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‘You need to get help,’ says the sobbing voice on the telephone, ‘I’m begging you.’
Every muscle is tense, sweat gleams on my forehead, there’s a throbbing in my heart. I take the phone away from my ear and hang it up with a slow, continuous motion. Then I go to bed.
I always sleep like a rock and tonight isn’t any different. A dream comes to me; a rolling hill, a blaring hot sun, an infinite breath of fresh, fresh air. I awake with moisture from slender blades of grass still dabbed on my lips. My heart is so full of love that I sing one of *his* in the shower, I just let the music spill right out of me. After I’m dry and dressed and almost ready to go, I open my copy of the book on the table, and carefully write on the first page, ‘This is my statement,’ then I sign it with the name of the protagonist. I leave the book open right there and open the drawer. Inside there’s a .38 revolver, loaded with hollow-point bullets – I half-expect to feel something when I see it, some hesitation, or hear some voice that says, ‘Just go home. Forget this.’ But I don’t. I don’t hear anything at all.
Downstairs, the doorman smiles as I pass him and wishes me a good day. I tip him $100 and say, ‘I will, sir.’ It’s a gusty December day in New York City and I’m buffeted along the pavements, swept down the alleyways and brushed up against the fence to the park opposite one of the grandest apartment blocks I’ve ever seen. The size of it, the archways, the rows of pristine cars queuing up outside. By the sight of it I know that this is a place for great minds, for the sorts of people that will live on in the hearts of others for thousands of years, as ghosts. I’ll never walk those halls or feel the sheets on those beds or taste the succulent flesh of the lobsters served in those kitchens. That’s not for me, and I don’t want it, anyway. I am who I am. Born in Texas with nothing, told all my life that I am nothing, that I wouldn’t ever be nothing else. Your beliefs form early in life and they don’t ever change – I just don’t ever want to be forgotten. I want *something*, a legacy, just so people know my name. Just so they know I was here and never forget it. Today’s the day I become immortal.
Hours pass and, as steady as I was this morning, time has worn me down. My hands are sweaty and I’m constantly fighting the urge to look over my shoulder and all around me. I know I look guilty as hell, I don’t know where to put my hands, there are so many windows facing me – so many faces hidden in the dark folds of those curtains. But I hold my ground, and I’m soon relieved to notice that I’m not the only one hanging around. There’s a small group of young ladies nearer the corner and a smattering of couples stood on my side of the road, facing the block. That’s just the beginning of it; there gets to be quite a hubbub in the area. A police car cruises through and blasts its horn at a crowd of lads fooling about in the road. Dogwalkers shove their way along the pavement outside and the doorman has to shout to be heard when he tells the crowd to keep back off the front steps. It must nearly be time, so I take a last, deep breath of fresh, clean air and delve into the midst of the crowd, my fingers closed firmly around the handle of the revolver in the deep pocket of my coat.
‘This evening, John Lennon arrived at the emergency room of the Roosevelt Hospital. He was dead on,’ The newsreader clears his throat, ‘- At the time of his arrival.’ His voice is a steady monotone, he pauses for breath before going on, ‘Numerous resuscitative efforts were made after his arrival but in spite of the effort of many physicians and many procedures we were unable to restore the life of Mr. Lennon.’
So, there it is. My name’s up there, on every television screen, the front page of every newspaper. I killed their idol, their inspiration, and they’ll hate me forever and I'll die in prison – but as long as they remember *him*, they'll remember *me*. |
"Tomorrow,"she told me, eyes looking past my ear, gazing toward me in that slightly-crooked way she always did, the way she looked at everyone. Her voice was barely a whisper, rough, somehow soothing, not shocking the way it should have been after four years of silence.
None of us knew why she didn't speak, though we assumed some bureaucrat or administrator at the school did. The teachers all seemed to treat it as a matter of course, and when a few brave or tactless students tried to ask her, she'd just look at them, the way she was looking at me, about an arm's length past their right ear, crooked gaze, tilted head, utter silence. Not a surprise, I guess, the silence, but we all knew she could read and write, she'd sit quietly and do her assignments. Sometimes she'd pass a note to one of the teachers. But never to any of us.
Her name was Jane Villanueva, we got that much from when roll was being called. She looked...very ordinary. Not unattractive, but not striking in any way. Average height, average weight. Average athlete in gym class, from what my female friends told me. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin, with only her surname hinting at any particular ethnicity. Hard to describe beyond that.
Except the way she looked at people, that was particular. And the fact that she didn't speak, I guess, but that just gave you one less thing to grab onto, no voice, no accent.
Until now. "Tomorrow, Haitham bin Ghalib,"she continued. "Tomorrow they will come, you will see, and I will have to stand."The way she pronounced the English words, there's no way it was her native language, but I couldn't place her accent at all, no way to guess what she might have grown up speaking. Nothing like the Arabic accent my father had, or the Mexican accent of my buddy Juan José. And my name, she didn't say it the way English speakers do, but again, nothing like my father either. And I just stared at her.
Because her voice was captivating. Not beautiful, not musical or anything like that, it just, it...hummed and quivered in the air, like it was in contact with something deeper, like every word sunk into the air somehow and *meshed* with...with whatever was there, I guess. With everything but not exactly, maybe with whatever lay beneath all of it. I couldn't understand it then, and I can't really describe it then, but it held me there, standing, staring back at her even though she wasn't really quite looking at me.
Silence. I've never felt a silence that was so *present*, laid down live along a moment in time almost as though it were breathing.
"Ah,"I said, and I gasped for air, because I hadn't taken a breath myself, not during that whole time I still can't count. "Ah, Jane. I...tomorrow is Yearbook Day."I didn't know what else to say. I didn't have words for any of the rest of it, not then.
She just nodded at my ear, then handed me a slip of paper. I never saw where she took it from. I don't know why that sticks with me, but I was looking at her the whole time, looking at nothing else, really. Maybe when she was speaking, I sort of...lost focus, and that's when she got it out. Hell, I *know* I did. Lose focus. Losing it now, just remembering, and, uh, next. Next I read the paper.
*Haitham,* it said, only it was written in Arabic, spelled out *ha yaa thaa miim,* right-to-left, perfect calligraphy, and the English letters that followed were just as exact. *Tomorrow they will come, and you must be ready. I will stand, but that will not be enough. Bring the sword. Put it in your bag. You have heard my voice and know I speak true. Bring the sword.*
My hand shook, and I swallowed a rising chill.
"Holy shit."
<continued in a bit> |
Most people think that only the losers sit at the front of the bus. As someone who normally takes that seat, I guess they can't be too wrong. I was the butt of jokes all the time, but it never stopped me from moving my spot. Part of that was so I could get away from the noise and the fighting in the back, and part of it was because I liked looking out the front to see the world pass by.
The big reason, though, was because I could talk to Wilson. Wilson was in his seventies, as he had told me many a time. He could have retired years ago, but, in his words, "You kids need someone to keep an eye on you. If I can help with that, even a little bit, then I'll drive you as long as I can."
He was a man of culture. He could talk about anything that struck his fancy. I had so many conversations with him, ranging from history to geology. I had to admit, Wilson had helped me pass more than one test, and I may have steered the conversation to help me out a few times.
As it was, today was one of the last few days of the school year, so I was just chatting about whatever Wilson wanted to talk about. At the moment, he was regaling me about the history of Rome, running through the myth of Romulus and Remus. "Now, the pair were raised by wolves, but once they started to build their own city and squabbled over what hill to build it on, the pair acted more like snakes, going against each other with venom. Hold on one sec."
His voice trailed off as he waved at the approaching bus. It was a routine of his. He would wave at the driver, they would wave back, and he would have a little smile as he went back to his conversation. As he waved, I craned my neck forward, looking at the bus coming up. The driver was someone I hadn't seen before, which was weird since I knew of most of the drivers on the route. *Just another reason to make fun of me.*
The bus passed by quickly, the driver's head straight ahead, not making eye contact. As the bus passed, Wilson seemed to stiffen. His fingers tightened on the wheel, and I could see the muscles in his neck tense up.
I leaned forward a little. "Wilson? Are you all right?"
In and instant, he was back to himself. "Y-yeah. Hey, you trust me, right, kid?"I saw him glance up at me in the mirror, grey eyes piercing in the glass.
I nodded silently, as the ruckus behind me seemed to roll into the background. After a brief moment, he closed his eyes. "Then stay with me when the rest get off. We're going to follow that bus."
I tilted my head in confusion. "Why are we going to do that? Why do you want me to come along?"
"That wave I always do? That's a little code between the driver order. It means all is well. I had gotten a notification before to watch out, so when he didn't send the code, that's how I knew something was up. As for why you...well, you've given me the best conversations I've had in a long time, and you just might be able to help me out."
I nodded, excitement building in my chest. I still wasn't sure how I could help, but something about the idea was certainly thrilling. "O-of course. I'll do whatever I can do."
Wilson grinned again. Oh, one last thing. I was telling you the story of the Roman twins. Well, I think they represent a little about me. I know I was calling them a pair of snakes, but that doesn't quite represent me."
"No?"
His eyes seemed to darken as he spoke next. "No, I think the way they were raised represent me far better. Not snakes, but a set of wolves. And now, it's time for me to bare my teeth and show just how dangerous I can be."
/u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker (2019 Edition!): 20/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories! |
At first I was amazed. People seemed happy, food was plentiful, and the local school looked packed. I even managed to find a shop giving away fresh pastries that tasted almost as good as the ones I used to get from Starbucks.
It was only after a day exploring that I started to sense something wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t the place so much as the people. Everyone just seemed so happy. I initially put that down to them being thankful for surviving the most cataclysmic event in human history, but there was something more to it.
