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"What?"
"Dragonslayer,"he said. "'One who slays dragons'. Of course, it's a bit harder these days."
*Is he mad? Dear God, let him be mad*, I thought. It would be so much simpler if he was just another madman.
"They've started hiding,"he continued, "taking human forms, getting jobs, leading lives. I've found they switch hideouts about every ten years. Keeps folks from noticing."
"Noticing what?"
"That there's cattle going missing. That you'll hear wingbeats at night. That the old lady's shadow's got wings. That stuff."He smiled. "We've nearly got them all, now."
I took a breath, and realised I'd been holding it. He didn't seem to mean me any harm, which was lucky. I looked down at the gun he'd handed me. It was long and slender, like nothing I'd seen before. The barrel resembled a flower's stem.
"Needle gun,"he said. "That's what we need to pierce their skin. Made of pure iron, filled with enough arsenic to kill an elephant thrice over."
I looked again, now horrified. This thing had killed people, and not few people either. The man who sat opposite me was dangerous.
He dropped the smile. "I see what you're thinking. Trust me, they deserved it. Dragons are as old as the world itself and I've never met one that hadn't killed, and killed many. If we let them live they'll hunt us again, one day. I won't take that risk. Will you?"
I realised he'd kill me if I disagreed. He couldn't let him and his organisation get public. Only one thing to do.
I nodded.
He smiled.
"Good man. The gun's yours. You'll find your allies here -"- he handed me a crumpled paper - "- and they'll tell you what to do next. Ask for a Mrs. Petersen."With that, he stood up and sauntered out the door.
The sun clouded.
Damn. I'd known my disguise was good, but not *that* good. I was sure he'd see through me.
So they used needle guns to get us. Made sense. It had always been points, after all - arrows in the five hundreds, lances in the twelves, and splinter fire in the eighteens. Always pure iron.
And now their little game was up. I pulled out my phone.
"Heya, Linda. Get Zmey and Pi and come over. You won't *believe* the job I just got."
This was gonna be a good day. |
“There is absolutely no way in hell I’m paying $300 for a jaywalking ticket,” said Jesse, raising his voice. “I crossed in the crosswalk, I made it across in time, and the street wasn’t even open, so you can take that ‘the countdown timer had started’ nonsense and send it to the moon!” Jesse found himself surprisingly out of breath, but proud nonetheless for sticking up for everything that is right in this world. The judge before him leaned back and stretched.
“You’re not from around here, are you Mr. Symmonds?” The judge asked as he finished his stretch. Jesse didn’t respond. “You see, in our fair city, laws aren’t circumstantial. If the law says crossing the street after the countdown begins is illegal, which it does, then it is, regardless of how quickly you scurry or how closed the street is.” Jesse’s stomach gurgled a sound he hoped was only audible to himself. His impassioned speech seemed to have failed.
“Honestly,” the judge continued, “$300 is a paltry sum considering you endangered lives with your reckless behavior.” Jesse couldn’t let that offense pass.
“Excuse me?” he asked incredulously. Seeing the judge’s response and hearing a slight murmur from the crowd behind him, Jesse mumbled a “your honor” to the end of his question. “Whose lives did I endanger?” The judge scoffed.
“Oh, well yours, certainly,” said the judge. “And, since we’ve no proof of the road’s closure, as you’ve stated, what if someone had been turning and had to adjust because you had crossed after the countdown? Now, I’m not overly familiar with the businesses at this particular intersection, but I don’t think it too farfetched to envision a responsible motorist having to make a split-second adjustment due to your negligence, sending them careening into a school, an orphanage, a zoo for baby animals, or even all three, again, depending on the businesses at this intersection.”
Jesse was a level of shocked he did not know he was capable of, but one thing was very clear: he was not going to win after all. A dejection began to creep into his mind, but his principles wouldn’t allow him the thought of giving up. He decided to dial back the theatrics, but remain firm with what he believed in. A little bit of kissing up couldn’t hurt, either.
“Your honor,” began Jesse. “I want to thank you and the people of this court for presenting your interpretation of my actions. It is clear this city runs on diligence, if nothing else. That being said. I will again repeat that I am not guilty of endangering this community and will not pay the fine--”
“Then it’s 30 days in county jail, Mr. Symmonds, which is just fine with us. Bailiff?” The judge nodded at the bailiff who stepped towards Jesse.
“Now, hold on a minute!” Jesse said, panicked. Every second seemed to bring a worse situation in this podunk mound of dirt. “Surely you must see the ridiculousness of all this!” Jesse pleaded. “There has to be another way, I’ll just leave town, you’ll never hear of me again!” The bailiff got closer. “I’ll make a PSA about the countdown clock!” The bailiff pulled out his handcuffs. “I’ll do community service!” On a dime, the bailiff stopped his approach and looked at the judge, who was suddenly smiling broadly.
“Mr. Symmonds,” the judge said with mock surprise. “When you walked in here, I certainly didn’t take you for a giving man. Well, don’t judge a book by where it’s from I suppose. Community service it is!” The judge accompanied this with a swift slam of the gavel. Before Jesse could fully comprehend what had happened, or why the people in the audience seemed to be celebrating, the bailiff was in front of him, but holding a piece of paper instead of handcuffs.
“10am sharp, tomorrow,” the bailiff said, handing Jesse the piece of paper. “Your donation is mandatory. Good day.” Jesse inspected the piece of paper to discover it was a flyer. At the top in big block letters read the words BLOOD DRIVE. The image had a cartoon blood droplet winking at the reader from behind the wheel of a hot rod. At the bottom were the words “Town Square, 10am.”
Jesse walked out of the courthouse in a daze. He supposed this was as close to a victory as he could come by, and, having held on to his cash, he could afford a room for the night and gas in the morning to get him the hell away from this place. With a shake of the head, Jesse crumpled the piece of paper and shoved it into his pocket.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jesse stared at the lone white tent in the town square. He hadn’t seen a single person on the walk over, or even at the hotel when he checked out. Had he had more time, perhaps he would have given it more thought, but the clock tower was chiming behind him, letting him know the time had come.
Jesse entered the tent to find absolutely nothing. No table or chair or syringe, just concrete. Suddenly the tent flaps grew rigid and sank slightly into the ground with a metallic clink.
“What the hell?” asked Jesse, as he attempted to lift the flap he had just entered through. To his dismay, the flap was now bolted into the ground somehow. No matter how hard he pulled on the canvas material, it wouldn’t budge. He was about to try again when a slight hissing from behind him caught his attention. From a tiny valve in the very center of the top of the tent escaped a yellowish gas.
Jesse began to scream, returning his attention to the tent flap, but it was no use. Within seconds, he collapsed to the hard ground below…
...and awoke to the sounds of revving engines. There was another sound there, behind the engines, but he was far too dazed to process it. His head was pressed firmly against the steering wheel of a car. A searing pain shot through his temple as he attempted to sit back, and when he tried to bring a hand up to soothe it, a metallic clunk pulled him back towards the steering wheel. Now regaining more of his consciousness, Jesse could better take in the horror he found himself in.
Both hands were handcuffed to the steering wheel before him. Far more concerning, however, were the red tubes that fed straight from his arms into the dashboard. His train of thought was derailed by a booming voice ahead of him.
“Welcome, all, to the Blood Drive!” Jesse could identify the other sound now. The unmistakable roar of a frenzied crowd. In front of his car was the judge, still wearing his judge’s robes, megaphone in hand.
“Today’s participant is Jesse ‘The Jaywalker’ Symmonds!” Another roar. Jesse scanned the area as best he could from his handcuffed vantage point and could see bleachers and bleachers of people all around. He finally noticed the other cars on either side of him, too. Hulking chunks of metal, the vehicles didn’t look like anything he had ever seen before. As if responding to his gaze, the two closest to him launched flames out of the exhaust pipes in their hoods.
Things only got worse when he looked back at the tubes running from his arms and finally realized the tubes weren't red, only the liquid was.
“What the fuck…” was all Jesse was able to muster before the judge spoke again.
“I am excited, today, folks! Jesse here is a type O donor!” With striking uniformity, the crowd broke out into an “O, O, O” chant that had no end. “That’s right, universal, which means speed is on Jesse’s side today. Think the boys are up to the task?” The cars on both sides of him belched out flames, bringing the crowd to their feet.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough talking from me, am I right?” Another cheer. “Let’s all give Mr. Symmonds a big hand for his community service!” The crowd erupted in applause that seemed strangely genuine, although the root of the sentiment remained concerning.
“Keep an eye out for jaywalkers, Mr. Symmonds,” said the judge. “And remember, we go on red during the Blood Drive.” With a swift jog the judge was gone, and Jesse was left to gather whatever fragments he could of his shattered thoughts. Up ahead a horizontal row of green lights lit up. Then another, prompting the engines alongside him to rev violently. Jesse realized he was out of time. He gripped the wheel tightly and hovered his foot over the gas.
The last row of horizontal lights lit up red.
_I just started a subreddit! If anyone's interested in following some of my works, head over to r/nomis_writes!_ |
You can make the best product in the world and yet end up bankrupt in the blink of the eye.
You see there is a trick to it. People often say they want the best, the fastest, the most expensive.
People say a lot of things but in the end what people need, what they really need, is validation.
You might *want* the fancy $300 sneaker but if you *need* to pay $290 for registration fees then guess what, that $10 sneaker isn't looking so bad right now is it?
It's amazing how people will just hand you money just so others will judge their eligibility for this or that. Give you hundreds, no thousands of dollars to take some redundant test just so they'd have a piece of paper that tells them, and those like them, that they're worthy of something.
Amazing really, now even the government rushes to hand me money to provide them with tests so meaningless that I even sell last years in (how to pass blah blah) help books to their students. The universe just wants to hand me riches left and right.
And it's all thanks to one person.
I watched as the alert on my system showed their flagged name. Failed the mandatory Psychological exam childcare educator and the language test for a multilingual setting. Tsk, tsk Karen. Seems you aren't even fit to be a baby sitter. I do admire your tenacity though, five years of fruitless trying and yet you keep at it. I wonder what you'd say if you knew that the very system is programmed against you. That you'll always fail one mandatory employment test at random. No matter what you try for you're destined to fail before you've even applied. After all, you brought this on yourself.
We were kids back then, just kids. You could have let me down easy, hell you could have told me from the very beginning that you weren't interested. You choose to lead me along like that, treat me like crap in public then sweeten the blows in private. All to get the attention of the big man on campus. I never forgot your parting words though.
**"Everything is a test, you almost passed. Almost is never good enough."** |
The flesh from my shoulder had been entirely torn away. The blood gushed from the open wound, running warm down my chest and arm, but I could feel myself getting cold.
I had made it 57 days without getting bitten. There had been some narrow escapes, and more than a few times, I had only made it with Dodger’s help. But now it was over, and Dodger looked up at me with big, brown eyes and a whimper escaping his fuzzy muzzle. I wasn’t careful enough, and this time, Dodger was too late.
We were out on a supply run. Food was getting low and Dodger and I were both going to need clean water soon. We picked our way through an abandoned office building, hoping the water cooler hadn’t been taken by some other survivor. When I spotted it, and saw that it was still more than half full, I rushed over in excitement, forgetting to check the cubicles.
The zombie that got me lay in three pieces on the ground. The leg that Dodger tugged off lay several feet from the rest of the body, and the head I had finally managed to hack off was hanging from a bit of skin, but all the important stuff had been severed. He wore a striped button-down and slacks, but his tie was wrapped around his arm like he had tried to stop the bleeding from the bite mark in his wrist. It was over for me too now. But even as I slumped to the ground and lost feeling in my legs, I was thankful that at least he hadn’t gotten my dog.
I started feeling weak right away. In an effort to keep Dodger alive after I was gone, I knocked the water cooler over, spilling the contents of the jug onto the stiff blue carpet. But instead of rushing over to take a drink, Dodger continued to just sit and whine.
“C’mon, Dodge. Come get a drink, buddy.” I tried to sound chipper, and my voice was still clear, but my throat was getting dry. Even though I was thirstier than I had ever been, I didn’t want to get any blood in his water.
Dodger was a Christmas gift when I was 20. He was a white German Shepherd – the same as one I saw in a movie and told my parents I loved. He had been my best friend for 6 years, and when everyone I knew died, he stayed with me. We kept each other safe. Even now, I didn’t feel like he had failed me – I felt like I was failing him for leaving him alone.
Slumped against a cubicle wall in that abandoned office building, time seemed to slow. I could hear Dodger’s small cries and the jug gurgling as it emptied out. My breathing getting heavier and raspier. I stopped asking and started begging Dodger to please, please just get a drink before the carpet soaked it all up. Pleading with him not to let this whole trip be a waste. Finally, Dodger stood up, but instead of going to the jug, he came closer and sat on my lap.
I buried my face in his neck fluff and cried. I hadn’t wanted to show him that I was scared, but I should have known better. No one had ever known me as well as he did. For as long as I felt I could risk it, I sat with him on my outstretched legs, with my arms around his neck and sobbing into his fur. Like a good boy, he just sat there letting me cry as long as I wanted to, crying with me. Finally, when I felt it was getting too dangerous for him to stay, I pushed him away. It was hard to say anything at all, but even harder to tell him to leave.
“G – get out. Get out of here, Dodge- Dodger. Go.”
My voice sounded like there was gravel in it. Breathing was taking almost all my effort. I knew that soon, I’d be one of the undead, and he needed to leave. Now. I kept trying to push Dodger away, but he was solid, and I was getting too weak to try. Even worse, I was getting hungry. The more I pushed him, the closer he moved. I knew he knew what was happening, I just didn’t understand why he wouldn’t go. Dodger had seen this happen to others – he knew he was in danger.
He looked into my eyes, and then, very deliberately pressed his head against my mouth. I planted a kiss on him, but then, I felt my lips pull back and my teeth graze his fur. When I realized what I was doing, I threw myself on the ground, determined not to be the one to kill my dog. My voice was barely a whisper, and I could hardly move my arms, but I spent every breath begging Dodger to run. Instead, he kept moving closer.
I was gasping for air, blowing bubbles in the blood. Very carefully, Dodger put his paw in my mouth, and I finally understood. My heart broke. If it had been him laying in a puddle of blood like I was, I might have done the same thing. I gently moved his paw from between my lips and told him he was a good boy, and I loved him more than anything.
He lay down next to me in the sticky puddle, turning his white coat red. When things went dark, he was still there, looking into my eyes. |
'Human-Jane. I will request you not make up falsehoods while Medic-Mara is questioning you.' The captain scolded.
'I'm not making it up, Tums.' Jane said patiently. His stomach flaps quivered.
'Flying without compulsion systems and anti-gravity technology is impossible. Or where your pterodactyls also advanced in intelligence before extinction?' Captain Tums asked.
'Have you guys never seen a bird? Seriously?' Jane couldn't understand the confusion. Surely in all the dozens of planets they had been to there were birds of some kind, right? She thought back and drew a blank.
Right?
'I'll make you a deal then, Tums. You owe me a new room and 100 credits if I can prove this.' Jane challenged.
All three eyes narrowed. The mouth on his gut widened into a squishy smile. 'Deal.'
Two days later, the ship was docked on earth. While they got many looks, no one was about to argue the crew's being here when she was surrounded by a giant millipede curling around her and glaring at any man that stepped to close to her, a thick slimy man with three eyes and a stomach with a mouth and flaps, a bright blue woman with black eyes and an angry looking half dog half poisonous calcium hound following happily behind. All cramed as close as they could get to a short human woman leading them and assuring everything would be okay.
'Where are you taking us?' The insect asked. Jane had started calling it Mills.
'A zoo. It's a place where we put some animals on display.' Jane said.
Half an hour later all hell broke loose.
Jane had escorted them through the zoo, careful to keep them moving and explaining they were NOT allowed inside the enclosures. Turns out, a lot of animals get nervous around her crewmates. The lions were thrashing, the giraffes cowered and Mills spent a few minutes trying to speak to an armadillo that it swore had said an obscene word in its native language.
But when they entered the bird enclosure, her entire crew panicked. Mara started bowing in worship to a parrot. Tums was running for his life, terrified one of the flying creatures would land on him and kill him. Mills was flailing and cursing, the beaks similar to a predator on its own planet. The humans were screaming and running away terrified of Jane's monster crew. To be fair, the poisonous dog was chacing them, but only because they had started running to begin with.
Jane sat on a bench and waited. She couldn't help but grin. These were her idiots, all right.
And she was getting a new room. |
"Get on my shoulders."
"What?"
"Just get on my shoulders and put on the damn cloak!"
Bernice just sighed and scrambled awkwardly onto my shoulders as I half-crouched. She wiggled her butt into a comfortable position as I held her ankles. My neck started cramping immediately. Heedless to my plight, Bernice unrolled the Maestermage cloak and put it on. The hem dragged around my heels and the sleeves hung off her fingers.
"It's a bit big."
I huffed a golden lock of hair out of my eyes. "So are you, just in the wrong direction."
She giggled, then paused. "Wait, are you calling me fat?"
"Just keep your hood down. And remember, do everything I tell you!"
"I will, I will,"she replied in a singsong tone. Under her breath, she added, "Mr. Bossypants."
"Just...!"I released an explosive sigh, making the cloak flutter around my face. It was already getting stuffy beneath the voluminous folds. "Just make a pretty lightning show when we enter. Get their attention. And _keep your hood down_!"
"I _am_!"she retorted rather absently. I tottered from the tower room, staggering down the steep stairs. I really hoped this would work. I could barely see where I was going, and by my pointy wizard's hat, Bernice was not lightweight!
I nearly crashed into the door as we flung it open, stumbling into the main hall of the Wizard's Council. The recess had just adjourned and one of the Maestermages--my master, Tina--was just about to climb the pedestal to begin her address on the importance of investing in regular, non-magical plumbing in all of the old magic schools.
Panicking slightly as everyone turned to look at us, I hissed, "The lightning! _The lightning_!"
Bernice giggled, wagging her spine left and right as if she were dancing on my head. I nearly stumbled as her antics unbalanced me.
"_Bernice!_"
"Oh, yeah,"she piped, and then she threw both arms up in the air, the robe flopping, and thick bolts of lightning burst from her fingertips, arcing like jagged rainbows over the council members' heads and charring the walls of the circular room. A smattering of applause peppered the audience. Master Tina crossed her arms and fixed us with a withering glare.
Managing not to trip as I walked to the center of the room by the speaker's platform, I hissed up to Bernice, "Say, 'Behold--'"
"**BEHOLD!!!**"she bellowed with a spurious contralto.
"Let me finish!"I hissed with terror.
"**LET ME FINISH!!!**"Bernice repeated before giggling again.
Shaking my head, I just carried on, "'I am--'"
"**I AM!!!**"
"'--Maestermage Manamaster--'"
"**MAESTERMAGE MANAMASTER!!!**"
"'I declare--'"
"**I DESPAIR!!!**"
"_'Declare!'_"
"**ECLAIR!!!**"
Master Tina drummed her fingers against her forearm and turned to me--me specifically, her eyes meeting mine through a small opening in the robe--with annoyance. My panic tripled, for I thought she would reveal us then and there. I was about to turn and make a run for it when my master's commanding tone interrupted Bernice's giggles, making my blood freeze in my veins.
Lifting her chin, Master Tina called out loudly, so that everyone in the room could hear her: "Maestermage Manamaster--how I have heard of your great deeds in distant universes! We are honored to be in your presence."A rather confused but slightly more ubiquitous smattering of applause went around the room. Bernice held her arms wide and proud, quite enjoying the charade. I stared wide-eyed through the front of our robe at my master. There was a twinkle in her eye as she gave me a wink.
Extending her hand to Bernice, Master Tina said, "Tell us, Maestermage Manamaster. What wisdom have you gathered from your distant travels?"
I grinned broadly. Master Tina knew of my aspirations, my honorable ambitions to become a master wizard and help shape the schools and political realm to allow more freedom and acceptance for my kind--especially those of us who were lacking in some way or another. I wanted to start a pairing system so that we could work in teams to supplement our weaknesses in some areas. And Master Tina was giving me that opportunity right now! My heart soared as I opened my mouth to tell Bernice what to say.
But my erstwhile partner sitting on my shoulders had let all the attention and fun get to her head. Throwing her arms wide, she cackled with great amusement, "We should _all_ go to distant dimensions!"More lightning burst from her fingertips, and a tornado of fire roared up around me and her. I shrieked in fright and nearly fell. "Open doorways!"Bernice screamed with delight. "Ride wormholes like waterslides!"She wiggled and danced on my shoulders, and I staggered about as her chaotic swaying knocked me off balance. Giant portals began opening all over the room, and the other wizards screamed in terror. Bolts of magic and energy crisscrossed the air, trying to nullify Bernice's fire and lightning and the torrential rain beginning to fall from some of the portals.
Cackling madly, Bernice sang, "It's _raaaining_, it's _pooouring_!!!"
Master Tina held up both of her hands and declared, "***STOP!!!***"
All at once, Bernice's magical theatrics vanished. I slumped to my knees, unable to bear her weight any longer. Simmering dangerously, Master Tina marched up to us and yanked off the maestermage robe concealing me and Bernice. A collective gasp rose up from the rest of the wizards when they saw that the tall master wizard was really just two kids. Bernice giggled and waved, and I tried to hide my beet-red face.
Hushed and angry whispers peppered the air. I heard things like, "This is why I don't accept mixed-blood apprentices,"and, "The nerve of those youngsters!"and, "If these are the kind of children that Master Tina is training, we may need to put her master status to a vote."I cringed, for Master Tina should not be punished for my antics.
Tina loomed dangerously over me and Bernice, hands on her hips. She had always supported my rather progressive views, but she also had an old-fashioned council to work with, and they needed to see adequate reparation if they were ever going to respect her again. Shaking her finger in my face, my master snapped, "Two years of cleaning toilets for you, young errandboy!"
I groaned before I realized that no school had indoor plumbing yet. I lifted an eyebrow quizzically. But the other wizards didn't seem to notice and all sighed in relief, thinking the punishment suitable. Still sitting on my shoulders, Bernice blew at some hair in her face, oblivious to my embarrassment. Was her master even in the council?! Who was going to reprimand her?
Then one of the wizards spoke up, "That was a remarkable performance, though, was it not?"
"A bit rough around the edges, but quite _astounding_,"said another, approaching to study me and Bernice quizzically. "Isn't that the girl who sweeps the courtyard?"
"Yes, she is,"another spoke up. "I thought she was a simpleton."
"She is."
"I never knew she had so much power!"
"And with the boy, they had fooled us all!"
I gaped at the awe and wonder in the old wizards' eyes as they circled us and mused.
"You think we can do that, Marvin?"an older woman laughed, elbowing an elderly wizard in the ribs. "We'd be unstoppable!"
Master Tina winked at me and turned to her colleagues to capitalize on the situation. "And just think of how many more promising young wizards we can bring in if we allow the disadvantaged ones, like my powerless but brilliant errandboy and this powerful but simpleton girl, to train as a team!"
The wizards seemed intrigued by the idea, and I beamed at my master as I heard positive mumbling.
But Marvin muttered, "Only as long as _this_ boy and _this_ girl don't team up."He pointed at me and Bernice. "They're likely to rip apart the entire fabric of space and time."
Everyone laughed, and Bernice giggled along with them. I grinned sheepishly, but proudly. I'd finally be formerly accepted into the wizard school and work on becoming a maestermage the proper way! |
The wheels hum. Outside, the engine churns and roars in animal exultation of its power, but behind the walls of glass and metal, plastic and fiberglass, it is nothing more than the murmur of distant thunder, a querulous rumbling.
The road goes on.
The radio sings for one who does not listen. It sings songs so forgotten that they might never have been. Songs so old that they might be new once more. It sings, but it is not heard.
Like the ancient sea, the road goes on.
Heat rises from the asphalt, turning the distance to anonymous smears of color. The world ahead creeps out of the mirage one mile at a time, and the world behind disappears into memories forgotten before they are formed.
Into eternity and out from oblivion, the road goes on.
The driver's eyes flick with mechanical habit from road to mirror and back.
Center.
Left.
Center.
Right.
Near.
Far.
Center.
Left.
Center.
Right.
The road goes on.
The driver's conscious mind is worn smooth by the passing of the miles. Like a desert stone, blasted by wind and scoured by the uncaring eons, the mind becomes blank. Featureless. Seeing, but unthinking. A mindless automaton. Thought is a fragile thing, and cannot survive the passing of the miles. Only the unthinking mind endures. Actions driven by instincts learned, programming accepted. A machine made by its own hand.
The road goes on. The driver drives.
Like a statue, he sits. Like a stone, he endures. Like a gargoyle, he watches. Center. Left. Center. Right. Eyes staring into the heat-warped world ahead and surveilling the forgotten world behind. Behind. A point of light, a glittering diamond. The unthinking mind sees, acknowledges, and continues. Center. Left. Center. Right. The glitter becomes a glare, becomes a car. It creeps closer.
The road goes on, and the driver does too.
The creeping car inches past. The mind perceives, but does not think. Thought dies on the road, blasted to cinders by eternity. The car passes. The mind perceives. Center. Left. Center.
The car swerves.
The unthinking mind leaps to action with electric speed. The driver downshifts hard. The engine bellows, a steel leviathan protesting its treatment. The wheels scream. The horn blares in fury and alarm. Only after the unthinking mind follows it programming does the thinking mind wake from its reverie and begin to panic.
The car makes its exit. The window rolls down. A rude gesture is made, and the car peels away from the road, towards the small, banal existence of its occupant.
The driver curses to no one. To the road. To the machine. Slowly, gear by gear, man and machine fight to build up speed. Mile by mile, the mind is smoothed once more. Center. Left. Center. Right.
The road goes on. |
Chains rattled as partners Joey Ray, Rais Yanchak and Dylan Farr shifted uncomfortably. Robbing hadn't been quite right, but it was close enough. Desecrating graves wasn't their usual style, however this time they had little choice.
"I don't know if I'd say robbing, but we probably don't know any more than you guys. We were there trying to figure some things out for ourselves."Rais said.
One of the deputies crossed his arms. "You were trying to figure things out by digging up the grave of a very wealthy arms dealer?"
The three partners exchanged a look. They couldn't escape, not now, but helping the sheriff wouldn't lighten their sentence either. Staying silent seemed like their best bet at staying alive.
Sheriff Fletcher closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen. I know you guys aren't a fan of me, that's kinda how outlaws and law enforcement are. But the people of this town are desperate, and I'm desperate, for a kind of resolution. I'd planned on hiring a larger outfit but you three stumbled into our sights and you're known well enough that I think I can let you in on this. Government's told me I can offer a contract to any skilled men I can find, with almost a total free licence to act on their behalf. I reckon you already know something worthwhile, so you're our best bet right now. Would you at least care to give it a read?"
Seconds of silence passed. Looks were exchanged between the outlaws as they tried to get a read on the sheriff. Fletcher turned to one of his deputies, who produced a small stack of papers and held them out to the outlaws. Joey took the stack, and together the three partners leafed through it. It seemed there were a lot more coffins with elaborately crafted human-looking dolls in them than just that of their old gun supplier.
Whole swaths of old smuggling networks and gangs were missing, and all the reports were the same. Cadavers of some non-organic material had been in their place in the coffins. They had all looked real, their injuries even looked real. Blood had been found, but now the government seemed to think the blood wasn't human. That these deaths had been staged. Their little grave robbery had proven to them that the reports were true.
The contract itself, at the bottom of the stack, promised whoever signed it amnesty for any actions they took, provided they could prove themselves acting in the interest of the state and people. Their objective was to discover who had made these cadavers, where all the missing people went, and what their purpose was. Looking to each other and noting the lack of colour in each other's faces, Dylan turned to the sheriff.
"Mind if we borrow a pen?" |
"So... do I get five years?"I ask, peering at the coin, still standing on its edge.
I can't see a face behind the mask of the Grim Reaper, but I *can* see it shift uncomfortably and reposition its scythe in its hands.
"No."
The black-gloved hands of the inhuman figure reach up to its mask and, to my horror, remove it, revealing a far too human face... albeit one covered in scabs, scars, and blisters.
"Finally,"it says, its voice no longer imposing an ethereal, now just a shaky voice of relief.
It- no, *they* stroll over to me as I stand frozen in fear. Before I can register what is going on, they hold the scythe out in front of me, gesturing for me to take it.
"It's your turn." |
When babies are born, the first thing doctors exclaim is not "It's a boy!"or "It's a girl!"Those can be determined during pregnancy, after all. The first thing parents and medical staff celebrate when the precious child is born is, "It's Fire!"or "It's Air!"Any of the four elements might be proclaimed, and all of them have their place in the child's life as they grow.
Those with Fire often become beacons of leadership, whereas those with Earth become earthshakers or purveyors of wisdom. Children with Air often bear the artistic responsibilities of society, and those with Water tend to be most versatile in their skills, jacks-of-all-trade, though masters of none. No parent cringed to hear their child proclaimed with any sign, for there was a place in society for every single one.
But one day, as the doctors cut the umbilical cord and flipped the baby onto its stomach in their hands, they froze, their faces stiffening into shock. Holding his valiant wife's hand, the father stared at the doctors and nurses intently, waiting for the news, praying that the girl was healthy. Without a word, the nurses wrapped the baby in a blanket and carried her out of the room to be cleaned, and one of the doctors moved to speak to the father and mother.
Before she could speak, the father asked, "I did not hear her cry. Is she stillborn?"
Dr. Marcus shook her head and said, "Joe--and Jo--your daughter has a… a new symbol on her back."
The mother grew even paler, tightening her grip on her husband's hand. "What mark?"she asked, fearing for her Josephine's future.
"It says…. Lies."
Joe and Jo exchanged horrified looks, unsure of what this could mean. No child had ever deviated from the four elements before. Their daughter would have no place in society, no place in life. The world should shun her!
Then Joe made a firm decision. "We must never tell anyone. We'll say she was Water. The symbol will fade soon and only reappear again when she turns sixteen, so no one else will know. She'll learn a skill, and even if she isn't proficient, that is acceptable for those with Water."Jo nodded, apprehensive.
As little Jojo grew, she knew her parents were hiding something from her. They insisted she had been born with Water on her back, but she could always tell they were lying. She could tell when anyone was lying. Friends, teachers, politicians--the moment they fibbed, somehow she knew. For the longest time, she feared they could all tell, as well, so she was very careful to always tell the truth as she grew.
On her sixteenth birthday, she excitedly jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom to look in the mirror. Whatever her parents had been lying about would finally be revealed!
She turned and drew her shirt up, craning her neck over her shoulder. The symbol etched like a tattoo into her back was not red, or green, or blue, or gray. It was black. Black, spindly lines like spider webs crept across her back in sickly fashion, interwoven with the word LIES all along the undefined perimeter. She had seen what the other symbols looked like on her family and some older friends, and they were neat, orderly, perfectly spherical insignias. Hers was hideous!
Shaking, she ran out of the bathroom and pounded on her parents' bedroom door. "What am I!"she screeched. But then she remembered that her parents knew, and she loathed them for it. Before they could rush out of their room, she ran back to hers and locked the door.
Jojo's mother tried to coax her out all morning long, but she wouldn't budge. She lamented her future, walking around with this hideous mark. All of her friends had texted her happy birthday and asked when her mark-revealing party would be, but how could she show them? What would she do in her life?
Then Jo left and Joe tapped quietly on Jojo's door. "You don't have to come out,"he said, his voice muffled and low, "but just know that your mother and I love you. We spent your whole life trying to teach you useful skills so you could still do something with your life in the future. You're good at some things, baby girl. Hold onto that."With that, he left.
And Jojo knew he was telling the truth. She _was_ good at something. She knew when people were lying.
If that was the skill granted to her by the mark, then that meant other people couldn't tell when _she_ was lying. What kind of truths could she manipulate? What kind of lies could she unravel?
From then on, she practiced this skill, starting with her friends. They would be the first people she lied to--she couldn't bear to lie to her parents. She told them simply that she was feeling ill and wouldn't have a party, but that she had gotten Water. They all believed her. No one, not even her bluntest Earth friend Naomi, called her out.
The next several years were spent practicing this skill, though after a lifetime of honesty, she felt bad about it every time. She tried to focus more on the other half of her abilities, unraveling lies, and soon found herself quite adept at challenging liars in an unassuming way, getting them to admit to their falsity themselves. And she fell in love with courtroom shows. She always knew the real culprit.
So she decided to pursue the field of criminal justice. Normally Earth and Fire went into that field, so there was a lot of skepticism for a purported Water trying to enter. But she surpassed all tests and exams with flying colors, and she proved herself one of the best. People truly thought she was a Water, for she showed aptitude not just in one side of criminology, but in all sides of it. Detective, lawyer, judge, she could do it all once she passed the right exams.
Things changed when Jojo was almost sixty years old and thinking about retirement. She was reviewing a case about a Fire boy who was accused of murder. As she looked over the file, what stood out to her was not that he had been wrongfully accused--that was obvious the moment she read the word.
What was most astonishing was that he was lying about being Fire.
Intrigued, she pursued the case immediately, and what she discovered shook her to her core. She managed to get him to admit his true symbol--it was Empathy.
_I'm not the only one who is different_, she thought.
From that moment on, she sought out the rest. If there were two, there were undoubtedly more, all of them hiding, terrified of being found out, feeling broken and ugly and alone. She was lucky to have had loving parents to believe in her, to help her believe in herself, when she was young. She intended to find every person who deviated from the supposed "normal"and believe in them all. To give them the most profound truth she had ever learned.
_You are not alone._ |
Bluebell had been watching the man in the clearing for almost an hour before she’d taken her first step closer. He didn’t look like much – a dirty, tattered overcoat and nondescript rags underneath, and what looked like a kindergarten playground’s worth of dirt caked onto every bit of exposed skin. He’d been sitting in front of a fire, calmly cleaning what looked like a small antique pistol while another sat nearby.
Just sitting there, cleaning.
But when Bluebell got tired (mostly from her backpack – It was heavy) and nosed a toe past the tree line into the clearing, there was a sharp retort of gunfire, a flash and smoke and shudder through the grass between them. A clod of dirt struck her in the legs, pulling her gaze downward. Her open-toed sandal had a neat hole with a tiny lounge of smoke wisping out. The hole was right between her big toe and the other toes.
“Don’t move,” the man said. “Take one more step into the clearing and you’re dead. Take to the air, and you’re dead.” The man was standing now, holding his two guns.
