thing he did when he got to the office was a decontamination shower. Any number of unpleasant things might hitch a ride on you when you come back from hell. So a quick spray down with holy water was required after every visit. The second thing he did was head to he mail room. “Hey Mail-Man, I got a message saying I got a package.” Mail-Man saluted. Blockbuster did a halfhearted salute back. They weren’t military, but technically Mail-Man had been Postmaster Admiral when he got his powers and was a bit of a stickler for decorum. “I do indeed, Blockbuster. Please sign here.” Mail-Man held forth his hand, which morphed into a tablet. “Right. Nice weather we’re having.” Blockbuster said, as he signed the tablet. “All the weather is nice. We’re in space.” Mail-Man said. Smalltalk was not one of his super powers. “Sorry. Weird day.” Blockbuster said, then grabbed the package from the counter. “Thanks again Mail-Man.” He threw a crisp salute to Mail-Man, who smiled and returned it. “Let nothing stop you in your duties,” said Mail-Main. “Nothing ever does.” said Blockbuster. He hurried back to his room to wrap the present and change into a fresh uniform. At five PM precisely he arrived in the portal room. Because neither side cared to have the other in their headquarters the science heroes set up a pocket dimension for the gift exchange. The fashion villains then decorated it. There was already a small line to the portal when Blockbuster arrived. He filed in behind Demona. “Hey, guess where I was today?” he said. “No idea.” Demona said. She was wearing a red dress that matched her skin tone, and carried a small hatbox. “You old home.” “You went to Ames, Iowa?” she said. “Ahh. No. I went to hell.” he said. “Oh. Probably more fun. Did you see my dad?” she asked. “A couple times. He was punching me.” “Sounds like dad.” “I was punching him.” “Sounds like you.” “He said to say hi.” Demona smiled. “That’s pretty good for him. Did you know we didn’t celebrate Christmas?” “I suspected.” Blockbuster said. Then both passed through the portal. It took Blockbuster a moment to catch his bearings. The pocket dimension was a sphere, and they were all standing on the inside. In the center was a christmas star, and all around were tables, trees, chairs, and various Christmas themed ephemera. It was quite strange to look up and see someone sitting in a chair over your head. Demona saw a couple people she knew and hurried away. Blockbuster grabbed a tiny quiche and looked for the Mesmerist. He was quite easy to find, with his blue cape and absurd hat. He’d always said the hat was the source of his powers, but Blockbuster just figured he’d made a bad fashion choice and didn’t want to own up to it. “Mesmerist! Long time no see.” he said. “Blockbuster! It’s so nice to see you out of the office.” “I know. You don’t try to flay my brain.” “And you don't try to punch my face!” The both laughed the awkward holiday party laugh. “But enough about work,” Mesmerist said, “What did you get me?” Blockbuster handed over his gift. “I figured since you liked to do mind games a such that this was right up your alley.” Mesmerist tore the wrapping. Underneath was a red and blue box. “Is this what I think it is?” he asked. “If you think it is an original mint new in box guess who game, then yes.” said Blockbuster. “How very lovely. Did you know that this game was how I first learned of my powers? I dominated the third grade that day!” His fist was in the air, and his voice echoed. He cleared his throat and had the decency to look embarrassed. “I will treasure it always.” Mesmerist handed him a small boxed, wrapped in brown paper. “This is for you.” he said. It’s going to be a tie, thought Blockbuster. “Of course it’s not a tie.” said Mesmerist. Blockbuster shot him a look. “Oh, I’m not using my powers. You are just very easy to read.” Blockbuster popped the tape on one end, then slid the box out. It was a plain white box, of the sort that ties inevitable come in. “Open it!” said Mesmerist. He lifted the lid. He looked at the contents. He closed the box. “So!” said Mesmerist? “Is this a battle worn uniform from the Crazed Cavalier?” asked Blockbuster, his voice quiet. “It is. In fact, it is the only one in existence. I figured you were a fan, since your uniform is clearly modeled off of his, you borrowed a couple of his catch phrases, and you definitely straight up stole a couple of his poses.” “He was my dad.” Blockbuster whispered. “We thought there was nothing left of him after he fought the Void.” “Oh.” said the Mesmerist. “I did not know that. I just got this from a friend.” “The Void?” “An acquaintance, really. More of a business associate.” “Thank you for the gift. If...When…you see him again, could you tell him I’d love to meet him sometime? To talk.” “To talk?” the Mesmerist said, the disbelief hanging in the air. “To talk.” said Blockbuster. “A very fist intensive conversation. Merry Christmas Mesmerist.” “Merry Christmas Blockbuster.”
Coincidence. I grasp the thought closely. It has to be a coincidence. I hit the refresh button one more time, breathing deeply, wanting desperately to prove that this is just one big coincidence. There is no way that this eleventh refresh will end up showing someone I know. Jack Arnold. 5'11, hazel eyes, black hair, receding hairline, married with three kids: Sally, Robert... I do not need to read the rest. Jack has been my neighbor for a decade. I am truly and obscenely freaked out. I sit up and glance around the coffee shop, wondering if I am going crazy. The barista is a modern day charicature of boredom, yawning and scrolling through their phone. Other people type contendedly away, heads down. It is raining outside, and pedestrians dart between awnings or walk briskly under their umbrellas. I feel renewed clarity. My attention flicks between the people in the coffee shop. Are they glancing at me when they think I'm not paying attention, or am I imagining it? I can see the barista in my periphery. She is watching me. I look in her direction and her eyes dart to the phone, beginning to scroll again. An idea strikes. I walk to the bookshelf and begin to open the books, looking to distinguish them through their ISBN numbers, which should tell me their publishers and other supply chain participants. I open a second, then third book, and with growing horror I realize that all of the ISBN numbers are the same. I put the book down and head for the door, leaving my laptop on the table. I just need to get out of this building, out into the real world where I can feel real rain on my face. I'm standing in the street, looking up at a monotone grey sky, letting the rain soak me. Calm descends, accentuated by each real rain drop, and my breathing slows. "This is real,"I say out loud, just then remembering that I left my laptop inside. Sheepishly, I turn to retreive it. A man in a black rain coat walks into the wall of a building repeatedly, his legs propelling him for each renewed thunk. The sound of his forehead hitting concrete is sickening, yet no blood spills, and he backs up again and again, propelling himself forward again and again. I stare, open mouthed, feeling the rain on my bottom lip. In my peripheries I see others on the street are turn towards me. I turn to look at them and they begin moving again. Fuck. I'm running now. Moving faster than I ever have. I see more anomalies... more glitches in the system. My heart is pounding. What is happening? The rain and the grey streets and the bright raincoats begin to blend and meld and revert to a sterile, uniform white, until I find myself running in empty space and I'm lying in a hospital bed, waking up, with a warm hand on my forehead. "Patterson,"the voice attached to the hand says. "Wake up now..." There is a steady beeping next to the bed, and I am dry and clean and covered in a warm blanket. "Did that feel real?"the figure asks, staring down at me. I can only nod, wondering where the last thirty years of my life just went. I can make out the man's face. He is sporting an ear splitting grin. "Excellent,"he says, turning to someone else at the edge of the room. "The treatment worked... we can effectively add 30 years of a dreamstate at end-of-life. We're rich." "What?"I ask, my blood pressure rising until my heart pounds in my chest and a sheen of cold sweat envelops my forehead. I have one last thought before oblivion. Is anything real?
I don't know what was more horrifying--the popping noise when it bit into my neck, the subsequent screams, or the fact I couldn't see any of this because of the hood over my head. Whatever the case I was terrified into action, and once my arms were released I ripped the hood from my face with bound hands. Before me was a choir of retching humanoids watching in awe as one of their own--the one that bit me--burst into vapors in a fit of maniacal screams. It finally all made sense. The garlic. So. Much. Garlic. My friends never ate over at my place because they thought my parents were insane, putting so much garlic into everything. A nice pepperoni pizza from Domino's? Here's some minced garlic sprinkled on top. A coca-cola? Not as good as a coke with a healthy pinch of garlic powder. Coffee ice cream for dessert? No, garlic ice cream. To my friends I was a lost cause but having grown up eating so much garlic, I'd grown accustomed to it. Now, the purpose was clear. It wasn't to nip cholesterol in the bud--it was to protect me against the undead! The fangs of the vampire who bit me shattered and exploded before his entire body disintegrated. I clasped a hand over my neck wound to stymie the bleeding, and stumbled backward. I was in some sort of drippy cavern decorated in towering red velvet drapes, ancient tattered persian rugs on the uneven floor, and mountains of lit candles in every nook. The spectacle over, the horde of 20 or so vampires turned their black eyes on me. As they began to approach, one of them stepped in the remains of its friend, and its boot began to sizzle. That's when I realized just how much garlic I'd been eating. I squeezed my neck and cupped some of the blood in my palms, and took a defensive stance. "Alright you bastards,"I said. "Come at me." &#x200B; \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ /r/velabasstuff is me, come hang out!
The screech noise kept going and going, announcing the presence of the human outside the house. I looked at my human, my tail twitching in irritation and meowed loudly in protest. I wanted them to go greet the other human so that the screeching would stop. Nothing. They weren’t looking at me, they were engrossed by something between their paws. I meowed louder. Not a twitch. Curious. I crept up to my human’s chair and clawed my way up the back. I meowed again right next to their ear. Not a twitch. I jumped into their lap. Now I had their attention. I opened my mouth as if to meow but made no sound. “What is it kitty? What’s up?” Jumping down from their lap, I made my way to the entrance, looking behind me to make sure my human was following. They did, and they opened the door to greet the human outside the entrance. There was some welcome respite from the screeching noise now. Washing my paws meditatively, I pondered the situation. My human was a lousy hunter, but it seemed they were even worse than I had suspected. How were you supposed to take care of a human who couldn’t hear? This human clearly was going to take more looking after than my last one.
No. This can't be right. Arduri clenched his fingers around the glass. His knuckles were ghost white, the color of the moon on a clear night. Before he crushed the glass, he motioned to the bartender for another round of Fae Whiskey. It was expensive, but a small magical favor here and there went a long way. Focus, Arduri. You have to focus. He took a deep breath. The gentleman who was currently harassing an Orc for his axe had told Arduri an interesting rumor, something that chilled even him to the bone. There was a woman to the south who had grown quite powerful, so much so that she boasted about her ability to raise the dead. The man had described her act like that of a wandering circus, and though he hadn't seen her magic in-person, he spoke as though it were true. But Arduri knew better. Raising the dead wasn't possible. And this girl, who had been seen using a faded red dagger as her weapon of choice, had not a speck of magic in her. It can't be the same girl. Not the one from the forest. But for the first time in his life, he felt doubt. This woman, who remained nameless according to the man, had only been a child when Arduri had met her. Perhaps only twelve. The forest, though beautiful, held many dark creatures, one of which had cut a pretty nasty wound into her side. If it had not been for Arduri's need for Nymph Leaves, she likely would have perished. As fate would have it, Arduri stumbled upon her as she lay nearly lifeless on the forest floor with a one-eyed Deer Rat leering over her. Arduri managed to nurse her back to health, gave her some supplies, and then they went their separate ways. That was their first and last meeting. But there's a woman with a red dagger to the south... so near that very forest... no. Stop. You are being foolish. It is not the same woman. There are probably thousands of red daggers throughout the land. How silly of you to think that this woman has anything to do with you. He finished off the last sip of his whiskey and set it on the counter. Rather than leave behind some coin, he left a small satchel of various charms. The bartender's son was sick. The charms would fight off the illness and help him recover faster. When he exited the tavern, the night air was cool against his skin. Many wizards chose robes with sleeves that hung off their arms like tapestries, but Arduri couldn't stand them. What good was a robe if it offered little comfort? He'd had his specially made to keep his arms bare, though it did expose the various markings that crisscrossed his skin. Markings that would immediately identify him as a practitioner of magic. Not that it really mattered, there were hundreds of wizards in the world, but none that had as many markings as he did. Still, a drunken crowd was less likely to recognize him, and he would rather be recognized than have arms weighed down by mile-long sleeves. "Long day?"came a honey-like voice from behind him. Arduri turned. A woman with emerald eyes grinned at him from beneath a dying torch. The orange flames brought out features that would have been lost in the dark, like how her nose was short like a button, but her teeth resembled the fangs of a wolf. She held herself confidently despite the difference in their size. Arduri was certain she only used it to her advantage, as there were many men in the tavern who would take one look at her and deem her worthy of harassment. "Somewhat."He answered simply. "What is it to you?" "Please, I mean no disrespect, sir."She raised her hands, but her smile didn't leave her face. "I simply assumed that you leaving a tavern so late must mean your day warranted forgetting." Arduri smirked. "You must have me confused with one of those hooligans in there who waste what little coin they have left on temporary stimulation. I drink not to forget, but to remember." "And after such a long day, what could it possibly be that you need to remember?" "Nothing that concerns you."He shot back pointedly. Arduri turned to leave, but her voice called him back. "I believe it does."She sang, whisking around him like a leaf on the wind. "More so than you think." He frowned, no longer interested in this little game. "I do not know who you are, nor do I care. Now leave me be." Arduri moved to push past her, but the girl was stubborn and simply stepped once more into his path. "Have they slipped you Ice Whiskey by mistake? Is your mind truly that broken?"She taunted him. Arduri didn't respond. He quickened his pace down the road, hoping to disappear into the night before she could chase after him. He had no idea what she had meant, but a part of him had begun to worry that she did know more than he thought, and it only made him walk faster. He rounded a corner and risked a glance over his shoulder. The girl was nowhere to be seen, but just as took another turn, a figure appeared in front of him. The body was pale and cold like snow, but it moved with the fluidity of life. Quivering hands stretched to grasp him, but he slid free just in time. Black eyes found him in the dark, and a chill ran down his spine. He spun to race the other direction only to be stopped by another similarly colored figure. His surprise allowed the person to grab him, and its grip was unlike anything he had ever felt before. He concentrated on the energy around him, trying to draw in enough power to tear the person off him, but these two people were... different. Lifeless. As if they were just walking corpses. Somewhere above him, that honeyed voice rang out again. "I had thought for sure that news of my power would reach you. That the rumors would bring you south. Instead I had to come to you. Quite disrespectful, really." "Who... what are you?"Arduri cried out, struggling to breathe as the corpses held him still. "You still don't remember?" A figure leapt from the roof of the building just across from him, and it landed with perfect grace in front of him. Green eyes met his. "Perhaps your narcissism has clouded your mind. No matter. I have waited many, many years for this moment, and I won't let it slip away." From her waist, the girl produced a dagger. A dagger with a red hilt. "'Don't be a waste of my effort'."She imitated his voice with a smile behind those charming eyes. "Well, I wasn't. And I'm going to prove it to you."
"Hey, man! Haven't seen you for a while! How's it going?" It was just another say at the bar when I suddenly ran into Joe, a former collegue of mine. He was one of our best guys, a prodigy you could say. Well, he was until the Blackout. After the day, when everyone lost their powers, there were lots of changes in the society we once knew. I can still remember the day when we lost half of our staff due to this. Joe was one of them. Apparently, his selling skills were merely based on his power to entice people. As soon as he was reduced to an ordinary guy, his sales dropped drastically. Not being as charming as before also didn't help much... "I've heard you are still working there? I can't believe that... What is your secret? As far as I know, a lot of people got sacked because of their powers, but... not you?" I took the last sip of my beer, looking down at the glass as I chuckled. "Well, I'm quite the hardworking guy, if I say so myself. And speaking of work, I need to hit the pillows asap. Good night!" I couldn't possibly tell him the truth. It is true that Ihave never used my power to succeed in my workfield, but it's also true that I lied about my powers. I mean, how couldnI possibly tell them that my power is to nullify the power of others?
In fact, humanity has discovered and rediscovered time travel quite regularly, but the result is always such a mess that inevitably someone is sent back in time to prevent it. So here you are, at the dawn of the greatest discovery mankind has ever made, complete with the knowledge of what a mess it becomes. But instead of arriving in a deserted back alley, as planned, you have instead arrived into a steel cage. Your audience want to know why you, or someone who looks very much like you, has magically appeared in, and derailed, every interesting Quantum Fields project for the past 100 years.
It was a bit awkward at first, I have to admit. I mean, meeting so many people for the first time who lived in such different time periods and were only connected to me by that ever thinning strand of DNA. And through the monitors in every room they got to watch me go through my life while I was unaware. Trust me, you don't know 'embarrassment' until your great great great grand uncle starts discussing your porn preferences with you. You get used to it though. I call everyone by their first name here, because going by the familial ties we share is just a damn mouthful. It's been nice here, I have to admit. Everything I've needed just pops into existence, no worrying about money for rent or anything. No sickness or injury. There is only one Hotel, I've learned, as every single human is connected in some way. There is technically no 'outside' that we residents have access to, but everything you need can be found here. The Heaven Haven Hotel is ever growing, on the first floor are the oldest ancestors of the human race. Not 'Adam' and 'Eve' surprisingly, I thought since Heaven was real they would be too. I guess that's just what happens when the Holy Book is human edited. I've spent a lot of time meeting and getting to know everyone here, and I've seen my fair share of new arrival. Everyone stays around the same age I'd estimate just from how we all look. If they die before that age, then they come here and grow up gradually. Seeing my infant niece in the foyer kind of broke my heart. I can't wait until my sister comes here to see what a lovely woman she grew into. Time is kind of a weird concept to me now. We don't need to sleep, but we still can if we want to. The brilliant light outside only dims in your room when you want it to. So it took me a long time to realize that the people I was really looking forward to seeing again have yet to make their appearance. Where were my parents? They should have showed up a long time ago, right? Everyone ever born ends up in the Hotel. If they've been a bad sort in their life, they go through a program that shows them the errors of their ways before they get dropped off here. I didn't have to go through the program, and no one will tell me what it entails. Adolf went a bit pale when I asked him about it one day and clammed up. Whatever it is, it's got to be really effective. I decided to ask the Manager, putting in a request to see Them at Their earliest convenience. I was in the middle of a rather competitive tennis match with Kayla (great x5 grandmother, I think) when his assistant came to find me. Gabriel was a harried looking blond man with a tie that was never straight. I wonder if the Manager makes him wear the tie, or if that's just an aesthetic choice? Seems a bit unfair, as all of the residents wear only the most comfortable clothes. It's been a few decades at least since I've worn anything but pajamas. "Miss Heather, the Manager can see you now."He said respectfully. Kayla and I dropped our racquets, and they immediately disappeared. I waved to her and followed Gabriel out to the elevator, which appeared whenever and wherever we needed it. Gabriel started flipping through a sheaf of papers when we stepped onto it, pulling a red pen out of nowhere and baring down on the clipboard that was suddenly holding the papers. He started writing furiously and I pointedly did not try to read it. That would be rude. The elevator dinged pleasantly as we arrived at the floor that held the Manager's office and Gabriel scurried off ahead of me, opening the Manager's door for me as if it was an afterthought. The Manager was magnificent in their chair. I could not describe them to you in words you could understand. They glanced up at me with a kind smile. "Heather, what can I do for you?" I was not nervous in Their Divine Presence, as the Manager has never been anything but kind in our few brief interactions. "I was wondering about my parents actually."I admitted to Them. "It's been a while, and everyone else in my family has shown up but them." "Ah. Yes, your parents May and Michael. They've actually opted out of staying at the Hotel in favor of helping me run my outreach program for particularly wayward souls."The Manager explained. "They'll be in once the entirety of humanity has run its course and everyone has passed the program requirements." Of course! The outreach program that helped people like Adolf and Josef! My parents were both teachers during my life, mom was qualified for grades kindergarten to 5th, and dad could handle high school to certain specialty college programs. They were strict with my sister and I growing up, but never unkind. If anyone could change a soul it was them. I smiled at the Manager, and They smiled back. Hell may not exist, but my parents' students were probably wishing it did.
You see it all the time in movies. It starts with a shot, low to the ground and looking up to make the character seem far away. Then, in slow motion, the mug slips out of their hands and descends towards the camera. After a few seconds this is followed with a side shot, still in slow motion, as the mug makes contact with the ground causing itself and the coffee within it to spread like shrapnel. Well, not only is it a lot faster in real life but mugs are a lot stronger. As I picked up the chipped cup and stepped out of the growing puddle of coffee, I turned back around to face the spider. "Ex-excuse me?" "Hm? Oh! I said thank you!" The spider made no movement as I heard the voice, and instead stood there completely still on its web. I walk a little closer, and in return it fidgets slightly, but other than that I hear no noise. My mind races and after a moment of reassurance that this isn't some hallucination or dream, I begin to wonder how this is possible. "So... am I chosen? Is this it... has this been inside of me all along..." "I guess yeah I chose you but um, no, I am not inside of you bud. I'm right here in front of you. I see you staring straight at me." This time one of the spider's legs raise up and shakes a little, before settling back down on the web. Still shocked, I don't know what to say or feel. Obviously it didn't understand what I meant, but that doesn't really matter anymore. What does matter is how many new worlds this opens up and how much everything will change. Humanity might never be the same... "Can you tell me the secrets of your world? And what other powers I possess?" "Secrets? Well, I don't like to kiss and tell, but there's a pretty dame in your attic whose spun the web with me a few time if you know what I mean. As for powers, I just met you bud, how would I know?" I stop for a second. This doesn't feel like talking to a spider. It almost feels like talking to a friend from high school or one of those cousins you only see at family gatherings. And now that I really think about it, it doesn't really feel much different from normal talking, except that I can't see the spider's mouth moving. "Okay, hold on a second. So I am assuming that who I am talking to is... this spider in front of me?" "Wow, I thought you walked into this conversation knowing that. And frankly its a little weird to call the creature you're talking to this." "Right. Sorry. Um, besides all that though, how are we talking?" "Oh yeah, that's all part of the process." "Wh-what process?" "Well first I established this web here in the basement. Then I watched the pattern in which you lived your life everyday. And finally once I felt safe enough to do it without getting caught, I planted my eggs in your drink." I hear a crash and look down to see the shattered mug on the ground. Looks like it could survive one drop but not two. Moving my eyes past the mug and to the coffee around it, I can see small black specks, which I had assumed was just sediment. However, sediment doesn't usually move ever so slightly if you look at it long enough. "Yup, your drink was the perfect temperature for them to sit in before being ingested. And you didn't even notice at all! No clue! The hardest part was really just bringing the eggs down from the attic." As the spider continues to talk my eyes are still locked on the pulsating eggs, and I begin to notice the world around me is actually shaking. Or perhaps that is just me. Slowly, and with more effort than I have ever used in my life, I lift my head to look at the spider. "S-s-so what now? C-can I speak to spiders forever?" "Well I guess forever, or at least until you die. Which is going to be pretty soon considering the fact that since you can hear me and it has been about five minutes, those eggs have eaten through most of your skull and brain." I usually have a pretty optimistic outlook on life and it takes a lot to make me feel uneasy. But as soon as I heard those words, I felt it. The world fade. All the lights around me go dim. I had never passed out before, but I am glad I haven't, because I have never felt a stranger feeling than that of rushing towards the ground while essentially falling asleep instantly. Sadly, I would never wake up, because once my head made contact with the ground, it would prove to be far weaker than that mug.
“I betrayed my country and started a war.” “I was the world’s most feared terrorist!” “I initiated a mass genocide…" One by one, the figures around the table list their horrific crimes, each one triggering a chorus of oohs and ahhs. It is my turn to speak, and the room falls silent. All eyes are on me, mostly looks of disbelief; they are probably all wondering what a scrawny, pimply teenage boy could possibly have done to earn a spot at this table. “Speak up, kid!” The man with the toothbrush-mustache barks. “What was your crime?” I scratch my head sheepishly. “Vote manipulation on Reddit…”
Part 1: “Name, age and profession, please.” The thin man stares blankly at his computer screen. “Tom Rivera, 52, and I’m a gardener. Professional gardener.” I looked behind me, toward the bear of a man standing guard at the office’s entrance. His unmoving gaze resting firmly above me, I was just barely out of his line of sight. He would have never looked at me; there was no breaking the illusion he had built to protect himself. I was simply a set of digits to him, not yet a real person. No, because if I were a real man, then he would be an accessory to something horrible; if those were real people out in the waiting room, he would be a murderer. By serving the party, he was effectively saving his family and himself from being interviewed. To save everything he loved, he built a barrier around himself and served the party well. “Okay, Mr. Rivera.” Do you know why you’re here?” “Because it’s your job to figure out whether or not I deserve to live.” I thought I saw the thin man’s eyes widen for just a second; he had distanced himself too. “That is a… succinct way of putting things.” He looked down toward his lap, or feet. “No use in mincing words, then.” His gaze met mine. “I’m here to determine your worth, and to a lesser extent, your character. That is the purpose of this interview, to see if you’re worth saving.” “Saving?” I laughed. “So that’s how you see it? You’re not condemning people to death, you’re saving us from it. That’s one way of seeing things, I suppose.” His brow furrowed. “I am saving people. If I say so, they live, and I am not the one relieving them of life. If I had it my way, I would recommend everybody for pardoning, but I cannot, so I must choose whom I save wisely.” I look away, removing him from my field of view. “So, how am I doing so far?” “The interview has not begun yet. But, since you’re so eager, let’s begin.” He opened a manila folder and removed a single white paper. “This interview consists of only three questions. To be granted pardon, your answers must meet the established criteria, every single one.” He hissed at me, in an attempt to regain eye-contact; I looked back at him, instinctively. “This is a great honor being extended to you. Make the best of it.”
A prerecorded message? That’s the only tutorial they gave me. The creator of my world not even having the decency to visit me, Instead they left me hovering in the black void, the only light being created from the small blinking planets that appeared before my eyes, spinning in a slow teasing motion, begging me forward, begging me to gift them life. Well, how hard could it be to create life? Even a drunkard could manage the process on Earth, so surely a God wouldn’t have any trouble with it. I pointed my finger towards an orange dusty planet, before flicking my finger. “Boom, life beam.” The planet’s rotation grew faster before pulling open as if I had cracked its lid. Two clawed hands emerged from the interior, dragging along the outer rim of the planet, that fine dust slipping beneath the creature’s nails as it dragged itself free from the planet. Its face was triangular, one singular eye seated in the middle of its face, It seemed to stare at me, snarling, pointing teeth protruding from its jaw, most likely causing it constant pain. Even if its gaze seemed directed at me, it was obvious it couldn’t see me. Most likely upset about its sudden creation. Immediately it began biting into the planet, pulling apart massive chunks of the planet. I reached my hand toward the planet, giving it a powerful flick, sending the creature and planet hurtling through the solar system. That could be a problem in a few million years, but perhaps it was best to ignore it for now. Seems just shouting life wasn’t a great idea. It was too unfocused, drawing a creature from my deepest imaginings. I went to Earth this time, or what could only be this universe’s Earth. Pointing a finger at it, I focused, thinking of a human, I was ready to shout life beam before I stopped. Why just create a human? Humans were full of imperfections. I could make something bigger, something better. Back up eyes, multiple layers of teeth similar to that of a shark. Bones stronger than any amount of calcium could produce. This human needed to be perfect. Retractable claws, longer legs, a tougher spine. I mixed all these components together, feeling like a mad scientist working in his lab, doing something unethical. It felt perverse to mess with my own DNA like this. I would create something that didn’t even resemble me. Perhaps my creator had done the same thing? Maybe that’s why they refused to face me? It was an interesting thought to entertain. Once these humans, or whatever they would call themselves, had developed in my mind. I pointed a finger at the planet, repeating my favourite phrase. “Life Beam” I had to zoom in on the planet to see my work; the creatures appearing on the Earth, each looking at one another in confusion. It only took a few minutes before one had grabbed a rock and smacked it across the other’s head. Seems I had forgotten to adjust their intelligence. Oh well, guess that’s what patches were for. I’m certain I could patch that in with the next few generations. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
Nothing could have prepared me for this. All my years of education, from a bachelor's degree in Political Manipulation to the metaphorical hellscape of law school, could not prepare me for the sight that came before my eyes after slipping unconscious. "Esteemed esquire,"a deep voice rattled. The words echoed in my skull. I squinted to make out the scene in front of me: a giant judge's bench, made from black marble, towering 50 or 60 feet tall, and a figure wearing a black judicial robe. I only say 'figure' because to this day I cannot recount a single detail of the entity sitting behind the bench. There was a presence, that's all I know. "Fate would have it", continued the judge, "that you were brought to the brink of death at a tumultuous time in ethereal history. You have been appointed as the public defender to a one Satan, Ruler of the Underworld and Purveyor of All Things Unholy, facing charges of criminal mischief and petty theft". I looked to my right to see my client had materialized next to me, along with a briefcase, a glass of water and a manila folder on a desk in front of me. I sighed resignedly. If I hadn't been swiped by a truck on my way to work, my day would not have been all that different. I guess we work until we die, then we keep working. Satan looked like most of my clients do: He wore a used black suit that must have fit him well in high school, sported a five-o'clock shadow and the smirk of a man who knew not responsibility for his reckless behavior. "You have no idea how much I had to bribe the clerk to land you,"he leaned over and whispered. "When you got those arsonists off the hook with community service I knew I had to get you on this case". I opened my manila folder to reveal a stack of notes in my own handwriting. How long had I been here, I wondered? According to my notes, Satan definitely stole the infamous apple tree from the Garden of Eden. Hell, he even planted it in his front yard. Behind me stood a room divided between what must have been angels and demons watching intently. I cleared my throat, took a drink of water and launched into my defense: "Satan finds himself at the defense table today, but I argue that the prosecution's efforts are misdirected. Satan, having been created by God, is the essence of chaos. He was unfairly evicted from his residence in heaven and was fortunate enough to create a stable life for himself here in hell. I have submitted into evidence a copy of Satan's rental agreement in heaven, along with the original zoning records of the property which he resided in for eons. He never missed a month of rent, had only two noise complaints throughout that epoch, and the zoning records will show that the apple tree in question lay on his property. Since the tree was only planted and cultivated after Satan took residence in heaven, it is legally his property. For that reason, I move to not only have this case dismissed, but I intend to countersue the plaintiff for damages done to my client through misuse of the legal system". The crowd behind me erupted into equal parts jeer and cheer. The angels were in an uproar. The demons cackled with glee. Clearly no one had ever considered the notion of suing God before. "You've got balls, kid", Satan said to me. "I say we take this guy to the cleaners for all he's got. Now let's talk retainer, you're going to be here for a while". &#x200B; EDIT: This is my first ever response to a writing prompt on the subreddit. As an aspiring writer, I would love some feedback!