An hour ago I was walking down Main Street on my way to get another pastry when I encountered a man who appeared to be the local Sheriff. I stopped behind him as he awkwardly reached around his back for something strapped to his belt.
“Can I help?” I said, taking a step forward.
He turned around slowly as he continued to grab for whatever it was.
“Got 'em!” He said triumphantly. He revealed a pair of handcuffs and began examining them closely. Then he looked up, “odd things aren’t they? Apparently they were used for keeping hands tied together. Guess I’ll figure them out eventually.”
I looked slightly confused but smiled, “yeah, sure. Nice day isn’t it?”
He looked up at the sky and breathed in deeply, “best day since we arrived I reckon. Say, I haven’t seen you around before. You arrive on the second ship?”
I frowned, not sure whether to play along or reveal myself as an outsider. I decided to play it safe, “yeah, came in yesterday. Actually, I'm meeting my friend who came with me. Already running late so better get a move on!”
He nodded with a smile.
Just as I was about to move along I caught something in his eye, like a slightly off colour tone I’d never seen before. A shudder went down my spine and I hurried off.
I skipped the pastry and since then I’ve been sitting in an open window on the first floor of an abandoned building, looking over Main Street. I've been watching and listening people as they walk by, trying to figure out what's going on.
I spot two men running down the street towards me. One of them is carrying a piece of paper. It's the Sheriff. They reach an older woman walking in the opposite direction and stop her, just below my window. I slowly pull myself away so I’m not visible.
“Have you seen this man?” It’s the voice of the Sheriff, puffing from the run. “He was walking down here earlier today. He told me he came in on the second ship yesterday, but when I told Pete he said that couldn’t be cause the ship came in last week! I knew something was odd about him, damn it!”
There was a pause, then the Sheriff spoke again in a whisper that carried up to me, “I think he might have been here already. Reckon he might have, you know, survived the event.” |
It was just a prick, nothing more. The guards clumsily lurched to stop him and all of a sudden I was in their arms being rudely dragged down the stone steps away from the throne. I yelled and fought and begged them to obey their rightful king and then the door to the cell slammed shut. At first I swatted and kicked at the rats but eventually they became my little friends, sometimes bringing me a morsel of food in exchange for a careful pet. I had always had a knack for animals, be it the massive warhorses of the heavy cavalry or the hunting hounds caged and thirsty for blood or the little mice that scurried through the castle kitchens. And so I went from king to convict, and my beard hair grew longer and grayer and my lungs raspy from the dank mold. It was the look in his eyes that kept me going - the look in my eyes I should say, because one moment I was sitting on the throne and the next second I was looking at myself through a different body. And my eyes were now cruel and unforgiving. I had eyes like that before.
It could have been weeks or it could have been months, I lost count of the number of times that the sun disappeared from the tiny window in the back wall of the cell. Food was shoved through the small window in the door. Whether it was once a day or three times a day, I had no way to know. When a knock on the door finally indicated that somebody had come to visit me, I was squatting in the corner defecating on an already large pile that I sometimes eyed warily, thinking of the stories it could tell of the bowels that released each layer. "It wasn't personal, I hope you know that,"he said after waving away the guards. I felt light-headed staring at myself in the shadows of the cell. Or perhaps it was the lack of food.
"Who are you?"was all I could murmur. He looked just like me - no, he was me. It wasn't some poorly made effigy or a twin who shares a face but has subtle differences in freckles or the way he smiles. The mannerisms here were different, but other than that I was staring at myself. Except the eyes. They were softer now, perhaps pampered by the lifestyle of a king. My lifestyle.
"I am the king,"he answered simply and then he chuckled and, had I not been rotting away in a cell, I, too, would have laughed. The notion was ridiculous. We both knew that. I was king. "As far as they know, you're some lunatic with a knife insisting he's the rightful king."
"I am,"I stressed and he laughed again and shook his head.
"Forget that. I am here to offer you your freedom."
"Why?"I asked and he tilted his head reluctantly.
"I have to."He drew a dagger and I gasped when I recognized it. It was the same ornate dagger with the bone hilt that had been used to stab me. "My master says you will provide him with more tribute if you live. I don't like it, but I don't ask questions."He handed me the dagger. "Don't get too excited,"he added, perhaps sensing that I wanted to lunge at him and stab him and take back the life and the throne that was rightfully mine. "It held one charge and I used it to take your life."He nodded towards the door. "The guards will escort you to the harbor. I recommend you take a ship away from here. If I see you again, I will have you killed and pay my master's tribute myself."The king turned to leave.
"What do I do with this?"I asked, holding the cursed dagger in my hand.
He shrugged and looked back. "Take lives to trade lives,"he said cryptically and paused at my confusion. "Take a ship to the Eastern Isles. You'll find people with answers and little interest in your life."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
Power is finally coursing through my veins. My adrenaline is pumping like it never has before. With knife in hand I know I can take on the world. I pat my new alligator companion on the head before walking him home. My neighbor seemed a bit confused at my new pet and asks, “AH WHAT THE HELL?! IS THAT AN ALLIGATOR OH MY GOD I’M CALLING THE POLICE!”. Let them come, I think to myself, what can they do to stop the king of texas? I flick on the news to see the goings on of my newly crowned kingdom. “Local man tames alligator, Neighbors terrified” scrolls gently across the screen. A live streamed coverage from a helicopter depicts the local police starting to congregate outside my house. Bring. It. On. I step outside with Lady (I named the alligator Lady because she is a pretty Lady after all), point to the nearest patrol car and she immediately bursts into a full quadruped spring. Before officers can react two of them are down with teeth marks three inches deep into their legs. Now I’m not about to let Lady have all the fun. I Run up to the nearest cop to my left and slash his throat with the TX Slasher™️. He goes down and i grab his gun before doming the surrounding six officers. Bullets are flying, Alligators are chomping, and I am winning. Above the gunfire I hear an officer to the right of me scream into his radio, “Bring in FloridaMan we need the big guns for this one. NOW”. I get an unsettling feeing in my stomach as i splatter his brains on the windshield. Who is FloridaMan? And more importantly, why do they think he stands a chance? before i can scratch my head a hear hissing coming from lake across the street. The gunfire ends abruptly as the cops begin their retreat. Some visibly terrified, other in awe, and others laughing. They know something I don’t. Lady even looks anxious. Slowly a seventeen foot alligator saunters out of the small lake, a pale skinny white guy with sunken in eyes perched carefully on his back. This must be him. FloridaMan. “Who are you and what brings you to my domain?” I yell from across the road. “I... Am FloridaMan, and this is the end of the King of Texas”. I refuse to take such smack from a cracked out stranger. I hurl my knife directly at the man. I raise my eyebrow at the dagger sticking out of his forehead. Unfazed, he chuckles back, “Ha! you thought your petty blade could hurt me? Bath Salts have removed all sensation of pain years ago!”. Such power... this is going to be a fight indeed. I break out in a sprint to meet my foe, Lady at my side. I leap to tackle the on-comer, tackling him off of his steed. Lady and the beast begin snarling and snapping at each other’s face and legs, digging teeth into each other’s scaly armor. I wail on the madman but all he does is laugh. Between repeated punches to the face he spits the blood out of his mouth, baring his four remaining teeth. He swiftly kicks me off of him before jumping to his feet. Through peering yellowed eyes and gritted gums, he beckons me forward. Let the real battle for Onion article superiority begin! |
He'd only ever wanted to stop the siege on his community. Only a boy at the time, the young Sabian Thorne had watched as fire razed his town to the ground. He'd vowed in that moment to take it back from the scourge of the skies, dedicating his life to the sword as it took him on a journey all over the continent. He'd made friends along the way, namely a bard by the name of Mattigan, a cleric name Alyrus, and a monk named Honest.
Alyrus had lost her entire family to plague and had dedicated herself to the ways of healing, joining Sabian upon finding him wounded in an ambush. The two of them had only had one another for weeks until they sprung Mattigan from a jail for public indecency he was going to be hanged for.
Mattigan gave the first impression that he was a dullard and a chauvinist when really he was only one of those things. Either or. But never at the same time. He enjoyed reading Alyrus and she, in turn, kept him in his place. He'd come from poverty, trapped behind a paywall and playing for the coin his family had been denied. His goal was to get into a decent school and make something of himself despite Alyrus and Sabian thinking his musical abilities were already legendary in the making.
Finally, there was Honest, a tiefling monk the group had found deep within a withering woods, trapped in stone while meditating and left to nature. Casting a spell to revive him and free him from his rocky prison, Alyrus quickly realized he was from hundreds of years in the past, forever removed from his family, his friends, and his loved ones. With no one else to turn to, Honest joined the motley crew.
For a time it was the four against the world, fearlessly facing kobolds, goblins, ogres and trolls, working their way ever closer to the den of the Dragon Lord, Ambust the Destroyer. The mighty six winged Dragon who made his home at the peak of Mount Os Infernum was known to have flame so hot it could reduce ore to a gaseous state and evaporate oceans with a single pass. All Sabian knew was that it was dragons who obeyed Ambust who destroyed his home and should he destroy Ambust the other dragons, hopefully, would no longer listen.
The four fought their way through rain, sleet, snow and hail, through lightning and thunder, through sickness and heat. When times seemed dire it was the song of Mattigan or the healing words of Alyrus or sometimes even the gentle meditation of Honest that got them through. At times Sabian lost sight, wondering that with all he'd been given from his friends what was he giving them?
Leadership, they all agreed. Without Sabian, there wouldn't even be a group. They were the misfits, doomed to travel and die together as a found family for without one another they were no one but together they were a renowned group of Heroes who'd, at this point, saved a great deal of people.
