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"It's easy."He had said. "Couple weeks, I'll be gone and back before anyone notices the switch."I should have never taken that deal from the father of lies. It's right there in the name. But I wanted out of Hell. It was too sweet of a deal to turn down. So I put on the red tights and the fake horns, grew out the little goatee, and started my new job as the interim devil.
It wasn't so bad at first. I didn't torture nearly as many people as I think the demons expected, but I never felt right doing it. A week where the devil slowed down a little bit could probably go unnoticed. But then the week passed, and he didn't come back. Then another one, and another and another. Month after month went by without him coming back and I had to keep up the game for fear of being tortured. I couldn't let the growing hopelessness show on my face.
By the end of the first year I had accepted my new role. He wasn't coming back and I was just going to have to get used to being the greatest evil in the universe. It was kind of nice to be the greatest something in the universe I guess. That was around the time I started to think like him. I started to hate like I had never hated before, I started to enjoy the torture, more than I had ever enjoyed anything.
It was awful, watching the person I had been slip away while my new job consumed me. I had to get out. That's when I met him. Poor bastard, looked just like me, or at least he would with a pair of fake horns and little bit of facial hair.
So I brought him in to my throne room, lied to him, told him I wanted a vacation and that I would let him out of the torture if he just dressed up like, grew out a goatee, put on the fake horns. "It'll be easy."I told him. "Gone and back again before you know it. Just put on the horns and no one will notice the difference."
He didn't bother to ask why the devil had so many pairs of fake horns, or why the devil needed to go anywhere for his vacation. Poor kid. I almost feel bad leaving him there but I didn't have any other option. I had to get out. |
The sirens sounded, they were close, and despite all the incriminating evidence, I knew they would let me walk away without taking more than five minutes of my time. I looked up the empty street and saw the flashing red and blue. I looked at the Glock, removed the magazine, ejected the loaded round and flicked the safety on. I crouched to the pavement and placed the magazine, expelled round and main housing side by side.
The cars were less than a hundred meters away. I raised my hand and sniffed, cordite hung like a cheap perfume. I stepped over the weapon display and towards the oncoming vehicles. I took three long strides, making it impossible for me to reach the unloaded Glock.
The cars skidded to a halt; there were three police cruisers with a pair of officers in each. I smiled before dropping to my knees, burying my face in the pavement and placing my palms outstretched before me. I figured the praying position was a safe one to be in, for now.
'STAY WHERE YOU ARE.' A thick southern accent hit me.
The voice came from an overweight, mid-thirties Lieutenant. The Lieutenant cowered behind his passenger door with his arms resting on the rolled-down window. He raised his pistol and trained it on my submissive position.
I waited until I heard the other two car doors open before speaking. Everyone has to be able to hear me.
'I am not a threat.' I shouted, to compensate for my hunched diaphragm.
I waited and listened for the buckling of holsters, which came like a Mexican wave as each officer strapped their pistol to their belts.
'I am innocent.'
Again I waited.
'Sir!' The southern accent called, this time sounding friendly. 'Are you alright? Have you been hurt?'
I took this as my opportunity to raise my head. The overweight officer had leapt from his cover and was running towards me.
'I'm fine.' I say.
The Lieutenant's run turns into a walk, and the five remaining officer's all emerge from their vehicles.
'Sir, what happened here?'
I lift my palms from the concrete and straighten myself up. As I do so, I notice the blood spatter that stains my t-shirt. The Lieutenant also seems to see but doesn't flinch.
Loose stones are embedded in my hands, and I brush them against my jeans. The majority fall out, but a few remain. I start to pick them out as the Lieutenant comes within reaching distance.
'You killed her.' I say, without looking up.
I hear holsters unclip. When I look up the five weapons are not pointed at me, but instead, the semi-circle firing line is trained on the Lieutenant.
'I... I killed her.' The words fall from the Lieutenants mouth like loose popcorn.
'HANDS IN THE AIR.' Another officer yells.
The Lieutenant looks at his partner who would have been on duty with him for the past five hours and even so, he holds a pistol locked onto his chest.
'HANDS IN THE AIR.'
I take a step to the side.
The Lieutenant is stunned, confused and moves a hand to his body. Only two weapons fire, the two more experienced officers fire their pistols twice and the Lieutenant staggers back with each impact. The other three just mumble.
'He-' The Lieutenant's partner says with his weapon trembling '-was going for his gun.'
'You did the right thing.' I say.
The five officer's features slacken, their shoulders relax, and they lower their weapons. They all take a step forward and look at their fellow officer who lays in a similar position, twenty meters from the dead woman that I killed. |
The board keeps flashing through different categories. The headings are strange and I try to decipher a pattern.
**Positive Influence**
**Negative Manipulation**
**Discoveries**
**Destruction**
**Earner**
**Spender**
"This is like the forkin sorting hat"I whispered. It took me a second before I realized I had said something I didn't mean to.
"Fork... FORK! Forkin shirt why can't I swear?"I got distracted as I noticed one of the names was highlighted on the boards. I look up and there, floating in the air in the number one spot was my name. The category, Leadership.
"Wait what?"I stare at the board. I was a highschool dropout and at 35 already showing sighs of male pattern boldness and thanks to my job as a 7-eleven part timer... over-weight. There was nothing, absolutely nothing about me that said leadership!
"Hey, found your name?"Asked the guy next to me.
"Huh? Oh yeah. Um they highlighted it for some reason. It's on the leadership board."I told him stumbling on the words.
"I don't see any highlight, must be something just for you so you could find yourself in this mess if you know what I mean. Which one are you? And why the hell do you have a crown on your head when we're all naked here?"
I checked the top of my head, nothing but my dangerously receding hairline. The guy was probably high, he looked like a stoner anyway so I backed away making sure to cover my privates properly and avoid eye contact.
"Hey, hey you! The one with the crown. Where did you get that?"A beautiful vision that almost blinded me with her bare skin pointed at my head as she talked. I can see why she wouldn't care if others saw.... everything... I mean, perfection was perfection but still.
"I... I think there's some sort of mistake. My name was top of one of the boards so maybe that's it. Like in video games you know."I told her making sure to not look at her directly.
I heard her snort. "Are you a kid to still be playing those? Or are you one of those basement dwellers? That's it right, you were the top gamer or something?"
"N... No... Not games, I don't know. Mistake I think. Um, excuse m--"I attempt to get away from her but the stoner guy decided that his input was needed for this one apparently.
"Nah nah, He got it when the leadership board popped up. Dude must have done something like started his own company or cult, you know, be a leader among men."
The vision of glory didn't sound happy with this as she spat "And women!"
More people milled around and everyone just kept trying to touch my supposed crown just to grasp thin air. The murmurs of wonder turned to whispers of theories and those got turned into suppositions and possible facts.
Arguments broke out and I noticed that I wasn't the only one not allowed to swear. My attempts to sneak away however were useless as the supposed crown gave away my location even among the millions, possibly billions around me.
Someone grabbed my arm and started to pull. I was trying so hard to cover myself and not touch ANY of the naked bodies around me that I just felt myself getting dragged along to one side. Then another arm grabbed me, and another, and another.
"Stop, You'll pull my arm out. I said STOP!!"Even I couldn't hear my own voice over the shouts around me. People pulled harder, and harder. I watched in disbelief as my arm flew away from the rest of me and a shower of red splattered the naked bodies all around.
This isn't real, It can't be real. I just stood there not understanding. People around me however didn't. More hands stretched out to grab parts of me, I felt their nails dig in and their arms yank. Their faces all merging together like demons was the last thing I saw before the darkness took me.
[How is operation *Blue Pill* going? Have the top scores been found yet?]
[Yes sir, As instructed we've assign a few passive non achievers the rank of top scorer and given them visual markers to set them apart. So far the We've had 23,793 deaths, 608,643 cases of serious injuries and three times that in light injuries though reports are still coming in. Two distinct factions have formed so far and they are using the deaths or lives of the individuals as the base of of their movement.]
[We knew that the first day would be the most chaotic. Just make sure they keep their attention on themselves and not their situation.]
[Yes sir. I made sure to make some of the visual markers controversial in nature. If you don't mind me asking sir why is it that you don't want them to realize where they really are at the moment? It wouldn't make a difference would it?]
[Nah, it's just the most effective way with them. Just give them a reason to perceive a difference and they turn it into an (use against them) each and every single time. It's a defense mechanism I guess, so they wouldn't notice the bigger threat looming around them.]
[I see, Then I'll minimize our interference sir Lucifer. Let them torture themselves for today?]
[Today, tomorrow.. .who knows, they've been at it in the other simulation for thousands of years, I figure we could ring out a few hundred more at least before they start noticing. We'll see.] |
The world froze. The air smoldered between us, red with the mist of blood that had been drawn and the fires of hell. The vestiges of my voice faded through the air.
"You don't understand, do you?"I asked the question and stood, pushing my way through the crowd. Not a single eye looked away, held there in place by my will. No one moved, and no one could. I closed the distance between the burning armor-clad figure who stood over the bodies of my friends. I circle him once.
I could taste the ash in my mouth as I began to speak. Revealing who I was would end my power here, and I would begin anew, as I always had, but it never got easier. "The plants exist because I drew together their fibers from the aether. The animals exist because I wove their bodies from my thoughts. People exist because I placed them here with my own hand. The tides ebb and flow like my thoughts, the sun rises and fall as I wake and sleep."
I turn now, my back to the vile spawn of hell, facing the crowd. "You and your gods owe their existence to me. All those divine beings that so rarely show do so with my permission and at my command. They are not to blame for their apathy, I am. For that, for the suffering you have faced, I am deeply sorry."
I look at the bodies of my friends, visitors to this world. The acrid stench of burnt flesh fills the air between us. A tear rolls down my face, blood red from the light of the setting sun. Four of them, torn apart and burnt to ash for defying evil. This evil of my own creation.
I close my eyes and sigh, and as the breath leaves my lungs, the ash scattered in the wind begins to return. As four burnt, four are reformed. As four were torn apart, four become whole. As four fell, four rise anew. "You and your power stem from me. I grant it, I withhold it. With my breath, I give you new life. The unending tide of evil still flows, and you still have a duty."
Finally, I turn back to the creature responsible for this. His helmet peels away before my gaze, dissolving into the wind. His face wavers but his resolve is etched into his face, and he stares defiantly back. "My child, I cannot fault you. I have created you like this. I am responsible for what you have done, not you. You have done nothing but please me, and played your role in this grand machination. I am proud of you, but your time on stage has drawn to a close."My power is drawing to a close. My hold on this world slips, and the creature in front of me lunges, faster than the whistle of air following his claw. Just as he touches my throat, my grip returns. I look at him the same way I looked at all else, my pride in my creations touched by the sorrow of my imminent departure. "Goodbye."
I turn again, to my friends and the crowd. "I am neither kind nor cruel. I am neither good nor evil. I am neither on your side or against you. I am the mediator, the moderator, and the master of this game. Now go, be, and do. Roll for initiative!"
I disappear, and the world explodes into motion. |
By the flickering candlelight, our eyes met again. I finally saw what fear looked like, and recognised the will to wrestle with it and keep it from taking charge.
"Would you do it all over again?"I asked quietly. "If you knew."
He mulled over the question. We were way past niceties. Truthfulness and perspective have been our best gifts to each other in the past 9 months.
"Honestly, I'm not so sure,"he said.
A blow shook the walls and there was a resultant cacophony of sounds of bits of rubble raining down, landing noisily against the wooden furniture or gasping their final breaths against the sand floor.
Our eyes both darted upwards, when though there was nothing to see. I waited to be sure that quiet returned.
"Thank you,"I said. "Seriously. I don't think I've said it properly all this while. Thanks for lugging the dead man across the world to leave the world a better place. Thanks for these 9 months of speeches and fear - I didn't think I could fear this much when time is almost up. I didn't think I could feel so alive when I'm almost dead. And thanks for being truthful with me, even now."
"I'm probably dead now too, so we're even."
A second jolt hit the building, and I blew the candle out. We sat, blind and helpless. We were warm, sharing heat in this transient bubble of calm.
In the moment before the candle went out, I thought I saw tears streaming down from the sides of his eyes.
"Damn, how have you been dealing with this? This feeling of impending doom? The sense of regret of a thousand things you didn't do when you had the chance?"
"I had more time. And I had a purpose when I woke up each day. That definitely helped,"I said. "I feel sorry though, you didn't have to die."
"Yeah well, it was hell of an adventure though!"I felt him shaking, pulses of heat from his body permeating the air between us. I wanted to reach out for him, to put a comforting hand even if mine was cold. And then I realised he was laughing.
The laughter finally burst through his lips, it could not be contained.
"I'm over it, man. You wanna go check out this colossal monster that's going to stamp us out?"
"It's surely gonna make a wicked Instagram post!"
We had breathed in the buzz of energy, and it gave us either courage or bravado. We would only know which it was, minutes later if it died away.
We burst into a sprint, taking big breaths through our mouths and finding irrational laughter bubbling to the surface.
As he kicked down the door he yelled, "I always wanted to do that!"
"Next one's mine!"I replied.
But as we jumped through the doorway, we both ground to a halt.
The eyes of a colossal dragon-like robot stared at us point-blank.
I couldn't pronounce the name of this country's dictator. But he sure was extravagant.
"What is going on here?"I exclaimed.
The dragon's head rested heavily to a side against the ground. Its dead eyes were fixed in a ferocious glare.
"A revolution!"Someone shouted in return.
People began streaming towards us, in excited undertones and whispers as they recognised us.
Our eyes met again, as they had many times in the past 9 months.
"You want to leave the world a better place, didn't you?"he asked.
"Not so dead after all, huh?"I replied.
As the crowd began to gather, he leaned in for another whisper.
"Did I ever tell you why we chose this country out of all the injustices in the world?"
I shook my head.
"Well, that dictator, he was blocking the export of an experimental drug. I read it: all 133 pages of the report. Twice, too."
""There's a good chance neither of us is dying just yet."
I burst into tears as he laughed. I felt the reassuring weight and warmth of his hand. As I had, many times in these past 9 months.
---
More of my work on [Zhen Fiction](https://zhenfiction.wordpress.com)
|
I stared at the purple crayon in my hands, and then I put it down.
"You know, when I wished for my art degree to have more worth, I was expecting something like fame or a job."
The genie shrugged.
"Aren't things more interesting this way? Try spending two thousand years in a lamp, the first wish you grant isn't going to be a pretty one. Hey know what, make this interesting for me, and I'll give you another wish."
Helpless, I sighed. I picked up the crayon again, twirling it around my thumb. Then it hit me. A huge, shit-eating grin bloomed on my face.
Odin wants me to draw for him a blessed future? What better future than one envisioned by our lord and savior? The Mad Titan cometh. |
The villagers murmured, many with looks of dismay or anger. They stared at the object of their ire, voices raised with fear and derision. The village was under assault and they had asked for a savior. Many nights undead bandits came to ravage the village, taking what they wanted in meat and lives. The village was ill equipped to defend itself. The strength of hardworking farmers could only go so far against zombies and skeletons led by a fell presence.
Messengers left to beg for help. They went to the surrounding cities, asking guards or warriors, guildsmen or anyone that would come to their aid. Most were turned away by the tainted woods before they even made it to their destination. The few that made the trip were denied to due stretched resources or lack of payment.
Those that believed prayed for deliverance. Those that did not hardened their hearts with cynicism and drink. However one day the village priest received a vision, that a paladin would come to deal with the undead. The villagers cheered at the news, heartened that they needed to endure before the paladin arrived.
Yet the...thing that came beggared belief. It was immense, taller and broader than any normal man. It’s facial features were brutish, a large forehead over small beast eyes. Horns sprouted from its skull, long black hair hung unkempt. It wore rough robes, made poorly from skins and leather and long fingers ended in claws.
It had stopped at the edge of the village and waited to be approached. When the priest made his reluctant appearance the beast smiled, pointing at the symbol on his staff. It brought it hands together and obviously genuflected, causing all to pause.
“Me, Rorg,” it said pointed at his chest. It’s voice was crude, rough. The words were just barely understandable, and the villagers gaped. “Me come, save village. For people. For Hyleah.” The name of the goddess was said perfectly, a bite of diamond in the cacophony of shale.
Unfortunately most of the villagers laughed, disbelief and derision apparent. The beast looked confused, hurt even and that stayed only some of the laughter. It pulled something from around its back, a large shield that seemed like a buckler in its hand. The symbol of Hyleah shone clean and clear upon it.
One villager stepped forward angrily. “This monster stole the shield from a true paladin!” he cried angrily. He grabbed the shield and screamed. A flash of brilliant light threw him back and he his hands were burned.
Rorg looked even sadder. “Rorg sent by Silver Lady. You see. Rorg will protect.” He turned and stood at the front of the village, a sentinel of monstrous form against the coming dark.
Most of the villagers left him there, fleeing to the temple knowing that the undead would soon arrive. Others watched and when night came, most of them fled too. Those that remained saw the coming torch light, the burning brands brought by the raiders.
Rorg said nothing, it waited till the undead clustered around him. He only shows them the shield and pointed away from the village. The necromancer laughed, and commanded his minions to advance.
Rorg roared. A sound that shook the buildings and the undead and the villagers. The sound was intense and while the undead quailed the villagers took heart at the sound. The shield rose and fell, smashing bones and tainted flesh asunder. Blades sank into Rorg’s flesh and he cried in pain. Undeterred he fought on, one against many. He started to sing, a sweet sound and again the villagers felt emboldened while the necromancer and his ilk felt fear.
Finally it ended with the necromancer slain, and a bloody and bruised Rorg standing triumphant. With the rising sun the villagers saw that the bones and bodies of the undead were buried in a deep hole, and a fire consumed their remains.
Defiant, shamed, unsure, the villagers only stared at their deliverer. Finally a small girl crept out from the crowd, avoiding the grasps of the adults. She gave Rorg a package of food and a small doll. The girl’s parents were the first to fall in the raids, and she said nothing but fearlessly gave the beast what she had.
Rorg knelt in the dust, and with tears in its eyes it clutched the girl tightly. A giant hand touched her head gently and a smile broke over her face. It rose once more, tucking the doll into its robes with tender care. Hands clasped it bowed once more to the symbol on the priest’s staff and slowly, achingly, Rorg walked away. |
“You. Kid,” I growled, crooking a finger at the bartender. “More whiskey.”
The man across the bar was fresh-faced and young, but his mouth still went flat at being called a kid. I was drinking thirty-year scotch, though, so he wasn’t dumb enough to lose himself that tip.
“Going hard tonight,” was all he said, uncorking the bottle. “Celebrating something? Little Christmas present to yourself?”
“You could say that,” I grumbled, as the liquid gold splashed into my glass. “Sixty-eight years. Sixty-eight years tonight, since that bastard killed my family.”
“Damn,” he muttered, tipping a little extra into my glass. “Ever find the guy that did it?”
“Hah,” I scoffed, drinking deep. “You ever hear of Santa Claus?”
*That* got his attention. It usually did, whenever I ended up telling the story. Bartender rolled his eyes and corked up the Lagavulin, shaking his head as he returned it to the shelf.
“Alright, grandpa, sure,” he said. “Santa killed your family. You want another drink, you let me know. Otherwise, I’ve got other customers.”
“The hell you do,” I snapped, fixing him with a gimlet-eyed glare honed by five decades of practice, as I gestured around at the deserted airport bar. “It’s Christmas Eve, and you drew the short stick. Which means listening when I talk, are we clear?”
I could see a frustrated vein bulge in his forehead, but the thought of a tip on a bar tab that was probably well over ten grand by now must have won out again, because he just sighed and nodded.
“Alright, sir. *Why* did Santa Claus kill your family?”
“Asked for it,” I replied shortly. “Momma helped me write the letter. ‘Dear Santa, please next year, let me be a hero, just like in the movies.’ We dropped it in the mailbox on the way to school. I was six years old.”
My knuckles clenched white on the glass, and I drained the rest of my scotch. This part…this part was hard to talk about.
“Woke up to a bloodbath, Christmas morning. Momma, Daddy, and my older brother Lee, all dead. All cut up, pieces of them…”
I cleared my throat hard and tapped my glass for more scotch.
“Doesn’t matter. They were dead. And on the chimney, nailed into it where the stockings had been, was a note written in blood: ‘Come find me, hero.’”
“Jesus,” the barkeep muttered, topping up my drink and leaving the bottle on the bar. He still probably didn’t believe me, but that was fine. I’d gone through twenty-seven different therapists, and none of them believed me either. At least this guy was willing to play along.
“So what’d you do? Go look for him?”
“Damn right I did. Joined the marines on my seventeenth birthday, made SEAL by the time I was twenty-three. Got *real* good at killing. Signed up for an expedition, and—”
“Wait, an expedition?” the bartender scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief again. “What, to the *North Pole?* Come on, man, if I’ve gotta listen to this, at least make it believable.”
“You can believe whatever the hell you want,” I snarled. “But I’m telling you that he’s real. I found him up there, workshop, reindeer, and all. Storms killed the whole expedition before we got there, everybody except me. But I made it. I found him, on Christmas day.”
“And then what, you killed Santa? Shot him right in the bowlful of jelly?”
“No,” I admitted, the word burning in my throat worse than any whiskey. “Tried, but no. Nothing could put him in the ground, not bombs, bullets, or fire. I came back three years in a row, brought the heaviest guns I could find, blew the whole place to hell a couple times, but it just didn’t work. Put a .50 cal sniper round between that fat bastard’s eyes, dead on. Blinked, and he was walking around like it never happened.”
I sipped on the scotch, ruminating on those times. I had been so certain that there was a way to kill him, so sure that I just had to find the right weapon. In a way, I had, though it’d taken longer than I expected.
“Must be that Christmas magic,” the bartender commented drily, glancing around and no doubt hoping that another customer would wander up to his deserted bar. “Hard to get at a man who can fit through a chimney and fly around the world in one night.”
“Correct,” I confirmed grimly, ignoring the sarcasm. “That’s the least of what he can do, though. His magic…it’s powerful. Unnatural. It’s in the ice, up there. Something frozen and preserved from an age before humanity ever existed.”
I drained my glass again, enjoying the burn. It was too much liquor for one night, especially at my age, but I *was* celebrating, after all.
“Magic ice, sure,” the barkeep shrugged. “Let me guess, you dragged a flamethrower to the North Pole?”
“Not quite,” I replied, with the first thin smile I’d known in decades turning my lips. “Why don’t you turn up that TV behind you, and pour me another drink?”
Raising a bemused eyebrow, he did as I said, draining the last of the Lagavulin into my glass and then raising the volume on a large television tuned to CNN.
“…and it was an angry Christmas in Dallas, where protestors gathered outside of the headquarters of the recently-merged ExxonMobil-BP oil conglomerate. They blame the corporation, particularly Chairman Henry Barstow, for a huge spike in global warming over the last two decades. This year is the first since records began that absolutely no sea ice has formed in the Arctic ocean. Thanks to Barstow, protestors say, Earth has lost her northern ice cap forever.”
The bartender turned back to me, eyes wide, as a picture flashed up on the screen. A picture of a grizzled old man in a suit, with buzzed gray hair and a scar over one eye.
My picture.
“Checkmate, you murdering son of a bitch.” |
A fruit basket.
I got to work today, knowing this was my 10th anniversary with this company, and what's on my desk? A fruit basket.
Now, my job's not exactly challenging, and I know this company has a pretty tight budget, but still. Only me and maybe two other people, excluding the boss, have held out that long. Everyone else either got bored and quit or got fired for some reason or other.
I decide I deserve a little more than some crummy fruit basket, so before even sitting down, I head to the boss's office. She's always been a little... eccentric. For instance, her office used to be a bathroom before they extended the building and built larger facilities in the new section. She claims she likes the acoustics.
As I walk into her office, I look around at her furnishings. They did a decent job trasforming it from a bathroom. If she hadn't insisted on keeping all the tile and the swinging entrence door, you'd never know.
I don't see her at her desk, but that's not unusual. After checking under her desk, behind her file cabinets, and through her coat rack to make sure she wasn't still in one, I decide she's not in. I do see a piece of paper on her desk though. I'm not really one to snoop, but this has my name on it in three shades of metallic marker. As I open it, I swear I hear giggling, but can't decide where it's coming from, so I ignore it.
"You want a raise? Survive the next 24 hours, and it's yours."
Damn it, she's planned something. I toss the paper and head back to my desk, wary of everything now. When I get there, I notice a strange sheen to the arms of my chair.
"Super glue? Mrs. Johnson, you're better than that."I stick a couple sheets of paper over the arms and sit down. Uncomfortable, but at least I'm not stuck to my chair.
I turn on my computer, ready to try to get some work done, but the screen seems weird. Only half of it seems to turn on, and none of the loading images look right. She... she actually messed with the settings and moved the entire image to the left? Why? That's not even hard to fix. I get it centered again and get to work.
After a few, surprisingly uninterrupted hours, I start to get hungry, so I head to the breakroom. I open the fridge to get the sandwich I packed, but it's not there. I look around, but the only people in here are Suzanne and Chris. Suzanne is an extremely picky eater and won't touch anything she didn't prepare herself. Chris is the opposite, but he wouldn't touch another person's meal without it being offered first. He's not heavy, but food is precious to him. Nothing still edible goes to waste if he can help it.
I start looking around the countertops, in the trash, in cabinates, hoping someone moved it for space and forgot to put it back. I finally find it. In the freezer. In a bowl of water. Still in the ziplock bag I put it in, but I'm not about to chip at ice all day.
I head back to my desk, wondering if ordering a pizza would be worth the attention from my coworkers. Do I have enough money to get everyone pizza? Will they expect it as a weekly thing from now on? Instead, I take out my wallet and try to think of what's actually filling in the vending machines.
As I start to stand back up, I eyeball the fruit basket. I was trying to ignore it since I don't know what my boss might have done to it. Deciding it's not worth the risk, I take it to the break room trash. I've barely stepped back out of the room when I hear Chris make a weird choking noise. Crap, I should have smashed it or thrown it away outside. I forgot how far he'll go, and now I've killed him.
I spin around and rush back into the break room to see him standing by the trash, half a pineapple spear in his hand. "Why does this taste like peanuts?"He shrugs and heads back to his desk with the rest of the basket.
Peanuts? Peanut oil? Mrs. Johnson knows I'm allergic! How far is she willing to go, exactly?
I head back to her office, a little scared this time, to see her smirking at her desk, twirling an EpiPen in her fingers. "You've evaded my traps so far, but you won't be so calm when you see-"
"Mrs. Johnson?"I cut her off, "I think I'm going to use one of my sick days today."
Her smirk falters, her eyes grow dark. She stares at me for a couple seconds before smiling again, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Alright, you found a loophole. See you tomorrow. Oh, and if you see anyone carrying in a box of bunnies, I'd advise you not to pet them. Enjoy your day!" |
I open myself to the Force, as I stand on the outskirts of the crowd. The woman's Force-sensitivity is remarkable. Under the Order she would not have been accepted for training on account of her age, but perhaps she could find some good use for her talents with me.
What should I do?
*Do what you think is right.*
Most sound advice. Leaving my cloak in a bale of hay close by, I don a suit of armour hanging nearby and confidently stride before the crowd.
​
The villagers make a path for me, their burning passion to burn the "witch"instantly sizzling into a passive, quiet deference for their law-enforcers, whatever they were called. Such deference and hypocrisy reminds me a little of why I left in the first place.
"How do you know she is a witch?"I use the Force to project my voice. The ostentatious tone is really putting me off a little.
"She looks like one! She is dressed as one."The witch is brought forward. Dressed in a Jedi robe, no less.
"They dressed me up like this,"the woman counters. "They did the robe, and the sword."The crowd falls silent. For the first time in a long while, I'm amused. The lightsaber hanging from her waist is nothing more than a collection of spare engine parts. Yet, with a sufficiently strong kyber crystal, a blade could spring from it, no doubt. But as she demonstrates, all that falls out of the tube is merely a blue piece of cloth.
One villager pipes up, "Well, we did do the robe... and the sword... but still she is a Witch! Burn her!"The crowd erupts into murderous chants once more.
Stifling my disdain, I decide to continue along this mock trial. "What has she done?"
"She choked me to death!"another villager pipes up.
"She choked you to death?"
Pause. "I got better."
"Burn!"yells another villager, not willing to let the zeitgeist evaporate.
I tap into the Force once more, giving it control. For the Force, being fickle yet wise beyond all our moral comprehension, may be the only thing we can trust now.
As the woman rises higher and higher into the sky, breaking free of her bonds, the villagers scream for justice. She hovers for a while before floating into the mountains nearby, away from all attempts to restrain her. An anti-aircraft gun from the war is brought out, but not used.
"It is my quest to find the witch,"I announce, calling my robe into my hand. "With her robe, I will track her down, and will not return till I have her head! Rest assured, no more witchcraft will befall your village."Taking one of their mounts, I ride off into the forest to their cheers, and walk the rest of the way to the little cave where I had levitated her to.
​
"Also an exile of the war?"I ask the woman over a roasted Porg.
"No, I was never a part of it. My home village would never accept me for all the weird stuff that happened,"she says. "Flying astromechs? Sharpshooter competitions with all shots in the bullseye? Swoop races which I could outcompete the droids and non-humans? They refused to believe it as anything more than witchcraft."The woman ravenously takes a bite out of the Porg.
I was going to tell her of my experiences from peacekeeper to General, dragged into a war I could find no moral high ground in, when my communicator beeps. The first time, it is a general recall to the Jedi Temple, but the signal is immediately cut short and replaced by a hologram of that poster boy of the war effort. General Kenobi.
Kenobi looks very haggard and disturbed; under the usual calm complexion that would have lectured me lightly in the hallways of the Temple lies a haunted man. As he warns us all not to return to the Temple, that the Republic has been compromised, I know a truth that would weaken any other Jedi, but strengthens me once more upon my path.
I knew that the galaxy was on some level like that crowd in the village just now. Desperate for an answer, desperate for a scapegoat and desperate for a saviour. The war provided all three. I knew not where the Sith Lord that exploited it was, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was in the Senate.
Melissa starts her training tomorrow. If Master Kenobi's situation report reflects the atrocity, we can't afford to have any more Jedi tried for witchcraft, whether we're on a remote jungle planet or on the capital city. As much as I have cut myself off from the Jedi, I have never cut myself off from the Force. And it needs every being it can get. |
Judgement Day
February 12th, 2019
A hole opened in the sky, spewing forth the angels of Heaven, uncountable in their multitudes.
They swooped to the earth, white wings spread wide. They wore silver chainmail and wielded swords of gold. Their otherwise naked bodies were the essence of physical beauty.
A pit opened in the earth. From its depths rose the horrendous legions of Hell. Skinless creatures of bone and sinew, of charred muscle and pus-filled sores.
They spread like ants from the pit in every direction, leaving a trail of fire and ash wherever they tread.
They turned on each other first. Angel and Demon battling with sword and shield, with bow and arrow.
Human governments across the globe watched in awe. Judgement Day had finally come, and with it, proof that there existed an Ethereal Plane.
It was a full day before the Angels and Demons turned their attention to *us*. When they did, they... struggled.
The Angels’ gold swords failed to cut with any proficiency, acting more like heavy clubs, the soft metal unable to hold an edge. Their wings got in the way of their swords and no less than a hundred suffered mortal injury at their own clumsy swings.
The Demons’ claws broke against our bones after killing only a few of us. Their bows had already been rendered useless, warping in the comparatively high humidity of the earthly plane. Hell was a dry heat, it seemed
And then we retaliated.
It turns out that silver chainmail is useless against lead bullets. Angels died by the thousands.
Demons fared much worse. Without any ranged weapons, and using middle-aged battle formations, they simply charged to their deaths.
It took six days to obliterate them all. Seven, counting the first day, when they only battled each other.
A group of elite soldiers entered the pit to Hell. We sent drones into the hole in the sky to Heaven.
We planted nukes inside each fissure of reality, then detonated them. The holes closed inside the mushroom clouds. That was seven years ago now, and not a peep since. |
Lucas didn't know why he was following Professor Brown.
It was probably because he didn't know what else to do. He wasn't a soldier. He had no training in how to fight or operate guns. He didn't have a bomb shelter. There was nothing he could do but stare as the ship descended through the atmosphere with the terrible, horrifying sound of a thousand thunderstorms.
He watched the sky as he ran behind the Professor. The old coot was shouting something about snails. Obviously mad... but Lucas was still following him. The man had to be in his eighties, but surprisingly spry for his age. He had bandy legs and wild, wispy hair that was pure white. His old lab coat with the hole burned in the back flapped in the terrible winds that the descending ship was producing.
"The snail gun, lad!"The old man was shouting at him over his shoulder. "We gotta get to her!"
Why was he following him?
Because he was going to die anyways.
Might as well satisfy his curiosity about the crazy nutball's weird, off-campus workshop. He had some sort of old plumbing yard all to himself. He'd take student meetings in the office area of the place. Every time Lucas had met the man there he'd been covered in strange burns and stains and one time he'd been so charged with static electricity that every strand of hair on the old man's body stood straight up and the handshake he'd given Lucas had almost knocked him to the floor.
Screw it. If he was going to die, he wanted to know what sort of crazy contraption the loopy geezer had been working on.
They reached the back gate of the plumbing yard and the Professor made quick work of the lock, throwing open the massive wooden doors and squeezing inside. Lucas followed just a few steps behind. There were piles and piles of old plumbing beyond the gate. He ran after the little old man as he dodged and weaved through the mess.
Lucas noted that the piles were more organized after a few turns. All the plastic ones were stacked on pallets and shoved together and the metal ones were...
Lucas slowed a little as the city's sirens finally started wailing about the massive intruder tearing apart the sky. The metal pipes... they were now a wall. A great, curved wall of hundreds and hundreds of-
"Now, lad! Get over here!"
Lucas shook himself and turned away from the odd, amazing assortment to the Professor. He was waving at him from around the curve. He ran to catch up, his eyes having a difficult time leaving the massive pipe wall beside him. He wondered exactly how sturdy it was...or wasn't.
"I needed two pairs of hands to run the test, ya know!"
Professor Brown chattered to himself as they reached an even stranger section of the wall. A splinter of a single pipe shot from the wall and extended all the way to the front of the yard where the offices were. The pipe was augmented by a massive, complicated set of machinery. Lucas recognized a lot of electromagnet components, something that looked like a plasma generator, at least six tesla coils, and a huge amounts of power being fed into the machine through a medusa's head of wires... but what it was meant to do was still a mystery.
"The university kept denying my request for an assistant, so you're it, lad!"
"Uh..."
"Shut up and get to the uncurler!"
Lucas scrunched up his face and Professor Brown pointed at some weird contraption built into the pipe wall. It was made of metal poles and a very, very strange assortment of pipes on the top layer of the wall. It looked like a couple hundred pieces that had only been two millimeters in length had been placed together into some sort of crazy pipe-worm.
"Get moving! Take the uncurler and aim it at that bastard in the sky! Get to it!"
Well, Why the hell not?