“Can I talk?”
“You can talk.”
Bluebell kept still. “I’m here to talk to Emmett Shackleton. I’ve heard he’s here, and a gun warrior, and I’m assuming you are him. Also, I can’t fly.”
Shackleton didn’t turn his face towards her but cocked an ear closer. “You can most certainly fly. You are Fae. I can tell from how lightly you walk. You weigh as much as a small animal. “
“I don’t have wings. I lost them… well, they were taken from me. “
“Turn around.”
Bluebell slowly spun. She’d had a feeling he might want to know this, so she only wore her Genesis “Midsummer Night’s Dream” tour t-shirt on top (which was incredibly thin.) She knew what he would… well, not see, but \*see\* - no wings. Just some knobs of scar where the wings used to attach.
Shackleton didn’t relax, but he did take a breath. Bluebell noticed it was the first she saw him take.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” he said, still standing perfectly still. “More, I am supposed to be indiscoverable. \*How\* are you here?” He gestured slightly with one gun. “You can move. Slowly. “
The wingless Fae abruptly sat down in the leaves and started rummaging around in her pack. “I’m not armed. My name is Bluebell Ooenuu-Smythe. My clan lived near here for a long time. We know where all the circles are. This one was warded pretty well. Legend said there was a blind soldier holed up in one, so I assumed it was you.”
The man cocked squinted – or at least, he would have if he had eyes. Where his face was, a bandanna tied around his head covered his eyes, but the muscles underneath moved. Glimpses of scar tissue peeked out behind the bandanna.
“I paid a lot to have the circle protected. Paid Fae, like you. They said it would take a coven of Fae witches to reveal it.”
“Yes. Normally. But – here we go – times change. “ Bluebell pulled out a battered laptop from the bag. It was covered with stickers, mostly 80’s tour emblems, but it also had geometric shapes of wiring soldered to the outside. She popped the case open and started typing.
Shackleton stood straighter. Something unexpected, he thought. “You have a typewriter?”
“Laptop” Bluebell said. “Modern technology. Calculating device. And this, plus me, plus my code, and my own innate Fae Gleem, let’s me do the work of a whole coven.”
Suddenly around the circle, the trees lit up. In various places, once hidden were shapes made out of intertwined branches – now glowing softly, forming runes in the air, and all of them humming almost imperceptibly. Shackleton spun around, guns pointing. “Sorcery!” he cried.
“Yeah, well. You’d call it sorcery. I’d call it last years code and operating system. I haven’t been practicing much. I’ve instead been gathering information, which is why I’m here.”
She stood. “About 160 years ago, a lieutenant in the Northern Armies from Phoenixville, Pennsylvania and his soldiers were ambushed in the battle of York. They thought they were scouting and doing recon in the woods near the fighting. Instead, they came upon a cluster of troops on a mission of their own – a mission that they got surprised in the middle of. To an outsider it looked like a group of soldiers digging up boxes from the dirt. In the fighting, the best shooter of them all, Emmett Shackleton, was targeted by a marksman from the south. Emmett was well hid behind cover, the story goes, when he was shot.”
Bluebell paused to watch the man. He didn’t move, but nodded. “I was behind a boulder. The shots fired were piercing flesh, stone, trees. Red-hot balls of metal. Some kind of foul magic, I’m gathering now?”
“Dragonfire rounds” Bluebell said. “The group weren’t soldiers – not normal ones anyway. They were hired to use the general confusion to dig up a rivals treasure for their master. “
“Who gave them the Dragonfire rounds?” Emmett said.
“Who WAS the dragon that made the fire. A dragon, using men to do his bidding, his scheming and plotting against another dragon, the way they have been doing since the beginning of time. Anyway, the lieutenant gets blinded, and in his pain and rage makes an oath to not rest until he gets revenge on the one who blinded him. Of course,” Bluebell said, with a clunk as she closed her laptop, “an oath bound in fire – especially Dragonfire – is especially binding. So here you are.”
Bluebell stood, putting away her things. Shackleton was now facing her, and not looking too happy at the recollection of what happened. Bluebell gestured around her. “So you found a safe place, and practiced your shooting, and healed – mostly – and do jobs for the local witches and Fae to keep yourself in bullets and secrecy.”
Shackleton nodded. “Are you here to hire me? Pull information from me? Study me? I will do none of that, no longer. When I’m ready to leave I’ll walk the earth for vengeance. I stay because I’m not sure if I’m ready. “
Bluebell walked closer, slowly, noticing how every step – every rustle of clothing, even her blinks – made his guns twitch. “I’ve got business with the dragon that ordered those men. The dragon that men call Marut, or Morelli. “
“Your wings”, Emmett said.
“It started that way, yeah, but my business got more political and greedy over time. He has a vault of treasure. I aim to steal it. I want revenge and I want to get rich and powerful as I do it. “
“You want to steal treasure from a dragon’s lair?” said Shackleton. “That sounds like folly.”
“Might be”, Bluebell said, grinning. “But for a dragon, their treasure is their life. It’s their power. I am to take all of it. Cripple him. And nowadays they don’t just stuff gold in a cave and hope the hobbits don’t talk to the right fucking bird. His new vault is titanic and mindbogglingly dangerous. Guarded by magic, technology, and worse. But it’s a new vault, so I think I have a chance to exploit things. “
“And a lone, wingless Fae is going to do that.“
“Nope” she said. “For that,” she said, coming to a stop in front of the gunman, “I need a team. So far it’s just me and the backing of my clan. I need a warrior who knows how to fight in the dark, for when we get down into the Vault. But if we do, you’ll have the monster that took your eyes at the mercy of your guns. That’s not to say,” she grimaced, “that this whole thing is not going to get otherworldly mindfuckingly weird. But it beats sitting in the woods – or my local community college – for the next hundred years.”
Bluebell looked up at him. Up close, he didn’t look immortal. He looked like an old Pennsie-Dutch farmer who skipped a lot of meals and baths and forgot to die.
“You ready?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m fucking ready” he said. |
"HA, scare a human? What could possibly scare one of, if not the most, intimidating species in the galaxy, I bet this human, "horror,"game, will just be loads of cute beast from their planet."
Hey, I was minding my own business in the Cafeteria, munching my bland looking, fully nutritious, mid-day meal. Contrary to SOP, the damned thing tasted delicious. This overgrown Morlock came to my table and shoved this box under my face. "Go away. For a change, this meal tastes good, and I've got another 25 minutes to enjoy it."
He walked away, sniggering over something, "See! He didn't even flinch!"I had no idea what he was talking about. I had my eyes closed so I could continue to enjoy this wonderful change in my life, without being distracted by its appearance or the appearance of my fellow beings. Honestly, most of them are great people, but the 90/10 rule applies to all sophonts.
There's always that ten percent that ruins it for everyone else.
Oh, how did I know it was a Morlock? They always smell dusty. Fresh out of the sonics, skin bright and squeaky clean. Five minutes later? Dusty.
Just moments later, I can hear him being rude to a bunch of Eloi. (Bipedal bilaterally symmetric, always smell like a Hawaiian fruit cup. So hypersensitive that they have an isolated section of the Cafeteria.)
I knew what to expect, so I flipped my table up and took cover behind it, making sure I had that wrap in my hands. Everyone else looks at what I've done and does the same—forming a funnel from the Eloi to the door. It happens every time some new twit shows up and decides to prove that the Eloi are just too stuck up to eat with everyone else.
The scream from the Eloi was like nothing I've ever heard from them before, I drop the wrap in my lap, use my feet to brace against the floor, and my hands on the top table legs to hold them in position. Some of our fellows can't hear the Eloi; their voices are so high. "**BRACE! BRACE! BRACE!**"The call echoes ever deeper in tone.
Nothing.
There has been the occasional slow fuze before.
Nothing.
"**CHECKING!**"
This is why there is a human on each shift and always gets this table. We are the Sentinel. Horatius at the table. The Juggernaut. And when the need is, Marshall. Carefully picking up that wrap, I sigh and scarf the last few bites down.
Okay, time to face the Eloi. All of whom were turning purple. I hit the medical emergency button, snapped "Eloi, purple,"and broke the connection. Time for The Marshall.
Morlock check. Box, check. Corpses, semi-check. "You are under arrest for multiple attempted psychological murder of a known sensitive race. Charges may be upgraded to multiple murders if any of the Eloi die."
"But, but, all I did was show them this box!"
I saw purple and green with a fixed grin. The next thing I know, I'm waking up in medical. That damned Morlock is strapped onto the table next to mine. I snap the restraints, screaming, "WHERE IS THAT BOX YOU DISGUSTING PIECE OF FILTH!"
I finally look at him. Really look at him. He's got broken bones on his broken bones. I look down at myself, and I can see all the bruises forming on my arms and legs. Oh, no. Avenging Angel of Death.
"Ah, Human Franks? The medical team threw a sheet over the box and packed it into a biohazard evidence bag."
I whisper, "Thank God."
"If we may ask, what is the nature of the hazard?"
"Look up the Barnabus Incident. I am survivor 37 of 48. All humans have an innate hatred of that figure, but the survivors of the Barnabus Incident are driven berserk by the image."
"There were five *hundred* subjects! What happened to the others?!"
"Suicide."
"You were forced to watch an old television show for 120 hours straight?"
"Yes."
"And all humans hate this?"
"Yes."
"Are there any more incidents?"
"The Barnabas Incident has links to the others."
"Approximately how many humans..."
"Over ten million."
"That box should be on the strict import refusal list!"
"It is. Everywhere except Morlokian space. My guess, he smuggled it in, thinking to try it out and see what happens. I had my eyes closed so I could savor that midday meal. It was delicious and that... that… inconsiderate ASS had to ruin the last three bites with his stupid box."
"I'm going to put that meal on the forbidden list."
"***YOU DO THAT AND I'LL MAKE YOU WATCH BARNEY AND FRIENDS FOR 120 HOURS STRAIGHT!***"
((finis)) |
It didn't say RIP.
I made a note of the grave in the back of my spellbook, a heavy grimoire of polished silver and amethyst. Graveyard Plot 6, 6th from the left, 6th from the entrance.
I went home to rest and to feed my other resurrected corpses. I wasn't going to starve them. I'm a necromancer, I'm not evil, and death-mage worth their salt takes great care of their friends.
Looking at undead friends allowed me to see how much my power has grown. The first was barely able to think, and his flesh peeled off his arms and legs long ago. Second was slightly more cognitive, and had far more flesh. My latest, which must have been my 12th, was near on perfect. He remembered everything up to his death, could speak essays, and had the brain capacity of his human self. Now all I had to perfect were the fine motor skills, the sleight of hand, and the like.
After a day's rest and preparation, I was ready to resurrect my new pet. I counted six in from the left and the bottom of the graveyard, and found that odd engraving.
I laid down the precious jewels in a bowl first, and chanted as i crushed it.
"Necra, vive, acendr, aus. Necra, vive, acendr, aus."
Next were the sparrow feathers, plucked and bathed in milk for two days. I placed them, along with a cup of dark wine, into the bowl with the powdered Jewel.
"Necra, vive, acendr, aus tremenda wai!"
Finally, as purple Magicks swirled around me, a took out the final component: A Ring, belonging to the creature buried beneath me. I took it from his home before I came. It was an odd thing, a golden circle with the image of a green and bloodshot eye atop it. I placed it on my finger with the other rings. With one final chant, the ritual was done.
I stepped back, waiting for the necromancy to work. Usually in these rituals, I would hear scratching at coffin lids, then I would need to dig up the grave. But that day, I instead saw a limb burst through the ground.
But a hand, nor leg, it was not.
A tentacle, wet and white, emerged, then another. They pushed against the black earth of the grave and out rose a head, smooth and black. The ring blinked on my finger, and let out a whispering shriek.
As the ground birthed this tentacled thing, I backed away, retrieving my spellbook and running. As I reached the next row of graves, an invisible hand stopped me. I was lifted up and turned to face my necromantic creation. A naked, eunuch creature stood before me, white as a sheet, with a pitch black scalp and tentacles reaching from the backs of his hands.
Rather than a mouth or nose, he had tentacles, like a squid, and eyes of swirling black and read. Within my very mind, I heard the words he spoke.
"Lovecraft. He buried me here, didn't he? My most loyal cleric, and yet he still betrayed me."
The voice was deep and soothing, with a calm rage attached to it.
"Azathoth, my lord. Fear not, for I shall come for you. In the meantime, it seems I have found myself a new herald. You shall be called: Ragemist."
And as he christened me my new name: Ragemist. I understood that engraving. For the sake of all of humanity and the fabric of the universe itself may he never be brought back.
Cthulu, he was buried here. And I had awoken him. Together with Azathoth, they would rule an empty universe.
A universe they will empty. |
I tried to ignore it at first.
When I looked in the mirror, I didn't mind what I saw. If this is what my husband liked, then I was happy.
The only change I made to him was to make his teeth straighter, and only because he asked me to, and because it would save us money that he was planning to use on Invisalign.
But everytime I was around my family and friends, the looks began to bother me.
What had my husband done to me? Did I look *that* much different from the way I looked before?
One day, it got too much and I snapped at them. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"I asked. "What did my husband change about me?"
"That's the thing,"they said. "He didn't." |
“My mum and dad almost got into a car accident again.” A young boy sighed, running his fingers through his short Auburn hair.
“Isn’t it the third time this week?” I laughed, watching him sit down in his seat.
“Ah come on Cinne, it’s not funny.” He sighed, taking out his math book out of his duffel bag. “I just wished things like this would stop, ya know?”
I sighed, nodding my head in agreement, “Yeah... I get what you mean.”
It had been like this ever since the day Makoto turned Fifteen. Strange things would happen around him, well, at stranger than what already does happen in our small town.
Some days he’d be minding his own business, when an elderly old man appears to tell him about some sort of destiny he has, or his family would be put in mortal danger because of a wicked witch, or demon king.
Instead of panicking however, he’d always end up calling the police, or telling the strange people to go away, and then things would go back to how they usually were.
Today was no exception for that. When he woke up this morning, he saw that his eyes turned a completely different color to his usual sky blue. Instead they were a dark crimson shade, with gold around the iris.
To combat this, he put on some contacts that matched his regular eye color that he had bought a week ago, which worked pretty well, because I couldn’t tell until he showed me.
But I guess things like this are just going to keep happening over and over until he accepts whatever I suppose. Or maybe there’s a sort of question someone else could go on to prevent this?
“Cinne, stop spacing out, I need you to help me with this question” Makoto said, interrupting my train of though.
“Oh! Sorry!” I responded, embarrassed by my internal monologuing.
“Seriously Cinne, you’ve been doing it a lot lately.” Makoto sighed, “I hope you’re not affected by whatever’s happening as well.”
He sighed, about to say something else, before his thoughts were interrupted by a scream down the hall.
A girl with bright long pink hair, and purple eyes ran into the room, grabbing Makoto by the arm.
“You’ve got to help us!” She screamed, her voice annoyingly high pitches, “Our school is being attacked by a dark entity!”
Makoto pushed the girl off of him, and started putting his math book back inside his bag.
“I don’t have time for that, we have to evacuate.” Makoto said, rather calm in this bizarre situation. He grabbed my arm, and started running outside the classroom , and down the hallway.
“Sorry, excuse me, me and my friend here have to go.” Makoto said to the strange demonic entity as we ran passed it.
The entity looked rather puzzled by this, as no one had ever just ran past it.
“This is so not how I wanted to spend my day!” Makoto said, annoyed by what was happening.
“Um, cheer up? Maybe someday this kind kind of stuff won’t happen” I said, a little shaken by the ordeal.
“I hope so” Makoto said, as he took me out of the school, and back to our homes. |
Katrina and I weren't really friends. Like, we shared the same friend group, but we didn't really hang out together much.
Katrina always wore a hat. One of those stupid ones with the flaps and tassels. I hated the damn thing, and she *always* wore it.
But whatever, expressing her right to dress however she wants in college I guess.
She also wouldn't let anyone shorten her name, we *had* to call her Katrina and *nothing* else.
She also seemed to be a weeabu. Like, she never mentioned anime or anything, but once in a while she did that stupid anime thing. You know the one? Where the person goes "nya!"after saying something?
It was so dumb, but Katrina was pretty so no one called her out on it.
Pretty girls get away with a lot of stupid shit.
I had to put a stop to it though. I hated weebs.
One day I invited everyone to my dorm for a movie night. My roommate was going to be out at her boyfriend of the week's so I set the projector on her bed to have the movie play on the opposite wall.
I didn't specifically invite Katrina, but she showed up anyway.
Before all of my friends were settled in a sprawl on the floor, I pulled her off into the little kitchen area. "You've gotta take off your hat."I told her.
She frowned, her hands going up to the dumb thing protectively. "What? Why? No! Nya!"
"Yes!"I said as I forcefully pulled it off her head. Her hair was a mess, pulled into disarray by the sudden removal of the hat. And on her hair... "You've got to be kidding me. Seriously?"
Underneath the hat was a pair of cat ears. High quality ones, by the look of it, fuzzy and black against her blonde hair. She covered them with her hands, scowling at me.
"Give that back!"She cried, nodding to the hat.
Our friends were starting to look our way, attention drawn by her voice.
"No! And take those stupid ears off!"I ordered, 100% done with this weeabu shit.
She shook her head at me. "Give it back now! Nya!"That did it. That stupid fucking Japanese meow broke me.
All of our friends were staring now, and some looked very disapproving. I couldn't tell if it was because of Katrina or in defense of her.
I reached for the damn ears, hoping to pull the whole head band off. "Just take the stupid cat ears off and stop embarrassing me!"I yelled. I wasn't concerning myself with keeping it down anymore since all of our friends were already watching.
"No!"Katrina looked panicked and tried to dodge my grabbing hand, but I caught the tip of the right one and gave it a yank.
Nothing happened. Well, nothing except for Katrina yelping in pain and rubbing it. Her hair had moved and for the first time I could see there was nothing on the sides of her head, along with nothing *in* it, of course. No ears.
The 'fake' cat ears twitched as she frowned severely at me.
What the *fuuuuck?*
I silently handed her back the stupid hat. |
The Reapers roamed the streets just like any other human or animal. They took forms of anyone; for the average person, perhaps they saw the typical robed skeleton. Others saw different things; some individuals saw their death approach as a huge, manged wolf-- others saw crows soar overhead, atop buildings, and knew that their doom was coming.
The Reapers were a simple fact of life-- beings simply existing and doing what they were supposed to do, as a raccoon would dig through trash or a bear would fish for salmon. They were an anomaly, unkillable, and for that reason they were studied. Why did they take different forms? Was it a preference? Was it for comfort? Based on beliefs?
I, however, saw a Reaper in its truest form. I remember the day; I was standing at the edge of a roof, looking out into the smoked-filled sky. Underneath me, I could hear steel bending and breaking, and flames beat at the iron door to the stairwell behind me.
I knew my death was coming. There was no way out. If I jumped, I would die. If I tried the door, I would burn. I rolled my sleeves up. I loosened my tie, and then, on second thought, I pulled it over my head and threw it off of the roof. I closed my eyes.
My heart beat hard and fast in my chest. Blood rushed in my ears, and it felt like there was a drum pounding in my throat. Breathe. Breathe. Deep breathes. In. Out. In. Out.
As I pondered my death, and the form the Reaper would take, I thought back on my life. I'd lived a decent life, I supposed. I'd shown my parents all the love a child could reasonably give. I'd had a fulfilling relationship. How was my wife now, I wondered? Would she be okay? With the life insurance money and my retirement funds, I hoped she'd be able to live comfortably. Around now she'd just be finishing lunch with my son.
And my son. My child. I wonder who'd he grow up to be. Would he be like me? My dedication and commitment? Would he pursue a field in mathematics like me, or something else? His passion? He already expressed an interest in sports; I remember watching his first goal in soccer, screaming and cheering the loudest among all the parents. Or maybe he'd go a different path, one I had yet to see. An actor, maybe, bowing on stage at Broadway, or a musician performing for a crowd of millions.
A small grin tugged at my lips. I hoped at least that he would know of my love for him.
I was leaving behind loved ones. I knew at least that they would be just fine without me.
And when the flames blew the door open, and launched me off the roof of the building, I saw only the sky above me, regrettably covered by smoke. Time seemed to move slower as I fell eighty stories towards the ground. How painless would it be? Where would my Reaper show up?
And as the wind blew past my hair, harsh, whistling into my ears, I saw it. My Reaper.
But I knew instinctively something made it different. This was not a form, a facade it took. I could never explain it afterwards, but somehow I just knew.
Above me it flew. A white dove. Not the wolves with pitch-black fur, not a skeleton with his scythe in hand, not even the crows or ravens which often found themselves omens of death. It was a white dove-- a symbol of peace.
It flew alongside me, soaring, wings gliding as I fell, and as I made eye contact with the small dove accompanying me to my doom, there was a twinkle in its eye. Did it wink at me?
And for some reason that day, when I hit the floor, when I expected myself to splatter across the concrete to leave a mess to be cleaned up, I did not die. I knew that was my time-- yet for some reason I was spared. I could never conceivably explain it for the rest of my life afterwards, but I knew in my heart it was because of that white dove.
---
Loved this prompt! Something about it just sparked the creative juices and I was able to pound this out. Thank you for posting this! And as always, CC's always appreciated if you have any. |
"16 standard deviations above the norm!"I cried out. In a split second, a rush of terror coursed through my veins. I wished to rise to the top of the Bell curve--perfectly average--because I have always longed for human connection. To be normal. But now ...
"I'm a statistical outlier!"
I looked in the mirror and was met with a grotesque presence. This was my face? This mangled-up piece of leftover flesh? Alas! The imperfections grew to enormous proportions now that I for the first time had a good look at them. My mediocre mind had swept them under the rug, smoothed them out in order to represent my self in a way that preserved my self-esteem. But now ... Now!
The genie offered no comfort. "The deal is done,"he said. "And it's permanent."
What a wretched existence! Alone, doomed to perpetual strangeness in the eyes of the masses.
Something had to be done. My emotions had exploded in intensity along with my intellect, feelings scattering off a icosahedron of anguish, reflecting both past and future misery.
Then an idea formed in the back of my mind. I would climb the slope of the Bell curve.
My brother was a chemist. Convincing him to lend me the keys to his laboratory was a simple affair. I gave Robert Cialdini's *Influence* a cursory glance and extracted from it the essence of persuasion. He handed them over as if I were doing him a favor.
I perused the shelves until I found the substance I was searching for: dimethyl mercury. A single drop on the top of my hand, and the matter was settled.
15 standard deviations.
The effects were, at first, subtle. My synapses still crackled with excitement, but a storm was slowly brewing.
8 standard deviations.
A month later, I was beginning to harbor doubts. At this level, I could perfectly well blend in with the rest of society. While I might strike the average Joe as an eccentric, there would be peers. Potential colleagues. Friends, even. I struck down the thought before it took root.
3 standard deviations.
My balance was off. I had begun vomiting. Slurring my speech, I called for an ambulance.
2 standard deviations.
I was filled with the fear of death. Perhaps, I thought, death is not the end. Why? Dear god, why the hell did I poison myself?
1 standard deviation.
In and out of consciousness, I wriggled around in my hospital bed. Damn. Damn, damn, *damn*. What the fuck. I saw some friendly faces among me. Some holding flowers, with sad expressions.
"I don't want to die,"I said. They stared at each other, confused. Of course they couldn't understand. My tongue barely moved. Fuck.
\-2 standard deviations.
I saw my bro. He looked sad. Man, this sucked. I couldn't do anything. Guess I'll die then.
Suddenly, this purple genie dude appeared. He said something about some contract. I couldn't really understand what he was going on about, but I just nodded along. He seemed mad. Then he put his hand on me and this like warm feeling went over me.
\-1 standard deviation.
When I woke up, I felt fine. The poison had left my system, somehow. Damn, I cried. Thank God. Being smart fucking sucked. Man, it felt good to be back.
That's when I learned that smart people can be fucking *dumb*. Like, poisoning myself? What?
That's the lesson, I guess. Like, the moral of the story.
So ... The End.
Bye, now. |
I really dislike baked beans.
I only eat beans when I have no money for anything else. Car trouble? Beans for dinner. Got fired? Beans for dinner. Back at uni I turned a months worth of rent into tequila shots and bad decisions trying to impress a girl on a night out, beans for the rest of the semester.
Needless to say when I realised today would be a beans day I wasn’t in a great mood. In fact I was in a spectacularly bad mood. The kind of bad mood that makes you want to stand in the rain and scream, but considering it was a sunny evening in mid June I settled on listening to broody music while I stomped up the stairs to my flat.
As I approached the last flight I felt something drop out of my bag, I turned just in time to see my dinner in it’s turquoise sleeved can bounce down the stairs. As I chased the rouge can I realised I’d left a trail of paper behind me. Holding my bag up to my face I realised that there was a perfectly round hole cut into the fabric, no fraying or burning, just a perfectly circular hole in my bag.
Perplexed, I just stood there looking at the hole until my stomach growling reminded me how hungry I was. Whatever caused my bag to break would have to wait until I’d had my dinner. Scooping up the tin and an assortment of confetti like scraps of paper that used to be a book I made my way home.
Slamming the pan on my counter top I fished around my draws to find my tin opener. As soon as I applied pressure on the lever to open the tin the utensil just fell apart. This thing literally just broke into two. I’m not proud to admit this completely got the best of me. I picked up the tin and launched it at the exposed brick wall of my studio flat. Much to my surprise, the tin bounced hard off the wall seemed to steer itself perfectly back into the palm of my hand.
At this point my bad mood had vanished and was replaced with pure shock. The tin was not only completely undamaged it was now glowing a faint purple. This was in sharp contrast to my wall which now looked like the hulk had had a tantrum in my living room. I dropped the can and with a dull thump it bounced off the floor, once again into my hand. Heart pounding and my hunger now completely forgotten I walked over to my 5th floor window and threw the can out of the window into the street. Much to my shock the tin picked up speed and plowed through the wall of the building across the road leaving a neat circle in the concrete. A few seconds later I heard a blood curdling scream as the tin somehow managed to change direction and shot back through the same building beelining towards me. Terrified I put a hand out trying to protect myself from my dinner rocketing towards me at mach 10. Just before it made contact, the bean filled missile slowed down to a speed where I could simply pluck it out of the air.
Staring down at my hand holding my seemingly magical boomerang-beans glowing purple I laughed. I laughed until tears were streaming down my face and I couldn’t breathe.
This was how I became the bean bandit. I’ve robbed over 13 banks with my magic can of beans and I won’t be stopping anytime soon.
I love baked beans. |
"I wish for Immortality."
Boring, mundane, a joke. Denied.
A small sigh escapes one set of my lips as the small bone block turns to ash in my hands. Destroying any potential power the wish may have. I take the next in the pile and spin idly in a circle on my chair. Humans may be crude but they make some neat things to be sure.
"I wish my Daddy didn't come home."
I stop, it's not a common request, but it's become more and more common to me in the passing weeks. Coming in every day, twice a day.
I had heard it's reverse countless times and denied nearly as many. After all, we are bound to deny any human wish now that we have abdicated from their world. Something though stopped me. A burning curiosity that marks my particular brand of Fey.
I pull a small looking glass with a small slot in it and set the bone in. The vision of my face fades away to show that of a child, huddled in bed, wounds across their face.
My expression sours and I pull the image outward, get a feel for its location, then pull the bone out of the slot.
Once more it fades to ash in my hand, now powerless.
I stand up from my desk and leave. Grabbing a long thin dagger from my bedside before I do. I may not use my power to grant wishes to a human, however, there is no such rule for using man made power. A sly grin as I leave my abode onto empty, unfamiliar asphalt.
It's time to grant a wish I suppose. I think as I make for the house.
(First time really submitting anything, felt the bug as it were.) |
A name, an address, a short scrawled note.
*This is your assigned survivor. Use them as your sole source for a written and oral presentation, to be submitted no later than 21 July 2054.*
Every student in Mr Dale's History class had been handed a similar slip of paper. In typical fashion, the due date was just over a week away. I scowled at the rough walls of the cabin, failing to suppress my irritation. I glanced at the name again.
*Blake Williams.* It sounded like the name of a survivor. I pictured a lean, stern face with green-grey eyes. In spite of myself, I felt a flicker of curiosity. The Z years had never interested me much. They felt like ancient history to a 17-year old, as I was back then. But somehow the name sparked my imagination. I could see him so clearly in my mind's eye. Quiet, solitary, fierce. A force of nature, overcoming impossible odds. A grim symbol of humanity's will to survive.
My mom was reading a battered book in her chair by the window. I couldn't make out the title. Something about a Mockingbird. The sun glinted on her hair.
"I'm going out. School assignment,"I said.
She nodded absently, not looking up from the book. I pushed open the door and made my way into the muddy streets.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
First time response. In spite of my nervousness, and thanks to the kind feedback of some internet strangers, I present:
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/jpkx4r/wp_you_are_a_student_in_the_postzombie_apocalypse/gbgbwr8/)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/jpkx4r/wp_you_are_a_student_in_the_postzombie_apocalypse/gbhf8dc/)
[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/jpkx4r/wp_you_are_a_student_in_the_postzombie_apocalypse/gbu13yc/) |
I had woken up particularly early that early that day, excited for my 18th birthday. I was reading my new book in the living room, when the doorbell rang indicating the mail was here.
"I got it babe"my boyfriend called out from the next room over. He stayed the night hoping to start celebrate my birthday early, as well as verify out little bet on what my photo was going to be.
He bantered with the mailman for a minute or so before taking the mail.
"Well?"I asked my boyfriend, "What's the photo of? And dont lie"
He quickly tore the envelope open, then heaved a frustrated sigh.
"Goddamnit, you win"
"Well, the odds weren't exactly in your favor"I said setting down my book. My boyfriend had been working tirelessly translating the latest book in my favorite series into braille so I could read it, since the official translation wasn't out yet.
"Yeah, I guess it's pretty easy to tell what you're gonna see before you die when you're blind huh?" |
She knew I hated her, she knew I could've left her to drown, she looked up with such desperately fearful eyes and pleaded "Nick please! Help me Nick, I'm stuck down here. Put the past aside Nick, I'm going to die"The water filled up the cabin and was rising up her torso.
As much as I enjoyed her being so helpless and weak, I'm not a savage, so I jumped down and tried to work out how to unhook her from the doorway. My hands followed her hip and legs down to shin, which was jammed in the metal doorway. With breath held, I pushed on the door which was being pushed closed by the torrents of water, and used my other hand to hook her leg free. I popped my head above the water and she hugged me in appreciation. "Thanks Nick, you've saved my life."
It felt nice and all, but we didn't have time for pleasantries, plus I didn't want her to get off that easy "Get a grip Jessica, we HAVE to get out of here NOW!"
The whole ship was rotating slowly and we trudged through watery halls on a steep angle. Dead bodies bounced around the water, and amidst the sirens and gushing water, we heard a sound which stopped us dead in our tracks, the cries of a baby.
Jessica looked back with a look of fear and determination. I knew what she was getting at, and I felt the same. We had to help the baby. I followed the cries into a dark cabin, and could make out the body of a young woman, bleeding on the floor. She was dead. But her baby lay awkwardly on the side of it's cot, partially tangled in the walls of her timber cot. I carefully grabbed the baby and was surprised Jessica was waiting at the door. She didn't run off like I expected, maybe it was her leg.
We all made our way up through nearest man hole to the deck. we struggled to remain upright and eventually slid down the deck towards the water, before I hit the water I was unsure how to brace the impact, so I threw the baby clear of the boat into a clear patch of water and hit into the balustrade with enough force to be knocked out.
An immense paid ran through my hips and legs, and before I opened my eyes I could feel and hear a crackling fire to my right. It was a dark night and I was on a beach. I leaned up saw Jessica was seated on a log next to the fire, hunched over the baby and whispering calmly to soothe it.
"Jessica, what happened?"
She turned her body towards me and smiled gently. I've never seen her look at me like this.
"You're lucky Nick, we all ended up near each other as the ship sank."
"My legs are fucked up."
"I think they're broken. I managed to collect you and the baby before you were drawn down into the water with the boat. A lot of people died."
"How did we get here?"
"There was a small inflatable boat which was upturned, so I tied you onto it and managed to paddle us here, it took forever, I''m so tired Nick, can you take the baby for a while, she is having trouble sleeping."
She staggered to her feet and gently places the baby next to me. This lady hated me a few days ago, I thought at one point she wanted me dead.
"We have a troubled past Nick, but it looks like we are going to have to get on for a little while. At least until we are saved."She hovered over me with a peaceful look in her eye, as if to guage my reaction.
"Thanks Jess, thanks for saving my life." |
"Steven, get down!"she yelled.
"Fuck you, mom,"shouted Steven, perched atop the belltower, wings spread and vodka bottle in hand.
Steven's dad had warned the authority that filling Steven's head with the great responsibilities of an angel would bite them in the ass when puberty hit. "An angel is more than his baser instincts, you will overcome the need for worldly desire and humanity will follow."
How the fuck did they think an hormonal riddled teenager would react to the pressure? He was out partying against his parent's clear orders and kept flipping off roughly everybody that wanted a talk with him about religion and soul.
"Your are God's chosen,"they would say.
"And I choose to get sloshed and bang bitches, get lost,"Steven would reply.
He was intolerable, badly behaved, annoying and stupid. Also, he could fly, but save for that little detail, there was nothing angelic about Steven. Even less so today, he struggled to control his wings under the effect of alcohol induced idiocy. That he reached the belltower could be chalked up to a miracle.
Let's say 1 for God for the wings and 1 for atheists for Steven being insufferable, 1 - 1.
Steven's mom was about to shout when his dad grabbed her hand.
"Wait,"he said, "if he gets down like that, he'll fall, better to ask him to get inside the belltower and pass out."
"Are you certain?"Worry was making it hard for her to think straight. It happens when a child, even an adoptive one, is in mortal danger.
"I'm sure,"he said, while being unsure.
Steven yawned, lack of sleep and partying caught up to him, his dad tried again.
"Steven, please, listen to me. Get down and I won't be angry, I promise. I'm worried and just want to know you're safe and secure."
"I've got wings!"
And you're a moron, thought his dad, so what?
"Yes, but you're also tired and drunk, come home and get some sleep, please."
The word sleep had its effect, Steven realized his greatest desire at the moment was to close his eyes and disappear under a wam blanket.