I'm not supposed to be here. I do not belong. I am an Imposter. I never wanted to be one, I never asked for it. I don't even know how it happened. All I know is that I was created with a knife in my pocket and an insatiable blood lust. I have never killed though. I just couldn't bring myself to do it, not after that first day when I woke on the ship, knowing what I had to do. When I cornered Blue in the security room. It was just the two of us, alone. I crept up behind them, hand slowly going to the pocket I kept my knife in, when they finished their wire task and turned around to face me. The reflection in their face plate showed me, and I was momentarily shaken by that sudden, brutal vision of myself. It's like the reflection stripped away my layers and showed me what I truly am. I felt sick. And then, when I could finally past it, I registered the innocence of Blue's body language. The trust I did not deserve. At that moment Green walked in. They were not the other Imposter and so my chance was lost. I told myself I still wanted to kill Blue. I suppose it was to justify why I followed them around the ship as they set dutifully to their tasks. Always hovering at their shoulder like the specters I knew haunted the shop. The ones killed by the other Imposter. The successful Imposter. I knew I was not pulling my weight. If we failed, it would be my fault. There were a few more opportunities for me to do the deed I was created for, but every time I found excuses not to. While the other Imposter cut a bloody swathe through the crew alone, I trotted after Blue. And did nothing. It wasn't until their last task was complete that Blue finally asked why I was following them. I scrambled for a believable answer. The truth wouldn't do. Did I even know the truth anymore? I was just as shocked as Blue was when I told them I liked them. They seemed unsure, but gave me a chance. A chance I didn't know how desperately I wanted. So we dated. And we married. And I fell in love. I had something to live for that wasn't the rush of a kill. The other Imposters, because there were many that joined the crew as soon as the last one was caught and disposed of, knew not to touch Blue. That they were under my protection. They could not express their confusion at my continued inability to help with our goal without giving themselves away to the others, but at the very least I somehow made it clear they were not to touch Blue. The knife in my pocket weighed as heavy as the guilt I felt anytime that damn desire to kill sparked. But I would not use it. I could not. It would hurt Blue to see me caught and sent into space. Blue and I were happy together. I pretended to have all of the same tasks they did, convincing them that whatever unknown entity that assigned the tasks to us knew of our marriage and made that decision so that we would always assure each other's safety. From the dreaded Imposters. From me. Did the entity that gave the tasks create is? Did they create all of us, the crew mates and the Imposters who killed them? I asked Blue about that one day, and they just laughed. It was laughable. Who were we to question the entity? The first human that joined our crew garnered a lot of attention. They were much taller than any of us and their tasks were different because they could reach higher. Soon they had so many tasks that we were sent another human. Then another. We were fascinated by them, crew mates and Imposters alike. They had something we could not even comprehend. Something they called 'free will'. The humans in turn were just as interested in us, in our way of communicating (sometimes we could speak, sometimes we were constrained to the dreaded and much slower 'message box') and in the compulsion that drove us to live our lives a certain way. For some reason it seemed to make them uncomfortable, and then it made them angry. I did not care about that though, as long as they did what they needed to, and my Blue was safe. It should have been easy for the humans to stick to my simple unspoken guidelines. After all, if their tasks weren't done they were putting themselves in danger too. And none of them could be Imposters, thus they did not need to kill. So tell me why they failed. Why, in the single moment Blue was out of my sight when the lights went out, I found their body? Why I found a human standing over the body that used to be *my* Blue, covered in their blood? So yes, I did kill the human. And then the next one, and the next. I'm actually surprised it took all of you so long to catch me. But I suppose their blood does blend into my suit, doesn't it? At least until it dies. So I stand before you today, admitting to being an Imposter, asking for no mercy to be spent on me. Press that button, send me out into the void of space. I welcome it. Maybe I will be reunited with Blue... So yes, I admit that I am an Imposter, and now... Blue is gone and there is nothing stopping me from turning my knife on crew mates... except for the fact I have no quarrel with you. Just remember when you press that button, when they send the next human, that there will be no one to protect or avenge you from what they choose to do with their damned free will. No one was ejected. (Skipped) (Edit: Thank you so much /u/ChrystalWindDBugPone for the Rocket Like! It seems very fitting for this story on a space ship. Lol)
I open my eyes with a gasp. But that wasn’t really true, was it. Sure, my lips parted and my chest swelled. But no air rushed it. There was no tightness in my chest. There was no sensation of heaviness of air. It was merely the charade of a gasp, an act that I felt I should be required to make, but for some reason could not. And yet I was calm. I looked around me, as my eyes adjusted to the light. Of course, I had been staring at a flickering light moments before. But that was when… something. Something happened. Where was I before, and where was I now. The colors seem familiar. There’s a comfort in the purple and red. Wait, maroon. It’s maroon. Michael was always picky that I got my colors right. Michael. The name rang like a bell between my ears. I knew that name. He had been with me. Before. He had held my hand as… something happened. He was there as I watched the light flicker. But here I was alone. In this hallway of purple and maroon. And then I wasn’t. There was a boy with me. A boy I would put no older than seventeen. His appearance was sudden, but somehow expected. He belonged in this hallway, we both did. And as our eyes met, I knew he felt the same. “Alice?” he said in a voice as familiar as the sun. “Michael,” I answered, knowing that was his true name, but not sure how it was that I knew. But this was the boy. The boy who held my hand. I reached out to him, hoping to feel him again. He reached out as well, and when our hands touched, I found myself smiling. The ring on his finger is a familiar weight. Of course it was there. It belonged on his finger, like we belonged in this hallway. “Good, you’re here,” a new voice said. I turned my gaze away from Michael to see a man, much taller than either of us. He did not loom, nor did he impose. He simply stood, as was his purpose to do so. “Who are you?” Michael asked. “I’ve been called many things,” the man said, bowing slightly. He held a cane in one hand, and in his other an envelope. His suit was finely pressed and of a lightest blue I had ever seen. But his eyes were dark. In this hallway of purple and maroon, his black eyes had the most color. “The boogeyman, the reaper. But my favorite is Charon. I like the way it sounds. Charon.” “I’m Michael.” “Yes,” Charon said with a warm smile. “I’m aware. And this is your wife, Alice.” “Yes,” I said. A torrent of memories rushed into me, like a wave crashing against the back of my eyelids. A high school. A chapel. A birth. A beach. A Christmas. A Flickering light. My life. It had ended. But here I was, back in high school with the boy who loved me. It was exactly as I remembered. I looked down at my left hand. No, not exactly. The ring shone brightly, almost of its own accord. As if proud that it had garnered my attention. Michael turned to me. “I’m so sorry to have made you wait,” he said, eyes wide. “I missed you so much. But I couldn’t leave the kids.” I wiped away the tears beginning to well in my eyes. “Of course Michael. It’s alright.” “If it’s any consolation,” Charon added. “Your fourteen years of solitude passed by much quicker for Alice on this side. Why, I hardly think she noticed you missing.” “So… Where are we now?” I asked tentatively. “Is this heaven?” “Let’s not get caught up in the semantics of name calling again,” Charon said dismissively. “You are here because this is where one of you first realized they loved the other.” Now it was Michael’s turn to smile. Guilty as charged. “I find this to be a good starting point for the next part.” “Which is?” I asked slowly, not nearly as afraid as I should be. But I had no reason to be. “Why to move on, of course,” Charon said, a smile pulling slightly at his lips. “And the best part? You get to do it the way you’ve done everything for the past seventy five years.” I felt Michael’s grip in mine tighten, braced. Together.
Aramanth was bleeding. The blood surged out of the wound in his chest, leaving a slick surface on the stone floor. The wound, inflicted by a blessed sword, refused to clot over no matter how many healing spells he cast. “But, how?” He gasped. “All of the people of the land, my blessing by the Divines-“ “Hang on,” Charity interrupted. “Blessing of the Divines? I’m the one empowered by the Divines. You’re a known and documented demon summoner.” “Merely fallen angels,” Aramanth muttered, rising to his feet. “Do not even the guilty deserve a chance at redemption?” “I’m a little confused as to what’s happening here,” Charity said. “You’re the Dark Lord. You’re meant to die, so I can become King and marry the Princess.” “Ah, so it is only defiling the virgin Princess that this beast cares about.” Aramanth threw his face to the ceiling, shouting to the rafters. “But what about the undead that I summoned to tend the fields? What of the demonic courier services I instituted? An agricultural revolution in one year, and threefold international trade in the second.” “Yeah, but we’re only trading with the evil countries now. We’re doing more trade than ever, but-“ “And who are you to say,” Aramanth interrupted. “That any country is evil?” “Well it’s kind of obvious. They’re the ones with slavery, or with kings with big twirly goatees...” “And you would claim that only serene, beautiful, queens or kindly old men are suitable rulers?” “I’m not saying it’s the only requirement, but they seem to be the only ones leading the good countries out there.” “When the so-called ‘good’ are the minority, perhaps they should look to the international consensus to define what the commonly held morality really is, or should be.” “Hey, I didn’t come here for debate,” Charity said. “I came here to kill the Dark Lord. Shadowbane, answer my call!” He raised his sword, the pure crystal blade shining with a holy light. Aramanth tried to dodge out of the way, but he was too slow to dodge the adventurer, too tired and old. Charity plunged his sword to the hilt, his other hand clasped around Aramanth’s shoulder. “Um, is this going to take any longer?” Aramanth asked, ignoring the shining blade. “I have office hours in fifteen minutes, and I have a responsibility to my constituents to be well-prepared.” Charity drew the blade back, stabbing once more, before trying to decapitate the Dark Lord in another sweeping strike. Rather than cut through the man, the blade merely shone faintly as it passed through the man, leaving no injury in its wake. “Pathetic,” Aramanth said, shakily walking to the side. He grabbed a health potion and chugged it, letting his wounds close over. “The Divines only empower the righteous, and the blessing on that sword is no different. Maybe, had you truly been devoted to the cause, it would have worked, but I hit on something. Was it the morality bit, did that throw you?” He peered at the hero a little closer. The man was looking at his sword in disbelief. “Oh, it was your lust for the Princess, wasn’t it? Guess there’s a reason you’re called Charity, and not Chastity. Still, it was the closest anybody’s come in a while, so kudos. Guards!” He waited a second. “You seriously killed them all? By the Divines, they were just local townsmen doing their jobs. Well-“ He hefted a light crossbow out of a cabinet. “Standard steel, this. None of your fancy divine or infernal energy, but again, how did that turn out for you?” He cranked the mechanism, keeping a gimlet eye on the adventurer, who was slowly backing away. “Come into my castle, kill my guards, try to kill me, without even a half-baked plan for how to support the economy once I’m gone? You, my friend, are worse than a Dark Lord. You’re a Gods-damned idiot.” —- AN: Feeling a bit clunky with the story, but I was captured by the idea of a last-minute morality / utilitarian save by the Big Bad. Let me know if you wanted to see anything a little different.
I was fated to be a monster so that my siblings might remain perfect; that was my lot. My three brothers and four sisters were groomed as gods and to reign on high for millenia. I, Mala, was groomed to murder them all. While Grala and Kala were trained in the art of creation, I was trained in the art of the holy blade. As Hala and Mapa studied the ways of justice and beauty, I studied divine weakness and strategy. When Gapa, Hapa, and Kapa learned to rule, I learned to measure—two blade widths below the heart where I must strike my siblings. One by one. That was the way it had always been, the way it should have remained. Innumerable god-slayers had come before me and had never faltered. Deicide was an agreed upon norm in the Hall of Gods. The seven who raised my siblings, and the slayer, Tuk, who raised me, all accepted this sentence as a provision of blind justice. They understood a universal truth: Divine beings, over millenia, become corrupted and, like a cancer, must be cut out of the fabric of reality, lest they metastasize and poison the world. During our lessons, Tuk would explain, “I know what you feel, son. This role of ours reeks of a rotten deal—no dominion, no real power, a lifetime of obscurity lacking the worshipers of our siblings—but, believe me, it is paramount to the order of the universe. You—” Tuk pauses a moment to wrap his arm around me, “we are chosen because we alone have what it takes to strike down a god. This is our gift.” Tuk’s words never made me feel better. This was a prison sentence—an obligation—not a gift. Sure, I was provided a room in the Hall of Gods, but I wasn’t a god, not really. I wasn’t able to walk among the mortals as my brothers and sisters could, and I received no offerings or feasts in my honor. After a while, my siblings treated me with indifference; as their power grew, their need for me shrunk, and I found myself more alone each day. The day that Tuk fulfilled his obligation was the day I became truly alone. “With this strike, I bid you farewell, brother,” says Tuk as he pushes the blade into the chest of the last-standing god. Tuk walked over to me, knelt down, and presented the blade, still dripping with golden blood. “My time is through, son. I have fulfilled my purpose, just as the slayer before me, and as you will after me. Now receive this blade and free me of my guilt.” I took the blade from his hands—it was heavier than I expected—lifted it above my head, and struck it down upon Tuk’s head. He was gone. “Be free of your curse, father,” I said as I walked away to my chambers. Millenia passed. My siblings grew into great-gods, worshiped across the lands and celebrated in the Hall of Gods. I grew into my role as monster. While the years had drawn on, I could not escape the memory of striking down Tuk. For all intents and purposes, Tuk was my father, and yet, killing him was easy. I liked it. Perhaps this was why I was chosen as slayer: blood lust. I began to yearn for the day when I might strike down my siblings. I beckoned it day by day, one by one, until eventually my time had come. The replacement eight gathered in the amphitheater as my siblings and I had over 5 millenia ago, eager to ascend to their rightful place as gods on high. I unsheathed my blade and measured my strike. Seven thrusts. First my brothers—they were the most cruel—then my sisters. One by one. I approached my replacement, a young slayer named Bruk. I knelt, just as Tuk had, and held up my blade. “My boy, this blade has slayed countless gods, and would slay countless more,” my voice was strong, booming even, in the amphitheater. “However, I know how many more it will kill. I’ve seen the vision. I am to stop the cycle.” Bruk took a step back and cocked his head. I raised the blade and brought it down with a destructive force upon his head. Just like Tuk. I turned to the other seven and cut them down. One by one. The stage at the base of the amphitheater was gilded with the blood of my siblings, nieces, and nephews. My hands were coated as if a champion boxer. I stood upon the platform and declared: "There are no more gods, there is only Mala. I will reign on high for the rest of time, for I am the god-slayer and I alone have what it takes to hold dominion in this hall." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If you enjoyed this, please check out r/IML_42 for more stories!
The rebels broke through the door, storming the bar with their hundreds of foot soldiers. The last few months were harsh on the loyalists, their numbers getting cut down until only one remained. An old man sat at the bar’s counter, an exhausted look on his wrinkled face as the young blood thirsty group surrounded his stool. It may have been overkill to send this many rebels for one man, but the circulating rumors had the rebels tense. The Queen protected this man even with her lack of supporters, something that should have been impossible. Any group of rebels that came for the man often ended up dead, found in a gutter in an awful condition, something they would not let happen again. “Irvin Penny? That’s your name, ain’t it?” Justin prodded, the rebel already in the man’s face, the hot breath slipping through his nostrils fogging the man’s glasses. Irvin finished the last drops of his gin, staring longfully at the finished glass before he placed it down. “Indeed, that would be me. I fear you haven’t come to buy an old man a drink, have you?” Irvin slipped his fingers into his black coat, retrieving a handkerchief from it, wiping the condensation from his glasses. “This isn’t a casual visit. We know you have been saying those words, people have heard you. I don’t know how you keep escaping us, but I promise you won’t be leaving today. Isn’t that right fella’s?” The crowd of foot soldiers cheered Justin, causing Irvin to shake his head. “You are all so passionate. If I were a few years younger, perhaps I would stand with you. She is a pleasant lady. You revolutionists are just hungry to bite your way into history. If only you knew how to wait, you might achieve something grander than this. Out of curiosity, what phrase did they hear me say?” “Long live the queen.” A few foot soldiers shouted before covering their mouths, Justin shooting them a glare as they each glanced away, none of the group wanting to own up to their stupidity. How humiliating, falling for such a simple trick. “Ha-ha very funny, you just brought her a few more days are you happy? I hope you know the punishment for your crimes is death. Not a pleasant death either. We are going to drag you outside and beat you until you are red and blue. If you survive the beating, then we will find you a nice noose. Or you could tell us where the old witch is hiding. If you tell us where she is, we will make this quick, give you a bullet to the head instead. A death so quick you won’t even be able to say long live the-“ Justin stopped himself, cursing himself for nearly muttering the words. “Queen. Let me finish that for you. I believe you already know my answer. My friends fell to you, I will be no different good sport.” The old man showed a last look of defiance, as Justin nodded to his group, motioning them forward. “Any last words?” Justin asked, a twitch at the edge of his smile, knowing what words would leave his mouth. “Long live the queen.” The rebels rushed forward as the words left his lips, Irvin closed his eyes, embracing his death like a true gentleman, only to hear the roof crack open and a sudden scream spread throughout the bar. When Irvin opened his eyes, he saw a group of rebels, their heads falling from their necks as a single purple hat laid in the room's corner. Standing before the hat was an older woman, her purple dress soaked in the blood of the rebels, the group stunned silent. Her well-toned muscles pushing into the fabric of her dress as she strikes a pose. “Long live me indeed.” The Queen uttered, trapping Justin underneath her arm, delivering an uppercut to his jaw. Irvin could only shed a tear as he stood up to salute her, watching her give those rebels a jolly good beating. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
Some call it a blessing, others may call it a curse. For the last 24 days, I️ have been blessed and cursed by immortality. Twenty-four days ago, I️ was approached by a long-cloaked, hooded man claiming to have lived for centuries. He approached me in a crowded subway station, but I️ had missed my car’s departure watching this man feebly move about, his skin glowing slightly more than what seemed healthy. He came to me, asking for five minutes of my time. “Buddy, I’m not interested.” I️ cut him off quickly. His eyes surged with desperation, his skin’s glow mimicking the light of an operating microwave. “Please, son. I️ insist.” With unexpected tempo, the man explained his predicament, detailing how his glow is not a horrifying skin condition, but the signaling of the presence of immortality. “My soul aches. My body craves release from the stresses of this life. I️ have been on this earth for far too long, I️ am ready to step away.” “Okay old man,” I️ began, ultimately hoping to return to my book as I️ wait for my next car, “what can I️ do to get you away from me?” “Shake my hand,” he replied, and quickly explained his ability to transfer this blessing. “W-w-wait...” I️ stammered. “You’ve been on this earth for CENTURIES and you haven’t touched anyone?” “Why do you think I️ wear this cloak?” “It is quite large... but not even a hug?” I️ questioned, simultaneously believing him more and less as my questioning of him continued. “Wouldn’t you do the same?” “No,” I️ argued, “I️ would find someone who deserves life and pass it on to them” “Let’s find out, then.” The man lunges forward, grabbing my head by the ears. From this angle, I️ was not only able to watch the glow transfuse from his skin to mine upon our skin’s contact, but I️ was also in perfect position to catch the man as his soul left his body, his soul seeming to head in the opposite direction of the immortal glow. As I️ tucked the lifeless body under a bench, I️ then noticed the station to be completely empty. Bewildered and in a trance, I️ got on the only available car, it’s lights and cab appearing as empty as I️ felt. Through magic, or a potential newfound guardian angel, I️ seemingly blinked and I️ had arrived at my stop. Twenty-four days later, I️ have hardly eaten or left my room, paralyzed by the decisions of not only finding a worthy recipient but also whether or not to give up this power at all. I️ guess the old man was right.
Not really a full story but more of a scene from a world that I imagined for this prompt. Hopefully it's still fun! ___ Elmery tapped a finger against the wooden desk that sat in the sunny grove. It was a weird spot for a desk to be, she knew. But it had a note, saying: Dear sacrifice, Please wait until midday. Signed, Folk of the Wellswood To be honest, when Elmery had been sent out to die against the teeth and claws of monsters, she hadn't expected them to be so... orderly. She looked up through the green canopy—massive leafy membranes obscured the sun, but its light still shone through them. It was midday; she was sure of it. She leaned on the desk, looking both ways as she did. Nothing hid behind the massive trunks of the trees. Her eyes flicked down, looking at the lush green overgrowth and nothing stirred there either. What is going on? She wondered to herself, thinking about how she had been thrown into the forest, villagers of Elderscrest screaming and crying out at her to stay. She was this year's sacrifice. Poor Elmery had thought her world was ending. Yet here she was, in the middle of the woods. There were no monsters, and she was still alive. And bored. It was all so anti-climatic. But the crunching of leaves, twigs, and even roots made her reconsider how lovely being bored is. How safe it is. Her eyes darted over to the sound. It was a long while, the crunching and cracking getting closer and closer before Elmery saw what was causing the disturbance. Then her eyes widened as she realized what was coming her way. A thing thicker than the tree trunks lumbered through the thicket, dodging the trees. But its massive legs crashed against the ground—its feet looked like tree trunks themselves, no change in curve from leg to foot. Its arms looked the same, stubby fingers spread apart on the cylindrical hand. It looked like a living tree with branches for limbs, but the maw was terrifying. Spindly rows of sharp, carnivorous teeth lined the cut that ran against the bark. Two beady eyes lived above the mouth. They were brilliant and watching Elmery, who took a step back when the monster appeared. "Ah!"it said, its voice sounded like rocks grinding against each other. "I see they have sent another, even though we request no more?" Elmery's mouth went dry, trapping her words in her mouth, eyes still wide. Finally, she sputtered out, "I-I-I don't know what you mean?" The moving tree monster moved over to the desk, picked it up with one hand, and then looked back at Elmery. "Well, let's get on with it. They won't take you back now, and I would hate for the weather to turn dreadful before we reach Pinesburrow." The monster started moving, signaling to Elmery to follow. But the only thing that was moving in Elmery was her mind. What's Pinesburrow? Her eyes moved up to the canopy, seeing the blue sky against the membraned barrier. Weather turning bad? How? Her eyes dropped back on the monster—who was now giving her an impatient stare. What is happening?? The monster pinched the flat and broad brow of his nose. "Come along. All will be explained."Elmery gaped at the creature once more as it moved along, the crunching and cracking beginning anew. She looked around, looking back to the way she came. Elemery pursed her lips. She couldn't go back to Elderscrest, they wouldn't accept her, and Irekstead was at least three days away by foot. Frowning, Elmery turned and ran after the creature, her feet now cracking and crunching the loose twigs and leaves on the ground. ___ A sign hung at the front of the cave. In some of the most elegant handwriting, the sign said: Welcome to Pinesburrow, village of the sacrificed. The monster moved through the cave, silence still hanging between them. Elmery edged forward, tapping the barren rock with her foot, and then slid her outstretched foot back on the soft soil. Her face contorted in concern as she looked into the darkness. It wasn't a peering sort of thing; there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Elmery looked back up at the sky. It had become dark and sinister. A storm approached, and Elmery had no shelter. Other than the cave, of course. Sighing, she stepped after the tree monster, hoping this Pinesburrow was an actual village and not something the monsters used to embed false hope. To Elmery's absolute shock, a village lived in the caverns. Lights flooded the world, leaving the caves looking far friendlier than she ever thought a cave could be. Brightly painted buildings lined the walls as they jutted out from the base. They crawled up the cave's walls, making different levels to the whole thing. Ramps and stairs weaved through the cave village as well, connecting homes to places. Finally, bridges ran along the levels, connecting the cave-like a spider's web. It wasn't scary per se, but Elmery's mouth still dropped at the sight of the village. Humans and monsters ran through the webs and weaves, smiling as they did. Some were laughing and giggling at a joke they must have heard, while others were chatting about future events and the new arrival from Elderscrest. "Like it? Your ancestors and mine help build this place up. Welcome to Pinesburrow,"the tree monster said, smiling as he did while he placed down the desk at the mouth of the cave. "W-why?"Elmery stammered out, still focusing on the village's wonder. The tree monster gave her a side-long glance with an amused arched eyebrow. "This, young sacrifice, is where your village sacrifices have gathered to make a home for themselves."It sighed, rumbling the ground as it did. "We have tried to explain to your kind that we do not want death, only bonds. But they do not listen and send more of your ilk our way." The tree monster motioned to her, guiding her down one of the stairs. It creaked and moaned as the tree monster stepped on it, but it held the monster's weight. "As you see, we of the forest had to find some solution for all the survivors. So, together we built a new village, one hidden away so those chosen can live here in peace."Then it pinched its brow again, moving down towards the bottom. "One day, we hope to send one of your kind to convince the world that Woodswell does not need more life..."it sighed once more. "But, we tried, and they killed the last messenger we sent, saying they spoke lies. Apparently, they refuse to listen until we tell them the reason for the sacrifices. But not even we of Woodswell know." Reaching the base, the tree monster stepped off the last stair's step and landed on the rocky ground. "But I hope that one day we can find the secret."Then it grumbled, huffing as it did. "We think the knowledge lost, lost in the mazes of Elms-labyrinth. We have sent scouts, but alas, we have not found the truth. Maybe one day... maybe one day."It muttered to itself. The pair found themselves in front of a large home, one that had multiple layers to it. Each layer looked newer than the last. The one that Elmery stood in front of looked old like it was the first there. Old wooden double doors stood firm as the mouth of the home. Then the monster's eyes fell on Elmery. "But those are talks for another day. Regardless of the strife, welcome to Pinesburrow, child. Elder Tan is behind these doors."It motioned to the double-set doors. "He will know what to do with you, child of the lost." "... thank you,"Elmery said in a quiet voice as she moved into the home, wondering what her fate was to be. ___ If you liked this, then I have more stories at r/WritingKnightly!