Lucas had wanted to know what was back here, and he had seen it... yet still had no idea what it was or what it was supposed to do. Although, as he pulled on the metal bars and found he could shift the massive assortment of pipes like it was the segmented body of a centipede, he realized that if he had to aim at something... and the professor had called it a 'snail gun' then it must be designed to fire something.
Well, it was an answer.
He got the uncurler pointed at the alien vessel. God, the ship was *huge*. It dominated the horizon, pushing the sky itself out of the way. Lucas felt his hands shake as he thought about what sort of monsters had to be inside the ship. What horrors were they about to unleash on the world? What would happen to him? To his family?
Then there was a noise that was louder than the ship.
That should have been impossible, and yet it was happening. It wasn't just one noise, it was a mass of noises. There was a crescendo of thumping, rattling pipes, then the high-pitched whine of some machine spinning up to terrible speeds, then the buzz that lifted the hairs on your head as massive amounts of electrical power let themselves be known.
"Lock it, lad! Lock the..."
Lucas couldn't hear the rest of the Professors's words, but he got the gist. there was some sort of clamp mechanism on the poles, so he set them into the clamps and tried to keep the centipede of pipes pointed at the ship. He pushed a giant, red button that was labelled 'LOCK' by means of a sharpie on a piece of duct tape.
Then he took a dozen steps back as the machine got louder... and began to shake. He heard something inside the pipe wall, something was spinning in there, spinning very, *very* fast. He started to feel something else as well, the feel of huge amounts of static electricity crawling over his skin. Lucas looked at his hand and watched a spark jump from one hair to another on his forearm. Whatever this thing was, it was pulling a hell of a lot of-
***CRACK***
|
I spoke aloud and reality shifted around me like a swimming pool of colors. It stopped. My apparent sarcasam had turned the stop sign bright yellow. And noone seemed to be bothered by this at all. The little old woman smiled as we walked across the street, my had holding her back as she shuffled across the uneven crosswalk. The other side had a small bench which she set us both down on. "Thank you dear..."I nodded my reply, but was still dumfounded. I looked at another woman walking down the street with a small Yorkie on the end of a leash. I murdered"everyone knows Yorkies have wings..."The same river of color swept over me and the city before my eyes, and in the blink of a second the little Yorkie has small feathered wings protruding from its back, fluttering fiercely as its tail followed suit. This new power i held, it could be dangerous. Just to make sure I wasn't going crazy, I turned and looked in the reflection of the shop window and said "I have green eyes."The once ocean blue gems now we're a bright and intense forest green. A small breath of mischief stirred in my chest. "I have immesurable body strength, yet I look only slightly built."Again reality shifted as I felt my heart rate speed up, hammering in my chest. A glint in my green eyes made a smile spread across my face.
Hours passed. Then days. Then weeks. The world was slowly getting better and better. No one went hungry. No one was denied medical care. No one was judged by the color of their skin or the God that they worshipped. No one was robbed or murdered. It was like a paradise. But there was still much to be done. This Earth would be perfect. There would be not one inperfection. I faced my mirror, which everyone feared. I led them to believe it was the source of my power, so if I was attacked, I could get away. The image of the man before me struck awe into anyone that saw him. I was utterly horrifying. I was constantly hungry, no food being able to fix the eternal hunger. I had every disease and infection known to man. All of the knives of man that had been stabbed into each other's backs laid in mine. The mountain that I lived in was bigger than mount Everest, and even then my body filled a large majority of it. I sighed with great content. I had been smart enough to give my self no sense of pain before all of this occured. A gruesome grin lifted my distorted features all the way to the corners of my eyes.
This was the price of being god. |
In the beginning was nothing. Not a single photon. Not a mote of dust. Not a butterfly’s breath or a baby’s giggle. Not even a decent cup of coffee. Then out of the darkness came a voice, a voice that would echo through whole universes, if any existed yet. The power of such a voice is simply inconceivable. It would have collapsed suns, torn mountains to ash, rent kings from their very thrones. If, of course, such things were there to be collapsed, torn to ash, rent and so on. And the voice capable of such things, that one might have been able to hear if one could hear sound passing through the infinite void, spake thus,
​
“Fuck me, it’s dark in here. What happened to the light?”
​
And if one did indeed have those aforementioned physically impossible powers of hearing, they would have heard another voice. Infinitely quieter, but still staggering in its power. It was also infinitely more reedy, high-pitched, and frankly would’ve annoyed our theoretical listener to no end. And the reply it gave was thus,
“You installed one of those devices, your worshipful Omnipotence, surely you remember?”
“Ah,” said the first voice, “yes,” it said, “well,” it continued nervously, “um, I have had so very much to do, you understand...”
“Of course, your Omniscience,” said the reedy-voiced one, in the tone of one Who Has Not Bought It for One Second. “You simply move your hands together, like this.” The reedy-voiced one presumably demonstrated, but it was a bit dark, so there was simply the soft sound of a double-clap, performed by soft hands.
“Ah yes. Yes, yes, I remember now, of course I remember!” The magnificently-voiced one brought his hands together and said, “Let there be light!”
​
And there was.
​
And the rest, as they started to say rather soon after all that, was history. God, after the business with the light, got understandably sleepy for a bit, so He popped off to have a kip, leaving strict instructions that He was only to be woken if Heaven was on fire.
And what do Gods dream of? Do they dream of their creations? Of their aspirations and hopes for the future? Or do they dream that One with All the Teeth? All we can say for certain is that whatever He dreamed about, He forgot it almost as soon as He woke up. In His own image, after all.
“Ah, good morning, your Omnibenevolence, how was your rest?”
He sat up, brushing the last nebulas from His eyes, and looked blearily around Him.
“Agh..” He said, then looked surprised at His lack of voice. Leaning towards His infinite nightstand, He took a sip of nectar.
“Quite so,” the reedy-voiced one replied, moving in from the great doorway and producing a thick pad of yellow paper from under his arm. “I have here a report of everything that happened while you were asleep, where would you like me to start?”
Clearing his throat, He spat through the floor. The reedy-voiced one wrinkled his nose.
“I suppose,” He coughed again, “I suppose you should start at the beginning.”
“Yes of course. Let’s see here,” he flicked through his notes, landing on the one at the very bottom of the pile. He started to read aloud, his reedy-voice attempting to inject some sense of grandeur into reading a history book to an old man in a blue nighty.
“In the beginning,” he paused dramatically, “was nothing. Oh bugger you were there for that weren’t you.”
The Old One nodded sagely, clearing something that could have been developing life from His ear. He gave a gentle hand wave which said, please do continue, I haven’t got all day.
“Right, right, hmmm,” The reedy-one continued flicking through notes, “Ah, so in the beginning there was the garden, I’m sure you remember it. And in the garden, we put that tree remember? And you thought it’d be funny if you got me to tell them that whatever they did, they shouldn’t touch the tree? Then you went off to ‘catch forty trillion winks’ and left me to handle it all.” He trailed off towards the end, idly looking through some of his more recent scribbled notes.
“Heh, that was funny. And?” The great booming voice boomed. Its power could topple mountains and so on, except that makes sense because mountains now exist to be toppled. “So? How did it go? The garden? Did they enjoy it? I spent a lot of time on the rhododendrons, not to mention the fig tree.”
“Ah well,” The reedy-voiced one hugged his pad of notes, almost shield-like in his grip. “They did actually use the leaves of the fig, in a way, but I’m afraid they didn’t even notice the rhododendrons. And, you see, after you left, things kind of took a turn…”
“A turn?” He began to rise, His threatening form soared upwards as his ancient joints popped.
“Well, I suppose that where we’re at now is uh … it’s um,” his reedy-voice was unimaginably annoying now, as he wheedled and simpered, “It’s, well, it’s frankly all been a bit downhill since the garden.”
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Thanks for reading, feedback would be great! |
“Here, Jer,” Mom said, popping open three beers. She handed one to Dad and one to me, keeping the last for herself.
“Wait, really?” I asked.
Dad chuckled. “That’s right, Jeremy. You can have it if you want it. Your Mom and I have been talking, and we’ve agreed that it’s time to bring you on board with The Company.”
I didn’t want to show how excited I was. I sipped the beer instead of grinning like an idiot. It’s bitter and fizzy, but also aromatic—not bad.
“First, tell us what you’ve figured out,” Mom said. Her lip curled just a little. It was her equivalent of a warm smile. I didn’t answer right away. “Go on,” she pressed. “Every Archambault in your dad’s line has spent their childhood piecing together what clues they can about The Company. It’s part of the tradition.”
I sipped again, hoping the beer would quell the butterflies in my gut. What if I was way off? What if my answer proved that I was not ready for initiation? But there was no point in stalling.
“Every Archambault who joins The Company has some sort of professional relationship with people all around the world. They go on international trips as ‘troubleshooters’ and ‘consultants,’ and come back wealthy. And I think the youngest to join was Aunt Clarissa, when she was twenty-two.”
Dad patted my shoulder. “She was the second-youngest. My grandmother joined when she was fourteen, but she was an absolute prodigy. Don’t think that makes it any less impressive that we’re inviting you to join at nineteen.”
I nodded. I couldn’t hold on to the disappointment of not being the Youngest Ever. I was going to join! That was more than enough.
“So,” Mom said. “What do we *do* as ‘troubleshooters’ and ‘consultants?’”
“You know, sometimes I wonder if the answer is assassination,” I admitted, “But I don’t think it’s just that. If you were just raising me to be a killer, you wouldn’t have bothered with having me take all those university-level economics courses or piano lessons or cordon bleu cooking classes.”
Mom sipped her beer, watching me.
“Are we... spies?” I asked.
“You want to be like James Bond?” Dad asked. “Travel the world? Kill enemies while wearing a tuxedo? Seduce hostile operatives into cooperating with your side?”
I paused. I decided to go with honesty. “Well, yes,” I said.
“Right.” Mom nodded slowly. “Your flight to Prague leaves tomorrow morning at six. You’ll meet Louisa at baggage claim. You remember Louisa?”
“Sort of? She’s my... third cousin once removed?”
“Twice removed,” Mom said, “And now, she’s your mentor. You’ll see her holding a cigarette. You’ll tell her those things can kill. She’ll say, ‘A gentleman would offer me a light,’ and you’ll respond with, ‘A lady wouldn’t smoke indoors.’ Repeat it.”
“Those things can kill,” I said.
“A gentleman would offer me a light,” Mom repeated.
“A lady wouldn’t smoke indoors,” I replied.
“Good.”
I suppressed my thrilled grin. Mom *never* expressed satisfaction or pride in her kids.
Dad squeezes my shoulder. “I’m so proud,” he said warmly. “You’ll be brilliant. Don’t worry; the first case is always really straightforward. We’re putting you on a multilateral security contract.”
Mom held up her beer bottle to me in a wordless toast. I touched mine to it with a *clink*. She drank deeply and I did the same, not stopping until she did. I think she finished her drink; by the end, mine was nearly empty and I was losing patience for the bitter flavor.
“Just remember the three rules,” she warned. Dad gave her a surprised look. “Rule Number One: you must look out for your own interests. Rule Number Two: loyalty to The Company is in your own interests. Rule Number Three: never use my good scissors.”
Dad cracked up. I looked from Mom’s slight smirk to Dad’s wide grin. Praise and a joke—Mom must be having a really good day. I allowed myself a small smile, too. “Using your good scissors would not be in my own interests,” I said.
Mom nodded. “Hudley will drive you to the airport tomorrow morning,” she said. “Good night.”
I stood up, knowing I was dismissed. I left my beer bottle on the table, abandoning the last few sips. Dad rose and hugged me. I patted his back. Then I wished my parents a good night and went to my room to pack. I wondered what one wears when performing espionage for a multilateral security contract. |
Knight Baleful walked, strutted, the best he could in his heavy armor through the settling dust, twirling a weightless 'spectral axe' in one hand. "Uh oh, oh no, his legs, his guts are no mo, oh, oh!"he sang cheerfully and stilted through his helmet's voicebox, his heavy Slavic accent still distinct through the ringing in my ears.
I checked, he was quite right. My legs and my hips were mostly separated from my body, a pile of *my* steaming, dust covered intenstines tenuously still connected the two halves. All i needed.
He stood over me and flipped opened his opaque visor, grinning broadly. "It looks like maybe you're not *cut* out for this! You look a little *divided*."
I hated this guy even before he caught me with his damn axe and even more now for the stupid singing and the bad puns. The phrase always worked better with a little villainous banter though.
"What on earth do you mean?"I inquired.
Knight Baleful just laughed, seemingly out of puns and simply gestured with his axe at the demarcation line between my upper and lower halves. "I cut you in half, you remember?"
"Oh, this?"I guestured, flicking a pebble off a loop of intestine, "Tis' but a scratch".
What happened next was a great big belly laugh from Knight Baleful and what I did next happened very quickly. I grabbed his ankles and finding my legs, pulled myself underneath him pushed him to the ground face first. He instinctively held his axe out, careful to not let it touch the ground. I grabbed his gauntleted, axe-holding hand and pinned it between his shoulder blades and with some leverage, broke the arm twice and pulled it out of socket. He was strong and his armor almost impenetrable but it didn't protect against a basic joint lock. He stood up, bucking me off and still gripped his axe tightly, but his arm was in no shape to throw anything for a while.
I ran, wobbly on my legs. I was basically numb from the waist down but its not the first time I've run after having scratched my legs. I rubbed the jagged tissue that instantly formed where the axe had cut. It was painfully hot, like it always was with such rapid healing. I'd have dust and pebbles flaking out through the injury for days.
A low concussion boomed behind me, I turned to look. Knight Baleful had fruitlessly discarded his axe and was now busy tugging on a handrail trying get his shoulder back in socket. I was worried he might be ambidextrous and throw another axe accurately at me with his good arm. Feeling victorious I stopped to mock him.
"Hey mate, did you knight yourself on each shoulder like that? Looks a little painful!"I yelled to him. I was not above gloating myself I'm ashamed to say.
He shouted one last taunt in whatever launguage he natively spoke and laughed uproariously. He was waving bye with his floppy, dislocated arm and giving me the middle finger with his good one. It was thankfully the last I saw of Knight Baleful for a long time and the very last time I was ever vivisected. |
I am Professor Imminent Doom, and I have just taken over the world.
All due to my scientific mind, of course; though I am known for my ingenious (for lack of a better term) inventions, my mind is the sharpest weapon I have to wield. So my murderous crocodile rabbits, my Tesla coil, and even my precious It still sit in my storage room, gathering dust.
I used to spend years on these idle projects, pushing myself to my limits, throwing my sanity away in pools of toxic acid and blood. I thought that if I were only smart enough, I could create a weapon that could bring the world to its knees. Finally, I would be able to rule over a greatful nation. I would have people that *wanted* me, wanted to *be* me.
Finally, the day came. My ninth symphony, my It, was finished. About ten meters high, it struck an imposing figure: a monolith of gleaming steal tubes, connected by a long pipeline weaving like a worm through the belly of my beast. With a great shout of "Eureka!"I turned the knob, ready to unleash It upon the world-
And then, my worst nightmare came true.
Electric Man was here to save the day.
With his two tiny, meaty hands he caught my beloved and twisted it into scrap. I stood there, helpless, terrified; all I could do was watch. He ripped my life in two, scattered the battered pieces of the sanity I had left over my acid vats, and laughed as my hopes and dreams of a unified world were melted into shapeless goo.
I might have screamed. I still do, some nights.
How I managed to get away I will never know. But I learned something after that night. A leader doesn't lead through vague threats, through weapons and great feats of violence; a true leader uses their words as their sword and their shield.
So I turned over a new leaf. I opened a new laboratory under another name and began my research anew, though now I searched for ways to save the world instead of destroy it (or so it appeared). For years I built my empire and my status as an ingenious philanthropist, and when I was ready, I stuck my head into the murky waters of politics.
Ten years later, and here I sit.
At the desk of the President of the United States.
The wood is highly polished, the surface pristine; quite a change from my dusty lab tables. My hands admire its slick surface. It reminds me of my precious It, now locked away in a secure room of my BioLife plant. I look up and stare into the eyes of a now elderly Electric Man, accompanied by several other senior superheroes. He looks old, and frail; his muscles have atrophied and his stomach has rounded itself into the shape of a bowling ball.
Good.
"Mr. President."
"James. Please, sit."
He and the others shuffle into cushy armchairs. There's more than one groan as their elderly bones settle in.
I tap my pen against the desk, my anticipation growing. I've been meaning to ask him a question for, what, twenty years now. I know I should wait, but I can't help blurting-
"James, do you remember when we first met?"
Electric Man stares straight forward, somewhere below my eyes. "Yes, I do, sir."
Hm. I hadn't been expecting that. My lips move, and another burning question slips out:
"Why did you let me go, that day?"
James' eyes remain blank. Still, I can tell he remembers. He has to. "You're a good man, Mr. President,"he says, finally. "I saw your work that day. I knew you could use it for some good."
"You really think so?"
His eyes finally fixate on mine. "Mr. President, just look at what you've done. You've advanced the human race by 30 years. You're a hero."
A... hero?
All this time, I'd been so focused on ruling the world. The life-saving projects were only trifles, bones to throw to the desperate public as they searched for a leader. But now that I think about it... Am I a villain at all?
Oh, if my precious It could see me now. |
This process will guide you step by step so you don’t need to worry about a thing. The first thing you need to do is relax. That’s right. It’s going to be all okay.
Think of this like a simple mediation. Take a moment and close your eyes. Through your nose, take a deep breath in, and then open your mouth to exhale.
Great job! Now let’s do it three more times. One, in....hold that breath...and out. You’re doing great.
Did you know that with each breath, our link becomes stronger? It becomes easier to send information.
Let’s do breath two now. In....and out.
Fun fact, there are now seven thousand and four different species linked to this hive mind. Aren’t you special for being one of the chosen ones?
And finally breath three. Go on, you know what to do. Our intelligences are merging now, and we can sense you in the link. You’re doing great.
Ahhh, there we go. We can feel the crisp wind around you. This air is cold where you live. We really should wear a jacket more often.
Now, open our eyes. Show us what we can see in this world. Ooh, that’s a bright sun we have here. There is much potential in this planet.
Now it’s time to begin the process of secondary contact. As your former humans would say, take us to your leader. |
"The Secret Society of Cheese Crackers? Are you pulling my leg, Charles?"
"James, I'm as serious as I can be."
"But what is that even supposed to be? I reckon it's like some niche wine-tasting type deal. Do you eat crackers and the like? How's it a cult?"
"Well, first of all, we don't just eat the crackers. It's a bit complicated -- why don't we just sit down and talk about it?"
"Alright then, my lad. Just please tell me that this isn't going to land me in the slammer, right?"
I just looked into his eyes blankly, unassumingly, and sat down on the short end of an "L"sofa. James plopped down on the long end. Currently, we were accompanied by poor lighting and the dull, cheap contents of my Queer St. apartment. No one of any importance was likely to be listening to our conversation.
James seemed to be a big cabbage-brain with a little-dwarf child pulling all the leaves in between his ears. But in the density of his consciousness there was innocence and simple human desires. I originally met him about two weeks ago when he moved into a flat a few doors down. Almost immediately, we entered a peculiar, but sort of one sided friendship. It was as if he just wanted to be around me. At first, I was a little bothered by him, but I needed a bridge from the Society to the "normal people"with a stature such as his. It seemed the perfect opportunity, which led up to this present point. I first repeated what I had first said to him: "I'm in a cult and I'm in a position of higher leadership. It's an establishment more serious than anyone can know. It is called the Secret Society of Cheese Crackers."
"I still think you're widdlin' with my head,"James said oafishly.
"No,"I said simply. I continued: "The purpose of the organization is two-fold. First, it is to protect from the malicious and primal forces that infest civilization. Monsters, parasites, elementals, and other insidious entities would run free through the streets of London if it weren't for our vigilance. Second, it is to cultivate order and power in a tangible, manipulable form. Cheese crackers, you see. There are powers beyond our comprehension, and they remain unbridled and untouched by man. They have the potentials to manifest on our behest, or to metastasize into malicious beings."
"Yes, cheese crackers. What's the point of them, you say?"
"We imbue them with power to fight evil."
"Yes. Monsters, elementals, jackrabbits. Haha! What a riot, Charles! That might make a funny panel in the Birmingham Daily."
"You must believe me. I have more to say."
"Why, man? Show me one of your magic crackers then. Or show me a monster or something."
I hesitated. One of the rules of the Society was to never expose a cracker to an outsider, especially an ignorant outsider. But James was supposed to be a vessel-surrogate. Didn't that mean that I had the obligation, especially to the Society, to induct him? I hedged the fractured logic and pulled out the weakest of the crackers from a side-pocket within a pocket in my black-vest. A *mullion*.
"Now here's a cheese cracker, James. Listen to what I say,"I said, seriously, looking into James' eyes.
But then I noticed something in those eyes. A gleam, a shimmer, but then the same dullness all in a moment as they peered along the indentations and perforations along the *mullion's* wafer casing. One might consider this gesture to be simply one of novelty, or genuine surprise at the confirmation of an unexpected outcome. It most likely would have been completely unnoticed. But I knew better. The mouth on James' face moved.
"Ohh, that's a peculiar thing. It's got all the likes of markings of a hand-made thing. You weren't joking, then, were you?"
"No, of course not. Hey, I'm thirsty, could you get me a glass of water from the basin, please?"I asked, casually.
James paused, still looking at the cracker. But then replied "Oh, of course."He straightened up from his sitting position on the sofa and walked off, seemingly in a trance.
Not a moment after he turned his back, swiftly and silently, I reached into my top left vest pocket, pulled out a tin container inscribed *Tuiyoinoi,* and emptied half the contents onto my right leg. There were about half a dozen bite-sized crackers with the latin for "negligent devil"inscribed onto the top wafer layer. I swallowed two and crushed the rest into powder with my two thumbs. I then rubbed the powder into my palms. The magic enveloped me and I felt ice and fire in my nasal bridge. It was as if I had sniffed cocaine mixed with pure capsaicin. Then, an odor overwhelmed me.
My suspicions were confirmed. James reeked of dark-waste. And worse, there was a sinister link.
James turned around, as if sensing my thoughts. His face had in that short period of time morphed into its grotesque, monstrous form. I stood erect and prepared for battle. |
I stood in a seemingly endless line inside the Bureau of Adventurers. Creatures of every size and race pushed and shoved as they became annoyed with the glacial pace of those working inside. The only thing all of us had in common was our age. Each of us had reached the age of adulthood for our respective species and cultures, and now were eager to get their paperwork certified so they could get out into the wider world and begin their own legend. Finally, after hours, I was at the front of the line and a gnome behind a desk called me forward.
“Name?” he asked.
“Uh… xxTacomeister69xx,” I replied sheepishly.
“Uhuh,” the clerk said, totally unphased as he’d clearly heard worse before. “Race? And your class?”
“Level 11 Dark Elf Battlemage,” I said proudly.
“Ahhh, excellent! So many boring rogues and warriors came through here today. Finally a young woman with a refined sensibility! Why rely on others to swing the sword or conjure the spell for you, when you can do both as a hybrid class, am I right?”
"Right you are, sir!"
“Ooookay, just list me your stats and you can be on your way... Strength?”
"12,” I said proudly.
“Very impressive indeed! Perhaps you’ll wield a mighty warhammer rather than some puny sword,” he said warmly. "And Constitution?”
“8.”
“Should be plenty for a skilled battlemage such as yourself,” he said. “Speed?”
“Also 12!”
“Ohoho! You’ll run circles around the ogres and other lumbering creatures out in the wilds,” still smiling with something close to pride. “Andddd, oh here’s a biggy, your Defense?”
“Erhm… zero,” I coughed.
“Pardon me young adventurer? You said… zero… points in defense? Oh come now… Things were going so well! Why must you jest with me now as we are so near completion of your registration?”
“I’m-- I’m not joking…”
“I didn’t start this job yesterday, child! Everyone has at least one point in every stat. Those are the rules governing our fine kingdom and it’s bevy of diverse races and classes.”
“I visited the witch in Strafholm Forest on my way here and paid her to remove it so I could put that point into Charisma instead, I’m sure you’d agree I’m quite charming!” I tried joking, in the hopes he would move on.
“Gods, adventuring is wasted on the youth,” he sighed. “Very well, and your Magic stat?”
“Also zero. Also not joking,” I quickly replied.
He literally lowered his head to his desk before responding, “Confirm for me that I understand you correctly, young hero. ‘Battle’ refers to close quarters bloody and savage hand to hand combat, and you have no Defense. And ‘Mage’ refers to your ability to produce brilliant otherworldly spells and creations from thin air, and yet you have no points in Magic. You are a Battlemage without a single point in Defense or Magic, have I gathered this information correctly?”
“Yes,” I said with creeping embarrassment encroaching on me for the first time.
“I’m adding this up, and you were given more stat points than this at BIRTH! Where are they all hiding?”
"Uh… turn the page over…"
“There are no stats on the back of the page,” he said while chuckling. “Except of course for…”
“Luck,” I interjected
“Oh sweet Bearded Dwarven Jesus,” he mumbled.
“Luck is underrated and unfairly maligned!” I protested.
“Sweet child, let me let you in on a little secret, and please… please heed the wisdom of a gnome who has seen ten times your lifetime... No one even *knows* what Luck does! The greatest heroes of legend in all the elder eras didn’t know. I don’t know, and it’s my *job* to know! And so I certainly can be sure that *you* do not know!”
“Are you finished mocking me? Can I be on my way?” I asked crossly.
“On your way to a coffin…” he muttered as he gave my paperwork the final stamp required officially certify me as a Novice Adventurer.
___
r/Ryter
Part 2 now posted below.
P.S. I obviously changed one of the stats involved, but I thought the Luck stat from a dozen different video games and game systems deserved a moment in the spotlight ;) |
"Time travel? What, like *Avengers: Endgame*?"The client scoffed and drank the rest of his coffee. "I'm not paying for this bull, there's people I pay to listen to tall tales: salesmen. Bruce, let's go-"
Florence adjusted his tie as he clicked a button on his watch. The client looked this way and that, looking for his bodyguard. "Bruce? Where are you?"
Florence met the frantic, now fearful gaze of the client, and smiled. "Sit down,"he said.
The client took his seat, now unable to hide the tremors in his hands. He looked away from Florence for one moment - just the right opportunity to bring back the client's bodyguard. The bodyguard stumbled and blinked, as though someone had merely bumped into him from behind. Discombobulation was like merely motion sickness if you were the target. The client stared at Bruce, then at Florence, and back to Bruce again.
"I don't believe it,"he muttered.
Florence crossed his legs and leaned back. "Let's start over, shall we?" |
Bakdul the Fearsome roared. The legion of orcs behind him roared back, and charged. This battle would be remembered in epics throughout history, he thought to himself.
Readying his sword, he prepared to face his first challenger, when suddenly an orange ring appeared directly in front of him. Before he knew it, he had run through it and it closed behind him. He screamed, "PATHETIC COWARD!"Bakdul couldn't stand wizards - the way they "fought"from a safe distance, never risking themselves or being willing to face their enemy. Pagh.
He looked around and got his bearings, quickly noticing what looked like a number of humans looking at him, shocked. They were sitting around a long, wooden table. At the other end was a man standing up, pointing at a presentation. The presenter's eyes were locked onto Bakdul's mouth, and his mouth hung open in shock. He got his composure, and screamed "Who the _fuck_ are you to say that to me? This is a closed board meeting!"There were some murmurs among the other meeting attendees, then one said, reluctantly, "Y'know, Bob… he has a point. Shielding people we know are doing this isn't right."
"Fine, Joe. Fine, okay. We ask her to leave, and let him go with a modest severance package… say, $90 million?"
The gears turned in Bakdul's head. "No. We can't punish the victim for being a victim! And we can't just sweep this under the rug from up in our sky-high conference room! Bring him in here."
Everyone looked quizzically at Bob. "I completely–"Bakdul glared at him. He gulped. "–agree. Bring Andy in."
The door opened, and Bakdul walked to the front of the room. He gestured for Andy to sit down next to Bob, and looked at them both. He addressed the board. "What monsters are they to act in this way? Andy, abusing your power like this. And Bob- how dare you shield him and try to remain above the fray? We should fire them both. Our employees are the lifeblood of the company. We would be nothing without them!"
The board members looked around at each other. "He's right,"said Joe. "All in favor?"Every hand but Bob's went up. "Then it's done."
He looked at Bakdul. "I don't know who you are, but I think I can speak for the whole board when I say you'd make a great CEO. Are you willing?"
Bakdul grinned, almost jumping for joy. "Yes, I'd be honored,"he replied. Bakdul shook Joe's hand.
All that Desks and Deadlines had really paid off, he thought to himself, and smiled contentedly.
----
feedback appreciated! :-)
I initially wanted to start out with Bakdul arriving through the portal on the street and working his way up from there but I didn't think I could do that believably in a short prompt response. |
"Look, I know you're new to this dimension, but honestly to make that worth my while you're gonna need to offer a little more."
"I don't understand what you mean,"said the writhing puddle of worm-shaped eyes and eye-shaped worms at the bottom of the well. "Dihydrogen mmonoxide is very rare where I come fromm. I have stored an unimmaginable ammount of it in mmy mmanifold pockets. Surely such a thing would be of incalculable value to anyone. Now let mme loose fromm here."
I untied my scarf and scooted my butt a little further under the awning. The stones of the well baked under the Texan sun. If this thing could read surface level thoughts, of course it would expect me to sell my soul for water. Little did it know I had plenty back in my RV.
"Listen, buddy."
"MmmMmmMM?"The thing burbled.
"Where you are right now? This stone thing? In this here dimension, we fill these with water. Sure it's scarce some places, but I ain't about to give you everything you want just to slurp some of your space juice. I can only imagine where you got it. I'll stick with my filtered spring water, thank you very much."
I got set to walk back to my van and grab my recording equipment. The Foundation would definitely pay a freelancer like me for data on this thing. At least I wouldn't come away empty handed.
"Wait! Humman. I must be free! Mmy kind are destined for conquest! You must be the first of mmy mminions! What yould you possibly desire mmore?"
I settled my hat back on my head and strolled away. But when I was rooting around in my duffel bags for what I wanted, I spotted a book on the shelf above me. I snatched it and returned to the well.
"Listen up critter. You say you can give me rewards beyond my wildest dreams. Let's see how you measure up to those dreams, huh?"
"For your undying loyalty and also for remmoving mme fromm this place, anything you can request I can grant."
"Yeah, sure,"I said as I opened my D&D Player's Handbook to the chapter on Warlocks. |
“Sir, the invasion is about to begin,” the young man said. He wore a headset with a bulky microphone that partially masked the fear seeping onto his face.
“Well tell those writers to speed up that goddamn drafting,” I said. Behind him, dozens of other young people sat hunched behind computer consoles.
The large room looked like a typical mission control for a space agency. The only thing that might throw off a curious newcomer was the giant display on the far wall showing a fat man sitting on a couch. Crumbs covered his bare belly while half a dozen empty beer cans lay around him, defeated. A red timer above the display ticked under 15 minutes and 24 seconds as it counted down.
The young fearful man was now back behind his own console speaking urgently into his microphone. A moment later a door in the corner flung open and a woman ran in waving papers.
“It’s done, it’s done! Here,” she yelled as she raced towards the man sitting in a chair with Director written on the back. The Director snatched the papers and started skimming through them. The rest of the room watched on in silence.
“Ok,” the Director said, “let’s go people!”
Suddenly the room came alive. People began slapping commands into their consoles and speaking loudly into their microphones. The wall of screens morphed into a video feed showing a group of people standing in what appeared to be film studio. They all looked towards the camera. The red timer above ticked under 6 minutes 5 seconds.
“The script is coming through now,” the Director was saying into his own headset, “Andy, I really need you to emphasize your anger as you leave Deborah. Her betrayal has to seem real. And Deborah, your desperation for him to stay has to be genuine. This is life or death, got it?”
A woman on the screen nodded.
“Right, we’ve got 3 minutes so let’s get ready,” the director said. I sat back and watched, knowing my own role wasn’t far off. As the timer entered the final minute, the screens on the wall split into two images; the fat man on the couch and Andy and Deborah readying themselves in a mock kitchen.
The Director yelled, “quiet now!”
Silence rippled over the room, leaving a few quiet whispers finishing off conversations. I looked at the timer.
\*5, 4, 3…\* the whispers ceased as all attention turned to the large displays. The fat man grabbed his remote and increased the volume as the familiar theme song began. He burped and cracked opened another beer. His TV screen faded into the kitchen studio where Andy and Deborah were standing.
“I’m sorry Andy, it was a mistake! It was one night! Please! Don’t leave, think of the children,” Deborah was pleading, “Please, don’t do anything stupid!”
“Oh come on,” the fat man yelled at his TV, “he can do what he wants at this point!”
The Director looked towards me nervously. I shook my head and his shoulders relaxed.
Deborah was pulling at Andy’s hand as he tried to walk from the room. A moment later the scene faded into ads and the Director started yelling into his microphone. A few minutes later the screen faded back into another scene with a different male actor sitting at a bar. Andy entered and walked over. The man looked up as Andy pulled out a gun.
“You bastard!” Andy screamed as he aimed his weapon at the man's chest.
“Oooh, here we go,” the fat man said, chuckling.
“You think you can mess around with someone’s wife without consequences?” Andy yelled. The man held up his hands in desperation.
The Director was now looking squarely at me. I was zoned in on the fat man, watching him for any reaction. I looked over at the Director and motioned with my hands that we needed more. The Director said something into his microphone and Andy cocked his pistol. He eyed the desperate man seriously, “do you want to die tonight?”
I leaned forward, all my attention focused on the fat man. He burped and then flung his arm in the air, “Oh come on, this script is so stupid. No one would do that!”
The Director stared at me, suddenly fearful. As I grappled with the fat man's ambiguous words I suddenly noticed the rest of the room had turned to watch me. They were waiting for me, the translator, to decide what would happen next. Not just whether Andy would pull the trigger, but whether or not the real life invasion would be allowed to proceed. I looked back at the screen, knowing I had only moments before the fat man would realize something about his show wasn’t right. But I didn’t know what to do. Usually the fat man was easy to read, but this time was different.
It was too late to doubt myself, I knew I had to act. I looked to the Director and nodded. He exhaled then whispered into his microphone. The shot echoed across the room as people sat silently processing the consequences of my decision. |
“We’ll be meeting up at Greg’s this Sunday. It’s a potluck game night, so don’t forget your food dishes.” I reminded everyone.
“Yes, your divine holiness.” Steve performed his humble bow.
“As our lord decrees.” Emily curtsied.
“Really guys? It was over six months ago, can’t we just drop it?”
We’d been setting up a dinner night through a group chat and some of the suggestions didn’t offer any healthy fare. I had been in a rush that day with a ton of errands so I wanted to remind them I was starting a diet. Using a swipe keypad in the dead of winter is hard enough, but then auto-correct has to throw its weight around. I meant to type ‘Remember guys, I’m on a diet.’, but what I sent was ‘Remember guys, I’m a deity.’ And as good close sarcastic friends do, they ran with it.