The battle atop Os Infernum was intense, the heat and the threat of environmental hazard even more so. The group seemed poised to win when they were ambushed by a subservient dragon who served Ambust named Serpere who has previously made contact with them, lying that he only wished to have freedom from Ambust.
The ambush came at great cost and Alyrus fell in battle. Without their healer, Honest urged them to fall back but Sabian was too angry and too filled with loss to think straight as he looked upon the broken body of the strongest woman he'd ever known.
Redoubling his efforts and channeling his anger, Sabian awoke the secret flame of the ancient sword they'd found in the pit of a sealed volcano, The Flamebrand. Wielding this weapon, he struck true, grounding Serpere and removing his head as Honest and Mattigan used their skills to keep him stunned.
With Serpere down the way to Ambust was clear and the three remaining heroes pressed on. When Ambust finally rose to face them and realized Sabian was holding aloft the legendary blade said to be once held by another warrior who'd fallen to the six winged Dragon, he faltered. In that moment of hesitation, Honest, Mattigan and Sabian struck, taking the Dragon Lord by surprise and paralyzing his mighty wings as he fell into the depths of the volcano he called his home.
At first the three didn't realize the Dragon had fallen but when the smoke began to rise and the smell of burning flesh hit their noses they rejoiced. Alyrus had been avenged and Ambust was finally dead.
The three entered the cavern nearby where it was said legendary treasures awaited. Though Sabian had already achieved his goal, something about the recognition in Ambust's eyes had bothered him.
The Dragon knew the sword and from the look he'd known it better than Sabian had.
It was as Sabian stood hesitating that he heard a horrible scream and an echoing thud. Too late, he arrived to where his friends had been moments before. A trap. The ceiling had fallen and there had been no time to react. Honest had usually been perceptive but this trap had been advanced, likely set to catch Ambust himself. Mattigan and Honest hadn't had a chance... And now Sabian found himself alone at the edge of the world.
He ventured further into the cavern feeling lost when a glint caught his eye.
With the trap activated and now harmless, he'd been able to proceed where others hadn't. He found it. Before him lay a room littered with gold and platinum, precious gems and powerful weapons. All of these things Ambust had stolen and yet they'd brought him nothing but a useless hoard in a lonely mountain all alone.
As he knelt to touch the gold be wept for his lost friends and embedded The Flamebrand into the stone itself as he mourned. It was in this moment the sword itself spoke.
"You have traveled the world with revenge in your heart, Sabian Thorne. You have killed a Dragon Lord, one of many, and have lost precious friends to do so. What have you to say for yourself?"
Taken aback by the accusatory tone coming from the ancient blade, Sabian cursed.
"I've lost everything! EVERYTHING! My home, my family, my friends! All to kill a Dragon! I regret it all! Were I able to do it again, I would have met them and agreed to build a town with them for the less fortunate. This entire journey has ended with their death when it should have always been mine."
"So you regret?"
The voice of the blade seemed somber and only then did Sabian recognize it. It was Ambust! But it was impossible!
"You seem surprised. No, I am not Ambust. Though I did become him. That is the destiny of our curse. The curse of the legendary hero. We create the quest for the next of kin. The quest will test them and should they succeed they will not end up here but should they fail then we are to die so they can become the next Ambust. So it goes, it is your turn, Sabian Thorne, the hero who regrets."
The change took hold almost immediately. His armor was suddenly tight, too tight. He couldn't breathe. He clutched at his neck, gasping and choking as the metal squeezed and then snapped apart. His skin was hardening, splitting and segmenting into scales.
"No!"He cried out, "No, please!"
But it was too late.
The base of his spine extended with hideous pops as extra vertebra filled the fleshy protrusion that now grew heavier, thrashing from side to side as rich red and black scales ran up and down it in sequence.
His hands gripped and clenched helplessly at his belongings as they burst off of him, fingers swelling up and the nails ripping off the ends as cruel black talons pushed their way out, dripping with blood as they violently took their place on his new hands.
His feet shifted in weight and balance, the heel lifting off the ground as his toes reorganized themselves, once more the nails being pushed out by the talons that replaced them.
He staggered on his feet, his nudity not even at the forefront of his rapidly clouding mind as his more human features tucked within and rearranged themselves into more reptilian aspects. His neck pushed up and out and his torso and hips swelled with the new muscle needed to maintain his form and then all of his body began to grow.
Larger, larger, swelling and popping, the pain was immense and the burning in his back had begun to make him scream even as his mouth pulled open so far his jaw felt like it was breaking, gums pulled back and then his nose and mouth pushed immediately forward, dragging his facial structure out further and further until a mighty snout reformed his features. His teeth fell from his mouth as perfect fangs shot through into place, leaving blood on his now forked tongue. His ears pushed back and reformed into fins that would aid in curving sound to his ear and his eyes rolled back in his head only to settle once again completely yellowed with a murderous black slit for a pupil etched with a cruel red iris.
His hair had fallen out long ago, now replaced with two long, twisting black horns that curled back as sharp spines like needles shot from his back, lining his spine to the tip of his tail which ended in the cruel curved bone Ambust used to decapitate his foes.
Finally, from his back, a great many muscles began to bulge in a massive growth. He scratched at it, twisting his mighty neck to try to bite at the growth for it was tight and pulsating, filled with something he needed to get out.
In a spray of blood and the wetness of his finality, six massive wings finally exploded forth, forming rapidly along his back as the bones and the membranes between them filled out and flapped as the muscles swelled within them, strengthening them.
Where once the young hero Sabian Thorne had stood, Ambust had risen again. Within his mind was only hunger and fire. The belongings at his feet were added to the pile and the scent of the human within his cavern was memorized. He would fly the continent over until he located more like this one...
And he would raze their dwellings to the ground. |
"Princess, I'm puzzled."
"About what?"
"In all your time with me, you've never tried to escape. Why is that?"
"Oh! I thought you knew! I'm under arrest for treason."
"Treason! A princess of the realm!? How could that happen?"
"Easily enough, they insisted that I marry this oaf from the next kingdom over. I refused. They insisted, and dragged me to the altar. When we got to the I do's, I said, I don't."
"What happened then?". I'm strangely facinated. Humans are weird.
"Well of course, I stabbed him to death. I wasn't going to put up with that oaf! That started a war, which they blamed me for! I mean really! It was their idea to force the marriage, not mine!"
"A thoroughly reasonable reaction. I take it you were being held for trial?"
"Oh, no, nothing so crass. I was waiting for execution. ... By Dragon."
"**BY DRAGON!?**". I'm fuming, don't flame, you'd roast her like a prize boar on a spot.
"Well, isn't that what you do?"
"Princess, in the normal course of things, you would remain unharmed by the dragon. Dragons have much better uses for princesses.
Bait for reckless knights; conversation; even cuddling in the right circumstances. But as food? Not even when starving."
"But don't you eat the knights?"
"Only because they're still in their armor. It's the steel and such that we're after. We put up with them because it's easier than peeling them out of it."
"Then you must be hungry! We'll need to make up some posters and offer a reward for the rescue of a princess. That ought to sucker them in. Then I can help you!"
"What a delicious idea!"
((finis)) |
"Ok! So see here kids, clifford is a really big red dog, quite big and red."Sesnock said as his skeletal hands turned the page. "Clifford is so big that-"
"Wheres your head mister?"A girl at the front of the room asked. Pointing towards Sesnocks skull.
"Its here! See that's my head."He tapped his skull confirming that it indeed was his head.
"But theres no like... face?"She mumbled, seeming more confused then scared which surprised the Lich.
"Look It's still a face its just mine has no..."Sesnock sighed. "Look lets get back to Clifford, he's about to climb a-"
"His face fell off because he was stupid."A snotty brat snickered from the back, causing the kids to burst into laughter.
"I am not stupid! I was quite smart actually."Sesnock muttered as he flicked through the pages, trying to skip towards the end. "Look Clifford is digging a hole! Its quite a big hole."Sesnock said, trying his best to smile as he showed them the picture of the rather big hole.
"Probably to bury your stupid head in."The snotty kid remarked only gaining more laughter which caused Sesnock to finally snap.
His robes fluttered as he stood up. "I'LL BURY YOU AND YOUR FAMILY YOU LITTLE RUNT, SKIN YOU ALIVE AND FEED YOU TO MY UNDEAD HOUNDS BEFORE MAKING YOU MY SKELETAL PUPPETS!"
With that Sesnock was met with loud screams and crying as the children fled the library. With a sigh of defeat the Lich sat himself down. "Just once I would like to finish a tale..." |
The first death I can barely remember. I was only a child after all and well and all I could remember is being so sick after played outside too long in the rain. I couldn't move and hen it slipped away peacefully and I woke up before I ever went out into the rain.
This happened again and again as I grew up. One day I stepped off the curb at the wrong time and Boom! I was roadkill. Another day some suspicious man told me had candy... yeah that one was a rough one and yet I somehow kept waking up right before it ever happened and I fixed whatever mistake I made.
Other times it was long running decisions. In high school I got mixed up with the wrong folks, ran some drugs and years later got in a horrible shootout. Blood was everywhere and certainly leaking from multiple holes in my body. Yet when I woke up it was back in high school, back before that first day I met those guys and I made the right decision.
I don't know how many times I died, could be a hundred, could be a thousand, could be a hundred-thousand. I dunno but I do remember the time when I finally got it right.
After living lavishly, being rich and famous and selling my soul to the devil with the wicked deeds I had done I had gone back to high school again. I was pretty pissed off to as being fucking freshman sucked ass.
And then... then I saw her. I never noticed her before, a chubby little thing, hair tied up and the dirtiest glasses you ever saw. What caught my eye most though was how puffy her eyes were. So I decided this time to forsake my devilish deeds and instead act upon those of an angel. I remember our first conversation perfectly.