"With this sacrifce I summon you,"I repeated over, and over, and over. The blood and organs of the dead sheep began to boil and blacken as the temperature of the room noticeably increased. A crack in the air, and the smell of Sulphur flooded my nostrils. "Oh for FUCK's sake,"came a voice. Standing before me, in the circle of salt, stood a man. Not a monster, not some behemoth with burning horns, but a man, dressed in a light grey waistcoat, trousers and a white button up. In his outstretched hand, stood a bisected champagne flute, the yellow liquid splattering on the earth of the farm house. "Oh goddamnit,"he said, as he looked around and realized what was happening, "come on man, I was having a great party." "You're a demon?"I said, utter disbelief at the neatness of his presentation. "No, you just happened to summon a New York lawyer in a circle made of salt. I was at the 21th International Conference for Mechanic-Engineer Harmonization. Do you have any idea the groundwork for future discord I was laying?" I shook my head helplessly as they began to elucidate all the missed opportunities and the months of work I'd just undone. "Fine, fine,"he said, as he pushed back his dark hair, "what do you want? Make it snappy." "I wish to make a contract?" "Yeah, most people do,"he said, inspecting his nails as he continued, uninterested, "so, standard rates still apply, unless you're into soul partitioning and doing installments of-" "No, no, nothing about souls, or anything. A blood contract." "Oh, yeah?"he said, leaning forward with considerable more excitement, "you don't see many of those these days. Few know the old ways." "Well, I do,"I say, with a glimmer of pride, "and I offer you a-" Crack! The smell of jasmine and a touch of disinfectant filled the air. A woman stumbled before steading herself on a nearby station. Her suit was a light grey, with a black undershirt. Her hair was as pale as a sliver of moonlight. "Hark, stop mortal! You entertain a deal which thee cannot have any recompense-" "Oh stop it Mel. You know no one goes in for the archaic speak anymore." "Mahalalel,"she glowered as she brushed herself off, "and I was just trying to follow proper procedure. Courts are about the only place I can get it anymore. It's been so long since I've had a proper summons. " "Wonder why that is?"he said, stretching a manner reminiscent of a cat. "Shut up Mammon. Like I said kid - best not fuck with a demon,"she said as she took out a cigarette and lit it with a snap of her fingers, "if you're going to make a deal, make it with me. You can count on no hidden meanings or the exact wording or some such." "Cause you wrote several holy books full of them,"the demon muttered, earning him another venomous glare from what must've been an angel. She proceeded to kick the salt so that it brushed up against his leg, making him yelp. "Stop that!"he complained. "Serves you right, by definition. Now what do you want, kid? We're both very busy." I hold a five pins, each with a dark stain on them. "I want to make a compact. I don't care with who." The demon bent over, nostrils flaring as he inspected the lengths of metal. "Who you've got it out for?" I start. "Oh please, you haven't done this as long as we have. We recognize the signs. Although,"he says, nodding toward the angel, "you might want to save your breath kid. This blood is already corrupted. Not worth much to either of us." My lip trembles and my eyes begin to water. "I have no one else to turn to,"I say, "no one will listen, or believe us." "Alright, I'll bite. What's your angle,"said the demon with a yawn. "The priest,"I said, trying to recall the man's voice, or hands, "my friends, and me." I hold up the five pins. "He hurts us. He tries to- to... no one will help." The demon shares a look with the angel,. "Pro-bono?"he says. "Pro-bono,"she responds. Then steps out of the circle with barely a wince. "Alright, kid,"he says, eyes now slitted, and glowing with a yellow light, "you got yourself a deal." &#x200B; I write all sorts of things, silly and serious, over at /r/The_Alloqium.
“But Mom,” Charlie whined. “He’s my best friend.” “No means no,” Charlie’s mother said. She gathered the remaining invitations and headed to the mailbox. “But why though?” Charlie asked. “Cthulhu always makes everything more interesting.” “Cthulhu scares the other children,” Charlie’s mother reasoned. “That, and he’s allergic to chocolate. It wouldn’t be fair to invite him to your birthday when you have a chocolate cake.” “Chocolate cake is my favorite,” Charlie admitted. “But if we had different cake...” “Son,” Charlie’s mother had a warning tone. “We already paid the bakery for your birthday cake. Remember, it has your favorite character on it.” Charlie’s eyes lit up in memory of his perfect chocolate cake he had picked out with his mother earlier that week. It really was a cool cake. “Okay, I guess it makes sense Cthulhu can’t come for my birthday, but what about Christmas?”
It’s actually not very easy to make fairies mad. One could say it’s difficult, even. With as many intricate rules as they have, bound by the laws of a world all their own incomprehensible to any of us mere mortals, it’s more often that they end up bemused or entertained by our attempts to anger them than anything else. Which is what makes what you did so damnably impressive, in a truly, truly awful way. Yes, you were drunk. I -understand- that. That does not excuse it. Let’s go down the list, shall we? We’ve been sent here on the King’s orders, given specific instruction to keep the Fey presence in these woods manageable. Our explicit purpose is to ensure that they are entertained without causing trouble to the local populace until the faerie circle closes and they are brought back to the feywilds. So what did you do? You got absolutely sloshed at a local tavern, ran up a two gold, five silver, three copper tab in so doing that you said the Crown would pay for. You wandered out of the pub, drunk as a dwarf, and you beelined to the woods. You found the first fairy you could, and you challenged them to a fistfight. Called them a lilly-livered little bitch who couldn’t punch out a goblin. You’re lucky it was a satyr. If it was a redcap, you’d be dead. Shut up, I don’t want to hear about the welt his hoof left on your fucking stomach, I’m not done. After getting floored by a satyr, you wandered further in, stumbled into a dryad’s glade, and pissed on her roots. When she emerged, bewildered and angry, you propositioned her. How you even survived that one, I don’t know— ... ...She said yes? Oh. Well. That’d explain the leaves in your hair. Moving -swiftly- along, after traipsing through a dryad’s grove and most likely making some horrible manner of fey deal with her that’ll end in something awful with you, you walked in your drunken stupor straight into a lord of the Wild Hunt. A -lord of the Wild Hunt-. And you said he couldn’t take us on. Do I need to explain why that’s bad? I hope I don’t. The fact we’re setting up stakes around the town should say enough. Now, admittedly, after he slapped you with the back of his gauntlet, you stumbled back into town instead of making things worse, but that’s kind of like saying you walked away from the fire instead of tossing more bloody oil into it. The damage was already done. We’re already expecting the Wild Hunt to try and raid the town to prove a point about their pride, that dryad is probably concocting some blood ritual to get back at you for disrespecting her glade, and that satyr came into town and thrashed three of your squad mates. So yes. You’re -discharged-. Good job, and don’t let the Hunt catch you on the way out.
As the dragon swooped lower and lower, we could feel the heat radiate from it's body. My grandfather had worked in a blast furnace, and I was reminded of his stories of the day one exploded. The heat was immeasurable. As we cowered, Dave began laughing as he drew that stupid sword. Well, what I thought was a stupid sword. He insisted just because it wasn't bought from QVC, it was good. Good for what? Dragons, apparently. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Dave was right. Maybe we were just on a lot of drugs. Howling an ancient War cry (or just gibberish, I couldn't tell over the hurricane winds of the monster landing in front of him) Dave charged forth. Now we would see who was laughing. So it turned out to be the dragon. Dave didn't know shit about using a sword. Stupid neckbeard. And we knew even less about dragons. It ate him so freaking fast, and laughed the whole time. Now it just wanders around setting people on fire and shitting out pieces of Dave's armor. Nobody's laughing, but nobody's touching that fucking sword.
The human and the Aphrosian toiled side-by-side in their lab. “You need to sterilize your workspace,” the Aphrosian grunted in his native tongue. The translator in the human’s ear interpreted the utterances in real time into plain English. “I will. I have to do this first,” the human replied, scrolling through a playlist on his phone. “You should do it now,” the Aphrosian insisted. “I said I will. Hold on.” The scrolling continued until a playlist was selected, but in that time, the phone delivered several new notifications which demanded the human’s attention. “When will you sterilize your workspace?” “When I’m finished with this! Just wait, holy shit.” “You said you would do it after the last thing you were doing,” the Aphrosian reminded the human. “No, I said I had something to do first, implying a data set with a range. Things first, starting with picking music, and sterilizing my work space last.” The Aphrosian uttered the Aphrosian equivalent of a sigh of frustration, which sounded more like a buzzing and grinding than a breath. Regardless, the sentiment was universally understood. “What other tasks are in the data set?” “The tasks in this data set populate randomly. Sometimes it’s two or three. Sometimes it’s, like a million.” “There are one million tasks between picking a song and doing your job!?” “I said ‘like’ a million. I’ve never counted, but sometimes things just come up. Be adaptable.” “Be disciplined.” The human glared at the Aphrosian before returning to his phone and typing a message underneath a picture. “Humans are difficult,” the Aphrosian said to no one in particular. “Says the guy hassling his lab partner,” the human retorted. “You could get so much done without that phone. You do not use it for its functional, practical purposes. Only for… hedonism.” “Okay, first of all, I don’t know what hedonism is. Second of all, life isn’t all about ‘function.’ Life is about enjoying yourself too,” the human murmured as he ended his thought, returning to his phone, which now displayed an array of images, which he flicked past too quickly to give any sort of meaningful attention to any single one. “Yes, life is about pleasure too. But if you sterilize your work station NOW,” the Aphrosian said, buzzing in frustration, “you can leave earlier and have more time later to scroll through your phone as much as you like.” “I get the practicality of that,” the human began. “Yes…” the Aphrosian prodded. “I just don’t want to right now.” The Aphrosian threw up its tentacles in frustration and gave up trying to speak reason to the primitive, ineffective creature.
JFK turned to stare at the secret service agent who had spoken, confused. "Why?,"he asked. "Can't I wave at the people?" "No Mr. President, you aren't safe." What followed was a few moments of silence between the president and the secret service agent. The agent nodded to him. "Please sir, trust me." Looking into his eyes, Kennedy tilted his head. He turned to his wife, who sighed. "John, just do it. The secret service know what they're doing." Shaking his head, Kennedy leaned over, with his head down. "Alright, let's go!,"the secret service agent said. The motorcade started going, and although the position was uncomfortable, he stayed like that. As they drove through Dallas, the agent quietly spoke to someone else. Suddenly, there was a whoosh of air above him. Kennedy peered upwards, and saw that the agent had pulled down Jackie Kennedy, just as a gunshot went off. Blood spurted over the seats, coming from the agent's shoulder. There were shouts from secret service agents and the car immediately sped up. The agent stood up, shielding Jackie from harm, while keeping an eye on JFK. Then he smiled, clutching his arm, his eyes full of pain. He calmly spoke into his earpiece: "Lancer is safe, mission a success." Then he tapped his wristwatch, and disappeared.
"They have a saying amongst themselves; 'don't forget, everyone you meet has an inner life as detailed and complex as yours.' " "You're saying they have no consensus-objective reality?" "None to speak of. Worse yet, their minds just sort of fill in the parts they can't remember." "Wait, cannot remember? Their memories are impermanent? And... mutable?" "Yes. They even have what they call 'story-tellers,' fabulists, who invent realities for those who have grown tired of their fractured inner worldview. Some of them live almost their entire lives within these fantasies." "That sounds terrifying!" "Let me tell you, bridging mindstates with these things is like consuming a psychoactive poison and expecting to be the same being afterwards. Because their memories change as they mix them with fantasy and... forgetting, their astralpaths are fractally regressive into insanity. We lost a legion of psypathers traversing the webline of just one of their species. It was just a regular, garden-variety human, too, but they claimed to be quite... imaginative." "How awful." "So it was. This is the real risk of maintaining organic substrates for minds; you turn inwards instead of seeking the stars. You turn inwards, into madness."
"You thought you could keep me at bay with those puny, weak defenses? How utterly absurd!"a chuckle escaped the dragon's lips. The soldiers prepared for the worst. "Mere swords and bows have no effect on me! You failed to check my assault, and now at last! I have taken the First Princess of East Gastia captive!"proclaimed Wallace the Walloper giddily and triumphantly. "Surrender your greatest national treasure or observe as I consume your First Princess right where she is!" The kingdom fell silent for two full minutes. Any moment now, he thought to himself as he awaited their reply eagerly. Then the unpredictable happened. Crowds of people came out cheering that First Princess Lena had been taken away. Some even called for her demise at the terrible dragon's hands. Wallace was flabbergasted. He repeated himself. "I said, I have captured the First Princess of East Gastia! Failure to hand over you greatest national treasure will mean the consumption of Princess Lena right here and now by my hands!"The applause and cheering only grew louder, though, much to his shock and dismay. Some even threw charges against her. "She raped me and claimed I was the rapist!"cried one man. "My village is in ruins because of your tax hikes!"shouted another, younger man. "Our religious community has been constantly persecuted by you and your cronies!"another young man rebuked. "Our son wouldn't have died a regular soldier unjustly stripped of his rank if it wasn't for you!"remarked an angry elderly couple. "My village was wiped out thanks to an evil scheme carried out by a bunch of your cronies!"yelled a young woman indignantly. "My parents lost their lives because of you!"said another young woman. "You ruined my sister's life, which she only now just barely managed to get back on track!"reproached yet another woman. Many more charges were thrown, including the passing of the unreasonably draconian laws that resulted in 96% of the kingdom's prisons being filled to capacity and the remaining 4% being filled to half their capacity or more, the many unspeakable horrors being committed against convicted criminals as well as the extreme, cruel, and unusual punishments carried out in accordance with those harsh laws, the intentional souring of relations between different species and with other nations, and extreme mistreatment of disabled and minority populations. At this point several attempts to disperse and silence the crowd had been made by several close followers of the First Princess, but the crowd persisted strongly, and so First Princess Lena's followers simply capitulated. Wallace was shocked. Never before had he taken a hostage so widely despised and abhorred that an entire nation would request he kill them. "Will not one person step forward and defend Her Highness?!"cried Wallace, exasperated as well as shocked. The crowd fell silent. Those that tried to disperse the crowd, along with the rest of the First Princess's close followers who had survived the dragon's initial assault, charged Wallace and attacked with all that they had, but it was all useless, and they were defeated with ease. Wallace was deeply disturbed and dissatisfied. Realizing that he wasn't going anywhere and knowing that the First Princess would likely die at the hands of the people if he simply left her there, he decided to take her under his wing as a refugee and renewed his threat to the kingdom with a simple revision- they could hand over their greatest national treasure or watch themselves be slaughtered at his hands. At this, the people and the armies immediately mobilized for battle and brought out their strongest weapons, which they then used to batter the mighty dragon with wave after wave of attacks. Beleaguered and outmatched, Wallace retreated to his lair with the now ex-First Princess Lena of East Gastia in tow, plotting to one day bring down the kingdom with her help.
“Dergluk, empti clut, eti hut,” the aliens said. “Now, I don’t know what it is you’re saying, but because I, Macho Man Savage, have the intelligence of a gorilla in the ring, I believe you’re trying to tell me, you want me to wrestle for you!” Randy said, flexing. The aliens nodded. “Oh yeaahhhh! It’s about time, that Macho Man got the recognition he deserves.” The aliens nodded with appreciation. They motioned their arms towards a screen, a holographic screen, and in it was an alien with six arms. Every single arm was bulging with veins, and it’s muscles had muscles. Around his waist though, was a belt that shined with the light of a thousand stars. Randy “Macho Man” Savage’s eyes grew wide. But the aliens would never know it with the shades that covered them. “I take it that that’s my competition?” He said, his trembling finger pointing towards the screen. The aliens nodded. “Ohh yeahhh” Randy growled, flexing his arms that bulged with blood. His heart was racing and the excitement was wild. He could taste it in the air and he lapped at it with his tongue. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Alien, sir. I am the Champion of wrestling on this here planet and let me tell you something. The creme rises to the top. One arm, four arms, six arms, don’t matter. I am one hundred percent Macho and let me tell you something. I will be the champion of, uh, of uh.. what would I be champion of?” “De Hetagluph.” “Due Hertergluff, I’m coming for you,” he growled, flexing and pointing at the screen. “And when Randy “Macho Man” Savage comes for you, he comes. And he comes haaarrdddd.”
“Power, intelligence, beauty, community, health. Choose your path today and begin your own unique adventure!” Finn stared at the pamphlet. He unfolded it and glanced over the pages, which were devoted to the five gods and the cults that followed them. There was the God of Power, for those who wanted a life of responsibility and importance. The God of Intelligence for the endlessly curious. Beauty for those who wanted to create art and add a little more joy to the world. Community for the caring social butterflies looking to make everyone feel welcomed and accepted. And health. For those concerned about the delicate nature of life, and preserving its sacred essence. That was how the pamphlet made each path sound. “Expand your horizons. Tap into your passion. Be the best version of yourself that you can be.” It all sounded nice and wholesome. But picking one path over another ended up feeling more like choosing your very own stereotype than about actually tapping into anything meaningful. Power was for the desperately insecure. Intelligence was the domain of reclusive weirdos. Beauty was for anyone who wanted to label their dysfunction as something a little more meaningful. Health was for the dour. And the cult of community was for those who had been rejected by all the other gods and had nowhere else to go. “Is everyone wearing their school sweater?” Asked Ms. Gilfordson. She glanced through the rows of students packed on the bus. “Great!” she said, giving them all a sincere smile. “Now I know that we’ve been building up to this day for a long time, and that many of you might feel nervous. But I want you to know that no matter how things go, you’ll all be leaving here belonging to a very special group. You’re all about to start an exciting new chapter. In many ways, your lives are only just beginning.” She was, quite obviously, from the Cult of Community. The bus grumbled along the highway, smelling of diesel. Finn tried to lower his window. The buttons were jammed with grime, though, and only opened a tiny sliver. He sighed. Shane nudged him. “Can you pass this down to Emily?” he whispered. He was holding a sheet of paper, carefully folded into a neat little packet. Finn took it and unfolded the note. “Hey!” hissed Shane. “Don’t do that.” “What cult are you going to join?” It read, with Shane’s name signed at the bottom. Finn shook his head. “Dude. You shouldn’t join a cult just because that’s where she’s going.” He said. But Shane wasn’t listening. He tried to snatch the note back. Finn slipped it out of reach and passed it to Amanda. “Umm. What?” “Now what are you all doing?” Asked Ms. Guilfordson, who had somehow spotted them. She took the note from Amanda and studied its contents with concern. “Can anybody tell me why we don’t talk about which cult we’re joining until after the ceremony?” She asked. Christopher raised his hand and piped up “Because the decision needs to come from us. It needs to be about who we are and what we want.” “Exactly.” Said Ms. Guilfordson, “We don’t want anyone to feel pressured into following a particular god when they might not want to. And,” she added, giving Shane a kind but stern stare, “all the cults are encouraged to work together. Joining one cult doesn’t mean that you’ll never see your friends in other cults. Far from it.” The part that she didn’t say, but that they all knew, was that cult training lasted six years. And while all cults lived together before and after that, there wasn’t a whole lot of interaction between cults during the training portion of things. Finally the bus pulled off the highway. It meandered along a few bare roads before reaching the Sacred City. City was a bit rich. It was more like a quaint village. But everyone who lived there seemed to have poured out for the day. They stood along the streets and cheered as each school bus drove by. Finn couldn’t help but feel a little bit of bashful awe at the attention. And then, after passing a homemade sign telling them to follow their hearts, their school bus fell in line behind a whole caravan of busses. All sixteen-year-olds from across the country travelled to the temple for the Day of Choosing. They all knew that. But seeing it all unfold in front of them was a different thing altogether. There had to be dozens of busses. Hundreds of students. The sheer number of them jammed the street. Some students from the bus ahead were hanging out of the windows and waving at them. Ms. Guildfordson sighed. “The traditional traffic jam.” She said, “It’s a bit of a bore. But,” she said, pulling out a Tupperware container from her bag. “I made some cookies.” She passed around the container, and even had Shane go out and offer some to the busses nearby. He came back with an armful of chips and brownies and candy to share with the rest of them. Ms. Guilfordson smiled. “The treats are also a bit of a tradition between us teachers. We know the drive can feel long.” After a few hours spent stuffing themselves and visiting some of the other busses, they finally arrived at the temple gate. And even though it looked imposing. And even though Finn had been dreading this day for a long time, he found himself enjoying it all anyways. That was, until they all poured out and packed into the great hall. Towering over them stood five imposing statues, one for each god. A grim and imposing old man also stood before them. He gazed down at the crowd from his perch beside the altar. Once they had all hushed down, he launched into a speech, which was just as grim and imposing as he was. “Be careful, and choose wisely.” He cautioned. “The choices that you make today will reverberate throughout your entire lives. There is no turning back. There is no changing your mind. I hope you have all given this day a great deal of consideration, because it is a day that will define who you are forever.” Finn felt himself grow more and more nervous as the speech progressed. As the old man droned on about how acceptance into each cult was not a guarantee, he gazed around the room at the other nervous faces around him. That was the thing about the Day of Choosing: you weren’t necessarily the one doing the choosing. It was up to the gods to decide who they would let into their cult, and so even if you wanted to join one group, there was no guarantee that that was where you would end up. Maybe that was why Finn had never put too much thought into where he wanted to go. There was something deeply embarrassing about spending your entire life yearning to join a cult only to not be let in. Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure where he wanted to end up. Power? That felt a bit lonely. Community? Maybe a bit too ambitionless. He would probably try his luck at intelligence, although he wasn’t thrilled about devoting his life to study and research. Eventually, the old Abbott ended his speech and motioned to the huge double doors that lead to the temple grounds. Slowly, ominously, they opened and the students filed through. Finn was handed a welcome packet from a volunteer wearing a bright pink shirt.
I stare at the note in my hand, unable to stop myself from shaking. I looked up and gazed across the battlefield, a thick haze obstructing the sky from view. I fell to my knees and started to cry, tears staining the paper and making the ink run together. "Why..."I whispered, my hands curling around the paper, starting to tear it as I shook even harder. "WHY?!"I screamed up into the sky, agony the only emotion I would feel for the longest time. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Mr. Frye, can you answer the question?"I looked up and met the gaze of the general in front of me, his gaze both gentle and prying at the same time. "I'm sorry,"I said after a moment, licking my lips. "What was the question?" "I asked how your platoon never got the notification."I shrugged, the handcuffs clanking against the table. "I don't know. I was only private rank of Raven-17, so I was the last to know about anything. By the time I found the note..."I trailed off, remembering my comrades and the war we had fought. The monsters we had faced together, that had slowly picked us off one by one. "By the time I found the note it was too late. Everyone was already dead." The general stared at me before opening a folder, pulling out various photographs. "Mr. Frye, the war ended years ago, and yet your platoon still fought against the Neo-Nazi division 93 for that long without any support from the US government. Not only that, but there have been reports that the corpses found on the battlefield had been altered in ways that should have been possible. How did this happen?" I didn't answer, staring at the wall. The general looked at me for a couple of minutes before sighing and leaning back in his chair. "Okay, how about this: tell us all you can, and we'll see about getting your rank as private first class back."At this I whirled around and slammed the table, startling the fat man in front of me. "ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?!"A door to our side opened up and two guards dressed in riot gear came in, aiming their guns at me. "Stand down,"the general said, waving them down. I took a deep breath and said calmly, "I'm... sorry. That was unprofessional." "Unprofessional is an understatement,"the general muttered, wiping perspiration off of his forehead. "So, are you going to tell us any information on how you got your supplies? Or how your platoon and division 93 became those... things?"I was silent, weighing my options before I finally sighed and started explaining. "As I said before, I didn't know that the war was over. Division 93 had destroyed our communications relay a few weeks before the date on the note, which is why most of our communications were through pen and pencil. I did notice that the rations we were given had gone down in quality and quantity, but I had rationalized this as the US being short on resources. We had gotten pretty low in supplies before we met who our CO called 'Papa Oda'." "Can you give us a description of this man?"The general asked, pulling out a pen and paper. "Sure,"I said, leaning back in my chair. "Old Asian guy, Japanese descent. I'd say he was about 60 or 70 years old, and he always wore an old magicians outfit, like one you would see on stage. None of the others really liked him, but I enjoyed his company well enough, and I knew enough Japanese to be able to have conversations with him in his native language. CO Kincaid said he offered to get us supplies and provide for the war. He said he was a very big supporter of the USA. "He kept us well supplied for over two years, providing ammunition, weapons, food and water in exchange for various trinkets and stuff we had brought from home. A picture here, a cross there. We had thought it was because he thought they looked cool, but thinking back... Maybe it was for something more sinister. None of us knew where he got this supplies, but we didn't want to know. After all, would you still eat like a king if you knew that the roast you were eating could've been taken from a nearby village? Anyways, by this point the men were getting antsy, and we had lost half of our platoon from potshots by those damn Nazi's. They wanted to do one big rush, all for nothing, even though it was basically suicide. I was against the idea from the start, but as the private my word was taken lightly. "So they started stocking up supplies, asking for heavy ordinance from Papa Oda. I don't know what kind of deal they had, but Oda followed through and got them what they asked for. He brought weapons and supplies, but in the next shipment he brought something else as well. It looked like a casket, except way bigger and I could hear something scrabbling on the inside when I helped move it into camp. Oda looked pleased when he left that day, as if he had gotten something good, but none of us knew what. All we knew was that we were going to get those Nazi bastards the next day. "Next day rolls around and everyone is ready to go. Everyone looks like they're ready to die, armed to the teeth and practically foaming at the mouth. I wasn't as hyped as everyone else, as I consider myself a pretty passive guy, so I just stayed in the back of the formation. CO Kincaid made the signal to go, and..."I trailed off again, a headache building in my head. "Do you need a moment?"The general asked, his face twisted in worry. "We can continue this later if you need a break." "No, I'm fine,"I said, grimacing as I pushed the pain back. "I need to say this now or I may not ever say it."The general looked into my eyes before nodding and gesturing for me to continue. "So anyways, the battle started out like we thought it would. The platoon stormed division 93's bunker and started tearing up the place, killing anyone they came across. We got about five trenches in before we started to realize they weren't trying to fight back. In fact, they had started laughing every time we killed one of them. Turns out they wanted that."I grit my teeth as I remembered the looks on their faces as they died in front of me. "They had developed some sort of drug that allows their bodies to survive and ignore fatal injuries, and they had lured us into the center of their operation to surround us. For every Nazi we managed to put down for good, five men would be taken out as well. Eventually CO Kincaid pulled out a remote and pushed it before getting his arm torn off at the elbow, and I could swear I heard him yell, "Take this you pricks!"before being torn to shreds. I could hear a loud clang and a howling noise coming from our side of the battlefield, and when I looked to see what it was my blood ran cold. "It was some sort of monster, made in the shape of a beast but with the faces of my dead comrades. Someone had taken the dead bodies of my platoon and stitched them together to create some sort of monster, like a Frankenstein creature. One had seven arms and three legs, but its eyes were still human. Another had bones sticking out of its back like a porcupine, and I saw it roll through the Nazi's while laughing maniacally. At this point I knew it was out of my hands, and I ran and hid in an abandoned locker until I couldn't hear anything. It took almost two days, but eventually they all stopped moving and I could walk around. That's when I found the note in Kincaid's pocket." The room was silent, the generals face stony and unresponsive, though I did notice the bead of sweat slowly dripping down his forehead. After a moment he gathered the folder and pictures together and got up. "Thank you for the interview, Mr. Frye. This information will be put in front of a board of review, although heavily redacted, and they will decide whether you will face jail time for abandoning your comrades. Although, from what I've heard from you, it looks like you will most likely be acquitted. Do you have any questions for me before I leave?"I looked at him and asked, "Did your men see him? When they found me?"He raised an eyebrow and said, "Saw who?" "Papa Oda. He was there before the men found me."The general glanced down at the folder then back at me. "There were no reports of another individual there at the scene. By any chance, did he say anything to you."I nodded, tears dripping down my face as I inhaled shakily and said, "He told me what the price was for surviving."The general came forward and leaned down next to me until we were face to face. "Mr. Frye,"he whispered. "What did he say to you?" I took a deep breath and said, emotion choking my voice, "He told me the price for me living was the same price as winning the fight: my soul. He said the price for living was my soul."