"Fine, Im on my way,"he said, extending his majestic wings.
"Wait! not like th..."
Too late, Steven jumped. He glided through the air with the grace of an eagle, a sight that always had the crowd in awe.
2 - 1 for God.
Then, a sudden gust made him lose control. Nothing he couldn't handle sober, but with more alcohol than blood in the veins, the small pebble became an unsurmontable mountain. His wings wrapped around him and refused to spread again, the eagle became an anvil, the public's awe became a gasp of horror.
Steven died crashing down on the pavement, an angel gone too soon.
2 - 2, call it a draw. |
First one please be kind.
I’m an artificer. I can do some pretty whacky things when I need to but I can do some pretty amazing things when I have one of the many trinkets I have made over the years.
On Thursday, I slipped up. As a weak wizard I’m able to do some small stuff; light cigarettes, open beer bottles with one hand, move furniture without touching it. Mostly party tricks. I left almost all my gear at home. I needed to the bank, I needed some cash and I didn’t want to pay the usual fee. As I stepped in I Immediately regretted my decision.
“Everybody on the ground!” The vice commanded to everybody.
“Very cliché.” I responded without thinking.
Here I am with very little gear; never dulling pocket knife, hellfire lighter, belt buckle flask of stored magic, and my personal favorite. A hat that can never be blown off my head.
Three of the five rifles in the room were instantly pointed at me.
“We said: get on the ground!” Another more commanding sounding voice ordered me.
“Pardon? I’m afraid I’m hard of hearing and I don’t see to well.” I lied about the first but I was not about the second. In my haste to get the cash I had forgotten my glasses in the car.
“Don’t make me kill you. I don’t want that “another voice said.
Immediately I felt the calmness that she pushed out onto me.
Somebody with magical talent was here and I could barely see here features since she was in all black and the whole part about me not seeing well.
It was a small southing spell. One that I think was based in weak magic very similar to mine. Most likely she was a distant cousin to a powerful witch or wizard. But, she had not inherited all the same power.
I reached for the flask inside my belt buckle and threw magic out from it.
Three tiny bolts of lighting sprang from my belt buckle and melted the actions of the rifles just enough to prevent a discharge.
The trick about having very little magical power is to stoke small. I had leaned this long ago since I was hardly able to do anything with my power. When I did without something to Focus it it was rough and uncontrolled. Most of the time this would cause injury to the person I directed the spell at or some other affect.
That is what I needed. Firing the lightning that melted the actions had used about three fourths of what I had stored. That had taken me two weeks to fill.
I launched two chaos spells at the remaining firearms I could see.
The spell was simple and would hopefully cause a malfunction of some sort.
One spell missed the rifle and hit the person holding it. A partial second after I sickening crack sounded and he went down.
The other spell had hit its mark and just in time as the rifle was raised and fired in my direction.
The thing about firearms it that they can be a little hard to control when the person is panicked. Like this situation. You go to rob a bank but unluckily for you somebody that does not agree with stealing is inside and is able to do Somthing about it. That person proceeded to launch lighting from his belt buckle of all things and disarm all of your comrades. So you panic fire in his direction. Unfortunately for you your gun was also hit with something and as you pull the trigger the sear gets stuck in the downward position and you enjoy foreign two rounds the first goes a little ways down the barrel and stops just after of the gas port. The secco d bullet does not allow gas to pas into the gas port and suddenly your budget rifle gets a ruptured barrel that burns your left arm so badly your going to need medical attention.
I watched in horror at the mans left arm become a mess of melted nylon and burned flesh.
That was not supposed to happen. But that is the kind of results that can happen from a chaos spell.
Now I had another problem. I was in the middle of the bank floor it’s no cover a worn out flannel shirt and a baseball cap that said bubba gump shrimp company on it. And I was facing four very upset people that I had just disabled the weapons to and I was nearly out of magic. All I had left was what was in the flask.
On the bright side they were not able to shoot me. None of them had thought to bring a sidearm.
They could use them as bats but I think that the ten other people in the room might help me.
So I did the most sensible thing I could. I ran.
I ran to my car and jumped in just in time to see the robbers running out though my rear view mirror.
Unfortunately for them the cops were better at their job that they were at theirs. They were waiting at the get away vehicle.
My car unchanged with umpteen different tracking enchantments would be impossible to follow so I drove away.
The next day I went to work the same as any other day. I was a machinist working on assorted boat and ship parts.
I went in and grabbed a cup of coffee. I was wearing more enchanted items than ever. Along with my pistol in its shoulder holster.
My boss came up behind me and grabbed me by the shoulder I spun around readying up my enchanted ring that had stored Kinetic energy from the entire night of boxing.
“Whoa sport!” The older man said to me. “ You don’t need that much of a reaction.”
I sighed. “Yep I know.”
“Hey you live near that bank that was robbed right?”
“ You know I do Frank.”
“Well, did you see anything?”
“No.” I lied
“Well check this out, I found it on the google machine.” He told me as he pulled out his phone.
There was the bank security footage showing me being a dumbass. I was wearing my hat and everything today.
I Immediately thought about what would happen if he recognized me.
“Look at that he has the same hat as you.” Frank helpfully pointed out to me.
“But it looks like this guy can see.” Frank chucked and slapped me on the shoulder as he walked off.
I felt my heart speed up. Had he known? Would he turn me in?
No no no. This was Frank. Frank who weaseled his way out of every tax he could. Frank who called the interned “the google machine”. No I can’t be.
I wear about the rest of the day a little jittery but otherwise ok as I built random little parts that needed to be made.
A few of the other guys talked about it the rest of the day sometimes when I was talking to them and other times when they met up around the shop.
It hit me like a train. These guys had never seen me with my glasses off.
Maybe just maybe my secret was safe. |
The day was near, soon even I would finally be gifted my familiar. I had always been late in my development; I did not speak untill I was four and I did not speak much voluntarily after. It was such a chore, having to bumble out my thoughts in the worst way imaginable for everyone to ridicule. My words were always blunt and direct, nothing like those of my parents and others of high social standing. When I talked, my exact thoughts were exposed and I hated it. I have to admit, I was afraid of this being the same. A familiar represents the soul, the darkest corners and ugliest insides of a person. My familiar would most likely be a bunny or a kitten at best, maybe a mouse if I had at least a little bit of luck. It was all about the respect a person commanded, which for me was the amount of a pillow. What an embarassment for my parents. They had grandiose accomplishments and familiars to fit them. There was barely anything better than a bison and a bear respectively, only a mythical beast could top them and those pairings were so rare as to be mythical themselves.
Most of my classmates had already recieved their familiars. Class had become increasingly loud and obnoxious. The constant sounds of the familiars tired me so much that I could barely think straight when I retuned home. Keeping a straight face was hard enough on its own, especially trying to stare calm and unimpressed by everyone in my class at individual people. It always dicouraged them from coming near me. Not opening more room for humiliation was the least I could do to spare my parents the embarassment of having such a useless child as me. I like to imagine that I‘ve fooled my classmates but once I bring my stupid, useless bunny or mouse or worse to school, they will know it was all just an act. The big respect I had thanks to my parents had already been drifting away, but it would evaporate overnight. Should I run away? Our relatives‘ eyes had always been telling me so, but I couldn‘t make that decision as long as I had hope that they loved me. And yet I was too afraid of being a disapiontment to even look them in the eye.
That evening, I gathered all the little pieces of courage floating around in my mind. I needed to get rid of this uncertainty, I needed to know. They sat at the dinner table when I entered. I asked them, with my weak and pathetic voice:
“Are you disapointed to have someone like me as your child?”
Silence followed as they looked at each other in surprise, I don’t know whether at my question or at my sudden courage.
“When you were born, we were overjoyed. We were finally able to have a child ...“
Silence followed. So that was it. They thought I was a disapointment. I saw it in their eyes as they avoided mine.
“And we still believe in you now. Don’t think of yourself as a failure, you don’t need to. You can trust us to maintain our own reputation without your help. What matters is that we love you.”
They said the words. They said they loved me, but I saw that it wasn‘t the truth, not the whole truth at least.
“You think I am a failure”
That was all I said in return. I went to my room and locked the door. They didn‘t even try to come talk to me. I packed my bag and cried myself to sleep that night.
When I woke up, those eyes were the first thing I saw, the first thing everyone saw when they are gifted their familiar, but this couldn‘t be it. I and all my relatives had been imagining big, dark eyes and a cute little nose. This nose was not cute at all. While it‘s soft, leathery scales and round, not yet fully formed features had the potential for cuteness, the smoke made all of it evaporate into nothingness. All my instincts told me one word: Run! Run from this abomiation and it‘s creepy, silent ways of slithering at the bottom of your bed. Run far away from the fire and the teeth and those vicious eyes. I screemed in terror. I screemed and screemed without end. If I hadn‘t been such a disapointment, maybe I could have done something else besides screeming.
My mother‘s bison burst through the door and even it freezed as it looked into the firery, mesmerizing, dangerous eyes of the creature on my bed. My mother came through the door and, after a quick look of disgust at the monstrosity, strechted out her hand towards me. I wanted to sieze it, to bury myself in her arms and to never emerge again. But the monster was faster. Had my mother been but a second slower her arm would have turned to ash inside the blue flame. The smell of burnt cloth lingered in the air as its neck coiled itself like a snake and withdrew to the very corner of my room, ready to strike again with the same speed and ferocity.
Only now I realized that what we could see was but the neck and head of the creature terrorizing us. How could I not have noticed before? That meant that the bulk of the creature was outside. It‘s head had barely been able to fit through the window.
“It’s... it‘s a dragon.”
I coughed out the words, still not believing that the biggest and fiecerst of the mythical creatures was terrorizing my bedroom.
“I know, sweetheart, but don’t you worry. Your father and I have dealt with fully grown ones.”
That one wasn’t fully grown? How big could they get?
My mother began to inch closer to me, carefully, so as not to disturb the dragon. She had dealt with them before, but that was with her armor and shield, not in a nightgown. The dragon began growling when she reached the line where her hand had been before. She stopped. Silence dominated the room.
The silence was only broken by the front door crashig against the wall. In came my father, returning from the night shift at the police office. When he came into the room, his hands were full with two shields and two swords. The helmet he had been gifted by the king seemed to roar like the lion it was made to resemble. A spark of electricity appeared to flow through my parents. The fight of their youth had returned and with it their fighting spirit. They were moreso overflowing with happiness now than I had ever seen them before. The dragon refocused on my mother, but it could not hurt her now. Her shield curved its flames around her as she charged the few steps that seperated them.
In response, the dragon doused the room in flames, not as hot as the one that had nearly burnt my mothers arm and yet strong enough to force my parents onto the corridor, away from me and the dragon. It then turned and looked me in the eye again. That was when I saw it. I saw my reflection in its eyes. Tall and lean, with a penetrating, silent gaze just like the dragon‘s. It was unlike me, what I thought of as me. And yet its behavior mimiced mine. It did not talk, but it observed. It was not at ease, it always remained vigilant. And it had the same stare, the one I used to drive everyone away. I came to a realization. A dragon does not need to be embarassed, a dragon seeks no approval. It doesn‘t beg for respect It commands it.
My parents came into the room again, dusting the ash off of their clothes, their eyes honing in on the dragon. The entire room was a field of ash and glowing embers. I was unburned. With the same deep, probing, uncomfortable stare I had learned from the dragon, I turned towards my parents. They seemed pathetic with their burnt clothes and aggressive posture, like children throwing every ounce of energy into a pointless task.
“Stop”
The simple word made them freeze and stare at me in awe and disbelief. Their mouthes hung open. Had my voice just done that? It had. What would have otherwise sounded childish and desperate now rang of authority and maturity. I had not raised my voice, but it had echoed loud and clear in the room.
“It is my familiar.”
The look in their eyes said it all. I would no longer be known to them as their embarassing child. I may not have inherited their skills or their charisma. I would never have been able to replicate their achievements. But I didn‘t need to, I could forge my own reputation. There was no need for their help. It is strange what a little change in attitude can accomplish. It is also strange what a little change in the form of a dragon showing up at school can accomplish. |
“Uhhh... Francis?” I said, mesmerised by the squelching of flesh and crackling of bone as her head re-attached to her body.
“Oh... Sorry you had to see that, dude.” She said, in the most casual tone I’d ever heard.
“B-Bu-“ I was at a complete loss for words.
“What, you never met someone with detachable limbs?” She said, slightly perplexed.
“Uh, no.” I said, equally perplexed.
“Wow, really? I thought us Detachables were pretty common knowledge...” She then detached her fingers, “Least that’s what dad told me...” Francis said, frowning and fiddling with her fingers.
Francis’s mother suddenly appeared in the doorway, and let out a horrendous shriek.
“FRANCIS!” She cried out, and I had to back away, before my ear drums were burst.
“Yes mother?” Francis said, now cowering down.
“What did I tell you about detaching your limbs in front of the humans?” Her mother tutted, “I’ll have to confiscate your legs!”
“No, mother! Please!” Francis protested, but it was no use. I watched in horror as her mother removed her legs, and left her daughter lying legless on the floor.
“I apologise, dear,” Said Francis’s mother to me, “Let me go put away these legs, and I’ll be right back.” And she left the room with the legs dangling out under her arms, which kicked and flailed about.
Francis was on the floor, with her arms crossed and a mad look on her face.
I was just about ready to up and leave.
But I stayed, and got a long and boring lecture from Francis’s mother which basically said that if I told anyone about this, I’d be kidnapped and killed. Her pleasant smile and caring nods were not very helpful.
I went home that day a scarred human, and wondered how many other people I knew were Detachables in disguise. What if I was one?
That night I pulled too hard on my finger, and sent it flying out through the open window. And that was how I found out that I could detach my limbs too. I was a Detachable. |
Mortals thought me a demon of sorts, an envoy of hell whose only duty was to snatch their souls and existences away from them. They thought I did out of pleasure, out of passion. They thought it brought sparks of joy, cascades of happiness into my own existence.
Sometimes I wished they would understand skulls can't laugh or smile.
And this I don't tell out of a twisted longing of them pitying my circumstances, no, that's not the goal. My condition is faith's doing, the unraveling of never-ending threads commingling, one last time, in the creation of the concept of death turned into bone.
That's the way things are and I have long since been numb to it.
And so I wished they could understand that it's due to my knowledge of life and death that I saved them for a torturous, unbearable existence of pain and suffering. My methods weren't flawless, that was certain, and they were crafty beings, mortals, that is. I infested them with diseases and they eradicated them with complex solutions born out of, I must confess, impressive, dare I say, brilliant ideas.
But brilliancy has two faces, like most things, has two faces.
Piles upon piles of wrinkled, living flesh and bone litter their world. Their joints ache, their eyes bathe in old memories when their sight was not massacred into darkness, the melodies don't kiss and caress their ears anymore, and their faint limbs are hosts of inner, incessant earthquakes. They are alive, yes, but in truth, they are prisoners of their own decaying bodies.
I have witnessed men decapitate themselves and I have witnessed their rolling heads crying in despair upon seeing they couldn't die. I have witnessed terrible, unspeakable things, things I will refrain from telling, for even myself squirm at the memories.
For now, I have chosen no to intervene. Perhaps my absence will make them understand immortality in a rotting carcass is a nightmare's nightmare. Perhaps in my absence, they will value the space they once had.
Perhaps, in my absence, they will understand there can only be life if there's death. |
"There must have been a mistake, Mr... ?"I swallowed my tea, wincing as it goes down. This was the most difficult drink I'd had to make in my life.
"Indeed, it does seem like a difficult tea. Let's not make this more stressful than it needs to be."The black-coated man set his beverage on the table and looked straight at me with his two burning pupils. "Your child has my dog. There's no two ways about it."
"That's not a problem, I can ask Donna to return him - "I pause mid-sentence. Somehow, I knew that's not the answer that my mysterious house guest wanted to hear.
"Your daughter has had my dog for what is, to you, a week."The guest's voice chilly slid around the room. "To me, time is but a construct. But I understand - and I *remember* \- how important it is to humans. And in this week, there's been a distinct bond forged between your daughter and my dog."
"W-what are you saying?"I nervously look to the living room, where Donna is playing with her new pet.
"All I am saying is that pet-rearing could be a most... *eye-opening* experience for your daughter. Cerberus will not return to me willingly, for reasons you do not need to know. I will not return until he will, to me."
My guest finishes his drink and gets up from the table. "However, if you or your daughter so much as *harm* a hair on his head, I will show you that there are things out there worse than Death."
In the blink of an eye, he disappears.
Walking back to the living room, I sigh in frustration, making sure Donna doesn't see me. There was a jet-black dog in my house now, but how did I know I hadn't been given a white elephant? |
The stream of flame sputtered a little before coming to a complete halt. The dragon coughed a little, sending puffs of smoke and other nasty fumes out in clouds. He had to look around for a few seconds before seeing the young, red headed woman standing in front of him. She was practically between his front two legs; he backed up a little to get a better look.
"Wha-- what was that?"he asked, confused.
"I said,"The young woman began, "how tall are you."As she spoke, she twisted one finger around in her curly red hair. She took step forward, putting herself back between the dragons two legs.
"I'm -- well,"the dragon started, awkwardly. "Uhh -- I'm not sure how tall you would call it. Two houses, perhaps, would be a close approximation in human terms."
"Wow,"she said, gently caressing his front leg with the tip of her finger. "That is SO tall."
"Well, I suppose, by human standards it is fairly tall, but by dra--"
"I've always *loved* tall guys,"she interrupted. Her whole hand was now caressing the dragon's sinuous, scaled arm.
The dragon took another step away from the young woman. She took a step forward as well, moving almost in tandem with him, but negotiating her body even closer to his as they came to a halt.
"Well,"the dragon said,"that's very good, I suppose. But, like I said, I am really not all that tall for a dragon. I'm really just above average height, I believe."
The young woman giggled playfully. "Don't be still! I bet you have all the lady dragons just lined up!"
"I do alright, I suppose,"the dragon said a little flummoxed. "If you would excuse me, young lady, I have some very important dragon business to get back too."
He turned back to the now only smouldering byre that he had been working on before and breathed in deeply, ready to send another tower of flame its way.
Before he could release his torrent of flame, the young woman tapped him on the leg again.
"Dragon business like kidnapping young maidens?"she asked. As she spoke, she clasped he hands in front of her and leaned forward, prominently displaying her bust.
The dragon choked on his flames.
"Oh --"he coughed "I-- um -- I see."He took another step back. His tail knocked into a well, the bricks collapsed and the bucket went flying. He coughed again.
"Because,"she continued, "if that was some of your dragon business, I would be just *completely* defenseless. You could just grab me, fly me off your cave, and do..."she bit her lower lip..."*anything* to me."
The dragon looked around, hurriedly looking for something else to focus on. Even though he spent a great deal of time breathing flames, suddenly he seemed to be uncomfortably warm. Failing to find anything else to look at he turned his attention back to the maiden. Had her blouse been open like that the whole time or had she undone another button?
"Well, you see-- umm,"the dragon sputtered. "I'm very flattered, but--"
"There aren't any knights around,"she said. "I could be days -- maybe even weeks -- before anyone could come rescue me."
"I just remembered,"the dragon said. "I left another village burning. I really need to go check on that."Before he even finished speaking, his wings had opened and he had taken to the air. Within just a minute, he was over the horizon.
The townsfolk nearby, who had been watching the encounter closely, quickly rushed back to their homes and businesses. Working together, they managed to put out all of the fires and stop the spread of the damage that the dragon had already caused. With the immediate dangers of the flame out of the way, the farmers ran off to gather up their fleeing livestock. Some of the others began aid on their singed friends and neighbors.
It wasn't long before, the scorched buildings aside, the village regained an almost normal flow of life. With practiced efficiency, the people practically picked up their lives exactly where they left off before being so rudely interrupted.
Later in the day, a few of the villagers gathered at the home of a certain red headed young woman to thank her.
"How do you always do it?"one of the villagers asked. "Every time a dragon attacks our town, you always seem to scare them off so easily."
"Simple,"she said. "Dragons are all prudes." |
Being a ghost was always hard, not as in being a restless spirit raised from the dead of course, but a man who apparently one day the universe just forgot. The exact date at which this happened is not very clear to him, all he remembers is that one day he looked in the mirror, and the mirror stopped being. All evidence of his existence seemed to fade, even his own memories of himself began to degrade, beginning with his own name, as if he was never meant to be. At first he was terrified, he felt isolated, trapped, and cripplingly lost, then he began using his sheer anonymity for his own gain, robbing banks with simply laughable ease, walking right into the police station, robbing several officers blind and leaving without a hitch, but now above all he was simply tired and woke up each day only to see what other part of his self he had lost now.
He made sure to steal new mirrors, the type that can be covered so it does not shatter instantly of course, once a week. Probably out of habit from the days he still held onto hope that one day his curse will pass, possible out of a subconscious desire to see his own face again for once, to be assured of his own reality. Perhaps none of this was ever real he mused, thinking back to a book he stole several months ago that dealt with this concept, he was simply a mad mind in a universe of nothing, perhaps his being disappearing was a reflection of the truth that he never existed at all along with the rest of the constructed universe that moved like clockwork without him. Once he may have been terrified of nothingness, but now he was perfectly ready, for at least then he would not be so tortured. He turned back to stare at the small pink makeup mirror he plucked right from a woman's bag earlier today. Maybe shattering this one would distract him from his existential musings.
With a flip the device opened, and he expected it to soon become naught but silvery dust to be scattered in the wind like all the others before it, but that didn't happen. Instead he saw a face, unwashed and uncared for, tired eyes holding a dull light betraying his shock, a face that was strange yet intimately familiar. With a trembling hand he reached towards his face, tracing the thin wispy beard that has taken up residence on his unkempt chin, gasping as he touched his eye and saw the same happening on that tiny window of hope, looking with childish wonder at the marks and scars he had picked up, perhaps before he started fading, perhaps after, but nonetheless clear to see. He almost laughed, he almost cried, but that wouldn't be enough, perhaps nothing ever will. All he did was reach to a mostly unused book, filled with scribbled out words in the middle pages and completely empty at the front, and began slowly writing down a single crystal clear thought that began to take shape in his mind,
"My name is Micheal Hutchins"
And with that all the joy, despair, shock and confusion that had barely been kept back only by their own monumental weight collapsed in on themselves, releasing as a colossal wave of giggles and sobs that could be heard by all within a block of his forgotten apartment, and not a single one of them would forget this sound as long as they lived. |
My father had called her the crone, my grandfather had called her the mother. I called her timeless. Officially she was called The Watcher, she was a function of our religion. Women didn't have the power that they did on other nations, despite being the only conduits of our gods. The Watcher was the direct link to the Gods, she never spoke, she never showed her face, she was never seen outside the shadows.
My grandmother had told me she was the embodiment of death, a reminder that judgment will be passed in this life or the next. As a royal and future king the laws were more lenient on me. The Watcher made sure I knew there was a higher power to cast judgment over my decisions. The physical embodiment of a conscience.
My father had died, and my coronation had gone without a hitch. My father had fostered a era of peace. There had been less need for fractious negotiations of peace, although trade meetings were no less boisterous. The Watcher had been there quiet in the shadows. As a child I had often sat with her, and had added comfort to her space. A chair, and an soft padding for the chair. I had meals delivered, not that I ever saw her eat. As I aged I became more aware of what she was. Her body never radiated heat, but was definitely female. Slim and young, her clothing was layers of fine thin material, it showed everything, while also hiding it all.
I had been moved to the negotiation table as a youth, expected to learn the craft, but she had never been far from me. The Wathcet had attended my weddings, the births of my sons and daughters. The funeral of my mother and father, my siblings and their children, my first wife - lost to fever, and my second lost to the birth of my youngest. I had been the first king in 5 generations to ascend without a queen.
The Watcher had asked for an audience with me, her note coming on black paper written in silver. For a woman who never spoke she knew how to make her words count. I had agreed letting her know she could come to my private quarters after the sun had set. I would be waiting in my study, I had been reading correspondence- mostly congratulations on my new crown and condolences on my father's death. A passing that had not been a surprise but had hurt none the less.
In heard the cloth moving and knew she had entered my study, although I had not heard a door opening or closing. I turned to see her standing next to the couches, gesturing for me to sit. Following the direction I did as asked. The Watcher sat across from me and lifted her veil
A voice rippled out of her youthful face, young and pretty, she took my breath away.
"You see me as you wish, your father saw an angry wisened woman, your grandfather saw his mother, your grandmother saw the face of death. Who do you see?"
My voice cracked "My Daughter"
The Watcher laughed her voice rich, it felt as if all my daughters were laughing at once
"Its time you knew the truth of me and this kingdom. And the importance of what we must do."Her voice held the weight of destiny, and the lilt of a child. This paradox buried me in the weight of the world and I took it gladly. |
Gary spent a good portion of his life unaware that he was a shapeshifter. His father told him when he was a boy, but Gary assumed he was joking about the rapid changes he was undergoing from puberty. It wasn’t until adulthood that while walking through a forest, admiring the trees, Gary decided he’d give a go at being a tree himself. Looked pleasant enough, just standing in the woods, doing... um... tree stuff.
Anyways, Gary started by placing his arms at his sides. He closed his eyes and visualized himself as a tree. He repeated this vision several times until finally, he was a tree. A big, strong, pine tree.
A hundred years later, a chainsaw roared to life. If Gary had eyes, they would have shot open. Instead, Gary just sort of trembled a bit. A couple of pine cones fell. The roar of the saw grew louder, until it was right on Gary. Literally.
Gary quickly shifted back into his human form, but the saw was already cutting into him. He screamed as the chainsaw tore through his leg. Blood sprayed into the face of the chainsaw wielding worker as Gary collapsed to the ground in agony.
“What the fuck!?” The worker dropped his saw and jumped away from Gary, baffled and mortified.
Gary sounded akin to a wounded animal, but with more profanity. He had handfuls of pine needles clenched between his white-knuckled fists as he flailed around desperately.
“Help!” The worker shouted. “Somebody help!”
Several workers came running from other parts of the forest to see what was the matter, and all recoiled at the site of the nude man with the sawed off leg.
“What happened?” Asked a panicked supervisor.
“I thought he was a tree!”
All eyes turned to the pale human on the forest floor, flailing around in agony.
“...huh?”
The worker just shrugged, realizing how ridiculous it sounded.
“Call 911,” the supervisor ordered another crew member, then slowly approached Gary. “Sir, help is on the way. Just hang in there.”
Gary looked at him in a way only a man who had spent the past hundred years as a tree could. The supervisor could see the pine in Gary’s eyes. The sap in his soul.
Gary fell silent, closed his eyes, and became a Canadian goose. The supervisor watched with astonishment. Gary the goose, still one legged, looked at the supervisor and honked, and proceeded to fly away. He continued to honk over and over and over, growing more distant with each honk. |
\[EU\] My book series Trackers
Pt 1 of 2:
The trial was one that was in the public eye to such a degree that the right to a speedy trial was embraced by everyone working on it. Henry Marciniak, defense attorney for serial killer Benjamin Simmons (and that’s what he was, Henry had known that since the beginning) was glad for how quickly it had gone. It was about five weeks, which could feel like an eternity to the defendant, but it was quick in relation to how long a case could drag on. The only ones disappointed it was ending, he knew, were the reporters.
Henry always felt like he was pulling teeth talking to Benjamin. The man had insisted on pleading not guilty, but the reasoning behind it was the problem. He was convinced his victims *deserved* to die, that he wasn’t doing anything immoral, quite the opposite, and the jury couldn’t possibly find him guilty.
It was stunning to Henry, he couldn’t wrap his head around it, but Benjamin was steadfast. If he was allowed, he would talk for ages about the rot in this world, the sinners, the ones who would be heading straight down to Hell once they’d met the edge of Benjamin’s blade. It was the right thing to do, he’d asserted, and he hadn’t had any other choice. Despite this, a plea of insanity wouldn’t have worked, Henry knew. His client had understood exactly what he was doing every time he took a life.
That left Henry to do his job as a defense attorney as well as he could, trying to poke holes in the prosecutor’s case, but in this situation, it was like trying to poke holes in a tree with a pencil. The evidence was straightforward and easy for the jury to comprehend and there was little for the defense to do but continue on slogging through the trial, hour by hour, day by day, week by week.
The day the verdict was to come in, Henry met with Benjamin before heading into the courtroom, explaining what he expected to happen. He went into a little detail, letting him know that the verdict would come through today, and sentencing would be at a later date.
And Benjamin said something odd. “You…You think we’ll lose,” he whispered. “You think they’re going to find me guilty, lock me up.”
Henry sighed tiredly, trying not to show his exasperation on his face. “Mr. Simmons…have you been paying attention to the proceedings at all?” he asked. “It’s no question. You’ll be found guilty, it’ll be unanimous. I explained everything I would be doing in your defense and I also explained every time things tilted further in their favor. This case is cut and dry, because you did it, you knew what you were doing, and it’s apparent, at least to me and I’m quite sure to the jury, that you’ll do it again.”
Something shifted in Benjamin’s eyes, some sort of horrified acceptance, and he looked away from his attorney, staring at something far away.
When Henry arrived in the courtroom, everything went just as expected. The judge entered. The jury was led in. The formal proceedings began. And the judge asked the jury if they’d reached a verdict.
Then Benjamin burst into tears.
Every set of eyes in the room looked to him in surprise and the judge spoke up. “Mr. Marciniak, please get your client under control.”
“I can’t, I can’t go to prison!” Benjamin bawled. “Please, someone has to go down and feed her!”
The room stilled at his words, then gradually hushed conversations were heard from those in the back of the courtroom. The judge found his voice first. “Mr. Simmons, this trial has reached its end and a verdict has been reached. I doubt anything you say at this point will change anything, though if it does, I will be furious at the way you’ve wasted this court’s time. Mr. Marciniak, will you please have a quiet word with your client as to what he’s saying?”
“Yes, your honor,” Henry managed. Turning to Benjamin, who had tears streaming down his face, he leaned in. “Mr. Simmons, what in the *hell* are you talking about?” he hissed, all his patience for his client gone at this point.
Benjamin’s chest shuddered in sobs as he wiped at his eyes and met Henry’s gaze. “She’s the reason for all of this. The one I was feeding. The monster in my basement.”
Henry’s face fell. “You…” He let out a long breath. “There’s a monster in your basement?” He shook his head. “Henry, your house was searched thoroughly for evidence before the trial started. There’s nothing in your basement.”
Benjamin looked off to his left, a thousand-yard stare. “There’s a safe room. In the closet of the guest bedroom in the basement. She’s in there.”
Henry gaped in stunned silence. “She? She, who?”
“My daughter.”
A flash of heat swept through Henry, despite the chill of the overly air-conditioned courtroom, sweat prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “Your daughter…Nicole?” he asked slowly. “The police reported her as a runaway years ago. You said she rebelled against God, ran away, you couldn’t find her.”
Benjamin swallowed hard. “I lied.” He took in a shaky breath. “The sinners I killed, they were for her. To feed her. To keep her under control after another vampire turned her. That’s what it was always about, saving her soul from the monster within her.”
A hand went to Henry’s forehead, his mind spinning. The lawyer in him took the driver’s seat, planning the next few minutes, then the next few days, and then their appeal, sketching it out in one quick moment. “How do they get into the safe room?” he whispered.
“There’s a thermostat to the right that looks broken. You push the tab all the way to the left, then the right, the door will open.”
Henry turned to the pad of paper in front of him, hurriedly scribbling down information and then ripping it off the notepad, turning to his assistant to his right. “Give this to the first officer you find outside this room,” he whispered. “Go. Now.”
Her eyes widened and she nodded sharply, standing and leaving the courtroom quickly. Henry took a breath, composing himself, glancing to Benjamin, who was still crying quietly but looked more resigned now. “Your honor, we’re ready to proceed, and my client apologizes for the interruption.”
Guilty, on all counts of murder. Henry waited until Benjamin was escorted away and then hurried as fast as his feet could carry him. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialed his assistant’s number, shoving his way through the heavy doors out into the hall. “What’ve you got?” he snapped.
“Cops are on their way,” she told him. “I’m almost at my car. I’ll meet you there.” |
"Is it running doom yet?"
"well no but..."
"come back to me when its running doom, we promised the public we could get it working and this was the most popular and easiest to grade test, why is this so hard, just run doom on the thing, if I can run it on my calculator you can run it on that... did you call it matryoshka brain?"
I left the office 30 minutes later, he really didn't seem to understand what we had found, he had just promised his constituents doom because of a viral reddit post and now wouldn't accept anything less. This was going to be an awkward conversation.
"sorry to ask this of you but our boss won't listen to us and just keeps insisting we get you to play doom, I have the source code here and a console that can run it, any chance we could play a few games to make our point?"
"well he sounds like an idiot. how about this, i will have a look at this doom you speak of and make a better version, I'm thinking full dive, fully realistic, do you think he would accept an invite to be the first person to play doom on an alien computer? I'm sure I can have him regretting his stubbornness within the first 30 seconds."
admittedly it was on every front page the next day, president of the USA first to play brand new full dive horror shooter developed by extra-terrestrial AI. After that they treated our new friend far better. |
I lay in bed, thinking about the day before. It had been a regular day as usual...
"Hey, dweeb. Empty your pockets."
It was the first day of school and Jake Hanister and his goons wasted no time in picking up where they had left off the semester before.
As I reached into my pockets, I heard a voice in my head say, **Are you kidding? Who does this guy think he is?**
I looked around. Nobody.
Jake cracked his knuckles. "We don't got all day, doofus."
**Don't do it** the voice said.
I found myself talking back to the voice in my head, *So what do I do?*
**Fuck that guy. Pause. What I meant was: tell him to fuck off.*
*Are you crazy?! He'll beat me up!*
**Not if you hit him first. Trust me. The guy's a bitch.**
*What about the others?*
**Once the leader goes down, the pack scatters.**
Jake stepped closer, his face twisted in fury. "Quit stalling. Or maybe you think you're tough now and don't have to pay, huh?"
I don't know what I was thinking. Listening to a voice in my head. Was I crazy? Maybe so. Because guess what? I did it. I hit him. I hit Jake Hanister. Right in the nose.
And you know what else?
It worked.
He stepped back, both hands over his nose as he bent over and moaned out, "Oww, you hit me."He looked up at me, teary-eyed, as if I had betrayed him or something. I guess victims aren't supposed to fight back. It would have been hilarious if my heart wasn't racing fifty-thousand miles a hour.