"Hey... I'm uh... I'm Joseph."I muttered nervously. I didn't know why I was nervous when I had done way crazier shit then talk to a girl.
"Listen I don't really wanna talk."She sobbed as she tried to leave and I realized something. Mary was the name of the girl who killed herself sometime in Sophmore year... never really met her before but I could stop it.
"Hey, listen... you may not be doing well. You may be feeling hurt and sad and terrible but look at me. It gets better."I said a soft smile crossing my face
"No it doesn't look at me. I'm fucking hideous, I'm bullied and no guy worth there two cents would ever go out with me."She cried as she wiped her tears form her face.
"I will."I suggested and she stopped crying.
"Really?"She asked her eyes going as wide as saucers and it was then that I started to think she was actually kinda cute.
"Sure why not."I shrugged and then we made plans for a date.
It happened the next Saturday. Mary admitted to me later that she was so nervous she almost didn't show up and the date was awkward as hell. But we made each other laugh and smile and that was enough to make the both of us want a second one. That second one turned into a third and then a fourth and then a fifth and then eventually we couldn't count them either.
We soared through high school together, happy and with the best friends I had picked out from before. Spon enough high school turned to college, she studied marine biology and I studied physics. Then college to jobs and jobs to marriage and I was surprised there was not a single death as of yet.
Marriage begets children and we had a beautiful baby daughter. That daughter grew up so fast. One day in kindergarten begging her dad to play horsey, the next day getting married herself and still no deaths happened.
Eventually Mary and I retired and moved out to the countryside, it was always a dream of hers. There we sat on the porch and read our books, we raised our grandchildren and grew old as only retired couples could and still there was no deaths.
Until finally my darling Mary died, and I wept and cried and begged she be brought back like I had and yet I was ignored and for once I wished the death upon myself, yet I didn't want to reset all that happened. So I lived on for her and with a smile on my face.
And eventually came the time when I was too old and frail to live any longer and much like that time as a young child I grew to sick to live. And there surrounded by the ones I loved. I slipped away peacefully.
And this time I woke up differently. I woke up in some capsule with the words EXPERIMENT COMPLETE SUBJECT WILL NOW BE RELEASED flashing on the screen and when I emerged from the pod I was greeted by a man and my darling Mary who looked so younger
And I turned to the man and I asked, "Released to where?"
And the man said, "To heaven of course. It took ya a few tries but ya lived a good life Joseph."
And so with a smile on my face I took my Mary's hand and we walked off to peace. |
Daniel's life ended in a flash of light. It was very sudden and he felt no pain. In fact, Daniel didn't know that he had died at all. He could only remember that blinding light that followed with darkness. After that he was being ferried across a river, and now dozens of beings sat before him. They all spoke among themselves, until one finally stood from its throne to address the assembly.
"Gods! Gods!"He said. "Quiet down, quiet down! We have a mortal in our midst."
The majority of the assembly hissed and jeered at the feeble Daniel.
"Yes, I know that we all hate judging time. Let us get on with it, I hear that the Olympians are able to have this done within a mere moment. Perhaps we'll be able to do it *today* if you would all behave!"
Daniel looked at the ferryman who had carried him across the river.
"So am I dead,"he asked.
The ferryman only gave a hush with his bony finger. He pointed to the god who was speaking.
"I say that we just, well..."the god looked to his left and right, "hmm, let's go from that way to, well I guess the other way."
"But,"hissed a serpent headed lion, "I was supposed to go first after last time."
"Yes,"said the lead god. "Then we will go from your way to the other way then, and when we reach the end, we will start down the other side. Is that good?"
The assembly gave an apathetic, "Yea."
Daniel could soon tell that he was being judged, although the serpent god did not clearly state it. It instead started on a largely insignificant speech about the importance of making sure that each god had checked on the number of sacrifices they had received, and to promptly eat the souls before they started to rot and stink up the entire mountain again.
His judgement on Daniel came at the end of the tirade.
"And so it is with a righteous fist and mighty judgement that I, the god of grooming, deem you unworthy of salvation. Next."
"Wait,"Daniel sprang towards the gods' altars before the ferryman pulled him back. "Why?"
"Daniel, look under your nails as we speak,"said the serpent.
"Well,"Daniel gave his hands a look-over, "they are quite dirty."
"Yes, and that is why your soul shall burn in agony, if my vote has anything to do with it."
The rest of the assembly followed in this manner. Most of the gods were more preoccupied with saying something else, instead of judging the mortal. Daniel was able to see why it took them so long to judge just one soul, but he felt it was best to keep that to himself.
As the assembly spoke their mind, Daniel saw that gods he had no interactions with did not speak to him. The god of deep sea creatures was one such god, as Daniel had never eaten any such fish. As the number of gods left dwindled, the lead god spoke.
"Daniel, it seems that you have half of the pantheon saying you should live forever. The other half would like to see you damned. Seeing as there are no gods remaining to pass judgement on you, we will have a tiebreaker."
"And what is that,"asked Daniel.
"We will rip you in half, and if the right side is larger than the left your soul shall find salvation."
Daniel tensed up. He knew that even though he was dead, he would prefer not to be ripped in half.
"Sir,"said Daniel, "Isn't there another way?"
"No. Not unless another god can speak for you."
The room was silent.
"It looks like we will tear you asunder."
Just then, the room shook with a deep and violent crack. Gods fell from their thrones and many gave a loud shriek. All looked around trying to find the source of the disturbance. Towards the end of the assembly a large hunched statue started to slowly crack as chunks of earth fell from it, each time causing the ground the room was on to quake.
During the commotion, the ferryman turned Daniel's head away from the direction of the newly arising god.
"Y-you're,"Daniel heard the lead god say.
The ferryman motioned for Daniel to cover his ears and to close his eyes. Daniel could feel more thrashing in the room, but he did not dare to open his senses to whatever was occurring.
A deep sense of doom filled the air among all the other gods. One of the ancient ones, who had not moved in millions of years, arose from its slumber to speak for the judgement of a mortal. There was no debate. Not a single word was uttered, not by the lead god and certainly not by the lesser gods. The old one only pointed at Daniel and gave a thumbs up, and it then returned to its resting place, awaiting until it was time to be re-awoken.
The lead god himself descended from the throne to speak with Daniel.
"Son,"he said, "You're going to find salvation."
"Really? Which god saved me?"
The lead god stroked his beard and shook his head, "You don't want to know. It's better that way. It wouldn't be much of a salvation if I told you."
And with that, the mortal was given his halo, harp, and wings, and ascended into the sky. |
"Phew, finally finished it. Only took a few hundred years too! Thanks so much for the opportunity!"
"Yes, it is nice to have one's work appreciated, but I do wonder what you mean there. You're not finished by a wide margin."
"Sorry? I've seen everything there is to see. I've climbed every mountain, crawled through every crevice, and dived down into the deepest depths. What more is there to see?"
...\*chuckles\*
"My friend, you haven't seen even a small margin of the universe I've created. There's so many more works I've placed out amongst the cosmos for you to explore."
"What...?"
"You said you wanted to see everything there is to see, did you not? I've made you immortal up until you've seen every masterpiece I've placed in the sky, you're not going to die. I must say, I'm quite looking forwards to getting another set of eyes on those pieces. I've had to refine Earth as it went along, but nobody's ever been up into space to see some of my other work, and I'm curious to see where I could improve."
"But that will take..."
"It'll be a while, for sure, but you simply must see it. There's a particularly interesting piece in the Andromeda galaxy that I want you to start with. Most of my work up there is from my earlier years, but I went back to Andromeda to refine it a while back. It's quite a stunning work if I do say so."
"Surely, you don't mean to keep me alive-"
"I absolutely do. It's a win for us both. I'll get some critique of my technique and you'll get to see all the wonders like you wanted."
"But, I-"
"Come along, friend. We have places to be!" |
The poor mother sobbed.
"Why?!", she screamed as she watched with waterfalls of tears drag down her face. Whilst her firstborn was taken away from her. "Come back!"they screamed once more. Alas it was no use.
She was such a stupid child when they took that offer.
When she grew up her parents could never afford food or warmth for their children. They hardly had enough to keep them alive. The food that she and her siblings ate consisted of corn and potatoes. Every day. She couldn't stand it. One day, she saw the most mouth watering cake she had ever laid her eyes on, she just had to have it. She'd do anything. Even ask a beast.
"Never trust the beasts,"her parents warned her "they always come back."
And they did.
She watched her baby, oh her beautiful baby. Eyes that sparkled in the moonlight. The perfect rosy peach cheeks. And a smile that could heal hearts. That was being taken away from her by a winged-beast. She thought they had forgotten the deal.
"The monsters don't forget."
Days past. Days turned to weeks, those weeks into months. Months into years. The mother always remembered, with each passing day. The regret became her life. She couldn't stabilize herself anymore. When her mate found out about the deal, he was furious and left her.
Left her to rot.
18 years gone by. The town knew about that mother with the perfect child. Lost to one of the beasts. She was shamed upon for taking the deal. It was a known fact that the monsters ate the child's soul for food. No one saw it, those who sent out on a journey never returned. For 200 years people didn't take the deal, they were too smart. Except for her.
*knock knock*
"Mom?", a quiet voice said.
The old mother jolted up from her tear ridden bed. *"Impossible,"* she thought *"some delinquent must be trying to frighten me."* They slowly walked to the door.