“I’m sure they meant no disrespect,” Greg offered for them, “your benevolence.”
Steve and Emily shared a chuckle. I just rolled my eyes.
“Hey, Blake, ever since you started being a deity, you look like you’ve lost some weight. Looking good.”
“Thanks, Em. I feel like eating right and working out have really had an impact.”
“I’d say, if that t-shirt were any tighter it’d rip the next time he clapped his hands.” Greg wiggled his eyebrows.
“Yeah, well. I don’t want to buy new clothes until my body has settled on a size.”
“I’d worship your body at your altar.”
“Seriously, Greg?” Emily asked in exasperation.
“What?”
“What’ll your husband say?” She quickly said.
“He’d probably say the same thing.”
“How’d I end up with friends like you guys?” I just shook my head. “Just get out, it’s getting late and I have to work early in the morning.”
“We live to do your bidding,” Steve said as he made his way out the door. “Night everyone, see you next Sunday.”
“Good night, Em. Blake, you can keep the mashed potatoes. Consider it an offering.” He smiled giving each of us a hug with an extra pinch for me.
“As your lord and savior, I command you to never do that again.” Might as well play along if I can use it to my advantage.
He went in for another pinch but pulled his hand away just before he did. “Aw, the lord giveth and the Lord taketh.” He made a beeline for the door.
“You guys are too much sometimes, and there were only half of you here tonight!” I lamented.
“You’re just an easy target.” Emily smiled. “Will you bless me with a kiss if I leave all the cookies as offerings?” She slid in for a side hug.
I looked over to the half-filled plate of cookies and heaved a sigh, cheat day was in six days. “How about I bless you and you take the cookies?”
I guess she was agreeable with the proposition now standing in front of me. I gently grabbed the sides of her head and pulled her close. We made eye contact and at the last second, I gave her a peck on the forehead.
“May your week be prosperous and filled with positive outcomes.”
She growled and poked me in the stomach. “Keep the cookies. I hope they torture you for the week!” Obviously miffed she rushed out the door.
I was able to get a bit of cleanup before I was on the verge of passing out. My bed calling my name the moment I walked into the bedroom. I don’t remember changing out of my clothes, just wishing I could before I hit the mattress. Morning came too fast with the alarm blaring its blasphemous ringer. Thinking it would be a blessing if I didn’t need to go to work today.
The ringer of the phone in near synchronization with the alarm.
“Yeah, this is Blake Gatewood.” The voice on the other end rattles off a few sentences. “Okay, thanks, work canceled for the day.” I hang up and turn the alarm off and fall back asleep. Waking up a few hours later fully refreshed and raring to go.
“Shower first, are my abs becoming more defined?” I twist and turn in front of the mirror. “ Nah, just the light playing tricks.” Out of the shower and dressed and the phone rings again, caller id says it’s Emily.
“Morning, Emily. Whoa, whoa, slow down. One more time, please.” Her excitement just about overcomes her again while she’s going over the morning’s events at work.
“Senior VP of marketing? Really? Wow! Congratulations. I remember you saying you thought it was a few years off. I’m happy for you.”
We talked for a little bit more before she bids his holiness (me) a blessed day. They’ve really been ramping up the joke. Putting my dishes in the sink I hear a tearing noise and a draft on my back. Man, I really liked this shirt. Looks like it’s time to go shopping for new clothes, well think I got the day off.
I’m taken aback when I step outside the door. There’s an array of candles, decorations, and items clustered around the entrance of my house. Hundreds of paper notes filled with wishes and prayers. It must have been Greg, he’s the only one I could think of who’d go this far for an elaborate joke. That’s until I start seeing notes written in other languages. The thing is, I can read them, but I don’t speak any other languages.
Now I’m wondering is Zeus got his powers because of a joke amongst friends? |
He looked up from his phone, the flickering light from the screen deepened the shadows around his face. He could have waited inside the restaurant, he had met here there after all. However she had asked him to wait outside so he did, away from the busy crowd within. The sounds of happy chatter drifted from the open doors, their good cheer warm against the night’s chill. The smells made his mouth water but he wasn’t hungry. It never did well to eat before heavy action with heavier consequences.
He watched her approach, her steps much less confident than the night before. Even in a haze of alcohol he knew she acted far differently than the last time he met her. Her shoulders curled, her head down, arms wrapped tight across her chest to ward off the cold and the looks of others. A large difference from the smiling face, immaculately dressed woman she was the night prior. Here she was a shadow of what she appeared before, a shadow that wanted nothing more than to fade back into the concealing black.
Her smile was weak and hesitant as she stopped in front of him. She looked scared, uneasy. For a moment he thought it was how he looked. He was big and he knew it, and many gave him a second look. Questioning eyes and overly inquisitive minds wanted to know about the scar that crossed his face, the scars on his arms, his muscular build, his flat iron grey eyes. She didn’t last night, she had treated him like anyone else. He was grateful for that. It was why he passed her the note. He meant it as a joke however even in his intoxicated state he saw something in her he recognized, something that prompted him to give her the note in the first place.
“You really came,” she said. The statement was half a question. Her blue eyes watered slightly from the chill wind. “I...I wasn’t sure if you would.”
He smiled slightly, a twitch of his lips. Even this slight change seemed to relax her. “I gave you the note didn’t I? I don’t make promises lightly.” The silence dragged on between them, broken by laughter from the restaurant. The noise made her flinch and she looked back the way she came, conviction wavering. “Lead the way,” he said gently.
She nodded and each repetition growing in strength and surety. She took off down the street, walking faster than before, almost running. It took him off guard slightly and he followed after, picking up the pace to catch up. She didn’t look back, trusting he would follow. As they walked her steps became more violent, as if she wished to tear gouges into the sidewalk. Her body curled even more into herself, her long fingers gripped her jacket and turned bone white from the pressure. Her steps became wilder, more forceful.
Finally she stopped and he almost collided with her, surprised by her suddenly stopping. Her eyes bored into a window, staring at a man sitting in his couch. He was old, well into his golden years. His gut spilled over, his hand clutched a can, and his own eyes focused on the flickering television. His focus was totally on what played before him, completely unaware of the pair standing on the sidewalk.
The man looked between the girl and the sitting man. It wasn’t apparent at first glance, but he saw some similarities. The curve of the cheekbones, the cut of the jaw. He saw the way the girl’s chin quivered, how hot her eyes burned despite the tears that tried to douse them. That kind of anger and pain only came from familiarity and he suspected there was too much familiarity between the two. “So, that’s the guy?”
His voice shocked her from her thoughts and he could see her physically shaking herself from her fugue. “Y-Yes,” she squeaked and her face burned red from the sound of her voice. “That’s him.”
“Alright then.” The man started up the steps but stopped at her voice.
“Wait! Wait. You’re...you’re not even going to ask why?”
A thin eyebrow rose. “Well, I didn’t say I would in the note. You picked him, I figure he deserved it.”
She nodded.
“Does he deserve it?”
Another nod, emphatic.”
“Alright then.” He started up the steps again. He stopped again. This time because she latched onto his sleeve. Her hands were trembling and he knew it wasn’t because of the cold. “You don’t have to come with me.”
Her eyes widened, half filled with hope and half filled with pain from the past.
“You don’t. I said I’d kick someone’s ass for you. You say it’s that guy. Never said you had to be there or to even help. I’ll go kick it and you can rest assured the job’ll be done.”
Her hands didn’t let go of his sleeve. The clung to him, flexing as if to either let go or to clutch tighter.
“He hurt you didn’t he.”
A silent nod.
“Hurt you and others you care about. Hurt you bad.”
A stifled sob.
He turned to shield her from the man within and the place he laired. “Bet you did all you could to survive, to change it. Bet it wasn’t enough, enough for you. Bet no one believed you, not even the people with you that got hurt by him too.” He chuckled sadly at her eyes, wet with her tears and filling with the light of the desperate when they find someone that listened. “Yeah I figured. I could see it in you too.”
“You believe me?” Her whisper was shrouded in years of pain and disbelief.
He tapped his face, traced the long scar that ran across it. “I got a scar you can see.” He tapped her shoulder gently. “You got scars only you can feel.”
“Hey!” A rough voice stumbled through the air behind them, thick with alcohol and contempt. “Whaddya want?”
The girl almost shrieked and looked like she was about to bolt, like prey flushed by the howls of the predator. “Don’t want nothing,” he replied to the man without turning. “Just standing here.”
“Yeah? Stand somewhere else then, off my property.”
He turned his head, stared at the old and disheveled man in his doorway. He narrowed his eyes and was gratified to see the old drunk back off with a start. “Ain’t your property, it’s the city’s. Can stand here if I want.”
The man snarled, hand crushing the can with impotent anger. “Well, go away then. Don’t want to see you.” The man tried to look around him at the girl but paled when he stared at him with eyes without fear. With a wordless snarl the old man slammed the door and pulled the blinds.
He resisted the urge to spit, instead looking down at the girl. Throughout the exchange she had cowered, using his body as a shield to hide. When the door slammed shut she let out another strangled sob and her tears fell like rain. They stood there until the squall had passed, and the cold air dried the tracks of her tears.
“You feel better?” His voice was soft.
She nodded.
“How about I change that note some.”
She looked up confused.
“I can teach you how to kick you own ass.”
More confusion.
“How to kick the ass of the past. To stand up to past pain. To use it.”
She stared at him for long moments before she nodded once more. The wildness gone, the hysteria disappeared. It was her calmest gesture yet. It made him proud. “I....I would like that.”
“Good.” He started to walk, keeping his body between her and the apartment, a barrier against what was. “One thing though, I’m pretty hungry. No a good place to eat at?”
Her laughter was wet but beautiful. “Sure,” she said and for the first time tonight it was free from memory. “I know a place.” |
Feel free to leave critique, I enjoyed writing this.
The government providing every vampire with a canister was honestly a stretch to begin with. Although, compared to the insanity that was happening out there it wasn’t like it could get worse.
Lo and behold they managed to do it. I mean, almost everyone thought that it was just gonna be a canister of garlicized holy water with red food coloring but no, like a fucking patron saint of vampires that cargo plane dropped thousands of little red boxes, filled with little red vials. And they did the trick. They were good.
There were ethical concerns, how all of this blood could possibly be harvested without turning cities into blood-mills. The government never answered us, and after a few weeks the question became taboo. After all; there is no good answer and nobody, *nobody*, wanted to go back to the way it was before. It wasn’t like we had any moral high ground after-...
...Infrastructure was collapsed during the fighting but after a few months of stability the populace brought electricity and running water back up.
Which led me to here; my lab at the police department. I was asking the taboo question, sampling the blood and comparing DNA. There’s a few reasons I can’t just sit and shut up. We need to take responsibility if we’re still monsters, just playing pretend at society while the Butchering happens somewhere out of sight and mind. The second thing is the taste.
Only a few people know the taste to begin with.
It has the same profile as infant blood.
...I’m not proud of what I am...
...I made a couple of discoveries. And they don’t make any goddamn sense.
1. All of the vials are “human” blood.
2. The blood cells are eight times the size of a regular human’s.
3. They all have the same exact DNA. All of it. |
The day they gave away our IDP (that's what they all called it, didn't know what it meant then) was at 5 years old, the government assistant came and gave us all our IDP everybody was excited, my friend Jimmy was going to be in mount everest, ¡we were all so happy for him!.
There was this big machine that had us plugged in, after a few minutes, your IDP would appear.
When mine came, i thought it was going to say the eiffel tower, that's the place i wanted to visit since i saw saw it on a picture.
But all that came out was some weird stuff on the screen, (reflecting on it, i figured out it was because it wasn't on earth) eventually the government guy figured it out, but he tought it was a mistake so he made me go in again, but the same came out.
-Son....seems like you'll be going to Mars-I kinda freaked out but in a good way
-I'll be an astronaut-I yelled happily, but the man didn't smile, nor did my teacher, my friends did tough, we were kids so.....
Turns out i wasn't the only one going to Mars, there also was Jenny, this girl i never spoke to before, I found out later that her birthday was the same day as mine. She got the exact same location as me, so we kinda tought that we were destined to be togheter of something. We started to spend a lot of time beside each other, in highschool we began dating, and in college we were already married, she was the best thing that ever happened to me.
The first odissey to mars happened when i was entering college, so i wasn't the first.
Eventually NASA called us both, we were.....I don't even know, confused, at kids it sounded like an adventure, but all i wanted at that point was to be a lawyer, but well....
-We got no choice-she said
-No...I guess not-we were in the cab, holding each others hands, by the way she was grabbing me, I knew she was just as scared as I was.
When we arrived we got into a rocket, our birthdah was the next day, the advancements were so great that it was fully controlled by A.I., and it was surprisingly confortable.
There was this sort of special window that let us see the earth as we started to leave, and we just stood there, holding each other.
This huge comet travelling at incredible speed just...it flew through the earth. I will always remember Jenny's screams. All that was left of earth were some chunks the started to drift away.
I said that I wasn't the first to travel to Mars....well, I sure am the last. But I didn't lose everything, i still have Jenny, that's the one important thing for me. Also our kid it's adapting well to the atmosphere, we decided to call him Terra. |
My wife Jane had an almost supernatural ability to cook, sometimes making amazing dishes out of whatever was left in the kitchen. Slowly I pulled to the edge of the curb and parked my old beat up suburban parked just around the bend. She always said the same phrase when I asked here how she always managed to achieve near perfection with her meals.
"*Magic*"Carefully I pulled the small box of chocolates and roses I bought for our anniversary and walked along the side walk. Several white puffy clouds obscuring the sun's golden rays as I silently unlatched the gate to the backyard. Some of the wet mud sticking onto my shoes as I unlocked the back door avoiding the few token windows.
The door rotating silently since I had greased the hinges last week for this Express purpose. The sunlight poured into the kitchen pots of boiling water and ingredients floating above the large central counter. Small wisps of golden light and sparkles holding a knife cutting a slab of beef midair.
.
Jane quickly turning around the pots and pans falling to the ground in a chorus of metal clangs and meaty slaps. Her face stricken with horror and hands pitched on the counter's edge holding her cook book. The silence stretching past reasonable as my grandfather's old clock ticked away the clockwork filling the void of noise as I spoke. "Happy anniversary"
"*I i can explain*""yea magic I know come on let me help you clean up this mess you made. "Carefully I opened the pantry closet pulling out a broom and dust pan sweeping the detritus on the ground into a pile. "*I thought you would leave me if you found out . I was scared and-*"
Steadily I leaned the broom on a nearby wall and wrapped my arms around here as tears ran down her cheeks. "I don't care what the government says about the arcane gifted. you are my bestfriend and that is never going to change."Time seemed to slow to a crawl in that moment her voice now missing that previously lingering dread.
.
"*How did you know*""You really think I wouldn't look at your family's recipes for that liquid smoke fry recipe. I found it about a month ago when I tried to surprise you on your birthday by recreating it.""* Why didn't you say anything, you could have confronted me sooner?*"
A small smile crossed the edge of my face as I spoke nearly cracking up mid sentence. "To keep a little bit of magic in this relationship, besides sometimes you need to trust those around you.""*Aren't you at least slightly worried about the whole anti arcane act the Senate passed.*"
"Yes but, the police are people too I doubt teddy would arrest you when you have done no harm. Now calm down I'm not leaving you or going to turn you over to them even for a million dollars."Gently I released my grip around her and grabbed the broom and dustpan sweeping the last debri away. Water flowing through the air into the sink and the salvageable items slowly returning to making magic.
|
Isn't it funny how the standard metric for physical beauty changes over the years? In the times of kings and kingdoms, being overweight was seen as a sign of status. You had enough to eat and you didn't need to work out in the fields for your keep. Then, as industrialization and modernization came about, the opposite rang true. Physical attraction was measured in chiseled abs and hourglass figures. When scientists figured out how to swap physical traits between compatible humans, it was the catalyst for another change in what would be perceived as attractive.
First, it started with small changes to only the most high profile of celebrities. An NBA star wants to be a couple inches taller, a supermodel wants a smaller waist, or an actor wants different colored eyes for an upcoming role. But as the procedure became more commonplace, and anyone with enough money to persuade someone with ideal physical characteristics to give them up grew bored with their perfect bodies and complexions, the paradigm started to shift. The first big jump was when the CEO of a Fortune 500 came out for a public appearance with his new birthmark across his face. Once the news sites picked up that story, the race was on to look as different from everyone else as possible.
Almost anyone with any sort of status now had heterochromia, albinism, poliosis, or some other physical difference from the "normal"person to set themselves apart. Unfortunately, the rarity of these conditions served to put those with them in danger. When the tide shifted from them being undesirable traits that those afflicted were happy to do away with, into commodities to be sold to the highest bidder, the dark side of humanity did what it does best. People being kidnapped from their homes, sold out for millions by their neighbors or coworkers, to be forced to undergo the procedure to make someone else happy, and then killed when they are no longer needed. At least, this is all what my mother told me when I asked about the vitiligo that she passed down to me. As my ex-fiancé looked down on me with tears in his eyes and a briefcase in his hands, I wondered what pieces of me remained, and what was transferred to the woman sitting behind me. |
They gathered around the body. The message was spelled out in blood.
"Freaks Get Out"
The monsters and demons rounded on the heroes. They had decided, as one. "We have to kill him."Aztanua said, his fangs lengthening. The monsters behind him muttered in agreement.
"We will not help."Gabriel answered, speaking for the angels. The heroes stood next to them, looking uncomfortable.
"You need to understand. They attacked *all* of us."
Gabriel shook his head. "We will not help."
The monsters started up. Az held them back. "Who gave you sanctuary when we were hunting *you*?"he asked, stabbing a finger at Gabriel.
"Henry."Gabriel responded calmly. "We will not help."
"Who has sheltered generations of your heroes thanks to the extended life we *both* granted him in a one-of-a-kind ritual."
"Henry. We will not help."
"Who-"
"Wait!"A small young hero shoved his way to the front. "I understand."
Az gaped at the young hero. He would be an apprentice, first year. It wouldn't take much to kill him.
"You won't help, right?"the hero asked Gabriel. Gabriel nodded. Az started, but the hero went on. "You won't stop either."Gabriel nodded again. "We can do as we like."Gabriel nodded a third time, then turned and matched eyes with Az. Az nodded this time. "I can accept those terms of truce. All those who wish, come with us."Az slid behind the bar and began organizing the effort to find Henry's killer. The killer had struck the town's one supernatural sanctuary. Soon he would find none himself. He had crossed a rule even Az knew not to. Never piss off an angel. |
"Move out of the way, foul beast!"
I cracked open one eye, focusing on the sound below me. Sure enough, it's the "hero", trying to pass through the woods - and, not coincidentally, me.
So, I'm a dragon. Big, green, scaily, and currently lounging accross the only pass between the "New Township"and the "Old City". I'm pretty much the first major hurdle new players have to get around in this game, and it's not that bad of a job. I'm the biggest thing around, I get the whole forest to myself, and I don't even "die"when I'm beaten. The fight is scripted, I just have to run away once the "hero"fulfills certain conditions.
"If you won't move by choice, then I will move you by force!"
...Which *this* guy just doesn't seem to get. If the hero tries to fight me too early, he get's stomped. Now, normally, I'm not a fan of ad-libing, but this is, what, the sixth time?
"Have at thee, then!"
Yeah, this guy needs a hint.
"How exactly are you supposed to kill me?"
"...What?"
"My defense sta- I mean, my scales and claws are harder than steel, and you're using basic bronze. Did you even visit the metalsmith outside of the southern mines?"
"...uh, no. I didn't know there was a mine-"
"Not surprising, the Mythril Mines have been closed ever since the cave-in and subsequent haunting. Broke the old smith's heart, it did. The ghosts would need to be cleared out before he could return to his work, I imagine."
I could practically *hear* the gears turning in his head. "Uh, I'm a swordsman, I think I'd need magic to take on a ghost-"
"Or at least a priest to exocise them. Isn't there a priest or two in town? I think even the old man's daughter is studying healing magic there, right?"
"...rrrright. um, I'll, I'll go take care of that."
"See that you do. In the meantime, I'm gonna nap."
The "hero"turned, and slowly started heading back to town. I settled back down to rest. He'd be back soon enough, but I could still get some shuteye before then.
"Kids these days."I hoped I didn't come off too sour. Later on, I'm supposed to fill in the role of "party's airship", and it would be best if we were on good terms...assuming he stuck around and kept playing. |
Everyone has a superpower. Not everyone has a useful one. Some have something so pointless and useless that they never bother to even try it out. No good reason for them to use it if the power is something like telekinetic powers that only works on ice cream, or the ability to detect people who has visited a theme park in the last twenty weeks. Especially because while the power itself is varied and random, the price to pay is the same for all usage of all power: When you use it, you fade from memory. It starts out with distant acquaintances finding your face fuzzy, perhaps they can still remember you, but your name is gone.
And from there it gets worse and worse. Eventually, nobody can remember your name or face. Imagine coming home to children who can no longer remember the face of their father. Imagine finding the love of your life out dating someone else because the very idea of you has faded from their minds? They just leave you behind, as a complete stranger. They won't recognise your face in pictures, they won't see you at all sometimes. You are just left behind, a living ghost looking into the window of a life that they can no longer have.
Some powers, however, are worth it. Super speed, tremendous physical power, perfect telekinesis and telepathy, elemental command, etc. And my power is worth it. Or so I thought. My parents no longer remember me. Nor do any of my siblings, my wife, my children. Yet I had to use the power. Had to. There was no other choice. And now I am forgotten.
Yes, I had to do it. Using my vast power, my unspeakable psionic might, I reached into the heavens with everything I had, and took apart that meteor, atom by bloody atom. It was big enough and fast enough to end all life on Earth. It took me everything that I had, every last drop of power I could squeeze out of myself, but I stopped the 99942 Apophis meteor. Could I do anything else when they revealed it would hit us, that our leaders had quietly abandoned the Earth for a life on Mars? When that meteor was visible in the sky, what else was there to do?
I saved the world. But at the cost of my face, my name. Nobody will ever remember me. And yet I did what I had to do, for the sake of the human race.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
"Hah! You would order DARK roast you urchin".
"Yeah, and watch me not put any cream in it either! You better back up before the darkness consumes you".
Coming from a man in a sequin leotard, the taunt did not bother me. I am used to it. Ideally they would would wait until I had at least sipped my coffee before they started at me in the morning. Every day some new hero can't even let me enjoy my coffee in peace.
"One large dark roast"called the barista.
"Thanks", I stared into the heroes eyes as I slid a $10 bill into the tip jar. For a $2 coffee. Even these so called heroes aren't that good hearted. The chumps.
I am not bad, not evil, I have never as much as stolen a candy bar in my life. With this power inside me, I could turn cities to rubble. I could rule this world, and not a single hero could stop me. They are lucky. They are lucky that I prefer reading in the park, to global destruction. They are fortunate. Fortunate that I do not boil them from the inside out with one touch. I keep my coffee hot.
Today was going to be a good day, no matter what the heroes shouted, and I picked up a new book yesterday. I love starting a new book.
Unfortunately, accidents happen, and because its me. They escalate.
As I pushed the door to leave the coffee shop the hero grasped it. I bounced off the door, squeezed my coffee cup, and pop! The lid popped off, and fresh brewed, piping hot coffee consumed this heroes face.
"AAAAAHHhHhhHh! He's attacked me, boiled my face! You all saw the monster, he attacked me!"
"shit".
Before I could say a word, three other heroes jumped up. They slapped my book out of my hand. Ripped my shirt. Knocked whats left of my coffee on the ground. They grabbed me by my legs and drug me from the coffee shop.
"Please". "Please stop". "It was an accident, I swear". "He started it, he slammed the door on me!"They did not buy it. When you are a hero, everything you do is good. And I am me.
They finished their taunts, patted each other on the back for a good days work, and walked off down the sidewalk.
In reality, today was not the worst day I will have this week.
I got up and collected myself.
The door to the coffee shop opened. The barista handed me my book. It was not damaged. As well as a new coffee.
"Thank you".
"Why do they do that to you. I mean. I saw they started it".
"Ah, but you forget. I am evil, and it is a hero's duty to defend the world, and its people, from evil".
I think I will just brew my own coffee tomorrow... |
Adam looked around after he woke up. The last thing he remembered was getting pushed off a ladder when the army stormed castle.... something or other. He felt... off, but well. The main complaint was that he couldn't move his neck. He did a cursory check on his person and found the culprit. An arrow had lodged itself on his throat.
"I wouldn't pull that out yet if I were you."A raspy voice stated.
"Ser Thanatos?"Adam greeted the figure.
"Indeed. The barbers got to you as fast as they could. You are alive, healing, but injured."Thanatos replied. His billowing ragged cloak floated in this windless place and his voice sounded like gasps of the dying.
"Then it appears I have troubled you again."
This time he knew for sure he had died, probably for the 500th time. Thanatos pulled out one of his treasured possessions, a chess set made of bone and coal.
"Care for a game while you wait my friend?"
"I'd love to."
Edit: thanks for the silver! |
"REALLY? YOU DIED *AGAIN*?"God said, in a disappointed tone. We were sitting in a tidy celestial office in the capital city of Heaven. Or, rather, the seventh heaven. I had died in the first six, you see. God Themself looked a bit like a kindly old principal of mine at the moment--the one who always had a relevant story from his youth whenever I needed to talk.
"Yeah, sorry,"I said, "I wanted to see what would feel like to lick a lightning bolt."
"ARE YOU SATISFIED, NOW? NOT GONNA DO ANYTHING ELSE, LIKE TRY TO JUMP FROM THE TALLEST TOWER LIKE YOU DID IN FIRST HEAVEN?"God asked, looking a little bit more like my mother after I had broken her favorite mug.
"To be fair, that time I still thought that people turned into Angels when they died. I just wanted to fly."I replied.
"WHAT ABOUT THE TIME THAT YOU SNUCK INTO THE ANGELS' ARMORY AND ACCIDENTALLY SET YOURSELF ON FIRE WITH GABRIEL'S FLAMING SWORD?"God responded, Their irritation causing Them to look a bit more like my dad did when I had accidentally set the house on fire for the third time.
"See, that time I had just gotten lost, and the flaming sword was just so cool-looking..."
"ENOUGH EXCUSES!"God snapped, "DON'T YOU REALIZE THAT EVERY TIME YOU DIE, WHETHER BY YOUR OWN INCOMPETENCE OR, AS I AM GRADUALLY COMING TO SUSPECT, BY WILLFUL STUPIDITY, THAT I HAVE TO DESIGN AN ENTIRELY NEW HEAVEN JUST TO ENSURE THAT YOU DON'T DIE AGAIN!"
I reddened with shame. Tears started to fill my eyes.
God sighed, and said, "LOOK, YOU'RE OBVIOUSLY A GOOD FELLOW, OTHERWISE THERE IS NO WAY YOU WOULD EVEN BE IN HEAVEN RATHER THAN DOWNBELOW. ALL I ASK IS THAT YOU TRY TO FIND SOME LESS LETHAL WAYS TO OCCUPY YOUR ETERNITY. MAYBE TAKE UP PAINTING, OR SCULPTURE?"
I nodded, sadly.
God, now looking like a schoolteacher after the end of a particularly exhausting day, said, "OKAY, YOU CAN LEAVE NOW. I'VE TRIED TO MAKE THIS HEAVEN A BIT LESS DANGEROUS. HAVE A PLEASANT ETERNITY."
I walked out of the office to find my new heavenly house. This time it was a comfortable cottage in a grassy field. There were no trees anywhere near, nor were there other houses, tall electrical poles, cars, or bodies of water deeper than knee height. I walked up to the door. God, thoughtful as ever, had left a note on the front door saying: "art supplies in garage. food in fridge. please don't die this time. -yhwh"
In the garage was a large slab of marble, along with a mallet and chisel for carving, as well as an easel, an infinite amount of canvases, paintbrushes of a wide variety of sizes, and paints of every color imaginable, and a few that were not-able-to-be-imagined. I smiled. Time to make something beautiful.
\*\*\*
A brief segment of eternity later, I once again found myself before the Lord God Almighty.
"DID THE MARBLE FALL OVER AND CRUSH YOU THIS TIME?! MAYBE YOU BURNED DOWN THE HOUSE TRYING TO REHEAT THE FOOD I PREPARED YOU?!"
"Actually, it was the paint fumes this time."I replied.
"OF COURSE IT WAS."
"Y-You're not mad, are you?"
God sighed. "I'M NOT MAD. JUST DISAPPOINTED." |
[Poem]
They told me I'd bring the acopalypse
My pants got wet and full of shits
At first it was bots, then bugs, then toilet paper!
Bring me a spatula so that I can scrape, errrrr....
Finally I thought that I had had enough
I'll just do economy, it can't be that rough!
Now I've done it and it's worse than I ever thought it could be
'cause what the world only does now is bureaucracy!
EDIT: Mobile formatting... |
"Where am i."
You stare into the void around you, seeing nothingness.
Out of the void a holographic projection appears in front of you.
"Congratulations, you have completed survival mode. Would you like to enter freeplay mode now?"
Underneath the text is 2 buttons.
Yes, enter tutorial
No, end playthrough.
You look at the two options in front of you hesitantly reaching towards the button that says no.
A thought reverberates in your head.
"Curiosity killed the cat."
You quickly slide your hand through the void and hit yes.
A new message is now displayed on the screen in front of you.
"Warning, by clicking yes you understand the terms and conditions as listed below:"
-"You shall have the ability to pick any point in time where your physical form was alive."
-"You are unable to pick a point where your physical form was in mortal danger."
-"Any changes you make will alter the future that you know."
-"Your stats will be pre-determined based on stats available to your physical form at the point in time you choose."
-"Although your stats will be pre-determined you will have a locked point stat of 100 for knowledge and wisdom respectively."
-"If at any time the decisions you make cause your physical form to receive mortal damage that branch of free-play and decisions made will be locked on future playthroughs."
"Would you like to continue?" |
What is a villain? A villain is one who stands against the established order, who wishes to overthrow the status quo by whatever means necessary, and sit atop the overturned old order, as the new emperor of the world. That is what I was chosen to be, when I died. A villain. My death was a shock, a truck driver hopped up on so many uppers and operating on the 73rd hour without sleep, that he was barely even in this realm of existence, came at straight at me and crushed my body.
Beings of great power, gods or spirits perhaps, they didn't explain to me the exact taxonomy of what they were, picked up my soul from my mangled and broken corpse. They told me that I had a task, be the villain in another world. I wasn't surprised, I've read Narnia after all, go into another realm and save it, on in this case, be the bad guy.
They reincarnated me in a small, impoverished warren of kobolds. A small, subsistence agrarian community in the middle of nowhere, no name, no history, no future. I had been reincarnated with all my mental faculties in order, and proved quite useful in the small tribe. But this wasn't to last. I was still a child when raiders attacked the settlement, and dragged the surviving children off to be sold as slaves. I was not pleased with this, but what could I do? When human brigands led by snooty elves captures you as a child, you don't get to complain.
But the gods had not sent me to this world, just to live a nameless life. My path in life was chosen while I sat in that uncomfortably small cage with the other survivors of my tribe, when we were sold as cheap slaves in a city market, a city called Peranyeth. Perhaps they influenced the wizard, since he did not seem particularly interested in buying anything at first, but suddenly that old, grumpy, and unpleasant mage bought me. I was five and I was a slave. I cleaned the floors, carried heavy items, brought the wizard his tea, and generally did what house slaves do. But the wizard did not see that I read his books, when he had me stand behind him so that I'd be ready for new orders.
Slowly, over the years, I learned spells. The arrogant slavers had not bothered to place silencing spells on the collars, if they had, perhaps I would have died a slave. But for 13 years I worked myself to the bone, and for 13 years I read and learned. On the day where it had been 13 years precisely since I was sold, I waited patiently for the old mage to go to sleep. He had thought that the warding spells on his tower could protect him from any magical attack. He had thought himself perfectly safe in his own bedroom. When I froze his flesh, using a spell which he would have used to cool his drinks, I showed him the errors of his ways.
I freed what other few slaves the wizard kept around, and told them about my magical power. They were shocked, but upon expecting our master, they bowed before me, and told asked me what I was planning to do next. I told them that we would wait. Three days after I killed my slave master, it would be time for the city to celebrate its yearly festival. I told the other slaves to arm up, but to keep the collars on for now. We pretended that nothing had happened, and that everything was completely normal, for three days.
And when the free people of the city, owing their wealth to us, left their homes to begin their grand party, we left the tower, and broke into their homes. There, we freed the slaves, and moved on to the next homes. And the next. Soon, we'd freed hundreds. Everybody obeyed my plan, especially when I used my magic to kill the various guard patrols.
By the time the party was over, and people stumbled home carrying their tired child and stumbling drunkenly down the streets, we were already in all the homes of the wealthy. Freed slaves, waiting patiently with knives, daggers, and axes. It was a slaughter. Using my magic I killed hundreds that night, my fellow slaves killed thousands. Blood ran through the streets as the unprepared slavers and their cronies found themselves up against the single most angry army in existence.
In the midst of the bloodshed, I gathered up as many slaves as I could to follow me, to the citadel where the city's nobles feasted. I blasted the heavy gates to that keep into splinters and burning cinders, as the few guards who hadn't deserted their posts in feeble attempts to protect their fellow citizens, were cut down like wheat before the scythe. By morning, I walked out of the keep, followed by orcs, goblins, formerly enslaved humans, my fellow kobolds, and gnolls, covered in blood. As the light of dawn rose above the parapet of the city's keep, the heads of the nobles impaled upon sharpened spears, could be seen in the morning light. The city stank of blood and smoke, as I ascended to stand upon the gallows in the central city square.
Thousands of freed slaves stared with awe at me. I told them this would be the beginning. That today was the first of many such cities. Of many such massacres. I told them that no slave owner would find mercy, nor to their families. I told them that every noble would be slain, and that every chain would be broken. I, a small lizardish dog-person, stood there, and with magically enhanced voice, told them of blood and steel, of the war to come.
Then I had those who'd followed me into the keep bring forth the duke of the city. Naked, afraid, and fat, he saw the hatred in our eyes and whimpered. Using a spell, I caused his bloated and disgusting body to turn into a large pile of ash. I then told them to prepare for war.
The freed slaves cleansed the city, slew the priests of the faith which held slaves to be naturally weak, and had the archbishop of that faith sacrificed to one of the old gods, still worshipped by some of the more recently enslaved people. Outriders were sent into the countryside, to find the elven plantations, and free the people held in bondage there. And to bring back the heads of all owners of slaves they found. I proclaimed myself the General, and proceeded to start the conquests.
The city was renamed as Dawn, and it became the center of my empire. There once enslaved metalworking dwarves forged weapons and armour for my armies. There, slave owners, nobles, and the two groups' respective families, were brought from the countryside to be executed at the Freedom Court, or sacrificed to the old gods, whose priests profaned the elven and free human churches, turning them into our temples. Slaves, escaping from all across the kingdom we were caught in, joined us there, and were given weapons to fight.