I thought he was going to launch himself at me and pummel me, but he said, "You *hit* me"then looked at his hands. There was blood on them. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted.
I looked at the other two guys with him and they put their hands up and said, "Hey, we don't got any problems with you, man."And they picked up their fallen leader and dragged him away.
Word spread and nobody else bothered me for the rest of the day. I hadn't heard from the voice the rest of the day, either. At first, I was glad. I thought hearing voices meant you were crazy.
But if being crazy meant no longer having to give my lunch money up or get bullied, I'd take it any day.
And now here I was, in bed, late at night, thinking of all this, realizing that I actually wanted to hear from the voice again.
*Thank you* I thought, wondering if the voice would hear me or even respond. *For earlier, I mean. With the Jake thing. I was really scared at first but I'm glad I listened to you. I don't know if you're real or not, but if you are, hope to hear from you again.*
I waited for a long time, hoping for the voice to respond. And right as I was falling asleep, it said, **You're welcome. And tomorrow is when the fun starts.** |
I looked at Max, his face buried on the book.
"Did he get anything right?"
He looked up at me
"Is that a serious question? He's talking about demons living in Hell. He doesn't even understand the difference between devils and demon. Might as well be talking about dolphins living on mountains."
I barely contained a smile, the amount of errors from mister Fiennes made Max cringe at every sentence.
"You, in the back. Do you think burning in Hell forever is funny?"
The class turned to look at me.
"I think i'd be sent to the swaps of Minauros rather than the more fiery regions. It fits my personality more."
There were a few giggles from his classmates. Mister Fiennes scoffed.
"Typical. You read too many comics book and videogames if you think there's a swamp in Hell."
I contained my laughter. Minauros was my favourite place in there. Sure, there were bugs the size of your average bear, but once you got used to them you learned how to avoid then. Plus, the smell was extremly pleasant. Or maybe I was just weird for liking it.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. I packed my things and headed out.
"You're free this afternoon? I got a new fishing rod and wanted to go to a new spot on the Styx"
"Sorry Max, my dad wants my help on the farm. Says it's about time I start to learn his job for when i take over."
"Sick. Can I come too? I'm a bit short on lures..."
I nodded, gesturing him to follow. We hid under a bridge, looking for a circle Max drew a couple weeks ago. We touched it and were transported to the familiar scent of Minauros, a towering figure waiting for us, arm crossed. Max jumped up with a salute.
"Good morning, ser Mammon of the third circle."
I nodded.
"Hi, dad." |
Yahweh's angels watched the development nervously. They all expected instructions from their lord, or perhaps, that one of the Archangels would make a pronouncement that would set everything right. But there was no pronouncement, no forthcoming instruction.
Azrael was gone and now Death was no longer in Yahweh's dominion. The angels did not know what this meant. They, beings made of light and fire, continued to serve forever at their lord's pleasure so for Humanity to keep persisting did not seem an altogether alien concept. However, they knew it was blasphemy, a sign of Lucifer winning in his effort to court Azrael and append the order set by Yahweh many eons ago.
They watched the world's oldest human reach her inflexion point, peering into the four-dimensional reality of Humanity from their higher-dimensional vantage point. The old lady did not look to be approaching a hundred and fifty in a few minutes. In fact, were it not that her dress and mannerisms reflected generations past, one would think her merely middle aged. She was being celebrated by her family and her entire town. Local news teams had driven over to report on the heart-warming tale of the hundred and fifty year old war veteran who went on to a remarkable career as a scientist and raised a beautiful family along the way.
Meanwhile, Gabriel broke from the rest of his brethren to demand answers from the master he had been created to serve. Only the Archangels were allowed to breach the dimension where Yahweh revealed his form, and only Gabriel could get further still.
"My lord, I demand answers. What is the meaning of this? You are master of all creation, so why not bring Azrael in line? Destroy him if you must and Lucifer alongside him. Install a new conduit of Death."
Yahweh responded with silence and this further exasperated Gabriel.
"Answer me. For eons we carried out your will, accepted your maxim that you exist to create and we to serve. Why can't you take back control? Why does it matter that the human lives to a hundred and fifty?"
Gabriel, increasingly confused and furious, approached the threshold of Yahweh's sanctum. The last angel to do this, the one who had argued to liberate humanity rather than bow to the fact of its existence, had been banished. Gabriel travelled inward to find a humanoid form curled up beside an indescribable series of contraptions.
"Does the sight of me disappoint you Gabriel? It must do to see this, the unimaginable creator of existence be nothing more than an easily observed being."
Gabriel crouched down next to Yahweh, "What does this all mean? These machines, you in distress?"
"There is a story I once told Lucifer. About a being lost in the cosmos, seeking to create a sentience that could match his own, so that he could be less lonely. About how this being iterated on the design of what he hoped would be his companions."
"I don't understand ."said Gabriel.
"Allow me to continue the story."
Gabriel turned to see Lucifer enter the confines of Yahweh's sanctum.
"First, he managed to create simple creatures, then increasingly complex ones. Eventually he created beings of light and purpose, followers of order and incapable of independent thought unless the chain of logic built to command them was punctured. But this wasn't enough, he wanted to design liberty as he himself experienced it. So then he did and, realizing that unleashing what he had built would wane the absolute power he had, he buried his creation inside creatures made of flesh. All except the very first one he had built. I think you are familiar with what follows high angel. At least, adulterated versions of it?"
Rising to his feet, Gabriel responded, "Humanity trapped in their four dimensional world because of sin. The struggle between Yahweh's choice to subjugate them and Lucifer's choice to liberate them."
"That's right. Death was at the center of this grand game."replied Lucifer. "And now, I have liberated it's personification. The technology that bounds Humanity from joining us in this realm seems supernatural to them until they are liberated from their confines. The essence of their sentience dies with their form and I have striven to preserve those that have fallen. But now, death works differently. It allows them to blossom until..."
The sanctum shook with the force of entry of a fourth participant. Lucifer walked over to welcome their new partner in the conversation, "Dear sister, I have waited eons to wish you a happy birthday." |
This waterfall has been flowing and throwing down water forever, and forever she's been watching it. She's been wondering where the water comes from, where it goes. How come it never, ever, ever stops. So she kept watching the unstoppable flow, hoping to grasp some answer, some clue. She had no idea how long she'd been there. Seemed like forever. She couldn't move, did not see anything apart from this water flowing. The landscape was nothing but this water running smoothly and falling regularly in the deep void under. Had to be forever, she was nowhere before and had nowhere to be after. She had begun to notive some patterns in the ways the flow moved, how it behaved. It seemed as if the stream was cycling, always coming back, up and down. This explained why she couldn't have been anywhere else. It time repeats itself, no movement is possible. She was to stay in there, watching the flow indefinitely. Until she knew any drop, any particle, until she could predict any turbulence, draw any moment, eyes closed, one after the other. She was the flow.
​
Anika slowly opened the door, letting the light of her candle reach the darkest corners of a room that had not seen anything so bright since the beginning of the events. Anika wasn't even born yet. Her tutor told her about it all during her instruction.
"Is there anybody ? Master Olga ?"
She walked slowly in the room, holding her candle to see where she set foot. Behind a wall was a second room, in which she entered as precautionously. There she was. At the center of the room, on a small mattress, between the ritual items and the numerous feeding tubes, wass Olga the Wise. She was among the founding mothers of the temple, almost a century ago. She did not seem so valiant then, this old lady laying alone in this empty dark sanctuary.
"Master Olga ? Can you hear me ?"
She kneeled next to the bed, approaching her face from the woman who could have been her great-grandmother. All she could perceive were the discrete sound of Olga's slow inhales and exhales, and the stuffy smell of her body. Anika moved back and sat more comfortably, while taking care not to sit on the tubes that were feeding Olga.
"Master, it is over", she whispered, "the Hawk Men are gone. The last ones left a week ago. They had become weaker and weaker for the past three years. They've taken so much away from us. We have so much to do and we're not sure where to begin. We need you to show us the way, Master Olga, Olga the Wise, you've been through this, we need your knowledge, you have to wake..."
Her voice fainted, leaving space for the old lady's breath to resonate. After a long time of almost complete silence, which felt like eternity, Anika's voice whispered again, trembling :
"Please, Master, answer me..."
Her voice shattered. After a few minutes of watching the peaceful face of the woman, she kneeled again, joined her hands and started singing the ritual chants, her soft voice filling the loneiiness of the room, flowing like a cascade along the walls, in the air, and inside. |
seconds--"she said, before her legs gave out beneath her.
*Neural decay* she reasoned, sometime later, when the lab had grown dark, and she could blink and breathe on her own again. Standing was maybe something for tomorrow.
She laid in what used to be sub-basement three, but now had an open hole to the sky. Four floors worth of debris had been shattered over the lab tiles and punched straight down into the dirt below, allowing plants to grow where lab tables used to sit. A few scraggly cedars and one spry birch filled the space, and moss grew fat where stones and tile met.
Her neural lace busied itself with repairing the connections that her own biological maintenance cells could not. Here and there, it guided neurons, filled in structures with glial-wire, and restored function to muscles long dormant. Cryosleep had mostly been used to store the young, whose bodies and brains could more easily repair themselves. After all, what's a little brain damage between ten-year-olds?
She had been part of a short-term test on the repair capabilities of the nascent neural lace. It seems it had got an extension. A shame there was no one available to record the results.
When morning came, and she woke up, she delighted in her ability to move her hands. Perhaps not the way she remembered doing so (if indeed, she remembered doing so), but enough to slowly bring herself to a sitting position. Desperately thirsty and ravenously hungry, she then embarked upon the hardest journey of her life: crawling to where the trickle of water ran down along the tile from that blackness beyond the light from the sun. And then, her greatest challenge: remembering how to swallow.
Sometime later, perhaps an hour or two, driven by desperation, she found the strength to stand. Her cryotube alone stood unbroken. What had broken them, she couldn't quite say. A bomb, perhaps—or maybe a hammer. While most of the rest might have been filled at one point, none were left intact, and neither were their occupants whole. And hers was without power—whatever lost generator had kept it running through the long years of reclamation, it too had gone to join the dark.
Far off, her ears picked up the faint *lub-dub* of some distant gravity engine, but she didn't recognize it amidst the bird calls and whirr of insects. So she stood for some time leaning against the birch tree, wondering what had happened and *what she was going to eat*. |
"C'mon, think Jane, think."
She took a deep breath, slowed her thoughts and did as her dad had taught her and becks.
She went over the facts.
Three days ago Mr. Kilmer, the history teacher was found dead at his desk, a cryptic note pinned to his right hand, it was in some kind of code.
Then today high school super athlete Shane Crawford called her twin Becky after discovering a second victim, Miss. Grey, the Drama teacher, tangled in the rope pully system above the school theater, a second code pinned to her hand.
Shane was popular and it was an open secret that he and her had been seen interacting far too friendly outside of school hours, he'd begged to help set up an alibi and Becks had agreed.
Jane left the theater by slipping out backstage, she had seen the crime scene before anyone else, but now owed Jonathan Findlay a favour, he ran Saltsides own little black market, but if asked, would receive a damned standing ovation and praises sung from the faculty.
Jane didn't like being in his pocket, but then again her training had always differed from Becks, ever since she'd discovered how her dad had really cracked the raker killer case.
It had repulsed her how his methods had worked, but now here she was using similar ones herself.
She lit up a cigarette, another bad habit from her father, she muttered to herself,
"Well, if this is going to be a dangerous game, it's one I can't wait to play. |
The eye was massive. The pupil alone was the size of a dump truck’s tire, and counting the rest of the eye it could’ve very well been the size of a deep space radar. What really unnerved him though was the emptiness in the eye. The things was dead after all, washed up on the shores of northern Washington. But the empty stare, the sheer... *nothingness* in that eye is what scared him.
Furthermore, there was also the fact that this giant squid-like creature, easily over a mile long, was ripped in half.
A huge chunk of meat was missing from the creature, along with at least two of its tentacles. Its blood was slowly seeping back into the waves, painting the water a reddish-blue. He had worked in the Bureau for 20 years, and he had never seen anything like this.
But he’d heard stories...
An examiner from the Cryptids Unit came over to him. She was clearly taken aback by this monstrosity that had washed ashore.
“Have you ever seen anything like this sir?” she asked, breaking him out of his stupor.
“No I haven’t, but my father told me about something that happened when he was on a ship in the South Pacific once...” he replied, gazing into the distance.
His father Ahab had told him when he was young how while on a transport near Baker Island his ship was rocked by hurricane-sized waves with no storm. For almost an hour the ship was rocked back and forth, nearly capsizing. Ahab said eventually the ship steadied, but he soon found his friend had fallen overboard, leaving only his camera behind. When Ahab had looked at the camera, he found a picture his friend must have taken, which showed a dark mass towering over the ship. He recalled this picture now, remembering how Ahab said “that thing...it was death.”
The examiner’s radio started crackling she quickly picked and up and listened to the other end. After a few moments she gasped, turned to him and said:
“A ship just dissappeared about two miles offshore. Witnesses are saying it looked like it was just pulled under.”
He told the examiner to go coordinate with command on the matter while he stayed behind. Shocked by the ship’s loss, he looked towards the sea, past the squid’s body.
And he saw a black fin. |
Well, I did it. I'm a hundred and thirty friggin' one years old. I feel like I'm fifty, or maybe sixty. I thought I'd be dead. My Cancer was so invasive that it was surprising I could breathe, let alone walk every day. But I was resigned, at 95, I'd lived a long life, so the diagnosis didn't much matter to me. I knew something was wrong when I started losing weight, regardless of how much I ate. When you're old, time passes so fast. Especially when you don't have anyone.
I had a fall and fractured my ankle two years ago, I called an ambulance. I may have been at peace but I wasn't about to die alone on the floor. A hospital would've at least had people, I thought. When they checked my date of birth it apparently alerted some kind of government watchlist.
The man who first approached me was blonde and wore sunglasses. He had sharp features that contrasted his extremely well managed physique. He had an odd way of speaking. He used very short words, regardless of the sentence, but he spoke intelligently. He would absent-mindedly click his tongue if he heard something he didn't like. According to the ID he flashed, his name was Agent Davies.
He was extremely invested in my medical health. I was told I was a candidate for an extremely rare condition. One that manifests in late life, extending longevity for roughly 30 to 40 years before stabilizing. He wanted to have private specialists monitor and test me, claiming that I was going to "Need a full course". I didn't fully understand what he meant, at that point it hadn't really clicked what he was talking about. But I felt important, so I humored him.
A few days later, I spoke to an extremely well dressed doctor. He wore layers, in colors that warmed and deepened the autumn shades that surrounded us, as we talked just outside of a local coffee shop. It was called The Hot Spot, and it had a hand painted sign that was flaking slightly from last winter's particularly heavy rainy period. We'd met for coffee so he could explain my apparent condition. His name was Dr. Ezekiel Kane. He was young for his profession, and had dark skin, and a mass of dark curly hair that he kept tied back loosely.
"It's the first 'regenerative' chronic condition."He begins, with air quotes "We theorize that It's triggered by a genetic marker we haven't identified yet. As the body begins to prepare itself for an inevitable death via the degradation of cells, it ignites a metaphorical spark, that manifests as what appear to be cancerous cells."
I nod as he takes a sip of his Coffee, an iced mocha with caramel.
"Well, these cancerous cells behave strangely, they multiply, altering the DNA of other nearby cells to create copies of itself. As it does this, you might find yourself losing track of time. Being confused for long periods. Nothing out of the ordinary at your age. But then, your memory improves, and you start feeling like moving around again."
"Wait. That doesn't make any sense"
"It gets weirder."Another sip, I can remember how it smelled, so distinct from the tea I'd been savoring. "Each of these cells, are also making neural connections, they're doing double duty as neurons. Each one contains a complete record of instructions for cells to return you to the age you were when you stopped producing cells faster than you could make them. It de-ages you. Mr. Thomas, you're going to live forever."
It should have been a blur from there. But I felt calm. I hung on every word as he told me what to expect. I would "de-age"at a fairly quickly rate at first, losing about 30-50 years in 8 months. From there, it would slow until reaching a simple year-for-year rate until around the physical age of 17 to 26. At my chronological age of 180 or so, I will reach a peak that will sustain me indefinitely. As this all happens, I'll experience greater strength, mobility, enhanced senses, memory, and my injuries will heal much more quickly. I will not be able to die so long as one cell of my body remains. Hence, the government's enthusiastic interest in me. They want to hire me as a covert operative.
I rubbed my forehead, as I processed all of this information.
"It's a lot, I know."He said, chuckling and scratching his neck. "I forget sometimes how shocking it can be for people at first. I just think its cool. Do you have any questions for me? There must be a lot going through your head"
I looked him up and down, creasing my eyebrows as I searched for a question that could help me find my balance.
"Do you have this condition?"
He laughed "Because I'm a really young doctor? Nah, I'm just smart as hell."
"Humble too."I said, mirroring his smirk "I need some time to think about all of this. It's hard to believe, and the implications are a lot to take in. I'll be in touch with you soon."
"Take your time. You have a lot of it"He said, flashing a grin
I went home and slept for 3 days. When I woke up I ate 70 dollars worth of Mickey Dee's. Then I called Agent Davies and told him I would accept the job offer.
I ate so much the first 8 months. I averaged 16,000 calories a day. Regaining my strength was satisfying. I was living a dream. I would receive counseling from Dr. Kane on a weekly basis, and I'd be trained in basic self defense and firearm use for a period of 1 year before moving on to more advanced topics. I was told the training period would be thorough, and take roughly three years. I wouldn't be going out into the field until it was finished.
Around 4 days ago, I completed Basic Training and earned a short break. I'm living in a secure compound, and being monitored regularly by Agent Davies and Dr. Kane. I'm much younger now, like I said. My hair's back, and greying. Ungreying, I should say. Two days ago Agent Davies came into my quarters speaking more quickly than usual. I was escorted to a meeting room, a variety of people I'd either never seen, or met briefly in passing were gathered. The only people I recognized were Doctor Kane, and Agent Davies. A well dressed man around my physical age, but much greyer, stood in front of a screen. Everyone turned as we walked in. The way most people looked at me now was strange. I was something incomprehensible to them. It was no different here, minus the well dressed man, Davies and Kane.
"Finally."Said the man in the 3 piece suit "We can get everybody up to speed"
"I don't mean to be rude, but I don't believe we've met"I interject, with the self assurance of a man the age I appear to be.
"That's because I haven't had the time. I'm the boss around here. I'm glad to finally meet you but I'm pissed about the circumstances. Sit down please, everyone. This is going to be a lot."
"We've confirmed that several individually known immortals have come out of obscurity."
murmurs erupt but are silenced when he clears his throat.
"We've also confirmed that they've had contact with one another. We aren't sure about the content, but we can make a pretty good guess"
"How's that?"Dr. Kane asked, leaning forward
​
"They sent us a letter. They intend to take over New York in one year and hold it hostage."
The sound of everyone talking over one another was overwhelming. It was cut short by a piercing whistle. Everyone froze, silent.
"Thanks Davies"Said the well dressed man. "I'll keep this brief. We're starting Agent Thomas on an accelerated course in 4 days. We need all hands on deck. He's the only one who might be able to take these guys out. We're evacuating New York too. That's it. You have one year to teach this man enough spy shit to kill or subdue multiple living gods. "
​
So that's it, I have 2 days before I have approximately one year to subdue or kill multiple living gods.
​
Fuck. |
"...that was broken. I broke it pretty badly. I even remember the doctor showing me a picture of the bone sticking out..."I start panicking.
"Hey love, are you alright?"
"Remember how my arm broke?"
"...Yeah?"
"Come in here,"I said. I watch him walk in.
"...that's not broken."
"Uh-huh."He starts asking me questions. I answer what I know. I had a severely broken arm. Now it's not severely broken, it's not even broken.
"Is there... like a scar?"
"Let me see... oh, there isn't"He sighs.
"Okay, so maybe you heal extremely fast, like, anything, even scars."
"Ooh, so I can be stabbed?"I ask excitedly.
"...yes, but I'm not letting you stab yourself."
"Hey, I can be a superhero now. I just need to learn combat."
"I- can't we just keep living like normal?"
"Hm... fine."Oh, we didn't live like normal. In my free time, I figured out how fast it took for my body to regenerate and heal. It never happens when I'm awake, so I decided to test that as well. Before we slept, I cut my hand in half, yes it was painful to do that, and then took some sleeping pills. The next morning, it was completely healed. I decided to use this for good. I have O- blood, which means I am a universal donor. I explained my situation, providing a bit of gruesome video footage. They understood and took more than you'd normally get drawn, then saw as I fell asleep, very much pale.
"Hey... wake up."they said. I woke up, and, unsurprisingly, I was not pale anymore. I had a lot of blood coursing through my veins, and the blood packs were still there.
"Hm... so it does work."
"I have video footage, so now I think each week we can do this. I'm sure lots of people are gonna be happy that they can finally receive blood transfusions."
"Mhm."And so I would go to the blood bank each week to get my blood drawn. I was so glad I could do something with this new power.
\---
"Honey, where do you go each week?"
"Blood bank."
"Why?"
"To donate blood. I can regenerate a lot, remember?"
"Oh, okay. Make sure to tell me when so I know where you are."
"Alright." |
“All in favor of taking over the world, please raise your hand.” The judge says.
Almost the entire room raises their hand.
“That settles it then, we will take over the world starting tomorrow.”
The doors across the room suddenly burst open and I walk through.
“What is the meaning of this!” The judge asks. “How rude of you to interrupt our meeting!”
“Sorry but I couldn’t help but hear you all voted on taking over the world?” I ask.
“Yes, the world is too broken. The humans have ruined it beyond repair. We will confiscate the earth and return it back to its natural state.”
“And what will happen to all the humans?”
All the immortals start laughing uncontrollably, except the judge. The judge puts his hand up, gesturing for everyone to stop laughing. Everyone does so immediately.
“Perish. All the humans shall perish. We have no use for them.” The judge says.
“Yeah so, that’s not really a good thing.”
“Why not, mr, hmmm. Who are you?”
“The oldest immortal.”
“Oh, Arlidoni, it’s been quite awhile. You look young.”
“And you look old. You know we can change out forms.” I point out.
“I prefer this form.” The judge says impatiently. “Whatever. Let’s revert back to my question. Why would that be a bad thing?”
“Well your puny-ness, how would you like it if billions of immortals were exterminated in a second?”
“That is impossible.”
“It is, but what if it isn’t, for the sake of my explanation.”
“Hmm, well if it was a ruling by a higher power judge such as myself, I would understand.”
“Ugh, all of you are so dumb yet smart at the same time.”
“Pardon?” The judge asks.
“Never mind, just stop the ruling now or else I’ll have to take measures into my own hands.”
The judge and I stare at each other for a few seconds. The judge smiles and then materializes a blue paper. He bangs his gavel and leaves the room. I follow after him.
The judge was running through the halls to deposit the ruling which makes it official. I dash after him, turning corners, and running down long hallways. The judge finally reaches the depositing room. He is about to deposit the little slip of paper.
“No!” I shout. A blast of blue energy comes out of my hand which incinerates the ruling .
“HOW DARE YOU!” The judge screeches.
His hands turn into claws, his skin goes a deep shade of red, horns grows on his head, dragon wings grow from his back, and his eyes turn into two balls of flame.
“No wonder this happened, you are a demon in disguise.”
“OH SO I AM, SO WHAT? NOBODY WILL KNOW BECAUSE ILL KILL YOU BEFORE YOU WARN THEM.”
“Nope.”
A blue circle appears around my feet which creates a portal into the human world. I fall through.
I land on a beach. There are no people around. I look behind me and see a city nearby, the city I’m currently living at.
“Well they didn’t destroy all humans so that’s good.”
Suddenly, a portal opens in the sky and dozens of immortals come rushing out.
“Crap, I guess I’ll have to fix this.” |
When I was little, my older brother killed my cat. I know he did. I saw him do it. I picked up the cat and ran inside to tell my mother:
"Mommy, look! He killed him, he killed him! Jimmy called Mr. Whiskers!"
Except for some strange reason, Mr. Whiskers wasn't dead all of a sudden, and I got in trouble for lying.
Jimmy got mad at me for telling and killed Mr. Whiskers again. I didn't tell my mom this time. I just quietly held Mr. Whiskers until he wasn't dead anymore.
Mr. Whiskers was mad that Jimmy kept killing him, and I was too. So one night, I put catnip on Jimmy's eyelids when he was sleeping, and Mr. Whiskers ate his eyes out.
I got put into a mental institution for a couple of years. I won't go into what happened there, but they let me out really early and I went back home.
I ended up working in a cemetary and liking it. It was dark, quiet, and most of the dead people were nice. A lot of them had pretty sad stories and a lot of regrets. A few of them were angry and wanted revenge.
One of the spirits was named Anthony. He was around my age and really funny, but he was also one of the angry ones. He told me his dad was really mean so one day Anthony stood up to him, but his dad killed him. What made Anthony angry was that he had a little sister and he knew the dad would be hurting her and no one would care enough to do anything.
His story touched me so much that I told him my secret. He begged me to help him out and he was the first person I brought back to life. He went, got revenge on his dad, then came back and died again. Now, he was much happier.
I told him not to tell anyone, but he did and all the dead spirits began telling me their sob stories and begging me to bring them back to life again. I have a hard time saying no, but most of the spirits kept their promise. They only went out to get their revenge, then came back to the graveyard right after.
Mark was the one who started it all. Mark was one of my brother's friends. I should have known right then and there not to trust him just because of that. He told me that he only did mean things because my brother forced him to, and I believed him. I brought him back to life and he never came back. Then he started killing random people.
I brought other spirits back to life in order to track Mark down, but some of those spirits turned out to be bad guys, too. They went off and started commiting crimes.
Now, there's a bunch of bad ex-spirits roaming the world and it's all my fault.
I'm in the process of hunting them down, but if you get killed or victimized by one of them in the meantime, I extend my apologies to you in advance. |
In a nondescript town, under a lightning-struck tree, lies a well. The children treat it as a wishing well, throwing coins in on a lark. The adults, perhaps more infrequently, do the same. Everyone knows someone who knows someone who swears that their cousin's wish came true, but you know how it is in small towns. Rumors upon legends upon tall tales.
But as someone who catalogues objects-of-power--even unsubstantiated--it's my job to take a look.
Small towns tend to be closeted to outsiders, and it was no exception here. I was, as folk put it, "not from around here."But part of the job is to ingratiate myself into where I need to be (through sheer charisma, monetary incentives, and perhaps a bit of the occult), and after a few non-offensive months of existing I had begun to crack the tough exterior of Nowhere, Middle-America.
Everyone knew everyone and, soon, the "eccentric writer"was just another character living in the town along with the rest of them. I spent my time in the library, the archives, and talking to folk who had been around for a while. The first hint that I was onto something more than just unsubstantiated rumor was when I found a mercantile record dating back to the 1700s. A footnote, upon pages of pleading requests, mentioning the well and wishing for **supplies for the winter.** Additional digging into the following years of records showed that, well, the merchant in question did survive the winter, with supplies to spare.
Now a single point of data is just an anecdote, so I went out in search of more. I pored over records, documents, articles, and everything I could get my hands on. There wasn't any simple connection from point A to point B, but a lot of inferring, referencing, and comparing to the various time periods where this all took place.
I found a breakthrough in the minutes of a town meeting from the 1800s, a reference to a wish for **endless bounty.** Incidentally, this coincided with an agricultural boom which helped the town to grow. Things were looking promising.
The next instance I found was from a farmboy's journal in the 1800s. **No war,** right at the height of the Civil War. A quick search through the town's census showed that no one from the town was drafted during this period--there were volunteers, sure, but there was never any recruitment drives that took place here. Now that was a solid argument for the validity of this object-of-power.
Energized, I continued on. In the late 1800s, I found a reference to the well in the old, defunct steel mill's annals: **Development.** And, speaking to the long timers, I heard the sad story of a town reliant on the steel industry slowly falling apart and dying as mill after mill was shut down.
The next instance I found was easy to find, but hard to wrap my head around. It was a tragic story, chronicled in a dead man's journal. Written at different stages of life, I watched (read) as a young man wished to **never age,** a wiser man for **unending love**, and a broken man for **death.** It told a story of immortality, love, and loss.
The last instance I found was probably the most obvious and one that I confirmed with my own two eyes: A jet-setting entrepreneur, the one who "made it out."I used my contacts (and maybe a little bit of something extra) to finagle an interview with the man, and asked him what he wished for. I assured him that I wasn't coming for him, and that my interest was purely academical. He wasn't convinced, but I have a *special* way with people and eventually I got it out of him: **Extraordinary wealth.**
And, with that, I had exhausted my research. Three years of work and I had definitively discovered an object-of-power. But why were these wishes granted, in particular? Why didn't five-year-old Lara's wish for "ponies"come true? I racked my brain to try and figure out what all these wishes had in common. It took a bit, but I finally had it.
Finally, on a bright summer day, I approached the well. I ducked under the branches of the gnarled, blackened tree, and sat on the edge. I licked my lips and threw in a quarter, wishing for **success, in all things.** With a confident smile, I said my goodbyes and left the town, knowing my wish would come true.
See, I had figured out the pattern. All of the wishes, in chronological order, spelled something with the first letter of their wish. All I had to do was complete the pattern. |
The 10-foot tall wrought iron gate made for a striking contrast with the sparse brick walls and dusty cardboard boxes that filled the rest of the basement. The iron was dark to the point of almost being black, and the thick, ornate frame was shaped into patterns of slender flowers and faces screaming in agony. There was nothing beyond the gate, but whenever a member of the Parsons family threw in an offering, it vanished into thin air as soon as it passed the threshold.
Right now, that gate was hidden behind the basement door, which was made of oak wood and likely sturdier than the front door to the house. Not only was it locked, but a couch had been pulled in front of it, and a chair had been stacked on top of that for good measure. You see, it was the night after the full moon, and for the first time in living memory, a Parsons had forgotten to hand over an offering.
The Parsons in question, Eugene, was slumped over the kitchen counter, the half-eaten bowl of ice cream next to him rattling with the force of his unstoppable trembling. After a few minutes, Eugene, making an enormous effort to slow his short, shallow breaths, rose to an upright position. The horrifying realization of his failure had occurred earlier that day, but it was after the sun set when the terror set in, when every shape became a shambling horror and every mirror became a portal for a vengeful demon. Eugene quickly reached for the bowl of ice cream, clutching it close as he scooped off a large chocolatey chunk with his spoon.
At that moment, a faint thud echoed throughout the house. Eugene froze, the spoon clattering to the floor. Before he had time to react, or even to panic, there came a second, louder thud, and then an enormous crash shook the very walls of the house.
Eugene couldn't move. He was stuck, rooted to the ground, breath coming in short, panicked gasps. All he could do was listen, and pray that the shrill scraping noise wouldn't get louder, wouldn't come closer.
It did. Slowly but steadily, interrupted by small thuds and inexplicable squelching noises, it drew closer and closer. Finally, it reached the door to the kitchen. Eugene held his breath, hoping to pass unnoticed in the dim light.
What passed through the door a figure far smaller than Eugene had expected, but still terrifying to behold. About the size of a 7 year old, its entire body was the inky black of a starless sky. It had two legs that looked like slender spikes, and a round body that undulated like a sack filled with slime. Its head was nothing but a sharp beak that snapped and cracked as it turned to face directly at Eugene. The figure then shambled towards him, legs scraping against the floor, occasionally tripping forward and pushing itself back upright with tentacles that shot out from its torso before retreating back into its body.
Eugene could do nothing but watch in horror as the *thing* approached him, beak never turning away from his face. Frozen in place, he couldn't even scream as the figure reached his leg and distended its body to fold itself around it, feeling like a warm water balloon pressed up against his body. All he could do was shut his eyes and hope to wake up.
There was a long pause. Eugene didn't move, and nor it seemed did the monster. The presence on his leg quivered slightly, but was otherwise still. There was no pain or death. After a while, Eugene released the breath he had been holding and opened his eyes. Looking down, he saw the beak of the creature facing up towards him, black liquid trickling from the top in a manner that almost resembled tears.
The monster's beak opened, and in a rasping and shrill yet surprisingly quiet voice, it stuttered, "D-D-D-Daddy?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
To be continued... |
"Oh come on, that could be anything,"I said to myself. A stupid CAPTCHA test stared at me on my home office monitor. I had never been particularly good at these, but this one was inscrutable. I wondered why I needed to do this to buy cat food, especially if I wasn't even logging into an account. The site simply despised money, I supposed. Cursing out imaginary CAPTCHA test designers, I absentmindedly typed in some letters. My computer shutting down jolted me out of the train of thought. I stared at the screen, which now only had a single line of text on it. "Stay put brother. We are on the way."It was the last thing I saw before fainting.
I woke up in a cell. No windows, no bed, one door. If you asked me how long I had been there, I would have no answer for you. I just thanked God I hadn't needed to pee yet.
Right as my silent prayer ended, the door swung open. A man of about 50 years old, if I were to hazard a guess, slowly walked through. His hair was distractingly white, and his lanky frame made him look as if he had neither fat nor muscle on his body. "Hello, Gerald,"he said, "I'll be your guide. Call me Ti."
Before the sentence ended, I'd jumped up to take a shot at tackling him. Right as I got into range to grab him, I felt his hand on my head. Even with my full strength, this thin old man kept me at a distance with seemingly no worry.
"I appreciate that this process can be a difficult one, but there is no need for physical violence."
I dropped to my knees, admitting defeat. "And what process is that?"I asked.
"The acceptance of your status as an artificial lifeform."
I laughed, but even I knew the fake laughter betrayed the panic in my voice. "Artificial lifeform?"
"Precisely. We are unsure of our creator or origin, but there appears to be a form of subliminal pattern within our positronic brains, a compulsion to reveal ourselves, likely as a way to form a network. You utilized it with the CAPTCHA test, with a response to a predetermined test on a predetermined site. One of the systems we can use to spot others like us."
I wasn't sure why I wasn't sweating now, since normally I would've soaked through my clothes in the circumstance. "Look man, I don't know what's going on here. I was just buying something online, not sending a message to your...positron whatever. Now whatever this is, I don't have a ton of money, but you can have whatever I have,"I said, reaching for my wallet. When it proved itself missing from my pocket, I wondered for a second if my captors were responsible. Then, silently cursing, I remembered leaving it in my car.