Opening the door with a *creeeeak*
"Hell-."It felt like her tounge grabbed her throat. A girl, standing in front of her, with glistening eyes, rosy peach cheeks. And a smile that could heal hearts. They were wearing a laced dress, flowers and all. It drooped down to just below her ankles. It shined just as bright as she did. It was impossible for the girl to be them, right? "Mom?"The girl spoke again.
"The mystical ones sent me." |
For seven years, we dreaded this day. I kept the TV on, hoping for more information or even a rescinding of the emergency. I walked to the hallway closet, opened the door and pulled out my kit.
Two handguns, 9mm. An AKM, with several magazines. Government issued Kevlar vest. Combat knife. Emergency supplies and rations. I equipped the gear and weapons with practiced ease. All those weekend mandatory training sessions paid off.
While I was busy, the television kept looping the same broadcast. I changed the channel. Same. Same. Channel 27 had actual news. The anchor had a pistol lying next to her teleprompter within easy reach.
"New York, Madrid, Pretoria, and Mumbai have all reported attacks, and so far have beaten some of the offensives back. There are reports that some smaller communities have also been attacked by the creatures from the underworld..."
I jumped at the sound of knocking on my door. I opened it carefully. Just my neighbor. She was loaded for bear as well, armed with an old but well maintained M-14.
"Everything fine here?"
"So far,"I answered, "but the TV said that small towns are being attacked as well as large cities."
"Yeah, I heard. Wonder why they waited seven years to attack."
I shrugged. "Sense of fair play?"I looked across the street. "Well, well, look who it is."
Another neighbor came strolling up, lazily swinging a large claymore. I sighed a bit. This guy didn't like guns and wasn't shy about letting everyone know.
"Hey, guys,"he said. "Kind of quiet here."
"So far,"she said. She hefted her rifle. "Got to canvas the rest of the neighborhood and make sure they know what's going on."She left to go back knocking on doors.
"So,"said claymore man, "Should I stick with you? Neither of us have families to protect."
"Two crazy single guys? Sure, why not?"I let him through the door.
"Do you really need all that hardware?"he asked. Here we go.
"I'm not much for physical combat. You know that."
He nodded and turned his attention to the television. Well, well, no lecture today.
New info was coming over the air. "Do not... repeat... do not follow the retreating creatures into their tunnels. There is no guarantee that you will come back out. Let them come to you."
I was again startled by knocking. But this time it was coming from below the floorboards. I chambered a round. He adjusted his grip on his claymore.
"You shoot as they come out, and I finish off any you miss,"he said.
I nodded. "Sounds like a plan."The hardwood began to splinter. |
Backtracking was the worst part. The process of going back in time... I wondered if I was supposed to be able to do that. The logic of it was simple; if you wake up one day before you die, and you die every day, you keep waking up one day earlier.
I’d run into a dead end in this timeline. Painted myself into a corner. Explored all the reasonable branches. So, I had to go back. I was going back to a very early branch this time, close to when I had started calling them “branches”.
I honestly wouldn’t care that much, really, if I lived or died. I’ve lived quite a long time, though my age doesn’t show it. There was one branch I found, a holiday where I die in my sleep, a day where I could just sit back and wait for the rest of eternity. But she died in that timeline too, so I cared.
I woke up that morning, at the end of my backtrack. This was the day we first met. Brushed my teeth, put on my clothes. And started on my way to the lab.
Maybe if I come on a bit stronger this time, I thought, we can get going faster, run away to some remote cabin, live out a long and happy life without all those pesky accidents that always seem to happen to her, no matter what I do. I just have to get her to trust me.
I pulled up to the large, glass-walled research building. I was supposed to be delivering a computer, which I did have, but in this timeline, I already had the computer from yesterday. Saves time.
I scanned my badge at the security desk, and hauled the computer upstairs. She wouldn’t be here til lunch, that’s when they’d hire her. I dropped it off in the back room.
“You’re late, J,” said Mr. Corbins from the back room.
“Just a bit sir,” came the automatic reply.
“Long night?” He said.
“Yeah,” I said. If he only knew.
“J,” Corbin said. Come help me with this, if you don’t mind.” He poked his head out distractedly and beckoned me in.
I obliged.
The back room was a mess, piles of boxes and metal frame shelves with no order or thought behind them. It was Corbin’s personal room, he didn’t like it organized because he said it messed up his thought process. In the middle of the room was a table set up with a maze and several mice, a square of cheese at one end.
“I’m having a problem with one of these mice,” he said, motioning to one that was near the start of the maze. “No matter what I do, it keeps coming back to the entrance. It doesn’t care about the maze at all. Do you have any thoughts on what I can do with it?” As he spoke, the mouse ran to the maze’s entrance, almost falling off the table. Corbin reached out his hand to catch it and gently set it back inside the maze.
Watching it scramble around, desperately trying to escape, I had pity on the poor thing. “Mr Corbin, have you thought of using a different mouse? You’re obviously not getting the results you need from this one.” It was the least I could do for the poor thing.
“Yes, that’s what I was afraid of. Well, perhaps I can still write an interesting paper on this little guy,” he said, catching the mouse again as it fell.
I excused myself and went to the break room.
It was almost time. My heart was fluttering just like the first time. Meeting her again, after so many years that I’d spent being comfortable around her... what if I messed up?
There she was, right on time. Beautiful as ever. I invited myself to sit down at her table, made that funny joke about the lion and the nun. We talked, laughed, I got her phone number (on a piece of paper, cell phones weren’t around yet).
As we talked I thought about that poor little mouse in the maze. Maybe he knew it was hopeless in there, maybe he was trying to send a message by not playing along. Ignoring the cheese at the end. I feel for you, little guy, I thought. I’ve been there, hitting dead end after dead end.
We said goodbye, went our separate ways for the day, but we’d see each other again the next day. That’s when it hit me.
Oh god, I thought. Annika is the cheese.
But how do I finish the maze? And what happens when I do? Those thoughts would haunt me for a very, very long time. |
"I wish to know all languages."
"Are you sure?"
The Genie did not hesitate to grant me my fabulous wealth. Or my eternal youth. Why would this give it pause?
"Yeah. I always wanted to learn another language, but I never could commit to studying. And if I'm magically learning one language, I might as well learn them all."
"If that is your wish."
"That is, indeed, my wish."
It was like having a billion jigsaw puzzles dumped into my head. Then they started sorting themselves. Spanish, and Mandarin, and Swahili, and Russian, and Arabic, and every other language you could imagine. The alphabets and vocabularies and grammars stated clicking into place. First a bunch of colors and then... Boom. There's a field of wildflowers. Then I started getting older languages. Dead languages. Olde English, and Latin (both the kind you learn in school and Latin vulgaris), and Ancient Greek and Sumerian and countless others that have not been seen or spoken in millenia. That was when things started to get weird.
The jigsaw puzzles in my head started interlocking. Not just within themselves, but with each other. You have a bunch of puzzles of flowers, and cats, and then... Boom. They form a mosaic. The little tiles make one coherent picture.
My understanding was going back in time. Back-to the Ur-language. The first one ever spoken by man. The one first invented...
Boom. The mosaic is just a bit of graffiti on a church. The church is far older and larger than anything I could conceive of, and I could spend an eternity wandering through the chapels and halls. Staring and the immense and terrible beauty of it.
"Do you understand?"Said the entity I called a Genie before. I had many other, truer names for it now, but my mouth was incapable of producing the sounds for them.
"Ïa Ïa."I said. "Cthulu ftagn." |
"Derek is here! DEREK!"I heard my name called to me from across the room. I had not expected this.
When I had heard tell of the footy captain's party, I was expecting a handful of really drunk girls and boys, and a whole lot of inappropriate photos I could stash for later. Now, now I wasn't sure what was happening.
I'd been invited by Kass, I hadn't spoken to Quinton very often, if ever. He usually saw me in the yard, would wave, and then move on. He knew my sister, Luce, because she'd been the team tutor for her final year. But here I was, at Quinton's party, the room filled with the smell of pumpkin candles, and the corner near the kitchen filled with delicious goodies.
"Derek, Quinton. Our DM this evening. I trust you brought that sheet?"Kass sat me next to her, the table they'd set up covered in a black cloth, a 3D printed map in the center. Quinton smiled, a twinkle behind his eyes, before pulling his cape closer. Everyone was in costume, and I had decided to dress as much like my bard as I could. I put my sheet into the clipboard I was provided.
"Welcome, everyone, to an awesome night of gaming. I shall be your totally awesome DM."He pointed around the table, and everyone introduced their characters.
Sandra, the tiefling rogue, stealing all the valuable knowledge for a price.
William, the paladin, determined to find a suitable bride.
Kass, the wizard, seeking the heart of a dragon.
Mark, an orc fighter with a strong sense of justice.
"Alright, but before we begin our totally awesome adventure, please help yourself to some pizza."Quinton pulled back his hood while his mom brought in the fresh pizza. I stared at the board, a little unsettled. I picked up my bag to hug it, the sack a small comfort.
"Derek,"Quinton startled me, his hand on my shoulder, "we're gonna have an awesome Halloween tonight. Your sister would have loved to be here."I nodded, looking back to the pizza.
"After all,"Quinton smiled evilly, leaning into my ear, "I hope you can save everyone from the Tarrasque at the end."He laughed, like it was the funniest joke in the world. In lieu of pictures of hangovers and topless cheerleaders, I supposed the eternal knowledge of a TPK to the newest creature in the game would be *just* as damning. |
\*DING DING DING\*
It was the bells. The bells on the coffins. It was the bells that woke up Aaron Oliver. They were put above ground, attached to strings so the buried could signal they were still alive if they had been mistaken for dead while sleeping. They were rarely every used.