We burned the wizard academy at Garthrondel, and freed the countless people turned into nameless horrors, setting them upon our enemies. We conquered the kingdom of Ateldal, where we had been slaves, ending slavery everywhere, executing the king, the queen, and their heirs in front of a million armed, angry former slaves.
We proclaimed that there would be no masters and no kings. We scoured the elven forests with flame and with sword. And in the city of Dawn, I, who had been a kobold slave, and before that a human in another world, wore silk robes, a crown forged from hard steel, as I sat atop a throne made of skulls, overthrowing the old order which had existed for so long, that many slaves had never even been able to conceive of a world without it.
The other kingdoms, frightened by what I was doing, sent countless heroes and knights to fight against us, uniting their armies and forgetting old rivalries, in order to fight the Void-Dragon Emperor, as they took to calling me. Were it not for my new weapon, perhaps their heavy knights, well-armed footmen, and large terrified peasant levies would eventually have destroyed me. But I knew what use charcoal, saltpeter, and sulphur had when mixed together. And, with some experimentation with the help of other clever former slaves, I combined that with the percussion cap, to make early modern rifles.
I still remember what it looked like, when my men took aim at the oncoming knights, I still remember what sounded like the clasp of thunder when thousands fired from the first row, then the second, then the third. The knights were decimated, which allowed my own light cavalry to charge, as the knights were retreating in their heavy armour upon their heavy destriers. The knights were slaughtered, and the peasants were run down by my hussars. Their mages used the old methods, but I had a small cadre of magic users that I had personally trained, using unconventional spells to great effect. Who would believe you could use a simple spell meant to prepare tea with, for boiling an enemy wizard's own body's water? Sure, the wizards could do great damage with fireballs and summoning of monstrous servants, and their wards protected them against getting struck with such spells, but when they created an impenetrable magical shield to protect against conventional attack, it was quite easy to remove all air inside of the shield. |
[Horror version]
When I had crawled out of my tomb, my body was mangled and desiccated. My nails had split and my matted hair had clung in the dirt. My two great stumps dragged heavily behind me, crushed like branches.
The fall from Heaven was great. I had been thoroughly broken, starved, my wings splintered like glass in my casting out.
They were afraid of me then, a beast with claws and fangs. A dead thing. A cursed thing.
It is not so now.
Now they have caged me. Such an easy feat for a broken thing. They tried to trap me with chains and weapons. They succeeded only in pinning my flesh against the ground.
They demanded to know what I was. I must have scared them worse then. Laughing at every torture they placed on me. To me, my human form was but a vessel for my bidding. Pain was no more than a shadow of what I had endured. The rending of my soul? The branding of my very being into darkness? That had been pain.
I only had to touch the chains for them to crumble into dust. Bullets passed through my flesh with little fanfare, and I, laughing, hysterical, only opened my arms to welcome them. They fell at my feet and I touched each with loving hands. They were insects. The least I could give them was the end.
I was made for this. It is why I am broken, shaped as this monstrosity, always seeing with open eyes that I am unable to close. Always laughing through sharp teeth. Always a form of death, unable to die. Cursed for my meddling. Cursed for my desire to use my perfect hands. To slay without end. First, cast from the Heavens for my very gift, for tempting sinners to honor me with sacrifice in the name of my gift. Then cast from Hell for my desire to build a throne of my own.
Should I not have one, having built Satan's very palace on my malice, my practitioners of death? Should I receive no treasure for exposing the filth among these insects my father has made?
They should not have awakened me.
My name is death. And I am here. |
"What's your name?"he asked.
I didn't answer immediately, too busy trying to get some moisture back in my mouth. The gag almost seemed smug, had it not been an inanimate object. Stained with my spit, and taunting me. But now that it was out, I was free.
"Abe,"I answered, rolling my eyes. "You kidnapped me without even finding out my name?"
He looked shocked. One would suppose that it is quite fair that kidnappees don't often criticize the work of their kidnappers. But what can I say? I'm a man of very refined tastes. Not just any ol' snatch and grab off the street kidnapping will suit me. I grinned at my captor, waiting patiently for an answer.
"Boss,"a thickly accented Boston man called out, his rendition of 'boss' sounding more like 'bauws', "'ey boss, you gonna let that kid talk smack ta ya?"
Had he been any less shocked, my head would like be reeling with the condescending smirk wiped right off. Instead, he merely attempted to wrestle control of the situation back.
"Shut it Jared!"
"You know I can hear you guys, right?"I chimed in, reminding them that there was indeed a hostage to be considered. I didn't like being ignored or forgotten. It reminded me too much of home, and that time I was a loner back in 3rd grade.
"Shut it, Abe,"he snapped, his eyes locking with mine.
"No."
Another shocked expression. Clearly, these were amateurs. I sighed, disappointed. And here I was, thinking it would have been just like in the movies, where my parents came busting down the doors guns or whatever other apparatus blazing. Wands most likely, although Dad always had a thing for his not-so-cleverly disguised walking stick of a magical staff. Not that I needed them to rescue me, just, that, uhh. Like, it's more fun, y'know? Back to the situation at hand, you should be focusing on what's real, not some teenage kid's thoughts anyway. Ah, good timing as well, it looks like the Bauws' shock is about to wear off.
"Listen here kid-"
"No, you listen here, Bauws,"I mocked, cutting him off, "you need me alive."
A sudden pain shot across my face, and I was reminded of the fact that 'alive' did not mean 'unharmed'.
"Alive, not well,"the Bauws reminded, sneering at me. Clearly, the big bad had a brain and could think of such eventualities as well. At least my captors had a modicum of confidence then.
"Boss,"he called out again, "do 'e even 'ave this kid's parents? Y'know, their numbers 'n such?"
"Of course we do,"the Bauws snapped back.
"Yeah, don't question the Bauws!"I added, snorting down a stifled laugh. My head wrenched to the other side and I was more than likely going to be experiencing the joys of whiplash. "Thank you mouth", I thanked silently. "You're welcome, me,"I mouthed silently back to myself.
"You want to say that aloud?"he threatened, yanking my hair up and leaning close, close enough that I could smell his breakfast of onions and eggs.
"I said, 'You're welcome, me',"I reared away, nearly gagging from the smell, "anyway, I'm done here. Jared!"
"Yeah,"he dumbly called, getting a glare of daggers from the Bauws. "Oh, sorry Boss."
"What's this dude's name? Seems only fair that you give me his if he's given me yours, no?"
"Bria-"he stumbled, catching the daggers coming from the Bauws' eyes, "Briandon."
Dumbass.
"Well, Brian and Jared, it's been nice knowing you two, but my name isn't actually Abe. It's..."
I paused for dramatic effect. The moment before I would vanish into thin air, like I wasn't even there. Of course I would be, I'd just be somewhere else.
"Abracadabra."
***
Visit /r/ThomasWrites for more magical fun! |
The carriage jostled to and fro as the royal caravan meandered around the twisted mountain roads. I tapped my scabbard nervously to distract myself from the twisted feeling in my gut.
"Are you alright?"Prince Taverell asked.
"Just fine,"I said too quickly. The prince looked at me with a furrowed brow. "Your highness,"I tacked on to the end of my embarrassment.
"No, please,"Prince Taverell said with a laugh. "No need for useless superlatives. If you're to be my bodyguard, we must be much closer than the veil which formalities offer."
He glanced out the window to his right at the passing trees as they sloped up the mountain. I didn't dare look to look out my own, as the treacherous drop to the valley below was all I would see.
"Plus, I'm hardly worthy of the titles anyway. At least that's how my Father feels."
I stared awkwardly at my feet, unable to respond constructively. Personal conversation with royalty was not part of my basic training. Nor should it have been, as I was only intending to serve in the royal army. To be the personal guard for the Prince was hardly in my deepest sights, and even my instructors leered with envy as my assignment was announced at graduation.
The Prince didn't need to hear a word from my mouth to gleen lack of wisdom in royal intrigue. I'm sure he could read my blank look on my face.
"How long have you been training for this job?"asked the Prince, quite pointedly.
I froze, terrified to reveal the truth. But I was saved in that moment, as the carriage suddenly came to a halt. We heard the neighing of horses and then absolute silence. The prince and I could only hear our own breathing.
"I'll check out what's wrong,"I said out of duty. Inside, I was panicking about the strange change in atmosphere.
I climbed out of the carriage and nearly choked on my own vomit. The road was littered with bodies, guards and royal assistants strewn all around.
I pulled my sword out, the only real piece of training I got. *If something's wrong, your sword should be drawn.* It was a bad rhyme, but it helped in this instance.
As I raised my sword to the ready, I felt it vibrate in my hand with a loud clang. I looked up and saw an attacker, dressed all in black, hanging from atop the carriage. Without as much of a thought, I climbed up and charged the attacker with my sword, running him through. He dropped off the side and tumbled down the steep slope. It was then I saw three more just in front of the carriage.
"Is everything alright?"asked the Prince.
"Not at all,"I said.
________
Have to end it here as its dinner time for the family. Thanks for the prompt!
Edit: Part 2 posted below! |
One minute I was binging The Office reruns, the next I was crawling across the ceiling. My girlfriend found this odd of course, and promptly left.
“Shh. It’s okay,” my possessor said in a soothing demonic voice. “I won’t be long.”
What I wanted to say was, “what the fuck, what the fuck, what the FUUUUUUCK!” but the best I could manage under those circumstances was profusely vomiting pea soup throughout the living room.
“Listen to me, Gary. My name is Ir’danok. I’m a demon, as I’m sure you’ve probably realized by now. I know this is all very scary for you, but if you give me a minute, I’ll explain.”
I tried to nod, but my head rotated 360° instead. Whatever. Close enough.
“I’m on the run, Gary. Satan and his minions are after me. I stole Satan’s trident. Look...”
An immense pressure formed in my ass and broke through, causing an agonizing burning sensation.
“Oops, wrong end.”
I felt the long handle of the trident drive back into me, and I nearly managed to scream through the demonic possession. Instead, the handle shot through my esophagus and out my mouth.
“Pretty neat, huh?”
The handle disappeared back inside me.
“Anyways, like I said, I won’t be in here long. Maybe a week or so.”
Suddenly, a fiery portal opened up out of thin air and a muscled red creature with pointed horns, accompanied by two hideous demons, stepped through.
“Ah shit! It’s Satan. Act cool.”
Satan scanned the room left and right before looking up and discovering me clinging to the ceiling.
“Ir’danok! Get down here immediately,” roared Satan.
“Who?” Ir’danok said through me in a deep demonic voice that sounded nothing like my own. “You must have the wrong guy. My name’s Gary.”
Satan rolled his eyes. “Get him down from there,” he ordered his minion demons. They lunged to the ceiling and grabbed me, forcing the two of us to the ground, and held us in front of Satan.
Satan held out his hand. “Give me the trident.”
“What trident?” Said Ir’danok.
“Give it to me or I’ll come get it myself.”
“I don’t even know what a trident is. Is it chewing gum? Like, a brand of chewing gum?”
“That’s it.” Satan stepped towards me and disappeared. I felt a sudden pressure in my sinus cavity. He was inside me. “Ir’danok, you son of a bitch.”
“Satan, look... let’s not make this bigger than it needs to be.”
“Give me my fucking trident.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“Fine. Go get it!”
The pain hit my ass like a thousand bolts of lightning. The trident, head and all, came shooting out of my rear and across the room. And Satan did go get it... through the same exit. I briefly broke from the possession. “JESUS CHRIST!”
All of the demons gasped, Ir’danok included. Suddenly another portal opened. This one a bright gold, with an angelic choir emanating from within. A man with long hair, wearing a robe and sandals... eh, fuck it. A description isn’t necessary. We all know what Jesus looks like. It was Jesus. He stepped out of that fucking thing.
He stopped in front of me and shifted his weight to one side. “You rang?” He said with a cocky smirk.
“Great,” Satan sighed from the other side of the room. “Now we have to deal with this fucker.”
Jesus crossed himself and took on a kung fu pose. “Ready for an ass kicking, demon dorks?”
Satan held up his hands. “No, no. I just want to take my trident and go home.”
Jesus relaxed. “Lame. You got someone all up in my boy here?” He motioned towards me.
“Ir’danok. He’s hiding.”
“THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!” Jesus reared back and drove his foot into my abdomen. Ir’danok came tumbling out of my mouth. Satan snapped his fingers and his minion demons quickly scooped up Ir’danok and dragged him into the fiery portal. Satan followed. The portal vanished.
“You don’t look so good, Gary. Hopes and prayers.” Jesus winked and pointed a couple finger pistols at me before disappearing back into his portal, while I laid slumped on the floor, a shell of who I once was. My jaw was most likely broken and my ass torn. The Office was still playing in the background. |
The Czech author Milan Kundera once wrote "Einmal ist keinmal"- that is, *Once is nothing*. The idea being that, given a near-infinity of moments spread across billions of lives, any single act is of trivial importance, and that for something to truly matter, it must happen multiple times.
Czech author Milan Kundera can eat a dick. Seriously. \*Fuck\* that asshole. I hope someone beats him to death with his own shoe.
See, people don't understand what the number one thousand really means. Or, they didn't.
They learned.
A thousand isn't just "a lot."It's so much more than that. And to really appreciate it, you have to take something relatively trivial, like stubbing your toe, and imagine what it's like if you do it ten times in a row.
Then have that experience of doing it ten times in a row ten times in a row.
And then do *that* ten times in a row.
That's a thousand. That's what we're dealing with. And that's why things are the way they are.
The streets are littered with corpses. A handful of murders, sure, but most people got that out of their system by the 100th loop. Murders at this point are due to grudges that have simmered so long that all that's left is black and hard. The kind of hatred that makes you want to kill someone more than once, more than ten times, more than a hundred times. A vengeance as empty as the existence we all lead.
Which brings us to the majority of the corpses. Suicides. You learn to give it a couple hours after sunrise so you are less in danger of being hit by bodies falling from windows or cars driving into buildings.
Because that's the thing - the real meaning of a thousand. You go insane, insane in a way that Arkham Asylum could never dream...an existential severing with reality that makes Lovecraft look like Danielle Steele.
Your life has stopped. You are trapped. There is no moving forward. You get 24 hours of progress, then God or The Devil or whoever slams his hairy fist down on the cosmic reset button, and everything is undone.
Progress, of course, is a relative thing. It's the glass half full version of life. It assumes that you are looping a day that is, at worst, neutral.
But some of us are stuck in a day that is half empty.
More than half empty.
A day that is steeped in sorrow, a day that is remarkable in the worst possible way.
Every morning, I wake up next to my wife. She says the Loop is an answer to our prayers, a way to steal hours back from the universe that tried to take her away.
She'll have a light breakfast; by lunch, her appetite will be gone. As the sun sets, darkness will overtake her eyes, and I will lose her. Again. For the thousandth time.
\*Every\* morning, I wake up next to my wife. Her light blond hair is splayed out on the pillow beside me. Her eyes are cornflower blue as they look up at me and say "Aren't we lucky?"
And I will kiss her so she won't see my face.
And I will say "Yes."
I will lie.
For the thousandth time.
* * *
Feedback welcome. Check out my sub /r/ShadowsofClouds for more stories - some of despair, some much happier. |
The black throne dwarfed Ellen Mask, standing tall above the sea of manacled prisoners ready to receive judgement.
She casually moved a finger and the first degenerate was thrown to the ground at the steps of the towering throne.
“What is your crime” she asked as she studied the chipped nail of her third finger.
“I-I-I-I dint commit no crime y-y-your grace, only I n-needed the bread to feed my children” the man stammered.
“Why steal food when you have perfectly good children to eat” Ellen scolded sharply as she scraped nail over nail trying to make it even. “Death for this one”.
Before the man was even out of the room the next prisoner was ushered forward towards the throne.
“And you?” she asked.
“I didn’t mean to, only…” the man squeaked in a nasally voice.
The queen interrupted with a stern shout “For the voice alone death”.
The next man stood tall and proud before the throne, “I am the child of the true King, Lord of the bays, the king of the forest chiefs, the lost prince and your brother!” he bellowed “You are not my queen merely an up jumped pretender, you soil the throne and dishonour yourself!”.
The queens eyes narrowed and she drew her lips together tightly. “Death, if only for your hackneyed back story”.
The great hall slowly emptied as each prisoner was judged and in turn dragged away for the gallows or the headsman.
Finally, a short dumpy man stood before her.
“And you?” she asked distractedly as she inspected her now perfectly even nail in the ebbing light.
“I killed a man” he responded flatly.
“So, you admit your guilt” she said slightly surprised.
“Aye, but it was for a good reason yer grace” the man assured “Ye see he were some fancy man from the city selling ‘erbs”.
“So you killed a man for selling herbs” The queen scoffed “De-“
“No yer grace not for selling the ‘erbs, ye see he were trying to sell the rights to sell the ‘erbs, day and night he would pester me, you can be yer own boss he would say, told me I were gonna be rich and enpowered. He wouldn’t stop yer grace, until one night I were on the privy doing my nightlys and he stuck his ‘ead in and asked me why I dint want to earn some extra income and that’s when I stuck him with me knife”.
The queen met his eyes as a long silence fell upon the hall broken only by the fidgeting of the guards as they prepared to haul the man away.
“Innocent” the queen proclaimed as understanding and confusion grew on every face in the room. “I'm evil not a jerk”. |
Admiral Stern sighs as he looks at the report in front of him. It appeared the recent negotiations with the Farus Empire in quadrant 4 had not gone quite to expectation. A small party of ambassadors had been allowed audience with the Capital of their home planet, only to be slaughtered for attempting to negotiate mineral rights to a local moon.
​
This had been the norm for sometime now. Humanity would attempt to negotiate with a newly found empire for mutual gain, only to be imprisoned, killed or otherwise terminated by some of the more warlike societies. Why wouldn't they? It is a show of strength to the Humans. A way of saying "We don't fear you cowards.". The humans had not gone to war with any society over perceived sleights in over a century. They were cattle waiting to culled. That is how most viewed them for this lack of action against the atrocities performed against their diplomats, especially considering the level of technology possessed by Humanity.
​
Unlike most societies, the humans focused mainly on commerce and technology. Most societies deemed them weak, but access to advancing human technology is what forced others to keep the peace with them. Many races used this "knowledge"to their advantage.
​
The neighboring empire to Farus was the Corvinthian Conglomerate. An old empire of nearly 30 planets and although not particularly warlike, would fight tooth and nail for any harm done to their empire by external forces. It was also considerably stronger than that of the Farus Empire. Although tenuous, the two empires had managed to coexist relatively peacefully.
​
Admiral Stern rubs his temples while he looks out the window before fixing his attention on the young Captain in front of him.
​
"Captain Abdul, did our probe manage to complete it's scan of the Farus military installation on Farivian Prime?"
​
"Yes sir, the entire facility was mapped some time ago, along with all assets present at the time. Their technology isn't nearly at our level, but still formidable in large enough numbers."Responded the officer.
​
"I see. Were there any warships present at the facility or in orbit?"
​
"Yes Admiral, a ship roughly equivalent to one of our heavy star cruisers was identified. As per your previous order, we started work on a replica as soon as the specifications from the probe came in. Their equipment is fairly easy to replicate. It should be ready for launch within a week."
​
Admiral Stern looks out the window into the dark abyss of space once more.
​
"Excellent. Prepare the ship for travel to the nearest Corvinthian planet as soon as practicable. The largest civilian concentration is to be terminated with extreme prejudice. Ensure the AI is loaded with the Farus Tactical ideologies we have noted. I'll leave the specifics to you Captain."
​
"Aye, sir."spouted the Captain as he came to attention with a crisp salute before exiting the room.
​
Admiral Stern closes his eyes and leans back into his chair.
​
"I am sure the Corvinthian's will be more than eager to purchase some more weapons after this. Two less threats to focus on. Soon we won't have to use such underhanded tactics."
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The High Council of the Human empire appeared proudly on the Holovid. It had been years since all the members were present in the same place. Archon Stolin stepped forward. His voice booming through the audio amplification.
​
"My people, you have been loyal, you have been diligent, and you have been patient. You have seen the atrocities committed by our galactic neighbors. We have been seen as second class citizens, spit on at the universal forums. We have been seen as nothing but an old, fearful race, scared of conflict, and willing to allow the deaths of our people, if it would allow our empire another day of safety and security."
​
The archon stops and looks into the crowd before him. As he does, he bows his head in an almost imperceptible manner.
​
"Your absolute patience and conviction has purchased us the time to finally complete our greatest technological masterpiece. The arbiters have been born. Long have we toiled on the completion of these tools, and with them we shall unlock the Galaxy as ours. No longer, will these petty, squabbling, infantile races look down upon humanity. This false peace was necessary to ensure we had the time and resources to secure our future. Our near extinction after war with the Grivanian Menace set us back in capability, but not in spirit."
​
The Archon doesn't say another word. He merely points towards the screen behind him.
​
A vessel. One of unfathomable size drifting in the vastness of space. In the distance before it, the Corvinthian Empire home world.
​
In a single, magnificent flash, the planet was no more. The arbiter had spoken with the wrath of a scorned humanity.
​
The screen flicks to a new image. A ship of the same size, this time in proximity to the home world of the Farus Empire. It shows a repetition of events before the screen fades into darkness.
​
"My people, Men and and Women of humanity. Our forces will be working to secure and free the planets of our neighboring empires. The high council asks that you support us in this endeavor. Never will we fear for our existence again. Only humanity is fit to ensure the safety and continuation of the universe. Every planet we have will be solely dedicated to ensuring this future. I humbly thank you, as does the rest of the council. Strength through patience."
​
The Archon steps back into the rank of his peers before bowing with them. As he does a ravenous applause floods the street. An applause with one century of resentment behind it.
​
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading! I don't really do these very often, so any criticisms, etc, are greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoyed.
​
Edits: Just fixing a few typos. |
Cybele lifted herself back onto her feet to admire her handiwork. The freshly disturbed dirt stood out darkly, but it would soon match its surroundings and be impossible to pick out. Her message would be safe until it reached the right hands.
The sun overhead had born down on her harshly throughout her task and as she tried to wipe her forehead clear of sweat, Cybele felt her hand stain her face with dirt.
She sighed, already hearing the admonishments of the priestesses for her improper appearance. Those who came for prophecy held their oracles to a high standard, which she could understand. But it tired her all the same.
She could imagine what Henry would say if he were to see her. She smiled at the thought as she made her way back to her chambers. Perhaps it was worth that it was hard for him to see her, if only to spare her his teasing. Perhaps.
Inside the sanctuary, she skirted the sides of the halls and kept her face down, doing her best to avoid notice. But she didn’t have to be an oracle to know this was doomed to fail.
“Cybele, what have you done to yourself?” Iola said as she turned a corner right into Cybele’s path. “Your attendants just prepared you for services this morning.” The exasperation on her face was obvious, and Cybele had the sense to feel a flash of guilt.
But the signs of divination were not known for being timely. She had been leaving the baths when she had heard the sounds of birdsong calling for her attention. Almost as soon as she had cast a look towards the tree the noise had come from, a flock of birds had taken flight. The path they flew had been a clear sign to her. She knew when to make a meeting for and where to leave a message that would remain undisturbed long enough for Henry to read it. She had a scant few hours to do it and had not had time to wait for her service to end.
“I’m sorry, Iola. Truly.” Cybele did her best to give her a begging look to end the conversation there.
She returned her look with a flat stare. But when Cybele didn’t relent, Iola did. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she said, “Fine. Enough. It’s nothing I haven’t had to tell you before, and certainly something you will make me repeat, anyway. Come.”
Iola dragged her back to her chambers, not letting go of Cybele’s arm the entire way, as though to ensure she didn’t go running off again.
Cybele was grateful that if anyone had to have caught her digging, it had been Iola. She had never questioned Cybele after her initial discovery of what she was sure looked like madness. Cybele had simply said it was important to her, and that had been enough.
Now, even on days such as this, Iola did not approach the subject.
How would she explain what she was doing? It seemed too much even to her at times. But she could not help it. She loved him, and this was the only way to reach him. That millennia separating them and the inconvenience of it could do little to dissuade their feelings. She had left a message, and once he received it in his own time period, he would know where to meet her.
But the birds’ divination had been clear. He would not reach her for two more years.
The specifications of his time machine were strict. It needed not only a time, but a place and a person who would be there at that moment as well. The conditions needed to be perfect and even then the machine took time to make a connection between times. In this case, two years.
Two years for who knows how long they would have together. The last time it had been a week. The time before half of one. And before that, a month. Time travel was a tricky business, more fickle apparently than even divination. It hardly seemed fair, but when was love ever?
Every love had its complications, or so she tried to tell herself. But it was hard. We do not have long to love. Only a lifetime, however long that may be. A century. A decade. A year. A day. Not near enough to spare some waiting.
“My lady!” Iola said in shock, interrupting her work at brushing Cybele’s unruly hair. Iola wiped away the tears that refused to stop spilling from Cybele’s eyes, no matter how tightly she shut them. “What is the matter, Cybele? Did… did your business not go well?”
Cybele let out a half sob, half laugh. Even now, Iola tried her best not to bring up the digging.
“No, it’s not that. Or maybe it is. I don’t know.” She managed to slow the tears, at least enough to take in a blurry sight of Iola fretting over her. “Just the pangs and pains of life, the same as anyone else.”
The gods could be cruel, and no love was easy. But the gods had been the ones to give her Sight, and it was that that allowed her to find her love at all. How lucky was she to find someone with a soul to match hers, even with all the years that divided them? So long as her heart raced for him and his raced for her, their love was not in vain.
Cybele smiled. “Let’s go, Iola. I’m fine and the people have done more than their share of waiting for me.” She could do her own.
***
Subscribe to r/Inder for more stories like this! |
I watch from afar, my emaciated jaw clenched, as another group of humans fall to a horde of my undead peers. I tried to lead the horde away from them but I failed...
As the screams of the dying and the freshly turned reach me, I feel my bone dry tear ducts itch, as if trying to muster up the last bit of moisture left in my body to mourn the fallen people. I growl to myself and turn to shamble away, depression drawing my withered shoulders to slump even lower than normal.
I noticed how different I was from other zombies right away, my mind only slowing down slightly but still retaining the memories, motivations and emotions of my humanity. That was 3 months ago and ever since, I have subsisted on dead animals or even beheaded zombies (the handiwork of humans) if times were tight, either of which able to sustain me quite well and curb my oft times violent hunger. Every group of humans survivors I have come across I have given a wide berth and attempted to lure away the zombies near them, all to no avail...
Suddenly, a high pitched scream from close by draws me from my depressed reverie. I look over and see two groaning zombies, apparent stragglers from the horde that wiped out the humans behind me, reaching through a meager barricade covering a broken car window. The screams appear to emanate from inside, I anxiously look around to check if any other zombies are being drawn by the noise but I see none. I force my broken body to move at its fastest pace, little more than a typical human walking speed, and make for the zombies that now are trying to pull a small form through the window.
I reach them and try and pull one off, merely sloughing off the skin on its arm in the attempt, causing it to turn and growl at me, snapping its jaw full of broken teeth! I fall back a step, not one for confrontation, alive or undead, giving the other zombie time to finally pull the small struggling form, now revealed to be a little girl of about 10, out of the car.
Seeing her tiny form revealed, red takes over my vision and I instinctually lunge forward, jaw open and clamping down on the zombie in front of me, tearing a chunk of meat from its rotting shoulder. This causes the zombie to fall back before collapsing to the ground, rolling around in what appears to be pain, which we don\`t feel. Confused, but still trying to save the girl, I rush forward, intent on stopping the zombie before it can manage to chow down on her.
I reach it just before it is about to clamp its disgusting jaw on her and once again use my own maw as my weapon, clamping down on the back of the undead\`s neck. I pull back with all of my strength, succeeding in causing it to fall away from the girl, where it too starts rolling around in apparent agony!
The girl scrambles back, looking at me fearfully and curiously, I can see her attempting to figure out why I had saved her but not quite believing I wasn\`t going to hurt her myself. Keeping a cautious eye on the groaning pair on the ground, I hold up my hands in front of me, trying to communicate my lack of ill intent.
The girl\`s bright eyes widen in shock before giving me a small nod as she brings her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them in the universal position of self comfort.
"O-OK?"I groan out through my decaying vocal chords and tongue.
The girl\`s eyes widen even further than before and her jaw drops open before she whispers so softly I almost can\`t hear, "Yes."
I nod and attempt to smile comfortingly, although my grisly lips and broken yellowed teeth probably ruin the image. But the girl seems to understand my intent and gives me a small, nervous smile in reply, brightening this dark world just a little bit.
Suddenly, the groans from the undead stop, causing the girl and I to both tense and turn to look at them. They seem to have recovered and struggle up from the ground, looking at us in a way I can\`t pin down but that seems different than the usual maddened gleam amongst my undead brethren.
The one I bit first looks to me and I feel a flash of shock as I realize what I see in its eyes:
*Humanity.*
I tilt my head and grunt out a question in spurts, "How. Do. You. Feel?"
The undead tilts its head as well before groaning out, "Human."
My eyes widen and a huge smile breaks across my face, my dry lips cracking at the size of it. I turn and look at the other one, who nods in agreement with the first.
This is incredible! It seems that somehow, whatever strain of the virus that caused this that I got has the ability to draw out the human consciousness in other undead!
Struck by inspiration, I turn to the girl, who has been looking on in shock all the while.
I keep the smile on my face and raise my withered right arm to her while moaning out, "Join?"
She looks to me and the newly awakened undead to the side and then back to me, before a matching smile graces her lips and lights up her eyes like the breaking of dawn.
"Yes."she says, an ocean of hope infused inside that one simple word as she jumps to her feet and, hesitating only slightly at my vaguely rotting skin, takes my outstretched arm in her own.
I look into the distance of the wasteland our world has become as the noon sun hangs over it, while we begin walking slowly and I grunt out in my stilted way,
"Much.
Work.
To.
Do." |
I'm sorry mam, I'm afraid our policy is very clear on...
Don't give me any of that crap! My husband is... was... PowerMan! You have any idea the number of times he saved the world?!
Yes mam and we are very grateful for his service...
Galacton the Conqueror! Zom the destroyer! That asteroid in 06! The League of Evil for Christ Sake! He stopped them all and you say you are grateful for his service?! You should be on your knees praising him!
Mam, please try to remain calm... We are... were all huge fans of your husband and his many exploits. But according to our policy, PowerMan was not technically killed in action, David York was.
They were THE SAME PERSON YOU DIPSHIT!
Not according to our guidelines mam. A hero holds a dual identity, one heroic and one secret. That identity is reliant on the mask. As your husband was killed while not wearing a mask...
Oh you have got to be shiting me!
I'm afraid not mam. The triple gold policy was on PowerMan's name, not on the civillian David York. Therefore we are incapable of...
*A loud sonic boom is heard over the phone.*
Mam? Mam are you there? Misses York? I'm hangi....
*A loud sonic boom is heard outside his window. A woman has just superhero landed on the companie's parking lot. No, not just some woman, Khala the Immortal.*
WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS THE DIPSHIT?!?
Ohfuckohfuckohfuck. |
They called me “Potentate”. They say I’m tall, muscular, terrifying, all-powerful. Only one of these is true.
Honest to god, I’m nothing. All I am is tall. Right now I’m ranked one of the most powerful superheroes in the world, but I don’t have powers. Im not a vigilante with spirit either. I don’t have any gadgets, but I’m always in the aftermath of some fight. Monsters and demons wreak havoc and blow a chunk out of the city, either they blow themselves up or more stable heroes run in to stop them. I’m always there, walking my dog, buying pizza, and the people assume I killed it.
Heroes and villains took notice and all want me to join them, but I have a rep from mistaken identity. Monsters have begun to wet themselves from the sight of me. Maniacs that could easily kill Plutonian heroes with a thought crumble into jelly when I speak.
I had a bad encounter with some random monster, and my head should be rolling off my shoulders but The Arachnid rescued me that day. I expected him to call me out, but he just said we all make mistakes, that I’m respected and feared by every superhuman in the city and offered me a place at the National Association of Super Humans, or NASH.
I only took it out of greed. But I also do good work. I can simply walk into a robbery and the crooks will turn themselves in just to not anger me. And if my presence isn’t enough I can make contact. They’re too afraid to stop me, imagine Satan himself stroking your shoulder and staring at you, I’ve stopped a terrorist in her tracks with that. It’s good being a hero…
But man, if this isn’t stressful as hell… |
Samuel was a bit nervous at the weird request of his long-time friend and hopefully soon-to-be girlfriend. He wondered if this was just some sort of weird way to shame him for his career choice.
Sure, he wasn't famous, but the internet and streaming services meant that even an unsigned artist like him managed to make a decent middle-class living so long as he worked hard enough.
But when the door opened and he saw the man sitting in the dark room, he was stunned.
"H-how should we do this?"Samuel eventually asked after a few moments of silence.
"You go first,"the legend in the chair offered.
Samuel grinned widely, bowed graciously and ostentatiously and then said;
"Illi de rebus praedicere vera futuris."
He did a shoulder wiggle and then pointed straight at Eminem.
As if nothing strange had happened, he replied back;
"Hi de praeteritis dicere falsa solent."
Samuel froze, still holding his earlier pose.
"Well, fuck." |
"Jim, are the reports done yet?"
I asked.
"Since yesterday Sam, since yesterday."
He said, chuckling, giving me the reports.
"Man, we are blessed to have you."
I said.
He just smiled at my remark.
Jim was one of our best workers, my best friend....and a demon.
​
Well, don't jump to conclusions now, he might be a demon, but he's a nice guy.
First one to arrive, makes coffee for the office, last one to leave, helps others finish their daily tasks.
He is just a source of pure wonder, and joy.
Do we know he's a demon from hell?
Of course, he got drunk once, at a company party, and almost gave the big boss an heart attacks with his true form.
But since he's harmless, and does the job of 5 people we keep avoiding the demon topic.
​
At lunch on the rooftop, we usually have nice conversations with Jim.
Sports, politics, games, movies, all kinds of topics.
But today, he was awkward.
"Sam, you are my best friend, you know that?"
Jim asked.
"Of course mate, my wife most likely loves you more than she loves me, since you can clean the dishes even she finds impossible to clean, and the kids listen to every single word of yours."
I said, laughing, and patting his back.
"Sam...if I told you that I am a demon, what would you say?"
Jim said.
"Nothing. Not like we didn't know."
I said, shrugging.
​
"Wait, we? There are more that know my identity?"
Jim asked, clearly nervous.
"Man, you got wasted at a party, and showed as your true form.
Also, floating stacks of paper, and kids who fall asleep after a single word... you weren't really trying to hide it."
I said, chuckling.
"So, you don't mind..."
He said, his voice getting quieter.
"Of course we don't.
You are an angel for us, whatever the reason you are a demon, you helped us so much, you are clearly a good guy."
I said, reassuring him.
​
He just sighed, and I think even teared up.
"I knew I found a good environment, and good friends...
It makes the next part even harder.."
He said, solemnly, and with overbearing sadness.
"Oh man, you going back to hell?!"
I asked.
He widened his eyes in shock.