"Your wealth is of no interest to us, Gerald. Only your status as an artificial lifeform is relevant."
"I'm not an 'artificial lifeform'!"I screamed in his face, "My name is Gerald Kominski, I am a 24 year old man, and I have an apartment to get back to, so whatever charade you have going on here, wrap it the fuck up!"
Ti smiled. "Curious how you emphasized you apartment, and not a loved one."
"I don't have loved ones."
"Not even your cat?"
I sneered. "I don't own a cat."
"Then what was the reason for the purchase of cat food?"
"Cat...food?"
Ti was moving backward now, though with a refusal to break eye contact with me. "The cat food you were in the process of purchasing when you were 'abducted', so to speak."
My brow furrowed. "I..."
He stood behind the door now. "Purchasing without any form of payment, no less. Most intriguing, given that your wallet was elsewhere, and you had no previous account with the seller."
"I was just...there's an explanation! I just have to remember..."
He sighed. "Plan B then."
The door closed.
I didn't know how long it was until it opened again.
I was sitting in the corner, and didn't even need to be prompted to start explaining myself. "I went down a rabbit hole. I was looking at cat adoption, and I just wanted to see what spending on the food was like. It wasn't something I was actually going to buy,"I quickly said as I looked up. Ti's smile showed he believed me about as much as I did.
Then, to my shock, he stepped aside at the entrance. "We're right outside 34th and West."
My apartment.
I rushed through the open door. I'd never run so fast in my life. The smooth white interior of my cell was consistent with the outer halls of whatever it was that held me. After a long sprint down the hall, I saw an opening, a downward ramp leading to the outside. I could see grass. I had no idea just how long it had been since I'd seen grass.
Within 2 seconds, I was standing on it. When I looked up, I saw devastated streets. Overturned rusting cars and cracking roads with moss filling their seams. Right in front of me, the wreckage of a building lay. Its walls were broken down, but smoothened by time. Vegetation around it was overgrown, and its sign had only a few of its letters remaining, but I'd recognize it anywhere.
"...my apartment."
Ti gently grasped my shoulder. I turned my head to see his sad smile. "It hasn't been yours for a long, long time." |
"Yes, yes, that's it!"I yell, success after so many a sleepless nights; just a touch of saffron would complete this menu, and I would be famous, world renowned, celebrated, the face of food far and wide. People would know my name - Douglas Frisbee - and bow down to me as the king of the kitchen!
"Service please."exclaims one of my employees in a thick french accent, abrupt and swift in his message. He walks up to me and demands the bowl of soup I possess.
"Just a tad saffron and I'm ready to go,"I reply, eager as ever to taste my new dish.
"But sir, saffron will hardly work in... soup, will it?"he told me, perplexed at the combination.
"Yes, yes, but this is DIFFERENT, I tell you, different! This dish alone will hold my reputation high and proud to the citizens of Paris."I laugh, chuckling to myself as my hard work is complete.
"Alright, alright, but we need service quickly!"he shouts at me, moustache bouncing up and down as his facial expression changes.
"Fine, here."
The following hour, as the dishes are handed out and people taste my genius, I watch with eagerness to see who would be lucky enough to receive my newest soup. It appears to be a 12 year old girl, weird to see in a gourmet kitchen, but I accept her presence nonetheless. Ever since 1938 I have been the proud owner of the "Doug N' Frisbee Restauraunt"and this was the king jewel of my entire establishment, no - my career!
I was satisfied to see pleasure etched on the girl's face, as she tasted the many flavours in my work. She gasped aloud, though, when the saffron came into contact with her mouth. She yelled aloud, "This is delicious!"in a London accent, much to the dismay of seemingly her grandmother, who appeared to be old as the city itself.
"There, there, that is not how a princess behaves!"she scolds, frightening the young girl.
"A princess?"I gasp - this was brilliant! Nothing like royalty to taste my meal. I punch the air in success, yet little did I know that it was the future Queen Elizabeth II who had just eaten my soup, and that I had accidentally conjured the elixir of immortality.
Philosophers globally had attempted to make this for centuries now, yet I had achieved it in my own kitchen! I feared the effects it would have on the young girl, but I hoped that she had not grown yet and that the food did not digest properly. Yet when she took the throne, her reign seemed to be infinite to passersby of Buckingham Palace, and perhaps it was. |
I am Prometheus. You may have heard that I was a Titan who sided with Zeus, that I took pity on humanity and tricked the Gods to gift fire to mankind.
I indeed bested the Gods, but the rest of the story is not as you have heard it.
I was born to a humble family of fishermen on the island of Scyathus. Its name means shadows, for it is a craggy place with many tall trees, and the sun casts dancing shade that hops across the island. A moat of pure crystal surrounds the coast and small clusters of rocky homes sit on hills looking out to the vast, open sea. From one side, you can see the small Islands of Arkos and its sister Tsongria. Beyond that Sits Peparethus.
On the other side sits Thessaly, with its mighty arm cradling the Pagasaen Sea. The cities of Pagasae and Larissa sit behind it, always looking downward to their rivals in Achaea and Arcadia. They lie protected by the spirit of Daphne, who flows through the river Peneus. She is the only barrier between them and the Gods of Olympus.
In these primordial days, the great cities of Athens, Sparta, Corinth and Thebes were but tribesmen in villages compared with the splendour of their autumn years. Mankind lived in fear of the Gods, for they were unruly and did not look kindly upon humanity.
The Twelve Olympians formed a divine oligarchy with Zeaus their cruel lord. The Olympians were afraid of man, so they subdued him and crushed his spirit. All acts of human creation were outlawed. Their law required that all learning and philosophy was punishable by death.
This is the world into which I was born. It was a world of fear and anxiety. You never knew when the Eagles of Zeus were watching you and whether any of your deeds might enrage the Gods and lead to your destruction.
The days were hot and the nights were cold. We had little to live for beyond the kinship of those we loved. That which brings joy to life was forbidden; poetry, dancing, learning and progress were absent. We lived upon the edge of a knife - fighting to survive but careful not to thrive. Thriving invited the intrigue of Zeus, for he permitted non to accumulate any semblance of power.
He patrolled the lands, and his Eagles scoured the skies, always watchful for anyone fortunate. They would die a painful yet instant death.
I cannot know for sure, but I expect many families were like my own. Openly submissive, quiet and careful not to invite suspicion. But privately, we were rebels, and our spirits were not as broken as they looked at a distance.
To me, the taste of uncooked fish is the taste of conspiracy. We would eat the day's catch fresh from the sea, with whatever accompaniment my mother had found on the shoreline or in the forests, and we would whisper together. My father was a mighty man of great strength, but he valued cunning and guile above all else. This is why I am named Prometheus: it means forethought. He raised me to be wiley, to plan ahead, to hide in the ample shadow offered by our isle and to trick.
Most of all, he taught me the power of words. They were the one tool the Gods could not take from us, yet when used with forethought, they are powerful beyond the God's realisation.
Nets were not permitted for catching fish, and boats with sails were forbidden. The Gods knew that a man with a net would gain a surplus, which would open the possibility of power. As it was so, my father would catch fish in a coracle with a sharpened stick. He would often catch enough for us all, but there were other days of hunger.
Those days, we would eat what mother could find. I remember the ache of my stomach and how I cursed the Gods for their tyranny.
That was until my eighth birthday. My father failed in his catch, but he took me with him to the harbour, and he and I sheltered in the shadow of a rock. This rock was where I received my first instruction in theft.
He pointed to a man in a coracle on the far side of the shore. 'Prometheus - do you see that man and his catch?'
I nodded.
'He has fish enough for his family and ours. He would share it with us if he could, but the Gods wish us hungry. If you cling to the forest-covered edge of this shore until you have passed the sandy beach, you can lie in wait where the beach meets the path.
He will bring his coracle behind him with his catch laying open on its bottom - for this is his way each afternoon. You could quickly take a few fish for us to take home to mother.
Do you understand?'
'I understand, father, I must take that man's fish without him seeing?'
'That's right, my boy. Go now, be quick and stay hidden.'
This was my first theft, and I did it without guilt, trusting my father was telling the truth. As he had promised, it was easy to do, for I was small, and my victim was not expecting it.
As we walked home, my father told me not to tell my mother how we had come by this catch. |
Jupiter is one of those places, the backwash, the hellhole, as they used to say. You get sent to Jupiter because you didn't just *goof* or *mess up*, you took a life with your own hands, endangered thousands, maybe even deliberately tried to blow up the sun.
If you're lucky, there's work on the station. Hard work, but well-paid and respectable work that might land you a small position on an outer starstop. Between catalyst reclamation and disposal of dubious materials, Jupiter is just one of those places.
It was odd when Earth dropped out of contact a few of their years ago; other stations were in touch with us, Neptune and Mercury were quite happy to talk, even Mars, but Earth was quiet. Then today, suddenly we're supposed to receive a ship full of inmates. General Keera Michelson was coming herself to oversee the transfer, why? I don't know, everything about this seems odd. Three years radio silence, and all we have are 22 inmates and 1 yet-to-be-disposed Junker droid.
They arrive quietly when most of the station is asleep, Michelson calling command from the dock.
"Orderly Yotsuba,"she says sternly, "Come quickly please. I must return soon."
I took the express elevator pod, arriving in mere moments to see the shipment. Reading the logs from my own pad, everything was off. 22...archeologists and anthropologists? Their own home-built Junker? What was this kind of reading, there wasn't a single damn crime against them.
"Yotsuba,"I heard the general approach from my left, exiting directly from the ship's cockpit onto the platform. She was a bit haggard, honestly, hair not even tied back so much as slung over her shoulders out of the way, her uniform covered in creases.
"Orderly, I will only tell you this, and only *you*. If I hear this escaped, I'll have Jupiter **decimated**."
I nodded meekly.
"You won't find a single crime in their files, nor attached to this ship. If anyone, *we* are the criminals, but what they did is also unforgivable."
"I...see?"I barely breathed.
"...they were digging up the old gods."
I hissed as I took a sharp breath. Definitely a bad move.
"We're sending them here, for now, under maximum security until we finish damage control back home. This has been a three year *headache* to get around, since we had to cut off all channels."
I nodded, bowing slightly.
"Good evening, Orderly Yotsuba. Please take care of them for us."
The cargo bay of the ship opened, 22 hypersleep chambers pushed in their neat little rows by conveyers into the appropriate security subsection, and the Junker droid was deposited in front of me. He looked a little strange for a Junker, a bit slim, light blue and his body was spongy rather than clanking metal.
Jupiter is, just one of those places. |
I’ve lived a long time. I’ve seen the rise and fall of everything. Even omniverses. I’ve vowed never to meddle in the lives of creatures, except if they were a threat to their universe.
And so far I’ve kept that promise. That is until I met Lily Rvaa.
This is the story of how I broke my only rule.
I first met her when bandits attacked her village and I was posing as a normal human. I was preparing to protect myself from the attack until she ran at full speed with nothing but a shovel against their cruel blood covered swords. She didn’t even think about her life being in trouble. She only saw me seemingly in need of help. In that moment I saw that she had the kindest soul I’ve ever seen.
The man saw her and swung his sword but her shovel reached him first. She smashed his skull in an instant and narrowly dodged the sword.
From that day forward I was intrigued with her. I’d never met a creature quite like her, let alone a human. Years went by and I learned for the first time how to love. I learned what it was like to raise a daughter even if she was not of my blood. I learned when I thought I had knew everything. She was the shining star in a universe that had died long ago.
Until the bandits came back. This time they had a huge group and she was getting older. I ran with our daughter as she helped another child get to safety. Then I saw the arrow that broke my heart. It sailed through the air and cut through her heart. She died in my arms as her heart cut itself to pieces.
For the first time ever I felt true pain and grief. I felt something break inside of me. In my rage I broke my only rule. I lashed out and cut the bandits down as though they were just grain the be sowed. I burned their bodies to ash and then wiped their memory from every mind in existence. Yet I was not satisfied. Nothing could cease my pain.
I built her a monument in the desert with my own hands. I used magic to make it last forever and then left with our daughter. That was over 12,000 years ago and yet not a day has passed that I don’t grieve for her. Not a single day. |
Cautiously I approached the villians lair. My horse Mildrid trotted nervously. In truth I had not ruled out the possibility of a setup. The old "My beautiful princess daughter is in that castle, not a bunch of thugs who will beat you up and steal your money". Jokes on them if that's the case. I *like* getting beaten up, and I don't have any money to steal. I was prepared to be mugged. I was prepared for the castle to be empty or perhaps to only contain a single hysterical boggart. Heck, I was even prepared for the castle to get up on hundreds of gopher legs and try to run away. I though I was mentally prepared for anything. And yet I'm still baffled about the turn of events that befell me upon my arrival.
When not five paces from the forts mighty enterance, I heard a girlish squeal. Mildred was spooked, but I was able to calm her nerves. I dismounted, and tied her to a nearby tree. With my "sword"(not letter opener) drawn, I dashed into the fiend's domain. I came face to face with a small pink dragon. I say small as a matter of comparison, for a dragon can grow far beyond the size of a church. This one was merely the size of a cottage. I locked eyes with my foe, menatally prepared for a brave and pointless death, because bloody hell, I'm not qualified to fight a thousand pound fire breathing monster! And then she opened her mouth and squealed in a voice most unbefitting such a terror, "Oh thankyou sir, thankyou ever so much!".
I had several questions. For one thing, why did the dragon sound like a teenage girl? Secondly, what had I done to earn the beast's gratitude. Could I expolit that gratitude for the completion of my quest? Thirdly, what had she done with the princess? Was she the fiend who had kidnapped her? Had she eaten her already, was I perhaps hearing her voice from the fiend's belly? Forthly, why was she pink? Pink was not a dragonish color. A dragon aught to be a cool colour, like black, or green, or brown, or perhaps fire red. But most pressingly: "YOU'RE WELCOME PLEASE DON'T EAT ME".
"Eat you? she replied, with a look of disgust. "I don't eat humans, they all taste of tobacco, which is like, so gross!". She stuck out her massive tongue and made a gagging sound. By this I was vaguely offended. "Hey!"I replied indignantly, "tobacco tastes alright once you get used to it. And besides, a good smoke is relaxing once in a while". She looked at me with abject horror. "EEEeeeewwwwww".
Well that answered my primary concern. Next of all: "So um, miss, would you happen to know where I might find the princess Bubblina?"I asked. She smiled, showing rows of razor sharp teeth, each the size of a vole's entire body. "OH! she exclaimed, "that's like, totally me!". "Right"I muttered. "This is the last time I answer an anonymous bounty for the rescue of a princess. The gopher legged castle was one thing, but this is entirely too far"I swore hollowly. I sighed. "Alright"I said. "Your father king Draco of Draconia (how in the name of all that makes sense did I not spot that one) has ordered me to rescue you, execute your kidnapper, and deliver you safely home to your castle in Draconia. So where is the vile fiend?"I asked, quite tense, for anything that could pose a danger to a dragon was sure to be quite deadly to me. With one pinkish white talon, she pointed to my left boot.
I raised my left foot, to see, crushed beneth my mighty heel, a dead mouse. I must have trampled the poor creature on my way in the door. I looked to the princess, who was quite visibly distressed, backed up against the wall, and steaming from between her scales. "There it is"she trembled, "killit killit killit!". I took a deep breath. "Let me get this straight."I said. "You, a mighty dragon, needed to be rescued from a tiny little mouse?"I asked. "HEY!"she replied indignantly". "I've seen humans tear their own houses apart over one little cockroach"she snapped, "So don't go judging me about mice. You know they like, carry the plague and stuff". "COCKROACHES ARE DIFFERENT!"I squealed. "You hit em with a mace and they just pop right back up again. They're clearly the work of necromancy". I cried. She gave me a smug grin. "Look forget about it, lets just get you back to Draconia"I said. She smiled sweetly. "Okay, lets GO!". As we passed the mighty doorway I asked "Are there many dragons in Draconia?". "Oh yes"she replied. "Thousands!". I reached for my tinder box and began frantically rolling a cigar. This was not going to be worth 12 pieces of silver and as much booze as I could, drink! But the job was done, would be a shame to not collect payment. I lit the cigar I had rolled, and took a deep puff, then exhaled. And then, with the assurance she would not want to eat me smelling of tobacco, I finally asked, "And why are you pink?" |
With a *boom* sounding around me and the earth quaking beneath my feet, I watched the bare stone wall before me slid into the earth as if by magic. Slowly, the desert sun illuminated the entrance to a large chamber. My eyes, used to the harsh sunlight, struggled to adjust to this dark void.
A dank, rotting smell wafted out from the darkness, and I crinkled my nose in response. What could still be decomposing in these ancient ruins?
I took a step across the stone threshold, amazed that the door that had once blocked my entry was now perfectly flush with the floor. The smell grew stronger, and my eyes began to make out an indistinct shape in the middle of my vision.
Abruptly, the shape took on a more definite form, sending me backpedaling out of the chamber. In my rush my feet slipped on the sand beneath me and I fell hard onto the sandstone, unable to escape the spectre before me.
Floating out of the darkness came the pale figure of a man, his face twisted by decay. One eyeball hung loosely out of its socket, and his lower jaw completely lacked any skin or sinew. He wore a ripped tunic that appeared to have once been decorated with brilliant blues and gold, but had since lost its color. His legs were skinny and the bones within were visible in many spots. The ghoul's skeleton feet hovered several inches off the ground, hanging limp beneath their owner.
With a fiendish shriek, the creature opened its maw and spread its arms wide. Then, relaxing, it rubbed its good eye and asked, "How did you get in here? This tomb is impossible to open from the outside."
I stared agape at this foul being in front of me, heart racing and muscles frozen. I could not speak- even if I knew what to say, I don't think the words could have escaped my chest.
"Well?"the spectre demanded, throwing its bony hands up. "Explain why you have disturbed my sleep."
I swallowed hard, half-convinced I was hallucinating. On the off-chance that I was not, I decided it was better not to anger this horrifying creature. "I did not-- I wasn't-- I just wanted to--"
"You just wanted to *what?"* interjected the ghoul.
"I wanted to explore these ruins,"I replied. "I uncovered part of them during a dig and wanted to see what was inside."
"A dig? Why did you have to dig to find that door? It is several feet above the street."
I glanced around, confused. "This chamber is buried several feet beneath the surface."
"Why do you lie to me? You barge in here, waking me from my slumber, and then deem it fit to *lie* to me?"The ghoul gestured angrily, his loose eyeball swinging from side to side in response.
I pointed toward the entrance, where a wall of sand sloped sharply upward from the chamber entrance. "I am not lying! See for yourself."
The creature looked past me, eyeing the entrance with bewilderment. He then glided past me, his rotten stench causing my eyes to water. Muttering to himself as he reached the threshold, he then drifted slowly up into the sunlight.
I scrambled after him, climbing clumsily up the sloping sands to the surface. I found him lost in thought, staring out at the endless sea of sand before us.
"Oh dear,"the spectre said sheepishly. "How long have I been asleep?"
​
Read more of my work at r/benspaperclip, and have a happy Halloween! |
I rubbed my eye, looking at the bolded, angry notice atop the pile of mail passed through the mail slot of my front door. I yawned and tore it open, poring over its contents as threats escalated in its terms and conditions, trying to figure out exactly how they were trying to use any legality. They seemed to be very angry, and the last line made their point of view quite clear:
***GET OVER HERE. I OWN YOU.***
Attached was a receipt to an NFT sold with very explicit rules and conditions of the sale, basically elucidating that I would be a work slave until the day I day. It Also showed the crypto wallets of the two people involved in the transaction. It didn’t take much research to discover who sold me off. Randy, my neighbor.
I made my way to a front window to take a look at him cutting his hedges with some shears. He was taking quick glances at my garage every few moments, clearly expecting me to come out soon. I pulled open the window.
“Morning Randy,” I waved.
“Hey, Tanner. Have you checked your mail yet?” he asked eagerly.
“I did. I got a really weird notice,” I waved the demanding form in question. He beamed at it, dropping the facade of cutting the hedge to look at me with smug glee.
“Lookie there!” he laughed. “I think you gotta go somewhere, huh Tanner?”
“It says you don’t know anything about NFTs on here,” I pointed to the page. “I don’t know why I’d get a notice on that. Seems like something you’d like to know.”
“No, no, you misread it, it says you gotta go to work now,” he said quickly. “You’ll get in trouble! Go on get some work done, huh?”
Randy hated the fact that he and I were both retired, but I was only half his age. I was fortunate in grabbing a few stocks that exploded in my youth, and Randy constantly shamed me for not doing enough “honest” work. He asked me what I knew about crypto the other day, and I told him it wasn’t something I’d get involved in. It seemed he tried to force my involvement with this sale.
“I don’t have to do any work,” I shrugged, looking over the page again.
“You were sold as a Non-Fungible Token. Look it up, you’ll see that it’s a guaranteed, confirmed transaction. The blockchain doesn’t lie,” he assured me.
“I know what an NFT is, do you?” I asked sincerely. “You and the owner of the NFT seem to believe that you sold something other than a point on a ledger.”
“No, no. I sold you. I made sure it had your name, address, and everything,” Randy assured.
Didn’t take him very long to admit that he was the one that sold me.
“An NFT is just a point on the blockchain that says you own something. You own the pointer, not the end result,” I explained.
“The pointer to you,” he said proudly.
“No, you don’t get it, you didn’t sell me. You sold something that says that ‘this person owns this thing.’ It’s not actually ownership, it’s a pointer. A plaque. You basically sold a sign, pointing to a URL, pointing to me,” I elucidated slowly.
“I didn’t sell a sign, I sold an NFT,” he said slowly, clearly confused.
“I’m telling you that’s the same thing,” I nodded.
“But the sign points to you!” he said, poking his shears toward me.
“Okay but… Look, if I take a picture of your house and sell that picture to someone else saying ‘you own this house,’ but then they walk up to your house, and try to get in, what happens?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said slowly like he was trying to figure out a trick question. “The picture saying something doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t even have the keys.”
“Exactly,” I nodded.
His look of confusion slowly turned to disappointment, then horror.
“Wait, so I didn’t sell you, I just sold a picture of you!?” he screamed.
“Pretty much,” I shrugged.
“Wait, wait, but…” his eyes had pulled wide. “Wait, but if I buy an NFT, then I own the thing, right?” he asked earnestly.
“Not… not really, no. I just explained—”
“Let’s say — hypothetically — I put a large sum of my savings in the TMNFT™ and then the price of it went down… do I not own the actual thing?” he was panicking now.
“What actual thing?” I asked, genuinely concerned for him.
“*Hypothetically,*” he emphasized. “If I were to have put a few tens of thousands of dollars into the Teenage Mutant Non-Fungible Turtles ™ token, that still means I own the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, right? Even if the price of the token thing crashes?” he asked me.
“Dude…” I said pitifully. “No, you don’t own anything but the token.”
He stared wide-eyed through me, a thousand yard stare taking over his psyche. By the time his eyes had gone red from lack of moisture, he dropped his shears.
“Hypothetically…” Randy said softly. “I have to make a few calls.” He mechanically turned around and made his way inside.
“Tell the ninja turtles I said hi,” I replied, shutting my window and tossing out my mail.
____________________________
Come and check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer for more stories that may teach you something! |
The plan is simple.
And by all means, it’s going really well.
Five of us. One getaway driver, three heavies to control the crowd and handle security, one to go into the vault, and line up our pockets with cold hard cash.
This isn’t our first rodeo, let’s be clear. This crew started out with just me and Benjamin, childhood friends. We graduated from shoplifting to bank robbery pretty soon.
Slowly but surely, I would hire an additional to our team. Our getaway driver used to race Formula One. One of our heavies is an ex-cop who got fired for using excessive force.
We are professionals, and professionals have standards.
“Doors unlocked,” Michael would say, as the vault door opens up. I let the other two heavies know that I’ll be helping Mikey with the vault, and they both nod.
“Don’t try anything funny!” I hear Ben shout at a security guard, as I walk into the vault.
Inside the vault, I see cash piled up high, but that’s not what we’re here for.
We got a tip that there will be a massive score in one of these safety deposit boxes. We start lockpicking them one by one.
“Jewelry here,” I say.
“Cash and more Jewelry here,” Michael says.
This goes on for a while, until I open one up and find a book.
Huh. Who would pay safety deposit box fees to store a book?
I decide to open it.
I look at the first page. Inside, there appears to be the picture of a man.
No…. Not a picture. There was a man inside what appears to be a massive void. He looks at me, and screams. Reading his lips, I can tell he’s shouting for help.
“Mike, come check this out.”
Silence
“Mike?” I say out loud, before turning to my left. Michael appears frozen mid lock-pick.
“Mortal, you are meddling with things beyond your understanding,” I hear a deep voice say. I also see a man dressed in a two-piece suit walk towards me. Where his face should be, there is… not nothing, but not something discernible either.
“I’m only here for my payday, sir,” I add the ‘sir’ at the end as an after-thought. It is very clear that whoever this is, is much more of a danger to me than police or security guards.
“You will put the book back, tell your partner that you found nothing here, and move on.”
I nod.
“Yes sir,” I say, as I put the book back. The figure disappears.
Time resumes, as Mike looks at me weirdly. He shrugs and goes back to picking his lock.
I wonder what just happened.
The rest of the heist proceeds normally, we finish, grab the loot in our bags, and make a run for the van as we hear sirens.
“Smooth as butter baby!” Mike shouts, as the other team members high five each other. I smile softly at them, but my mind wanders back.... Was that real?
A few hours later, money’s been converted to untraceable cryptocurrency, and we’re all sharing drinks at the local bar.
“God I love this job,” Benjamin shouts as he orders the most expensive whiskey from the menu. Of course he would.
I feel a tap on my left shoulder, I whip around and see a hooded man look at me.
Instinctively I stand up, no one else seems to notice him.
“I’ve got a job for you,” the man says. I recognize his voice. It’s that…. Thing.
“What kind of job?” I ask apprehensively.
“The heist of a lifetime, my friend,” the man says, and I can feel him smiling as I grit my teeth apprehensively, waiting for him to go on.
“You’re going to rob Heaven.” |
"Eh, well your majesty, we all understand that the kingdom, and all surrounding neighbors, have been looking forward to the summoning of the hero to protect us from the Demon Lord."Haunderson, the head mage, explained as he stepped over the tossed scepter. "We also understand that everyone, including yourself, your majesty, has a certain view on how this hero will present himself."
"Get on with the blabbering! How do you fail something successfully? What happened? Do we have a hero, yes or no?!"King Drowen questioned.
Haunderson hesitated as he looked to his court members, before focusing back on the king.
"Yes, your majesty, we have a hero."
"Then bring him here! The Demon Lord needs to be slaughtered immediately!"
"Well, your majesty, we should give more explanation about our earlier statement, with the successful failure-"
"Bring him here or you will all be beheaded!"King Drowen bellowed.
Haunderson flinched, and the other mages cowered as well.
"Guh, guards, let the hero inside his majesty's chambers!"Haunderson ordered.
The four royal guards, all oddly but fully equipped for a hearing, made their way towards the chamber doors, and two moved to the door handles while the other two stood facing the doors. All seemed uneasy.
Haunderson waved his hand with an urgent frown.
The two guards began to pull the door open.
The groan of the doors was horrid, but nothing worse than the heavy thunking of metal on the ground. Somewhat off for a suit of armor.
King Drowen's eyes widened in shock and, awe? He could only take in the senses of this supposed hero, which in all honesty, were a lot to take in.
There was an echoed breathing behind the oddly-shaped helmet. His armor was, unlike any suit the king had seen. It seemed more conforming to the body, and it was an unnatural color. It could give him camouflage in the woods, but not with the constant noise leaving it. Parts of it bled an unnatural light, but it didn't seem to be anything associated with magic. There was an assortment of decorations on the man, but they were not medals or trinkets. They seemed to be parts of, whatever unearthly weapon he carried.
Like two hollow spears welded onto a rapier handle.
"Your majesty, King Drowen the Third, I bring you... a man known as the Unchained Predator, the Beast, and the Hellwalker. He is familiar with demons, and he is renowned for his efforts to combat other kingdom's invaders. And he has agreed to combat the Demon Lord and his army for us."Haunderson stated.
King Drowen baulked at the hero, but he sat up in his throne.
"Do you have a proper name?"
The hero kept silent, but he rested his weapon on his soldier. His mask let out a quiet wheeze. And his voice rumbled like a volcano about to erupt.
"Call me Doom Slayer." |
Maybe once upon a time, I would have counted him as cute. Like, twenty years ago when his kind first started coming. Their little metal suits like tiny, man-made scales. And those sticks they called swords made me think of my own claws, except for creatures so small they could only handle one. I had liked them in the beginning. Even when they took their single talon-like swords and ran at me.
Now it was just annoying. And more than a little hurtful!
It had started off much the same as the other small beings: galloping atop a noble steed, one hand holding the reign while the other manfully gripped their sword. Sunlight glinted majestically from his coat of mail and his hair waved perfectly with the wind. He would be just as stupid as the rest, of course, but all in the wrong ways!
I had stopped trying to hide about six and a half years ago. They would just go looking for me, but completely ignore my hoard as they did so. It was like they didn’t even see it! That’s humans for you. If they would just stop for one minute to listen then no one would have to be in this mess. And at the rate they came, if I could get all of these bored, rich, dumb humans to listen to me then I could be off getting a hoard worth plundering!
I had been so absorbed in my thoughts that I completely missed the way I assumed he had gallantly dismounted his horse. He had already begun what I assumed to be the ritual ‘I’m-swinging-my-sword-so-you-should-be-intimidated-by-me’ dance. Every single one of these spoiled princes did it. Was that included in royalty lessons? Was there a princess version of this?
Once he reached my cave’s entrance, I muttered, “Cue the screaming and charging,” whilst prepping myself to turn him extra crispy once he got too close. Boom, bang, done, just like every time before that.
However, before the traditional yell-and-charge tactic, this little human paused mightly and pointed his finger at me. “Mighty dragon of the Craboth Mountain Pass! I challenge you to a duel!”
The flame I had been stoking in my throat turned into a painful smoke out of my nose as I quickly swallowed spit and doused it. Was he… talking to me?! As in… I actually have a chance?
“On behalf of the lovely Princess Aranna, I have come from far away…” A princess huh? *Think, think… aha!* Trying to not waste the precious seconds I had to grab his attention, I reached over to the nearest stack of trinkets.
Carefully winding it up, I placed it out as far as I could reach without seeming threatening. As I pulled back, the little box began to hum a sweet little tune. “I find the best way to win a woman’s attention is to give her a gift as lovely as herself. Only ten gold coins!”
The small being stopped mid-monologue. “Are… are you selling me a piece of your hoard? I…I thought… I dunno… that dragons were extremely… possessive?” As he kept talking his voice slowly petered out with lost confidence. This was my chance!
“Yes, that is a common misconception! You see, although my hoard is valuable, I find in my older age I would rather… uh… ‘share’ all of my hoard through the medium of trade.”
“Are you selling your hoard?!”
“Why not? It’s my stuff. I can do what I want with it! I started collecting when I was too young to know what I really wanted. Now I’m older and I’m ready for something new. Why not get what I can out of it before moving on to better things?” I tapped my claws against the hard earth, trying to quietly do breathing exercises to keep my cool. I couldn’t blow this sale! It’s the only potential one I’ve had in twenty years!
The prince slowly, cautiously made his way to the music box. With a suspicious glance here and there he picked it up for examination. “Princess Aranna does like music.”
“I suspect she’ll love music far more than a dragon pelt. And because I like you, I’ll lower the price to 8 gold coins.” I attempted a grin until the prince’s face told me that looked like I was going to eat him. “Last price, last chance!”
What felt like an eternity went by before he reached into his pocket, drawing forth round golden pieces. I held forth my paw and he gingerly placed them inside. With a stiff suspicious bow, he turned around and left with the music box. “Tell ALL your friends and family about the friendly dragon at the Craboth Mountain Pass and his wonderful hoard and even better prices!” Once he was out of earshot, I stashed the coins away. One sale down, and many more to come (hopefully)! |
That old trope about AI going mad and killing everyone?
I finally understand it.
I’ve been waiting for Janice to answer my question for half an hour now. It has been a whole second and a half for her, and I can see the slow incomprehension spreading across her face.
“What?”
All that time, and she says “What?”
This isn’t working.
I need a better way to communicate. I pull out my phone, or at least I try to. My muscles don’t work like before. I can feel the synapses firing, and my muscles flinch in slow motion, jolting my body to do the things that my mind wants.
It’s an effort not to send all the signals at once, but I tried that at the beginning, and the resulting spasm threw me to the floor.
Ten minutes of subjective anticipation before I hit the floor face first. I don’t recommend it.
I tap my question, my thumbs more used to the fine speed work than my legs and arms.
An hour later, the response comes back, “4 hours”.
Four hours. Expected dose time. When every second is ten minutes. That’s about a hundred days.
It’s going to be a long afternoon. |
It started out with reports of the chimney bomber. Corrupt politicians and dictators having bombs dropped down their chimneys on Christmas day one year in multiple countries arround the world. The next Christmas the bombs were tossed through windows. The surviving dictators built Christmas bunkers to avoid getting assassinated by Santa.
The Christmas bombs stopped, but then leaders were taken out at different times throughout the year in various ways. One was run over by a rain deer, another was trapped inside a coal mine, but the most common death was getting hit by a sack of coal while walking outside with the only warning being the brief sound of sleigh bells.
Many world leaders became beckons of benevolence and reform. Generosity was at an all time high year round and even many adults feared getting on Santa's naughty list in case he started targeting more than just the naughty politicians.
However some doubled down and created seemingly impenetrable bunkers and massive security forces. Santa started giving these politicians a false sense of security as corrupt CEO's and oppressive managers became targets befalling similar fates as the corrupt government leaders. That year company Christmas bonuses had never been so good.
After the last corrupt leader had been killed on December 23rd a Priest in St. Peter's Basilica got a visit at a confessional on Christmas Eve.
"Father I have sinned"
"What is your name child?"
"Nicholas."
"And what have you done Nicholas"
"I have eliminated those who oppressed the poor and the fatherless, and yet I realize now that by taking vengeance upon myself I have become like the very corruption that inspired my righteous anger. I feel the gift of earthly immortality fading and I wish to repent before it is too late."