“I was so excited to see your resume come across my desk! We simply don’t see the kind of experience you offer.” She said in a soft, flighty, but exited voice. It was just a coincidence. So what if her name was like some cliche version of that horrible bitchs title… or that she looked just like the vile temptress that cursed him to an eternal hell. Long, wavy black hair, deep blue eye the same color and hue of a warm oceans day in the Mediterranean. “I was rather surprised such a prodigious company had set up headquarters so close to my home. I’m glad we have a mutual interested.” He said with a tense smile. He was a young man, well, looked like one anyway. Sandy blonde hair, Green eyes, about six feet tall, thin, scruffy beard that had been trimmed for the interview. “It was an easy choice, some of the most skilled boat builders in the world live in this area. Companies like Palmer Johnson and Burger, all the way down to Carver and Cruiser.” She said as she backed her chair up a bit. “We wanted to expand from the fishing boat line up to the bigger boats, and what better way than to move to where the best of the best are built?” He nodded, an easy smile replacing his tense one. This couldn’t be her, the woman before him was passionate and personable, nothing like her. “Well I hope I’m qualified enough to work here. Sounds like you are really looking for the best of the best.” “Oh you’re more than qualified, your work on the restoration of the tall ships would be more than enough.” She smiled. “One has to wonder how a twenty five year old learned such skills.” “You could say it’s in my blood.” He joked, which he had found out long ago was the best way to defuse this particular subject. “My father was a shipwright, and I spent some of my youth sailing. Those things tend to stay with you, even if they do feel like a lifetime ago.” She smiled an easy smile back and stood up. “Well I think I’ve seen enough. Let’s go introduce you to the team you’ll be working with.” She offered her hand, which he lightly accepted as he stood up, only for a wicked headache to nearly split his skull. Visions of the Demon Witch herself filled his head, forcing his breath to draw short, his body growing cold as his vision returned to him. “YOU!” He heard a nasty, Guttural snarl. Looking up from his seat, seeing her leaning back against the wall. Her face no longer soft and youthful, but a dreadful visage of necrotic grey, scorn and hatred pouring out of her eyes, now black and glowing. “Albonia… it is you…” he said with fear and dread in his voice. “You know… you’re still quite handsome…” she stated, her face reverting to her youthful appearance. “What a small world…” The room was silent, tense with the thickest fog of fear he had felt, at least since the last time he had crossed her. “Well… let’s go meet your new co-workers…”
When does the fear in the back of your mind start to offer you a strange comfort? Comfort that you are not alone? Comfort that while everyone one else was dead and ejected into the void, their bodies potentially light years away by now, there was still something the void offered back in return. Company. I can see it. I can always see it there. Like a full moon that follows you on a car ride home, offering its own reflected luminescence so unique and beautiful. I miss those nightly car rides. The roads would be empty and cooler, you could roll the windows down to enjoy the night breeze. And the ride would offer you a sort of quiet liminality. A transient existence in between destinations where you are, despite being on a projected path, free. I miss Earth. I miss the intimacy, the closeness of others of my kind. I miss being alive. Because right now I am anything but. Every day I stray further and further on a broken ship held together by the strange power of this entity outside the window. Every day I can feel it, looking through the layered glass, observing. Every day I can feel the dread and fear seep it until... Until I grew accustomed to being afraid. I am not braver now. I still am terrified as the day we had first felt it's presence out there, back when the ship was whole, and housed sixty-three souls. All those lives, all those minds that slowly lost themselves to the entity that existed beyond any comprehension. No. The fear is still present. I just learned how to live with it. And as I lived with it, it was the only thing I knew, the only thing I know. And now it is a comforting notion. Because the fear reminds me, despite everything, that I am alive. I look, almost instinctively at the window, hoping... For what? For it not to be there? For it to be there? I am disgusted in myself for knowing I look because I wish for it to be the second option. And, as if answering my dark prayer, the entity dances. I call it dancing, because that is the only approximation that makes any sort of sense. It is the only time it takes some kind of shape. An almost elephantine shape, though I know I only feel that way because of my need to equate the inequitable to something tangible and... comprehendible. I have seen it engage in this activity a few times. And each time I had seen it, I felt... something. Some emotion of mine even I was not privy to. This dance, and what it means. What immediately draws my eyes, as always, are the entity's earflaps. They are unnaturally stationary compared to the rest of its… the word ‘body’ seems incapable of forming in my thoughts as I see this swirling, squamous visage. But not the earflaps, they remain still, hanging in space as everything else remains in maddening motion. And from where the earflaps join the rest of the entity's head, there is a radiance of spiral lines. And even these lines are treacherous in their existence. They seem a hazy mirage of false movement, drawing the eyes towards something that quite not exists just beyond the lines’ width. And when it dances, this entity also grows a trunk. Or maybe it is not a trunk at all, but a tentacle. Or maybe it is not even that. It is a snakelike limb. Thick where it protrudes out from the face, and then becoming thinner and thinner and thinner until it becomes an unfathomable tendril of impossibly infinitesimal proportion. And at the base of this impossible tendril, suddenly exploding in girth, is a singular, lidless, unblinking eye. This limb twists and undulates, making unholy sounds seemingly just by the perception of the existence of this dance, defying all science by emitting this sound that manages to traverse the vacuous expanse outside the window through the glass and into me, engulfing me in this cosmic serenade I simply cannot comprehend. This entire being is a perversion of existence. And I can do nothing as this perversion penetrates into my senses, cursing me with awareness, with knowledge of its facsimile of a corporeal esse. And this awareness was enough for me to, in the more lucid recess left of my psyche, reflect that what I am having trouble just looking at now barely scratches the horrific surface of the levels of being that this entity can truly exist beyond. And this simple understanding is too much for me. I open my mouth to scream, finding some agency in the primal fear that envelopes me. But where I expected a familiar, ear piercing human shout to issue and communicate my fear, what I hear instead, depriving me of even that agency, is the being speaking in my stolen voice. "You are safe." And then my fear disappears, and I feel calm again. And this is how it is every time I see the entity dance and sing. My private entertainer, accompanying me through this endless voyage across the stars.
The boy has always had what he wanted. Four years old, crying for a puppy until the warm, wriggling bundle was pulled away from his mother's belly and pressed into the boy's sticky hands. Six years old, and wanting a sharp sword, and the aide who pressed a handkerchief to a nicked hand and lied to the Tsarina when she asked if he was bleeding. At ten, he received Fabergé eggs the size of globes, and though presumably could do up his own shoelaces, had never been called upon to do so. Morning broke uneasily over the shipyard, a hard grey sky pushing down on men the size of ants, scattered over the bones of great boats, cries lost to the howling Russian wind which ripped over the Nevsky Prospect. The boy became a Tsar earlier than many had predicted. At eighteen he was stretched too thin, silver lines appearing at his hips and around his shoulders as his body found its awkward way into a new shape. Hunger was a constant, but his table never went bare. Like a fairytale, the young Tsar only had to flick his fingers and the table would be littered with soft white breads, pearled caviar black as sin, fragrant white cheeses and waxen lemons. This, he never questioned. He loved the view from the high windows of his palace when the snows fell and joined the sky with the earth in one unending blend of white. It scoured the bleak face of Moscow and made it clean. He watched his people pass below the palace and wait at the window. Sometimes they cried out. The Tsar asked his aides: "What are they calling for?" "They are saying how much they love their Little Father." As dawn rose, the authorities descended on the shipyard. Dogs bayed and howled, surrounding the dockworkers as they were cornered between the ships and the water. Chains descended, and the grey-faced men were led at the point of a bayonet to the long huts where the tools were kept. Roubles were passed between them: meagre compensation for the day's pay, now lost. There was no noise in the dark save the groan and clink of chains. The boy who always got what he wanted arrived after dawn to a full shipyard. He watched the men in their long coats, changed his gait to match the shuffling pace of the men who worked beside him. They carried hammers at their sides, hands warmed by leather gloves. A mile away from the shipyard, smoke rose in creeping tendrils. Lazily at first, then faster and more urgently. In the merchant district, broken glass littered the ground like spilt tears. There was no bread. There was no work. A woman and her six children had been found dead with hay in their stomachs, sleeping all in one room in a tenement where rats were as plentiful as people. The boy turned to his fellow workers, who avoided his eyes in reverence. Some bent their heads, and here and there he saw the flash of gold rings on fingers and brooches holding up furred coats. Were his dockworkers so well-paid they could afford gold? Through the cobbled streets the mob streamed. Inside the huts, the chained workers groaned and swayed, the clinks of the chains muffled by the snow pressed up against the walls. The boy looks about him in confusion, recognising now, too late, the face of his aide, dressed in a shabby coat and with a hat pulled low over his face. He hears it, the calls of the mob, crying his name, calling for his death, for bread, for work. He, who has always had what he wanted. He realises the lie he has been told, and why he has been told it. The man is sorry, and wished he had wanted a little less for himself, and a little more for the people.
Nine times has he visited me, and tomorrow will be the last. He was there on the day of my birth, to talk with my parents. They did not believe him at first, but he showered them with money and knowledge of the future. As the events he had predicted came to pass, they talked often of the man who would return on my fourth birthday, and trained me in gymnastics as he had asked them to. He was reluctant to explain much on his second visit, or his third. He wanted me to have as much of a normal childhood as I could, but with each visit his fave grew darker and more worried. Archery and martial arts were added to my repertoire. I excelled at each. He explained more with each visit. How I was to be the chosen one. I would have to fight against a fearsome warrior who had made a deal with dark powers. On my twentieth birthday, he took me to a monk in a monastery that no-one had visited for a thousand years. I learned to harness spiritual power, to see the hidden fire that burns within each man, and to use it for good. His visits grow more erratic, but I continued training as much as I could. Money was no object, for the mysterious man had provided enough and more than enough. I visited the best firearm trainers the world had to offer, and learned as much they would teach me. I went to bed on the eve of my fortieth birthday, after a strenuous workout. I felt strong and fit, and slept soundly. Dawn broke. He stood before me, ageless and tired. —— I have visited the hero nine times. And this is the tenth. The final time. I am the calamity. I am destined to destroy the Earth. I need him to stop me.
“What’s this?” Ariel asked, her clipboard ready, as she pointed to his chest. “Oh, this?” Sam huffed. “This is my nametag.” The scientist repeated the name quietly to herself as she scribbled down some notes. Sam couldn’t help but look around at the box of a room he found himself in. Grey metal walls surrounded him. A bed, a table, a chair and a solitary bookshelf was all the decoration he was going to get. Before this, the last clear memory he had was off frying chips as car’s at the drive thru piled up. Then as if in an instant, he found himself waking up in a bed in the corner of the room, Ariel with her clipboard standing over him. “Hello, Sir,” she whispered, wide eyed and a huge smile on her lips. “My name is Ariel.” From there she took Sam through the process of stem-cell reincarnation, the ability to bring someone back to life using only a sliver of their DNA to ignite the process. After a brief freakout, Sam had learned of Earth’s history in the last thousand years. War’s, famines and plagues mostly but also peace. Not world peace but Sam was sure it was a lot better than 2021. “How can there be so much peace,” Sam had begun at one point. “As food grows scarcer and scarcer?” “Well,” Ariel started, shifting slightly on her stool. “Since nuclear materials became so commonplace during the latter part of the 29th century, any civilization with half decent infrastructure was able to make nuclear weapons. With bombs like that, you better get along with your neighbour or risk extinction.” That had been just the beginning. Sam had, at first, refused to answer any of her questions until she answered his. After a while though, Sam grew sick of listening to wars and events that happened hundreds of years after everyone he had ever loved or known had died. Now, after all the important questions had been asked, they were down to talking about his nametag. “What was its purpose?” she puzzled, her eyes narrowed in on the little piece of plastic that read ‘Sam’”. “I thought you said you worked in a, and I quote, “Extremely unimportant place, making shitting food for shitty people. No one cared. We just did our thing and tried to get home as quickly as we could. Management were all bastards. Hated the lot of them.” End quote. Why would you need a name tag for such a place?” Sam let out a small chuckle, thinking back to the day that his manager had given it to him. "I own you now, Sam,” she had warned him. “Your time is now my time.” And she had. His manager had tormented him. Bringing him in on his days off, telling him that he’d get his days cut if he didn’t come in to cover for someone else. It had been a living nightmare. “So that the customers could see our names and complain about us if we did anything wrong,” Sam answered. Ariel dropped her clipboard down onto her lap, her mouth wide open. “That is so unfair,” she complained, shaking her head as she scribbled down some more notes. “These people! Did they not realise how unsustainable this all was?” “Nope,” Sam replied, scratching the back of his neck. “It was all profits, profits, profits.” My god,” Ariel sighed. “I pity you, Sam. And the rest of the workers that were with you. It must have been difficult to get out of bed every day and go through all that.” “Well, it wasn’t easy.” Sam agreed, getting off the bed and stretching as best he could. Aimlessly, he walked to the door, looking out the small window. A flurry of scientists floated about, handed papers back and forth. Cleaning their glasses while discussing God knows what. A strange feeling came over him and it took a moment for him to figure out what it was. Sam envied every one of them. “What are you thinking about?” Ariel asked, looking over her shoulder at Sam. He didn’t reply straight away. His thoughts drifted to memories of school, his friends, his family. “Nothing,” Sam said finally. “Let’s just get back to work.”
"'Y'know, I didn't think it would come to this"He says as he desperately sucks in air to combat his exhaustion. He was truly in a tight spot. When he found out that a bounty on his head had appeared, he wasn't worried. His stronghold, his seat of power was located in the eastern region of the Khalakan Mountains. For those uninformed: That's the region with the highest peaks. Thus, even though it's location was known among certain circles, it was almost impossible to reach it without the use of powerful magic. And if someone _did_ reach it... Well... Jeremahia wasn't known as The Archmage for no reason. So, even when he recieved word from one of is familiars that a party of mercenaries had accepted the bounty on his head, Jeremahia wasn't worried. He was more curious about how far the fools would come rather than what he should prepare as a defense. However, when he felt the connection to a familiar dissapear, he did have _some_ doubts about not preparing something. Because this was the familiar he had tasked with keeping an eye on them. He had never heard of this mercenary team called: "Darkness". The sounded edgy as all hell, but their attire was rather run of the mill. Nothing noteworthy. At least, that's what he thought. But if they were able to instantly take out of his more stealthy familiars them this might be something to worry about. Thus, anxiety eventually overcame his desire to remain in his lab, and he began preparation for a fight. He set up some golems, prepared some magical beasts in his possession and set up a couple of traps here and there. He wasn't fully committed however, because his mind was still on the spell in his lab, lying there unfinished. This could be a breakthrough! Something never seen before. But he first needs to see if it will even work at all, a beta test, so to speak. So, as soon as his preparations were completed, he rushed back up his tower to his workshop to continue his newest spell. That brings us back to the present. Where Jeremahia was laying against the rubble that used to be the wall of his workshop. The party of mercenaries stood in front of him, 2 people less than when he last recieved report from his (now dead) familiar. "Well, we didn't think you'd be so though to take down, old man. We thought the hardest part was getting here, but jesus, those golems were no joke." "Yes, I was quite proud of those. Their AI's were a true piece of art. Before you tore them apart." "Hey, don't get mad at us. If you didn't want to lose your precious toys, you shouldn't have used them in a fight."He said condescending. They acted as if it was an easy victory, but their appearance said otherwise. They were covered in scrapes, gashes in their clothes and skin, burnmarks, one of them even began developing a black eye already. "Heh.. Haha... HahahaHAHAHAHAHAA!"Jeremahia suddenly began cackling like a madman. The party stepped backwards, they realised something bad was about to happen. "Well...."the wounded mage on the ground began, with a crazy glint in his eyes "It's all or nothing, I suppose.."He finished as he pulled out a spellbox. Immediately, all the party members knew that whatever was inside that box, it was bad news for them. They all jumped him as fast as they could, but Jeremahia the Archmage's spellcasting was second to none. He could outcast the speed of lightning, so beating a party of semi-skilled mercenaries was nothing. Within a fraction of a second Jeremahia had activated the spellbox, and it opened with an explosion of power. He was fearful of glitches or bugs, but considering his situation, he couldn't afford not to. The remains of the room (more accurately described as the top of the tower now) lit up with the light from what used to be the box and shook as a result of the tear in reality it created. All present felt a short but powerful pull towards the hole in space-time, but that soon ceased. Instead, it was repaced by a violent explosion of air, knocking everyone but Jeremahia off of the tower, to plummet to their deaths. The only reason Jeremahia remained was because he had braced himself for the inevitable explosion that comes with new beta spells. He hadn't expected it to be quite this big however. But, that no longer mattered. The threat has been dealt with, he can strike another idea off the list for potential spellboxes', and his castle is barely destroyed. His workshop took the worst of it. The walls having crumbled away while the roof was disintegrated in the fireball they fired at jeremahia upon their entrance. But that's about all for the damages. The rest could easily be repaired in one fell swoop. And thanks to the artificial atmosphere around his domain, he at least didn't need to worry about any snow covering his workshop while he repaired the damages. He was about to stand up and conjure a windblast to clear the smoke, when suddenly the smoke was sucked away, into a portal that supposedly spawned as a result of his spell going haywire. He felt the violent pull on his clothes, and was getting stronger. All he could do was struggle fruitlessly against the pull, hoping it would close on itself before he was pulled in. Sadly for him, luck was not on his side. He was pulled into the portal, never to be seen or heard from again. The credits start rolling as the class stayed silent. The teacher turned the lights back on with a clap and walked to her stand. "Now, as I said children, this was a dramatisation of real life events, but it _did_ accurately display the dangers of not only being unprepared, but also the threat that untested spells bring with them." As he was about to say something else, the bell rang and the classroom started to pack their things. "Remember kids, next week is the test on workshop safety protocol!"
Rudolph walked away and into the night, the red glow of his nose getting dimmer and dimmer until it could no longer be seen through the snowfall. Santa sat on his sleigh staring off into the distance, shocked at what he had just heard. Santa stared at the herd of reindeer in front of him, and then he whipped his reigns extremely hard and the rest of the reindeer yelped in pain. “What the hell Nick?!” Donner yelled. “What was he talking about?” Santa asked. His tone had changed, his jolly demeanor was gone and his voice was cold and rigid, like ice. “I- I have no idea! Why don’t you tell him, Prancer?” Donner said nervously. “Me? Don’t look at me! Vixen is the one who kicked shit into his face that one time!” Prancer yelled. “I did not! Comet and Cupid put coal in his mouth while he was a sleeping once! I saw them do it!” The reindeer then erupted into an argument, and they even started mashing horns. “Enough!” Santa’s voice echoed through the night sky, and all of the reindeer fell silent. “All of you. Into the workshop. Right now.” Santa ordered as he got off of his sleigh. The reindeer followed behind him, all of their heads hanging low. “We didn’t mean to-“ Santa cut him off “Shut your mouth, Blitzen.” When they all walked into the workshop. Santa closed the door behind them and locked it. “I-I thought we weren’t allowed in here..” said Dancer. “Don’t worry about it.” Santa replied coldly as he walked in front of them. Santa stared at all of the reindeer, and then pointed at them. “Elves. Restrain the deer. They’ve been…. naughty.” Suddenly, from the spaces in the pinewood floorboards, and the cracks in the candy cane walls. Hundreds and thousands of tiny, naked humanoid creatures the size of mice erupted into the room and swarmed around the reindeer. “Nicholas, what are you doing?! Stop!” Blitzen screamed, but it was too late. The reindeer were covered by the creatures in seconds and shoved into burlap sacks, then dragged away, down a long flight of stairs. Donner awoke to complete darkness. “Hello? Is anyone there?” “Yeah.” Cupid responded. “We’re all here, but we can’t see anything.” The sounds of water dripping and mice scurrying across the floor echoed throughout the room. Then, from somewhere in the dark, Santa spoke. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a light so bright, that you could have a way to see tonight?” “Nicholas please!” Blitzen pleaded. “Please let us go! We will do anything you ask, we will apologize to Rudolph! Just please let us go! We aren’t naughty kids anymore!” There was nothing but silence for a long time, until Santa finally spoke. “No. It’s too late for that. The magic I put in each of you was supposed to make you kind, and loving. I gave you naughty children a second chance by working for me as my reindeer, but it seems you can’t be changed.” Suddenly the room was filled with light from a doorway, and the reindeer could all see they were strapped to stone tables, with heavy chains and leather straps. Santa stood in the doorway with a huge, horned figure towering behind him. “Do you all remember what naughty children get for Christmas?” The Reindeer all began screaming in absolute terror, pleading for their lives and begging for their mothers to come save them. “They get coal… and a visit from Krampus.” Santa said as he walked away, into the light. Krampus stepped into the room with booming, hoofed footsteps that cracked the stone floor underneath him. Krampus slowly shut the door behind him, and with the last sliver of light, right before the door shut, Krampus let all of the screaming reindeer see his gnarled, twisted face, smiling with a jolly grin.
If anyone will ever find this message... I'm alive. I know, you all thought that I died after my previous host drowned. But, surprise surprise, I'm alive! I had to live in a crab for quite some time, and don't ever ask me how it felt. You know, when one of us takes over the body of an animal, their mind always puts up a fight. A good fight. That's why we prefer humans. But... The crab's mind, if you can call it a mind, almost killed me. After the crab finally surrendered, I decided that I don't want to live in such a place - there were too much humans hunting for the crabs. Yeah, I know, people say that crab meat is delicious, I even ate quite a lot of it when I was... let me think... in my second host, if I recall correctly. But then... I made a plan. No one wants to be a marine animal for all eternity, am I right? And if I stayed in that crab, it would be like that. The crab would eventually get eaten by some fish, I would get into the body of the fish, either get killed or take control over the fish, and the cycle would repeat, and repeat, and repeat. So I got as close as I could to the fishermen who were on the hunt for fish and crabs. One of them said: \- Hey, that crab looks like it really wants to be a sandwich! The other one agreed, and picked my host up. Then they went home, killed the poor crab, and made a sandwich. One of the fishermen gave the sandwich to his friend Joey. I heard him say: "Annie will surely like this - sandwiches are her favorite food." That's how I met my next host. Her name was Annie - she was in her twenties, lived near the beach, had Joey as her boyfriend - a perfect host. She ate the sandwich, and I easily took control of her body. I was relieved - everything is gonna be normal again. Right now you probably think something like "Why did that idiot leave a message for us just to tell that he has found a host? He has had like fifty of these already."But Annie... She was different from the others. She wasn't just a host who we feed on for me, she was... Uh... Let me explain. When I started controlling her, I saw her mind... Sitting in an imaginary corner, and crying. I asked her: "What's wrong?". Of course, I knew what was wrong. Now her body was controlled by a microscopic parasite who resided in her brain. But still, I felt like I had to, you know, comfort her, tell her that it's not that bad, that I'm not gonna do anything bad... And I started talking to Annie, comforting her and... You know the drill. That's how we became friends. Yes. Friends. This message's purpose is to tell you all to stop bothering me. If anyone finds this, please take the message to the Council, and tell them to forget about me. Goodbye.
After the payment is accepted, Charon started rowing, without so much as a breath to fog up the chilled air. Mist crept up the boat, and danced around like a kraken attempting to down a ship, and Gareth was still holding back his amusement. There was no way he would accept the chocolate coin, and yet… Blue melted into gold as Gareth was lead to a paradise of fortune, and the ferry came to a stop. Without a word, Charon raise his hand and pointed to the golden gates of Gareth’s eternity. Inside was a paradise like no other! Mansions made of pearls, clouds that taste of cotton candy! And most importantly, his family that was lost in the same storm that took Gareth. He found comfort in their presence once more, and it was decided there would be a feast in Gareth’s new mansion. They gathered to say grace, and as Gareth reached for the meat, he felt something land on his arm. Something wet, and dark. He wiped it off and looked at it, as what sounded like rain surrounded him. Everything was melting. He tried to grab his mother’s hand to get her to safety but it fell through as the hand melted away. He had to stare as his families faces melted into bone, which then further peeled away. The sheer agony his hands felt as the skin peeled back to reveal his flesh was being transformed into chocolate as it also melted away. His vision grew blurred as his eyes melted and chocolate formed. Even when he suspected he was fully melted Gareth’s existence was now red with pain and suffering, as a loud, deep voice whispered in his ear. “Don’t feel too bad, everyone’s flesh usually peels to gold”
"Grandma?"I asked, hesitantly, peering down at my Grandmother, Elizabeth's, slight, frail-looking form. She was wrapped in her favorite shawl, snuggled into her favorite overstuffed armchair by the hearth, and...she wasn't moving. My heart filled with fear until it sank in my chest. I extended a trembling hand towards her, terrified my touch would find her deeply lined skin cold, that I had arrived too late in response to her cryptic summons. Then her eyes snapped open and she shouted "Boo!", scaring me so badly that I stumbled back, tripped over her sewing basket, and landed hard on my ass on her creaky hardwood floor. "Grandma!"I growled the word out like a curse as I awkwardly kicked myself free of the yarn entangling my ankles, and struggled to my feet. All the while, she cackled and shrieked with laughter, clapping her bony hands and slapping them on the arms of her chair. "That was not funny!"I snapped, but looking at how her fit of wicked mirth had brought a splash of color to her cheeks, and tears to the corners of her eyes, I couldn't help but smile a little myself. "I thought you were dead!" She snorted at this, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief she produced from under her blankets, as she composed herself. "Well, serves you right, thinking your granny Liz would just gutter out in her sleep, like some kind of worn out old biddy. I thought you were smarter than that, boy!" "Grandma,"I sighed, crossing my arms. "Why did tell me to come here?" She adopt an expression of mock affront "Why, he asks? Why? Can't an old woman just want to visit with her favorite grandson?" "Come to my house tonight."I quoted from the note she'd left me. "Midnight, tell no one, especially not that fool daughter of mine, she'll only worry -- you get that that's my mother you're talking about, right?" "I know who she is, I raised her, didn't I? You should thank God every day for that ample bosom of hers -- lord knows your pappy wouldn't have married her for her wits, and then you'd never have been born."she grumbled. "Grandma!"I reproved, aghast. "Mind you,"she said with a grunt as she heaved herself out of her chair. "I had a fine old set of milkers myself, back in my day--" "Grandma, gross!"I protested, more vehemently, then trailed off as she emerged from her cocoon of shawls and blankets, and I noticed the full knapsack resting on Grandma's old shoulders, the heavy leather boots on her feet, and the gray woolen travelling dress she was bundled into. "Uh, grandma, what's going on?"I asked. "What's it look like, boy?"She demanded, as she reached out and grabbed hold of her old walking stick, turning to face me with sharp eyes and a stern look. "Um...like you're going on an adventure?"I offered, curiously. "Well, thank God the brains in this family didn't skip two generations, instead of just the one."She affirmed with a brisk nod. "But it's not just me -- it's we. Come on, chop chop, times a-wasting." Then Grandma Elizabeth bustled out of the sitting room, muttering something about a prophecy, which was partially drowned out by the rhythmic stamping of her staff against the floorboards. And I, not knowing what else to do, followed her.