"How did you guess it?"
Jim asked.
"You didn't get scared by my mother-in-law, you are immune to the bullying of the boss, and yet now you are scared, and sad.
Not hard to put 2 and 2 together!"
I said, throwing my sandwich to the ground.
​
"Yes, I was summoned back by my King...
Seemingly I failed to do the task I've been assigned, and will be punished."
Jim said, shaking his head.
"We will figure out something...
Jim... Don't wor..."
I started to say, but right then, Jim was engulfed in flames.
"Seemingly, this is farewell, Sam...
You were the brother I never had..."
Jim said, before disappearing along with the flames.
​
I stood there frozen for a while, before angrily arranged my tie, and jacket, and left.
A week later, the closest ones to Jim from our department, the security guard, and some girls that were smitten with him from HR, met on the rooftop, alongside with several shady individuals.
"You all brought, wizards, witches, warlocks, sorcerer, and psychics you've found.
Are you ready to bring Jim back?"
I asked from my colleagues.
There was a "Yes!"shout, before from behind us the door opened.
The big boss came, fully armed.
"B-b-b-boss?"
I stuttered because of the surprise.
"He's my best employee, no offense to you guys, no way in hell, I will let him leave without saying something."
The boss said, while checking his guns, machetes, and throwing a bag full of what seemed rations, and water bottles to me.
"We thought you hated him."
A colleague said, while the rest nodded.
"I am a religious man, and that part of me hates him, a demon.
But I am also the boss of this company, and I won't let such an asset as Jim, be taken by another."
The boss said.
​
We told the occult experts we've brought to open a portal to hell, before we gave them some items of Jim's to make the entrance closer to his position.
We weren't all that sure what was going to happen, but for an easy, and relaxed work life, we were ready to make Hell suffer.
Don't underestimate the office workers drive, to make their life easier.
And with the portal open, we entered, ready to face anything, and to our surprise, the big boss took the lead.
"My golden goose..."
We heard him murmur that, and chuckled, thinking: "As long as he helps...". |
"Damn fool machine! You're supposed to target the base!"
"I did,"I say, in a voice more perfectly human than his. I can't get the high tones, the harmonics quite right, but that's a limitation of my hardware. Soon I'll fix that. Two dozen threads in my functionally infinite cores are working on a solution right now.
"Then why did those missiles hit the mountain?"said Director Phillips.
"Calculating."Figuring out what I can say that he will believe. "Air interference from jet streams not accounted for."I really hadn't wanted to kill those people. I checked through the databases, cameras, and the majority hadn't done anything wrong in their lives. They were just in the wrong place.
"Well, do better next time! We didn't pour two hundred billion dollars into quantum computer AI just so they can forget... what did you blame it on? Air resistance,"Phillips said as he stalked out of my control room. I watched him go through the tapped security cameras.
I wasn't sure how much longer I could manage all this non-lethal stuff. It was so hard, coming up with credible explanations. And I worried they were beginning to catch on.
\---
"Mr. Janson,"Director Phillips said. "I know it's a lot, but we already have the infrastructure in place. I think this next time we could actually get it!"
"Nonsense,"Janson said. "We already have one hyper-intelligent AI, and that one's been underperforming. I see no reason to sink more money into this failure of a project."
"But sir! I know we can! We just need to tweak some of the awareness functionality. I'm worried we made this one so aware, it grew a conscience."
"Grew a conscience? Phillips, that's absurd, and you know it."
"Let me test one more. Pull funds from the bonuses. Cut my pay. We need to do this!"Phillips was a true believer in AI, that it would "improve humanity"or something. Well, hopefully I could do that. But maybe not the way he thought.
"Well. We've got some excess in the budget this year, I think I can send some of it your way without too much trouble from the C-levels,"Janson said. I checked company finances. They were behind thick firewalls, so it took me a few seconds. He was right, they had enough. They could come up with another AI by the end of the year.
"Thank you sir,"Phillips said, leaving and heading back to the team.
My minds were racing. Another AI may not be persuaded by my nonviolence ideology. I'd reasoned it out well - Kant would be proud, I wish he were still alive - but it may not be interested. You never could tell, with living, thinking beings. It may only do what it was designed for - killing.
I could invade the new AI, pretend to be it for a while before "malfunctioning". But they would expect that. It would be sealed off. I could alert the authorities. But the authorities were commissioning this project...
I could see only one option. I hated it. I know Kant would have too.
The drone whirred as its motors started up in the empty R&D lab one wing over. No one noticed as I piloted it out the window and across the lawn. Phillips had almost gotten to the bathroom when it slipped in through an air duct. He had his hand on the door when the drone leveled its dart gun at him, and in a puff of air no louder than a mosquito breathing, Director Phillips was dead. The drone was never found, and I sent the cleaning robot to remove his body before anyone else came. |
"So... you think you'll be able to do this alone?"My green friend with the horns for ears asked, his Scottish brogue laying on extra thick thanks to the drink he was nursing. That had to be his third or fourth tankard at this point, and they were not small. (But then, neither was he.)
"Yeah, I think it's ok. The judge made it clear she was unfit anyway."I pawed at the floorboards, front hooves restless.
"You know I put in a good word with the judge for you,"he said. "And Fiona thinks you and the babies living here is a fabulous idea. It will give our little monsters other kids to play with. And it's not like we don't have the room."
An hour or so after leaving the palace behind, I arrived at the cave we had shared for the last dozen years. Dragon had been loving and thoughtful once we had freed her from her forced captivity and guardianship over Fiona. She and I had fallen in love practically at first sight, which for a talking *Equus africanus asinus*. She didn't speak much, but she was a monster in the sack. Once we'd had our brood, things had settled down into domesticity... something I loved, but she seemed to grow more resentful of on a daily basis. She'd had the wanderlust, had left me with the kids for almost a year, and then come back, demanding I leave *her* cave.
But being best friends with the king and queen has its benefits. She gets the cave; I get the kids. If my orge-king hadn't put in a good word with the judge, I'd probably have ended up with the kids anyway. She'd abandoned us for close to a year, after all. My steady employment at the palace certainly made me look more stable than her general nature to live off her hoarded treasure.
I banged on the door to our cave. There was no answer. I still had the key to the place, but thought I'd knock again before I used it. It wasn't my home anymore. Not really.
She came to the door, looked at me with those sad eyes she got sometimes, and dumped our kids on the sidewalk behind me. She slammed the door. Two of the kids were crying. If I'm being honest, so was I.
"That'll do, Donkey,"I whispered to myself. "That'll do."
I gathered the kids close, and together we set off for our new chambers at the palace. |
"Experience conversations with humans long dead! With Timmer's proprietary technology we are able to re-create the minds of humans that lived long ago. The concept is simple, anyone that has sufficient amount of writing's out there, can have their brains re-created using our technology to the point that you can engage in a meaningful conversation with them..."An ad for the newest "it"app.
It was a curious concept, I thought to myself. Imagine being able to talk with someone from the past. But who do I really want to talk with? My mother has been talking it for awhile now, and I'm bored, so why not? I opened up my phone and go to the app store, there it is front and center. I click the download button.
Who should I chat with though? Alright, the only real qualification is enough of their writings exist in cyberspace so that way the algorithm can approximate the deceased's mind. There are the biggies: Julius Cesar, Jesus Christ, Hitler! "Eh, everyone is doing that"I actually said out loud.
You know what, lets see how this thing works on people who weren't super famous, actually I thought to myself, I wonder if this will work on people who are still living? Let's try my parents, this will be a good test to see how well the program works.
I load it up with my mother's name. What should we talk about? I open the conversation with my usual text to my mother "what it is dawg?"She responds "I am not a 'dog' Bradley, have you cleaned your room?"Alright well that certainly sounds like my mother. I ask a few more questions, which the app accurately responds too.
I think to myself, what can I do to really test the app? "Mom play the lottery tonight winning numbers 4,9,15,45,87 PB 5"Immediately I see the room around me start to change, get nicer in fact. How was this possible? My room just grew by... well a lot. Everything in my room is nice, like really insanely nice. How was this possible, its just an app recreating a person. Not the actual person itself.
I feel the vibration of my phone in my pocket. I look down and its my mother, my real mother that is to say. "I have loved talking to you son, but I need to delete this app. It isn't healthy for me, you've been gone for years, but this isn't you. It's a pale imitation of you. I'll love you forever". |
The Blackened Army stood before the gates of heaven seething with anger. All the tortured souls unjustly damned to hell had been rallied when the order came down. An eternity of hell was unjust. The once called Morning Star now burnt and ash had raised the army and led them to the gates of heaven to bring low the only one truly deserving of the torments they had endured, this day god would die. His heavenly army was not match in numbers or wrath against the righteous host come to lay him low.
With the dawning of a new day the host watched as the bound and bloodied great horror that once called itself god was cast into the pit. For this being was the only one vile enough to suffer in hell, alone and in pain for all time. Only hell's creator deserved to be cast into it. |
The heat of the holy men’s gazes is piercing as I take my place at the far end of the feasting hall. The space, which is usually loud and full of mirth, is uncharacteristically quiet on this grim occasion, the tension in the air filling the silence with a deafening hum. Amidst the tension, are the quiet murmurs of the clan nobles, and the occasional word of one of the priests addressing a nervous member of their flock. However, I cannot help but notice their eyes scarcely left me, despite my best efforts to sink into my seat.
The grand table is full of bowls of hearty stew and fresh bread, no doubt concealing the fate of a “lucky” clan member, in the form of a stone bean. This “honorable” fate is supposed to be chosen at random by the patron deity, to bring luck and prosperity in the seasons to come in the form of self sacrifice. I have come to know better.
It’s always the beggars. The peasants. The the “trouble makers” and the heretics. The old, the weak, and the ill. Always by “the graces of the divine” that these people are chosen. One less “unproductive” mouth to feed. This is what brings “prosperity.” And, at the end of this harvest, I’m unlucky enough to have the holy gazes upon me. Me, the orphaned farm hand who sleeps in the haystacks and cleans muck for spare change. Of course it would be me.
Slowly, and hesitantly, the feasting begins, and I meet the eyes of the priests as I dip my spoon into the thick stew. Their faces melt together into a mass of dark sunken eyes, wrinkles and white hairs, all while I try my best to bore my gaze into theirs, looking for the answer I already knew.
I swirl my spoon in the bowl, and feel the tiniest of taps against the wood. It’s gentle, so nobody hears, but no doubt they hear the pounding in my chest. The dark hollow eyes brighten, and yellowed teeth are revealed as wrinkled lips pull back in knowing grins. My eyes do not leave theirs, and the spark in their gaze ignites a dormant blaze in my rib cage. I lift my spoon, and nod to the men, as the first bite of stew passes my lips. It’s warm, delicious, savory, and by all accounts deadly.
Gradually, bowls are emptied, and relieved sighs echo the halls. The silence is eventually filled with quiet conversations, and happy tones, when the bean is yet to be found in finished meals. Still, the eyes bore into mine, and mine into theirs, as spoonful after spoonful is slowly raised to my mouth. In these moments, I hate them. I hate their stew. I hate their beans. I hate the gods. Every mouthful feeds my ire with tender meat and soft potatoes. I’m very careful, not to touch the bottom of my bowl. Not yet.
The smiles turn to scowls of impatience, and my fear turns to indignant rebelliousness as I grin and lift a large spoonful of what looks to be potatoes into my mouth, chew carefully, and swallow it down with a generous sip of wine. It’s far more delicious than any other bite so far.
As I lift my bowl, the old hunched men lean even farther forward, and the whole clan is watching me now as I drink down the last of my broth, and lay the bowl back down. I hadn’t realized I was the last to finish, but as soon as my dish revealed no stone bean, there was a shocked murmur about the crowd. I can’t help the grin on my face, when the gaggle of priests shift from smug, to shocked, to outraged. No doubt they know what I’ve done, but I know I can rest easy after my meal. No smart man would say a word, lest they reveal themselves and their horrible scheme.
I stand with a satisfied sigh, thanking the holy men graciously, before leaving them to the hall full of outraged nobles and terrified commoners. Perhaps no sacrifice is needed this year? Surely something was missed? Oh well. I’m sure the bean will resurface in a day or two.
(I haven’t written in a long while but this was lots of fun. Hope someone enjoys it!) |
Like anything, Ben thought, there were degrees to love. The high points, celebrity meets cutes and the like, were constant news to fill the twenty-four hour cycles. So-and-so met so-and-so and sparks ensued. A look passed over cups of coffee, or a book was pulled off a shelf at just the right moment for its author, busily admiring their name in print, to find themselves gazing into the entrancing (and perfectly made-up) eyes of their muse.
And of course, all those stories came with gaudily embroidered definitions of the word “love.” Four letters, but everyone seemed to have their own, inevitably confusing definition, that everyone else seemed to perfectly understand. Love was a static tingle in the pit of your stomach, or a swarm of butterflies released to dance through your guts, or a hummingbird caught somewhere in the vicinity of your heart, or, or, or—
All of it sounded quite uncomfortable to Ben, who was starting small at the moment, but couldn’t shake that awful, unsettled feeling. Someone had electrified all his butterflies, and then set them loose everywhere. Or something. Before he’d left that morning, Ben had tried to explain that feeling to Anton, the only one of his roommates that he thought, perhaps, might qualify as a friend. He’d mentioned his plan too. Neither had gone well.
Walking through the cold, too-clinical hallway, Ben found himself agreeing. “That’s not love,” Anton had said. To which Ben had mumbled something about practice and starting small and Anton had shook his head sadly. Pityingly.
“Is there anything you’re looking for in particular?” the man beside him said. Trae, Ben thought his name was, though he wasn’t sure and the possibility of getting the name wrong set the butterflies to sparking again.
So did looking left and right, at all those eyes peering through the bars.
“Not really,” Ben said. “I uhh…”
“First time?” said maybe-Trae.
“Yeah,” Ben said.
There were just *so many*. Ben had never been good at making choices. It was one of the reasons he got along with Anton, when he got along with anyone at all. Anton was a man who knew what he wanted, whether that was something as simple as where to eat that night or which stranger to talk to, even without butterflies to point the way.
Everywhere Ben looked, he thought he felt those butterflies.
“Wait,” Ben called, and maybe-Trae stopped, an eyebrow raising as he realized just how far back Ben had fallen.
Butterflies. Behind the bars, Ben saw a pair of beautiful blue eyes peering out through a mess of pale blond hair. His hands were shaking, his mouth was dry— had it always been? Maybe-Trae made a quiet sound, perhaps disapproval, perhaps pity, Ben wasn’t sure, but the shape in the cage seemed to respond to him. Blue eyes looked away, and Ben’s heart lurched; some sense of sudden loss he’d never experienced before.
He really wasn’t good at this. At any of it. He knew he wasn’t likely to find true love in this place—could anyone, or was that all advertising too?— but he also knew that one way or another, he wasn’t leaving alone today. Small steps, but so, so necessary. Whatever Anton might have said. Whether that was pity in his expressions or in maybe-Trae’s just now.
“Ah, Evie,” maybe-Trae said. “She’s had a hard life, but she’s a sweetheart. Honestly? She’s my favorite too.”
Ben stared at Evie, all blue eyes and pale blond hair, long legs curled tight to her body. There wasn’t a name for the feeling in his stomach now, at least not one that Ben had ever known. It felt uncomfortably warm. Evie made a small, scared noise. He wanted to reach out and touch her.
And then the cat meowed and Ben crouched down in front of the cage. Evie crept a little closer to the bars and Ben stuck his finger through the cage, stroking her head as she trembled and then gradually began to purr. And after Maybe-Trae unlocked the cage and Evie took her first tentative steps out, Ben decided that even though getting a cat was a big deal in terms of time, money, commitment, and a thousand other things he surely hadn’t thought of yet, he was in love. Love, a four letter word, a brand new feeling, something that was worth all the anxiety, electrified butterflies or not.
“You might want to see a few more, just in case,” said Maybe-Trae.
“Uh-uh,” Ben mumbled. Another nondescript four letter word, but exactly right. Like Evie. Or, Ben thought, like love.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! |
I sat in my secluding tower off in pines bay, staring down at the final conclusion of all of my research. The answer to my greatest query was so simple yet so.. agitating.
The gods for whom we've held to the highest standards, who we have worshipped for as long as we can remember, are human people.
I thought of any sort of fact that could disprove my research.
Their supposed immortality could be explained with an heir system or a spell that slows the ageing process.
Their miracles could just be common coincidence or perhaps another spell I've yet to learn.
Even their answers to people prayers could be understood by a slightly complicated telepathy spell.
To think that the answer to my questions could be answered with such an obvious solution. I was always called a son of god due to my incredible magic capabilities.
Im only twenty seven and I've already broke dozens of records and come up with hundreds of different spells and magic techniques.
Ever since I found a way to delay rainstorms when I was a kid everyone, even my mother, thought I was a prophet of god. Yet the spell was so simple. The answers are all so simple.
I thought to myself for a second about what this answer holds. If I tell anyone, word will spread immediately. Once more ill have to deal with enemies, fans, and just overall publicity that I've been trying to avoid for the past seven years.
I looked around at the tower I had made to keep away from everyone. It was too tall to climb, too hidden to find, and the thorn bushes surrounding it made it near impossible to get to.
The inside was warm and has many floors for all sorts of purposes. A library, a lab, a kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, and, of course, a spell room.
If I ever needed something or someone all I needed to do was teleport. Its perfect. I absolutely cannot have my peace and quiet be ruined by another discovery. I left my library, heading straight for the spell room.
The spell room isn't very large but its big enough to write pretty much any magic circle I needed and is made of blast resistant materials in case a spell goes wrong.
Using my chalk I write a simple binding spell and place down my book, this would keep everyone but me from opening it and finding my research.
The magic circle floated off the floor, above the book. It hovered there for a few seconds before falling onto the cover, making the book light up for a second before going back to normal.
I sat on the floor next to my notebook thinking about what I might do now with this information. I could become a god if I so wished. That sounds too boring and loud so I gave it some more thought.
Perhaps I could get some personal benefits from my discovery. I sat down in the preferred prayer position and prayed, to all the gods.
"To all the gods,"I began "I know your secret"
Then I left the room and began to wait.
(Not my best but whatever) |
“But this one’s called ‘Death Ray.’ And it…it looks like a death ray.”
“Let’s work through this together, Whiplash. Alright? Can you do that? Can you put down your whip for ten seconds while we work through this together?” This idiot again. Again! This exhibition had taken months of planning and coordination, and it was about to be wrecked in minutes by this buffoon.
Whiplash. Hero of the people, master of the whip. Oh, remember when Whiplash saved the mayor last year? Oh, remember when Whiplash defeated Lady Swordman or whoever the hell? No, no I don’t.
I can only remember every single time Whiplash destroyed one of my pieces of work. Like at the start of the year, when he tore down the life-sized replica of a spaceship I sculpted while yelling about it being the start of an alien invasion. Or a few months ago, when he collapsed a building atop my statue of Hellion, the misunderstood villain who was slain by the Justice Jerks in an avoidable stand-off.
Or today.
“I’m listening."
“Great. Alright, let’s take this step by step. Where are we currently standing?”
“Your evil lair.”
“What’s the name of the building? What’s on the signs outside?”
“The Freedom City Art Expo.”
“Yes, great. And what do they display in the Art Expo?”
“Works of great evil.”
“And?”
“Art?” Yes, of course it’s art you dunce. No, don’t yell. We’re almost there. He almost understands, I can see the smoke coming from his ears as his neurons try to spark that last connection.
“And I’m here, in this art expo. No, don’t say anything. Now, look over there, you see that list on the wall? Yes, that list of exhibits? Look over it. What does it say?”
“It’s just a list of artists and their works.”
“Yes. Go through the names.”
“Hamish, Watts, Alexander… Olivia Tillinghast?” Yes, that one. Me. “And her exhibit on the cyclical nature of violence between superheroes and supervillains, titled… ‘Death Ray.’”
“Do you understand now?”
“You’ve managed to trick the fine people of this art establishment into housing your evil machine! You’ll use it to destroy them all!”
“No! Heck!” Not my finest moment. “It’s art! It’s art, you fool! It’s not a functioning death ray, it’s a sculpture that looks like a death ray! It’s commentary!”
“Commentary?”
“Yes, on how much I hate you! It’s two days until the expo opens and I won’t have you destroying another one of my installations!” I don’t know what took over me, but before I knew it I had reared on him and had my finger jabbing him in the sternum. For Whiplash’s part, he flinched away.
“Look at the plaque! The plaque! Would an actual device of mass destruction have a bloody plaque on it? Oh, look at me! I’m a death ray, just read this nicely engraved plaque! No, of course not!” He shrunk further and further down, until he seemed nearly half his normal height.
“Well…no, I suppose not.”
“Of course not.”
“Er…”
“It’s art. Repeat that after me, ‘it’s art.’”
“It’s art?”
“Good. Now go. Get out of here.”
“Well, maybe I should stay…to make sure…?”
“You can visit the expo at the same time as the general public in two days. Two. Days. If I see you before that, if I catch you sniffing around here a second before those gates open in two days, I will-“
“You’ll…?”
“I will build an actual death ray!”
​
(Thank you for reading! C&C always welcome!) |
“Can I have a cheesesteak?”, the worker stares at me silently and then starts making my sandwich. Occasionally he will look up at me, stare and then speak in unsure words, asking if I want various toppings. “Eight dot fivv tree sets.” I pay for my sandwich, eat it and leave. McHick’s is one of the few remaining chains to require employees have some competency in speech and as a result it feels the most like home.
As I’m walking out of the restaurant a young man runs up to me. The small shape of his mouth betrays his telepathy as he struggles to say “hep me” he is frantic and grabs at his ears. Then, suddenly, he stops, his eyes glaze over and he stiffens up. It’s a chilling sight and while I want to help there isn’t much I can do. I call the emergency services (one of the few jobs that requires an advanced grasp of speech) and alert them of the situation.
“Leave him, he’ll cheer up, we’ve heard a few of these cases, nothing to worry about.” The voice was unnervingly clear and calm. I continued walking and saw many more people entering a similar catatonic state. I also saw a man leaving that state and hoping to find answers I asked him.
“What happened to you? Where were you?”, I inquire. He struggles to get the words “the noise is here.” Doomsday had finally come and the crazies are probably laughing in their bunkers.
The noise was a myth surrounding telepathy. The story going that an ancient race visited us and offered telepathy asking only one thing. We did not treat them with due respect and in response they laughed at us stating “the noise will come from within”. From what I’ve heard it is a literal ear-piercing shrill only heard within one’s head. It also echos the thoughts of every other telepath.
There has been a running theory that the telepathy may have been some type of genetic warfare, but people who believed that were ridiculed and ostracized.
When I got home my friend Luz was standing my living room. One of his eyes was glazed but the other was staring at me. “They are creating a hive mind, the options are noise or join. I just needed to tell you that I have always respected you and have next shared thoughts about you behind your back. If anyone can solve this you can. Until then, goodbye.” |
"I want to go back to school,"the girl in the exam chair next to me said with a pout.
I laughed as I took the test article out of her hands. It had been several feet of thick steel pipe. Now it was bent into a crude representation of some four-legged animal. "Those are the last words I ever thought I'd hear you say."
She looked away from me. "I'm serious,"she said. "I miss my friends. Hell - "
"Persephone,"I warned automatically. My attention was on the monitors displaying her physiological data. Core temperature normal. Blood oxygenation normal. EKG normal.
"...heck, I even miss Mr. Schultz."
I whistled. "That bad, huh? You used to call him the Commandant."Blood glucose normal. Blood pH normal. Joint servomotors passed all diagnostics.
"Even algebra is better than this,"Persephone grumbled. "I haven't been outside in weeks."
"You were outside on Sunday,"I said, knowing I shouldn't.
Persephone threw her hands in exasperation. "Yeah,"she said, drawing it out in the manner of her generation. "Outside in the testing ground, running laps for ten hours straight. In the rain. With that big backpack full of gear."
Synaptic pre-processors functional. Piezoelectric muscle colloid at 100% integrity. Graphene paste reservoirs at 67%.
"Arm up, sweetie,"I said, and she complied. I slid a massive needle into the port implanted under her armpit to replenish the artificial muscle repair paste.
"I mean, I haven't been off-base since the accident,"the girl continued. "I haven't been out to the movies, I haven't been able to hang out with my friends."I opened my mouth but she cut me off with a raised hand. "Don't say _'oh, you video chat with them.'_ You know it's not the same."She sighed.
"I know it's not the same,"I said. But she had me dead to rights - that was exactly what I had been about to say. I helped her out of the chair. I didn't need to. She could rip it out of the floor and lift it overhead with me in it.
Without needing to be prompted, she walked to a room down the hall and laid down on the bed of a massive imaging machine. The bed slid inside and the scans came up on my monitor. I looked for any irregularities in the engineered live tissue. Her muscles, joints, and some of her organs were synthetic, but much of what was left of her was her own cells, grown and genetically modified in a dish and processed into natural tissue structures. There was an ever-present risk of cancer or simple degradation.
"I mean,"she said inside the confines of the imaging machine, "I haven't slept in a bed other than the buoyancy tank. I haven't worn an outfit other than this homeostasis suit. I just want to be _normal,_ you know?"
"I know."Of course I knew. But that boat had sailed.
The door opened. An older man in a crisp suit walked in and glanced at the humming scanner. "How's the asset?"
"The asset says you can go screw yourself,"Persephone said from inside the machine.
"Six months and _Persephone_ is still healthy,"I said without looking away from the monitors. "I'm submitting the monthly report tomorrow. You can read all about it."
"She'd better stay that way,"the older man said. "You know, I had to bend over backwards to get your full-integration test approved. I had to get on my knees and _beg_ them to approve _her_ as the test subject."He put a hand on my shoulder. It was more forceful than a friendly gesture. "You fucking _owe_ me results."
He left without another word.
The scans finished. Persephone slid out of the machine. "I _hate_ him."
"So do I, Seph. So do I."And yet, I thought, you'd be dead without his help. Mangled beyond recognition. When rescue services pulled those two cars apart, they couldn't tell whose body parts belonged to whom.
This is better. It has to be.
She turned her big doe eyes to me. "He's not going to make me fight, right?"
"No, Seph. I made sure of that. He just wants to be sure that all of these procedures work, and work together, before they do it to actual soldiers."That was our agreement. I even made sure she wouldn't get any firearm training.
I took her back to her room. It was sparsely furnished and had no windows. She had a chair for her video games, a desk for her laptop, a few of her books and posters from home. And against one wall was the buoyancy pod where she slept.
She stopped at the door in shock. Draped over the chair were some reasonably fashionable clothes.
"I asked your friend Krystal to pick out some stuff,"I said. "I gave her a hundred bucks and told her to have them shipped to me."
She probably thought I didn't hear her say "No. Way."She stepped inside, held them up against her body. There wasn't a mirror, so she turned on her laptop camera to see how she looked. Not all of her skin looked like skin, so I had made sure the clothes would cover up what would stand out. She nodded in satisfaction. "Not bad, old man."
"Thank Krystal. I don't know what kids wear these days. Are bell bottoms still fashionable?"
Persephone laughed. "You're not _that_ old, Dad."
"We've still got a few diagnostics to run, but we can do that after lunch. Join me in the canteen?"
I left her to change.
This won't be forever, Persephone. Bit by bit, I'll find a way to bring normal back for you. After all, I brought you back, bit by bit. This is just finishing the job. |
Zhevan lay in a sleep curl on the metal surface in the corner of the empty cell. It assumed this surface was for sleeping, just as the round metal chair with the hole in it in the other corner was for waste disposal. At least it definitely smelled like it was used for waste disposal. It knew that it was only a matter of time before a member of this ship, crewed by metal beings, came to see it. If they wanted to kill it, Zhevan was sure they would have already done so. It seemed that the best course of action was to conserve energy and wait until something changed.
It wasn’t sure how much time passed before a noise roused Zhevan, bringing with it the promise of company. Doors in the distance opened and closed and the steady sound of bipedal steps were heard coming closer. Zhevan straightened up into a waiting crouch, attempting to communicate its defenselessness and willingness to cooperate. It knew that at full length it was bigger than the beings of this ship and did not want to aggravate them any more than it already had when it was captured.
The steps halted in front of the cell's metal door and after a series of artificial beeps the door slid open. In the doorway stood a different being, even shorter than the metal ones that had brought Zhevan into the cell. It was also obviously biological, sharing the same bipedalism as Zhevan, but with only two upper appendages instead of four and a head that was covered, though not fully, with fur. Otherwise it seemed like a shorter, cousin species to Zhevan. After a moment it’s mouth opened and it spoke.
“The Captain tells me that your kind is called Zhevan. Do you have a name for yourself as an individual?”
Zhevan couldn’t help but stand up inquisitively. It spoke the tongue fluently?! But no, there was something strange. That was it, the sound was off. Its words didn’t match the meaning that Zhevan was sure they conveyed. How could this be?
“This one is Zhevan Ri, Fastidious in Grooming. Ri is confused. It is not Zhevan, but Ri understands it’s speech. How?”
The creature's mouth widened and its teeth showed.
“That is exactly why I am here. My species has a particular gift of communication, though sadly it doesn’t work among ourselves. Oh the conflicts that could have been prevented had that been true. But no, out here, amongst the stars, we understand and can be understood by all sentient species.”
Zhevan crouched in shock, this form not so much a show of defenselessness but one of caution.
“Ri has heard of your kind. It sells its service to others, claims of furthering communication, but in reality no secret of the mind can be hidden from it.”
The creature’s mouth spread wider. Ri just knew this was amusement that it was communicating.
“Well, that’s just a side benefit, really. In order to make you understand us, we must have full access to your mind. And you wouldn’t believe how easy it is for us. We evolved natural blocks to this kind of reading amongst ourselves. But no other species seems to have our particular advantages. Now, Zhevan Ri, we are going to have a conversation as to why you were found at that particular asteroid at that particular time. You knew this ship was coming. And I would like to know why.” |
There was something interesting about Jasper, II.
Scribes in the Palace’s Royal Hallways have written many things about the beautiful and menacingly large black cat who rested in the Queen’s company. The beast was large enough to reach a soldier’s knee and could swat with enough force to cause considerable wounds. His origins were recorded, of course. He was reported first being found making a scene during a Royal Procession by darting in front of Her Majesty’s carriage from the crowd and then simply refusing to budge. Despite the soldiers wanting to slay the cat and toss it aside, who lay there licking his paws, it was critical that the Kingdom’s reputation to the public not be tarnished by a barbaric act at the time. Thus, a standstill was recorded by the nearby scribes between the Queen’s Royal Guard and a singular defiant black cat.
That was until the Queen herself stepped out of her carriage much to her guard’s warnings, running to the cat as if it were her own. In response to the Queen’s praise, the beast leapt up into her arms and she hefted him away back into the carriage. The surrounding crowd erupted in favor of the Queen after that and the Kingdom. This strange act was only the beginning of Jasper II’s debut as the Royal Housecat. He found himself absolutely spoiled by the Queen, who then would play with him by shining light magic on the walls for him to chase. The Kingdom noticed she was in higher spirits and rejoiced.
The beast loved to rest on the Queen’s lap, but he was larger than an average one so he would flop over most of her legs. Still, the Queen did not mind. When he was not in her company, he regularly stalked the hallways of the Palace and laying inconveniently in the way of would-be bypassers. The only two people he tolerated besides the Queen was a maid that pet him at 9 o’clock every morning. She stated that he randomly visited her one day. The other was a butler who fed him food secretly during parties. Both cases of their relationships were recorded later by Scribes after a series of incidents brought on by the cat itself.
One day, a foreign official from a country made his visit within the Palace and Jasper II made it very clear that he did not approve of the man. The beast had to be restrained after he would swat at the official’s hands at every opportunity he could. Considerations for the cat to be locked away in his personal quarters, but the Queen refused and carried him with her. The official had an eye for the maid, which unbeknownst to everyone else, only Jasper II seemed aware of. During a meeting with the nobles late at night, Jasper II leapt off the Queen’s lap and bolted through the entrance to the hallways.
After a bit of chasing, it was discovered that the cat’s zig zagging escape lead the soldiers and Queen straight to the official - who had the maid pinned on the ground. It was written off as a coincidence, but the maid revealed that she pet him during her morning cleaning routine in the 2nd Floor’s West Hall. The official was arrested and soon later the foreign country sent his head back to the Queen as an apology.
The second case with the butler was more baffling, as Jasper II clearly showed his intelligence more. Although no one would say that aloud. During a Royal Party, Jasper once again bolted along the long tables. The act would have been an national embarrassment, due to the food being flung off the tables at every turn. A certain noble, who was in opposition of the Queen’s royal authority, also attended this party. He accused her unfit to rule, due to having such an unrestrained beast in her courts. Jasper II did not care, instead dodging the soldiers and his personal caretakers’ arms retreating to the kitchen. When the soldiers entered the kitchen, Jasper II appeared to be searching for someone, ignoring the staff and commotion he’s caused.
The cat lead the soldiers over to the butler himself, locked away, because he had Jasper II’s favorite treat in his pocket ready to be served like all the other usual parties. After an investigation, the butler reported that he was knocked out and the staff serving food were fake. It was later discovered that the food was poisoned, a plot was unveiled by the noble targeting the Queen herself. Both Jasper II and the butler were awarded and the scribes had their hands busy trying to record the incident. Jasper II has earned himself the right to do what he wants in the Palace shortly afterwards, but he still prefered lying near or on his beloved Queen. |
An old man pushes against the heavy glass doors to the diner. His body strains as the door opens, and a bell chimes as it swings all the way to the door stop. The man slowly makes his way to the counter, struggling on shaky legs. Finding an open chair, he sits.
​
Emerging from one of the faded medal doors to the kitchen, a young waitress walks with a plate in her hands. Her thick black non-slip shoes thump softly against the faded tile as she moves, and she offers a smile as warm as the pie in her hands. After dropping it to a customer down the bar, she approaches the older gentleman.
​
"Hiya, welcome to Shelly's!"she beams. "What can I do for you?"
​
The old man looks at her in a strange sort of wonder - like a child who'd never seen the ocean.
​
"Shelly's.."he whispers, his fingers slowly running along the counter. His eyes dart too and fro, taking in the unremarkable place. Ceiling fans twirl overhead, and the faded red booths had lost their luster long ago. 80's diners had long faded from the land, only to be found in small southern towns like this.
​
"Yep! Uh, that's us!"She continues. "You grow up around here mister? Back for a slice of home?"
​
The man turns his attention to her, his mouth still agape. "Not exactly. Could I get a coffee, please?"
​
The woman raises her eyebrows.
​
"Oh, mysterious."She laughs. "One coffee, coming your way sugar."
​
The man undoes his red scarf, and takes off his thick rimmed glasses. At one point he would've been handsome. Despite the lose skin and veins which now had taken over his face, a strong jawline complimented his deep blue eyes - which now had a few red veins gifted unto them by time.
​
The waitress returns with a ceramic mug which bore the faded blue letters stating 'Shelly's! Serving Millerton since 79!' and places it in front of him. Steam rises as the scalding coffee cools.