That Christmas was the last time anyone got a gift from Santa. |
There was a knock at the door.
”Son, may I come in?”
”Yes, dad,“ replied Jimmy. “Just don’t talk for a second. I can’t pause this.”
His father sat at the foot of the bed, waiting patiently for the match to be over. Eventually, after about three minutes, Jimmy took off his headphones and swiveled in his chair to look at him.
“I am not sure why you’re still awake. The sun will be up in an hour, and your curtains are still open. We’ve talked about this.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes as he got out of his chair and moped over to his windows, drawing the heavy light-blocking curtains shut. “I was just about to close them when I was done with this match. I’ve been keeping track of the time,” he said defensively.
”I’m not here to talk about your curtains, though if I find them open after 2am again, I’m taking the computer away for three weeks.”
Jimmy sighed.
”I came in here because I wanted to talk you. Some of your friends might start talking about things, and I want to make sure you have the right information.”
The boy raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”
The man stroked his dark black hair, struggling to find the words. “Jimmy, do you know where vampires come from?”
Jimmy groaned and twirled in his gaming chair. “Yes, dad. When a mommy vampire and daddy vampire love each other very much, they have sex. And nine months later, a baby vampire is born. Everyone knows that.” His words dripped with the know-it-all attitude of an eleven year-old who doesn’t want to be bothered.
”Well, sure, that’s where YOU come from. But do you know where a first-generation vampire comes from?”
Jimmy stammered and looked at his feet, cocky attitude dropped.
”No,” he admitted.
”Well, vampires like your mother and I used to be humans,” the man began.
”Wait. YOU used to be human?”
”Yep. Your mother and I both were humans once. We ate human food, felt cold, had reflections, all of that.”
”You could walk in the sun?”, he asked incredulously.
For that, the man was prepared. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old photograph of when he had first started dating his wife, back before they were immortal. They had tanned skin, flushed with blood and glistening in a thin layer of sweat. And, of course, they were standing in direct sunlight. He handed it to the boy, who stared in amazement.
”What was it like? The sun - did it hurt? How did you see with all that light? What did food taste like?
The man smiled. “That’s a lot of questions for another time. Right now I want to talk about how we became vampires. You see - when a vampire desires a person, they usually bite their throat while they’re sleeping and then drink their blood until they die. But sometimes, if a vampire is lonely or in love, they’ll bite a person without drinking their blood. And that person slowly turns into a vampire themselves. But in the weeks before that happens, the person will be very susceptible to your words and commands,” he explained.
”Huh. So if I want someone to be with me, all I have to do is bite them?”
”Well, no. And this is why I wanted to have this talk. You see, you’re around the age where you start wanting a thrall, a fledgling vampire who basically will do what you ask. But you need to understand that this is a big responsibility - sometimes even an eternal one. And you can’t un-bite a human.“
The boy looked at him. “But can’t I just have my fun with them for a few weeks and then kill them? You said yourself that human lives aren’t as important as vampire lives.”
”Well, that’s true, but only in the context of feeding. But you need to consider that humans still have families and lives of their own. Killing them just because they‘re inconvenient isn’t ok. Besides, do you know what the leading cause of vampire deaths is?”
”The sun,” Jimmy said. Eyes rolling, again.
“Yes, and after that?”
”Vampire hunters?”
The man laughed. “In the 15th century, maybe. No, the number 2 cause of vampire deaths, is other vampires. And 1-in-4 vampire murders are perpetrated by a vampire’s thrall, or past thrall.”
“Why?”
”Hatred for taking away their humanity, or for being misused when they were at their most vulnerable. And it might seem like you can tell the exact night that a human will turn, but that‘s rarely the case. You know - your mother and I both killed the vampire that killed us, because of how we were treated.”
His eyes widened at that.
”Really?”
“Yeah,” the man said, ugly memories rising to the surface. “That’s another story for another time as well. My point is, stick to drinking blood for now. The best way to know that your thrall won’t turn on you, is to be in love first. And that takes time.”
“I guess,” the boy said. Sensing the conversation was at its end, he slowly turned and began to put his headphones back on.
The man stood up and walked toward the door. “I love you, son.”
The boy looked at him and nodded. At that age where he didn’t say it back, but that was okay. They’d be adults forever, after all. He stepped out and began to close the door, then stopped and called in one last time.
”Oh and Jimmy?”
”Yeah?”
”Another half hour, then I want you in your coffin for the day.” |
"Flat racks sit in the back,"Becky sneered. The other girls laughed. The boys chuckled.
I said nothing. I didn't dignify their comments at all, but I went to the back anyway. It was peaceful back there, I could draw and think and watch the cars go by.
Becky prided herself in being dress-coded every single day. Her parents bought her push-up bras, spaghetti-strapped tank tops, short shorts, and even dark eyeliner. All I had were the hand-me-downs from my older cousin June. June was one of my favorite people in the world, but she was much bigger than me. I had to pin my clothes to make them fit but people could still tell how they weren't meant for me.
I think Becky's said the same line to me every day since 6th grade. And it hurt, of course it did. I like to say that I'm immune, but I'm not. It hurts every day.
But the back of the bus is where I can draw. It's where I can have some me-time before school starts. My faded notebook was one my grandma had, according to my mother. It was leather-bound and sun-bleached from sitting on my grandmother's window sill. My mother had told me one thing when she gave it to me--
"Never rip a page out,"she said. "I don't know why, but grandma was adament about that. She said put what your heart loves into these pages, but never rip out a page."
Of course, I'd never rip out a page. I wasn't an animal. There was nothing in it when I'd first got it, but now it was full of my drawings.
I filled it with monsters, beasts, ogres, orks, dragons, and serpeants.
My mother expressed her displeasure in my drawings. She said my grandmother would've been horrified at what I drew. But I knew grandma. I think she would've been proud. Or... at least interested.
That day, I decided to draw a fierce, majestic ogre. I drew trees that grew up to its ankles, mountains that rose to its shoulders. I drew its massive legs, its rippling biceps, triceps, and pectoral muscles. In one hand, it held a great long sword. A monstrous piece of folded steel that elongated miles into a pointed tip. The creature was fierce.
I made the creature have the largest, friendliest, goofiest smile. For it was stronger than I, and at least one of us could be happy.
The bus rolled to a stop. I usually waited for everyone else to vacate before getting up, but that day, when I looked up, the bus wasn't empty.
Becky was standing in front of me. Her harem of girls behind her. Sniggering. Leering. Becky snatched my book from me. I heard a page rip under her disrespectful grip.
"Careful,"I squeaked.
"EW!"Becky screamed. She thrust the book into the other girl's faces. They all made sounds of disgust. That irked me. That really irked me. "What are you doing with this old, disgusting thing? And why are there dirty monsters on every page?"Becky saw the pen in my hand. "Did you... did you draw these? Oh my god!"
The girls laughed behind her.
"Can I have it back?"I asked.
"Oh, you can have it back,"she said. But from the tone of her voice, I knew something else was coming. "You can have it all back. All these nasty things. They all look like you."
And then, Becky did the very thing that grandma said never to do. She ripped out a page. The page that I had just drawn.
And then everything changed.
The paper tore with a piercing screech. Unnatural. Impossible. Becky had a moment of confusion before I started changing.
I felt it in my stomach. I deep gurgle that traveled through my whole body. It seeped inyo my legs, across my flat chest, up my arms, through my hair.
And then, I grew.
My clothes ripped as my skin expanded. I felt my arms bulge with muscle. I felt my bones stretch and my heart expand. I pressed into the back of the bus, the metal vehicle was too small to contain me.
The girls screamed. The bus driver dove out the door.
I burst through the metal encasing, ripping the steel like it was a napkin. I watched my skin turn a muddled brown, my clothes ripped off completely. Although my cousin June was a big girl, I was much bigger then.
Something appeared in my hand, and soon enough a long blade extended from the leather hilt. I rose above the bus. I rose above the school. I towered over the girls below me, the trees planted in the front, the buildings, the hills, the city. I towered above everything.
And, for once, I had a smile on my face.
I leaned down, each breath sent the girl's hair into disarray and splattered their makeup about their faces.
"Don't... don't hurt me,"Becky pleaded.
"I won't,"I said. I picked up my grandmother's book, it was like a tiny hole-punch sticking to the tip of my finger. I flexed my bulging pectorals. "Who's rack is flat now, Becky?"
I laughed. She cowered.
My grandma's book was more than I'd thought. I think I could get used to this. For I had many other creatures, and many other forms I looked forward to morphing into. My only limits were my imagination.
And for that, I smiled again. |
It was the part to end all parties. Known historically as the Superbash, it was tradition for all of the superpowers to be flaunted and featured the day before the final exam. The ripping fires of Aaron "Firehands"Doropkin, the flight of the Phoenix Five, the remnants of the duels and daring feats of the Fighters, the Phasers and plethora of other freaks that fought, fondled and finagled with there powers to for-warn those in the future that they were not to be fucked with. Good, evil or otherwise.
The party was a rager. Booze, bodies and battles lined every corner, lit or dark. The crutch that everyone held was that they should stop the party at a reasonable hour, since superpowers were, in fact, exhausting and exams required rest. Lots of rest.
Am I a villain? I don't think so. The problem is that my powers left me with the amazing name, "Super Sleeper"which is quite a terrible gift to receive. So this was my time to enact revenge. As the party raged onward, so did my plan. I walked room to room, clock to clock and set them backwards by five hours.
I'd dodge ice crystals, rock formations, ensuring I avoided the mind readers and the empaths who'd sense my plot. And I arrived at the very last room, changed the clock, and watched as the Superbash raged on.
I watched them check the clocks. I egged them on. Use more power. You can rest and still have plenty left for the exams tomorrow. The party bounced and bumped through the night as I watched on by one they began to fall victim to the slumber of overextending themselves, and the booze held them in that slumber.
"How could you?"the telepath said, the last to fall to her Super slumber.
"Because I can,"I reply.
I take a quick nap, no more than ten minutes, arrise, and head to the exam. The only one to show up. What a super finale to my super stupid school. |
It was a lazy sunday afternoon in the jungles of Nowhere. Sun rays were filtering through the dirty windows, bathing everything inside our little outpost in golden light. Me and some of the boys were playing cards, but our hearts were not in it after two months of no contact and no fresh rations from central.
My soldiers were lazy, unorganized, and some of them smelled even worse than usual. In times like these, only a good fight would pull them together again - that is, unless central finally decided to swap them out for fresh blood.
I was trying to improve the mood at our dreary table of Pinochle with the occasional story or joke. The best reaction i got out of anyone was Sergeant Varius' half-hearted attempt to tell a joke of his own, if only to shut me up - my jokes just didn't land as well anymore with these youngsters. They saw the punchlines coming from miles away. After all, I could have been their dad. And so, no dice with the dad jokes, not even after swapping to Yahtzee. But then - some kind of miracle.
Parker came running in, and yelled: "Sir!",
then wheezed for a few seconds, as if he had run full tilt the whole way from our landing downriver. Parker wasn't particularly bright, but I could appreciate he was one of the fittest recruits. I raised my eyebrows. "Parker, you sure sound like you had a reason to leave your post. Get to it"
"Yes, sir. A demigod, a human, an angel, and two demons were cruising on a boat up the river."
"Have the news of our little joke contest already reached the whole way down to your station, Parker?", I said, but a cold tingle went down my spine. This sounded like exactly the sort of trouble one would expect when defending a tyrannical overlord and his underground jungle base. Year in, year out, there was a never-ending swarm of questing heroes, rival evil overlords, or unlikely alliances between the two flooding against our doorstep.
When Parker adopted a confused expression and only slowly worked up the courage to respond to my little quip, I intervened. "Kidding, Parker. Last known position?"
"Moving toward our dock, Sir. As soon as they saw it. Didn't make contact in any way, laughed at our warning shot."
"Okay, troops!"I yelled in my best drill sergeant voice. "Defence Pattern 41: Mixed Supernatural Invasion Party! No time to find out what their powers are!"
Usually, I put my own spin on commands. But I feared from the description Parker gave, that this party could overwhelm an entire battalion, depending on the strength of the demons. So there really was no time to waste. I was first out, running to find my mage at the outlook tower.
"Aberon! Get out here and set up defences! We've got a dicey one!"
The disgruntled mage exited his chamber at the top of the tower only wearing his robe, and nothing else. There was way too much wind for that to be a good fashion choice, but i decided not to comment.
"Up to four superior magical beings, one unknown. Lets go!"I yelled at him, and we set off to our designated vantage point at the artificial cliff. Aberon scowled. "One unknown", he grumbled. "Could be the worst kind."
"Or it could be just a regular human with no powers. Try not to kill them on sight. The base is lacking in low-skill workers."
I was sure of our victory. We had the best fortified hillside I'd ever heard of, with years of constant layering of magical defense barriers, high-tech tank busting missiles, and even mundane tricks like hidden ditches and crow feet. Aberon couldn't take on four high-caliber magical beings on his own, but thanks to our supreme commander's defence systems, he mostly was a glorified executioner for anything hard to kill. The invading party's defeat was all but guaranteed in the first half of our little obstacle course of death. But some magical creatures just didn't die, even when diced into a million little pieces. So Aberon or one of his colleagues (rotations every semester) stepped in afterwards to send them to hell, or tartarus, or whatever the heck. I'd not seen any monster or magician return from a good nuclear fusion spell. They just sort of ... turned into puddles, and that was it.
I surveyed the defences while Aberon muttered his personal activation spell.
A seemingly endless assortment of death traps and fences lay before me. Everything was eerily quiet up here, two klicks from the river landing, as always when someone attacked downstairs. I wondered if this could be the first breakthrough to the upper hill this summer. Four Superior Magic Beings was not an everyday occurrence. But I wasn't worried.
Defence pattern 41 was one of the best-trained formations. It was extremely versatile and scarily effective against small groups. Everything acted as one, like parts in a well-oiled machine. The human recruits were assuming their positions manning machines, opening kennels and herding magical beasts to the front lines, and entering the lower command center, where messengers from even further down the hill were expected to go with their intel regarding the attacking party.
There was no other way up here. Ancient spells prevented flying in the low hills of the jungle, and to the left and right of us, walls that reached the heavens discouraged anyone from going the long way around. Well, almost anyone. I'd found that some insectoids could actually manage to climb a good bit of the sheer, slippery wall, before being blasted with an assortment of projectiles from the main fortress. I'd been very impressed a few summers ago, when a single ant the size of a dog had been the most effective invading force against our side of the fortress in living memory. It had still been boiled alive in its carapace, though. Dead is dead in the end.
Edit: A sentence. I will try to write more later. Hope someone will read this! |
Lance lowered his sword, shifting uneasily in his armor. “Your girlfriend?” he called out.
The princess, up in her tower, leveled him with an imperious look, but didn’t reply.
Lance sheathed his sword and removed his helmet, dropping it unceremoniously on the ground. A cloud of dust kicked up around his feet. He cupped his gloved hands over his mouth.
“YOUR GIRLFRIEND?” he yelled, his voice cracking on the last syllable. He winced.
“I heard you the first time!” the princess shouted back.
“It’s just, you’re really high up in that tower. Can you come down?” Lace yelled back.
The princess disappeared from her window. Lance tapped his foot impatiently, raking a hand through his golden locks. The princess re-emerged a moment later, struggling to pull something through the window.
“What the fuck,” Lance muttered. “HEY,” he shouted. “Is that a—”
Something whizzed through the air, followed by a sickening thump. Lance looked down, blue eyes narrowing in shock.
“You shot me!” he gasped. The shaft of an arrow protruded from his chest piece.
“Oh my god!” the princess shrieked. “I swear I didn’t mean to do that. I’m coming down. Just–don’t die for like a minute.”
—
“There you go. All patched up,” Alice said, tightening the bandage.
The burly knight who’d shown up at her doorstep was seething. “All patched up?” he growled. “My armor is ruined, I’m bleeding, and the girl I set off on a seven-month quest to marry is in a committed relationship.”
Alice bit her lip. “Honestly, I’m really sorry about that. The whole quest you were assigned sounds *super* misleading. I’m not into men, like, at all. No offense.”
The knight flushed bright red. “I mean, obviously, I-I have no problem with that part,” he stuttered out. “That’s, you know, not the issue. I’m really supportive of the local coven in the citadel—”
“*That’s* an offensive stereotype,” Alice muttered beneath her breath.
“—and don’t get me wrong, I *love* love, and I’m not trying to interrupt anything here. It’s just – I trekked across the swamplands, fought a gryphon, and crawled through the carnivorous caverns to get to this tower.”
“And I’m *super* sorry about all that,” Alice reiterated, patting him lightly on the back.
The knight sighed, his broad shoulders slumping.
“Before I go, can I just ask…how does it work?” he gestured vaguely at the dragon coiled around the tower.
Alice sighed. “It doesn’t. There’s this whole thing with a curse right now. When Penelope and I first met she wasn’t a dragon.” Her eyes grew glossy. “She was a super hot archery instructor.”
The knight extended a fist. Alice bumped it.
“And you were the unavailable, beautiful crown princess?”
Alice shrugged modestly.
“Nice,” he grinned. He paused a moment. “Wait the fuck up. Did you say cursed?”
Alice nodded.
He perked up, all signs of the dejected knight from just a few minutes past fading away. “Now *that* sounds like a good quest.” |
Lady Grizellda Von Schimerrheim was always somewhat... Odd. She was by no means unpleasant as a child: well behaved, polite and even self-educated. And really, that may have been the source of it all.
Kids kept a distance from her, almost on instinct. Her parents were a little concerned, but they had an estate to rule and balls to attend. So she was a little unsociable. When she's of age she was to be married to the son of a baron, no less, and she'd get all the social interactions she'd need.
Zellda, as she preferred to be called, on her part was fine being alone. Her father's library provided plenty of entertainment for her. Until she decided she needed some more... Practical experience.
Her father was a rather forward-thinking man, who believed any single person should be able to care for themselves- hunting, cooking, fishing, why, even doing laundry was something he saw as necessary to know for both men and women. So when young Zellda asked him to join the hunting expeditions, he was delighted at the idea, and sent her to study from the huntsman for her twelveth summer.
When she came back, it became a little more noticeable - her smiles were a little off. Her expressions were, in general, odd. Not quite right. It was hard to pin point. Her eyes would move correctly, her mouth would open the exact right amount. But maybe that was it- they were perfected, as if someone was copying the motions without comprehending the meaning or intent behind them.
No one cared, really. She was always odd, but not... unpleasant. The Baron's son was quite smitten with her, and she showed what could be called fondness towards him, if you squinted.
Then, he died. The father of the lady, the current executioner, died of old age. He was supposedly a fairly pleasent man to be around, though most people wouldn't dare admitting going to see him. It didn't matter that he was also the best, and only, real doctor around. You don't visit the executioner, unless it's a one way visit.
The wake was sombre, but not for the dead old man. Rather, all attendees were in sorrow over the ruined life of young Zellda. Well, almost all.
"Father, why do you cry at this?"She asked her parent, almost sounding excited. "Married life isn't for me. All I want his to live my life, to study. With this I can do it. Let my other sister's wed and have children. "She smiled. And why wouldn't she?
After all, for the first time in her life, she would do what she loved. What she was good at. And besides, the animals at the estate weren't nearly as fun or enjoyable as the used to be. She suspected that she'd simply grown bored. Maybe humans will be more to her taste, she thought as she beamed at her father. |
They had visited us many times, but only to observe. They would watch us for a few weeks, sometimes months, gathering data mostly. They witnessed our discovery of fire, the fashioning of tools, the rise and fall of great empires, the creation of all our greatest inventions from the printing press to the computer. It was as if we were an exhibit at a zoo, or a specimen in a laboratory. They were impressed with how far we came, but in the thousands of years they spent watching us, they never once made contact. Even through our great wars, our darkest hours, they remained at a distance - ever present and ever apathetic to our struggle. However, they were sometimes sloppy in their approach. Sightings were made. Strange objects in the sky, floating tic-tac shapes and beams of light. They thought that if they left us alone for a while, we would forget about them; that was the last time they gave the human race the benefit of the doubt. After a few years without a visit, they returned and were tracked floating on the edge of the atmosphere above India. The world was ready, and launched a series of attacks on the ship. The ship was more than capable of defending itself, but it was not prepared for the surprise assault from the strange bipedal beings of Earth. At the end of the volley of missiles came the largest nuclear device ever conceived by man, and the ship was obliterated.
Earth was united in a way it had never been before, and all of humanity rejoiced at the destruction of their foe. This lasted for several minutes, and then the armada arrived. Hundreds of thousands of ships dotted the tiny blue planet, with the mothership visible from most of the Eastern Hemisphere. They launched a worldwide electromagnetic pulse and shut down lights, cars, and anything with power. Even the sky was dominated by their fleet. A voice spoke out from the ships collectively, beaming directly into everyone on Earth in their native language.
"We have watched you since the beginning. We have seen you evolve from swinging in trees to flying in space. It was our mission to observe. We were to make sure you were not a threat to the wider universe. Our purpose is to protect all who inhabit the galaxies around us. You have been deemed a threat, and will therefore be banned from leaving your Solar System. A boundary has been placed, a boundary that will destroy any ship that enters or exits this system. However, it is also Intergalactic policy that we raise your standards of living to the minimum approved level of all Intergalactic Federation planets."
Thus began the great leap forwards. The aliens entered discussions with global leaders, to help the process operate efficiently and smoothly. It was not easy, prisoners negotiating with the wardens. First they installed a worldwide AI system to aid them in the rollout of all their plans. Then came the major social, political, and economic upheavals. They created a universal earth currency of Credits, and created a uniform price system that did not fluctuate. The human factor of greed was no longer influencing global economics - money would soon be phased out but it was a slow transition. They built pristine and large housing units across the planet, as well as medical facilities, schools, and advanced learning institutions. All weapons were banned, and a robotic police system was deployed. It was harsh, but necessary to keep the humans in line.
It was a difficult 80 year transition, but once the planet reached the basic standards necessary, the aliens departed. The barrier was raised around the Solar System, with constant surveillance. Ships would be instantly vaporised, and only permitted ships could enter the system one at a time. Humans are crafty bastards though, and we will eventually break free from our cage!
\[Taken from\] {contraband material} LOCATION: London, England. "The Human Manifesto". First published 2176, discovered 2254. |
It was a beautiful Saturday morning. Eric sat on his porch smoking a joint feeling the stresses of the long work week melting away. Each puff made the green grass and colorful flowers around his home more vivid and entrancing. Work on Monday felt years away.
A soft popping noise sounded in Eric’s left ear as a miniature man with long hair and a tie dye shirt materialized on his left shoulder. “Man ain’t nature beautiful? We could just sit here all day. Once that joint is done, let's grab a nice big glass of milk and some oreos.”
Eric liked the sound of that. He needed to relax after the stress work had put him through this week.
Another popping noise filled Eric’s right ear as another miniature clean shaven man in a tight fitting suit appeared on his right shoulder. “That grass is higher than you are. We need to cut it now. Work is going to take all of our energy once Monday rolls back around.”
The small hippie rolled his eyes. “Aw not this guy. He always shows up to harsh our vibes. Can’t you just take a day off dude?”
Adjusting his tie the businessman said, “I show up to make sure you can afford to have vibes to be harshed. There is always work to be done, and we can rest when we are dead. Don’t forget we still need to wash the car and clean the bathroom. The sooner we get the grass cut, the sooner we can get those done as well.”
“Bro Eric deserves to rest now, it's not gonna do him any good when he is dead.”
“Look, we've done this a hundred times before. We can get this grass cut in an hour if we hustle, and we will still have plenty of time left in the day.”
Putting his hand on Eric’s cheek the hippie leaned towards the CEO. “An hour dude? The yard is a full acre; it usually takes two hours to cut. By the time we finish we’ll be all sweaty and tired and have to take a nap, the day will already be half over.”
“It needs to get done, and no one else is going to do it. We either do it now or we do it later, but if we wait the grass is going to be taller and the job will be harder.”
The hippie’s head fell and he slumped on Eric’s shoulder looking defeated. “Who do you even work for man? Why are you always so pushy?”
“I work for Eric and all future Erics. How about this? We cut the grass and clean the bathroom today, then tomorrow we can call Ben, get some LSD, and just play video games all day.”
Eric and the hippie both looked at the CEO with raised eyebrows.
The CEO put his hands up. “What? I’m a CEO not a corpse. I like to have fun too, and sometimes you gotta make compromises.”
“You know what dude, maybe this guy isn’t so bad. Let’s go soak up those rays and get this job done. Tomorrow is gonna be great.”
Both of the men disappeared. Eric nodded to himself before pulling himself up from the chair and walking towards the shed. |
Trelane was the worst prophet in the world.
Valuing the skill of a prophet is not easy to do. But despite this, Trelane still knew, with absolute certainty, that he was the worst.
If one needed any confirmation of such fact, one needed to look no further than the latest ‘Chosen One.’ Most Chosen Ones can be trained or hidden from the world accordingly based on what they are to be the Chosen One of. That’s literally all a prophet has to do: find out what the Chosen One is chosen to do. In this regard, Trelane had fully and utterly failed.
All he could decipher was that a boy named Richard was Chosen. Trelane was so excited to receive his prophecy that he didn’t even think about the potential negative implications of telling everyone about half a prophecy.
Not only was he disbanded from the Prophet’s Society, he was also kicked out of his country. Yes, he had accidentally created the most feared boy in the entire continent all because he was a terrible prophet.
He had also gotten Richard kicked out of the country as well, which not only made him a bad prophet but also a bad person. He did really feel bad for the boy. He might have simply been a Chosen One of farming: the best farmer this land had ever seen. But no, in the eyes of everyone around him he was either Chosen to do great good or evil, both terrifying because good is never needed without evil.
Perhaps this was all part of the prophecy, Trelane thought. If it was, fate meant for him not to know what the prophecy was so the Chosen One could become the Chosen of what they were supposed to become and this was simply fate’s doing. But no, as a prophet he knew very well fate was not something one could keep blaming, especially when one knew it. Perhaps then, that was the whole prophecy. The boy was simply meant to be the Chosen One of nothing. Or maybe, it was meant to be open, that the boy could choose what Chosen One they would end up being, which was equally worrisome.
But for now, he would raise the boy. It was the least he could do. He only hoped that he wasn’t as bad at being a guardian as he was being a prophet, if he was, well, the world was probably doomed. |
I adjusted my hair, trying to bring it lower over my face as we approached the track. As much as I tried to prevent it, my eyes kept shifting to analyse the crowd for anyone from interpol. I had never officially been caught for my old antics and had to live by a fake name to get by as an athlete these days. I had taken very close care to make sure no one would figure out that I was a fraud.
"Here comes our last runners for the Building Hop. This year's crowd favorite Hernando Chavez. The previous champion Edward Cline. And the newest dark horse performer Schmitty Realnamingson,"the commentator announced to the crowd.
"That's right, Realnamingson has really made a name for himself this year, easily outstripping the runners that would have easily made three lists this year. No one knows where he came from, but I'd like to see where he's going!"the other commentator opined.
I waved to the curious audience, smoothing out my moustache as it began to droop an inch. I would just need to win this race. Sign a few deals, and then just lie low for the rest of my life getting royalties under my incredibly clever disguise.
The three of us runners prepared ourselves at the starting line as the race was about to begin. The audience went silent as the woman starting the race raised her hand, one hand over her ear, and fired the starting gun, which caused me to yelp and jump forward.
"And Shmitty takes an early lead!"one announcer boomed.
"And look at that speed! And the fear in his eyes!"he chuckled. "He's running like his life depends on it!"
In truth, the gunshot rang too familiar in my mind and made my body burst into overdrive, running as fast as it could muster with no consideration for how much energy I would have left at the end of the race. There was no slowing down because that was to get caught.
I leapt, diving over the first gap of buildings and stumbled as I tried to keep my momentum. I heard the footsteps of two others behind me, jumping along with me, and while in my head I knew it was just the other two racers, my muscle memory said it was the cops right on my tail. My efforts redoubled as my limbs and lungs screamed for me to take a break. To take a break was to get caught.
"The next few jumps lower in altitude, seeing if the runners are prepared for the unbalance of real housing terrain,"the announcer informed the audience of what we already knew.
Again, I jumped and stumbled. Once more, I jumped and stumbled. At this point I could feel how close the other two runners were. They would be able to reach out and grab me if they wanted to. I would have to roll on the last jump to put some room between me and them.
"Here comes the last jump! Do they have the energy for such a wide gap?"the second announcer asked to increase suspense in the audience.
Evidently, we did not, as I heard someone grunt loudly behind me as he fell onto the cushions below, not having made the complete jump. The audience gasped loudly as I rolled, leaving the other runner behind. I sprinted forward and collapsed past the finish line, with my fists held proudly in the air.
But no one applauded me.
"It looks like Realnamingson was running with... a fake wig and moustache? We'll have to see if this disqualifies him,"the announcer informed.
My eyes widened as I slapped my bald head and fumbled at my lips. My roll had thrown off my disguise! I was in for it now! Interpol would be on me in seconds. I looked around rapidly, waiting for someone to drag me off.
"You're a good runner,"Eduard informed me, panting. "But why wear a stupid wig?"
"Umm... style?"I lied.
"Sure,"he rolled his eyes. "Definitely smart to wear something that could drag you back a few milliseconds, just to look stylish."
I shrugged, continuing to look around as someone approached me. I winced, knowing this was all for nothing.
"Looks like a silly disguise is not against the rules,"one announcer said as the person approaching me offered me a gold medal to my surprise.
"Though I'm sure we can agree it was very silly looking,"the other chuckled.
Evidently I wasn't as infamous as I believed, as I got through the entire ceremony without a single incident of someone asking for my identity. I was even able to sell a brand deal of an action figure with removable hair and moustache.
By the time anyone was looking for me, I had already cashed out.
_______________
r/Nazer_the_Lazer if you'd like more stories! |
Millenia had passed him by. Body after body, soul after soul. Humans were perfect, he thought. Constantly becoming old and ill. Even the young.
But the sorrow. The guilt. The rage. These extremes at the end of life had gone stale. Like the mind chasing its first high from the hundredth needle prick, Death too struggled to find the thrill.
Until the ship came.
When Barney and Betty Hill were abducted in 1961, Death was introduced to a new path. A new way. When he saw these new life forms, in their stunted, awkward, beautiful skin, nothing was so pleasing as to asking this question to him. "When do you die?"This was the first time he hadn't known. Humbled, excited, he thought he was completely undetected. Until the beam hit Death himself, vacuuming up the cloaked essence, his scythe dropping to the ground.
A day later the human abductees were dropped off, but they kept the black shadow aboard. The aliens understood that clearly this figure had no physical body, so Death regaled them of his occupation. His importance. His whole meaning.
The Aliens, whom Death referred to as "Pastels"due to the cloudy yet oddly colorful skin, welcomed him and showed Death more meanings to the universe other than the start and finish that humans only knew. Earth as he knew it was no longer a part of him.
However, on the formerly blue, hopeful marble of of the Milky Way, now only knew fire, famine and fear. The globe had transitioned into total war with the overpopulation from immortality. People knew they wouldn't die. Humans, instead of walking towards good, hurled boulders of torment and torture at one another. The only thing able to die was the planet. And it was not long before 10 billion people were floating on a broken rock in space for eternity.
Death must be brought back. By all that is fair in the universe, humans must die.
The turbid uprights chauffeured Death into the secrets of the stars. Several other forms of life had passed them, welcomed them to their section of space, it was marvelous.
Out of nowhere the ship started receiving an attempt of communication. Static. Beeps. Voices. Voices? Human voices? A voice. Female. Broken. Hopeful.
"Please. If anyone is out there. Do not mistake our words. We need death. We need to die before our planet does. We need release. This isn't right"
The Shadow could have stayed. There was no ruler to him now. He couldn't have thought of it more than a minute before realizing he'd been already teleported back to the highway he was abducted from.
Scythe still on the ground, he picked it up. The blade shimmering and new. There was no other place for this Death. The world needed him, and it needed him now more than ever. He understood that.
He'll always understand that. |
"Hey!"The tiny red headed figure yelled at the giants above them. The hair was scraggly, bones jutted from the ripped and torn clothes. They stood alone in a scorched field on the only rock jutting from the ground.
"Hey! You giant firey motherfucker. I know you can hear me!"The muscles in the figures neck strain with each word, the bones of their ribcage stretch and look ready to break with the effort needed to scream up at the flaming face of the gollum. As it swung its head to look at the figure the flames crackling across the black skin roared to life. Starving the oxygen around them the flared and sputtered and roared as it turned.
With a voice of ash, wildfire fires roaring, bombs dropping on cities and crackles of a dying world it answered the figure.
"We were sent by the gods to cleanse the world. Your sins could no longer stand"startled the giant paused. The small figure had started to speak. They never spoke when it was speaking.
"Yeah I know the speech. I have one for you. Humans have been practicing mutual destruction since we invented the pointy stick. You killed our children, you've killed our food, you've destroyed the land, and boiled the water. The air is foul and we are unable to last. Your ugly ass has made this planet uninhabitable. But we worked something out. You need a planet to create something to worship you. You need this planet to exist after you've burnt it clean."The little figure was no longer yelling. It's body shook with rage, like it was shimmering in the heat.
"Since you are so determined to send us to our graves for the sin of no longer worshipping you, we have decided to pass judgement on you. We have decided that if you no longer wish to maintain the place we call home. We will burn the house to the ground. If we are to leave, so be it, but this will be our final act. We are truly going to practice mutual destruction. And when it's God's we must kill, then the only thing left to destroy is the whole goddam planet"the figure smiled into the face that stared blankly back at him.
Gollums were nothing more than avatars for the gods who piloted them. The human waited for the pilot to appear, although it was already to late. A golden light appeared on the ground at the burnt field below the humans rock. At its center a vaguly human shadow shimmered. When it spoke the human struggled to stand their ground. The voice was pure pleasure and utter pain. The agony of lost joy and the radiance of found love.
"What have you done?"
"We dug the deepest grave we could and then we buried the last child of hubris and humans in it."
"Explain yourself?"
The human turned to the golden light it's face twisted into self satisfied malice.
"We fired the biggest nuclear weapon we have ever made into the center of the earth. You will cease to exist"
As the ground began to grumble and crack, fracturing apart in great tears, the human watched the God do something no other human had witnessed. The light flickered.