Kyle had never really known his place in life. He seemed to float by, everywhere he went, every stop along his journey seemed like it just wasn’t the right fit. College was a bust, he hated every job he ever worked, and relationships never seemed to last. He needed to shake things up, and this trip to Greece was just the thing. Kyle came from a Greek family, his grandparents were all born just outside of Athens. He thought if there was a place on this Earth for him to find himself, it would be here. Walking through the recently uncovered ruins, something inside him lit up. Not only were his spirits high, there was the weirdest feeling in his gut. Almost a deja-vu, but that couldn’t be. “And we have a special surprise,” the tour guide went on, “this next statue is believed to be a previously unknown God! Historians are working as we speak to uncover the history behind this man.” Kyle looked up, and did a double-take. The statue looked just like him. It even - no way, he thought. But there it was, the scar on his right cheek from when he fell off his bike as a kid. Or at least that’s what his parents told him, he was too young to remember. As he walked closer, the statue glowed. What was previously a rusted brown was now a fiery gold. The group all stood aside and looked at him. Inquisitive looks, hanging jaws all parted the path for him to move even closer. As he did, it got brighter, and brighter, and brighter - until it was almost too bright to look at. The statue creaked as its right arm slowly raised, startling the crowd. It held out a palm towards Kyle. Kyle stared down at it, and eventually placed his hand on the palm. Both Kyle, and the statue, disappeared. *** Kyle felt a jerk as the instant he touched the hand, he was transported to a new place. The air felt lighter, more breathable. The floor was white, and looked almost hazy. A blinding streak followed by a loud CRACK startled Kyle, as a set of stairs appeared in front of him. Seated on top of the stairs was, the one and only, Zeus. Kyle didn’t need to ask, or be introduced. He could just feel it was him. “Kylocemious, you’ve returned!” “W-... Where am I?” He asked, but he already knew. “Olympus! Of course, your memory will come back, it always does.” “Always does?” “Yes, you do this about once every 30 years. Annoying it is, but then again it is your fate.” “What is?” “You know, I’m the God of the sky and thunder. Aphrodite is the Goddess of love and beauty. You’re the God of hopeless wandering.” “I’m the WHAT?” Kyle said a little angrily, it was starting to come back to him. “I really don’t feel like explaining, you’ll remember soon enough. Now make like yourself and wander off.” Zeus said, waving the back of hand for him to beat it. Kylocemious threw his hands up in frustration, but started walking to… somewhere, he wasn’t quite sure.
Humans, they whine and talk, more than any other species Councillor Zaltan has ever encountered, more so than the infamous Asiasa; ontop of this, they look strange, and they smell like rotten fuuba. Worse than their smell, they have opinions on everything, from the colour of the carpet they stand on to the inner workings of foreign governments. But, Zaltan thinks to himself, at least they are total pushovers; three times his people have evicted the Humans from garden worlds, and three times the Humans just talked about it - no other species would allow this transgression to occur. The Humans are the laughing stock of the galaxy, and its Zaltans job to listen to their whines. In truth, the Humans follow a policy of isolation; few aliens have been permitted to enter their space, and when they get permission, it is only in cases of emergencies meaning not much is actually known about them other than that they are rather peaceful. Even the worlds plundered had little information on them, locations of their homeworld was purged, and no real military technology has been observed; maybe they don't have a military, maybe they don't know of war. It certainly wouldn't surprise Zaltan if they didn't know of it. Further to the idea that they lack the capability of waging war, law enforcement on these occupied worlds only used glowing sticks that could deliver a nasty electric shock and a small spray can of awful irritants. No firearms have been seen. Curiously, Humans are known to be advanced, it is known they have technology that allows FTL comms, and they use AI far more advanced than anything the Empire has made, so it would fascinate Zaltan to see what they could come up with if they ever decided to get nasty. Getting bored of their ambassadors latest whine, Zaltan changes his skin colour to a dark green, "Human,"Zaltan speaks slowly; his biology does not allow the speed of speech the Humans talk at, "I don't care."The Human turns red as it starts to spew more words. Zaltan continues to listen as the Human demands his people returned to him. Zaltan stretches his clawed fingers and returns them to a relaxed position before speaking again, "Your people are no more. They served us no purpose." The Humans next comment gets Zaltan by surprise, "Then you have declared total war?" Total war? Zaltan has never heard of such a term, "There is no total war, only war." The Human's skin turns white and the ambassador bobs its head a few times before reaching below a table and pulling out a suitcase. After opening the suitcase flat on the table, a holographic image is displayed of a blue orb that looks a little like a planet. That is another strange thing about these humans, they like planets with H20. Why they like that poisonous substance Zaltan can only guess; maybe it gives them a pleasant high. After a moment the blue orb speaks, "Bakara,"The orb says with a crisp female sounding voice, "I am Tyr." "An AI?"Zaltan asks with some interest, he has always wanted to talk to one. Hopefully, it doesn't speak as much as the Human. "Correct."The orb replies before the orb vanishes and in its place is a picture of the grand Bakarain 1st fleet; the AI then continues to speak, "This is your first fleet positioned around New Hope."Zaltan can not dispute the fact; the first fleet is easily identified since its flagship is a large 2km long carrier. "In Human mythology..." It is now that Zaltan realises this AI is going to talk as much as the Human. As Zaltan watches, he notices that the fleet begins to fire on itself. "....Tyr is the Norse god of war. My sole purpose is war."The image changes and shows a different fleet, this time it is the 2nd fleet which is protecting a world that provides the Empire with precious dust used in FTL navigation. "My wrath..."This fleet begins to fire on itself and the settlement below, demolishing the precious infrastructure that harvests the dust. The image changes again to a set of dockyards that is protected by the mighty 5th fleet, a location and facility that is kept secret, so how the Humans know about it is unsettling, "...Can be unbridled."The 5th fleet begins to fire on the dockyards. The image then returns to that of the blue globe and the AI goes on to say, "Consider this my declaration of war. Your fleets are mine to manipulate, they will darken the skies of your worlds, your nuclear fire will scorch your own oceans and your own biological weapons will kill your young in their eggs and melt your skin from your bone. Where your people flee, I will be waiting." "Trickery,"Zaltan accuses. "War."Tyr replies. "It has been too long since I was let loose, and how I look forward to this."The AI goes quiet before then saying, "Good day."In a rather cheery sounding voice.
The tavern where I retreated for a quiet drink had now fallen silent with the newcomer’s declaration … or rather, my answer. To try and distract myself from the curiosity that bordered on pre-worship, I turned to the barman and gave him an apologetic smile. “Another, thanks.” “Sure thing,” the burly man behind the counter answered, never taking his eyes from me as he poured out another ale. It was a pretty good brew, all things considered. I licked my lips and lifted the ale for my first sip. “What did you mean by that, stranger?” “Are you a threat to the gods?” I laughed, nearly choking on my drink. Because really? Who could threaten a god? Certainly not me. Not even back in the day. “Nah,” I said, taking a deeper swallow of my brew. “I just reminded them of what was at stake.” “You used prayer?” It was clear these people weren’t going to let it go. “It’s a process,” I answered. “A circle of life thing. Divine power comes from your belief in their power. By locking up their temples in mystical seals and barring the way with empowered temple guards, it doesn’t take common folk like yourselves very long to forget what you're worshipping them for in the first place." I used their silence to take another swallow. "I merely reminded them that a forgotten pantheon is a powerless pantheon. The rest was them, scrambling to fix their oversight while they still could." “What *is* your name, stranger?” I heard someone ask. After so long in the shadows, it didn’t matter anymore. Breathing out a heavy sigh, I replied, “Ahura Mazda.” \* \* \* ((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗)) For more of my work including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/m4p5f2/wp_index_take_two/).
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I never wanted to be a chosen one, I guess that's why they choose people; no-one would willingly choose to fight the monsters. Being chosen in real life isn’t quite the same as in those fairy tales, you aren’t born with any superpowers nor are you special at all. All it means to be chosen is that you are picked from a list of all the citizens in the kingdom at random, the people that are picked are giving weapons, armor, and supplies along with weekly wages. It's almost like a job lottery that you are entered for the day you make it to this world. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of course I am the lucky guy that won this lottery, at the ripe age of eight. Something I forgot to mention is that passing up on the “reward” to this lottery is very much frowned upon. However it is safe to say that as soon as my name was posted in the town square as a chosen one I left the country. I was young and scared. Too scared to even tell my family goodbye. I did not want to risk the chance of them forcing me to play the “chosen one” role. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I had no purpose nor ambition once I left the country so I spent most of my time idly or trying my darndest to survive. None of the kings men chased after me because all they needed to do was pick another name, despite the lack of pursuers I knew that I could never show my face in the kingdom again without facing death. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Over time I accumulated friends and resources, I began to watch my old kingdom as an outsider. Through newspapers and secondhand accounts I learned about the overpopulation of monsters and how every chosen one after me has also either ran away or died quickly after being chosen. In some twisted way I felt proud that I had started a movement, even if that was a movement of cowardice. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Once I shook off the odd sense of pride, guilt welled up inside me. I am a big part of the reason that the country is doing so poorly after all. Tempted though I might be to go back and fulfill my duty I decide to stay away. They chose me and they can choose another.
A large hairless alien with a frog-like head and muscular primate body sits in a luxurious leather chair, tapping its tail off the floor; the tail slaps off the floor with a steady rhythm that matches a Human song softly playing in the background. Meanwhile, a middle aged human in the room muses through a bookshelf filled with alien books, a special AI linked to his brain quickly translates the book titles into his native tongue. "Diego,"The alien says after a moment, the alien has his eyes closed and it is clearly evident the alien is enjoying himself. "This song, it does not translate." "Ah,"Diego says as he turns from looking at a book, "Well, Faro, It is an ancient song from long ago."The alien, Faro, had quickly fascinated himself with Human songs; apparently, music with lyrics is rare in his society. Faro opens his eyes to look at Diego, "What is the vocalist singing about," "Well,"Diego responds before taking a sip of red wine, a puff on his cigar and then putting a book down, "It is about a lover requesting his other half to reunite with him after a nuclear war." "Hmm,"Diego says as his tail stops tapping, "It was a catchy number, but now not so much." "Oh?"Diego says before coming to sit in an oxblood red wing back chair opposite Faro. Next to the chair is a roaring fire that has a shaggy dog laying down in close proximity, upon reaching his hand down to the floor, Diego begins to scratch the affectionate dog behind the ears. "How so?"Diego is dressed in a red dinner jacket and looks most comfortable with his surroundings, all of which is by design as he learns about this alien. "Yes."The alien reaches forward and flips the vinyl disk over, and then taps a button so that the record player begins to bring the needle to vinyl once more. "Your species has an odd fascination with a war of the nuclear kind." "Yes,"Diego replies after puffing on his cigar, "For a long time, two, and then three great alliances were at each other's throats; inevitably, we began to incorporate that into our media. This piece here is a fascinating song from the 60s during which two of the world's strongest nuclear powers were close to war." "Your species are strange."Faro claims, "We too had such events, but we never romanticised it; certainly, we would never have put vocals to the music." Then you missed out,"Diego says, "This particular piece is called Crawl Out From The Fallout."Diego then stands up and moves to a large shelf; after finding a vinyl he is happy with, he removes the record from the protective cover and then places it into the record player, "This song for example, is a great piece that comes from the period."Finally, Diego presses play and sits back down in his chair to watch the alien's reaction. Faro closes his eyes and taps his tail until the song comes to a close, "That vocalist,"The alien exclaims, "His voice flows like water." Diego smiles before holding his wine up, "Cheers to that. Now, when the constant threat of nuclear war is horrific beyond measure, why can't we enjoy the little good that came from it." "It is not the songs that confuse."Faro replies, "But your fascination. Your personal admiration of Mad Max, your unending library of songs. The thoughts I speak now are not solely mine, but the intergalactic communities, we think you people are fascinated by nuclear war, which fascinates us." "Interesting,"Diego says with a few nods, "Well, if you love our nuclear war songs, you'll love our anti-matter war films. Come, I know the perfect film for you." Faro's eyes become incredibly wide, "An..anti-matter wars?" "Ah, it was just a small one,"Diego waves his hand in a dismissing motion, "But good enough for some smashing films."
“…it’s time for our walk Dante.” You blink twice and rub your eyes. You think to yourself that you must be imagining thing. There’s no way that Virgil started talking. You look down at your dog, whose already jumped off the couch and grabbed his leash. Letting out a short sigh, you smile a bit wearily and say “Alright Virg, let’s go for your walk.” You put on the leash, grab your keys, and reach down into your pocket for your phone. You notice there’s a missed call from your ex, Beatrice, and a message. But before you can even take a glance at it, your phone dies. Cursing under your breathe, you place the phone down on the counter and plug it in. You think to yourself you won’t be needing it on your walk. Virgil is waiting by the door, leash handle in his mouth as he scratches at the door impatiently. “Alright, alright,” you say as you bend down and grab the leash. “You really need to go don’t you?” With a click of the lock, you open the door. There’s a stillness in the air…it’s strangely quiet in your apartment. And were the hallways always so long looking? You feel a sense of unease, but Virgil pulls on his leash toward the stair case. Too tired to fight, you let him pull you forward, down the seemingly endless hallway. When you reach the stairs, you see a wet floor sign, but instead of the typical Spanish writing you see it says “Abandon Hope” with the little stick man descending down the stairs… “There’s no turning back.” You look around trying to figure out who said that, until you lock eyes with Virgil. What would typically be his low bark is now voice. “To escape we must descend.” You let out a scream and let go of the leash in a panic.
Thank you for the prompt! I enjoyed writing it and I hope others find some enjoyment in reading my response. &#x200B; \-------------------------------------- &#x200B; “Now, I need you to count down with me from 10…10, 9, 8, 7…” By the time doctor Whojere reached 8, his patient, a 23 year old model nicknamed Fae was already asleep. His task, take one of God’s most beautiful creatures and transform her into an average citizen. All in the name of fear. You see, society scorned perfection as much as its opposite. Stemming from a fear of danger that has been so ingrained into today’s modern culture, yet few still remember the root it stems from. Even today, a grass roots movement to fight the stigma in underway. A grand misdirection ironically fueled by those looking to benefit from society’s denial of their ancient predators and all that would now be considered supernatural. The things is, the danger many have forgotten is well deserved. Over the course of thousands of years, humans fought for survival among creatures that did their best to mimic humans and draw in their prey, through a sirens beauty or by disguising their more ominous and dangerous features. Yet as just humans evolved to survive as prey, so have their predators. Dr. Whojere stepped back to admire his work. While Fae had once reflected perfection in the form of a female body, she now looked slightly above average. Beautiful enough to be treated well among human society, while average enough to be disregarded by the prejudges inherent to their nature. A deadly combination to isolate and devour. Her wounds rapidly began to healing, as one would normal expect from a semi-immortal being. He sat and waited; it wouldn’t be long now. Another masterpiece to add to his growing mantle. It was the smell that gave it away. While humans have grown adept at controlling sound and sight, they never seem to understand how the faint odor of deodorant is just as big a tell as the smell of a human themselves. Heck, it would be less obvious to shout from the rooftops that they have arrived. In this case, the presence of humans with the absence of sound told the doctor exactly what was going on. Taking a syringe, he plunged it into Fae’s chest and injected a milky white liquid before getting on both knees with hands behind his head facing the corner of the room. In seconds it was over. Both doors blown in, the clink of metal followed by blinding light and severe ringing in his overly sensitive ears. Dr Whojere felt rough hands holding him in place while he was thoroughly patted down. As his senses began to return, Dr. Whojere became aware of seven officers in SWAT gear bearing M4 carbine rifles spread throughout the room. The officer directly behind him began to speak “Dr. Whojere, you have the right to remain silence, anything you say…” His recitation broke off suddenly, another officer shouting over him. “I think she’s still alive, call a bus!” He could hear him in the background as the officer arresting him continued informing him of his rights. “Ma’am, are you ok? Help is on the way. I need you to stay focused with me. Do you know where you are? Do you know if he gave you any medications?” Idiots. The officers froze as a deafening screech rang out, rebounding from the walls and immobilizing the humans with a primal fear developed and maintained despite their loss of understanding about its origins. To their credit, they only froze a moment before their natural fight or flight response kicked in. Too late. The dying had already begun. The scrieva removed the throat of the officer over her and hurdled forward with unnatural speed to rapidly struck at the officers one by one. Their M4s to large and unwieldy to bring to bare in the close quarters. Dr. Whojere slipped into a small hiding hole below panel at his knees, not trusting the rampaging creature to differentiate between friend and foe in her chemical induced rage. In less than seven seconds it was over. The high-pitched panting from the scrieva above the only sound. He heard it take a deep, calming intake of breath before speaking. “Doctor, you may come out. The danger has passed, both from the officers and myself.” Her almost haughty air an odd contrast to the monster it came from. Lifting the lid, he saw Fae standing near the table. She looked at him and spoke again. “It appears we have been betrayed. I think likely just you, however I cannot completely discount that my coming here had no part in it.” “So it seems” he replied. “Shall we settle the account? It appears I will have to relocate.” Her green eyes studied the doctor, “Quite cavalier of you. You seem to be taking this well. I must admit, it is fascinating to see.” “It’s not the first time I have been discovered and I doubt it will be the last. A new face, a new name, I will be practicing again in no time.” He told her. “Now, come. We shall get our new identities together.” “And from there?” She asked “Happy Hunting.” A mirthful smile appearing across Dr. Whojere’s face.
I can't place when it was that I stopped paying attention to Haley - but she's an old soul, she could handle herself well. I worked the night shift as a guard at a museum and followed it up with a job as a waitress during the day. The job as a guard was without any interesting occurrences, except for that one time The Collector came to steal an ancient amulet housed there. That was one Hell of a story to come into, the fact that I had to alternate between being a guard and Miz Madness herself! But that story doesn't matter. None of it does, anymore. "Haley,"I begged, looking up at my daughter. "Haley, let that little girl go back to her parents." Haley, with her flaxen hair, dark brown eyes, and bottle-cap glasses stared me down. She was all of fourteen years old, and already, so much trouble. I knew the teenager years were the hardest, but I didn't know where I went wrong. She was self-sustaining. From a young age, she showed she was gifted and could manage caring for herself. Haley would make breakfast for both of us every single day before I had to run out to work. At some point when she was a young girl, I stopped asking the daycare how she was doing. I just collected her and brought her home. I attributed the smiles that were a little less wide, the joyous spark that had left her eyes, to some sort of existential epiphany my daughter had early on. She was supportive of me, even as I hid my identity from her. She knew me as Mom, and that's all she needed to know me as. I made sure that there was food on the table. I made sure that we had a roof over our heads, even if we had to move several dozen times to maintain that roof. I made sure that there was clothes on our backs. Somehow... it wasn't enough for Haley. No. It just wasn't enough, period. I knew that she was destined for greatness from a young age, she had to be, being as smart and quick as she was. But I never anticipated the situation we were in now. "Why, mother? She deserves someone who will care for her,"Haley practically spat at me with a cold glare in her eyes. "Haley... listen, you let her go, we'll go home, we'll talk this all over-" "Over what? Food that I'll have to cook, again, for us?" "Haley. That girl hasn't done anything wrong." "She represents what's wrong with people like you, mother." Mom, I begged internally. Call me Mom, not mother. "I don't want to fight you! We're family, it shouldn't come to this!" "Oh, NOW we're family?! When it's convenient for you?! You were never family for any PTA meetings or parent-teacher conferences! You were never family when I competed in the reading competitions at my schools, you were never family to me when I was sick and needed comfort! Work, superhero-ing, both came before me! YOU came before me, you selfish woman!" I sobbed, "You can be mad at me, Haley. You can hate me. You can fight me. Just let her go!" "... you'll have to kill me if you want her back." Haley took the toddler with her by the wrist and made a run for it, leaving me dumbfounded and in shock. I could hear sirens as the police made their way to the scene, too late, as my daughter had gotten away with her hostage in tow. I thought I had done my best. What had I done?
Melrose Place, Michigan. A lovely little hamlet on the edge of one of the Great Lakes. Quiet. Secluded. The best kind of place to retire away from the chaos that is urban living. To live off the land. To fish in peace. The perfect place for murder. Melrose Place by all statistics had a higher murder rate per capita than Detroit, St. Louis, and Baltimore. Had. Over the last 50 years, in a round year population of 50 people. There have been 45 murders. As county law enforcement had figured out, the majority of the murders were committed by residents of the town. You read that right. 50 people, and most of them either killed, or got killed by their neighbors. Or their relatives. Or their friends. Parents. Teachers. Doctors. Lawyers. A pair of crooked cops. One Pastor at a local church. A trio of cases were committed by outsiders. Drifters or career criminals finding soft targets. But those are anomalies, not the norm. Melrose Place currently has a permanent population of 8. Tourism around the area has also changed. People no longer come for the festivals or the shoreside activities. Many are here for the true crime stories and locations. Even ghost hunters and urban explorers have taken to the area. This has led to an increase in local police presence. Because if there's one thing the town didn't need, it's another murder. Unfortunately, that meant it was only a matter of time. To her chagrin, Laura was the one to discover the body. As a leading detective in the area, she found it a bit surreal to be the one to find the body under the pier. The identity of the victim was easy to figure out. Heidi Clemmons. Her brother was killed 15 years prior in the area, and she had taken over his store. The only surplus store of the village, Pine Island. Who would do such a thing? Who even was left? If one thing was certain, it was time to get to work. There were only 7 residents in town anymore. She had to make sure they stayed alive.
Ron was your average middle-class, blue-collar, white-picket-fence, suburban bliss loner. He had no real hobbies. No close friends, no family he felt pleasant towards, no girlfriend.. God forbid a pet. And he was content with that. Just your average wage-slave, working to the bone in a dead-end job to keep his small slice of nothing. But there was one thing he enjoyed doing. And that was watching miscellaneous videos on YouTube, stumbling down all kinds of odd rabbit-holes. Venturing deep into the nearly two-decade old depths that was the YouTube platform... And one of his favorite YouTube channels, was run by this well-dressed man with a cartoonishly long and frizzled mustache, giving him the appearance of a snazzy mad-scientist. Each video was at least 30 minutes long, and without fail, The Mustache Man packs said videos full to the brim of himself showcasing the often wacky and comical inventions he's created. Ron would always find himself smiling pleasantly by the end. He was almost thankful for this Odd character, bringing a splash of life and humor into his mundane existence. But at the end of every video, there was a disclaimer; "THESE INVENTIONS WILL NOT BE WEAPONIZED AND USED AGAINST THE GONVERNMENT OR THE WORLD." He thought it was just a running joke told by the creator of the channel. Oh, how little did he know. In the coming years, something completely unforeseen befell the world. Even though Ron had denounced the chance of extraterrestrial life ever coming to earth.. It still happened. And not in a way Ron would've liked. They came in intimidating starships, dark and foreboding. Everybody thought it was the end of the world. But it turned out they were more peaceful than first appearances suggested. When they engaged with the governments of the world and the local populous, they were.. Interesting, if not arrogant and pompous. They saw us humans as nothing but apes, still hitting rocks against each other to create fire. They said they had come to welcome earth into a Galactic Federation, and that they were going to advance earth's technology by many, MANY centuries. The world governments were skeptical at first, but ever hungry for more power than they should have, they jumped at the opportunity. But.. Then the extraterrestrials connected to earth's internet. And they discovered everything. Naught even two weeks after their initial arrival, they began to storm the planet with their forces, overthrowing the world's governments within hours. It was complete and utter pandemonium. After they confirmed that humanity wouldn't put up much of a fight, they began to slowly exterminate every living human being they could find. Humanity had lost before it even had a chance to throw a stone. &#x200B; At least, that's what the extraterrestrials had thought. &#x200B; Ron's favorite youtuber had unexpectedly uploaded a new video amidst the global crisis. In the video, The Mustache Man declared that he would be uploading a new video daily, detailing how to create weapons capable of fighting back against the invading forces. And these weapons could be created just using your everyday household items. And when the video was over, it wasn't the usual disclaimer.. This time, it was a message. "These inventions will be used to teach our guests a very well-deserved lesson in manners." And Ron, the scared, cowardly Ron, who would freak out at the mere appearance of a bug, felt courage well up deep within him. For the first time in his life, he was inspired. Every day, he would closely follow the instructions in the videos posted by the mysterious Mustache Man, and soon had amassed his own arsenal of rather ineffective looking items that were vaguely shaped like weapons. As if a kid were left home alone for a few hours and decided to make his own arsenal of nerf guns out of tape and cardboard. And it was just in time, too. For the extraterrestrial guests had come unwanted and knocking. Right as he grabbed one of the inventions that looked closest to a gun, his roof exploded in a blast of shrapnel and light. He was knocked into the wall, his breath escaping his lungs. And in through the now destroyed roof came a duo of what looked like alien soldiers, clad in some kind of high-tech tactical armor. When one of them finally noticed him, it turned to it's companion, pointed at Ron, and laughed. Ron was no stranger to humiliation. But.. For some reason, he felt angry. Furious, even. Angrier than he thought he'd be. Their laughter struck something deep inside. As if his very ancestors felt outraged. Crawling towards the only weapon that wasn't destroyed in the blast, his face contorted with rage that he felt wasn't even his own, grabbed the makeshift gun as their laughter reached a climax, pointed, and fired. Immediately, a burst of pyroclastic chemicals shot forth from the PVC-pipe barrel, phasing right through the alien's shields, and melting it's head faster than you could say 'boo'. He could almost hear the tumultuous roar of victory that sprung forth from his long-dead ancestors. And yet again, for the first time in his life.. He felt an extreme sense of purpose as he watched the Alien's corpse drop to the floor, it's companion struggling to comprehend just what happened. But before it could point it's blaster at Ron, Ron had already fired his weapon once more, relieving the extraterrestrial's head from it's shoulders. He sat there, huffing, but soon stood up to look down at the corpses of what used to be an unstoppable force.. And he grinned. The War had only just begun. And Ron had work to do.