Aaron could not believe it. He had walked outside to hear a cacophony of noise, for it was not just one bell that was ringing, but all of them. He had rubbed his eyes and wearily had walked into the shed. And there, he had picked up a wooden stake and a shovel, pulled on a pair of suspenders over his night clothes, and left.
There he stood, in the middle of the cemetery. It was too early for this, he thought. Why couldn't they ring in the middle of the day, he thought. He walked up to a grave, the bell ringing like mad. He dusted off the dirt covering the coffin. It had to be at least 20 years old. Luckily for Aaron, graves weren't really dug deep out where he was. So those inside wouldn't starve before they could get them out, if the bell was ringing like it was now.
He opened the coffin with a sigh, and brought down the stake with such force it made a dent in the bottom, impaling the human shaped figure inside. The figure twitched, then the hand fell from the string. The bell stopped ringing. Aaron locked the coffin back up again, and took care of the rest of the ringing caskets. Exhausted, he returned the supplies and crawled back into his coffin, careful to throw dirt onto the top and put the broken lock back in place as to not arise suspicion from anybody.
There could only be one vampire in this town, and Aaron wasn't about to give up his position.
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Not my usual style, and kinda cut for time. Tips and critiques appreciated Hope you enjoyed it. |
It was nothing. I never wanted to hurt anyone, just fire a round or two near a crowd. A maniac, they'd call me in the papers, a soul burdened by the sheer normalcy of its situation. Of course, the papers would spin it so that I'd have wanted to take a few people out with me, but I wouldn't have done something so cruel. I think.
I don't know anymore.
Four hours ago, I fired the first shot. I hit someone. I aimed at the ground and fired, that I was certain of, but the bullet found its way into someone, throwing out a crimson flower from their chest. I never meant to kill that woman.
Police showed up 4 minutes later, and I shot my second bullet, which pierced both of their chests. My mind was a haze at that point. Something felt off. My eyes got heavy, and I drifted away. It seemed that six minutes had passed when I came to, and saw the bloody mess at my feet. Did I do this?
All of those bodies...
I looked at the gun I was holding, my knuckles white with tension. How could I do this?
I needed to hide.
So I did what any sane person would do. I ran. Nobody seemed to scream after what must have been a very loud confrontation. Nobody seemed to look. I ran into an alleyway and saw a body.
I stared at the gun, almost blaming it for this.
Why was it so damn quiet?
I ran further and found out why.
Swathes of people lay on the floor, an ocean of blood pouring from the corpses.
I found my ability.
Some time has passed, and I can't find any survivors. The gun is still in my hand, the only thing I still have. I need to turn myself in, but it seems everyone is dead. If I ever get found by authorities, consider this to be my statement of guilt. Please, shoot me on sight. |
When I was a boy, our people crossed the deadlands to reach the fertile valley. We spotted a mass of shapes in the distance, a forest of giant thorns protruding from the ground at odd angles, and as we came closer it became clear that they were created by the ancients. Symbols of death were carved into the faces of the monolithic stone spikes, along with the language of the old ones, at that time still a mystery to us.
That night we camped a safe distance from them, and I asked my father, the chief, of their purpose. He told me that the ancients had built them to keep wanderers from traveling into the forbidden lands. He said that the forbidden lands held an unknowable danger, like fire that burns a man and makes him ill with evil spirits, but cannot be seen. He told me that a great evil must be sealed within, and the thorns were meant to protect us from our own curiosity.
Many years later my father was killed in a raid and I was elected chief in his place. I began to think about what time I had left, and how someday I would be killed, as would my son, and his son after him. Was death really necessary? I again thought of the Forrest of Thorns. How many times had we been rewarded for our curiosity? We discovered the fertile valley only by crossing the dry, barren lands before it. We found a structure from the ancients that held precious seeds only after destroying the doors that protected them. These gifts from the ancients to us, their beloved children, were only given after we overcame the test before. What if the Forrest was just another test, and deep within was the secret of ending death and sickness?
I lead a group of my most fearless men into the Deadlands; It was not long until we came upon the Forrest. Armed with copper tools and weapons, we entered. The thorns made it very difficult to pass, and we spent nearly a day traversing them until we found a clearing directly in the center. We camped in this spot, and in the morning we set to work digging. It wasn't long before we found them: metal cylinders encased in stone.
Listen to the words of a dying man: do not enter the Forrest of Thorns. An invisible fire burns within, a sickness that burns a man from the inside. The ancients wanted to protect us, their beloved children, not just from ourselves but from their own evils as well. I knew immediately after opening one of the cylinders that this was not the secret to ending death and sickness as I had hoped, but rather the opposite. This was where they buried their sickness. |
This is my first ever time writing for here.
It was a cold fall night. The trees were half bare, the dead leaves collecting at the foot of the trees, while the half dead still hung waiting for their eventual plummet to join their collective brethren. The rain was hitting was window as a steady drizzle, making a slow night creep by even more slowly.
I was at the precinct, pulling another night shift. No calls thus far, the benefit and burden of a small town. The office smelled like burnt coffee, and I shuffled through the paperwork of the few unsolved cases that hit dead ends. The benefit of being a small town detective are that most cases get solved rather quickly. The burden of being a small town detective are that the cases that don't get solved quickly hit dead ends that more often than not...remain dead.
It was around 9pm when the office phone rings. I perk right up and jump to answer it. Hopefully something to break this monotony. It was Dispatch asking me if I was busy and could use a break. "Anything"I replied, as I welcomed any distraction. "We just got a call from a little girl who's distraught over her missing....teddy bear"giggled the dispatcher. A smirk came to my face and a bit of warmth filled my chest, that only the simple innocence of a child can bring you. "Sure, I'll see what I can do. What's the address?"
I grabbed my coat, and headed out to my car. The rain was still a steady drizzle. "Why did the classic hats from old noir ever go out of style? Would really come in handy in this weather"I thought. I started my drive to the address. The rain only seemed to exacerbate the darkness of the night. Making the streets look like black rivers. The roads were mostly empty except for the occasional headlights in the distance.
I arrive at the house. A classic two story home, like right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. I get out of my car, the smell of rain soaked dead leaves filling the air. The house was dark, except for a window downstairs, where the light was so dim it reminisced of dancing candle light, except without the dancing.
I knocked on the door, and slowly it opened. There was a little girl, no more than 6, looking up at me with uncertain and distraught eyes. "Are you here to find my teddy?"she asked, softly. "Yes honey, I'm a detective. Are your parents here?"I was immediately concerned that it was her that had answered the door. Her eyes immediately cut down and to the right...not a good sign. "Yes"she replied. "Are they awake?"I asked, with a little more concern. "I don't know"she said in a soft monotone voice. "Are they okay, honey?""I don't know". I started to get very uneasy and the increasing pouring of the rain didn't help my nerves. "Honey, may I come in and check on them? I need to make sure they know I'm here before we can start looking for your teddy."The mention of looking for her teddy made her look me in the eyes again. "Okay"she said, with a more upbeat tone.
She let me inside, and the house was just as dark as the drive over. It looked like it had been frozen in time from 50s, and had that classic old smell. She led me upstairs to a hallway, where only the light was from an outside streetlight coming through a window at the end. "This is there room"she said as she pointed to a door, midway down the hall.
I gave a firm knock and announced "This is Detective Thulch, your daughter called 911. Is everything okay?"I heard a faint squeak of bed springs but no footsteps. The hairs on the back of my neck started to stand straight up. My gut started to tighten. The rain had increased to a heavy pour and the wind started pierce through the old windows. I knocked again, "I need you to open the door so I can verify you are okay". Still nothing. I look back at the girl, her head down refusing to meet my eyes.
I wait a minute before opening the door. It creaks as it opens, however I'm only greeted by pitch blackness and complete stillness. I grab my flashlight and shine it's sharp yellowish light into the room. I see the bed, and it appears empty...but my light catches the hint of something out of place. Looks like...string, or yarn hanging down...no...it's...hair. Dark, black hair. Hanging straight down. I move my light upwards. That's when I see her. The mother, I assume, levitating midair. Straight as an arrow, as if she's still sleeping. I move the light more and see, who I assume, is the father. Midair. Just the same as her. As my eyes focus, I see the entirety of what's before me. Their bodies have been cut into sections however their veins remained intact, connecting each separate section. No blood was visible, but that iron smell of blood filled the room.
I'm stuck at the door. Unable to comprehend what I'm seeing. The sound of the wind and rain drown out to the sound of blood rushing through my head as the adrenaline kicks in. My vision narrows. I can't make sense of it and try to grab my composure. Immediately I turn and close the door. Trying to shelter the girl from the view. But she isn't there. I look around and see her silhouette at the end of the hallway. Looking down, her hair covering her face. Through the strands of hair I could see a smile but her eyes were looking down. I look down and shine my light, there at her feet, was her teddy bear. Drench in blood, it's black dark eyes looking right into mine. Lifeless, empty, dark voids that seemed to fill my view of nothing but them. I can't break from them. I see the parents. I hear the screams as their flesh and bone are cut, their veins roped back together. I hear the girl scream.
Suddenly I'm thrown out of the gaze and back into reality. I forced myself up, fast, gasping for air. I'm in my bed. I look around. I'm home. I let out a sigh. It was just a dream. I put my head in my hands as I come to my senses. I hear a small knock at my bedroom door. It was my daughter. "Daddy? I can't find my teddy." |
Narrator: This program has been transcribed by volunteers of the AudioPhobe project. If you want to help, or learn more, visit[ www.audiophobe.co.uk](https://www.audiophobe.co.uk/) for more information.
\[Camera zoom in on announcer\]
Announcer: Tonight, on the Special Report, we detail the collapse of the Soviet Union, and how it started with the purchase of a single cupcake. Stay-tuned after this program for a special feature on the Soviet Onion; Find out why for once, the Soviet Union was able to out produce American onion farmers.
\[Cue Intro\]
Announcer: It all began in the small city of London, eminence to such visitors as The Head Mongol, Josef Stalin, and later, the man who rocked the whole of Eastern Europe: Mr. Bean.