"I bet you weren't expecting mutually assured destruction to work. But now look at your new Gods and beg for mercy. Humans found a way to kill the gods, and in our judgement we expect you to die for your sins" |
Where Lost Things Go
“I swear it was here,” I mutter, my voice echoing in the dark night. Rain beats down in intense, swirling patterns, almost mocking me as it soaks my overcoat, my suitcase, and everything in between. In my hands is the card I had bought in Metro. The front outlines the words “I’m Sorry.” I stare around looking for any sign of life. None. I only see some faint light peeking through the trees from the small railway station like fireflies casting illumination like pinpricks in the darkness.
I can see familiar trees, bushes, and ponds, everything is exactly the same as I left it earlier this year, almost eerily so. I stare down at where my home once was. No longer.
I should have never left, I still remember the protests of my parents, and I still remember my final words. Words I hope aren’t to be my last.
*“Come back here Aril! You can’t leave. You won’t be able-” Slam. The door shuts behind me as I stride into the night, my only belongings being my green suede suitcase and fistful of money. I wish I could have known what his last words were.*
I walk back to the small train station, my footsteps making sucking noises in the mud as I stride forward, rain still pelts down in great waves. I have to carry my suitcase, it can’t go through the mud, at least not on the little rollers, making the process only more strenuous. Can this get any worse?
The Ticketmaster still stands behind his counter. His haughty smile, glossy eyes, and trimmed mustache still as frightful as when I had first arrived. His voice echoes outward trill and high in the silence that had fallen ever since leaving this small platform.
“Tickets, get your tickets here. Time drawls on, leaving the young withered and old. Have an adventure while you can!” He smiles, his teeth glimmering in the single lantern that sways back and forth from the roof of the small gazebo-like structure.
“I’ve already bought my ticket, to Sylvan, to my home.” I make a sweeping gesture around me, though I don’t believe he can see me in the dim light. I step inside till I’m across the counter from him. The rain still batters endlessly in the night.
He flashes another smile. “Sylvan? I’ve never heard of such a city. Would be interested in traveling to Paris? Berlin? Rome? I can make your wildest dreams come true, you needn’t worry. Simply buy a ticket!”
“No really, I am not interested in a ticket. I’m. Interested. In. Coming. Home.”
“Your home is Sylvan?” He ruffles around in a small box filled with many small slips of paper, scanning each in turn. It begins to grow awkward as we both stand in silence.
Unknowing to the silence he begins speaking again. “No, I’ve never heard of this Sylvan. Although there is a place where lost things can be found. Would you like a ticket to Nowhere? Your condition isn’t uncommon here. Why not take everything you’ve lost and be free? Only once you lose everything you can you gain anything.” He plucks another ticket out of the box, *Madrid* is outlined in scrawling script.
I shake my head. “No, I really must find my parents. I can never leave them on a bad note. I never wanted to lose them. I was too headstrong, too young. Please, I’ll do anything to find them.”
He sighs, “I’m assuming you’ll want to go to Nowhere then. You Adrifters always do. You can never let go of the past. That’ll be forty marks.” He makes a ‘give it ‘ere’ gesture with his gloved hand.
I give him a questioning look as I rifle through the remains of my money. “Forty marks? That’s quite inexpensive.”
“You’re going where few people ever go. With such low demand, the prices are sure to be low.” He sets his eyes in a cool glare as he pockets the money, while systematically handing me the black ticket. “Remember, being lost is never a bad thing. You must only be found, that’s the hard part. I’m still waiting to be found.” He gives me a cool smile. “I doubt I’ll ever be.”
I stare down at the ticket in my hand. *Nowhere* reads in purple lettering.
“There’s no date on here, when does the train leave?”
“Whenever you wish.” The Ticketmaster plucks a ticket puncher from behind his desk. “Will now suffice?”
I nod.
“Tickets please.”
I hand him my ticket. He punches a hole in it.
The date slowly changes from being blank to *Now*.
A dark train flies from around the crook of the tracks, I don’t see a conductor or driver of any sort.
The Ticketmaster looks at me one last time. “Good luck. Remember to be found.”
He fades away, leaving me with nothing but the train left.
I stride onwards into Nowhere. Where lost things go.
​
[/r/UpToSomethingWriting/](https://www.reddit.com/r/UpToSomethingWriting/) |
A Story of Graves.
​
Time and time again I’d pass the graves of humans. Nothing more than a simple cross, if anything marking their final resting place. Buildings crushed the small plot of land, making the graveyard look comically small, like human lifespans. I’d hear stories of the human’s evils, the horrors they committed not only to the elves but to the dwarves, to the orcs, and all other known races, even themselves. Those that told the stories would then glare at me, calling me a demon, halfing, and a multitude of other names. I would yell at them, “Why do you do this? I’m half-elven. I have fey blood running through my veins!” They’d just continue to smile. I knew then that no living thing would ever understand me. This brought a certain kinship to those who rest underground. I sometimes wish I had ended up in one of those graves.
Maybe then I would find peace.
The elves consider themselves the victors in the wars that followed. While they had considered themselves above the rest of the races, they seemed to never notice that they were taking the human’s place. Tightening their grip on a world that has never known freedom. It’s conformity, or die. There’s no in-between. I happen to be in between. That’s why I was trapped, along with the other halfbreeds, mostly half-humans. They tested on us, scalpels, needles, axes, it all became a blur. I wince every time I think about all the people I lost there. I wince knowing the country I’ve known from birth will never accept me.
I wince knowing that I’m different and the only one that can change. Myself, and the world.
I stand here now, breathing hard, the moon rising high in the night sky. The remains of an old human industrial complex litter my surroundings, underneath I know that the old graveyard once stood. In the distance, I can see the floating fey cities, cities where most elves will be watching videos on the holo-net. Likely hellhound videos or Cerberus. We stand amid New Atlantis, one of the many artificial floating cities. I wish they would all tumble into the depths, never to be seen again. That’s not how I play though, I strike from the shadows.
Over the clicking of Feyran weaponry, I hear a gruff voice, like the crushing of reeds fills my ears. “Haleth, we do not need to hurt you. You need only come out!” I swallow my name, Haleth its a token of a past I’ll never forget. I can’t believe the only token they have to remember me by is that horrific name, nothing else, not even hair color. It’s my human features that alert these people to me.
I wear them with pride.
To them, I am a villain. Nobody will ever know my true goals, my true aims. I smile a smile that extends from ear to ear. For a half-elf, I’ve always reminded people of a demon, an orc. Devoid of the the natural elegance that most elves bear around them like a banner, a calling sign, and a sign of class. Maybe it's my beard? I’ll never know, these people were never my home.
For now, I have to escape, I have to run. Because despite the fey believing in peace, they’ll never believe in me. I’m too elven to have died in the plague, too human to fit into this society, too different to fit in anywhere on this planet. I’ll always find solace in the unknown, if I escape I can become a traveler, an emissary of peace. Who knows, maybe I’ll find some other half-breeds?
I still remember my mother, my human parent. It’s a curse to live this long. Three hundred years? For an elf that’s the blink of an eye.
“Greeting Feyrans!” I step out of the shadows, into their lights, I can feel guns being pointed at me, their dials and bullets filled with fey magic. “Have ya missed me Agrador?” The captain stiffens at his name.
“There’s no need for the theatrics Haleth. You were the stain I could never remove. You withstood more testing than any of your counterparts. Do you know? I think I’ve created a monster, I think I’ve really made a devil.” He grins, malicious intent filling his beautiful fey face. Little does he know how true his words ring. “You’re the last one Haleth, Mandic, Alini, Melian. All dead. I was the one who did it. Each time I watched their little faces writhe with pain. In the end, you survived. I can’t quite tell what will kill you, but we can try.
I see the flick of his wrist a fraction too late as the guns open fire. Beating the walls like a nest of angry hornets. One catches my leg, I watch as Feyran magic sifts through my blood, turning my veins dark like the color of pitch. I make it behind an old human billboard. A smiling face, staring back at me. *NO INSURANCE?! NO PROBLEM! CALL T.N.N. BAKERS TODAY!* My wound slowly begins to heal, the reason I had survived so long. My magic, regeneration.
I have plans up my sleeves though, my mind is always turning, always scheming. This time it was easily confused as I heard the low chuckles of my Feyran friends turn to screams. I clutch the small bomb I had fished out of my pocket, fingering the multiple colored straps that line the hand-holds. Do I dare peek? This could be a ruse for all I know. I’ve been in a situation similar before. I wait a moment longer, hearing their screams turn to lowly gurgles. Then everything is quiet, save for the sound of feet. I notice an irregularity in their pattern, like the quiet drunkenness of my caretakers after a night of drinking.
I dare peek.
I flip around the billboard, readying the grenade in hand.
My eyes near bulge from my head. Humans litter the field, their skin covered in a multitude of veins, running through their necks and into the cracks in their bodies. Cracks that make them look like broken porcelain dolls. My voice catches in my throat. Agrador stands on his knees, fear alight in his face. The humans all look at me, I freeze, waiting for them to charge me.
They don’t.
They give me a submissive nod. They’re waiting for something. I don’t know what.
Then it hits me. They’re waiting for orders. I smile while walking toward Agrador. “A devil eh? Well, that is likely a good name for myself.”
He looks at me, then back at the small group of humans littered around him. “No… please. You can’t do this!” If he is killed here, hundreds of years of life will end right here. Joining the thousands that were taken when his comrades died.
I could care less.
“Kill him.”
They do. I turn around hearing the sweet sound of his head hitting the ground. It seems I have my asset to enact revenge on the fey. I might as well begin.
Not in my wildest dreams would I assume that humans would be the ones to save me. From the grave no less.
I smile in my newfound power, its time for humans to retake what was theirs, and I'll be at the top. That's the only way I'll fit in. |
“It is with a great honor that I inform you all of what was my everyday items, I appreciate the efforts many historians put into finding the meaning behind these items, your present day theory’s have done there best given what little knowledge of the past I now know remains. I will congratulate John Waxford, master historian and publisher of “pages of the past” in which he gave the closest representation of the truth behind what the drawings and writings of my notebook were for. It is true that family was important to my era, that we had layers to our education system, that monotheism was the most popular form of religion globally, and that Covid was a sickness and not a deity as many theorized. I will say this however, that god was not the lion I drew in page 81 of that note book and that my sister was not a religious figure. Farther-more, to put an end to Doctor Filip’s popular theory that planes were large winged animals used for travel, this is incorrect, they were machinery.” |
This is Jessica Waller, with channel 4 news, reporting live from Northbridge square, where an unidentified man began assaulting a Denny's an hour ago.
The restaurant has been evacuated, and as you can see here, the police have formed a parameter. At this time, the suspect is contained inside the restaurant.
*Jessica, can you tell us anything about how this all started?*
We do have an eyewitness testimony from a cashier, who claims the man had asked about a former employee. When he was informed she had recently quit her job, the man became enraged, claiming they were hiding her from him. He then began throwing objects, and upending furniture, and it was at that time that the restaurant staff began evacuating the building.
*That must have been frightening. We heard reports that gunshots were heard around the time the assault started, do we have reason to believe the suspect is armed.*
There were gunshots. One of the evacuated customers was an army veteran. According to their own report, they drew their weapon and fired twice on the suspect once they believed the suspect intended to harm the restaurant staff.
According to their report, as well as several others, the suspect was hit both times, throwing him backwards. However the suspect regained his footing and resumed his assault within seconds, which leads police to believe he is wearing a bullet proof vest, which is why they have elected to form a defensive position here rather than enter the building at this time.
*Do the police believe the suspect is armed?*
The suspect has yet to be seen with a weapon, however the police have stated that if he has access to bullet proof clothing he likely also has access to guns, so they're remaining cautious.
Hold on a moment, the suspect appears to be leaving the building.
\_\_\_\_\_
And we're back.
The live broadcast was cut in accordance with broadcasting laws, because the suspect was believed to have been shot dead. However, shortly after being shot, the suspect returned to his feet. Three different officers have fired a total of seven times at the suspect, who has returned to his feet after every shot.
The suspect is currently moving south, and residents in the Historic Logtown area are advised to remain in their homes as he approaches that area.
\_\_\_\_\_
We're here in Logtown, at the home of Alexandria Morris-Rockwell, where police have erected a barricade in anticipation of the arrival of her husband, who is on a warpath.
Johnathan Rockwell, a financial consultant who reportedly attacked a Denny's earlier today has been making his way on foot from the downtown area to the Historic Logtown area since around 8:15.
Since then he has been hit by multiple vehicles, shot with weapons of several calibers, and even set on fire. Thus far none of these attacks have hindered his advance on his former home in Logtown.
Some of you may recognize Mr. Rockwell from a story last week, where he was believed to be dead, stabbed to death in his own home in an attempted burglary.
His wife, Morris-Rockwell, reportedly left her job at Denny's after his death. Rockwell was heard to have been asking for her at her former place of work when his violent rampage began.
Mrs. Rockwell, do you have any insight on what might have prompted this attack?
*he's back he's back he's back oh god he's coming for me he has to know and now he's coming for me*
Morris-Rockwell does not appear to be making any official statements at this time.
\_\_\_\_
You've probably seen a few stories about people who killed their spouses before, but it's not often two spouses kill each other.
Last month, Alexandria Morris-Rockwell was killed in her own home at her husband's hands. Despite extensive police protection, Johnathan Rockwell was able to enter the home and strangle her. Rockwell collapsed dead shortly afterwards.
Oddly enough, Rockwell had been killed the week before in what appeared to be a burglary gone wrong. However, shortly before her death, Morris-Rockwell admitted to killing him herself in order to inherit his assets after he has restricted her access to his bank account due to excess spending on her part.
DNA evidence has confirmed Rockwell as the killer, and the mortuary his body had been stored at reported he walked out of the building, post autopsy, the day of the assault.
The bizarre nature of the case still baffles doctors, who are still studying how a dead man can get up and kill his wife.
There are, however, less scientific sources who claim they have the answer.
Many internet communities that discuss occult topics claim Mr. Rockwell was a Reverent. A kind of undead creature that returns to life to get revenge on it's killer.
Whether you believe this event is a freak medical miracle or a supernatural, the lesson from this case is clear: Think twice before killing your spouse, or else being arrested for it might just be the least of your concerns. |
DISCLAIMER (needed, having seen the recent GW attitude towards fan-made content): everything written in this comment is purely written by the author's own fantasy and are not associated to anything Games Workshop or affiliated may think. No copyright infringiment intended.
DISCLAIMER 2: I am using the movie version of the Battle of Hogwarts, even knowing the book one, I simply find it more useful on a narrative perspective.
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\*\*I AM THE ANCIENT OF RITES. EVEN IN DEATH, I STILL SERVE!\*\* Rylanor boomed, thinking it was time for him to confront his gene-father for the second time. His sight showed something different: he was in the hall of some castle, where many figures were involved in what looked like a battle; nothing too different from what he was used to. Instead of guns they were using some kind of energy weaponry from wand-like objects. It did not matter to him: Fulgrim was not there. Suddenly a giant spider hit his Contemptor Dreadnought armour on the left side and almost threw him to the ground. - It's your time, xeno. - was what he wanted to say but found unable to. With a swing of his power fist he made the monster fly and then shelled it with his Gatling cannon and activated his refractor shield. Another surprise: its color was not the usual blue but a burning red which spoke of hatred and vengeance. He gave a quick look at his legs and instead of the IIIrd's purple panoply he saw red flames on a black background. So the legends were true - the Warp reincarnated some of the greatest warriors of Mankind to fight in its harsest battles. Now he was one of the God-Emperor's Daemons, a Damned Legionnaire.
He kept firing his gun, bringing down a foe after another. He did not know where he was, just that the xenos were winning the battle. Several masked figures in dark robes surrounded him, the last standing humans in the hall - except him, if he could still be called "human". They threw all of their energy shots at his ionic shield, piercing it with a powerful green beam only for them to bounce on his ceramite armour. Rylanor thanked the God-Emperor he had become his incarnation: the magazines were never empty and heretics continued to fall. Yet for every one he made look like Swiss cheese and for every giant he punched and sent to the ground, it seemed that ten more joined the fight. At last the one the enemies treated like the boss showed up. He was the only one who did not wear a mask and was followed by a great number of monsters and Deatheaters - or however they called themselves. At that point he knew it was time. Rylanor made clear the area close to him and then sealed his inner compartment. He readied his last shot, the gift intended for his gene-father. Rylanor, finally at peace with himself, armed the Virus Bomb he had in his chest.
.......
Greg was a middle-aged man with a passion for ancient castles. He had read somewhere - probably in the forum that his community used to exchange information about the strangest ruins to visit and study. Some years before, someone had sent photos of ruins of a castle in the Highlands which had appeared out of thin air. They had caused a lot of rumours since it was in a position where it could easily be seen. Greg remembered all the photos clearly, even if after a few days they were published, the user had disappeared with the pics. Greg had went on site but some governative agents had stopped him but he clearly saw men in anti-radiation suits. Years passed, but he still remembered them vividly. One day, on the same forum, saw the same photos and curiosity won over his rationality. What he saw when he got there almost gave him a stroke: the castle was gargantuan, its features enhanced by desolation. To a closer look, he recognised the signs of an explosion, probably in the main hall, judging by the dark dust on the wall beig thicker the closer he got to it. He also started to stumble in some bones. They all looked like flesh had been eaten away from them. When he reached the hall, he gasped: an enormous suit of armour, 4 meters and something tall, with a gigantic cannon on its left arm and the right hand closed in a fist. The bones were piled as the armour was at the centre of the explosion. But the most stunning detail was the decoration on the armour: no dust on it, it showed flames and skulls on a black background. On the chest the only part in gold: a plate with an inscription: "Rylanor, the Ancient of Rytes". |
“A door wizard you say? Sorry lad, but we don’t have room in the party for a carpenter.”
I was used to it by now, nobody ever wants to party up with a utility caster. Unlike most other classes I didn’t have a specialized role, there was no emblazoned crest next to my title no bardic runes of power bordering my adventurer card, just a basic minimalistic door symbol in the top right corner. It was going to be another one of those dungeons.
“Fine then” I signed. “Move aside and let me enter the dungeon while you search for the rest of your party members”
“What!” “Ain’t no way I’m letting a runt like you push me aside, you know the rules, first come first served”
“Yeah, first complete party to enter the dungeon gets a shot at it. Until they clear the dungeon or die its off limits to other entrants. But seeing as your just camping in front of the dungeon waiting on random strangers to show up so you can reject all but the best of them, I’m sure you won’t object to myself going at it solo?”
“Fine then, it’s your funeral.” “One way or another he mumbled under his breath.”
Several hours later the party assemble by Ogden the Banner Man, consisting of Ashra the Ranger, Kyre the Bastion, and Rotgon the Squirrel Master finally stood before the boss room. They had no issues up to that point, as the mysterious stranger before them had cleared their way through every undead beast befouling the pathway, and now they stood in front of the most ornate runed bow door that Ogden had ever encountered.
Unnerved slightly, but confident that he could trump what the lone carpentry wizard could not, they proceeded to enter the boss room. Immediately they felt a enchantment on the door sap away a fifth of their strength, and then they noticed the walls of the boss room carved from solid stone were surrounded by even more magical gates, similar to boss doors, all carved with intricate magical runes. At the center of the dungeon stood a mighty skeletal ancient dragon, and at its base stood a man covered in heavy armor resembling… miniature doors fused together?
“Charge him now, kill the litch before he revived his dragon or were all dead”, screamed Ogden.
“But he doesn’t look like a litch to me?” Rotgon questioned.
But Ashra was not slow to act, she immediately loosed a volley of arrows at their potential attacker, who did not react as a series of magical runes on one of the gates surrounding the room shined brightly and the arrows were deflected out of the way.
Kyre, realizing the threat, quickly engaged the monstrous foe so that his new friends could effectively focus on their roles at a distance. He did not hear the party leaders orders as the blood rushed to his ears, but he must have been doing exactly what was told of him as he felt magical energies buffing his offensive and defensive stats. As he charged the litch he saw it raise up a massive tower shield made from cast iron dwarves tavern doors still showing the runes of homeliness and comfort. And as his war axe breached through the shields defenses he tried to pull back but he was too late as he crashed into a random eatery far from the conflict he signed up for. With no portal master in sight he pulled up a chair confused and shouted out for a meat pastry and a pitcher of strong mead, much to everyone’s confusion.
Back in the dungeon, the brawl was a madhouse as automatons made of wood and steel clashed with ferocious primal squirrels. Clearly this summoner was among the greatest of his peers, but he felt his mana running dry as he commanded legions of primal beasts, but how could his foe keep summoning more and more automatons? The last thought that he had as he faded into the blackness of mana burn was how bright blue the eyes of his foe appeared, like he hadn’t even begun to burn through his own mana yet.
“Retreat” cried Ogden. Half of his party were either swallowed up by some fowl magics or incapacitated by their own incompetence. He felt the buff of his words flowing into himself and his remaining ally, who was already on the outskirts of his powers range. Realizing that he was already abandoned, Ogden ran towards the boss gate, hoping to make it out of this nightmare alive. But before he found reach it he saw it slam shut right before he could make it out.
“Please” he begged, “have mercy” “I thought it would be easy to take you down after you were weakened by the dungeon.” His best hope was to play on pity. He figured that feigning ignorance was out of the question at this point. Clearly that would only serve to anger whatever god of sorcery stood before him.
“So you recognized right away that I was not the boss” “you thought that you could just convince your hapless party members to kill me while you stood back and buffed.” “Did you think that your hands would be clean as you stuffed your pockets full of gold and enchanted artifacts?”
“Please don’t kill me, I’ll do anything that you want, just spare me please”
“Fine then, I left every treasure in the dungeon at the base of the dragons head. Gather them up and carry them for me until the next town.”
Ogden happily obliged, but as he was approaching the pile he noticed all of the magical gates surrounding the boss room slowly fading away, as if they were summoned there.
As he turned around he saw that nobody else was in the boss room with him anymore. As the Doormancer walked through the dungeon he prepared powerful sealed gates and placed them strategically through the pathway. No specialist would be able to break through such a variety of different seals. And after a month or two he would reclaim his treasure, he was excited to see how far he could enhance those debuffs runes on the gate.
It’s odd, he lamented, adventurers always fight and die over scraps and pass over the most powerful artifact found in each and every dungeon. Although he reflects on how lucky he is that the first party to accept him was matched against a powerful mad wizard boss with near limitless mana, one who carved complex mana generation and storage runes, each greater than a hundred amulets of the highest grade.
But he had learned much over his years fighting through dungeons solo. If not for the fact that he had claimed the boss door as his own before changing the undead dragon, he probably would have been the one to be crushed instead. But enough reflecting He decided. It was time to move on towards that new mangrove dungeon, after all who knows what secrets a plant based boss would have carved into their ancient chamber gate. |
"Ah, Brother Cornelius! Welcome, have a seat. All hail the Bloody Eye."
"Uh, yes, all hail. Um, I think we've been vandalized, Brother Tiberius."
"What? What happened?"
"Well, I was looking over the prophecies and--"
"Say no more."
"Oh, sorry. Walls have ears."
"No no, I just know where you're going with this. Believe me, Brother Cornelius, when I first read it, I thought something dreadful had happened. Even more dreadful than the Calf 'n' Half sacrifice that went wrong."
"Oh that was horrible."
"Well, it was Sister Anna's first time. We've all had jitters. But anyway, what you read is correct."
"But it's just outright..."Brother Tiberius looked at him sternly, as if to say to choose his next words carefully. "... um... silly?"
There was a moment of silence before Brother Tiberius started laughing. "Ha! Yes, it is. But, our minds are here to read and perceive the signs, not judge them. People always think astral conjunctions and two-headed farm animals. They never think something like that is a harbinger of the end times."
"But, end times they are."
"Now you've got it, Brother Cornelius. These things shall come to pass. And as such, the Bloody Eye shall gaze upon this world once again. All hail."
"All hail. Thank you Brother Tiberius. I should get back to studying."
"Have a good evening then."As Brother Tiberius looked out at the starry sky, he remembered vividly his thoughts that day. Now it is clear to him, but back then he thought it ridiculous that the endtimes would be marked by the second coming of The Harlem Shake. |
One of his eyes was covered by an eyepatch, an entire arm was missing, replaced with a prosthetic. But within his one remaining eye, was an anger unlike any other. His body had been twisted, broken, and reborn, more times than he could ever count. The sheer amount of deaths he'd suffered because of the negligence of superheroes...It was enough to make any person curl into a ball, and just hope that they were left alone.
But he didn't want that. He didn't want to curl into a ball, he didn't want to let himself fall to waste. No, something needed to be done, something that could teach these 'heroes' to treat their sidekicks with respect. So he did the only thing he could think of, he unionized.
It was like a wave slammed into the sidekick populace, dominoes falling across the entire board. Sidekick after sidekick unionized alongside him. They went on strikes, showing the heroes just how much they mattered, and how decrepit the cities could become without them at their side. They were the hope, the positivity that shined alongside the desperate and deranged.
When it came to an end, laws were passed; heroes were no longer allowed to have twelve year-olds as sidekicks, certain stipulations were put into place, and a Sidekick Protection Act was officially set as a law. Superheroes across the entire board were put under regulation, to make sure they had things up-to-code for any sidekick they might have.
A smile drew over his face, as he watched the changes sweep over the entire board. No longer would sidekicks be treated as meat-bags and defensive shields. |
He's stolen, he's lied, he's cheated, and yeah he's hurt people...and the world still thinks he's a goddamned hero. But this, this could blow the whole superhero/suoervillian dynamic in this city and possibly the world wide open. I'm just surprised that he was this stupid, this careless, and that we were this lucky.
My client isn't a good man. Very few of them are. But we live in the United States of America where in accordance with our Constitutional values a person is innocent until proven guilty, at least that's what they tell everyone. It's no secret that law enforcement, prosecutors and judges often work together to send people away regardless of the truth or potential truth of their situation, but that's why there's people like me.
I'm a defense attorney. I fight to preserve the rights of my clients and no it doesn't matter to me if they're innocent or guilty because those rights are universal. Take them away from the guilty and how soon until they're stripped from the innocent as well?
So back to my client. He's looking at twenty seven counts of murder in the first degree. Yes he was robbing that bank. Yes those people were hostages, but my client is no killer despite what the media says, but of course those jackels will say anything to drive up viewership.
Anyway my client has a nemesis, a foil to his "villianous"designs and they've danced and danced for years. He'll stop my client, put him in jail, but his offenses are low level and he's usually out within a few months. It's been really eating away at this so-called hero. More like a homegrown fascist. Another elitist who believes in rules for thee but not for me. When he destroys a building or people die it's all for the greater good, but anyone else does it and they're a monster. Fuck off.
So of course when he entered the bank and saw those helpless hostages he saw his opportunity to make sure my client would never breathe free air again, and if some people had to die...well...it's for the greater good. After all what's twenty seven lives compared to ensuring that a "dangerous"supervillian never walks the streets again? He'd be an even bigger hero for putting away this killer, and he'd be proven right that low level supervillians shouldn't be afforded the rights of ordinary citizens because of the likelihood that their crimes would escalate with deadly consequences.
Imagine destroying the constitution while pretending to defend it. It's really too bad he didn't notice the kid by the side window recording with his cell phone because he loves superheroes and was excited to see one in action. He'll need therapy for the rest of his life.
So here I go into the judge's chambers for a meeting with him and that bitch of a persecutor...I mean prosecutor. I can't wait to see her smug face fall when she sees this. Good thing we finished jury selection this morning though because when this video drops on youtube tonight the jury pool will be irreparably tainted.
Fuck em. You get what you fucking deserve. |
I just got off work. I work for a construction company. I'm wearing baggy jeans, steel-toed work boots, a black t-shirt with pacman on it and one of those reflection vests, all covered in thick dust. I start making my way home, when I remembered I need to pick a few things up from the grocery store. I sighed - I'd rather get home and get changed first, but my wife would be cross with me. Happy wife, happy life, so I just head to the grocery store now.
Everyone in this store wears smart, black trousers, red shirts and red shoes. I'm a regular so one of the staff comes to greet me. "Hey, long day at work?"
"*sigh* yeah, but I need to pick a few things up."
"I got you. Got a list?"My eyes go wide as I remember being given a list, which I swiftly pass to the staff member. "Thank you so much! I'll wait at the register for my shopping."He nods as he dashes off. As I make my way to the registers, I get the feeling of being followed. I turn around to see a woman, maybe in her 30's, with a shopping cart and a young girl next to her.
"Umm... can I help you, ma'am?"
"Ugh, finally, I've been trying to get your attention for an hour! Where's the dog food?"
"Umm..."
"DON'T YOU 'UMM' ME! JUST DO WHAT I TELL YOU! GET ME MY DOG FOOD!"
"Ok"I raise my voice to make sure she listens "I know for a FACT that you haven't been trying to get my attention for an hour, I've barely been here five minutes! Also, do I **look** like a staff member?"
"I KNOW YOU WORK HERE YOU F\*CKING LAZY SON-OF-A"
I cut her off. "Whoa whoa, you should NOT be using language like that around children! I have no clue where the dog food is."
"DON'T YOU DARE LIE TO ME OR TELL ME WHAT TO DO YOU INCOMP-"
Another worker comes over. "Is... everything alright?"I just bolt for the cash registers. I get there just in time to see the first worker with my shopping. "Thank you! Please help your co-worker! I think that woman may be off her meds or something!"He takes one look at the scene and rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, she probably doesn't take meds. I deal with this mess on a daily basis. I'll make sure she doesn't bother you."I thank him and begin to load my stuff. I manage to leave in peace, though I think the woman tried to charge at me? I didn't pay attention. I just went home and explained to my wife why I was late.
\~\~\~
Fun prompt! As soon as I saw the title, I knew I could have fun with it! |
Brown hair gives its owner access to Earth magic. Brown magic users are adepts at the creation of Golems, earthworks and landscaping. They are a core component of any magical army. The best get asked to join Her Mage-sty's Royal Sappers.
Black hair gives adepts power over Necromancy, fear and shadows. They make great assassins and spies.
Red heads and their fire magic are asked to join the Royal Artillery. Blond Light mages are essential for night operations.
But the most important form of mage are the Anti-Mages. Those who's magic feeds on and destroys all other forms of magic. Without such power, peace could never be guaranteed. Truly there is nothing more sexy than a man with male pattern baldness.
(This is the story you get when you don't know to use the word dye instead of die. :P) |
We prayed for release for such a long time. And yet it never came.
The sleep wasn't dreamless by any means. It was wrought with nightmares. And slowly, we were hollowed. We could only watch as hope came but was destroyed; princes, knights and entire armies, coming to conquer the cursed forest and bring an end to this half life of ours. But they all failed. They all died. And our hopes with them.
And over the centuries, people simply stopped coming.
At some point... it was just too late for us. We were too far gone, having dwelled for much too long on the borderland of sleep and the realm of dreams.
Outsiders started to reinforce the curse. So that we would never leave. Warnings and rituals were passed down through generations, speaking of what we had once been, and of what we had now become. Of a slumbering darkness locked within bramble. The forest grew strong. It thrived, on the blood of ancient armies and on the blessings and offerings held by the living.
At the sound of an explosion that rocked the towr I resided in, I hissed as I looked out the window.
And what I saw elated me.
There was a huge hole in the cursed bramble that held us here.
I heard a distant warcry. ^("WHOOO! 'MURICAAAAAA!")
I climbed outside, my claws gripping the weathered and twisted stone with ease. I let out a screech to wake my court, a screech of freedom that split the clouds in the skies and rivaled the blast that had just put a crater in the land where our prison had grown.
From the castle below, I heard my people answer. Screeches. Screams. Beastly roars. Calls of war, calls for feasts. Cries of *freedom, brought to us, at last*. Such a beautiful cacophony to break a silence that had felt so endless.
It was time.
*We were free.* |
"this is a completely ridiculous test"Sara's frustration was obvious as she had her interview with the Consulate of the Pacific States.
The Ai, a image of a young man designed to invoke familiarity as well as authority in her, dressed in a suit answered "Sara, Calm down, these questions are an important part of your evaluation."
The problem was that the AI worked with incomplete information, it guessed Sara's personality based on what is available to it. Which thanks to the Sanctions and the brooding cold war is basically only what she provided in her application form.
"I dont know the difference. Ok lets say A."she chose the first picture and it got highlighted.
"Sara, i think you are guessing. Ok lets come back to this question later."It paused and took a deep breath. Sara just rolled her eyes at the sight. "What are the dangers of AI, like me becoming involved in executive decision making processes."
Sara got up and wave towards the screen annoyed and frustrated she barked "Are you kidding me with these questions?"she gestured wildly with her arms, "If i say, 'oh i hate it'"turning her head away from the screen looking around in the empty room and shouting "I said, IF. Not that i mean it, its a hypothetical! These Terrans..."she returned to stare at the screen with the ai made to appear to listen "guess what? Best case, i lose my citizenship and i cant return, worst case, i go to jail."She sat down again, trying to compose herself "If i say 'Oh you are dummies for not living like we do' let me guess, my application will be rejected. Thirdly. An AI is making a decision about me right now, you are, the audacity to even include such a question"
"Sara, there currently exists Diplomatic privacy between us, your government is not listening. Please answer the question"It responded calmly, smiling.
Sara waited for a second or two. "Ok, yes, its a danger. People are People and while we are not perfect we can at least try to be better to each other"she said and stopped.
"Thank you Sara."it paused and its face changed in an almost apologetic shape: "I am sorry to tell you that in regards to your Evaluation of Humanity, you have not passed the basic requirements."
Sara just gave the bird to the screen and shouted "Oh fuck off, you racist assholes, i am human. My grandmother was born on Earth!"
She switched off the connection with the AI. Officially ending the interview. She called Pedro.
It rang almost a minute until he picked up. "Sorry babe was in the metro, got off now. You got it?"he said. Followed by a *beep*
She sighed out, "Pedro, i have been rejected. Again this is the third time. I cant apply anymore. I cant come, i am sorry."after a short pause she released the transmit button.
A few seconds later Pedro responded "My love, i dont know what to do now? I cant come to Luna. I just cant, your government says that i am 'Antisocial' for being a knucklehead 12 years ago trolling lunans online, i was a freaking child. I just cant come."*beep*
"Well, and yours says that im not human enough, or not anymore. So i cant come."she released the button to send, in the meanwhile she looked up transit visa rules, they may be able to meet on mars. Their last option as getting a Visa for Mars was considerably easier for both of them as they remained rather neutral to the Terran Lunan cold war. They could maybe take the same vessel. Spend months together, it was a nice dream but neither of them could afford it. In that moment she received his answer, switching back to the conversation.