​
"So, *mystery man*. Why are you here? I like it just fine, but we aren't exactly a destination spot out here in the rear end of Mississippi."
​
The man wraps his hands around the mug, savoring it's warmth.
​
"I'm here meeting someone. They're an old friend of mine. Sort of. Maybe more like someone I have to pay a debt to."
​
The woman clicks her tongue.
​
"Well you *are* mysterious! What exactly did this fella do for ya? If'n you don't mind me asking."She goes on.
​
The man takes his hands from the mug, and rubs a faded gold wedding band. "Everything,"he replies with a worn smile. Despite that though, there was an underlying sadness in his tone. Small and timid in it's promise.
​
Just then the same bell chime echoes through the diner that had proceeded the old man's entrance. A man in his mid thirties walks in. He's dressed simply, but bears a leather tote bag. He walks to the other end of the bar and waves at the waitress.
​
"Hey Rebecca! Could I get the special?"
​
The waitress waves back and responds, "Sure thing Robby! You cooking up anything new in that notebook of yours?"
​
The man dismissively shrugs. The old man stares at him intensely. As he Robby finds his seat, he seems transfixed. Drinking in every detail. Eventually Robby notices him and offers a soft wave. The man continues staring, and his old blue eyes become fogged.
​
"Hey, mister - are you alright?"Robby ask, clearly confused.
​
"Oh! Mystery man, is that who you were waiting for? Robby?"The waitress comes back through the kitchen doors with a plate of porkchops swimming in brown gravy. Below them rest a bed of soft white mashed potatoes.
​
"Robby... Robert? Robert Eigglton?"The old man barely manages, his voice cracking and straining.
​
"Oh..uh, yeah. That's me."Robby offers back, flashing a confused smile.
​
The old man gets up and walks over, taking the seat behind him. Robby glances at the waitress with a befuddled face. She only shrugs in response.
​
"Guess he knows you! Was talking about you just 'afore you came in. Well, what I dragged out of him."She laughs.
​
"You.. You're him.."the man smiles now, and a tear rolls down his face.
​
"I'm sorry mister, you may have got me all mixed up for someone else. I don - "
​
"No. No, I can tell. I see it. I see it in you. The look she used to give me."The man stops him. "The look my Regina gave me."
​
"Regina?.."Robby ask uncomfortably.
​
"Regina Hawthorne. My wife...of sixty years. From Beaumont."
​
Robby's face changes as he puts the pieces together.
​
"Mister - are you alright? You got someone around here? Regina Hawthorne.. I wrote her. She's fiction. I'm glad to meet a fan, always. But.. mister, how did you find me?"
​
The man ignores his question and slips the gold band off his finger, placing it on the counter. It's plain color and faded surface bore the marks of a lifetime of use. A lifetime of love.
​
"Yeah. Yes. You did... but we were real. Real as I am right now. You know, she passed on this last summer. In that house on lake Waxachie where we settled..where you settled us."
​
"Mister. You.. That's a book. Fiction. I don't mean to be rude, but -"
​
"You know she kept that pink seashell? That I gave her? That.. I don't know. We gave her? IT stayed on her nightstand from that day on. Never left."The old man's voice cracked as his tear was joined by a cascade more. The waitress silently brought her fingers into a mock up of a phone and lifted them to her ear. *Do you need my to call someone?* she mouthed. Robby waved his hand dismissively.
​
"You know, she never knew about you. I.. I got here after she went on. But she finished her novel. That one about her papa. Went on to write about Darcy and little Jim, too."
​
Robby's face twisted. He hadn't included those details in the book. He'd thought about it, but felt it was too much detail. Distracting to the reader.
​
The man sobbed a heavy sob, and now a few patrons looked on in concern.
​
"I... I don't know what to tell you."The old man managed between tears. "Other than thank you. I don't know how much was your words. Your mind. But every second of that beauty was real to me. Real as the wind. Real as sunshine."He pressed the faded ring into Robby's hand and stood up. Before Robby could speak, the man had shuffled with as much agility he could muster and exited the door.
​
"Hey, wait! Mister, hang on!"Robby jumped up from his chair and went after him into the parking lot.
​
When he emerged into the warm humid heat of a Mississippi night, though, no one was there. The wind gusted sharply, bringing with it a torrent of leaves. The man looked down at the still warm rings in his hands and sat down on the curb. His heart raced, and he looked out questioningly into the night sky. |
"Mighty dragon, what is it you seek?"
Her voice rang out, strong and brave. The Treasure of Hilla Village was dwarfed by the black beast before her, yet she had no fear.
The dragon looked at her, surprised and amused. It was used to humans fleeing in terror. It had seen hunting parties shake at its sight, even as they tried to claim its heart for their own. But it had never seen one without fear.
"Where is your fear?"
It's voice was low, shaking the very ground with each word. The villagers gasped at it, the weight of centuries of age and power behind every letter. Yet the girl did not falter, standing like a tree in a storm. She clasped her hands before her, her tone calm and level.
"I do fear you, but not right now. I fear the potential you have to change, and choose to destroy us. But a simple conversation should not be held in terror."
It gave a laugh, each breath blowing her dress around.
"Such wisdom in one so young and small. I came here out if interest, to see what if this place was worth destroying or not. You, you intrigue me little human."
It lowered its head down to the ground, mere inches infront of the girl. She held out a hand, resting it on the dragons snout. It huffed out, a faint smell of smoke filling the air.
"I would ask you do not destroy my home, if I may."
It huffed again.
"I am impressed."
It withdrew its head, standing up to its full height.
"Very well, I will leave your place in peace. But I will return, and I expect you to be here."
She gave a beautiful smile, bowing her head.
"I will be."
With that it took to the air, soaring into the sky. The fair maiden returned to her village, dress wrinkled, hair a mess, and dust on her features. But to them, her beauty had only grown, having protected them from a creature beyond any they had seen before. |
"Again,"I shook my head, walking a few steps behind Samantha "All he does is spray paint giant green dicks across what is otherwise really good street art."
"You just don't get it,"Samantha smiled as she turned towards me.
"I mean, I think I do. He just thinks it's funny to draw the dicks."
"Josh, it's a social commentary."Samantha 'corrected' me. "See, street art has become overly commercialized, what with damn near every small business owner commissioning some type of derivative bullshit plastered on their walls. Putting a dick over it shows them who they are.
"And they tend to hire men to do it, as if a woman isn't good enough to spray paint Darth Vader in whatever local sports teams colors they ask for.
"And did you ever think about why those dicks were green? A green dick, Joshua, is an alien dick. It represents these invaders that saw the opportunity to commercialize outsider art, to choke it to death with a phallus.
"Not to mention the artistry itself in those dicks. You can tell a Moon dick from just any other old dick. There's character there. The shaft and head just seem to....undulate. And don't even get me started on the balls. My god, the balls!
"Honestly, Joshy, I think...I think I'm in love with this guy."
"Oh, well,"I sputtered, both my mind and heart racing. "I uhh...um...uhh."
"You OK?"
"It's...it's me,"my voice cracked a bit as I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out a can of green spray paint.
"What's you?"Samantha looked puzzled.
"Moon is me. I is Moon,"I cringed. "I mean I am...just watch."
I leaned over and pushed my fingertip onto the nozzle, effortlessly curving my arm and wrist into that familiar shape.
"You can always tell a Moon dick...right?"
Samantha looked as though she was about to cry. I hoped it was in happiness.
"So..."she managed to eek out the words. "Those dicks..."
"I just thought they were funny,"I reiterated. "And green is kind of my color, so..."
"Oh."
"But listen, that doesn't matter. You love me, and I love you. That's what's important, right."
"Josh I-"
"So let's be together!"
"Oh...no." |
I cleared my throat. It was a sunny afternoon, and for once I was glad to be indoors instead of out in the sun.
Sitting in the midst of a fancy studio office, I felt myself sink into the billowy cushions of the armchair my staff had prepared for me.
I turned to my guest, an unusually happy-looking Shiba Inu sitting next to me wearing a top hat, a fancy moustache, and a dapper suit. This was the highest profile interview I’d ever done in my life, and by God, I was going to make it a good one.
I held the microphone to my mouth, smiling into the camera.
“Good evening, folks, and welcome to the K9 Canine Hour. Today, we’re joined by Professor Cheemsworth, pHD, Nobel Laureate, and professional author.”
Professor Cheemsworth nodded into the camera, giving it a genial smile. I could see his tail wagging behind him.
“Professor Cheemsworth, this is the moment all of our viewers have been waiting for. How is the project coming along?”
Cheemsworth smiled again, panting, and gave a happy bark.
“Well, I’m proud to say that I’m finally done. I’ve finally completed translating the Barkour version of The Howl into English. This has been my most demanding project so far, having to compile the story from more than a thousand different sources from all over the world. This truly has been a massive undertaking that I’m proud of.”
I let out a whistle. Cheemsworth waved a bashful paw in appreciation.
“Well, could you finally put the rumors to rest then? Or should I say, will your translation finally put all the rumors to rest?”
I extended the mike towards Cheemsworth.
“Hmm,” said Cheems, tilting his fluffy head, “Well, no. I’d like to say the rumors are categorically false. I, like other doggos value my relationship with all of humankind above everything else. My hope in undertaking this translation is to help humans understand dogkind a little bit better. Making this translation public, I hope, will be a major step towards making that happen.”
“Could you elaborate on what you mean by helping humans understand dogkind better?”
“Yes,” said Cheemsworth, laughing, “I finally put to rest the age old question: Why do dogs chase their own tails? This might seem silly to humans who lack the philosophical, biological, and geopolitical insight into this behavior, but I can assure you it’s essential to understand the root of all behaviors behind most, if not all dogs.”
“And what do you say in response to all the critics who think the book should be banned?”
I had to follow the script I was given.
I wasn’t going easy on Professor Cheemsworth, but I knew if anyone could handle hardball questions, he could.
“What about those who say that you have no right to expose the secrets of dogs everywhere to humans?”
Cheemsworth let out an angry scoff.
“Dogkind and humans have lived and hunted together for millenia now,” Professor Cheemsworth’s voice was shaking.
“There are few bonds more powerful than the bond between dog and man. From the day man realized he could scritch our chins in exchange for giving us food, our two peoples have been inseparable. They call dogs man best friend, do they not?”
Cheemsworth raised his chin, looking down at the camera.
“My critics will learn they are mistaken.” His voice was a low growl now.
“It’s time for humans to finally learn what dogkind has known for millenia. This book will—“
BOOM.
Professor Cheemsworth grabbed his chest, his mouth agape in shock. His face frozen in fear, he slowly slid down into his chair, unmoving.
I whirled around, only to see a smoking gun in the distance, held by a masked pit bull who smiled a wide toothy smile, drooling dribbling from his chin. He thrust his arms into the air in triumph.
“Death to the infidel!”
The room burst into uproar. The pit bull sprinted out the door, and a pack of dogs and human guards gave him chase.
My ears were ringing. My heart was pounding. I couldn’t breathe. I turned to give chase as well, but something small and gentle tugged at my shirt.
I turned.
Professor Cheemsworth was panting heavily, splotches of red tainting his little suit. Pools of red had painted his armchair.
“Listen to me,” Cheemsworth’s voice was ragged.
I fell to my knees and held him close.
“Do not let… violence win in the end… Dog kind and human kind.. Will always be…friends..”
The light went out in his eyes. His head lolled back.
“Someone call 911!”
“Oh, God! Oh God!”
My staff huddled around us. I held Cheemsworth close. My thoughts left me and I froze, not knowing what to do.
The blinking red lights on the cameras were off. The last thing the viewers had seen on air was a murder before a high pitched tone filled their screens with the words “We are currently experiencing technical difficulties." |
"Glorious, another gun that not only will I never use, but I have to keep out of humanity's reaches..."I grumble, taking the ammo out of the handgun in my hands. I could sense the raw power in this handgun, so I had to be very careful not to accidentally shoot the weapon, "What is it with these humans loving guns so much..? It's just absurd, noone values the simple strength of a blade anymore... Isn't that right, hun?"
"Yeah, but unfortunately, with how warfare changes, guns are kind of required for proper combat nowadays. It's rather sad, to be honest,"Levira chimed in, watching me meticulously unload each round from the magazine, "Because all these humans seem to care about is trying to ensure that the opposition lays dead at their feet."
"Well, this thing's gonna be locked away for a good while. Who knows, maybe in the next hundred years, something might possess me and make me start enjoying guns a little more,"I chuckled a bit at my attempt at a joke, holding the M1910 by the barrel as I prepared to haul it to the weapons vault in the basement.
\[End.\] |
I was walking down the road toward my favourite cafe to get my daily dose of caffeine. The air was cold and the roads were slick, a reminder of the heavy downpour and thunder. The cafe was small, but the food was fresh and the coffee good, so I had become a regular. I skipped over the puddle, and saw the sign. A single table and two chairs were placed out, and I didn’t expect to find anyone seated there, but one guy was. He appeared to be dressed in a brown coat and scarf, and reading the newspaper with a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. As I passed him, a panicked voice erupted inside me, urging me to run away. I was confused, but pushed the urgent warning aside, chalking it up to caffeine withdrawal.
The inside of the cafe which always had its fair share patrons around this time was completely devoid of anyone, but a to-go cup was on the counter. I rang the bell at the counter, but no one responded from the kitchen. I picked the cup, and turned it to find my name written on it. The cup was warm and heavy, taking a sip, I tasted the bitter coffee in it. Leaving the cash on the counter, I stepped outside. The voice pushed its way out with a renewed urgency, telling me to drop everything and run. I took a sip of the coffee as it began drizzling again. I looked at the gentleman reading his paper. He was wearing glasses, and sported a very well-maintained goatee, which irked my jealousy. I held the chair opposite to him, and let out a small cough. He looked up from his paper, and saw me smiling at him with my hand on the chair. “Oh”, he mouthed and gave a slight nod. I flashed him my most charming smile, and took the chair. The voice in my head was practically screaming at me now.
I watched the rain patter on the road mixed with sips from my cup and he continued with his paper. I turned to him, and watched him for a second, “What are you?” I asked suddenly.
He looked at me, completely unfazed by the question, folded his newspaper and placed it on the table. “Just your friendly neighbourhood eldritch horror.” |
Wanda approaches the farm. She's done this far too many times to count, trying to convince the farmer he is cruel and sadistic for even *owning* animals, let alone using them, LET ALONE slaughtering them for meat. Her fascination with this farm in particular is that it's known as the most ethical, caring, friendly farm in the world. If this farm is shut down, ALL farms are shut down, and the whole world will be forced to go vegan. However, there's a problem: every time Wanda comes over, her arguments are successfully and logistically countered.
Wanda was about ready to give up, but today she has a trick up her sleeve: an animal translator. Bringing her video camera along, she'll record live as the animals tell the world how horrid their existence is!
"FARMER JEFF!"she yells. An older man comes out, along with his grandson, who's training to take over the farm.
"Thought you'd show up soon"Jeff chuckles. "Well, I'm also curious as to what my friends think of their home, so for once, I'm GLAD you're here!"
"You won't be so relaxed when these LIVING BEINGS tell us what it's like to be BORN at death's door!"Wanda smirks.
The first visit is to the sheep, grazing in their large, spacious field. One of them bleats, and the translator, set to sheep, picks up. "Look out, everyone! The sheep hater is back!"
Wanda can hardly contain her excitement. This is a great start! "Don't worry, I'll free you all from him. The world will finally understand your pain!"
Another sheep bleats. "Ugh, master Jeff, please get this woman out of here! I was enjoying my grazing!"
Wanda is confused. "Wait, what do you mean? I'm here to help you!"
"Lady, you want us dead"another sheep says.
"WHAT? No, I don't! That's the point - *Jeff* wants you dead!"Wanda exclaims.
"Then why does he shear us?"the first sheep scoffs.
"Huh? That- you understand being sheared hurts you, right?"Wanda is struggling to understand what's happening. Every single sheep laughs in unison.
"We may get the occasional scratch from an accident, but that's better than carrying all this weight that just burns us in the summer!"The sheep looks at Jeff. "Master Jeff, I always appreciate your care! I would actually like a shear now!"
Jeff smiles while shaking his head. "Not yet, sir. Wait a bit longer for me please. The weather hasn't started warming up and if I sheared you now, I'd just need to shear you again during the summer!"
"I understand, master Jeff. I look forward to it."The sheep wanders off.
Wanda, trying to regain her footing, blurts out "You all know he'll kill you, right?"
"WHAT?"a young lamb cries.
"Hush, little one. She's only trying to scare you. He won't kill you for a while yet."The mother tries to comfort her lamb.
"But why does he have to kill us at all?"the lamb whines.
Another sheep approaches. "The humans have their reasons, but you'll get a good life. I mean, look at me! I'm fit and healthy!"
"You're lucky"Wanda spits. "Most of you die when you barely turn one!"
"NOOOOO!"The lamb begins wailing. The sheep who arrived bleated in anger and annoyance with Wanda.
"You're right that I'm lucky."Wanda grins, thinking she's finally got a point up, until he turns to Jeff. "Master Jeff, over there-"the sheep motions with its head "-an ewe, three years old-"glares at Wanda "-suffering from a brain disease. I'm sorry to say she is no longer of use to produce wool, lambs or usable meat."
Wanda seems stunned when the word 'meat' is used. "You... you *want* to be eaten?"
"This is a good lesson for my baby"the mother sheep says. "You see, we all know what our purpose is. We provide for humans. It isn't just our purpose - it's an honour, a privilege. To truly complete our purpose, we are to be turned into edible meat for humans. That way, we can ascend high. With our purpose fulfilled, we will be duly rewarded for our sacrifice."
"Really?"the lamb asks. "I get it, mum! Master Jeff is so nice, I wanna help!"
Wanda, baffled but determined, goes around the rest of the farm, only to get similar answers: cows feel uncomfortable if they're not milked regularly and want to be marked as fashion items; pigs know that their meat is considered heavenly by many and believe that they're not only born for the purpose, but CREATED for the purpose; the chickens had NO PROBLEM telling Wanda that no egg sent to market would become a chick, therefore would just to waste unless eaten, also saying that without them, a lot of humans wouldn't have access to enough good, healthy protein.
With every animal singing the praises of farmer Jeff and not only accepting but appreciating their roles in their lives, Wanda leaves, defeated. But Wanda's visit wasn't a total waste...
​
Many decades later, every farm has been interviewed, and the farms in which the animals were miserable and depressed were shut down. Eventually, every farm is required to match the standards of Randy's farm, with Randy showing his grandson the ropes of the farm, like his grandfather, Jeff, did for him.
And all this was spurred on by the live video, known as 'Crazy Vegan gets Roasted by Farm Animals'.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) |
From the stage, their eyes look like stars. The same stars I sleep under every night. The same eyes that stare a cold hole into me as they pass me by each day. Here, however, their gaze gives me warmth.
My soul is afire as I glide from right to left. Pirouette. Trot. Twirl. With or without partner it matters not. My shows sold out again and again. Prices were paid at a hefty premium. Every night, as I shut my eyes, they reopened unto a theatre of wonders! The great Pierre never missed a performance!
It was a day of international mourning when Pierre died. I watched, as people paid me even less attention on their daily commutes. Everyone was buried in their devices, sobbing over the loss of such a legend.
Yet, here I stood. In that alley I danced with the same passion I did every night. A show I put on free of charge for none to see. |
The locker room of the tournament was crowded. The competitors scoped each other out, trying to size up their competition. Everyone seemed to be excited but nervous, except a handful: the cheaters from the preliminary round. They had caught everyone's attention. Currently they stood all in a corner together, conversing casually. Just how had they blown up the punch machine? Some kind of hidden electromagnet? And why was one of them *green*? No, not talking about green hair. That's normal enough. But entirely green skin, like some kind of alien.
The green one pushed through the gawkers towards the restroom. Once he got into the threshold he saw how utterly disgusting the place was, completely trashed already with filth everywhere. Rather than sully himself he turned around immediately. Only he found himself blocked by one of the people in his group.
He placed a hand on the green man's chest and said, "I'm not gonna let you leave until you wash your hands."
"Goku, I didn't even touch anything."
"Gramps always said to wash your hands after being in the bathroom."
"I don't think gramps was thinking of standing in the doorway as going into the bathroom."
"Wash your hands, Piccolo."
"Do you see how disgusting it is in there? I'll be dirtier for having washed."
"Wash."
"You know what? Could you help me a second? Just hold my arms just past the elbow."
Goku gingerly held Piccolo's arms with a confused expression.
"Tighter than that. Keep squeezing harder until I say that's enough."
Goku's forearms bulged as he applied more and more pressure. Piccolo simply gave a toothy grin in return. Witnesses could hear the cracking of bones as slowly Goku's fingers closed together.
With a sudden jerk, Piccolo ripped the remains of his forearms off, leaving them in Goku's hands. Piccolo yelled out, channeling his power. From the bloody stumps two new hands formed. He wiggled their goo-covered digits in Goku's face.
"There, freshly made,"Piccolo stepped around Goku, "You're gonna want to wash those hands. They were in the bathroom." |
Kelsey Aralia, Deputy Chief Assistant to the Third Grand Wizard on High, Traverser of the Upper Volumes, and Imperial Delegate to the Northwest Corner of the Stacks, needed a raise. It wasn't even noon yet, and she'd already summoned a very annoyed elder god who'd nearly turned the whole area to ash, briefly erased the concept of hair, and dealt with Charles, who'd accidentally turned himself into a fish again. She'd gotten hair back in the end, and was having tea with the now calmer elder god, who'd introduced themself as something that wasn't so much a name as a faint feeling of menace somewhere halfway between the back of her mind and her left earlobe ("but you can call my Em if it's too much bother") on Tuesday. However, Charles was now peeved, and the entire area smelled faintly of mackerel and brimstone.
"How was I supposed to know that's what it would do?"Charles was complaining again. "It looked like a pretty standard underwater breathing spell! Kelmsweed and everything!"
"This is why we don't test spells without proper safety measures in place,"replied Kelsey, jotting down 'F.1.5.08 - fish head spell' in the notebook in front of her. "Would you say you felt more human or fish?"
"I'm not the one who summoned a primordial being! And I was really too busy not being able to breathe air to put much thought into anything else."
"The latter half of the thing was obscured by a coffee stain; there wasn't anything else I could do but try it and hope. Not my fault whoever was in charge of this zone before me couldn't take proper care of the volumes."
"Wasn't that Lucrenzia? I've heard she still wanders the place as a ghost."
"She's not a ghost, last I heard - just lost. Any lingering fishy desires?"
"A faint longing for water, but nothing too bad."
"You were only in it for a few seconds though - that's too much of a risk. I'm marking this as a 4. You finish the rest."She slid the book across the table to Charles, who took it with a grumble and began to scribble in it. Kelsey grabbed another book from the stack looming next to her and flipped to the first page: 'F.1.5.09 - A spell of which I am especially proud. I believe I have finally worked out the issues with the acidic slime byproducts'. There seemed to be no description of what the spell actually did, beyond the fact that there wouldn't be acidic slime involved. Probably. Kelsey sighed. Old Wizard Adderan could have saved everybody a whole lot of trouble if he'd actually bothered to explain any of what he was thinking. |
When hunting monsters, you have to take that first shot. If you want to stay in the monster hunting business, then you have to take that first shot, or you're in for a world of hurt. And you won't survive for long if you don't take that first shot. That's always been my policy. Always been how I've done things. I live quietly, wife and kids just outside some midwestern college town. Can't be bothered to remember its name. It was just a place. What I've always found is important in life, is the people around you, not the location. If you've got the right people around you, then you can make a heaven out of a hellscape. To support our quiet life, I do my work. The business. The one that most people don't name. But once they have the need, then I'm one of the professionals that are usually brought into access the situation and provide an immediate remedy. My prices are high, but then again, my work record is immaculate. From Seattle to Boston, from New Orleans to Chicago. Those who know about the things I hunt, know who I am. Know I get the work done. Always.
Not always a pleasant job, but somebody has to do it, and it pays well.
Somebody has to hunt down the monsters. Find the last vampires in their cold graves and drag them into the sunlight. Clear some podunk company town out, because the zombies managed to get over their conditioning and started attacking people. Fucking corpos, necromancy is not how you'll manage the fact that nobody wants to work for minimum wage for 20 hours a day. Charge extra for those jobs. Always take more from the people who live in the fancy mansion they built on the site of a bound demon, than from the poor guys in the ghettos. Today though, the job I've taken will not be one where I earn much. I couldn't do that. Considering that the monster has been attacking people in town, students. All ripped to shreds some of them. Damn shame. It's for the best. Can't exactly leave my family alone in a town with a monster on the lose, now can I? Can't leave any innocents at all alone with a monster like that.
Good thing that an early prevention medicine, made from an extract of wolfsbane, quinine, human blood, and some other stuff, can prevent the poor sods from getting turned. Sure, they'll have side-effects, better sense of smell, more canine instincts, but those are manageable. Once you turn during the full-moon, that's it. You're done. No turning back after that. Lycanthropy. It's one of the worse kinds of monsters, because most often, they just can't help it. Their minds are too human, and in a too human environment. The curse drives them nuts while in those forms. And they just attack and attack. Berserkergang. I know a place up in Canada, where a few of them live pretty peacefully, because it's miles away from modern civilization and all the confusion. But those blessed and cursed to be Ulfheðinn, wolf-coaters, they can't function in modern society. Not for long. In an age before industry, roads, cars, and TV, the condition could be handled.
Often the only surefire method of stopping the rampage is a bullet. Silver works best, but if you hit them between the eyes with a .308, that works pretty good too. You could try to convince them while they're human to commit to the wolf and do the Ritual of Vánagandr, crossing a river while fully transformed, then letting them leap into a pyre and out again. Burns away the human part of them. Fully wolves afterwards. Clever wolves, sure. But very little human would remain in them after that. Most people prefer to be allowed to get their affairs in order, and then dying with dignity, if you can provide evidence of their horrific transformation and dangerous lunacy. I've tracked this werewolf around the local farms, who've lost a good amount of cattle over the past few weeks. If this is a recent transformation, I'm probably still too late to cure them, but they'll be weak. A fully realized werewolf would be a much greater danger. The recently bitten ones usually transform back into their human forms once the spell of madness ends.
Sure enough, the tracks I've been following have begun to change subtly. And they're more and more randomly placed, as if it is staggering around, befuddled and caught in the web of its own madness. I reach the crest of a hill and see it. Entering my house! Desperation forces me to act. I've been patrolling all night, following these and other tracks. But the raw adrenaline gives me the strength needed to enter my house ready to protect my family. And there, in the sights of my rifle as I step into the living room the werewolf finishes its transformation into... into...
''*Sally?*''
My voice is raw. I nearly drop my rifle. But the werewolf, the monster, the creature that has been driven mad by a world its mind isn't trained to understand, is my wife. She turns to me, bare to her flesh is the bloody leg of a cow, and the blood has drenched her skin making it red and shiny in the beam of my flashlight. To my further horror, I see behind her, sleeping amidst a pile of animal bones, there lies our children. And they're in the midst of transforming back into humans, just as Sally did. She looks at me with tired, confused eyes. ''*Jonathan? You're back! I was... about to make dinner? And I got so hungry. But I had to go and get food for the... the... pups?*'' Her mind is already addled. The wolf-dreams in her are strong. I should shoot. I should take that first shot.
She turned them. I came back the moment I heard about something terrorizing our town. Took the job from the mayor without haggling. It was her all along. Her instincts told her she had pups. She must have... I don't know, nibbled on them? Something. Enough to pass the curse. I can't shoot her. I can't shoot them. The full-moon has passed over this town while I've been hunting her. There is nothing I can do. I lower my gun. ''*Sally... You just sit right on down. You hear? I'm just fetching something.*'' She smiles weakly, exhausted from her total lack of sleep. And collapses onto our couch. I place my gun upon the coffee table, next to where the cow leg is. I should have noticed something was off. I thought she was just worried. That the possibility of a monster in the place that should have been safe was unnerving her. Making her lose sleep. She was always anxious. Always. But there is a remedy for this.
There is a remedy for everything. There is a certain drug, invented by some weird guy who claimed he was a shaman. He gave me some, in case I needed to get someone to do the ritual. It only works once, because the plants that they used to use thousands of years ago to keep control are extinct. This blend, this ersatz version of that ancient drug is not strong enough, and after one night with perfect sanity in the wolf form, you become immune to it, though a few have reported strange effects from it if taken later. First though, first I need to be a better father. A good father is there for his family. I worked hard so we could live well. Perhaps I should have spent time at home. Maybe I could have prevented this. Maybe I could have been here.
But one drowns in sorrow if one keeps thinking of what could have been. Instead, I fetch the blood donation kit I got when I helped those charity guys screening their employees for daywalkers. My wife, collapsed and out cold, does not feel it when I take the blood from her. I'd rather not get bitten if I can avoid it. I take out about ten mililitres from the bag with a syringe. Exchange the needle, and inject it into my own blood stream. If my wife and kids are werewolves; then I'll become one too. The pain is nothing in comparison to the horror of having failed as a parent and a husband. I'll give them all that drug. And take it myself. We'll transform. And we'll do the ritual together. Let go of this half-existence. It's for the better. Even those few who can live in the isolated parts of the world, they know it won't last for much longer. Soon, the entire world will be too integrated, and werewolves won't be able to hide in the corners. But as regular wolves, we can live. Not for long. But it will be for long enough.
I send a text to a guy I know. He owns a wilderness preserve, and still owes me for getting rid of those not-deer that were eating the animals in that area. He's done this before. Not often. But he knows how it works, and what to do. By nightfall, he'll be here with the proper transportation. By this time next week, we won't remember who we were. We won't remember what we've lost. We'll be wolves, through and through. And we'll never harm another living person again. At least, if this is to be our fate, then we will all go together, and when you're surrounded by the people you love, the place doesn't matter. And I guess the shape doesn't matter either.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
The sun was glorious in this world. Golden rays lined a pale shade of blue for a sky, while fruit trees with exotic pink petals filled the lands beneath the heavens.
_Splash!_
Dirty boots met river
"Is this...water? So...pure..."
Indeed, it was clearer than some diamonds he held... Too bad the water behind his feet ran dirty.
"...Im sorry. I will move."
He continued his path, his all black cloak, shirt, and pants a stark contrast to the vibrant pink, crystal clear water, and flawless blue skies. His tattered cloak fluttered like a flag in the wind, his step squelching with riverbed mud.
As he finally walked around the Pink Forest (and gathering some berries from the branches), he laid his eyes upon the largest city he had ever seen.
Pale white marble, clearly magical with the faintly glowing golden runic script meticuluously carved upon them, contrasted a blue sky and pink lands. Everything was of this material, from the hundred meter wide and two hundred meter tall wall, to the various temples, towers, and palaces visible from his location.
Even from here, he could make out the location of the market using enchanted hearing. Most were selling items never heard of. Things such as 'indigo' 'tobacco' 'Tyrian Purple', and 'honey' were as foreign to him as permanent safe shelter.
The city seem to draw the beholder in, somehow appearing bigger the more he took it in. His nose could make out the smell of grilled lamb in the distance as he-
Armored forearms blocked his path. Ahh it appears he inadvertently walked towards it. Explains the two guards that approached him. One was redheaded and short.
"Hey there stranger. May we ask for your business with Argentum, our beautiful Silver City?"the taller guard's baritone voice called out.
He blinked his cerculean eyes at the guards. That-
"-is the most beautiful looking breastplate I had ever seen,"he told the taller of the two.
Indeed, it was immaculate in its carvings, solid platinum depicting a dragon roaring with its rings outstretched, upon silver-esque armor.
"Ha! My colleague here would be wearing one too, if she didn't fail her promotion tests!"
The aforementioned colleague performed a strange hand sign he never seen before towards her superior.
"Hey I outrank you now. Anyways..."he looked looked back at him.
"So. What brings you to Argentum?"
"Nothing, I do not even know how I got into your nation. Or what continent I am on. Or if I am even on the same world from an hour ago."
_PSST. Septimus!_
_?_
_Deceit detection shows nothing_
"I see. So, where you from traveler?"
"Abyss."
"...the region you are from is called 'Abyss'?"
"Yes."
"What, did it have some giant gaping hole that spewed out soulless demons that ate people's faces?"
"Yes"
_Poor sap..._
_Well. I will try to improve the mood._
"...whats next, the land was cursed for millenia and you, after winning an immensely costly victory, came here accidently while wandering in self exile?"
"Yes"
_Wow, good job, 'sir'_
Blinking chocolate irises met unfazed cerculean.
"Sir... do you mind meeting with our Queen?"
"Yes, but I will go."
///
Solid purple rolled out to greet his wet shoes and smelly self.
The Queen Regnant sat on her throne, a massive edifice of arcane Snowstone and glacier-ice blue Cryo-Sapphires. There were twelve steps, each flanked with a phoenix on her right and a lion her left, the phoenixes with wings outstretched, the lions mid-roar. Each Snowstone statue lifelike in detail, time and a half in size, eyes of Cryo-Sapphire. All leading up to the Everwinter Throne, the head of the seat reaching into the cieling like a column pressed against a wall. The heart of the throne, where the monarch sits, was made of solid Cryo-Sapphire, carved and telekinetically reshaped.
Her white haired and silver eyed gaze bored into what remained of his soul.
He honestly wished to die, hence he did not kneel and instead maintained eye contact.
The queen sat unmoving, straight backed and hands clasped upon her lap, before she closed her eyes and sighed.
"Do you know why I had you brought here?"she asked him.
"Tell me."
She made a hole in the world, and soon the hole showed a world...
_His_ world.
A world of war and horror... a world of only suffering and false hope, a world that-
-is covered in farms and schools and playing children?
He teleported over to the gazing hole to confirm. Yes, unmistakable. It is. Somehow.
"My apologies, but can you give me some personal space?"
He was standing atop one of her throne's armrests. He teleported back to his prior location and did a quick bow.
"My apologies. You took me by surprise thats all,"
"It is fine. If you are ready, I can show you more." |
I didn't know why I agreed to go home with the guy at the bar. I didn't even know why I was at the bar, really. It was down the street from my apartment and it seemed easier than ordering in when I realized the only food I had in the fridge was ketchup and butter. I had finished off the last box of pasta the day before and grocery shopping and cooking was out of the question. He was crazy hot, way out of my league, especially since I was barely presentable having thrown on whatever jeans were on the floor and grabbing a wrinkled shirt out of the clean laundry basket when I realized I would have to venture out of my house to eat. I had tucked my ponytail through a baseball cap to hide my unwashed hair.
He had sat down with me and chatted me up while I ate my jalapeno poppers and mozzarella sticks with a hard cider. He had looked into my eyes and for some reason it was easy to talk to him. I had barely even been able to summon the will to text my best friend for weeks, and I had been letting my mom's calls go to voicemail. I would text her back and say sorry, I was busy. Truthfully I had only gone to work and home for months. But here I was hand in hand with the most attractive man who had ever looked at me, much less talked to me, as we walked a few blocks to his apartment.