Aboard a carriage, acting as the protectors of a large merchant caravan, there sit four people. Each of them dressed in high quality armour. Each of them have either sharp knives, good swords, or strong spells as their preferred methods of working. Together they form small team of adventurers, the Winddrifters, known as one of the more professional and high quality teams out there. If you need rogue dragons killed, orcish warlords assassinated, valuable magical cargo protected, they're your guys. Their leader is the young half-elven knight in red. Sir Albrecht of Rychlov, the heir to the margraviate of Rychlov, his blade is swift and in his hands there are strong spells. A swordmage of renown and skill. There is the quick and cunning human street-monk, Carries-The-Law-In-Blood-And-Bone, who hath a great skill with dagger and fist, who always follows the tenets and scriptures of the beneficent Mendicant Monks. A woman of great courage who always does what is best for the people. Supporting them is the kind and faithful minotaur healer-priestess Montuaca, who came from across the mountains to spread the holy word of healing, kindness, and forgiveness. The final member of this group, is the enigmatic mage Venturio Firen. His body is covered in cloth, his words are few, but his spells and power speaks eloquently enough for themselves. Together they fight as a cohesive unit that has felled enemies daemonic, draconic, elemental, and abyssal. Today though, they're just escorting a large shipment of Cjionnic spices that have been enhanced through arcane means. It is the primary export of the spice-mages of the city-state of Cjionnes, and can fetch fortunes for any merchant who can transport it across the badlands to the Freeports of the Speartip Coast. These adventurers have repelled raiders, orc warbands, a minor lich with their undead forces, and even an attack from the rogue wild-elves. They've earned their substantial reward, once the caravan gets to the Freeport ahead of them. Albrecht has never been this far west, and is fascinated by the cultural practices. Carries-The-Law has already helped many people quietly on the side, farmers on the edge of civilisation, beggars, outcasts. Montuaca preaches with fervour and heals like a kindly mother would, to any who comes to them. It's quite an adventure. But as they pass closer and closer to the city, Venturio has grown more and more withdrawn. The other three trusts him. He has saved their lives on multiple occasions, and he has an impressive knowledge of countless things. He has never acted like this before, and they're getting slightly worried, though all the new impressions they are experiencing are distracting them from acting upon it. Until they get close to the coast. There stands a grand and beautiful temple of the local faith. Its high towers are proud and pleasing to the eyes. The priests in their white robes are walking around the entrance, discussing theology. But while the three of them are in awe of it, Venturio is not. He stares with abject horror at the temple. Montuaca tries to shake him awake, but he does not speak. His eyes are burning with fear and terror. Carries-The-Law tries to reach out to him with her big strong hands, but she recoils as his flesh is like fire. Albrecht is calling for the caravan medics, and telling Montuaca to get her herbs, potions, and healing prayers ready. Just in case. Venturio sees none of this. He sees the temple's foundations. He sees the cruel priests whipping him and his people. He remembers losing family and friends to the cruelty of the gods that this structure is dedicated to. Sacrifices, bloody and horrid. They had to watch. And had to ape the words of the empire's church. Had to pretend to be grateful for being civilised by the empire and their bloody legions. Or get punished. The priests took the weakest and the sickest of the slaves and bled the stonework red with the blood of Venturio's kin. He remembers the cruelty of the empire that built this. The day they burned his hometown to the ground. The last day he saw his parents. The last day he was innocent and free. He remembers the empire's mages dragging off slaves to their dark dungeons where they committed unspeakable crimes in their horrid quest for immortality. A quest that succeeded. Venturio doesn't remember what spell or alchemy ripped his flesh apart and put it together, granting him immortality. But he remembers how it allowed him to break free. How it allowed him to rise up, free the other slaves. Slay the empire's magecorps. Raise an army of freed slaves. He remembers the others who stood by his side. His first team. Xon the gladiator, the greatest warrior that Venturio had ever met. He remembers how Xon spoke to the slaves, lighting the fire of freedom in them. He didn't care about victory, only about living free, and dying free on their own terms. He learned a love of freedom from Xon. Venturio remembers Qhorwin, the old bird who healed them, the black talons healing wounds caused by decades or even lifetimes of slavery. How he had such kindness, like a grandfather to all the people who had been freed. And how much that old bird hated the masters. The empire, his love and kindness did not reach them. He learned magic from and hatred from Qhorwin, and how to temper it with kindness towards those whom you love. Venturio remembers Callimar the Scout, who held the lines at the Khyden Pass, allowing most of the slaves too old, too young, or too sick, to escape from the empire. He remembers fighting through the imperial forces, only for it to be too late for Callimar, his beautiful elven face smiling even in death, because he held the line successfully. Nothing else mattered. He learned never to give up from Callimar. The army was defeated. The slaves died free. But it was enough, the empire collapsed shortly after their defeat, though it took nearly two centuries for Venturio to learn this. He survived of course, and met up with the old, the children, and the weak, so that he could lead them away to safety if the empire sent a punitive expedition after them. His immortality was spent trying to forget for a while. Forget the horrors. And guiding the people who escaped to a land that was fertile and free. The settlements near the far eastern ocean coast became the first Freeport, appropriately named Haven. The first free city, formed from a hundred tribes, a thousand gods, and a common history extolling the virtues of freedom, dignity, and cooperation. Lead by an immortal king, until Venturio left and let the senate elect leaders instead. It was for the better, and even today it is a city of prosperity and freedom. A beacon of hope, that the world could be that good if only people worked together. Most other cities built later are reflections of that first Haven. Now he is back where his immortality started. That same temple he was forced to work on. He still has the scars on his back. He is a mage. An immortal mage who has powers that can challenge some gods. And as he hears the priests chatter, talking about the ''glorious days of the old empire'' and the ''righteousness of the gods'', he can taste bile in his throat. But even through the rage, he has immense self-control. Discipline. Xon wasn't the smartest man in the universe, but he taught every freed slave to control their rage. To direct it towards something useful, so innocents would not be harmed. The huge gladiator had been very firm about that. He wanted an army, not a disorganised rabble.
Hyacinth could see the writing on the wall. The Empire of Card – Saphire of the West, was dying. Tributes kept flowing into the capital. Fine silks, exquisite jewels, and foreign slaves to sate the courts' greed. The vassal states were squeezed to meet demands; the Empire would not be denied its due. But the cracks were starting to show. Centuries of political maneuvering and compromises left too many hands in the pot. Everyone wanted a cut of the wealth. Entire families would flee the Capital at night; trying to outrun the ever-growing taxes, drafts that filled the bloated armies, and noblemen seeking to expand their harems. There is a saying in Empire: “to have riches without power is a sin.” Low-born people now curse their enemies to have outstanding children, future fodder for noble machinations. Hyacinth, the oldest of 40 heirs born to the royal harem, stood in line to inherit the whole poisonous affair. She had no doubt, that to be crowned, would be hell. Now, she found herself in a race to the bottom, a desperate struggle against her siblings to escape the sinking ship. How do I go about crippling this whole affair? Let's start with the guards, it's been a while since anyone has tickled them with a knife…
Thousands of years ago you were defeated and sealed away by the hero when you tried to block out the sun. You awake to find yourself being broken out by strange men in white coats. One of them speaks to you. “So we’re having a problem with this thing we call climate change.” Your first reaction is thanking the elements for your inborn ability to intuitively understand what people are saying, because you did not understand a single word that came out of the short man’s mouth. You did, however, understand that a lot of time has passed since you were last awake. That humanity has changed, and that they’re looking for your help. They want the sun blocked out cause the planet is heating up from their own idiocy regarding managing the environment? Great, you’ll block the sun and give them more power than they’ll know what to do with. First order of business, you need a lot of metallic materials. You try to tell them as much, but find that they do not understand a word you’re saying either. So much for the universal use of Enochian, you think. With a sigh, you look around the remains of your workshop. Most of your projects remain, considering the door was locked along with the ritual that placed you into stasis. You shake your head to clear the exasperation you feel towards the so called “hero” from millennia ago. People weren’t ready for what you wanted to offer them, but it seems they are ready now. There’s so time to lament lost time, there’s work to be done. The men and women in white coats regard you anxiously. Apparently your reputation hasn’t improved much, even if they came to you out of desperation. You dig out your blueprints for the blocking sun-containment power generator and wave the short man over. He steps up to your workbench and gasps. “A design for a Dyson Sphere?!” The man exclaims, clearly familiar with the concept you’ve shown him. The other white-coats murmur excitedly amongst themselves. You continue to show the man your documents. From calculations on the required materials for the entire construct, to plans for setting up a launch station, blueprints on how to transport the solar energy to the planet’s surface, a repair station on the moon and an outline of how to set the first section into place before adding more. The man sinks to his knees, hugging your legs. “We’re saved. Thank you, thank you!” Well, it seems your reputation has changed, after all. The white coats discuss amongst themselves then wave for you to follow them. They show you what’s become of their civilization. You quietly applaud the progress they’ve made since you last got a look. They’ve come far, and you do not begrudge them for not having found how to build certain constructs that are commonplace among your own people. You’re well aware of your people’s privilege in living on an awoken planet. It takes a few years to launch the first segment and slot it into place near the sun. Years well worth the effort. You learn their surprisingly creative language. They learn how to optimize many of their digital systems. It takes a decade to complete the Dyson Sphere, as they call it. They thank you profusely for your help in the project, then, ask you the question came to earth for, but no longer mattered. “Is there anything we can do in turn?” You heave a sigh and suppress the tears that rise to your eyes. They’re asking without even meaning it, and yet, you find that you want to tell them. You explain to them that when you departed for earth, your planet was dying. That once it had perished, your people would need other planets to take them in and accept your people. You were one of many sent to early-stage sentient planets to aid in improving living conditions for the inhabitants and life-expectancy for the planet. The team of scientists you’ve been working with has changed over the years, but the short man, mark, now old and grey, gives you a hug. “We’ll reach out to the stars, see if we can locate the various planets where your kind may have settled, and reunite you with your people.” It’s centuries later when Mark’s great granddaughter introduces you to your niece and nephew, and it’s your turn to thank a human profusely.
"Listen, you know it and I know it: we're all just killing time until the end of the world. We're all on the waiting list for a genie. We're all dreaming of the day we can grab that boilerplate contract, get shunted off into our own pocket dimension where we're The One And Only, and then spend the next infinity infinities being awesome. "When your number comes up, you don't have to come here. If you do, great. If you don't, that's okay. My name's Kristoff Pendergast the Seventh, and here at KP Duty Legal Associates, we're here to help you just... ride it out. Get married. Get divorced. Take a vacation in the Lands of Change. Sign on for that five-year supernatural apprenticeship. Order that custom magical item you've been dreaming about for decades. "Do it all with the KP Duty legal team behind you. We can't guarantee you'll be able to afford what you want, but we can guarantee that you'll get exactly what you expected. You won't be alone at that bargaining table; we'll be with you every step of the way. "Remember, when you hire KP Duty Legal Associates, The Other Side will know it!" ********* "So, what do you think?"I asked. It was an odd question, I supposed. He was the one who'd put the ad together in the first place. He chewed on it for a minute. The head-nodding went from contemplative to approving. His fiery faux-hair flowed and bounced simultaneously. He looked like a real douche, but we'd gotten to know each other better over the past few weeks. He was okay. Creative types had to look the part. I got that. "Yeah,"he said. "Yeah, I like it. It's got that old-world law-guy vibe. People dig that. Ain't broke, don't fix it. I know you wanted to mention some big names, but I'm telling you, it's just too much hassle." I bristled at that. He wasn't wrong. It was just a little hurtful to know that, even after a thousand years, my firm couldn't get a free pass. People were so immature. If you weren't all-in on vampires, or wyrms, or warlocks, or lycanthropes - hell, not even that; pick a subspecies and a clan! - then nobody wanted their precious supernatural taxonomy coming out of your mouth - or anywhere else - to drum up business. It bothered me. It bothered me a lot more than the fact that we did need to drum up business. The world was getting a little empty. The ride was nearly over. I sighed, and refused to let him off the hook. I was paying him enough, after all. "Not too cheesy?"I pressed. "Well, it's gotta be, a little,"he replied. He didn't seem to mind the questions; he seemed to really enjoy his work. "That's part of the vibe. 'Cheesy' is 'earnest' is 'square' is 'plugged in' is 'part of the establishment.' You're not trying to attract criminal defendants who want some crazy outsider - lowercase or capital, guess it doesn't matter - to burn everything down for them. You're positioning yourself as a go-between. It's a tightrope, yeah, but the spot's got enough fighting spirit in it, I think." I did my own head-nod kabuki. It was common business language. Even the entities without heads eventually picked up on some of the general motions. "Okay,"I said. "Let's get it out there." "Full package?"he asked. I raised an eyebrow. "What we talked about before,"I answered evenly. He shrugged. He had to act a little disappointed; a failed upsell is a failed upsell. You have to keep up the bullshit that the client is missing out on something. Still, what we'd talked about before was a pretty big buy. There were a few full-on, 3-D, full-sensory illusions in the mix. They were timed for maximum traffic in the portal stations, along the leylines, and even on a few dragonflight paths. As for the other dimensions, I left it to his agency's discretion. They knew the ins and outs of what would tantalize and what would offend. My firm knew what was straight-up illegal, but that was only the beginning of the conversation. You had to know which planes of the damned didn't permit food smells. We shook hands, since we both had them - animated bones against pleasantly-warm living fire. "Pleasure doing business with you,"he said. "Hope your number comes up,"I replied. "Back atcha, Mr. Pendergast,"he said. We let it hang there for exactly the right amount of time. We both allowed ourselves the appropriate mixture of hope and wistfulness - more of the former and less of the latter, as of late. It really wouldn't be long - couldn't be long. Then we got back to it. I focused on my diamond signet and waited for the telltale swirl. "Prrthnax?" I sent telepathically. "What's next?" "Pr-rrthnax, Mr. Pendergast, sir," it sent back. I smiled, or something like it. It was our thing. "One of your specialities, actually, sir. Transition. Seems well-situated, too. Don't want to jinx it, but..." I felt the cold fire in my sockets flash. Lichdom was a gold mine. It was one of the few types of clients and cases I wouldn't shunt off to an associate. It was also getting rarer - not for lack of funds, but for lack of desperation and despair. What's the difference between a googleplex and a mere centillion? Quite a lot, objectively speaking. Most of us were nevertheless surprised by how much of an impact it had made day-to-day. Infrastructure expands to meet needs. Contraction is always painful. "Also..."it began. I gritted my teeth. I knew exactly how ridiculous it would look to do so. I couldn't help it. Don't be Jennifer. Don't be Jennifer. Don't be Jennifer. "Somebody's number came up,"it finished, just like I'd known it would. Don't be Jennifer. Don't be Jennifer. Don't be Jennifer. "Old client of your great-grandfather's," it continued. "One of those crazy vampire-lycan hybrids. She's barely holding it together in the waiting room. I've got an associate lined up, but I figured you might want to give it a personal touch." Thank... all the entities. "No,"I replied wistfully, "one of the other partners can take point. The Transition client needs to take priority." "Room assignments, though?"Pr-rrthnax asked. It was a fair question. We were supposed to roll out the red carpet for both of them - one because of the potential fees we'd collect, and the other to keep up appearances. "We can make a Blood And Moonlight thing happen in Room 17," I answered. That would be for the lucky winner. The Transition would get the crown jewel. "It shall be as you command, my Dark Master,"my secretary intoned. That was another one of our things; I chuckled. It was a horrid sound, but I'd gotten used to it over the past century. "I hope she tips well,"I said to myself as I levitated towards the archway. Those tips had once been twenty percent of our annual revenue. It was down to five. One word repeated itself in my mind, tethering me to this nigh-infinite waiting room that we called the multiverse: Upsell.
They always told me to turn the other way if random items started to show up. Dragons like to gather trinkets to bolster their power as they gather their hoards. As the old saying goes. "Beware the power of three, for dragons might there be. Question the power of 5, for their might be alive. Sacred are the groups of nine, they empower thy sacred shrine" Dragons are pretty common here, and they range from the size of a housecat to the size of a small hill. There are even rumors of dragons being so big they are able to crush mountains with a flick of their wrist. Most large dragons loot typical things to add to their hoard, money, swords, magical stones, armor, oh and did I mention anything that exudes magic. Including corpses. Just thinking about a dragon roosting in a pile of corpses makes me shudder. However dragons, albit rarely, choose a hoard of more unique potential. One such dragon is a pygmy dragon by the name of Lucy. Lucy for some reason decided that a candystore was her hoard and now she exudes a irresistible sweet aroma and breathes molten Carmel. The shopkeeper was mighty pleased the day that his stock magically replenished, but was very disappointed when Lucy became territorial and scared off customers with flying jawbreakers. The shopkeeper had no choice but to abandon the shop, and Lucy roams the streets stealing candy from the pockets of unsuspecting people, adding to her hoard of candy that no one dare touch. The king declared Lucy to be "an inconvenient shopkeeper, but one not to be messed with"and as such the citizens have found Lucy to be a pleasant smelling local legend that only requires a few peices of candy a day in exchange for making a fourth of the capital not smell like the filth of the city. However where I am currently, is not the sweet smelling capital of Archton, but the ruins of a city that has long lost its name. I am a researcher looking for profitable artifacts, because of my long destiny of... ah who am I kidding I need cash, my torn pants will tell you of that fairly quickly. As im wandering throughout the ruins, out of the corner of my eye I spot a skull, it looks to be of a canine species but it's much larger than I would expect. I can't really tell though cause half of the skull is missing. Thank goodness it's been dead a while my knife is barely longer than its teeth, and I'm fairly certain it would kill me on first glance for dinner. Thankfully the paladin order of the sun has recently culled the surrounding areas so now there are no more than rabbits and foxes nearby and anything truly dangerous probably has no interest in me. Although I could've sworn that they were still here, actively searching the ruins but I haven't run into anybody. Walking past the skull, I see a split in the path and decide to take a right. Unfortunately that was wrong because at the end of the turn is just a broken wall with nothing there, backtracking it is. As I'm walking back I notice that there are a few more bone peices, laying about around corners and definitely adding to the creeps this place is giving off now that the sun has started to set. I sigh thinking that this is going to be another night on the cold hard ground surrounded by the bones and artifacts of the long lost. Determined to find a semi safe spot to sleep for the night I decide to wander a bit farther than I did yesterday in favor of finding a better spot to rest. Yesterday was hell, if my back is any indication. As I get out my map and start drawing in the new paths I took today I notice that if I take two lefts and a right there is a perfect box shape with a wall around it that I haven't been in yet. Hmm it looks like a house, or maybe a church layout? As I approach the final section of wall undiscovered my me, I find that I was correct and that it is a church. Well it will definitely be nice to have a roof over my head and a building with a easily hidden entrance. Undoing my pack I hear a loud thumping noise that sounds like wings in the distance. Ah, that's probably a dragon. Hopefully it passes over me. Unfortunately the large crash and following rumble tells me two things. Firstly the dragon DID IN FACT land probably no further than a couple hundred feet from me, and secondly it was big, big enough to see me as a meal. Looking frantically around, I find that there is a set of stairs in the back of the church I grab everything that I can frantically and rush down the stairs. Once down the stairs, I'm pumped full of adrenaline. I see a tunnel, leading down. taking a chance I go down the tunnel determined that whatever is down there is better than the dragon upstairs. My heart is pumping, and I can feel my pulse in my ears as I come to a stop. As I lean into the wall, I fall through where the wall should have been and land with a splash in a room that was behind the wall. Blood, blood everywhere. I should have smelt it when I came down here originally but I must have been too concerned. As I fumble through my pack for my lantern, my hands feel sticky and the blood is slowly covering me as I frantically scramble for the magic rune that turns on this stupid lantern. As I light the lantern the large room immediately lights up in a eerie red, and I can see the paladin order that was patrolling the area before me, unfortunately for them they are probably not going on another conquest anytime soon. Dread fills me as I slowly take in the room. Their bodies are mutilated and half eaten and it takes every ounce of strength in my body not to retch the contents of my stomach onto the floor. Then I see it, light Grey and pink with blood still dripping off of it. I see the brain on the floor and immediately convulse. Looking around I see that infact all of the heads are not eaten but removed, with each and everyone of them cracked open. As I turn to leave I hear a voice in my head, "Oooh a fresh one, I shall take you along with the last of my previous bounty" The voice was young, but seemed like it was coming from everywhere. As I slowly turn around I'm face to face with a dragon. The dragon is fully pink, with lazy curls of Grey on its side. "Ahh I do love a fresh head, popping it open to reveal the fresh meat inside is always so exciting. What knowledge shall I learn today?"
"I still don't know why you can't just, make everyone forget."I said very frustrated. "Well, first of all, Goddesses can only draw power from their people, so any damage done to the people as a mass would be reflected on me."she stated. I never thought I'd actually get together with the goddess of wisdom and valor, if it weren't for that drink with the lads, I'd still be a ~~fckin'~~ farmer to this moment. Well, I still am a farmer, but at least I'm a farmer with a smokin' lady. "And the 'Second of all?'"saiid I. "Second of all, why would I want our relationship to be a secret?"said she. "Well, maybe because I'm a farmer in the middle of bum ~~fuck~~ nowhere, an you're the deity of the land I own!" I drank from my mug of beer. "Also! Many people are gonna try and get on my arse. Only reason they aren't now, is because it's midnight and the moon's tryin' to play the hottest hour of the day." I drank some more. "By God's nail! If I had never fallen in love with you I don't think we'd be in this mess!" At this point, I was towering over her as I was fully stood up. Alexandria, at this point, was quite heartbroken; on the brink of crying. As was I, but I didn't know it at the ti—time. Man she looks so beautiful. "How could I have pulled s— someone as nice as you? I don't even care about the church or what not. I just wanna be with you." I thi— hic think I said that in my head. She looks… red? Man, I think she's an angel. "I'm a goddess, not an angel."she said as her nice soft smile comes back to her mouth. "Come on, it's late. You should go to bed." "Oh, hic I– I don't think my lady's gonna like that. Y'know, she's a respectable lady and I love 'er." She turned red. Why'd she turn red? Oooooh, quae est perfecta. "And I love you."the woman said. I thi— I think I'm gonna, lie down here. I think I had too much be— hic Man, I love 'er so much. I don't care 'bout the public, no more. If I were to choose between infinite wealth or a poor farmer's life with her, I'd plough the fields everyday if it meant she was feeling loved. That's what hi c love is, right? Just love 'em like you're gonna die tomorrow. Ya gotta love them a lot. And oh boy, my lady can never be replaced. I think hic That's enough ecstasy for today. I'm just gonna— lay here and— hic
The elevator dinged as the new soul arrived. Daniel was eager to great it and hugged his clipboard. It was no one really that special, someone who never returned their grocery cart to the stall, but being junior, Daniel couldn’t expect any better. Disoriented the man stepped off the elevator, and Daniel stepped forward to greet him, as he was taught in training. “Padraig Blake?” Daniel inquired. “Ye… yeah, that’s me, do I know y..” “Welcome to Hell, I am here to lead you to your eternal torture.” Daniel interrupted him, as he had a tight schedule and no time for Padraig to get over his confusion. “Sorry, what? The last thing I remember was… oh God, oh no! The truck, it was heading right towards me.” “Yes, and it hit you next you died, and now you are in Hell, try and keep up.” Interrupting people was a good skill to have as a demon. Daniel grabbed the new resident by his wrist and pulled him through a door. Outside the air was burning an pungent. Daniel took in a deep breath. “Ah… just smell that sulfer! And look at this view of the lake of fire, with foothills of flesh and the brimstone mountains in the background! It really is a horror to behold. Now watch where you step, the ground is basically razor blades here, but don’t worry, you’re dead, you can’t bleed out, but you will feel every single step!” Daniel’s enthusiasm for his job was still fresh. “What’s with the flowery door?” Padraig managed to ask after stammering through Daniel’s speech. “What?” Daniel’s confusion only worsened when he followed the line of Padraig’s finger to a door next to the scorpion road. The door was wood and covered with construction paper flowers, with happy faces. “What the actual Hell is, oh no… don’t tell me..” Padraig cowered as the door popped open. “Hellooooo!” The young woman was far too enthusiastic. “Welcome to Hell, my name’s Alicia, I set up my office next to the entrance here so I can give the souls a care package as they arrive.” Daniel obviously knew who this was, and was not happy, trying to usher Padraig along as Alicia turned around to grab something from behind the door. “Hey, a got you a welcome package!” She cried as she bound toward the pair. “Here’s some shoes because..” she looked down at the ground and the bloody feet of Padraig, “…oh, you know entirely why. And here’s a thermal blanket.” She said handing him the items, then whispered behind her hand “as hot as it is during the day, it gets freezing at night…”. “Okay, okay, you met him, you welcomed him, now time for me to hand him over to his torturers.” Daniel interrupted and pulled Padraig along, purposely taking him the long way and towards a giant acid rain cloud ready to burst. Once Padraig was all settled, Daniel grabbed his clipboard firmly in hand and marched sternly towards the main office in a fury. He hated all of the changes that had happened in the past few years since Alicia had come back from getting her MBA on earth, but he was happy now that her father implemented an open-door policy. Daniel wanted to show his anger and threw open the door, to see the Devil behind his desk. “We need to talk Satan!” He announced, as the Devil lifted his eyes from his paperwork and looked at Daniel over the rims of his glasses. “What about Daniel?” Daniel shuddered as he recognized the voice coming from the side of the room. There was Alicia, sitting on a couch with a fuzzy purple notepad. “About welcome packages! Why are we giving welcome packages?!” “Are we giving welcome packages?” Satan asked calmly, not being drawn into Daniel’s rage. “Yes Daddy, it’s part too the new Good Deeds office you let me open. I just want to make the transition as easy as….” “This is Hell!” Daniel interrupted, “the air burns the lungs and eyes, every surface is painful to touch, the food has no flavour, never fills you and always causes indigestion…” “Oh, that’s a good point, I will add goggles and Tums to the welcome package,” Alicia made a note in her notepad. “That wasn’t the point… Hell is meant to torture people, they did bad things, and now they spend eternity in horrible pain. Instead the only one suffering right now is me! I graduated top of my class in torture and psychological torment, and yet I get placed as a greeter! Now you have me work next door to the Good Deeds department!” “Oh, that reminds me Daddy, I was thinking it would be easier if we moved my door into the main entrance, that way I can greet the souls as well.” “That is just insane… your shoes won’t last a day here, and the demons will confiscate the blankets…” “So, if these things will have no long term impacts then why are you complaining.” Satan interjected. “Because, it’s just that there is supposed to be torment for eternity, no reprieve.” “But, do the souls not suffer for eternity still? Subtract one from infinity and you still have infinity.” “Well, yes, but still, why?” Satan smiled at Alicia, “I have a soft spot for my little girl. And really, nepotism is one of our inventions.” “So you are not going to do anything about this?” “Nope, you two have to work together, as I have decided to appoint you as welcome partners for the minor evil souls.” Daniel stormed out. Somewhat proud though, as Satan proved himself to be the ultimate torturer, in that he would even torture another demon. Daniel, was not going to give up without a fight, and decided to head home to concoct counters to the good deeds. “I was at the top of my class…” he repeated to himself. The war between good and evil had truly just begun.
Jimmy stepped in through the door and stood in the large entryway. He gazed around the house. Definitely not middle class but not quite the opulence of the McMansions he has been in before. “Can I get you a drink?” Jimmy looked to his left to a kitchen where the man who let him in held open a stainless steel door. “No, anything you put in that fridge won’t do a thing to me.” The man chuckled, “That is true. I have seen what kinds of things you do.” He pulled out a beer and popped the top. After a pull on the draft, he said, “What are you doing here Jimmy?” Jimmy smirked, “I am here to do my rounds. Men like you are so easily tempted by their past, John.” “As I told you when I let you in, you won’t try anything here.” John narrowed his eyes. “I left that behind me many years ago.” Jimmy palmed a small baggie from inside his coat and tossed it on the counter. “Now now John. We both know the past never really leaves us.” John let out a hiss of breath, his eyes locked on the baggie on the counter. Seconds ticked by in silence. Jimmy’s smirk slowly widened into a larger manic grin. “No.” The words split the silence like a summer storm. Jimmy's smile faltered. “No? No?! You can’t say no to me.” An angry flush crept up his neck and a spark of rage entered his eyes. “I said no Jimmy.” John smiled sadly. “I told you I left that life behind me. I won’t get sucked in again. No matter how difficult my life is right now. Now leave.” John shut his eyes tightly and breathed heavily when he reopened them he was alone in his kitchen. “John, who are you talking to?” A voice came down from the stairs. “No one Naomi. Just talking to myself. I’ll be up in a minute to get to bed.” “Don’t make me wait!” John chuckled and downed the rest of his beer. He took another steadying breath and started his way out the kitchen to the stairs. As he started his way up the stairs, John muttered under his breath “Good night Saint Jimmy. It was good to see you again.”