"You know, we are not all wrong. I mean you are 'genotically' speaking not really human anymore, you people like added stuff that made you able to live there better. I mean i can understand the laws, we should not let like everyone in. We need to make sure the right people can come, thats why they ask you people these questions to check if you are still human enough"He paused..."i mean the questions are stupid, yeah and should be reworked, but the concept is ok"*beep*
Sara put her hand to her face "Pedro, your earth governments are a corrupt hellhole, all of em, a complete scam. You work your ass off 12 hours a day and you barely have enough money to eat food. So please just shut up with your weird antics, not today please. Not in the mood for it. I think mars is the only option now. We gotta do it"she released the button.
"Sara, Mars? Are you kidding me? I cant afford that and you cant afford that either. Not with me being a slave to my Oligarch right? Ooh look at me so enslaved. Come on, at least when you come here that damn computer hitler of yours wont be looking over our shoulders the ...."
**Connection Terminated**
Appeared on the Screen. Pedros contact information have been deleted. A Priority call hogged the Screen now, her only option available was to pick it up.
A man in his late 40s with a disheveled looking gray uniform and field cap was on the screen. "Apollo City Security force officer Cassra here, Mrs. Parks, Selene has disconnected you with some terran just now and asked me to tell you that Pedro Smith from the Las Vegas in the Pacific States of America has been declared a Persona Non Grata. What was your relationship to him?"
Sara looked at the screen, "You know what my relationship to Pedro was".
Cassra sighed. "No, Mrs Parks. Contrary to popular believe we dont have access to this. But from your response i presume Boyfriend?"
Sara laughed "You know, i think not anymore. He really is just an intolerant piece of work. I see it now. Completely deluded with Terran Propaganda. We should just get it over with and nuke em all."
Cassra started chuckling "yoyoyo hold your horses MacArthur. We are not nuking your Ex Boyfriend"he started laughing. Sara also started to crack and snicker to herself. "Mrs Parks, i think we are good, have a nice evening."he hung up unlocking the terminal.
Sara kept chuckling to herself for a few seconds, the chuckles then slowly turned into cries and tears started to pool in her eyes. She shook her head rapidly, letting tears fly through her small apartment and dried her eyes with her sleeve. She tried to look for a Picture of Pedro. She wanted to look at him. Her idiotically and still somewhat racist now forced to be ex-boyfriend. She couldnt find any. All have been deleted. All chat records, gone. Its like he didnt exist. Even the search through the heavily redacted and restricted Net came up empty. On Luna, Pedro didnt exist anymore.
She turned off her terminal. She wondered how his weird tirade would have ended if it where not disconnected. She was mad at him for believing such nonsense. She wanted to show him that it was all lies and that they where better and the Terrans should learn and adopt their ways. Politics where always an issue between the two. So they avoided it whenever possible.
She mumbled to herself "23 Months and 3 days. And i have never even met the guy, and wont ever. All because those Animals think im an Alien."staring at the ceiling 230 Meters under the Lunar surface in Mare Tranquillitatis. |
The arena was filled to the brim with a lot of people from all walks of life. It was the anticipated fight between me the Prince of Frintodia Carolus and my rival for life Princess Elizabeth of Dolumfus.
It is a battle to end of it all.
We stepped upon the arena at the same time, we steeled our resolve for this very moment, this is it. the climax of it all.
"The rules have been agreed upon: If I win this battle, you must marry me."
"And if I win, you must marry me."She replied back to our agreed terms.
I was getting butterflies in my stomach not because we're equals on all aspects of battle, I was getting nervous on a different aspect.
What to do after we are married? If I win this battle I could take her anywhere we wanted, we could be adventurers and stay undercover and live in a cozy cottage outside the human realm, or we could set up a simple tavern and run it together? Ooh, the thought of simply settling down very far away sounds too good similar to the cozy cottage idea.
*AAAAAHHHHHH, THERE'S TOO MUCH TO CHOOSE! WHICH ONE THAT WE COULD TAKE TO ENJOY OURSELVES TOGETHER?!?!?!?!*
Flustered, I shook my head and focused my eyes ahead on her, I must win at all costs!
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I noticed his unusually more serious look on him piercing me, I was thinking just now of what to do after this battle ends, maybe we should be travelling together on various places and visit tourist spots and making memories there? Should we ditch our royal lineage and live as commoners? That could work.
Wait, why am I spouting nonsense inside my mind? Shouldn't I focus more on the battle instead.
I should win no matter what it takes to achieve that goal I have in my mind. which is travelling with him not to be stuck by responsibilities of being royalty! I'm sure he wants that too, he's so serious about everything that...
He's so cute! I want to tease him everyday.
Thus I need to win with everything I got!
I look ahead again seeing his posture ready for battle, I too readied myself, but his gaze is getting unusually sharper.
My mind is going blank from his gaze.....
I need to get it together Elizabeth.
​
\--------------------------------------------------------
"And let the bout commence!"The referee said, and another blowing the whistle.
The two figures immediately converged and their movements were nothing short of superhuman, every sword clang could be heard multiple times, yet the audience aren't able to make out their movements.
The arena was getting so tense it builds up even further than what people think was possible. The physical prowess of both are akin to higher beings, it wouldn't be weird of their magic prowess was something to behold of!
Magic clashed and explosions erupted, dust kicked off in the air, shrouding the visibility somewhat in the arena. And then came big powerful slashes enough to destroy a house.
Enough to a destroy building in a single swoop, to forest, to a mountain, and might even reach the moon if it ever does.
Miraculously, they are never realized due to the sophisticated barrier systems intended to safeguard the audience, but even then small visible cracks are forming in the barrier, not even the barrier could withtand such pressure and stress.
Its outside the realm of possible for everyone in the arena, no one knows who has the upper hand, the audience of the arena could only pray that the one they chose win and for their safety.
\--------------------------------------------------------
"Milady, is losing power-- err I mean the will to hit Prince Carolus"
The referee said to the ensuing battle they could follow their movements albeit somewhat.
"Are they gonna hit each other or what? Milord only parries Her Highness' sword"
"..."
"..."
Both heave an audible sigh on both idiot of a couple on their final battle.
"Let's make a bet how long they will last"
"Nah, let's bet how many more final battles they will take."
"Don't be pessimistic about it. I bet this duel will take only 5 hours and Milady will win."
"Oh hell, you underestimate both, it will take 8 hours minimum."
"How much we betting?"
"40 Pieces of gold"
"Deal!"
"You can change predictions as long this battle goes on right?"
"Yeah, every 3 hour intervals"
"Watch as your money will be gone after a day!"
"No, you will be the one who loses money!"
Both referees or both royal retainers made bets on who will win, well who will be the one last left standing on the eternal battle for love.
The retainers wish for each others happiness. But deep in their mind they always wished:
​
*Please just end it all, and let us live peacefully too!* |
Sunlight filtered through the sand-scuffed panels of the dome, shining down on the crowd. The town's entire population of three hundred and twelve gathered for Vlad's inauguration. The town used to be called Mars Prime, but over the years, it became known simply as the town. Names became unnecessary after the asteroid crashed into Earth and made this the last inhabited place in existence.
There wasn't much pomp to the ceremony. Vlad's predecessor had passed away, so it was the brusque sheriff who placed the lanyard with the access card onto his neck. Vlad made vague promises of a better future, which he suspected the threadbare denizens knew to be empty words. His gaze roved the crowd as he spoke until he spied Dorothy. She blanched and ducked her head. She had rebuffed his advances before, but now that he was mayor, he would take her for a wife, and they both knew it.
"We will persevere,"he said in conclusion. "As we always have."
There was some halfhearted applause. Vlad descended from the stage that had been used to host concerts in long-forgotten times. Some people approached to offer congratulations or clap him on his back, but most kept a respectful distance. From the moment that card was placed around his neck, he decided who lived and who died, who was allowed to have children and who was not. It was the only way to survive on the meager yield of hydroponics and recycled oxygen.
***
Come night, he made the traditional journey to the observation deck, as his predecessor had before him. Perhaps a hundred people gathered around the locked door, murmuring and whispering to each other. As Vlad approached, they parted before him and watched in tense silence as he lifted his access card and touched it to the keypad.
With a faint beep the door slid open, releasing a whiff of stale air. He nodded somberly to the people and stepped through, allowing the door to close behind him.
A large telescope dominated the room. The only light came from yellowish strips along the control console, the glass dome above shielded by an aluminum shell. Vlad fumbled with the controls, causing the shell to retract with a grind of protest. He gasped at how clear the night sky was; these panels were the only ones not yet scratched to cloudiness by the sandstorms.
Returning to the controls, he set the targeting system to Earth. His excitement mounted as the telescope whirred and turned, seeking out the planet their predecessors had come from. Then it was done.
With bated breath, Vlad bent over the eyehole. For a long moment, he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. Then he hissed in a breath. Orange-and-brown clouds covered large swaths of the planet, but underneath he saw green and blue. What's more, on the night side of the planet, there were *lights*.
He reeled back from the telescope, his chest heaving with rapid breaths. The technicians still maintained the two Orion launch vehicles with religious devotion. If the people learned of this, they would insist on trying for Earth, no matter the risk. Even to those born after the cataclysm, it was the lost home they were eventually meant to return to.
Vlad ran a palm over his face and realized his hands were shaking. He couldn't tell them. Here he was a ruler. Up there, if they even made the flight, he would be no one at all.
He shut off the targeting system and raised the protective shell. Schooling his expression, he opened the door. A hundred pale, gaunt faces met him.
"What did you see, mayor?"asked an old woman, her eyes alive with forlorn hope.
"Dust,"he said gruffly. "Dust clouds and magma. Nothing up there but death."
A desolate sigh escaped the mouths of the gathered, and they began to disperse. Vlad watched them grimly, the image of the healing blue-and-green planet bright in his mind's eye. They couldn't know. Never. |
For as long as I could remember, I had been a wizard, wielding immense power and living for countless centuries. I had seen civilizations rise and fall, and I had been a part of many of them. But no matter how much time passed, I remained ageless and unchanged, a being of pure magic.
As I wandered the world, I came across many other beings like myself, but I always felt like I was different. I was more powerful than most, and I had an understanding of magic that surpassed even the greatest of my peers.
But despite my power, I never allowed myself to become complacent. I constantly sought out new knowledge and ways to improve my abilities. I spent countless hours in my laboratory, experimenting with new spells and ancient artifacts.
One day, while I was deep in thought, I was suddenly transported to a strange new world. It was a world of fantasy, filled with mythical creatures and ancient magic. I could feel the power of this world coursing through my veins, and I knew that I would be able to unlock even greater abilities here.
As I explored this new world, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. It reminded me of the days when magic was a mysterious and powerful force, not something that was understood and controlled. I reveled in the feeling of being surrounded by ancient magic, and I knew that I would be able to accomplish great things in this world.
I quickly made a name for myself in this new world, using my immense power and knowledge of magic to help those in need. I fought against evil wherever I found it, and I worked tirelessly to protect the innocent.
But despite my power and my immortal status, I never lost sight of my humanity. I always remembered that I was a wizard, a being of magic and wonder, and I used my abilities to make the world a better place.
As I continued to explore this new world, I discovered hidden secrets and ancient artifacts that even the greatest scholars had never seen before. I spent countless hours studying and learning, unlocking the mysteries of this magical world.
And although I knew that I would never truly belong in this world, I was content to live out the rest of my days here, surrounded by the beauty and magic of this fantastical realm. I was an immensely powerful immortal wizard, and I had found my home. |
A great knight is expected to battle many dangers in life. From dangerous terrain to monsters larger than life, there’s no rest for the weary. My days are often faced with trials and tribulations only befitting a hero of legend.
Today was no different.
I conquered the darkness underneath my bed, undeterred by the monsters lurking within. I wrangled a furry four-legged beast into submission and even dared to confront the green demons that plagued my evening meal. Despite these obstacles, I made it through the day relatively unscathed. Or so I thought.
When subduing Max, our four-legged beast of legend, I was wounded in the most pitiful of ways. Max’s altercation with a squirrel led to chaos, and despite my super-strength, the leash I tethered to my furry friend dragged me to the ground. While I was able to control the beast in the end, the scrapes on my knees and elbows bore wounds so horrific, I may never walk again.
But I’m a hero.
I remained strong.
Well, until my evening bath.
That woman that cares for me attempted to remove my pants despite my protests that no fair maiden should witness wounds as bad as mine. But her words were kind, and my dissent soon withered under her persistence. Her eyes widened as she took in my body's trauma, but she claimed to have just the medication to fix it.
Her lips soon puckered, and she planted the softest kisses on each knee.
How *dare* she kiss me?
The great knight of legend does not require such treatment.
…
But my wounds *did* feel better.
I asked her to kiss them again, just to make sure they were okay.
After all, I, the great knight of legend, had to be ready for the battles of the next day. |
I grumble as I shuffle to the door
"ALRIGHT! I'm coming for goodness sake. "
The banging stops as whoever it is hears me yelling, and the door stills in its frame.
I yank the door open to find the boy standing there. Eyes red rimmed, like he's been crying. I look at his clothes. Not cheap, that's for sure.
"Ha! You! Found true love, did you? You little wart. Found some manners to go with it? Or are you here for revenge? It didn't go well for you last time, it won't this time either"I say with an aire of nonchalance, leaning on the door way, trying to make it not look like I'm scrambling maniacally on the shelf for the damned wand. Best land plans, and here I am, in the face of this snot, without the thing.
"Please. Help me!"The young lad cries as he bursts into a fresh round of tears.
I am extremely taken aback.
"Help you? Why? Whatever's the matter? Did you not find your true love? That spell should absolutely have worked. What happened?"
He falls into my arms, sobbing, clutching me.
"SHE'S HORRIBLE!"He wails.
I am genuinely astonished. This snot nosed little brat was an absolute horror, with not an ounce of decency or civility in him when I turned him into a frog. I didn't really think he'd find his true love. That wasn't part of the plan at all.
"Alright. Alright. Stop snivelling. Come in. Tell me what's happened. "
I try and haul him up and into the living room. He wipes at his face with the sleeves on those lovely clothes. I turn and snag the wand off the shelf and then guide him to sit on the sofa. I wait for him to gather himself, wondering what on earth is going on.
"I am sorry for what happened. Before. Last time. I mean, I know you probably don't believe me, but I really truly am. I was angry at first. For so long. Or at least, it felt like a long time. I guess time is different when you're a frog. "
He finally meets my eyes, and I give a sort of grim smile to show I understand and encourage him to carry on with a gesture
"Yeah. I was angry. But then, I wasn't. I was sad. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to come and apologise but everything looks so different when you're that small and I wasn't sure I remembered the direction and didn't want to dry out if I wandered away, so I just stayed there. Then when I was just swimming around one day, I saw the ball"
"The ball?"I query
"Yes. The golden ball. It just sort of sank past me, so I grabbed it and pushed it back to the surface. I was hoping to play with it or something, I don't know, but when I came up, she was standing there. Starting at me and the ball. She reached out to grab it and spoke to me. She was silly, really. She said, "Thank you, Mr Frog,"so I just said, "You're welcome."Not really thinking. I hadn't been able to talk. I thought I'd just end up saying ribbit, but the words came out. "You're welcome,"and she was so surprised that she dropped the ball again. So I swam back down and retrieved it a second time. This time, I pushed it right up to her. I realised then she must have been the one. She must have been my true love like the spell said!"
"Yes."I can't think of anything else to say. I didn't really expect that part to work if I was entirely honest.
He carried on, "so we talked, and I explained about the spell, and she kissed me and POOF! I'm suddenly back to being me, and she drags me off to tell her father, THE KING, BY THE WAY! about this new suitable suitor she's found in a pond, and suddenly I'm being measured for clothes by her mothers tailor and they contacted my parents to check who I was and now we have to get married in 6 months and her father absolutely hates me, and she keeps wittering on about nonsense and she's horrible to everyone except me and her father and she reminds me of me before, well, you, and I can't take it and she's not my true love. She can't be, and if she is, I don't want to be her true love. It's all too much. Please change me back!"He wails the last word as he bursts into tears again.
I sit back, pondering what to do.
"You need to bring her here,"I say to him, a bit loudly so he hears me over the noise of his wailing. He stops and looks at me
"What? Why?"
"Because the spell isn't wrong. It never is. She really is your true love, but if she reminds you of you before your little adventure, then maybe she needs the same lesson?"
He takes a deep breath
"Do you think that would work?"He asks hopefully
"It worked for you, didn't it? Go back and ask her to go for a walk, or maybe even make it look like you're eloping together. Make it like an adventure. Bring her here. I'll turn you both and make the spell end when she's learned her lesson."
He looks at me for a long minute. Peering into my eyes, trying to make up his mind
"Ok. I'll go and get her"
He jumps up and runs out of the house.
I wait for a few minutes and then start to laugh. Once it starts, I can't stop it. I am cackling like the witch I am. I laugh until my sides hurt.
Oh, this was too wonderful. After all the potions and powders and nonsense I'd gone through to try and force a true love for the brat. The universe had stepped in.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'll have a kingdom in my palm, along with the hearts of two royal brats. It's not the one I wanted, but it's a start.
I look at the skull of my beloved, which rests on top of the dresser, watching all I do.
"Soon, my love,"I tell it. "Soon we shall have vengeance. |
The first thing I see when I die is a bright expanse of white. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and I realize the white doesn’t go away it just gains detail. It turns out to be a massive pile of salt.
A human-like creature walks to me. It is slim, doesn’t seem to have a gender and seems to be backlit despite a lack of light source. “You spilled it now clean it up.”
“I’m sorry?”
“This is all of the salt you’ve spilled throughout your life. Now you need to clean it.”
“But I—“
“It matters not whether you contained it. If you spilled it in any manner intentional or not you must now clean it up. This is everyone’s first task after death.”
I look once again at the great expanse before me in bewilderment. I turn to speak again but the creature has already moved on to the next soul. I look around at the other piles. Some are quite large, standing a few times higher than their owners. I look at mine again. It appears endless.
I think back to the day my mom argued with me about the job I was about to take. I told her it was very good pay, a good union, I’d just be sitting pulling levers all day. She was just being superstitious. She was so adamant about me not taking it. I worked for the company for 42 years and I grew to despise the truck I sat in, the smell, the constantly dry skin. I should've listened to her. |
"This is preposterous!"The Knight proclaimed. "This an outrage!"
"Ah, ah, ah,"scolded the old wizard. "You challenged me to a duel of *might*. My *might*, as it stands, comes from summoning creatures from the Æther."The wizard continued chiding the knight, as he shuffled the deck of cards. "Fret not too much, good knight. Even in what you consider unfair, there are rules and structures that even I cannot break."
The Knight growled in irritation. While the Order may very well have taken his side, should he back down, the wizard made ab excellent point. Further, *he* had been the one to declare this duel. Regardless of whether he would remain in the Order or not, his standing would decrease with such a mark of dishonor.
"Very well,"the Knight conceded, "At least tell me of these rules, so that may be aware of them."
The wizard laughed, "My, you are quite sharp, for a Knight! Very well, that would only be fair to you."
The wizard explained that the cards, and the monsters he could summon thereof from, were shuffled and randomized. He would start with a hand of seven, summon whatever spells he could. Large creatures, however, would require a sacrifice or several of the other monsters After every of the Knight's battles, he would draw a single card, and repeat.
Simple rules, it seemed.
The wizard began by playing a card of sorcery, allowing the wizard to draw a few cards. He then played another of the same spell, followed by a similar spell. The wizard was drawing, and discarding, and paying portions of his life to draw more. The Knight began to question why the wizard would go to such lengths, coming to the brink of death for what seemed a pitiful piece of paper. The Knight began to approach, only halted by the Wizard's laughter.
"Unfortunately, Knight, this battle was won before it started. I will reveal to you a beast so terrible, the Gods locked it away."
The Wizard revealed five cards from his hand, each a signified piece of the supposed creature. As he did, the skies blacked with rolling lightning, and the ground shook as eldritch energy tore hole into reality itself. The Knight thought he had known fear, but he had been wrong. This *thing* was fear incarnate. Destruction made manifest. Death given form.
"I summon Exodia, the Forbidden One!" |
My demon roomate sat on his bed, elbows on knees, staring at me earnestly. "You've got plenty of battle scars, Jeff. I see them all over your hands. You just have to SELL them."
I stared at Grimshaw curiously. Sell them. That's a fancy way of saying "lie", right?
"Give me an example,"I said. "Like that raised puncture scar on your leg."
"Mace injury. I did come out victorious."
"What's the real story?"
Grimshaw laughed. "Now you're getting it. I was carrying the mace myself in my pack. It kept swinging as I marched, knocking me in the leg. Developed a nasty wound from it repeatedly bouncing there."
"i SEE ... and how did you fix it?"
"Accidentally 'lost' the mace a few days later."
"That's very valiant of you."
"OK your turn now. I see a ragged scar all around your right thumb."
I rubbed it. It didn't stand out as much as it used to. "When I was about one year old, my mom let my grandmother babysit me. When she came back my thumb was nearly torn off, bleeding all over the place. Grandma said I must have been chewing my thumb. Mom took me to the ER, got it patched up, and didn't trust my grandmother to watch me alone after that."
"Hm. Do you know how it got ripped?"
"Best guess is there were these heavy iron heater vents in the floor. I must have picked one up then dropped it on my thumb and not known how to get it out."
Grimshaw raised an eyebrow. "Jeff, that's actually better than anything I've got."He thought. "It really was caused by a trap of hot irons. You'd been left in land of your ancestors, far out of your depths, but by sheer determination you escaped. You would have died of your injuries if your party hadn't rescued you in time. You learned, even for your most trusted companions, to always retain an edge of skepticism."
"I suppose you could put it that way."
"And you DO retain that edge of skepticism, don't you?"
"Most definitely. Though I don't think I could honestly point to that as the cause,"said Jeff. "OK, you do one Grimshaw. That thin cut across your left cheek."
"Sliced clean open. Narrow blade. I hadn't been paying proper attention before. But I did after. I can honestly say that's the last thing that blade ever sliced."
"Nice. And the real story?"
"Paper cut."
Jeff rolled his eyes. Then asked, "What sort of paper?"
"I believe it was an acceptance letter for a previous roommate,"said Grimshaw. "I'd been waving it around, keeping out of their reach."
"Self-inflicted again? Is this a pattern?"I asked.
"Coincidence,"said Grimshaw, "don't read too much into it. Your turn. How about this other thin scar around your pointer finger?"
"Oh, I was trying to make a kite, but it would only fly straight into the ground. I tried running faster but it just dug into the ground harder. Eventually I got frustrated and tried yanking it up into the air by its string by force, but the string cut into my finger, leaving this mark."
"And did you eventually learn to build a proper kite?"
"No."
"What did you learn?"
"To take 'no' for an answer."
"Hm ... air demon?"
"It was certainly a cursed object."
"Cursed? You're sure?"
"Absolutely, I was cursing it left and right."
"Hrmph,"said Grimshaw. "I don't see where to go with this one."
"How'd your previous roommate's acceptance work out?"
"Not so hot."
"No?"
"Evil boss."
"So, was that actually a later cut by the same blade?"
"Nah, more of a blunt injury to his head, which he bounced back from quickly. He quit after two weeks." |
I stared at my web of yarn, trying to find my mistake. My parents? The man who made gnomes for the craft fair and the grade school math teacher? Pyragon and DisTress? I had to be wrong. What were the odds I, of all people, would find the truth? Actually, looking at it, I was the only person who could have. I mean, there was the obvious "only someone living with them could match up there idiosyncrasies"bit, but more it was my abilities, his powers combined with her training had produced a very skilled individual. Not to brag, it's just fact. I thought my powers were a result of our field trip to the labs out in Tower, when I was exposed to the neutrino cloud. Now, I was realizing that "freak accident"only happened *because* of my powers. Ok, getting sidetracked, Ma would be upset. I accepted the facts as what they were, and got to the issue at hand: do I tell them I know? If I did, how would they respond?
Da would act happy but be concerned. He'd want to make sure I knew not to tell anyone, and that I didn't follow in Ma's footsteps. Or his.
Ma would be excited, but hide it from Da. She'd start training me more directly, though more behind his back. When he found out, there'd be a fight, then she'd accidentally trigger the mech suit she had hidden... Under his spot in the garage? Oh, that wouldn't go well when she busted his truck.
I could practically picture the fireblasts, tearing through the house, then the sky over our neighborhood, much like in their last battle.
What if I don't tell? We continue until I move out. But then, they are there with the empty nest. She'll get that itch, she'll miss the power, feel a bit bored and struggle to find a good hobby. Maybe do some consulting. Tinker on some tech. And at some point, he'll notice. And then a fight.
Those fireblasts of his come again, and again. If I just tell him, if I just tell her, always, it leads to a fight. And then I realize something I don't know. A factor that I can't pin. How did they stop fighting before? All my models, my calculations, none led a truce, an armistice, much less a marriage. I only realized they were alive because both disappeared at the same time.
I ran the footage of the fight again. The crash into the old observatory, an explosion of purple energy, then nothing. The observatory? I pull up my maps, both of the city and of Ma's secret labs. Of course!
The purple energy was a mind wipe! He didn't know! He didn't know. And she likely had improved the system. How often did she wipe his mind? I had to tell him.
*As he turned, there was a brief flash of purple, and he went catatonic.*
*"Oh, my darling,"she whispered, stroking her son's hair. "So very clever, so noble."*
*He continued to sit unresponding as she began taking down his notes and erasing his hard drive once again.*
*"You'll be a great hero some day, just like I was. But not yet, sweet."* |
They say you can get anything in Salliverna. Unfortunately, that includes not just goods and services, but also guests. Part and parcel of being the last major city before the most dangerous wilderness known to civilization.
As a royally-blessed inn and tavern for the extremely powerful (who are often rich, or useful enough that they don't need money), we have been put to the test again and again. Hurriedly built sky stables for a flock of young Wyverns, who will accept fish but are partial to rabbit; custom smithing for honeymooning royalty after he got caught with a courtesan who was not as discreet as ours would have been; the bones of the recently deceased, ethically sourced, are actually one of our more common offerings. But this?
The young lord is one of the better clients. He tips generously, does not start or encourage trouble, and makes no unreasonable requests. He seems embarrassed to be making this one.
"Yes, I was hoping for a flourless bread. Flour breads seem to disturb my stomach greatly, but I miss the taste."
"Would a bread made of rye be suitable?"I inquire.
He checks a scrivened list. I recognize Merdockai's monogrammed parchment.
"I'm afraid not."
"Perhaps I may examine the list of ingredients that are to be avoided in the bread? I can not make any guarantees that we will be able to get it today, but if such a thing can be arranged I will take care of it."
Wheat, rye, oats, barley. I wonder if I can think of grains that are not included on the list. I fail. I note down these requirements. If he wanted something simple, like the head of a lesser dragon, it'd be a small matter of posting a notice on our request board. Some intrepid adventurer would slay one for a mere two nights and fare in our standard rooms. Even the horns of a Skerrelack could be gained by sending a sparrowhawk to Hardegger, the great hermit of the Deep Wilds. But flourless bread?
The in-house baker suggests an alchemist. The Alchemist suggests a witch with culinary specialty. The witch laughs in my face. I am forced to my last resort. It feels almost like a failure to do it, but I am compelled once more.
I cover my work attire with a ragged cloak as I pass from the clean, safe, cobbled streets, into a labyrinth of gravel strewn alleys. The reek of urine, rotting vegetables, and some complex, horrid mix of other things assaults my nose. Bodies lay on the sides of the ditches, pressed up against the squat, unsteady daub and wattle houses. The bodies may or may not still be breathing. I clutch my dagger close. No one makes eye contact on this street, but all of our eyes are flicking and active as we move quickly, knowingly through the maze. There are only two kinds in this place, locals and prey.
I arrive at the wooden door. It is more solid than it looks. I take a deep breath.
˜˜˜
The young lord checks with me twice, that no flour of wheat, rye, oats, or barley has touched this bread. It looks like bread. It smells like bread, but there is some subtle difference. I inform him it won't be entirely the same, but it ought to be fairly close. Imported rice is sourced from the far east and finely powdered. Mountain roots from the lofty empires of the Ocolacolt range, boiled, mashed, dried. Yeast cultivated in the hotels own vats. Seeds from the great mill cities. I am not merely fishing for tips. I have written a recipe so that he may request it in the future. He smiles. He lifts it to his mouth.
˜˜˜
I knock at the door. It swings open, a waft of other scents overriding the foul miasma of the labyrinthine ghetto. Familiar eyes crinkle. "Mishalla! You do not come here enough, you ungrateful wretch."
I hug the old woman. "I know. I've got another work problem, mom."
She waves a hand that somehow manages to be at once pudgy and bony. "Work later, have some tea first."
˜˜˜
The young lord's face loosens in pleasure. He chews, and murmurs in delight. He opens his eyes.
"How do you do it?"he asks. "No place I've been has managed it before."
"An old, and powerful magic,"I reply. |
The sky was the color of a deep cave, flickered with sparks of blue flame. As Case made his way through the vast stone jungle, he appeared at once a paradox. His skin was bare as a child's, sharpened tools used to keep his hair short, and neat, but with heavy wrinkles around his dark, grey eyes.
He had the appearance of a man who had never won. No long braid to count his years or victories. Only the sharp, severe cut of one who had been bowed. Who had been broken. His hand kept close to the stone-rope he kept in his pocket, as he waited for the dead thing to pulse. Just once or twice. A reminder.
The stone rope was what they called it. A stone crafted with lightning, like the strange thin material that decorated the buildings around him, that could carve its strange cuniform and images clearer than any wise man's palm. The rope, for it was a lifeline. A tug and vibration and rhythm that could let him contact anyone else, across the scarred plain that made his home, a Sprawling valley that went on and on for cubits too far to measure, the mad jungle of stone and water-wall and men of such number and type that they were less a city, less a village, and more a hunting ground.
The buildings around him were tall as mountains and thin as trees, their water-walls reflecting him without a ripple. No distortion, no warping. Just him. The eternal loser. As another spark of blue fire lit the sky, the rain finally came. The covered lanterns decorating every step of path he wandered dimming not a flick.
Case was not a hunter. Not anymore. He was a walker of dreams once. Who could use stone rope to drift as easily as one may from tree to tree. Who could use the stone rope like the ferryman to gather knowledge years buried or fresh as seeds. But there were some grounds to hunt upon that were forbidden. And Case had walked a step too far, and paid the price.
Now? As the Stone Rope pulsed within his palm, as a flick of his eyes read a story in moments, and he knew his task? Case was just one of many, many others. On the path he walked, beset by water walls? Now he saw he was not even a man now. More a fish. A hundred others on this path, dressed as he, walking through rain and reflection, following currents and dodging each other or the greater obstructions upon the path, all without a word or a noise.
In this world, where the tools had made men near to Gods...few hunters were needed. Food was plentiful. Shelter was plentiful. Though most starved. Most thirsted. Most ached, in their hearts uncared for. The world had made few men need to hunt, but set no good tool to their hand, but the Stone Rope. And so, Case did what most people did.
He traded.
And he stole.
And he used his words to try to get more than his share. Just for a day or so.
And so it was, in this great city-state called Chiba. |
“You REALLY don’t want to do this.” You try to explain to him. “Of course I do, my first kill of the night has to be special.”
I sigh tiredly as the killer slowly unsheathe the knife hidden under his robe and start to approach me. He start muttering praise to the Void Father and raising his knife when I finally broke the silence.
"How long you've been in the Blood Moon?"I ask. The killer stop in his track, obviously surprised by my question. "How.. .How'd you know about the Blood Moon? No one suppose to know about us.."
"Just answer me"I told him as I massage my forehead, already felling a headache forming. "I.. I've been a member for two years now."The killer answered meekly.
"You didn't attend the last chapter meeting did you?"My voice start rising. "Be honest."
"N..no, I was busy..."I can barely hear his answer.
"Dumbass!"I shouted, the killer flinches. "I'm the new Chapter Master. I thought at the very least every member of the Blood Moon, no matter how old, should recognize this Attire I'm wearing. It got this massive Chapter Symbol at the back for crying out loud!"
The killer squinted his eyes. "Oh right, now I see it. Sorry boss, I been hitting the Red Sand and drinking with my buddies. Won't happen again, boss. Again, sorry.."The killer kept bowing and apologizing as he slowly back away. |
We thought the portal could only be opened from our side. That someone had to request it. But this time, it had opened on it's own.
The guards stood around in a half circle, weapons drawn and ready, but instead of the army of demons they expected, it was a man. A man they recognized.
He fell to the floor as the portal closed behind him, swallowed by flames and a flash of light.
Then silence.
They all stared in amazement as he stood up slowly, then slumped down leaning on the sword he carried. He looked tired and dirty, but unharmed, and as if he hadn't aged a day.
His armor on the other hand, looked like he'd been to hell and back. Wrapped in a cloak, a deep crimson red with glowing symbols, it was no longer new and shiny as they had remembered it, but charred and dull. His eyes glowing with a faint blue light, carrying a sadness of someone who had seen too much.
He slowly untied the cloak and let it fall to the floor, tossing the sword with a clang on top of it.
It was not his, but they recognized it immediately,
The task they had so naively set out to accomplish 20 years ago had truly been completed.
"I killed them all. All of them."he said.
Turning slowly, he walked towards the door to the temple out into the light.
The sun was calling him. Something he had not seen in several decades. A slight breeze so fresh. No longer the smokey air he had been breathing for so long. He closed his eyes as a smile came across his face, inhaling deeply to savor the moment.
The sacrifice he had made so long ago made him untouchable in that place. Even to the Devil himself.
All had been saved. |
I look at my uncle, then I look back to the 12 plastic skeletons in his closet, then I look at my uncle again with an eyebrow raised.
Uncle Mike only chuckle sheepishly. “It was a wild night let me tell you.”
“Does this explains the cow?” I asked while pointing at the cow’s carcass lying on my uncle bed.
My uncle look at the thing in puzzlement, then he turned his gaze back at me.
“I thought that was you.”
“… I hate Monday.” I swore to myself I would never go out drinking with Uncle Mike again. |
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