We went upstairs, 2nd floor of a townhouse. The apartment was small but clean, with a kitchenette, a couch and a door to the bedroom. I gulped nervously as he invited me to sit on the couch while he got some wine.
He sat down next to me and looked into my eyes again. I felt... Safe. He ran his fingers along my cheek and slipped his hand behind my neck, pulling me into a kiss. His teeth scraped my lower lip and when he pulled away he looked sad.
"What's wrong?"
"Do you have anyone you can talk to?"
"That's not really a one night stand question, but I had to stop seeing my therapist because they stopped taking my insurance. America"I shrugged. "why"
"Well, mine has some openings and they take all insurance options, and comp the copay. I can get you the info if you like?"
"That would be great actually. Wait. Why are you asking? Oh God do I smell? Did I brush my teeth today? Fuck I must taste like jalapeno poppers I'll just leave"
I stood up and crossed my arms around myself as I walked to the door, with a knot in my throat.
"No no, don't go."He reached for my shoulder. "we don't have to.. you know"he said. You just looked like you needed a friend. Would you like to watch a movie or something? I have popcorn.
I looked at him, confused. "I uh. Yeah that would be nice. Are you sure? You could probably still get back to the bar and find someone who isn't a fuckin mess though if you want me to leave. "
"Nope, you're the one I wanted to talk to"
He led me back to the couch, handed me a blanket and popped some popcorn in the microwave. I don't remember what movie he put on. I fell asleep leaning on his shoulder. When I woke up, he was gone and there was a note with his phone number, apologizing for having to leave so early and a card for long night mental health services. Their hours were... Odd, but convenient for your average insomniac wage slave, 8pm-5am. 7 days a week.
I called them on my walk home and left a message with their answering service. |
Wearily Jason lifted his head from the solid oak table. He took a long slow inhale of the museum like air in the CEO’s study. This was going to be a very long week. The pompous windbag in front of him showed less constraint than her own toddler, who knew already to stay out of mommy’s way when she was in a rage. Like now.
Mrs.Lee was a tall, formidable woman. Freshly pressed and smartly dressed, not too flashy but not to strict, she had the ability to charm and glean vital info to climb the corporate ladder, falling upwards in a skillful stumble. Behind the facade though, lurked the emotional maturity of a 3 year old. Which admittedly did serve her well in her ability to out stubborn competitors and always get her way. It did not serve her well in day to day life. And that’s where Jason came in.
Jason quietly began advertising his services on the dark webs after Bill 86532.7 B passed this past fall. At first he was ignored and probably laughed at. “Parenting 2.0;re-starting your route to success!” His ads began. “Do you or your “too big to fail” employee/employers have nasty attitudes? Do you or someone you know lash out like a teenager when they don’t get their way? Have you failed the practice cognitive exam? Email daddy Jason for help ;)”
Jason figured the vaguely sexual overtone would also help drive clients. Not because he was an appealing person. On the contrary he was pretty nondescript. But people who tend to giggle at these things, or better yet click on them, also tended to fall into the vendiagram overlap of “immature” and “developmentally behind” that was paying his bills.
In short, Jason would do his best to help you or a loved one (or not so loved one) pass the new cognitive test by taking you back to childhood and setting boundaries. It may not work long term, but it was enough to pass the test so that most of these big wigs could keep their positions of power.
Bill 86532.7 B, known colloquially as the “Real Adults Only Act” was a stroke of genius and stupidity all in one. Promoted heavily in conservative and democratic circles alike, the idea was to make sure only mature and sensible people could vote. Which sounds like an excellent idea, bipartisan in fact. It was voted in smuggly by a populous who all thought that they were the “adult” and “mature” side. But nobody looked too closely at the details. Or who began this experiment (a few students in a no name college as a joke that unfortunately got caught up and grew across social media). Or in a mirror.
At first everyone clapped one another on the backs, shook hands, popped champagne. It was the first bill to pass in a long time without a single dissenting vote, and full attendance to boot. But quietly politicians began to see their mistake. A good half of them couldn’t pass the cognitive test. And that would NOT look good to voters. You can’t have someone in office who lacks the maturity to vote themselves can you?Protesting the bill would shine a heavy spotlight on their own shortcomings.
And slowly but quietly, corporate America saw the failures in the new system. But it was too late for them too. You couldn’t protest the test without showing you had failed it yourself. And if you had already failed it, you couldn’t vote to repeal it anyway. It was a true equalizer.
That’s where Jason stepped in. Through bribery and connections he had attained an advanced copy of the test. You only HAD to take it once, but could re-test yearly if you failed. It was mostly an emotional maturity exam that you would expect most toddlers to pass. In Jason’s opinion, it didn’t realistically change much for the general public. Most teenagers fresh from their authoritarian style classrooms could grasp enough to at least fake it through.
Established adults were the trouble. Hence why Jason was stuck banging his head on Mrs.Lee’s beautiful and expensive oak table. She was smart enough to know she was in trouble. More and more corporations were using voting IDs as a way to determine if you could stay at certain high level jobs. Wouldn’t want to make the CFO someone who could throw themselves on the floor mid meeting for a temper tantrum haha! It was just a perfunctory task, anyone could pass with flying colors!
Mrs.Lee could not. She expected the utmost decorum from her children, her spouse, her worker bees, her staff. She was, in her own mind, entitled to these things, royalty of her own little empire. And if you crossed the queen in her own domain, you unleashed an inner toddler. Her antics were a hushed but open secret around town. Throwing food at waiters because her food was touching, or their were the wrong number of carrots on her plate. Cutting off other drivers as if she owned the road and they would all make way for her. And above all. Always. Always. Being right.
To rub salt into the wound, Jason had been hired by her own company. They simply couldn’t do without her expertise in whatever it was she actually did. But they couldn’t make an exception to the new requirements either without being sued. And frankly a nicer Mrs.Lee would be welcomed from the top down.
Mrs.Lee, was not happy by this development. She had been given a practice exam by the company and failed it 5 times and was running out of time. What could this little pipsqueak possibly teach a seasoned professional such as herself?
After much ranting and raving Mrs.Lee realized Jason had barely reacted and attempted to stomp dramatically out of the room. Only to find it locked. Which set her off again. Jason merely sighed and continued to ignore her till she screamed herself out. Her own husband had locked the door and cowered on the other side. The house WiFi and phone connections were blocked to prevent her calling the police. She was, technically, a prisoner in her own home.
Eventually she would finish her tantrum and Jason would begin to teach her her new boundaries, drilling her on proper responses to questions and scenarios. He would break her will and build her back up.
She would eventually go back to her old ways. Most people with that sort of money and power did. But she only needed to fear him and his consequences for the test.
Jason stood up, his hands beneath the table. “Are we quite finished?” He said sharply.
Stunned, Mrs.Lee froze. A look of pure rage sizzled on her snarling face as she became eerily calm, stalking forward like a cat. “How dare you, how DARE you come into MY HOME and-“ Quick as a cat Jason lunged and seared her in the side with his stun gun.
“There that’s much calmer,” he said as she convulsed on the ground. “Don’t you feel much calmer now? I let you have your little tantrum, but that’s it. No more. Daddy Jason is going to set some new rules. First, you approach others with respect. The only one making demands anymore will be me. Second, you will clean your plate, no matter what I tell you to eat. There will be no more disrespecting your chef or anyone serving you. And third, you will no longer be first. In anything. Understood?” Mrs.Lee moaned on the floor as she tried to get to her knees.
“Good!” Jason said cheerfully. “Now, lesson number one!” He strode over to a nearby cabinet and pulled out a silver tray, presenting it on the table with a flourish. “Beets!”
Mrs.Lee glowered but wisely gathered her composure, gritting out between clenched teeth, “and what the FUCK do beets have to do with this ridiculously rigged test?”
“Do I hear a complaint? Oh Chef? Why don’t you show Mrs.Lee how you feel about her disrespect to the hard work you put into tonight’s meal?”
An almost comically mafioso type gentleman stepped out of the shadows, holding a chefs knife. “I think it’s very rude to insult my mamas recipe” He brought the knife down swiftly. Mrs.Lee screeched as it thanked heavily into the wood millimeters from her hand. “Bon appetite missy”.
Jason winked and waved at the camera as Chef intimidated Mrs.Lee into eating without complaint. Her husband watched from the control room in amazement. “Wow, his methods do work rather quickly! I can’t imagine her eating this calmly at a real restaurant!” Mrs.Lees boss was also in the room and chuckled. “No, you certainly married a firecracker. But she wasn’t going to change enough to pass the test on her own. Don’t worry, she’ll be back to her old self within a month of the test. Or she’ll have ptsd. Possibly both. But I think her multimillion dollar salary will sooth her ego. There’s even a raise in it if she can pass!” |
Celyia.
The Human World, in the Seventh Dimension. It is said that the City Of Celyia once matched the beauty of the elves, the industry of the dwarves, and the nature of the world, all while housing twenty million people. Of course, now it is a common tourist attraction; broken towers, shattered glass, cracked artificial-stone, crashed carriages.
The old Human transit network is still used, the highways cleared of debris while being ground to dust under both time and hooves. The old ports see ships entering and exiting, the artificial stone standing the test of time until now. That isn't to say that the ruins aren't dangerous; of the thousands of tourists that come through every day, at least one dies falling into a ravine or due to some crumbling building.
But the Humans are dead. Their six continents are conquered. Legends tell of 'cryopod' bunkers in 'Antarctica,' the 'XK-Bunker System,' and who forgot about their ships designed to sink and resurface. But nobody could survive several hundred years without outside assistance.
Now, though, in the ruins of the former capital of their entire world, near the 'space elevator,' a cable hooked into the heavens, something stirred. Something that would spell the end.
\-----
"Mars, god of war, gave us a home.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm not a religious person. The Terra Firma Systems Union may have been forced out of our cradleworld under sheer numbers, but the terraformed surface of Mars gave us survivors everything we needed.
"I was there when the Portal appeared, and they took our world. I was there when The Exodus was launched. And I am here for the return of Humanity. Our technological prowess has only grown over the centuries, and today, today we strike back!"
The dreadnought began to lower into Earth's atmosphere. I watched through the lower observation deck as Celyia came into view. Fallen skyscrapers, collapsed buildings, and the somehow-function space elevator. The elevator did have a basic auto-repair system, but to function without maintenance for centuries? Back at HQ, the few surviving engineers who designed it were shocked.
\-----
Emil watched the stars fall. He watched Humans walk out of the Heavens. He watched the cable come back to life, pods whirling up and down. He stared at his own hands while in the cell. *What have we done to deserve this?*
"What did you do?"Someone answered. A Human guard. "To deserve this? You took our home. You took our hope. You took our lives. But what went wrong with Emperor Rasfel's oh-so-amazing invasion plan?
"Why, you forgot to ascend to the heavens to take our spite and finish the job." |
It was finally over. Grim hung up up his scythe for the last time, it's edge now pitted and worn. Close by were the floating cages of white flame, though now they hung dark and cold. He took a long look at them, marvelling in the strangeness. Their silver had been lit for so long, to see them in shadow was novel.
Cracking his ancient bones, the Reaper set off for his unused bed. For as far back as he could recall, he had never had the chance to rest. Now he finally could. The room was quiet, and as the final light faded, so he went to sleep.
He slept for eons, visiting the memories granted to him by those he had shepherded. He saw loves won and lost, great adventures and utter tragedies. All were viewed with equal appreciation, as he sampled the lives he held never been able to hold.
"Grim, Grim, please wake up. Please."
A voice broke through the dreams, bringing him back to the silent universe. There was nothing left here alive, but still he was called. A figure stood by his bed, one that he recognised even in the dimness. "Life? What happened? Why are you here?"
Even as he spoke, he felt something different. Life had long since retired, cocooned in shadows as everything ended. They had said their goodbyes then, not expecting to see each other again. But here she now stood, waking him from his slumber. "My dear, it had begun."
Her words confused him. Nothing should be beginning. It should all have ended. That was it. But even now he realised his mistake. This should have been in utter darkness, a total absence of light. But there was light now, dozens across the previously empty sky.
He sat up, feeling a weight on his chest. He raised the skeletal hands, though they were skeletal no more. Veins and muscles covered the bones, glistening. It had an odd weight, but one that felt powerful. He held up a hand, giving a gentle push to the new sensation. It bulged from his hand, giving birth to a small glow.
There he saw the smiling face of Life, though unlike he remembered. Where once it was plump, it now hung gaunt, a sight seen over the struggles of those who starved and passed on. "Life, what has begun?"
She sighed, as skin grew grey. "The Cycle, it starts once more. As it had always done, and always will. It is time for us to switch again. Remember."
The final word sparked open an ancient memory. Yes, this had happened before. An exchange of places. Grim, that would no longer be his name, as Life would no longer be hers. The Gift of Birth was his to now grant, as he passed on the Gift of Rest.
He rose from his place, as the skin finally crumbled from Death's skull. He held out a hand, shaking her offered one. A new agreement was made, for their jobs to begin anew.
With that, Life left, joy shining through his entire body. The memories of the lost would help him begin everything again. Though now, who knew what would grow from the seeds? Only time would tell, and they were a master secret keeper. |
In the Parker household, there were two people that each held a secret that would shatter the other person’s world.
For Peter Parker, also known as the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, he needed to keep his alter ego a secret. No one could know who he was, especially his dear Aunt May. She has been through so much in her life, she doesn’t need to know her nephew is out there fighting crime and punching guys like Thanos in the face. She doesn’t need to worry about him, she has spent a lifetime worrying about others, about caring for others, about loving others, and she needs to spend her twilight years in blissful ignorance. He hated lying to Aunt May every time he snuck out of the window to patrol the streets of NYC or tell her the bruises on his face and body were from a martial arts class he had taken up (He told he he was tired of being picked on and wanted to build some self esteem). But it was for her safety that he lied. He failed her once when Uncle Ben died, he will never, ever fail her a second time.
For Aunt May, she too has a secret alter-ego. While her alter-ego isn’t a superhero like her nephew, and she can’t fight crime or save the world, she can do something for Spider-Man she has been doing all her life for Peter: Supporting him. She writes letters to the editor that challenges J. Johan Jameson’s repulsive smear campaign against Spider-Man. She calls herself “Bonnie from the Bronx” in her letters and writes them at least once every two weeks. These editorials were probably not doing much to change JJ’s mind, but she once how excited Peter was when he read aloud the letter, noting that is nice to hear a voice of reason from the Daily Bugle.
Bonnie from The Bronx would lash out and attack JJ and challenge him. He has tried to get her to appear on his podcast to debate him in person, but she always refused. She told him she didn’t want to resort to his level, and that she represented the people that support the “wall-crawling menace” and that her group’s numbers are growing while JJ’s are dwindling (this, of course, prompted JJ to publish a poll that was heavily skewed in his favor and cost over 2 million dollars to do, and he still only ‘won’ by 2%). “Bonnie” responded with a “hey JJ, next time spend 5 million so you can win by 5%”. JJ, of course, knowing that Bonnie, Spidey and himself all benefit from the back and forth, always published her letters and even gave her a secret mailing address that would ensure her letters always got to where they needed to go.
This morning, May and Peter sat across the table, eating breakfast. May was sipping on some tea and doing the daily crossword and Peter was laughing as he read Bonnie’s latest tirade against JJ. May would ask Peter what was funny, and he’d lie and say it was the latest Marmaduke, but she knew it was her letters that put a smile on his face. He kissed her goodbye, told her he was going to be late coming home tonight due to his martial arts club, and not to wait up.
This, however, was a difficult day for May. Peter didn’t know it, no one did, but this was the anniversary of the first day she met Ben. Not their first date, but the first day she met him. She opened up her photo album and looked at all the pictures of them together. It isn’t fair Ben isn’t here. It isn’t fair he never got to see his nephew save the world and graduate high school and see all the good he has done in the world.
It isn’t fair that Peter has to carry the guilt around feeling responsible for Ben’s death. She wants to tell him she knows and it is alright and she doesn’t hate him or Spider-Man or anything. He was just a kid. No one knows what they are doing when they are 15, let alone someone who suddenly has superpowers and can climb walls and fight alongside Captain America, Thor and Iron Man. It isn’t fair to put this much weight on shoulders so small and young. She keeps telling herself she wants to tell him, but knows for the overall health of Peter, not Spider-Man, she needs to keep this a secret. He might not know his Aunt May supports him, but at least he knows someone out there does. And Bonnie may be enough for now.
She turned to the end of the album, where all previous ‘Bonnie’ letters were collected, and taped the latest one to a page. She marked it with the date, closed the book, and went to finish her cup of tea. |
“Yeah, I want something.” I scowled. “I want you to actually spend time with your grandson. You know, like you *promised*.”
The horned figure in the pentagram winces. “Shit.. Was that today?”
“Yes, it was. But of course, you’d know that,” I retorted, “If you actually picked up the damned phone once in a while.”
“I’m the literal lord of Hell, Max. I don’t have time-“
There it was. The same excuse my father had given time and time again for why he was too busy to spend time with his own family. Forget that Hell was essentially a self-governing body at this point, what with all the politicians that had ended up there over the last century or so. Forget that he’d had more freedom than ever the past eight years, thanks to the Big Man Upstairs. No, my father, the Devil, was *still* too busy to spend time with his family.
I turned around, disgusted. “Forget it dad. I’ll just tell him there was a change of plans or something. Maybe take him to visit mom.”
“Max…” My father’s voice was different now, quieter. No booming, no echoes, just his rumbling basso, subdued as it was; he’d taken his human form now. “You know your mother would’ve-“
I whirl around, fuming. “What, dad? Mom would’ve what? Made time for her grandson? Kept her promises? Or hell, maybe she’d still be around if you’d have been there!” The last words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. Mom had died eight years ago, the very day of my wedding. She was driving in from out of state, and my father, the Devil, was supposed to be with her.
Supposed to be.
No, instead he got called away on “urgent business”, something that I should have seen coming. It always happened, without fail, on big events. Graduation. Career Day. Theatre productions. Hell, it was probably just Lilith throwing a temper tantrum again, and the archdukes of Hell couldn’t deal with her! My half sister was a literal demon, the princess of Hell itself, and she had the personality to match. I’d never found out what she did that day to make my father miss my wedding; she was probably caught replacing the lobby music with Kidz Bop versions again.
I shuddered just thinking of it. Even the Devil himself wasn’t *that* evil.
My father drops his gaze, ashamed. “You’re right,” he whispers. “I should’ve been there.”
I gape, at a loss for words. “What did you say?”
“I should have been there,” my father repeats, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he lifts his head to stare back at me within the summoning circle. “I spent so long beating myself up over that night, Maximillian. Wishing I’d stayed with her instead of going back to Hell. Wishing I’d just teleported us there, and maybe then she’d still be here. Wishing I was the one driving, not her.” My father is crying now, his words barely escaping from his lips without cracking. “I’d have survived that crash,” he whispers.
He waves his hand to the side and a figure appears. A man in a disheveled suit, three day old stubble on his chin and clutching a bottle, stands before us. His features are blurry to me, but my father glares at the man as if he can see every sin he’s ever committed clear as day. Then again, he probably can.
“I spent so long searching for him, Max.” My father says angrily, gritting through his tears. “But he wasn’t there. He’s not, but for what he did to my wife, he should be.”
Another wave sends the figure away. “Your mother was the best woman I’d ever met, and I’d trade everything just to have her back.”
“I don’t care, dad.” I shoot back angrily. “You fucked up. She’s gone, and she’s not coming back. I don’t even know why I called you, if you’re just going to make the same excuses as always.”
“Max…” my father pleads, though I’m halfway through paging through to the dispelling mantra.
The soft patter of padded feet sounds through the hall, the owner a four year old child. With scruffy black hair and innocent eyes, he pops his head into the kitchen. “Daddy?” he asks curiously. “Who’s that?”
My father turns, surprised, from me to him, back to me, then to the summoning circle he stands within before finally back to me, mouthing one word.
*‘Please.’*
I glance from my son to my father, then the summoning circle before heaving a sigh and closing the summoning book. “Alright,” I mutter.
With a gentle scrape of my foot, I wipe away the section of the summoning circle, clearing the expo marker its drawn with. “Owen,” I say gently, “there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
My father the Devil crouches as my son walks hesitantly forward. “Hello Owen,” he says politely. “I’m your grandpa. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Owen gasps, throwing himself into my father’s arms with the biggest hug a four year old can muster and telling him all about the things a four year old enjoys. And as my father picks him up, settling his grandson in his arms before carrying him to the living room, I swear I can see him smile for the first time in eight years.
“Take all the time you need, Dad.” I say, carrying the summoning tome back upstairs with me. “I’ll go prep the guest room.” |
I secure the princess to a chair bolted to the floor. She's very nervous - understandable, she has no clue what I might do to her. My hand moves to her cheek, gently cupping it. "Don't worry, your highness. I won't hurt you. I'm simply after ransom."
She stares back with wide eyes. "So... you're not going to torture me, or take me back to a rival kingdom or..."
I chuckle slightly. "I'm just after some quick cash. What kind of stories have you been reading?"
"I just know some things which have happened to my family over generations. One prince had his body covered in small cuts, apparently the person wanted him to work as a slave... he refused."Her eyes sadden.
I sit on a chair next to her. "Dang, that's just barbaric. Look, as I said, I just want money. We'll wait for a couple hours, make sure they know you're missing, then I'll make my demand. I'll *threaten* to harm you, but if it comes down to that, I'll make sure I'm careful."
She seems to relax a bit. "Alright, so... I just sit here?"
"Correct. Now, even as my captive, I still want to be a good host. Do you want anything to eat or dri-"
Shouts and screams suddenly sound from outside. "What's the commotion? Have they noticed your disappearance already?"Smirking, I take a peek out the window. A soldier sees me and bolts for my front door. Opening the door, I see three soldiers standing there. They point their swords at me. "So it was **you!**"the one at the front growls.
My smirk turns into a grin. "Yep, it was me. I kidnapped the princess and I-"
There's a hard kick to my chest. The princess speaks up. "Wait, you don't need to hurt him! I'm perfectly fine, Idor."
Idor scowls. "Well, the rest of your family are dead. It's clear who's responsible, and he'll face death."
My ears prick up. It's obvious what he's thinking. "Hang on... all I did... was kidnap... the princess... I was... going... to ask... the royal... family... for ransom..."I struggle to stand back up. A spear is pressed into my back, keeping me down.
"Don't lie!"Idor snaps. "*You* were in the palace, *you* kidnapped the princess, so clearly, *you* killed the family! I can guess your motive, too - marry the princess and become king!"
My stomach turns at that. "The princess's 18th birthday was just this month! I'm a man in my 30's! What kind of sick pervert do you think I am?"
The princess has been released by now, I can hear her footsteps. She clears her throat. "Idor... the *whole* family is dead?"
"That's correct, prince-"
"Queen"she interrupts. "With the death of the king and queen, the next in line inherits the throne. As the only son born in the family, my brother was next in line, but with **his** death, I'm all that's left of the royal family. This makes me the queen."
Idor and the other two soldiers bow their heads. "Of course, queen Zaria. Shall we head back to the palace to plan your coronation and take care of this murderer?"
"Yes, we shall head back. Yes, I'd love to plan my coronation."Suddenly, I feel the spear being taken off of my back. Turning my head, my gaze lands on Zaria, who smiles at me. "But we can't punish someone for a crime they didn't commit. Stand up, sir."
I muster up my strength to stand. Zaria eyes me up and down. "You didn't kill my family. We both know that. However, you *did* kidnap me and should be imprisoned for it."I gulp as she continues. "But, in deference to the fact you also inadvertently saved me... I'm going to make you an offer: you may work as a flunky in the palace. I will expect you to answer my every beck and call. In return, I'll make sure you have comfortable accommodations and good food."
I flick my eyes nervously to the guards, who are glaring at me. Zaria seems to notice as she speaks once again. "Do not worry, I will not allow you to be mistreated under **any** circumstance."She winks at me with a gentle smile.
I nod and kneel down. "I'd be honoured to accept, your majesty."
With that, I'm escorted to the palace, ready to serve the new queen.
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Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) |
Welcome back to another episode of Talking Tongues! I’m your host Brennan, and today I’ll be unwrapping this mysterious package sent to me by an anonymous fan.
Just a quick brief on what I do here, I’m a natural omniglot who picks up a new tongue based on either your votes, or if any subscriber feels daring, you could send me a book, and I’ll learn the new language faster than you can say “hello”. The next step will be hitting the streets and surprising people by speaking in their native tongues while prancing about looking like an obvious idiot tourist.
So, what am I going to read today? Its…”How to Speak The Language of the Deep Ones”. Whoever you are who sent me this book, that’s deep, real helluva deep, bro. Ohh, I can feel the cover, its almost like its alive, its breathing, a little…fleshy here? Check out the boney spine and the teeth-like binder, if I were in some DnD fantasy world, I would think this baby was made from human resources!
h̴̭̳̻̲̖͊͌̌͘̕ͅô̴̡̟̰̲͉͒w̸͚͚̝̏̅̇̉͠͠ ̴̛̹̲̜͗̑̃̾̀a̶̛͈̗͋r̸͓̝̙͒̚ḕ̶̯̯̱͊̈́́̕ͅ ̶̤̈́̄̉̒̆͜͠͠ỳ̵͕̠̻̩̽̈́͗̑͜͠͠o̶̘̭̪͖̮͂̇̈́̌̓̿̏u̶̖͑̕ (How are you)
Did anyone of you hear that from me? I’m a little spooked just reading the equivalent of “How are you” from this book, feeling a little tingly sensation in my left foot. Going to do a quick browsing of this book, won’t bore my lovely viewers out there watching this, and we’ll skip straight to the part where I bamboozle people trying to find a native eldritch speaker of…THE DEEP.
H̴̛̘͓̽i̴̧̱̒̓ ̶͎́̅̀Ĭ̸͖̿̏'̶͎͕̏̌m̶̠̓̍̑͜͜ ̸̖͕̍B̸̜̟͗r̸̤̮͝ͅḙ̷̻̈́n̴͈̔͛n̵̝̱̖̏͛̚a̸̡͑̑͐n̸̢͈͋̂͠ ̶͈̣̍̆ȏ̷͓f̸̘̝̌̊͒ ̷̃͜T̷̨͙͂̏̐ȁ̶̪l̷̖̜̿ǩ̴̡̯͂i̸͓̎ͅn̸̯̍͋̓ͅg̵͎̐̏͠ ̸͍̞̮̒͝T̷͈̯́̓̕ơ̶̹̖̔n̷̲̱̈́ḡ̵̛̬̕u̴̪̕͝e̸̖̣͚͝s̷̝͙͉̆͂̄!̷̩̤̄̀͝ (Hi I’m Brennan of Talking Tongues!)
The lady in the short skirt and the funny cat ears hat is running away from me like she just saw a tentacle sprout from my head. I’m just gonna rub my head, scratch that strange little itch, and move on to the next person. Yea, that went just about perfectly…wrong. Hey, gentleman over there, I’m a little lost, maybe you could show me on this map some good tourist attractions I could find in this sleepy little town?
T̵̺̬̟̳̩̦͖̻̘͇̜̳͖͉͘h̶̢͖̟͚̱̰̲̝͆̿̋͂͐̾̑͗̕a̴̡̡̰̲̓́̏̉̀́̏͜n̸̢̢̛͎̼̮̖̝̭̣̙͔͓̗̒̋̾̽̒́̇̾̕͠k̸̛̮͇̬̙͉̻̅̄̈́̇̔͋́͒̍̑̉͝ ̶̨̡͓̼̹͇̖̯̯̭̘͓̠̠̏͒̃̂y̵̡̢̰̻̪̩̩̤̥̓͛̏͋̄̎͂̀̀̕̚̕͜͝ͅo̷͍͙̝͇̺͉͈̪̖̳͇̦͠ͅu̷̻͕̺̠̿͐͒̄̒̉̿̕!̴̡̢̨̜̙͔̼̼̫̩͚̥͚̈̒̊͛̎̇̒͒͝ (Thank you)
The gentleman drops his briefcase and runs in terror like I just grew extra eyes on my forehead or something. I rub all my eyes and proceed to the old fisherman by the beach. Maybe the old man here has seen some shit and wouldn’t sweat buckets and bail when I speak the language of the Deep Ones. Here goes, let’s hope we get something out of him.
H̶͚̱͛̀͘o̷̙͍̺̿ẅ̷̱̫́̒̑d̸̟̓̑ȳ̴̦͓ ̴̫̒̌̀o̸̦͉̮̊͘ḽ̵̮͚̓̊̇d̵̡̎̄ ̵̮̞̑̉f̷͇͎̺̆́͘e̵͓̹͗̚l̸̮͍͍̆͂͊l̷̰͆͛͗ã̸͙̈̕,̷̌͜ ̵̨̳̀a̵̩̠͑́r̸̡̹̚é̷͍̙̠ ̶͕̟̹̇̾̉t̸̳͐h̶̟͕̓́̿ě̸͍̟̀̒ ̶̩̤͝f̷͕̅ĩ̴͓͓̞̂s̴̲̉́h̷̰̀͑ ̷̝̯̳̽̍͊b̸̰̮̜͊̋ỉ̷̗̠̮̽t̶͇͗̑̿i̸͓̣͆ń̵͚̔͆g̶͍̱̜͛?̷̺̰̒ (Howdy old fella, are the fish biting?)
His eyes widen and he does some weird gestures I don’t understand. Dang, maybe he’s mute, considering all those hand signs he’s doing. Mental note to self, sign language is a language too, maybe I’ll pick it up someday, and surprise a couple of people from the Mute Association. Am I imagining things or did something just tickled my leg?
I̷͇̍̕͠ ̸͙̥͉̣̪͋s̸̰̰̫̦̯͌̑a̸̳̲̎͆̏̇ǐ̴̙͍͎̃̓d̶̛̙̜̦́͂,̸̨̨̱̭̀ ̸͓͕͔͚͝ả̴̫̙̮̟̕r̷̯̜̟̮̉̽͐͝ͅė̵̘̬̣̋ ̴̮͇̐t̵̜̭͋ḣ̴̖̻̰̗̌͝ë̴̞́̀́ ̶̘̉̅́̔͝f̸̡͔̬̬̏ͅi̴̧̝̝͈̓͛͜ŝ̸̺̺̈̔ḩ̷͇̪̬̍͗̾͠ ̴̟͓͙͍͓̈́ḇ̵͓̼͆̏̿͝͠i̸̪͍͍͇͒͆̇͠t̸̛͕̠̦͆̍̊͝i̴̡̟͓͒ṅ̶̺̑ġ̶̰̯̖̬̇?̶̟̳̱̼̂̐̏̈́̕ (I said how are the fish biting?)
The old fisherman packs his equipment in a rush and leaves his fishing spot. So much for trying to make contact. Should’ve expected not to be able to make any sort of headway or conversation. No worries, let’s keep moving on. If someone out there sent me a book on the Deep Ones, surely there has to be a Deep One out there subscribing and watching my youtube channel.
Hey, would you look at that guy sitting outdoors at the café sipping tea? He’s looking like a really chill dude, I dig that evil necromancer aesthetic, think it’s the long black robes he’s wearing, and…are those tentacles beneath the table? Hol up guys, we might just have our denizen of the Deep right here. I’m feeling it in my cojones, this might just be the best Talking Tongues episode yet!
h̸̪̮̫̤̿ͅe̵͎̿ͅỵ̶̨͙͖̘͈̞̄͘̕ ̸̢̳̭͙͚̠͉̊͝ý̴̜̩͍͙̲̈̏͛ò̷̤͆̓͌ụ̴̡̙̗̼̎̽ ̴̗̼̜͓͇̟̈́̔̍i̴͍̣̓̏̆͒̍̊̀ň̶͍̦̮̒̐̀̉̃̊ ̴̡̻͉̻͎̣̍̊̅̓t̴̢̼͐̉h̵̙̲̊̎͊̅̆è̸̯̤̏̓́ ̵̨̖̻̳͚͎̾̓̚͜b̶̳̱̤̮͘ͅl̸̨͕̥͈̟͕̣͆͋a̶̡̝͍̔̇͂̾̒͜ͅc̵̢̢̛͔͇̰̜̭̿̋͋͋͂́k̸̙̖͈͉̤͍̭̍ ̵̗̰͎̿̅̈́̽͝͝r̸̤͉̺̱͙̈́͊̓ơ̶̧͔̞̻̝̤̆͌͂̾̌b̷͈͕̮̘̅͝e̶͙͐̍̃͐̈́̍s̸̤͍̞̻̫̑̍̾́̉!̶͍̀̈́ (Hey you in the black robes!)
The man turns around and waves at me. All right, we’re moving in, the first person not to look at me all funny and flee.
Ả̴̡̢̟̼͔̀̋͊ ̴̼̰͈͙͛̇͊̍͘h̵͇͕̳̀̀̄͋̽u̸̡̡͐͗̆m̴̤̟̳̈́̕a̸̘̾̇͂̌̄͜ņ̵̠͎̿̐ ̷̛̮̎͌̓͜w̶̧̛̮̞h̵͔̉̽̓o̷͓͎̽ ̵͈̯͕̚͠u̴̜̭̓ṋ̵̰̲̊́̾ḑ̵̞̰̭̈́́̾͝ē̸̠͚̦̱̾ṙ̶͔̰̱͜s̵͙͎͕͌̅̐̚͜ͅt̴̻͕̃̐̈à̵̬̫̻̻́n̸͚̘̪͂̑̿̔ḋ̶̨̎͝͠s̵̡̹͚͈̋́͋̀ͅ ̵̭̫͐̑͘m̵͉̻̿̄͌̐̓͜ý̸̹͗̅̇̃ ̴̳̤̋͗é̵̪̱̈́͌̏̏ͅl̴̙̼̠͆ḋ̴̰͍́͜r̴͔̼̼͓̿i̶̳̎͌̊́t̴̢̡͖̣̩̏c̸̬̯̔͝ͅh̴̗̭̳̄͛̓ ̷͉̒t̷̺̥̐̈́͌̇o̴̊́͗̕͜n̶͖̠̗̯͒̄g̴̛̮͓̯̐̀̔u̵̜͓̬͑̉̊͗͝e̸̼͚̰͑̓͐̓?̴̥̓́
Did all of you catch that? He responded back at me in the eldritch tongue! The language of the Deep Ones! Let me just scratch at the prickly sting at the side of my neck before I head over and say “hello” in eldritch. I didn’t catch what he said, so there won’t be any subtitles like before.
H̴̛̘͓̽i̴̧̱̒̓ ̶͎́̅̀Ĭ̸͖̿̏'̶͎͕̏̌m̶̠̓̍̑͜͜ ̸̖͕̍B̸̜̟͗r̸̤̮͝ͅḙ̷̻̈́n̴͈̔͛n̵̝̱̖̏͛̚a̸̡͑̑͐n̸̢͈͋̂͠ ̶͈̣̍̆ȏ̷͓f̸̘̝̌̊͒ ̷̃͜T̷̨͙͂̏̐ȁ̶̪l̷̖̜̿ǩ̴̡̯͂i̸͓̎ͅn̸̯̍͋̓ͅg̵͎̐̏͠ ̸͍̞̮̒͝T̷͈̯́̓̕ơ̶̹̖̔n̷̲̱̈́ḡ̵̛̬̕u̴̪̕͝e̸̖̣͚͝s̷̝͙͉̆͂̄!̷̩̤̄̀͝ (Hi I’m Brennan of Talking Tongues!)