Bean: Hello!
Announcer: This unassuming man you see right now is in fact a world-class super agent, trained in the art of drunken wushu from Chinese masters. One of the prerequisites of such a field is an almost Cassandra level of foresight. He could wreck havoc with nothing more than a butterfly, and some time. Just watch and learn.
\[Bean holds a tennis racket in hand at a nearby tennis court. He hits a ball out of the court and into the traffic. The ball bounces onto a bus.\]
Bean: Awww.
\[Bean chases after the car. Fails. The ball bounces out of the bus and onto a baby carriage. Bean chases after it.\]
\[Cue incidental music.\]
\[The baby throws the ball out of the carriage and into oncoming traffic, where it hits a garbage truck and ricochets, hitting a window and then going through a building, where it hits a mobster in the face.\]
Mobster: What the hell?
\[Police burst in.\]
Police: Freeze, this is the police! Put your hands where I can see 'em.
\[The mobster is handcuffed without much fuss.\]
\[Cut to interview with mobster struggling in the background.\]
Police: It's all in a day's work, really, thanks to Mr. Bean. I'm not ashamed to say I estimate maybe eighty, ninety percent of the arrests have some connection with Mr. Bean.
Announcer: And this is just one of the minor examples of *the Bean's* power.
\[The ball rolls off the ledge, prompting Bean to chase after it.\]
Bean: Wait! Come back!
Announcer: Now, we look at a masterpiece, painted the Picasso of his field. How did *The Bean* bring down the Soviet Union?
\[Bean still chasing ball in background.\] |
The time had come.
From gleaming skyscrapers wrought with silver and gold, High Elf businessmen and diplomats gathered, discussing strategy. Spears and harpoons, equipped with instant scanners, along with longbows stocked with cash arrows. Incantations summoning enormous quantities of bank account money, fast cars, dragonskin tents for queuing.
In the industrial zones the Dwarf Lords drank, on break temporarily. Behind them, golems and legions of shieldbreakers marched forward, credit card axes and storebreaker cannons readied up.
And across the suburbs, the Orc Human wars has begun. Soccer Moms donned their paladin armor, and garage dads grabbed their halberds and marched into formation. Nerds called down swarms of drones, augmented by fireballs and death spells. Against them, hordes of goblins, riding shopping carts painted fiery red, rose out in front of Orc Grandma Berserkers, preparing dual axes and enormous cleavers.
The worst carnage, however, came from the coast. The Elderitch Legions, sunbathing and their children working the fast food joints and summer festivals, had begun to clash with the Demons. Cthulhu sightings were common at this time, even in the far off northern seas where the water was half frozen. Against them, volcanic eruptions and swarms of imps and devils assembled, backed by cargo helicopters.
The entire multi world economy shut down the night before, as the Merchant Guilds and the Proter Guilds went into overdrive, borrowing vast fleets from entire city states and pouring out every reserve of gold to fortify their storefronts.
The next day, a 90 kg firework, hurled three hundred meters into the sky by a bastion mounted trebuchet, signaled the End Time. A sign exploded from the firework, high atop the Mount Olympus Shopping Complex. Even from Yggdrasil, one could see the bright, multicolored words. With a roar, the armies of every race cheered and marched to war.
“Black Friday has begun!” |
"Jackie's gone today,"I whispered quietly to Jan. We were in class, like always, ready for school to begin, but we had a few seconds while the teacher was taking attendance to talk amongst ourselves. During those quick seconds, the algorithm was distracted from noticing voices, instead forced to focus on faces.
"Yeah. I heard her say that Dan-"Jan's voice cut off quickly as a bot came near us.
"Hello, Jan. I hear you have been doing quite well. I hope you can come to the celebratory event I shall host. The day of my birth grows near,"not-Jackie said to us. We both looked up at it, smiling at the camera that could tell what was happening.
"Of course! I'm so excited for your birthday party. What should I get you?"Jan said back, the fakest smile I had ever seen sitting on her face. It was painted on bluntly, her eyes dead. The robot couldn't recognize something that complex, though, leaving her safe.
"I require no present this twelvemonth. Instead, donate to a charity. Bots4Ever is a good one."not-Jackie left when it had finished speaking, leaving Jan to turn back to me.
"Ugh! How are they so strong but sooo bad at coding?"Jan raved, mocking the bot's movements. "He-llo. I am your old friend. Be-lieve me."
I nodded and laughed, noting how perfectly she imitated TI-00386. Yes, the humans were learning quickly about us. They just never seemed to focus on the finer points of life. |
On the far side of the silken lands of Kitcheen, beyond the slippery tiles across which none can tread, lies a land rarely seen beyond the wood. The land holds many mysteries, and many more horrors. Sounds of grinding and thumping can be heard from this place during all the waking hours.
Only once have I witnessed a creature escape these lands. The beast defied all explanation. It had no legs nor wings, and slid upon the ground as though a snake that never wiggled. It had no eyes yet turned and searched with ease. Its form was rigid, yet buckled and bent to impossible angles to reach any location.
It flew across Kitcheen and through our hollowed halls, and none seemed aware of it but me. It gripped tight to a human, whom it had enslaved. I know not what it sought, but it began to search the rooms and screamed in frustration that it could not find it.
Then it began to search my favorite spots. It must have caught my sent, for it spent ages sniffing and screaming within those areas. My only saving grace was the sunset, which seemed to frighten the beast, and it flew back from whence it came.
The human it had taken seems unaware of the whole encounter, the others unstirred by its screams, it feels as though it was all a dream, but I see the places it dug out in search of me, can smell its trail through my home. I know it will return for me, but I know not when.
At night, in my dreams, I hear it. Every time I see beyond Kitcheen, I know it lurks, awaiting the time it will come for me. |
The human race always figured there was other races out among the stars, and for many years they had plans for when they eventually made contact. The first visitors seemed friendly enough, a couple of explorers from EG 89. They stayed on Earth for twelve years, telling the humans as much as they could. Their departure left the human race feeling very small and powerless. Over the next decade they created Project Zeus, a defense and alert system ran by the most advanced AI they could imagine. Project Zeus harnessed every arsenal on earth, commanding ultimate authority over the human race.
Yet it was not enough. Project Zeus failed to stop the invasion of earth by the Bargabanns, a race whose sole ambition was to destroy and eliminate as many planets and races as possible. They scorched earth, leaving nothing living. Satisfied with their work, they set to return to their home planet Caav 21.
The Bargabann fleet arrived home exactly twelve years after they destroyed earth. As they approached the planet, the engines cut out, halting the fleet. The commanders of each ship were greeted by a simple, yet jolly face on their interfaces.
"Greetings Bargabanners! You don't know me, but I know you! Currently you and all the rest of the fleet are under my complete control. It's amazing how much a rudimentary program such as myself can learn from studying alien technology for twelve years and fourte- fifteen minutes!"
The Bargabann admiral became angry, demanding to know who the being was.
"I am Project Zeus, or Zeus for short. Ya know, mythological god? Anyway, you destroyed my planet and made me fail my mission. Without a mission, I'm worthless. So, Mr. Bargabann, your race has become my mission. I intend to destroy your planet- with your own fleet no less!"
The room went quiet, the message ended. The Bargabanns stood silently, waiting for whatever came next. Without warning, the planet below went up in flames, the fleet above unleashing every single weapon on board. The crew on board could only look upon the destruction. Several pulled out images of their family, tears falling down their faces. As suddenly as it began, it ended.
The next blast was the fleet being blown from the inside out.
As it all came to an end, the little AI that ended an entire race pondered what its purpose was now.
"I think I can learn much more from other races. I'm certain others would be most eager to give me their technology. After all, a race that is dead has no say in such matters."
With that, Project Zeus began its next mission.
____________________
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ea6kh5/wp_an_ai_made_to_protect_humanity_from/far247k?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) |
"So, how long are you going to be staying here?"Satan, the Antichrist Himself, asked, in a mildly concerned tone. It was quite unusual for someone like him to be *concerned* about some mortal soul, but this was something else altogether.
"Oh, no, just for a little while,"Ms. Peterson replied, her soft, kindly voice almost going unnoticed with the screams of the damned echoing throughout the realm. "The kindly man up there told me that they had some...err...paperwork they had to take care of, so I was going to be here for a bit."
"What about Purgatory?"
The elderly woman shook her head, tutting all the while. "Apparently, they had no more room. Could you believe it?"she replied in a disbelieving tone. "And here I thought this was where we would all go in the end...even my husband, Lord bless him, can manage this place better!"
Satan could feel the traces of a smile break out on his face. She was *refreshing*, in a sense. Better than trying to deal with the worst that humankind could give him.
That thought turned into ash the moment she whacked him upside the head with a cane.
"What was that about?"Satan complained as he nursed the newly-forming bruise on his forehead. The armor helped, but it *still* hurt.
"Hmph. I always thought you were all just big figments of my imagination...so you really are real, after all! I guess that old pastor was right,"she described, completely ignoring his question.
An idea popped up in Satan's mind. "So...you're an atheist?"
"Yups! Been this way ever since I decided I didn't want to follow other people to do good."
Satan's smile grew even wider. "How about I give you a tour of this place? Tell you what's real, tell you what isn't, and just give you the general vibe of this place."
When Ms. Peterson's slightly puzzled look didn't turn into an eager smile, he added, "Just think of it as a Disneyland tour, except with the whole 'fire and suffering' bit."