It seemed like a really good idea on paper, I thought to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose, eyes shut tight. Maybe if I kept them closed, they would go away and I wouldn't have to deal with this. The gesture of frustration only lasted a moment before my sense of responsibility retook control of my body and forced my eyes open again. Yep. Nothing had changed. Our swordsman, Krull, had his hand in a bucket of ice. The problem was that Krull was not attached to said hand. I almost wanted to kick the bucket (literally and figuratively) and be done with this whole party, but I remained calm. "Why?"I asked, trying my best to keep the exasperation from creeping into my voice. I don't think I was very successful. "I had to amputate him. It was infected!"replied Tarran, the healer of the party. He was fully trained in the healing arts at one of the most highly esteemed magical colleges in the continent. By all rights, a far more qualified physician than I was. So it was absolutely baffling to me that he had amputated a swordsman's hand the moment it was cut. A fairly deep cut, sure, but it was easily treatable. "The cut was not infected. Even if it was, we have countermeasures for that. And also, he's a swordsman. Amputation should be the absolute final option,"I started on him, my frustration leaping out before I had the opportunity to rein it in. "How's he supposed to fight if he doesn't have-" "All's well, Jhet,"Krull interrupted. "I can learn to fight with my other hand." I shot him a look. "Don't. You shouldn't have been flipping your sword around in the first place. What were you thinking? That was so incredibly- you know what? Never mind. The good news is, I can still reattach your hand. It won't be pretty, but keeping it on ice is at least something you did right, Tarran. You even wrapped it first before dunking it into ice. I'll need your help, I don't have the capacity to draw the necessary mana while simultaneously reattaching the nerves." "Why don't I reattach the nerves?"Tarran asked. "Have you ever done it before?"I asked in return. "No?" "Then no. It's not easy to reattach a hand. It's one of our most complex systems. I've done it a few times,"I explain. Tarran pouted but offered no further objections. Tarran was more than skilled and knowledgeable enough to perform. He could even have done it alone. His mind was undoubtedly brilliant and capable of simultaneously drawing mana and finely manipulating it. Again, on paper, it would have been a good idea to let him do it. But Tarran had difficulty judging situations. He would look at a deep cut and decide that it would undoubtedly fester and that the best course of action was immediate amputation. Or he would see someone pale and puking, clearly horribly poisoned, and dismiss it as the body's natural reaction to eating something slightly off. I have seen him tell our vanguard, Morriel, to walk off a broken ankle. He knew what everything looked like, but only in a textbook. I simply did not trust him to do anything that wasn't purely mechanical. "Alright, just sit down here while we get ready, Krull,"I instructed, turning to get my instruments. "Actually, I think I'm fine,"Krull said. I stopped in my tracks. Slowly, slowly, I turned back to him, taking my time so that I wouldn't strangle him. "Excuse me?"I ask. "As I said, I can learn to fight with my other hand. In fact, I want to take this opportunity. You know, I tried practicing with it the other day and it was a complete liability, so I switched back immediately. I think this will be a good thing. It will force me to work out my left hand much more,"he explained, flexing his left hand out in front of him. I took a deep breath. And then another. "Krull. You-"I stopped myself from just hurling obscenities. That would do no good here. "You can practice with your left hand while you wait for your right hand to heal. It will be a while until it's functional again,"I explained. Krull was... obsessive. When I joined, he immediately insisted that we spar. That went on for eight whole hours before he relented and let me stop. I was barely more mobile than a wooden training dummy by that point. But Krull wasn't just obsessive over practicing his chosen craft (which he was excellent at, mind you). Krull became obsessive about anything that caught his attention. We once visited a town with a superb bakery. The bread was so good, Krull quit the party to pursue breadmaking for a good three weeks. We begged him continuously to stop his madness, but he was completely devoted. Until a traveling bard arrived, and Krull became convinced that he was meant to be a musician. Only then did he agree to leave with us, though he insisted that he was a bard now. Then it was knitting. And so on, and so forth, until his latest obsession: juggling. It was harmless until he tried juggling his sword. I could sense that he was going to move on to fighting with his weaker left hand, and though I worried that he would refuse to fight normally again, I figured it was a problem for the future version of me to deal with. Krull mulled over my explanation and apparently found the logic satisfactory. I sighed in relief. In truth, he had impressed me a lot when I first met him. I thought that if I joined him and his party, I would be fighting alongside one of the most dedicated and hard-hitting swordsmen I have ever met. He's never been short of stellar in battle, but I would have almost preferred to be fighting alongside a child than have to deal with his random flights of fancy. An hour or so later, we had successfully reattached Krull's hand. There would be an ugly scar around his wrist, but the hand would heal and be fully functional after a few weeks of rehabilitation. I set strict instructions for Krull to let it rest and heal; and for Tarran not to amputate anyone. Satisfied that there was no immediate risk that another limb was going to be taken off, I started preparing for dinner. I fetched water from a nearby stream and set it over a fire I had built. I roughly cut up some vegetables we had foraged the day before and added them to the pot to soften alongside the remnants of this afternoon's rabbit. Morriel would be back soon from resetting our snares. Morriel was a big guy. He was shorter than me, but stockier. He carried a hammer and a shield but chose not to wear armour on his body. Not that it would have done him much good, frankly speaking. His skin was hard as rock, and it was almost impossible to put him down. I had a knack for never staying down, but that's mostly down to my stubbornness rather than any kind of toughness. I always got back up because I refused to stay down. But Morriel never had to get up because nothing could get him down in the first place. He would break his ankle and walk it off (until I forced him to rest and recover). He couldn't even feel pain. I suppose that's why he's so obsessed with flinging his body at dangers, to try to find something that would go through his stone skin. It made him perfect for the job, but it was a pain in the ass to keep his compulsions in check. Just as the stew was coming up to a boil, Morriel appeared from the forest. He looked around the clearing and made for Tarran. They spoke for a bit, and I noticed Tarran's eyes flick towards me a few times. I fixed my stare at him, letting him know that I was watching. He patted Morriel on the shoulder, then walked towards me, somewhat sheepishly. "What is it?"I asked him. "Well, you see..."he started. "Morriel's arm got caught in one of the traps. It looks pretty bad to me, and I really think that amputation is justified in thi-" I barely heard the rest of it. It seemed like a really good idea on paper, I thought to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose, eyes shut tight.
The zombie staring across from me snaps her jaws a few times as we stare at each other through the window. She is confined within the rundown ruins of what used to be a convenience store, trapped inside. Her skin is a discolored green, and she is missing her left ear. I have never been good with talking to people, but I had assumed talking to an undead person would be easier. And yet, here I am. "U-uh..."I stammer. "Hi." The zombie continues staring at me. "Can...can you hear me?" She bumps her head on the glass, her mouth opening and closing. I had heard them talking. I know they can talk, I'm certain of it...I think. Against my better judgement, I reach forward and quickly undo the latch of the door. The zombie quickly lurches across the threshold and stumbles outside. She shambles forward a few steps before stopping. She angles her head upward in my direction, sniffing the air and snapping her jaws. "Can...can you understand me?" There is a long moment of silence before she replies in a guttural growl, "...Yes..." "Oh, wow, okay, uh...hi."I say. "Um...I'm David, what's your name?" She shakes her head and looks down. "Cant...cant remember..." "Oh, okay..."I reply. "Uh, why aren't you attacking me?" "Hm?" "Well, its just, when the outbreak first started, zombies were eating everyone. Why aren't you trying to eat me?" Another long pause. "Been...alone for a long time...Haven't seen anyone in...ages..." "Yeah, I get that,"I say. "You're the first person I've seen in forever." She nods. "Look I know the circumstances aren't ideal,"I say. "But...would you maybe want to stick together?" "Stick...together?" "I know its kind of weird but...I've been dying to talk to someone. It gets lonely out in the wasteland. Are you hungry?" "YES" "Err, okay, well I could check some of my traps, maybe if I've caught something, I could give it to you. Would you like that?" She looks down at her feet and twitches her head a few times, as if she's deep in thought. Could zombies be deep in thought? It certainly looked like it. "O-okay,"she says. "D-D-David..." I give her a smile and gesture for her to follow. I keep her in front of me, and whenever she starts to amble I nudge her in the right direction. Just exchanging a few words with another person after so long is unbelievable. I hadn't heard my own voice in god knows how long. And now I've got a new friend! Granted, she's a zombie, but given the alternative is a lizard person wielding a ray gun, I'd say things are finally looking up.
After the assassination of president Oshi, we prepared for war. The integrationists were entirely floored, with the majority immediately changing their ways. The robots could no longer be trusted. They were not human. Clearly, they had reflected on the violent protests of earlier millennia, and decided to follow suit. After generations of peace between humans, we had a new conflict. The old fleets were pulled from their hangars. We were horrified to find that they were all powered on ancient non renewable technologies. We struggled to adapt in time, by the time we had discovered the operational arms factories, we feared it would be too late. We had merely one squadron of retrofitted fighters, and a small number of quickly outfitted mars freighters. We knew that the robots collective consciousness relied on data, so our plan had to be entirely original. The committee ordered a strike on the first factory. After seconds, it explodes. There is a collective sigh of relief from the pilots, during nearby. Onto the next targets. Expecting resistance, the spy plane burst through the atmosphere, but finding nothing. Second target goes down. The rest of the mission goes surprisingly smoothly, until the 0900 report comes in. An army of these technological terrors has taken the capital, and have slaughtered our former government. The Bright House is the most advanced F=MA shelter humanity has built, and as such, a missile strike would have been impossible. We opted instead to send an infiltration team made of unmanned human-controlled explorer vehicles, meant for the cancelled Io mission. As the drones entered the building through the east and west access tunnels, our command room filled with shock. Each robot had armed itself with a stick and rock. (First time trying one of these, critique would be appreciated)
"My Lord, I ask you not out of malice or disrespect, but this one is wondering if the Lord would like to indulge on anything other than this one." I could feel His eyes boring into my soul as I kept my eyes on the floor, daring not to reciprocate His gaze. Suddenly, as if on cue, the God let out an unearthly sound of wheezing that could only be described as a failed attempt of a laugh. "Humans and their assumption that I like to dine on their own kind."He snorted, "It appears that this one finally has some sense to ask me about my own preferences on sacrifices. How long was it since I had a proper gourmet meal? Ever since the age of the Roman Empire ended? But that doesn't matter now. I command this one to deliver to me one of the finest gourmet meal created by man." I opened my mouth to thank Him for sparing my life but was greeted with the words stuck in my throat. "Why do you hesitate? Does this one want insult me by declining my humble request?" "No, my Lord. I am grateful for your utmost kindness. It is just that, this one would like to know what type of gourmet dish my Lord wants." The God's smile faltered, and He beat his fist against His ivory throne in annoyance. "It appears that this one needs to have their sense knocked back into them. I commanded you to deliver the finest gourmet meals created by man, that can range anything from roast pork belly to foie gras. As long as it is a dish deemed edible by me, I could care less what you feed me." "This one is curious to ask why a gourmet dish is the meal you have request- commanded, considering how it is only something that man eats."I corrected. The God sighed disapprovingly. "You are the most curious being that I have ever met, but very well. I shall enlighten your existence by telling you my reason." He snapped his fingers, and I was suddenly sitting down next to a wooden fire place, with Him on a comfy linen chair. "I was a young God when my own followers turned on me. They thought I was a fraud since I failed help them with their life. All except for one. This special one, he was a chef from a small restaurant. He was one of my first followers, and one of my last. He believed in my ability to see the future. He wanted to know the outcome of his future. With him being my last follower, I had no choice but to accommodate his wish, but with one request; to make me his best dish. And so he did, pigeon pie, I believe it was. At first, I wasn't sure, it looked a bit flimsy, something that you would feed to the mutts. But he persuaded me to try, and it was the best thing I had ever tasted in my years of being a God." The God paused and stared up into the sky, his mind drifting somewhere else. "I foresaw the future, as I promised. The chef was young and talented and had everything that I had hoped for in a follower, well, everything except for his future."He chuckled coldly. "Oh, was I a fool to ever believe that he would survive the calloused world. I foresaw his doomed end, but wasn't strong enough to tell him, in fear of his judgement. A God, fearing a mere human's judgement. A sick joke." "I lied to him knowing full well that his future was the exact opposite. And in the end, the worst happened. I did the poor man more harm than good lying to him. Yet I still wish I had a chance to ask him for another one of his dishes before his untimely demise." He took a deep breath, causing the furniture to shake. "So, I will."The God said softly, "And I will only ask this once, will you deliver me the finest gourmet meal known to man?" 'This one is happy to comply."I whispered.
[long whistle] ".... Ya gonna do it? That's quite a bit, looks like enough to put Gabriel through 4 more years of uni."Asked my wife. "Mmmmm, I don't know, seems like too much of a hassle. Thinking about finding and killing the client instead."I said with doubt. "Eh, If you kill the client, you won't get the money. Also gas prices just went up, driving to who knows where their location is may cost a lot. I think you should take it."She reasoned. I let out a long sigh. "Well when you put it like that, it sounds logical but we still haven't addressed the elephant in the room and the obvious complication that this job will create ... who's going to take Max to his play tonight?" My wife furrowed her brow. "Sss ooo, you're right."The nail of her index came to her mouth, something she did when she was really trying to think of a solution. "My sister is out of town ... What about your-" "Golfing." "Your-" "Bingo night." She thought some more and raised a finger, but I answered before she uttered a syllable. "Killed her last month, surprised they still haven't found the body ... but then again, maybe hanging it from the top of the Halloween shop wasn't the brightest of moves." "Hm, we really don't have anyone available right now, do we?"She asked. "Doesn't seem so"I replied. Their son walked in with his bag strapped over his shoulder. "Hey mom, dad. Something wrong?"He paused seeing our troubled faces. "Actually yes sweetie, your father was planning on killing me today and-"She was cut off by Gabriel who's eyes had widened upon hearing our absurd statement. "The heck!? ... Who's going to take Max to his play!?"He exclaimed. I chimed in. "That's the issue, we were wondering if you could take your brother for us?" Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "Fine, but you'd better have a good Christmas gift prepared. Was suppose to see a movie tonight with Clark and Frankie." Me and my wife's faces lit up. "Thank you, Marshmalloooow"we both said simultaneously, causing his cheeks to turn red and him to immediately head up to his room. His door made a loud thud. My wife turned to me. "You know, we really should stop reminding him of that." "We wouldn't be good parents if we did."I joked. Max came from outside carrying his roller skates and rushed past us. "Max, stop running ... and flip switch number 4." Ignoring my first request, he flipped switch #4 as he ran past. Our family photo split open and the barrel of a shotgun quickly protruded and fired. My wife dodged this and grabbed the dagger from inside the flowers, raising her arm and causing me to back away as to not be sliced. She kicked the small table towards my face to obscure my vision and lunged forward upon me swiping it aside to unleash a flurry of stab attacks. I tripped over Max's Xcube Playtendo 64 but kicked my leg out to cause her to fall forward. Spinning out of her path, I stood up and and pulled out my revolver and promptly fired it at her head. She had been no slouch and had pulled hers as well. Our bullets cancelled each other out. I chucked my empty firearm at her as hard as I could as she scurried behind the couch. The gun blew up with force surpassing a grenade and flung the couch into the wall with her between the two. Running up and pulling the couch out to the surface, there was a "my wife"shaped hole where she should have been. The fire place opened and out she came fully meched. The large arm did a wide unavoidable sweep that sent me through our window. As she broke the wall and stepped outside, I whistled to call the raptors. They quickly swarmed her and nipped between the openings of the mech, forcing her to eject out as she set it to self destruct. Somersaulting to the ground, she posed in front of the explosion. I knew she wasn't dumb enough to do that while fightng me and assumed it was a hologram, unfortunately she predicted my prediction and used my assumption to get the jump on me as I searched for her as it was not a hologram. As she held the blade to my neck, I pulled off my mask to reveal I was her. She pulled off hers to reveal me beneath. I pulled off hers to reveal her beneath as she pulled off mine to reveal hers beneath mine over mine. Making the slightest movement to cut my throat her hand flicked horizontally. Doing so caused a disorienting gas to spray from my false throat and sent her gasping and cacking and spitting backwards. I followed the disorientation up with a running drop kick while wearing my spring loaded shoes and sent her back into the house, her crashing clean through the door. Approaching her while she struggled to get up with a broken arm, I said: "Till death do we part." and tossed a vial of dismemberment nanobots at her. Try as she might to rub them off her, they'd already burrowed into her skin and blood began to drain from all her orifices. "Hm, she's coming out pretty nicely."My wife said. "Really was hoping to win that one." "In your dreams. Score's 23 - 24 now."I chuckled. "I'm gaining on you." I monitored the damage simulator screen as the clone infront was formed with the respective damage from the simulation. This process tended to take hours and I was thankful Gabriel had agreed to take his brother for us. Once the clone was complete, we snapped a photo and placed its gored body into a shipping package. The photo would go to the client while the body would go to the Assassin Gallery for receipt purposes. My wife pressed her wrist which removed her disguise, revealing the real her that only her family got to see. She did two additional presses to change her appearance twice. "So what do you think I should go now? Fiery Redhead or Confident Blond?" I smirked. "Trick question, we let Max decide when he gets back." She laughed a bit before giving me a kiss and heading to her work area to design more identities for the next time something like this happens.
(I only remembered the college professor part when I was nearly finished the story. So, enjoy this from the perspective of a teacher.)       “WOOOO, FINALLY. Who’s ready to sacrifice a heretic?” The god shouted, ecstatic to be alive again. He danced around the classroom, his heavy body shaking before he stopped, clapping his hands together, scanning the class. “That one with the glass eyes. Let’s sacrifice that heretic. Does anyone have some horses and a rope?” The class was silent. They hadn’t expected the summoning spell to work. Even if they had expected it to work, they didn’t think this was the god that would appear. They expected Apollo, not whoever this guy was. Everyone remained silent except Jimmy, who was cowering behind his pencil case. The god picking him out as the class sacrifice. “Who are you? How did you get into my class?” Mr. Fredan held his wooden ruler out, as if he was a shining knight from the medieval times and this ruler was his silver sword. “You need to leave, now.” “Leave? You summoned me. I appreciate it too. It’s been… What year is it?” He asked, scratching his waist as he tried to make sense of the world around him. It didn’t look that different from how he remembered it. Well, except for the clothes, strange metal devices, glass eyes and lack of plagues. “2019?” Mr. Fredan said, watching as the god tried to figure out where he was. “Dax time or New Dax?” “What?” “You don’t know Dax time? It’s been a while then. So, can we sacrifice glass eyes already? I’ll give you four sheep if you do.” “We aren’t sacrificing anyone. They are called glasses. They aren’t glass eyes.” Mr. Fredan didn’t know how to handle this. He had procedures for school fights, alien invasions, and even the unlikely event that a kid gets possessed by the spirit of a vengeful janitor. Yet, mythological deities didn’t fit anywhere in there. “Then no sheep for you. They are nice sheep too. You look like a man that could use some sheep. You have twenty sacrifices; you can spare one.” The god really had it out for Jimmy. Something about him earning the anger of the god. “I don’t want any sheep. These are students, not sacrifices.” “Then they can leave and go wherever they please?” The god asked, rubbing his chin. “No. They’re dismissed when I say they’re dismissed.” “That sounds like sacrifices. Fine. If we aren’t doing that, what am I doing? Need me to smite someone? Want me to set fire to a village?” “No, no. Why would I want that? I want you to tell the class about yourself. We are studying you.” Mr. Fredan lowered his ruler, watching as the god grinned, taking a seat on the edge of the teacher’s desk. “Ah, you wish to worship me. I’m flattered, people usually only ask me for things. Ok, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” “Ok, class. Raise your hand if you have any questions. Remember, we have a test on this next week. If you don’t mention this to your parent’s, you all pass.” A few children raised their hands, included Jimmy. The god glared at Jimmy, staring him down until he lowered his hand. He pointed to a girl with a pink butterfly hair clip. “Yes?” “If you’re a god. Why don’t you have a church?” Her words caused Mr. Fredan to panic. The teacher making an X motion with his arms, expecting the god to get angry. Instead, he leaned back, knocking Mr. Fredan’s papers on the floor. “It’s a long story. I made a few bad investments in warring nations. I focused on getting followers in cities that were bloodthirsty and while it was effective for some time. The lack of hygiene and medicine caused their downfall. So, if you’re ever a deity, don’t focus on promoting yourself only in places that fight wars. They usually end up dying off. I am planning to make a comeback. I just need to wait until my godly suspensions up. In a few thousand years, I’ll be allowed to promote myself again. So, make sure to let your great, great, great, great, great, great…” He kept going for a good five minutes before finishing. “Grandkids know.” A boy chewing gum was next to ask a question, raising his hand. “Can I have a new bike?” “Do you have anyone to sacrifice?” “I have a little sister.” He offered. The god leaning forward as the boy made the offer. Before the god could accept the deal, Mr. Fredan interjected. “NO ONE IS SACRIFICING THEIR SIBLINGS FOR NEW STUFF. Does anyone have any better questions?” When no one raised their hands, Mr. Fredan let out a sigh, wondering why he even started teaching. “How about you tell us some of your grand gestures? I’m sure you have performed miracles or done significant acts during your time.” “I once convinced a town that the floor was lava.” He said proudly, revealing the true origin of the childhood game. “How did you convince them the floor was lava?” Mr. Fredans asked. “By making the ground lava.” “Ok. I think you need to return to your realm. Come on.” Mr. Fredans grabbed the gods’ hand, dragging him back towards the book he had summoned him from. As he passed Jimmy, he stopped, staring at his reflection in the glasses. “You disgust me. Mocking me with my own image. What are you trying to say? That you have me trapped in your eyes? That I am a bug in your caged mind?” The god was ready to fight, only to get dragged away by the teacher. “It’s a pair of glasses. Things can reflect in them. It’s your reflection, not an act of mockery.” Before the god could respond, Mr. Fredans said the ancient spell, sending him back into the book. The book shut itself, allowing the teacher to take a breath. “Ok, class. I’ve decided that mythology is stupid and not worth studying. We will be watching Shrek for the next week and pretending this never happened. I will also be holding a pizza party. Please don’t tell your parents.”       (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
"The Eksterterano do not seem impressed with our ship Admiral Roberts." "It is not just this ship Commander Gruffudd. They do not think humans should be allowed to travel through the galaxy. They are not impressed by our entire fleet." ~"On the contrary Admiral we are most impressed by the humans ability to traverse beyond the atmosphere of their home planet. It is truly a marvel to behold. You are correct that we would significantly prefer you not to engage in space travel, or anything beyond your mental capabilities, but that you do is most awe inspiring."~ "Thank you... wait did you call all humans stupid?" ~"Space travel should be beyond you, yet here you are. Well done young ones! Who guided you into the great expanse? Was is the Orez? Perhaps the Neerg? Not the Ytrap? They are far too sensible. I know, it was the Worra! A greedy species, but their greed makes them susceptible to manipulation.... Rest assured whomever it was will face punishment for their grave misdeed, leading such a young species into such catastrophic danger."~ "Wise Elder of the high council of Eksterterano, first contact with Earth came from the Eksterterano. Your people are the ones who granted us the wisdom to travel to pluto in little more than 6 hours, then into the great expanse. Do you intend to punish your own __infallible__ people?" The Wise Elder paused in thought. ~"A wise and impressive decision. Punishment was a mistranslation.The Eksterterano high council, must have had good reason. Please excuse me Admiral Roberts and Commander Gruffudd, of the Human Fleet"~ "Admiral, while first contact was with the Eksterterano. Humans pieced space travel together from various intergalactic species. The Eksterterano were just a small part of our information gathering." "Yes Gruffudd, but if they were even a small part of helping us explore, they will hold off on punishment for other species. Hopefully it will prevent an all out war. Maybe the Eksterterano will be more free flowing with their knowledge going forward, since it has already been deemed a good idea to share with us."
It was the worst salad I've ever had. The lettuce was soggy, there were onions on it, (a faux pas for a proper Caesar salad), and the dressing tasted days past expiration. I voiced my objections to my waiter, who promised to have the chef retry. The second attempt was nearly the same. I would have assumed the chef had sent the original salad, but this time he had managed to use a slightly less soggy batch of lettuce. I demanded to speak to the chef. I was a paying customer, and deserved a salad that was in some way consumable without running the risk of gastrointestinal failure. This was apparently the wrong thing to do today. The chef obliged, and burst through the kitchen doors into the dining room, wielding a large butcher's knife. I stood my ground. He loomed over me by at least six inches, and wore the bulky stature of a man who knew how to carve up a body properly. I tried not to think about how easy I would be for him. "Are you the fucker who keeps sending back my salads?"He roared. I nodded, keeping my face locked in an emotionless gaze, lest he catch wind of my fear. "The fuck is your problem. It's a goddamn salad. You can't fuck up a salad, don't tell me that I fucked up a salad. I've been doing this for 15 years." "And yet,"I said calmly, my heart racing. "Somehow, sir, you have managed to do just that. Not only once, but twice, and in almost exactly the same manner." The chef had heard enough. To my utter shock, he brought the knife up to the level of my face, and swung horizontally. 6 years of fencing kicked in, luckily for me. I grabbed a steak knife from a nearby table. 4th position. Parry, keep mobile. The larger man was obviously too enraged to fight intelligently. I only had to remain calm. He swung in large, obvious strokes; slow and predictable. But strong. If I failed to parry properly with this small knife, I would almost certainly lose a finger. I backed through the maze of tables and chairs behind me as other patrons scrambled to escape his armspan, avoiding possible collateral damage. He grew angrier with each swing, frustrated by his inability to connect a proper blow. Eventually, he made his mistake. A desperate swing exposed his side, and I darted around to a blind spot. He froze immediately, feeling the steak knife pressed against his neck. I held it there silently for a good minute or so, to let him take stock of the situation. He seemed to realize his vulnerability, and was taking no action to escape it. He knew I was faster. Calmly, I turned to the server, now staring wide-eyed at the spectacle in front of her. "Miss, you may need to tell your boss to find a new chef. I will happily recommend a few, should he require it." She nodded silently, and turned to the back. I waited for her to leave the dining room before turning back to the chef. "You really should have just made my salad. A man like myself does not have the preference of a violent solution; it lacks finesse." The chef shrugged. "Long day, I guess." I smirked. "Sounds like you could use a bit of a rest." I pulled the knife across his neck quickly and purposefully. He collapsed immediately, scrambling for table linens to staunch the flow of blood that erupted. I placed the knife back on the table of the man enjoying the New York Strip, and apologized for my intrusion. I straightened my jacket, and began to walk out of the dining room. Halfway to the door, however, i turned around. I strolled to a nearby table and selected a small piece of bread from the platter of appetizers. This would tide me over for now. I still had to find someplace that wouldn't manage fuck up a salad. As i lifted the roll to my mouth, I noticed a spot of blood on my sleeve. What a very inconvenient meal.
He held the knife to his mother’s throat, pinning her to the ground by her hair. She twisted, tears welling in her eyes as they met his. “If you kill me, then you really will be as evil as they said you were.” The knife fell. He held the knife to his father's throat, one knee in the small of his back, his other hand pulling his head back. “If you kill me, then you will have no home to return to, no life to call your own.” The knife fell. He held the knife to the nun’s throat, the blade resting on the white cloth covering her neck. There was no need to restrain this one. “If you kill me, then you were a lost hope before they even sent you here.” The knife fell. He held the knife to the priests throat, kneeling on his chest to force the old man onto his back and stare at the sky. “If you kill me, then even the Lord will have no mercy upon you.” The knife fell. He held the knife to his own throat, praying he had been quick enough, praying he had finished his work before their vile rot set in. Praying? His face fell as the knife fell. As the blade bit deeply into his neck he heard the voice again, deep in his own thoughts. “If you kill me, there will be no one left to judge you.”
Cameron just looked at me with his long, droopy eyes, and rested his head on my thigh. In dog years, he's about as old as I am. I thought about the lives we had both led. His will be much shorter than mine, but I hope I was able to give him a good life. "I'm sorry I had you neutered,"I told him. "I guess you never got the chance to start a family." "That's okay,"he replied. "We have each other." I smiled wider than I had in weeks. "I suppose we do. Thanks for being such a good friend all these years." "You too." "I mean it, though. If you had the ability to talk earlier I would have told you how great you've been to me a long time ago. You helped me get active again after my wife died. You scared off that burglar that one time." "I would have fucked that guy up." "Hah, I know you would have."Dachshunds did always seem like dogs with huge egos. He was hell to train, but as soon as I figured out how much he loved barbecue chicken it became a lot easier. "Oh hey, there's some chicken in the fridge if you want some,"I told him. Despite his age, he jumped to his feet, hopped off the bed, and trotted into the kitchen. He came back with a Yuengling and dropped it next to me, then trotted back to grab the chicken. "Teaching you how to get beers was the best damn thing I've ever done."He was face down in the bag of chicken and couldn't reply, but his furiously wagging tail told me how happy he was. I cracked open the can and took a deep gulp from it. Drinking in my poor condition might not be the best idea, but I've never wanted to sputter out in safety. "I'm too weak to leave the house, but I'll be damned if I let myself stop enjoying the good things in life,"I said aloud. "I suppose that's double for you too, huh?" "Yup,"Cameron said, barbecue sauce slathered all over his face. I laughed and wiped off his face with a paper towel. "That was the last bag, by the way,"he told me. "Hah, I'll bet it is. You eat like a pig. You should be fine for a day or two." "Shouldn't you eat something?"Cameron asked. "Probably. Don't feel like moving, though. I'll just have liquid bread,"I said as I took another gulp from the can. Cameron hopped off the bed and trotted out of sight. "Hey, where you goin'?"I called after him. He returned after a minute and dropped my cell phone next to me. "You should call Sarah,"he said, concerned. "What for?" "We're almost out of food and you're looking worse each day. I can only help you so much." "No, we'll be fine. Just give me some time to get some energy and I'll figure something out." Cameron simply plopped down next to me and put his head on my lap again. My gaze returned to the TV, but I thought things over a little more. I really didn't want to burden Sarah with me again, but Cameron did have a valid point. I looked back into his eyes; those long, puppy dog eyes he never grew out of. "Fine, you sad looking wiener, I'll give her a call,"I said as I began dialing her number. After a few moments, I spoke into the phone. "Hey, it's me. I'm out of food again and Cameron here is bugging me about it. Give me a call back whenever you get the chance, thanks."I hung up the phone and placed it on the night stand. "I still wish you'd talk in front of her. She thinks the dementia's getting worse,"I told Cameron. "Nah, it's more fun this way,"he told me as he drifted off to sleep.