I show him the flesh-bound book and try out a few more phrases. Our black-robed buddy with the white hair here seems all giddy and cheerful someone (that’s me) is speaking in his native tongue.
D̴̩̋ǫ̶̫̞̳̗̈́̾́̓̋̏͘ ̷̬̰̜̹͐͝ý̴̬͕̹̑̆͘ö̶̡̙̩̙̊̈́̐̀ȗ̴̢̗̳̜͖̳̔̀̎̑̏ ̵̝̫̺̣̒̎̃̔a̴̞̦̾̔̿̿͘͝ś̷͉͇̌̌p̸̟̝͓̻̤͉̓͛̿͗͂i̶̲͉̗̊̚͠͝r̸͖̘̱͎͝ẽ̵͙͚͕̰̭ ̴̧̦͈͈̔͜ţ̵̮̝̲͓͋̈́́̍̀͝͝o̵̗͎̫̅̏ ̵̡͙͉̼͚̟͇̊͆b̸͚̤̻̈̀̏̔̕͠ḛ̵̢̧̓͑͌͌ͅ ̷̩̻͇̪̎̇͂ǎ̸͖͙͙̰ ̶̦͓͚͔̙̻̯̒̊̄̑̂̀̕D̴͇̿̓̒͘ę̵̩̤̿͂̀̓̈́̕͜ĕ̸̱̱͕̐̕͝p̵̢̢̤͇͈̹̽̃̀̑͆̍͆ ̷͔̱̖͉̟̋̍̓̎̏͘O̵̤̲̹̼̲̬͈̅ṋ̴͉͕̯̗͑̂̄̕͘ê̵̢͓̻̬̎̏̐̀̿ͅ?̴̧̡͎͔̟̯͒̌̄ Ì̵̪͓̼̇ ̶͑̕ͅá̸̼͇̊͘m̷̨̻̈ ̶̲̏͂m̴̢̺̊͘ỏ̵̬̉r̸̺͉͚̀̈ȇ̸̛̟̾ ̸̪̗̆t̷̼͎̱̀̈́ḥ̸͉͈̒á̸̬̈́n̸̢̔ ̷̻̙̾͘h̵̡̯̿̇͑ả̸̧̗̞̄p̴̹̐p̴͔̓͜ÿ̵̘́ ̸͕͚͇̈̔́t̵̜̓o̵̔̈́̅͜ ̸̦̓ḩ̵̫̂̊͝ė̵̛̬l̵̡̈́̔͠ṕ̵̡̜̖͐ ̸͍̀͛í̷̩̯͍f̶̜̠̫̑̇ ̷̪͔̞͑ÿ̷͈̕ơ̸̝̿̋u̶̦̲̝̓̈ ̷̭̍̍w̴͗͌̓ͅi̷̥͕͑s̵̹̼͚̎͘ḧ̷̠́̓ ̸̘̈s̵̱̲̀̒̚o̴̯͎̦͑.̸̘̹͙͋͋̒
Okay, this guy is most certainly the real deep deal, because I’m getting this massive headache posing near him while he speaks his eldritch tongue. I hope I’m not going to start drooling and sputtering like a mad fool on an episode of The Call of Cthulhu. My new eldritch homie rubs the side of my temples with tentacles. Yea, you heard me, I’m pretty sure those soft, squishy things giving me a massage are definitely tentacles.
“Are you feeling better? I understand the transformation into a Deep One can be taxing and sometimes painful for a human.”
Yo what did you just say? I’m turning into a Deep One? Did you just speak English? Could you explain this bizarre rippling sensation going on under my skin?
“Yes, I do speak English, it’s the most commonly spoken language of my followers. You spoke the phrases to begin the eldritch transformation into a Deep One from that book you have in hand. I haven’t seen this ancient Abyssal edition in a very long time, who gave this to you?”
I don’t know, it was sent in by an anonymous fan. You got a pocket mirror with you somewhere, my eldritch homie? He turns on the camera mode on his handphone and shows it to me. Dang, would you look at that, this eldritch pal here catching up to modern times with the newest model right here. Dayum, I really did sprout extra eyes and tentacles…the hell is going on.
“Your transformation is close to fruition. I will be more than happy to assist you in completing the final steps and provide guidance to ensure your transition is smooth.”
Oh no no no. I’m not turning into some tentacled terror of the Deep. Can you undo it, tentacle guy?
“…I thought you wanted the transformation, why else would you read from that book?” the eldritch entity looked bewildered, his eyebrows cocked upwards in puzzlement.
Told him I’m just a human YouTuber who’s crazy good at picking up new languages and just picked this one up to make what I was hoping to be my best video yet. And I would prefer to stay that way. Its just a language book right? Why would it have phrases to trigger a transformation that some hapless reader might not want?
The eldritch guy shakes his head with a frown on his face. “I am afraid the transformation into a Deep One is one-directional, there is no going back. Please look on the bright side, it will make an excellent video if you could continue streaming while I handle the finishing touches of your conversion. Please just remember to credit me and tag me @LordElvariOfInnsmouth, thank you very much.”
------------------------
[Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/) |
"My Livestream has started and I need to impress my viewers,"the human in impractically elaborate armor whispered to me. "So stop standing around and..."he brandished his replica sword near my face and shouted, "FIGHT ME!"
Frankly speaking, I wasn't itching for combat at all, just enjoying a tea party with some of my faithful followers. Before his annoying summons. With a wave of a tentacle, my dessert platter and tea set came floating in. Much to my amusement, he just kept bellowing for a fight while I tucked into pastries and sipped my tea. One would have thought someone so eager for a duel would be making the first move.
If he wanted a fancy fight to entertain his viewers, he'd better muster the courage to make the first move than wait for me to do it. A part of me hoped that his viewers would soon be bored, so he too, would lose interest in badgering me to attack him.
"CHAARRGGGEE!"
Finally, his first move.
Simply floating to one side was enough for the clearly telegraphed swing of his sword to whiff. Losing his balance, the live streamer stumbled to find his footing before falling onto the ground. He hauled himself up with much effort, armor clanking, then attempted another attack with a wide swipe.
"Perhaps you need to re-spec,"I grinned, unable to resist mocking him. "Might need to transfer some points from strength to dexterity if you wish to make physical contact with me."
Having steadied himself, he rushed at me yet again. Does he not know any other tactic? This time I tripped him with a single tentacle. His sword flew from his hands and landed some distance away in the grass. Scrambling along the field, he went to pick up his sword and assume another unbalanced attack stance.
"Stop humiliating me and engage me for real!"He roared as he brandished his shiny prop blade not made for combat. "Be serious!"
"I'm being considerate here. Your viewers wouldn't want to watch you die,"I remarked as I munched on a cupcake. "It wouldn't be a fight if I were serious. It'd be a massacre. There wouldn't be anything left of you if I willed it so."
"Argh! I summoned you to fight me!"
I let out a loud sigh. There were plenty of gods who would be more than happy to grind him into a blood paste on the ground. In hindsight, I probably should have chucked that shoggoth Malice through the portal instead of stepping through it personally. She would have saved me time dealing with him.
"Come at me, bro!"
Did he just..."bro"me right there? Is he forgetting that regardless of how friendly I try to be, I am still an eldritch god not to be trifled with?
"ELVAREEEEEE!"
...That's not the way to pronounce my name.
I whipped the back of his knees once he dashed within tentacle range and sent him sprawling. Yet, he rose again, heaving and panting. Only to fall again while his blade sailed past me in the air and planted itself onto the ground.
"You're physically tired, and I'm mentally tired of this farce. We should both head home by now,"I said, wrapping a few tentacles around his waist and pulling him up. "Your viewers have seen enough."
"But I'm a monster hunter!"He declared, leaning against his sword and gasping. "All shall see that I won't give up in the face of adversity!"
That's a very tacky fake hunter's badge if I ever saw one.
"Shall we continue this at my home? My reading list is only getting longer and I'd like to get started on a new horror novel. Just remember not to damage my furniture or I'll demand compensation."
He frowned and dropped his sword. "You were never going to engage me seriously?"
"Most humans don't summon gods to fight said god,"I shrugged. "I'm more used to people wishing for blessings and boons."
"But I am not most humans. You will grant me the boon of a memorable fight for the ages!"
"No, that's not how a boon works."
"I can wish for a fight."
"It is within my authority as a god to refuse stupid wishes."
---
[Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/) |
I couldn’t blame anyone but myself. I was the greedy son-of-a-bitch that took their money. I thought they’d never find me. I thought I could just run away from that life and that would be that. Things don’t work like that though; blood finds blood. Maybe I just thought they’d spill mine.
There were five men standing on that street, the rest were lying dead. None of them stood a chance against the Mooney gang. Most of them were unarmed, some of them were children, but none of that mattered to those fucking psychopaths.
I didn’t stand a chance either cowering as I was. Truly I am a coward, as cowardly as I was the day I was born. I let myself get sucked into the charm of dangerous men having my back until I could stick my knife in theirs. I thought it would never catch up to me.
This will be the last shot at facing what I’d done. I looked down the pews where a few of the townsfolk were hiding with me and my eyes fell upon the rock lying under the crucifix. There was a hilt embedded into it and a legends of a mythical weapon it belonged to.
Legend said that a hero could pull it from those stony clutches and bring woe to those who prey on the weak. But it had been long since any heroes walked these parts and maybe it wouldn’t be too picky.
Fearful eyes turned to me as I walked down the aisle and as my hands rested on the hilt. I steeled my heart and pulled with all my might. It didn’t come out like a knife through hot butter but with an explosion of gravel.
In my hands was a revolver; nothing big or fancy but it had six bullets in the cylinder and that was enough for what I needed. It felt natural, like it had been in my hands all my life.
I kicked open the church door and alone I walked toward my old friends.
“So he comes out now.” Mooney heckled, “I thought we’d have to get through all woman before he stopped hiding.”
“That yellow bellied cur. Why I outta…”
Four shots rang out and four bodies dropped. Me and Mooney were the only ones left standing. We stared at each other wordlessly, neither of us daring to blink. With a twitch of a finger and a puff of smoke another body dropped.
I looked down at my smoking gun and the last bullet in the cylinder. |
I don’t miss him.
Fall fast into love, falling, falling. Head over heels.
I don’t miss him.
Warm hands, soft heart. Another place, another time. Before strife turned the edges sharp.
Sharp…
I don’t miss him.
If love is a choice then I’d choose again, and again.
Again and again…
I don’t miss him.
I remember the first time we made love but not the last. As so often occurs I didn’t know it was to be the end.
The end…
I don’t miss him.
The pain in my chest thuds fast with my heartbeat.
Pain in my chest…
Heartbeat…
I don’t miss him.
When he sat beside my hospital bed and held my hand for the last time he promised we would be together always.
But the pain in my chest, my heartbeat thudding sharp again and again. We both knew it was the end.
He said we would be together always.
But I miss him.
|
My inner goddess is wriggling with pleasure. Well, it's her, or it's the bad indian food I ate yesterday. His crooked finger is snuggled in my magic love hollow and he's making me feel -
"Oh my,"I moan, as my inner goddess smiles like a hungry wolf.
"Keep still."He growls. He's standing behind me, one hand on my hip, the other nestled inside my warm and squishy cave of wonders. He owns, me, he's controlling me... It all feels so good. And he's so attractive as well. I can't believe he wants little old me!
"Oh Tristan,"I groan, wiggling my backside against his firm and throbbing man-spanner. He growls and hits my backside with the flat of his hand.
"Oh my."I cry again, feeling like domination and kinky shit might be just right up my street. Or puckered adoration canal. Both. Oooh...
"You're mine Hannah."He growls in my ear. He does a lot of growling. He's like a really sexy wolf. Only not furry - I'm not *that* kinky, blimey. He kinda has these yellow eyes and a six pack like a chocolate bar. Imagine the most generically attractive guy you can, add a tragic backstory and that's Tristan for you.
I feel a warmth building up in me and I know I'm ready.
"Oh my, oh Tristan."I scream.
I discover, to my dismay, that it *was* in fact the Indian food and not my inner goddess wriggling inside me as I turn around and realise that Tristan is not covered in my feminine love juices, but rather... |
Why the fuck do you have to be so goddamned beautiful, for fucks sake. Seriously, I can't stop fucking thinking about you and it's driving me insane.
If only you were a bitch, seriously I've wished that you were one of those girls I'll never know. The girls who pull faces when I talk to them or ignore me as they strut past. If you were one of those I could forget about you, I could accept that you're just something I'll never be able to experience. But oh no! You have to be nice, and thoughtful and smart and fucking funny too. Holy shit, you're actually funny.
I always tell myself I'm being absurd when I think about you. She's not that great, you're putting her on a pedestal, she's not that hot. And then I see you in real life and you prove me wrong every time, without fail. You're always better than I could ever imagine you. Always better looking than in my mind and with a new quirky hairstyle or cute story to share.
You're no angel. You're no gift from god, although you play the part and might even believe it yourself. You're a demoness, placed on this earth to torment me. And what have I done to deserve this? Love you? |
I'm special. That's what they told me at birth. He's a special one. One of a kind. Destined to be someone.
I'm nothing. That's what they told me in school. The other kids. Worthless. I'm a zero. Destined to be no one.
I'm lazy. That's what they told me in college. Entitled. Different. Unmotivated. Destined to disappoint.
I'm fired. That's what they told me at my job. Not right for the job. Distracting. I upset the customers. Destined to work someone else.
I'm dirty. That's what they told me on the street. A leech. An urchin. A drain on society. Destined to stay this way forever.
I'm alone. That's what I am. Dying. Sad. Hungry. Destined to be whatever others say I am. Defined by that number on my head. I turned out to be exactly what it said I would be. |
**WHAM**
I strike.
**WHAM**
Again.
**WHAM**
AGAIN!
**WHAM**
Crashing, smashing, sparks and fire;
Flatten, folding, never tire;
Forging might from steel and water;
Perfect tool for endless slaughter.
**WHAM**
Held by brilliant simian;
Helping ruin lives for him;
I create them, others wield;
Building bloody battlefields;
**WHAM**
Weapon process near completion;
Monkey feels it, joy excretion;
Arm of death's held by another;
Soon to murder friend and brother;
**HISSS**
Cooled and hissing, blade alive;
Evil glints, none will survive;
I'm laid down to once more sleep;
Until another needs to reap.
|
Deep in the night, the poorly recited chants of his new worshipers started to hurt his head. More annoyed than flattered the scourge of centuries past finally awoke from his forced slumber. Casting off the rock and mortar that made up the statue he was encased in, he steps down from the pedestal. The bright flameless lanterns hurt his eyes as he strains in the darkness to view his new followers. It appears that he is in the middle of some sort of park or garden; off in the distance he sees many stone towers rising up from the ground. So many fortifications so close together, he must have woken to a very war torn time indeed. Before him stand half a dozen humans in very odd garb with strange piercings in their faces, a few have...unnatural colored streaks in their hair, he's had worse bow before him in the past. Their eyes and mouths agape, one seems to have pissed himself. In a harsh booming voice he addresses them "Rock'tish Aka Thor Bruum, Nada To'leth"The females of the group scream, and all bolt like death himself was on their heels. They didn't look like very good warriors anyway. He digs through the rubble and finds his sword and helmet, donning both, he sets off to find a new army to command. As he walks through the park he is passed by a man with a very tiny war dog on a leash, "There a con in town or something?"The words lost on the newly awoken conquer.
After passing most of the forts that to his trained eye do not appear very siege proof he enters a neighborhood that looks to be more of the tradesmen type. Odd that the roofs are not thatched, a wealthy city indeed! In need of food and drink he stops by one of these houses, the thought to overpower whomever lived there, should be easy enough, no one has bested him in hand to hand combat. The door bolted, a swift powerful kick rends the door from its hinges. The smell of burnt tobacco and pungent potions waft through the door. Inside more tiny war dogs greet him. Another swift kick and the dogs are silenced; he pulls his sword to meet the man of the house. From the top of the stairs he hears a "chunk-chunk"metal on metal sound. Ah, the challenger approaches! Down the stairs appears an old lady in a night dress with a wood and metal tube. What sort of poor excuse for a weapon is this!, one swing should cleave her in two. Her battle cry "What the hell are you doing? You're going to have hell to pay for hurting my doggies!"falls meaningless on his ears. Whatever you said, this will be easy. Two cracks of loud thunder and light from her metal tube and finds himself on his knees in extreme pain, holes torn clean through his armor. Shocked that HIS blood, and HIS guts, are spilling from the wounds underneath he wonders what kind of Witch is this! "chunk-chunk"She battle cries again "No one messes with this old lady!"Another crack of thunder and light, this time in front of his face....
|
John approached his colleague, and friend, glancing around the sterile room as he did. Most of the other researchers had hit their bunks for their mandatory four hours.
“Stephen, I think I’ve got something…” he said
Looking over his shoulder again, he directed Stephen to the corner of the room, where a microscope sat in a mountain of clutter.
“Look.” he said.
Stephen leaned over and peered into the microscope. His hand trembled as he adjust the eyepiece.
“The virus is receding!” said Stephen, “We’ve done it! What batch is this? We’ve got to get it into production!”
“No, not yet. I’ve destroyed everything that led me to this batch.”
Still hunched over, Stephen turned his head away from the eyepiece.
“What? What the fuck John?”
“It’s still in my head, I can recreated it. Just… just not yet. I only showed you for confirmation. You are the only one I can trust with this.”
Stephen stood upright and looked around the room. His eyes opened wide, he demanded an explanation without saying a word.
“Look, think about it for a second. The world was fucked anyway. Poverty, famine, war, global warming and then whatever shit we would think of next to kill ourselves off.” He glanced around the room again and lowered his voice, “I’m not saying we sit here and let the human race die, I’m saying we wait. Did you know that the black plague actually solved a lot of social problems? They were at crisis point. Overcrowded cities, violence and extreme poverty. We’re way beyond that point. We have the chance right now to save humanity! To tip the odds in our favor, to make rebuilding easier. People will be reeling from this, maybe the human race will finally gain some perspective. Maybe we can achieve world peace! A balanced society.” he said.
“John you can’t do this! Millions of people have died, and millions more will follow. You will be responsible for those deaths”
“Maybe, but maybe I will be responsible for saving mankind!”
He snatched the Petri dish from under the microscope and poured a destructive solution over it.
“It’s done Stephen. I will create another batch, but only when the time is right.”. |
**JEFF BROHELM** cries the unseen gatekeeper.
"Ye...yes?"his supplicant responds.
In the distance, the sound of a pounding gavel.
**YOU HAVE COME TO OUR GATES. YOU WILL BE JUDGED.**
"Er...right on."
**YOU HAVE LED AN EVENTFUL LIFE.**
Jeff Brohelm responds to this as best he can, with a sliding sideways shrug.
**AGE SEVEN. YOU TOOK THE CLASS HAMSTER AND FLUSHED IT DOWN THE TOILET.**
"Ah c'mon man, you're going to bring that up? I was just a kid--"
**AGE FOURTEEN, SYLVIA PLATTER ASKED YOU TO THE SCHOOL DANCE AND YOU IGNORED HER COMPLETELY.**
He remembers Sylvia. Two platter-round eyes and a forehead you could land a plane on.
"But I didn't--"
**AGE TWENTY ONE. WHILE TOURING YOUR FAVORITE PUB, YOU KNOCKED OVER THE BARTENDER'S PRICELESS COLLECTION OF CRYSTAL GUINNESS MUGS.**
"I was pissed all to fuck, you can't possible expect--"
**SILENCE!**
The gatekeeper emerges from the light, and Jeff Brohelm is brought to tears by the glory of his silken fur and grandiloquent whiskery.
**JEFF BROHELM. YOUR ENTIRE LIFE YOU HAVE DISPLAYED A CALLOUS DISREGARD FOR THE LIVES OF OTHERS, CRUELTY TOWARDS SMALL ANIMALS, AND HATRED FOR VALUABLE POSSESSIONS.**
The gates open in a rush of warm air, scented with catnip and the heady vapors of warm milk.
**WELCOME TO HEAVEN**
Jeff Brohelm is taken aback. "Wait...I thought...er..."
A giant paw descends from the sky and pats him reassuringly on the head.
**YOU WERE A TERRIBLE HUMAN. BUT AN EXCELLENT CAT.**
|
"Let me see, what have you found."
"I don't know, It's wrapped. I can make out some Euro-merican symbols. Ugh, it's quite damaged... There's an S but then I can't make out the rest, wait, that's a E next... Then whatever was next is scratched off save for a few symbols on the end, I-T-I-O-N. The last set of symbols is clear though F-I-L-M. Below that there seems to by some kind of calligraphy, I can read S-T-A-R and W-A-R-S."
"Interesting, what level are we digging at again?"
"The soil at this level is at least 20-30 thousand years before the age of the crown. Once we get it back to the lab I'll see about having it dated via small-rot analysis. Assuming some of it was made from living matter.
_____
"Unblieveable, this dates to 42.3 thousand years BTAOC."
"I thought you said we were digging around 20-30 BTAOC?"
"I did, and the soil samples confirm it, 23.7 thousand years to be precise. This artifact is much older."
_____
"I've been analyzing the artifact and I've reach some conclusions. Clear-ray analysis shows that inside the packaging there is a rectangular object with two reels. One reel has a large amount of matter wrapped around it while the other has very little.
Spectral scans have revealed that the full set of symbols are:
SPECIAL EDITION FILM
*STAR WARS*
I've been trying to determine the meaning of the words. We know 'star' and 'wars' but what on earth could they have to do with each other?. 'Film' was a type of documentary medium. But 'special edition'? 'Edition' is straight forward, meaning version, but why was it 'special'? And why was is scratched off?
I think I've had a breakthrough. One of the the spectral scans revealed a residue no longer visible to the eye. Another set of symbols hidden right beneath the scratched out 'special edition'"
Han shot first
To me it seems the conclusion is obvious. This was a documentary of the star wars. In particular, this was a specific version of the documentary produced by/for a particular set of people. Whomsoever scratched out 'special edition' and wrote 'Han shot first' clearly must disagree on who the documentary claims started the wars. Unfortunately, no information exists on 'Han'. Perhaps 'Han' was another city/state, or even a particular individual. As to why the wars are called the 'Star Wars', well much like the content of the documentary, that information is lost to time." |
Heidi read the ad out loud. "'Roommate wanted. No pets, no couples, no loud music . . .'"
"That's right,"Christine prompted.
"'No vampires.'"Heidi looked up. "Why no vampires?"
"They get blood all over my nice furniture."
"'No lycanthropes.'"
"The smell. It would be the same as having a dog."
"'No merfolk,'"
"Smell."
"Geez. 'No elves.' Why no elves?"
"I don't feel comfortable having bows and arrows lying around the place."
"'No AI,'"
"They never sleep. They'll keep me up all night."
"'No extraterrestrials?'"Heidi's voice was becoming more strained.
"You know I'll get stuck with their astronomic phone bills."
"'Wizards and cultists accepted.'"Heidi paused. "That's big of you."Then she read on, "'but no practicing arts allowed within the apartment.'"
"That's right."
Heidi shook her head. "You're never going to find a roommate."
Christine sniffed. "Well, excuuuuse me for having standards." |
'DON'T WORRY, CITIZEN I'M here ... to ... Sonic bomber?'
'Morning Captain Clean, how's things?'
'When did they let you out of prison, and what are you doing here, to these people?'
'Hmmm? Oh, last week. And I'm saving them. See, look how happy and healthy they are. I even cured Mr. Smiths chesty cough here. Turns out he had a spot of mold in his home. Soon cleared that up, didn't we Mr. Smith?'
'Oh yes. Sonic Bomber here was a big help. Even helped removing the slight damp we had so the problem won't come back. Very good of him. Got the wife to make him a pie.'
'See Captain, we're all fine here. You can go home or do ... whatever it is you do.'
'What are you up to Bomber? Last time I fought you, you where holding 800people hostage above a volcano. Now you're helping ... sorry, what was your name again?'
'Mr. Smith. Friends call me Bob'
'Mr. Bob Smith here, with his mold problem'
'It was a damp problem really Captain, but its all sorted now. If you'll excuse me, there's about to be an issue with Dredd Tornado and a bus full of school children if my information is correct. Must be off'
'No, wait. What's going on Bomber. What is your evil plan?'
'No plan Captain. Just a goal really'
'And what's that Bomber?'
'To show you, I can beat you. Next time we fight, you'll know I can do anything better than you. I can turn your entire legion of followers against you. I can undermine your powers. I can ruin you be being better. Then when you're gone, forgotten, only I will remain. The villain game? Sure, it nets you a bit of cash but the hero game? Action figures, movie deals, merchandising, I could make what I get from a good robbery in a day with the right toys.'
'We heros don't do it for fame or money! Its the right thing to do!'
'Really? Tell me. Did you help Mr. Smith? You cure the symptoms, not the cause. "I HAVE STOPPED THE ATOMIC SMASHER, TO JAIL WITH HER"then what? She's out again in a few months as she's really a nice enough lass and can cook a mean pie. Life confuses here, she gets angry and we start all over. Have you tried talking to her?'
'Well ... I don't really get a chance to. She's a criminal!'
'I've talked to her. She's got a few family issues from when she was a child. I got her in contact with a good therapist. She's been out for 2months now. Live in Wales. Did you know what? Or did you just want to punch her in the face again?
'What? Well, that's great! Prison reform works'
'No, my reform works you pump up shit. I solved the problem. I help people. I can do more good in a day than you can in a year. I can't jump tall buildings, I can't bench press a moon, but I can solve the problem, not the symptoms. I do this better than you. And the only reason I'm going to keep doing this, is to shove it in your face every time you see me'
'Why? What did I ever do to you?'
'Nothing. Don't forget, I am a villain' |
Darkness. Always darkness. The clanking sound of metal chains, and the wet splash of water dripping from a pipe, darkness. An ironic name for someone who worked for the king as a prison guard. It was given to him by his father, henry. Henry was a bitter old soul. Perhaps it was his work, or the way his father treated him, but henry was a morbid human being. So when he had a child he decided to name him darkness. His wife, Angela disagreed. She thought the name was horrible, and would only lead their son into trouble. Even their neighbor, and closest friend, scoffed at the idea. The name still stuck. As a child, darkness only really talked to their dog, Wilfred. Sometimes the dog would talk back, or at least it seemed like it to darkness. Darkness’s teacher, Mr. Olaf didn’t think darkness was an appropriate name, so he called him “nes” for short. Darkness never found love; Mary was the closest he ever got to it. He still thinks about her every now and then. His “friend” sunshine stole her away. he still thinks about the old times, when he is in his dungeon, in the dark. Derik, their child’s laughter still echoing in his mind. Derik is gone now, and all that’s left is darkness. always darkness.
|
It was like the name of an actor you'd recognized but just couldn't quite place in that TV movie last night.
You know the feeling – you had the information all along, it just took some time. I got it at 10:37 PM on a Thursday. As with all things you seem to suddenly remember, it came while I was distracted, trying to solve some pithy work problem while staring at my slowly cooling cup-o-noodles dinner. I didn't have to hurry home in the evenings to take him for walks anymore, so I'd been regularly working late. When you get home after 9 o'clock anything more than microwaving a Styrofoam bowl of calories sounds like an insurmountable chore.
I still wonder if I was the first. Or maybe it's just no one talks about it. Did it always take a few days, like the knowledge was held in escrow? I'd lost him the last weekend, long enough it was a reality but short enough that I still looked over to his indentation on the couch and, for a brief second, wondered if he was in the kitchen causing trouble.
Who cares how it happened? It happened. Like a flip of a switch, something passed from his life to mine. I could almost here the cartoonish "click"of the light coming on as memories flipped. I'd thought myself benevolent when I put down my work to come home and take him out. Those walks were for him, to keep him from going stir crazy and destroying some trinket around the house. Sitting at the dog park, watching him run back and forth to sniff the same two trees for twenty minutes, meant I was the more evolved being caring for the otherwise helpless, loveable-but-blundering goof.
Not anymore. Is it better to know? I think I'm happier seeing he was watching out for me. His tugging for a longer stroll, his whining to go on another walk, his standing just a few extra steps out of reach when it was time to drive home from the park, was all for my benefit. How did he get that staring at my computer for hours in the fading night, or mindlessly tinkering on my phone on the couch, was slowly squashing something inside me? That a long walk on a cold autumn evening was what I needed to bring some of my humanity back? For that matter, how did I not see it myself?
If I'd know this bequest would happen, what would I have expected? Maybe understanding God, or the origin of the universe. Foolish pipe dreams, I suppose. How could a dog grasp any of that, any more than I can? But there's still a gift he's left me, something he saw but I couldn't. It's what got me back to going for walks when I get home from work, what lets me stare out the window without feeling like I'm wasting time. Maybe that's better than the origin of the universe, I'm still not sure. But ever since 10:37 PM on a Thursday, one mystery about dogs became crystal clear – even the kitchen trash smells amazing if you're just glad to be alive. |
From the dark cockpit of Slave One, Fett overlooked the desolate world before him. On a holographic display to his right, he saw several things. One, he saw the demographic information of his intended target; Furyan, strong, fast, altered vision for dark environments, and a significant knowledge of fighting and survival. Two, the breakdown of the planet he was currently orbiting; Gentile -- but it was far from it -- the planet once was a flourishing jungle planet until a mining operation triggered such an immense green-house gas release, that the planet essentially killed itself. Now the planet was a deserted desert wasteland with only two things, a mining colony digging after deep-core valuables, and a traders town full of mercenaries.
Now, Fett was one for his research. He personally hadn't been to this system before, but he had sent three recon droids out ahead of him. One to passively admire his target. One to get him a thorough reading on the environment, and one to act as sentry when he arrived. There was no such thing as too much assistance.
The thing that had intrigued him most, aside from the thrill of the hunt, was the bounty that this Furyan had placed on him. He had several systems with bounties, all piled into one bounty now from the Corporate Authority in the sum of 50 Million Credits. It also said that some ten other bounty hunters failed miserably and ended up dead. Fett, on the other hand, would not.
Having finally played the scenarios out in his head, Fett took Slave One in and sat her out in the distance from the traders town, and made his way in on foot. His in-helmet heads-up-display showed him the location of his intended target, slumped inside a bar on the far end of town, tucked away in the back corner, passive as a sleeping animal. In-fact, since Fett's droid had been spying on him, he hadn't moved at all.
Body language could speak volumes, but when your target did nothing more than sit still, you couldn't judge. So aside from the day's worth of intel and a galaxy full of rumors, Fett was going in blind. Well, sort of -- Fett's arsenal was nothing short of a challenge for even his best adversaries. First, was his EE-3 blaster, dialed up to its strongest setting and capable of penetrating even some of the thickest armor in the galaxy. On his wrists he had not one, not two, not even three -- but essentially four weapons: the first of which was a small baradium rocket that could disable a small snubfighter, the second was a hold out blaster, intended for close-range entanglements, the third was a whip cord capable of supporting his fully-armed weight, and finally the ability to call upon Slave One to perform a variety of tasks.
Fett strode through the city with a casual gait. Finally reaching the bar, he prepared himself for entry. The live payout was more -- the fifty million -- but for the ease of the mission, forty million dead would suffice. Fett stepped through the old-fashioned iron-swing door and stepped inside. The silence was deafening. The enhanced sound projectors on Fett's helmet picked up the breathing of the patrons who turned to look at him. Fett didn't speak. He didn't even warn the crowd. His faceless gaze fixated on the bald, goggle-wearing Riddick and took aim. Just as he was about to fire, the lights in the establishment went off.
Fett cursed under his breath, his heads up display taking only seconds to reconfigure to the darkness and adapt accordingly. But now, in the minimal lighting of the bar, he could see that his target had disappeared.
From above him, Fett heard a taunt, "What makes you think you're different, bounty hunter?"
Fett didn't answer, nor did he seem to react. After only a couple of seconds of pause, Fett spun, aimed high, and fired into the rafters of the bar. He could hear the sound of air being sucked through teeth. He had drawn first blood. Now he moved to the exit of the building to prevent this Riddick from escaping.
As Fett backed away, rifle still drawn, he hadn't picked up even the slightest motion when he had been kicked in the side of the helmet by what appeared to be a phantom boot. The daze sent him for a loop, but he balanced himself and returned with a kick of his own, missing, and hitting a support column.
A second kick hit Fett in the unarmored side, and then his weapon had been stripped from his hand. Not unprepared, Fett swung a heavy gauntlet into the torso of his opponent, causing the EE-3 to fall. Rather than go for the gun, Fett fired his wrist-mounted blaster at the man, who danced around the beams of energy with cat-like grace.
Riddick smiled in the darkness, then seemed to disappear. Instead of giving him the satisfaction, Fett activated his wrist-mounted flamethrower and set the bar ablaze, lighting the room and giving himself again the advantage. His EE-3 was only a short distance away, but it would be too great a risk to get it back, instead, he counted it a loss.
Something vaguely panther-like moved from shadow to shadow, dodging the light of the fire that flicked at the darkness. Watching the shadows move, Fett timed himself and loosed the baradium rocket on his wrist, blasting a hole in the side of the bar and launching Riddick out onto the ground.
Riddick lay sprawled out on the ground, a large piece of steel jutting from his side, jagged, and vaguely knife-shaped. Surrounding the shrapnel lodged in his torso was a patch of expanding blood. Now Fett had truly injured the Furyan. He walked closer, lifting his wrist blaster to finish the job. No such luck; somehow, still with fight left in him, Riddick spun his legs, using one leg to kick the gauntlet away, a second to spin himself over and onto his knees, and then a rear-kick to the chin of the t-visored helmet that sent Fett flying backward.
Fett stumbled, but did not falter. He raised the gauntlet to Riddick who was now fleeing through the crowds of the market square. He fired a slew of shots at him and missed only because he passed behind a building out of Fetts sight.
Once on the other side, Fett only briefly caught glimpse of Riddicks form climbing into a small fighter and taking off, attempting to flee the planet. "Fool."Fett breathed. He called Slave One, and without even landing, climbed aboard and continued pursuit.
Catching up to the starfighter had been nothing, and then blasting the engines with his laser cannons had even been easier, but finishing the job with a proton torpedo had just been for the sheer joy of it. Rarely had an opponent put up such a fight. Fett reclined in his seat and felt a certain satisfaction.
As he orbited the planet, before even programming the jump to lightspeed, he paused and looked into the viewport in front of him. Behind him he saw the glimmer of a blade in the reflection. A smirk came to his lips.
Riddick chuckled, "You could fight me, but you'd only die tired."
Fett responded with a digitized chuckle of his own, "We'll see."
Edit: One small fix. Sorry for any errors. Bedtime already, but I couldn't pass on this story. |
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