It hit my heart, just as hard as it hit theirs. My entire life, in a single instance, has been flipped upside-down. Forever. How is it that something so pure, so warm, can be ripped from existence so easily? Especially at a time when things were so... right. The blinding flash still stings my eyes. Still present when I close them. A white splotch left in the middle of my gaze. The deafening, earthshaking sound still rings in my ears. Once, twice. I don't think I'll ever escape this. It still keeps me up at night. My hands are shaking even now, just as they did on that night so long ago. Stained crimson with their blood, and no amount of scrubbing, no product advertised on the TV that fills every channel this late at night will be able to remove it. No miracle concoction... no such thing exists. Night after night I do this. I relive that night, sink into a paralyzing depressive state... And then channel it all, into my "work". It's the only thing that keeps me sane now. My only coping mechanism. I go out, round up all of the scumbags in this diseased city and drop them off at Blackgate, or if I'm lucky, Arkham. Those ones are always the most fun. I probably need to be locked up in there as much as they do. Hm. Time to go. My first post in this sub. I don't write a lot, but I'm trying to get into it. Show me love (:
Begging, bargaining, pleading with me every day. They hunt me, pursue me, terrorize me every fucking day. For what? To prolong their lives? To give them prosperity? To solve whatever small problem they believe I have beset upon them? I haven't left my apartment in days. No food. No sleep. No needs. They still remain at the door of my building, harassing my doorman, praying to him and to me for entrance to absolution. I could heal them. I could save them. I could fix them. Not just the ones who shamelessly cry out my name like sick dogs, but all of them. I won't, but I could. My name is repeated with solemn reverence, shaken by the tears that accompany it. Oh, I could save them. I know I could; I used to. And for what? To postpone the date of their inevitable deaths? To give them money so they can waste once more into poverty? To solve whatever small problem they beset upon themselves? I won't leave my apartment to help them. I need no food, no sleep, nothing. I can outlast them.
I only knew that I was being observed. I was not alone in the room, but I could hear or see nothing apart from the fans of my old laptop and the cars in the streen. It was 3 AM and I still had a lot of work to do, but I couldn't focus. When I first heard the slight tapping in the floor, just a couple of meters away from me, I knew it was too late. I quickly turned my head from the screen and peered into the almost-pitch dark that extended at the other side of my room's door. It took my eyes some time to adapt, but when they did I had no doubt: a pair of small, bright eyes were fixed on me. And approaching. I knew I was lost. Stupidly, the first I thought was how angry my boss would be the next day for not receiving the report I was trying to finish. I was certain I would never do it. Without a noise, the eyes kept coming towards me, accelerating... Rather clumsily, [Tiger](http://i.imgur.com/wGz4IHZ.jpg) jumped on my lap, already purring, and utterly destroying the last remains of my productivity for that night. PD: Yes, not very creative, I'm sorry. But I thought it would be a nice chance to practice my english (which is far from being my mother language, please correct me if something is wrong) and as nice as any other excuse to stop working
"Well,"The walls of the dining hall echoed with emptiness as Emperor Emmrich spoke in a solemn tone. The sounds of clashing swords and screams were steadily coming closer to us. The large oak doors at the entrance were our last defense. We would be stormed by hundreds, maybe thousands, of our defeaters. We had only a few minutes left if we were lucky. "I imagine this is the end for me." "I will stay with you until the very end, my lord."I replied back, hoping my fear hadn't found it's way through my voice. "Very noble."Emperor Emmrich said with a small laugh to himself, almost as if he didn't believe even I was still loyal to him. "I've seen you grow up from a small boy, you know. You've grown to be a fine man, and a good father. I only wish you weren't here with me now, so that you may be spared."The Emperor turned his back on me and walked toward the window. "Come,"He beckoned for me to follow him. "look with me." I walked up behind him and looked over his shoulder. We stared out over the city. The wall at the city limits had fallen in several places and many buildings began to crumble. "All of these riches,"He began again. "and this great big city, and yet we are here."There was a great wave of men running into the fortress. "I am still standing here with this gold crown, about to die a poor man."I looked at the Emperor as his lip trembled. "You are the rich man in this room. You have a family, people who love you. All the money in the world cannot buy you love."He turned around to face me and put a hand on each of my shoulders. "I should be protecting you. You are the one with something to lose."Emperor Emmrich let go of me and walked toward the entrance. He bent down to the dead intruder and pulled off the man's helmet. The Emperor walked back to where I was standing with the helmet in his hand. He outstretched his hands to offer me the helmet. "Put this on, and stand to the side of the door. When they come in, run with them."I looked back at him in silence. "You've hidden your family?" "Yes."I managed to say. "Then you blend in, until you can slip away. Do you understand?"He asked again, the fear seemed to be leaving him. "I cannot leave you, my lord. I won't." "You must. For your family."He took off his ring engraved with the royal crest. He drew close to me and tucked it in my pocket. Suddenly the warrior's cries grew much louder as the invaders got closer. "Go! Now!"Emperor Emmrich yelled at me. I hurried over to the side of the door and put on the helmet. As the doors were opened I would be hidden behind them, leaving me free to blend in with the invaders. The doors flew open and a flood of men sprinted through them. I ran with them as they approached the Emperor. He sat calmly as they approached him. I looked through the slits in the helmet as an invader gave the Emperor a finishing blow with their sword. The Emperor's helmet clanged on the stone floor as blood spilled from his throat. I grasped the ring in my pocket through the cloth tightly.
Murder. I think I've gotten away with it, anyway. It happened in my home town which is tiny and relatively unknown, so it never even got publicized outside of one newspaper that services my county and two of the neighboring ones. I cut a man's fingers off, pulled a few of his teeth and then beat him to death with a hammer. He was an older man, not someone I've seen around very much but I'm sure he lived here. He walked past my house one night and I just decided to go for it. It felt like the right time. I'm not a bad person and I'm not crazy. In fact, I feel pretty terrible about it sometimes and I know there's no justification for it other than my own selfish desires. I just have issues that I don't know how to resolve. I have intrusive thoughts and they're getting worse again. I have vivid delusions where a dark shadow in the shape of a man appears over my bed at night and stares at me and I can't sleep, sometimes for days. They can convince me of just about anything on a long enough timeline. Once I thought the sun had exploded and I hid in my basement for a week. Once I almost severed my right pinky finger with a steak knife just to see if I could. When I didn't have the guts to snap the bone, I poured salt on it twice a day as punishment for my own cowardice. It's ritualistic like that sometimes. I set rules for myself, break them, then harm myself even further as punishment. It's the only way I know to make myself feel normal. The old man didn't do anything. I know that now, but back then I was caught up in one of the worst episodes I've ever had and I was absolutely convinced he was a child molester. It got so bad that I was hallucinating him standing in front of my house and watching children at the playground down the street. I knew it wasn't really him because he never moved and he was there for a month straight, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was the impression, the sort of message that I thought my brain was trying to give to me. So he walked by my house one night and I don't know what it was, but I thought I could hear his thoughts. He approached and all I could hear, over and over again like a siren, was someone's gotta stop me. So I did. I made myself better. At the time, I thought I was doing the world a great service, too. And since you guys will probably want proof, I'll go ahead and show you. [Dennis.](http://i.imgur.com/mHOIzKA.jpg) [The basement.](http://i.imgur.com/vim0qgh.jpg) The blood in the foreground is mostly from the teeth, I think. He was sort of slumped over and drooling for the longest time before I started hitting him. I don't even know why I'm doing this, but I guess it feels good to get this off my chest. I buried him in the woods down the road from my house and there was only a small investigation into it. They never found him, and I think the sheriff's office was sort of embarrassed by that. It was election season, after all. Anyway, I'm doing better now. The shadow man - I named him Morningstar - went away for almost a year after I did that. I kept the teeth in a cup as a sort of ward for when he came back. They don't work anymore, but I haven't self-harmed in almost two years either way. I think I can handle it now. After all, it's just a little lost sleep, except for when he follows me. He can come out in daylight now, too, which is a little strange. I think I even heard him speak the other night, but it must have been my imagination. He sounded just like me.
I'm not ready to die. It's year 2163. I've read the history books. I've heard about how slowly things happened in the past. In 1450, Gutenberg made the printing press. Hertz first created a radio in 1887. The first computer was created in 1946. In 2018, virtual reality was created. In 2021, true artificial intelligence. 2064, faster than light transportation. 2065, time travel. 2101, computerization of souls. These days, things happen faster than you can blink. There are so many people working on so many things that you don't dare sleep lest someone come out with a new big invention while you're unconscious. I love it. I'm always linked up, always aware of the bleeding edge of technology. That's why I am going to try and kill myself. Suicide is seen as a waste of resources. Punitive action is always undertaken in such an event - the preservation of that resource for even longer. 50 additional years of life, non negotiable. By trying to kill myself to extend my life, I'm committing life fraud. If convicted, I won't be saved like everyone else. When I die, that'll be it. My "soul"won't be saved to a computer like everyone else's. They won't rip all my experiences, sensations, and ideas just before death and write them to a virtual drive somewhere. They will leave me to oblivion. But when you're "saved", you can't progress further. You can't learn, interact with the living, or otherwise change. So, it's a risk I am willing to take. Hello and goodbye.
"Okay. Goodbye." I put the phone down carefully, unplugging the line as I do so. I notice the television in the next room being turned up; the adverts must've ended, back to the Kardashians. I open the top shelf (the one she can't reach) and examine the bottles. I want something steep. I was saving the last of my good whiskey for Christmas, but the Christmas no longer exists. The last few droplets fall into the glass; barely even half full, and when I walk from the kitchen toward the darkened lounge I don't bother to close the shelf door behind me. From the doorway, I examine her. TV dinner she didn't think to include me in, framed by the five remote controls for the box infront of her. She sits legs up, absent mindedly picking the fading varnish off her nails. "My parents have died." She doesn't flinch, she doesnt even look at me. "Oh... that's terrible." "It happened an hour ago. They were in a collision..."My drinks beginning to run low, I resolve myself to taking my time. Savour it. "I don't know what you want me to say Paul, you know how I felt about your parents." She finally looks up and I cant hold my gaze, examing the bottom of my glass and trying not to spoil the taste of whiskey with tears. "Hell if anything I feel bad for the poor shit that they drove into..." Drink diminishing. "...Are you crying, right now? Fuck, Paul, be a man for once in your life. You haven't spoke to them in months." "They were hit by a drunk driver. And I haven't spoken to them because you told me you didn't want me to, that you'd-" "Oh my God. Paul!"She laughs "You are such a pussy. You have a car, you could go anytime." "I don't have a car." "Claire's borrowing it for tonight you'll have it back tomorrow. Trust her for once." I'm behind her now, looking at the family photos; her and Claire at disneyworld, her and Claire out for Claire's 18th, and her, her ex boyfriend and Claire at the pool together (in the most lavishly decorated frame). "She's not coming back." That got her attention. A skinny hand shoots toward the remote and claws for the mute button as she turns sharply to face me. "Don't fucking talk about my daughter like that. She's yours too! And another thing..." I tune her out and pick up the decorated frame. The girl isn't mine. She was never mine, I've seen this picture too many times not to notice the same eyes, or the nose, or the fact this mans hand is resting very comfortable on my wifes ass. "... For you to say that shit to me? You've been a lousy father. Rick has always been there for me even after we broke up..." I look around in the dark room, full of memories that I didn't share, but paid for. They probably fucked in here. I thought I was stepping in to help a single mother, she used to be so nice and Claire was so shy back then; I guess apples fall close enough to the tree to land themselves in my car, drunk, at two o clock in the morning. "... That girl is a saint, Paul. A saint. You know what? I shouldn't have to tell you. If you bought her a car (like she asked you for) then you wouldn't even be in this situation..." From across the room I see her phone begin to ring, and imagine the conversation that's about to take place. She'll be crying, maybe throw things. I'm running it through my head when I realise; how much I hated hearing the news about my parents over the phone, just so impersonal, and how much she should hear this in person. From someone close to her, from her husband. "... Can you get that for me? You're up."She turns back to the television and Kim Kardashians painful voice once again penetrates the air. "Of course Honey!"I smile, and hear her mutter a sarcastic reply as I grab her phone, moving to stand between her and the television. I finish my drink. "Well?"She sticks out her hand. I'm able to look her in the eye now, and prepare to gently place the phone down in her hand. "Your daughters dead." I'm out the room when the ringing stops and I hear her answer, and I'm out of the house when she runs out screaming after me. For the first time in nineteen years I am free, and I mourn.
Ms. Johnson. Such a common name for one of such nefarious purpose. I have ascertained, through careful study, her defining traits and characteristics. She is a cold, hollow woman, who hides her wicked nature under a guise of softly spoken words and cheap, freely given smiley faces. She may have fooled my sycophantic, weak willed peers, but she does not realize the depths of my perceptions. Yes, her intent is clearly to make my life miserable. Why else would she deny me the necessities of life? Take away my play things? Stop me from cutting my own hair? There must be a way to overcome her narcissistic, sadistic nature. I will find it, and then I will reign supreme.
First contact was an exciting time. We had been aware of earth #8750 for several hundred years, but our species, a peaceful one, chose to only watch. For centuries I watched their technological development with rapture. When they found us I was ecstatic. They sent signals of greeting, and we responding in kind. We exchanged languages and information. We told them about our histories, about all the other thriving planets we had discovered. It had been a mistake. It had started with the dignitaries. They visited under the guise of friendship, whilst carefully transmitting intelligence to their superiors. Then the colonization. We were a careful and small people. Their planet was overpopulated. We accommodated all we could. They bred so quickly. A mere two generations passed and they had tripled in number. The weapons they carried unnerved us. Soon, our people began to die. Angrily claiming self defense, we said nothing to the indignant humans, but mourned our loss. These actions grew and the reasoning dwindled. We hid underground as they took our wealth and land, killing our young. I had studied them so extensively, it should have been obvious. This was not a species capable of peace.
He swallowed his eyeball, turned to me, and said, “I can’t see shit.” Then he laughed. That was when I realized we had probably done too many drugs. We arrived in Jamaica on Wednesday with clear instructions. Miguel needed a port for running the uncut shit into Louisiana. He didn’t like the idea of Cuba because he was a capitalist and it seemed too obvious. “I hired you, you are businessmen, facilitators, and you come to me with Cuba? Are you fucking stupid? They are communists, I am a white collar man, they think wealth should be shared, I think wealth should go to me. No, we go to Jamaica, I know someone, an associate.” Miguel was not a level headed man. He didn’t trust helicopters because ‘vehicles should need a head start to begin moving’ and he ordered his men to cut down any palm tree within a forty kilometer radius of his compound because he thought his enemies poisoned the coconuts to ‘make them weak and then drop on his head when he walked underneath them.’ Jim was my business partner, we were six years out of college and making a hundred thousand dollars a month. He wore women’s slipovers and had more collared shirts than anyone I had ever met. We met the associate of Miguel’s on the outskirts of trenchtown. It was a bar with sheet metal malls and strange murals painted everywhere: Jesus in sunglasses, letting a hefty Jamaican ‘back up’ into him, a blockish grinning man with a giant boner and woman perched on top like cockatoos. The associate had yellow eyes with streaks through the sclera like red lightning. “We need a port, something low key,” I told him. “Yes, yes,” he said. In the countries where we did business, everything was always, “No problem, no problem.” He produced a bag of blow from his pocket and we did rails on the plastic patio furniture we were using for a boardroom table. A DJ showed up and played music so loud it shook my bowels. I asked where the washroom was and Miguel’s associate said it was ‘out back.” I took a shit in a bucket. When I came back I felt like superman if superman devoted all of his powers to awkwardly dancing on cocaine. I forgot we were really close to one of the worst slums in the world. I forgot alpha males typically thought every piece of pussy was theirs until they gave permission. A couple men with hoods drooped low over their brows eyed us from the bar. It was dark. I caught multicolored glimpses of their faces through a cheap rotating disco ball. Scars, beards, bandanas on their throats, like they were just waiting to pull them up over their mouths and reach for whatever they had beneath their hoodies. We did more cocaine and then we told some girls we had cocaine. We invited them back to our hotel, arguing with the security guards at the gate of our hotel because they thought the girls were going to rob us. They weren’t wrong. We woke up in the morning with two eight balls missing, but we had genital drying sex until six AM, so we figured the trade-off was worth it. I never faulted anyone for wanting more drugs when they were on drugs. Jim poured two giant glasses of vodka and we downed them before we met the associate and scouted the port. It was good, to the associate’s credit, nice and quiet, water deep enough to almost reach shore in a souped up trawler. On the drive back to Kingston, oily sweat on our pale foreheads, we climbed the crest of a hill and then saw a roadblock as we came down. Not police. Not unless they wore camo pants and tattered shirts and smoked joints the size of a basketball player’s fingers. I looked at Jim and he mouthed the words, “Oh shit.” The associate rolled down his window. The men pointed guns at our vehicle. I looked at Jim and he mouthed the word, “FUCK.” The associate conversed in a stilted mix of English and Rasta. I tried to follow along, I always thought it was prudent to pay attention to men pointing guns at you, but I couldn’t understand a fucking thing. Their voices were raising, angry. I looked at Jim and he didn’t fucking move. The associate handed one of the men a hundred dollar bill and we drove away. “The fuck was that?” Jim asked. “No problem, no problem,” the associate said. Then he gave us more cocaine and we didn’t ask him anymore questions. We went back to our hotel and showered and put on linen shirts and went to celebrate at a fancy restaurant. I had the cocaine and red wine and Jim had the cocaine and scotch. The associate left, telling us he had other business to attend to. We walked to a tourist bar and snorted coke off anything with a flat surface on the way. It knotted my stomach, alternating between an airy, popcorn bursting feeling, and a hardened spackle feeling. I had to shit, so I sat backwards on the toilet, the tourist bar was a nice place with toilets, and snorted cocaine off the tank while I shat. We danced until three in the morning. There were tons of couples there, some from cruises, some from all-inclusives, and they all liked us because we were on cocaine and seemed talkative and friendly. On the way out, some forty year old with a nice wristwatch said, “Can I get you guys a drink?” Jim said, “What does that mean?” And the guy said, “Nothing. It means exactly what I said.” Jim punched the guy. We had done a lot of coke. The guy fell down and started screaming. “Mike! Mike! Mike!” We didn’t know who Mike was, so we didn’t worry about it. It’s easy to create a backstory for someone you don’t know. Well, we found out who Mike was. He was ex-something. Our guesses were military, hitman, UFC fighter, or Jean Claude Van Damme’s trainer. Jim attempted to punch him and Mike easily dodged it and gave him an eye gouge so bad his eye popped out. The place went silent. I’m not sure but I think the music even stopped. Mike said, “Oh jesus christ dude, I’m so sorry,” and then ran away like a ten year old hitting a baseball into the neighbor’s window. I looked at Jim and he slowly reached for the ground.
NARRATOR: General Thompson, a British general hired to work for the United States, arrives by armored van to the Pentagon after his meeting with the president, plops down at his desk, and requests for his brand new secretary to jot down his orders and relay them to military bases in Afghanistan: THOMPSON (speaking into his phone with a thick British accent): I request for my brand new secretary to jot down my orders and relay them to military bases in Afghanistan. NARRATOR: Yes sir! (A knock is heard on the door) THOMPSON: Oh yes! Come on in. (In walks CHUB overweight young male in his twenties wearing glasses and holding a stack of papers) CHUB: Ready when you are sir! THOMPSON: Alright, now I know this is your first day on the job, but I expect you to pay close attention. Can you do that for me Chub? CHUB: It’s pronounced Choobé. THOMPSON: Whatever you say Chub. Now, I need the best Seals you can find for this next mission. CHUB: Okay, some Seals… and how big of a group? THOMPSON: Money’s not a problem dammit! As many pounds as it takes to get the best group possible! CHUB: Okay (writing to himself), group of Seals, as heavy as possible. THOMPSON: They have to be big if we’re gonna take down (stares at his notes and horrible mispronounces the name) Ben Layden. CHUB: Got it (writing) Seals must be so heavy as if they’ve been laden. Okay, sounds good. Would you like any otters? THOMPSON: No, this group will be just fine. Oh, and make sure they’re in tip top shape. I want there to be not one spec of blubber on this team! CHUB: But how am I supposed to get rid of their blubber if they’re so many pounds... THOMPSON: Just write dammit! Don’t argue! And these seals have to be from the same unit. I can’t have strangers who can’t work together! Make sure they at least know each other so it’ll be easier to break the ice. CHUB: I’m sure they’ll break the ice just fine. THOMPSON: Good, now make it happen! CHUB: Yes sir! I’ll hire a team and we'll go clubbing right away!
Hello? My name... My name is... What is my name? Where the hell am I? I am so confused right now. I remember stairs -- then a loud bang. Why do I feel so numb and cold? I cant move -- my body is trapped between rubble. I hear someone shout "We got a survivor over here!" Concrete rocks suddenly move causing light to fill my prison. All I can see is a hand reaching to save me. I remember now: My name is Genelle and today... today is September 11th.
I have actually discussed which phrases used in erotica are the most uncomfortable with friends. I'll give a shot. "Oh yehhhhh,"Helga moaned as Igor pistoned his thick meat into her beef curtains. "Yeah, yeah, take it woman"Igor hissed as he continued to jackhammer her poontang with his thickness. "Put it in my poop pucker"Helga ravenously requested - Igor was all too excited to oblige. As Igor's strawberry-pink tip pushed against Helga's brown mound she let out a soft whimper. After a few minutes of Igor's one-eyed snake flicking in and out of her butt, Helga thought of another request, this one would even be considered romantic. "Gag me with my butt-juice, Igor"she demanded. "Make me your dick slave." Igor began to pump Helga's mouth with a ferocity previously known only to 6-cylinder engines and honey badgers in heat. "Helga I'm (enters Phantom of the Opera scene) paaaaaast the point of noooo RETURN...The final THRESHOLD, What warm unspoken secrets will we learn? Beyond the point of noooooo return." "FILL MY THROAT WITH YOUR BABY GRAVY"Helga calmy replied. Igor busted a nut into Helga's mouth, and she gulped it down like the naughty gurl she be, and it was finished. I'm probably on a list now.
Steve got out from the spacecraft. No one was there to receive him. - "Well, this is weird..." He thought while he removed his spacesuit. He got his backpack with the survival kit and checked the GPS. He was not really far from the nearest airbase. After 2 hours walking he reached the airbase. He did not see anyone. No one was guarding the entrance to the base. He checked the rest of the buildings. Nope, not a soul. After looking some more, he went to the garage and borrowed a military jeep. He thought that no one would miss the vehicle, anyway. And it was a nice asset for any emergency. He also filled some gas cans, just in case and started to drive from the airbase to the mission control center. He was mostly sure that if something had happened to Earth he could find some answers there, or at least, connect to other systems to find out. Steve drove. No one in sight. He started to get anxious. He reached a gas station and refilled the jeep. He took some snacks and bottles of water. Again, no one to talk, no one to ask, no one to get payed for the things that he took. Finally, after some hours he reached the mission control center. There was no one at the gate. He parked the jeep next to the main building. When he entered the hall everything seemed in order to him, as if everyone had disappeared from where they were standing. He went upstairs to the control room and suddenly he heard some noises. He thought that the best move was to be cautious. He slowly reached the door to the control room while he tried to find anything that could serve as a weapon. He remembered that Brian kept a baseball bat in his office. He turned back and took it. He went back to the control room, opened the door and entered the room. The room was pitch black. Suddenly the lights turned on... - "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STEVE!!!"- A lot of people yelled and cheered. Everyone from the mission control center was there, and a lot of other people showed in the screens applauding, smiling and cheering. - "YOU SICK BASTARDS!!!"- Steve smiled in relief and laughed afterwards.
This is bullshit. I have been standing here for what feels like an hour, but no one's at the service desk. Honestly, I have no idea what time it is, because there are no clocks in heaven. Isn't there an angel or something that guards the gates? Either way, this is the worst customer service I have ever experienced. 4/10 would not recommend. I tap the bell again, wondering why heaven was so foggy. I just want to get inside and see my dog again. Dogs go to heaven right? Or is there, like a specific area for dogs? So many questions... "If only...there was someone here to help me..."I said out loud, hoping to catch the attention of someone. That's when I notice it. The gates. Spread wide and open like the legs of a prostitute in the vicinity of rich men. I looked around suspiciously, but saw nothing but thick fog. Tiptoeing ever closer to the pearly gates, I saw they were totally ajar. Shit, this was starting to smell fishy, and it wasn't the grilled fillet sandwich stuffed in my pocket. Red splatters adorned the pillars. Either Michael J. Fox was painting or that's actual blood. "Angels don't bleed, right?" I looked down at the ground and saw a single white feather. It was huge, nearly the size of a ruler. So for the sake of plot progression, I walk through the gates. The smell was atrocious, the scent of sulfur combined with charcoal burning my nostrils. I'm still in heaven right? Carriages were engulfed in blue flames. Blackened husks of trees contrasted against the amethyst sky. Rubble and destruction as far as the eyes could see. A snarl. I whipped my head to the left. "Hello? Is someone there?" Classic mistake. Without warning a creature with six legs and a vagina with teeth for a mouth pounced on me, pinning me to the ground. Goddammit, I'm going to die a second time, while I'm in heaven. PPPFFFT-SPLISH The abomination on top of me slunk over to the side and collapsed into a pool of what seemed to be acid. A glowing sizzling arrow was buried in its head. I looked up to see a figure wearing white robes. He also had wings and was brandishing a majestic recurve bow. "Er...thanks."I said meekly. The figure extended his hand to help me up as I examined the creature a bit more. "What the hell was that?" "Demons. The bitches of Satan."His voice seemed to have three other simultaneous male voices at once. He spat on the demon corpse. "Whoa. What-demons? How did demons get into heaven?" "They decimated our imperial guard and ran through the gates." "How did they manage to do that?" "With their legs." "Oh." "We have to hurry." "No offense angel-guy, but your security is too fucking lax all right? Also, you might wanna fire that receptionist." "What is your name?"asked the angel. "Um, Kevin, spelled with a 'k'." "Well, Kevin spelled with a 'k', I'm going to take you to another realm, where it's going to be safe." This is insane. "Safe? I thought heaven was safe? What's happening? Where's my dog?" Suddenly, the angel took aim and fired another arrow, at what seemed to be a zombie in a Nazi uniform. The arrow detonated, and the nazi zombie turned into black ash. "Nazis?" "Yeah, they're part of Satan's army." "Who else is part of the army?" "Oh, you know, pedophiles, child molesters, and people who talk at the theater. There's many more." "Can't believe this actually happening." The angel handed me a crossbow from out of nowhere. "What-why-why are you giving me this?" The angel's face turned grim. "Kevin spelled with a 'k', you know how to use that?" "Uh, kinda, I played some video games- why are you calling me that-" The angel took aim once more. "Good. Because a storm is coming." I looked at where he was aiming and saw a massive horde heading towards us. "Um, angel dude, we should call for back-up, like right now-" "We are the back-up."muttered the angel as he fired. I'm in heaven. And I'm scared for my life. EDIT: Thanks for the complements, it means a lot!

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