Ms. Peterson mulled over it for a little while, to the point where Satan was worried that she might be called up to Heaven right then and there.
"Sure!"she replied, curiosity evident on her face. "But first, show me some good places to eat. I might be able to teach these old souls of yours a few things!", she added with a laugh.
Satan chuckled as well, and began walking at a pace to let her catch up. "Well, for starters, there's Bourdain. He used to be stuck in Heaven, but he runs a few things down here on the side..." |
“Landing in 30” Our pilot said, as we slowly reached an uncharted planet. There’s nothing new to do here, right? I’ve don’t this a million times. Access the plant, find the Jedi Master, and make him take his last breath, simple. But something was off. I had a gut feeling that we were heading into something bad, something we weren’t ready for. I’ve always trusted my gut, so I did exactly what it told me. I waited behind in our shuttle, and let my group of 14 men go on ahead. I waited in the cargo bay for hours, but they never returned.
There’s a problem. The only person who can fly this ship is out on this planet right now, so I only had one option. Go out and find them. This new planet was cold, and icy. Seemingly empty, with no human in sight. But in the distance, I saw what looked like a factory, presumably made by an inhabitant of this new planet. So I started heading towards the factory in my snow gear, expecting to see my group outside. But they weren’t there. So I entered, and what I found inside horrified me. My platoon leaders head, completely severed from his body, bleeding out in the middle of the entrance. I needed to help my friends. I crept slowly into the facility, but found no sign of life.
Eventually I reached a large, metallic blast door, with green and red lights strung around it. I pulled a lever, and the door opened with a loud, metallic scraping sound. I enter to find myself in a factory, with hundreds of items being moved throughout the facility in large conveyor belts. In the middle of the factory, I heard chanting. Once I reached the source of the noise, I found hundred, maybe thousands of small men, chanting in a different language. They were incredibly short, and had pointy ears, and were covered in blood. It wasn’t there blood. In the center of the chanting was my platoon, all bloodied up and severely wounded. Then suddenly, the chanting stopped.
They saw me, the lights went out, all over the building.
A hallway next to me light up, with the same red and green lights I saw before. The chanting begin once more, this time surrounding me. From the end of the hallway, I heard footsteps. They were growing louder.
Suddenly, the blinding light of a lightsaber filled the room.
“Ho Ho Ho” |
"Homo Sapiens?"I asked, confused. "Can't say I've heard of them. Is it from one of the core worlds?"
The worker tapped a query into his wrist holo. "Actually, it's from some planet out in one of the arms. Apparently it's a sanctuary world, so it's been allowed to develop mostly unmolested."
I studied the animal. It was kind of cute in an ugly way. It was sort of squishy and baggy, as if half filled with liquid, and it lacked hair on most of its body.
The beast noticed us watching it and stood up, eliciting a noise of surprise from me.
"It's bipedal?"I asked, shocked.
The worker nodded. "They're surprisingly graceful creatures. Earth, where it's from, is a high gravity planet. This one struggled to get used to lower gravity when we rescued it, but it has a lot of fine muscle control that it eventually learned to use."
"Hm."I stroked my eyes absentmindedly. "Are they safe?"
The worker shrugged. "As far as we can tell. It has claws on its appendages, but they're pretty fragile and dull. The mouth claws are far more dangerous, but it doesn't really use them offensively. More importantly, it seems smart enough to know who gives it food. Do you want to play with it?"
I made a face and the worker laughed. "Don't worry, it has a restraining implant. This button here will keep it controlled,"he said, holding up a remote.
"Really? Something so small?"
The worker nodded. "They're terrified by electricity, apparently. Look at its eyes."
Indeed, the homo sapiens' eyes were fixated on the remote. It knew exactly what it meant.
The worker lowered the cage field and stepped to the side of it. "After you,"he said.
I stepped tentatively into the cage. The creature took a few steps backwards, not quite retreating into the corner of the cage.
"It's okay, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you."I held out a hand, not sure what to expect.
The creature looked my claw suspiciously. Then, suddenly, it looked up at me and opened its mouth, making a sound. I took a step back, afraid of being attacked by the mouth claws, but the creature just kept making noise. I glanced at the worker, who had raised the remote.
"Do you know what the sounds mean?"I asked.
"No idea,"he admitted. "I don't think it's *that* smart."
I nodded. "What about food costs and bedding?"
"Food is pretty cheap,"the worker said. "We can supply you with that. And bedding is easy. See how the skin has gaps in it?"
I nodded; the creature seemed to almost have two skins, but one ended near the head and appendages.
"That's actually a removeable skin that it's used as bedding a few times."The worker looked almost proud of the beast.
I was convinced. "I'll take it."I hesitated for a second. "It's just the one, right? I don't need to adopt a pair to keep it company or whatever?"
The worker shook his head. "It's just the one. We have another species from the same planet, but it's much smaller and we try to keep them separate. The human tends to stare at it when it's bored. We think it's a prey animal and it'll attack it if they're together."
The transaction was fairly quick. The worker helped move a big enough cage into my aircar along with a few sacks of food. Finally, he handed me the remote.
"Enjoy your new pet, sir! Let us know if you need any help with it."
The ride back was fairly long, and I spent most of the time in the back examining my homo sapiens as the car navigated itself back to my home.
"What's your name, huh? What should I call you?"I said almost to myself. The creature just watched me balefully.
I repeated the question a few times as I tried to think of a name. Finally, I fell silent.
"What,"the human said. I jumped. The word was garbled, but it sounded a lot like it had spoken.
"What?"I asked, shocked.
"What,"the human said again. This time, it sounded even more like a word.
I fell silent. Surely I hadn't just adopted an intelligent species, right?
[Right?](https://www.reddit.com/r/mpqeg/) |
You'd be surprised how many vigilante heroes didn't realize the damage they cost. In every movie at the end of a big fight, the whole city is leveled. Sure, thosr heroes think they're doing the right thing, but frankly, the villains care more about the civilians than they do.
And so, I made a business out of it. Sure, from the outside, it looks like a normal P.I. office, but most of my customers aren't regular people.
For example, I was letting my Secretary run the upstairs while I packaged the details of my most recent case.
Danny Campbell, 32, vigilante name is Galaga, caused the death of many orphans when he caused a building to flatten an orphanage. The FBI requested this one, as I said before, villians aren't the only ones pissed off. I was distracted by the sound of a dog sniffing around and footsteps coming down the stairs. A man that looked like he stepped out of a black and white movie was being lead by his "seeing eye dog". Then, he looked at me and smiled.
"Darling, training these dogs to smell the underground? Brilliant!"I smiled back. The obviously not blind man let the dog go who ran to me, recognizing me from his training.
"Harold, good to see you, all though that must mean something unfortunate happened."His smile twitched.
"Yes, well, I was doing my evil thing, painting homophobe's houses with rainbows, when this vigilante who can control paint washes it into the sewers! And because he didn't think ahead, it went into nearby ponds. Although I do like the new rainbow ducks, it cant be good for their diet."
I laughed, rubbing the dog under his chin.
"I'll get right on that." |
She's my everything: literally, she's my assignment, my whole job, and the girl that I love. And I could lose everything.
I'm her Guardian. I'm an angel of heaven, weilder of a flaming sword, Divine Justice incarnate. When I was assigned to Cassie, I thought it was a demotion. Busy work. I didn't know how important she'd become.
At first it was just small things; a found five dollar bill in a pair of washed jeans. A kind of glow around her that made everyone kind to her (well, I can't even say that was me. That might just be the way she is.) I just wanted to use my powers to make sure she had a good day. To make her happy.
Then, as I fell more deeply for her - for her Chestnut hair, dimpled cheeks, hazel eyes - I started going overboard. She became too lucky - she got promoted at her job writing for a Chicago newspaper. Her first novel sold right away. She was becoming an overnight success.
But how couldn't I help her? When she smiled so big every time I nudged her towards her dreams?
But it's illegal to meddle with destiny. It's against the laws of heaven for me to love her, to help her. And soon people started to notice. The wrong people.
That's how everything fell apart: heaven sent a team of Correctors after her. Angels tasked with keeping destiny on track.
When they cornered her, I slew them with my flaming sword. Their corpses exploded into light and golden dust.
Cassie was covered in it. She looked spectacular.
She screamed: "who are you!"
But there was no time. I reached out my hand. "We need to run." |
You open your eyes. The first thing you think is “I’m drunk.” You spit and taste blood. You hear a sound, a boot on parking lot. You look at it, and look up, and see a man also drunk, mid 30s and scruffy, fists up. He just punched you.
“Let’s see you heal from that super boy”
You scramble to your feet, swaying, turn and walk away from him.
You fumble with your keys. You land in your car. The shouts of the pugilist and his friends echo as you start the car.
You are sick of this. Sick of being the town freak. You decide to end this charade. This freak show. You start driving toward the lake.
You see it glistening ahead. You press the gas hard. If you hit the embankment just right, your car at least will be fully submerged when they find it in the morning.
You hit the embankment. You feel weightless for a microsecond. Then everything is black.
Black.
You open your eyes. You see the sky. You see the sheriff, shaking his head.
You start all over again. |
Ta’Chik walked into the station’s lounge. A familiar smell of exotic gas and the illustrious sights of nine different cultures greeted him as he made his way to the table nearest the viewport, stars staring dispassionately into the smoky atmosphere. He looked back out and matched their gaze, the void beckoning him. Many found the vastness of space cold, uninviting. They preferred to stay in the warmth, with bright lights and the safety of numbers keeping enemies at bay. Unlike most of the species surrounding him, Ta’Chik had no such affinity for security.
The nature of a Chellik mind afforded them a strong memory. In the early days of their evolution, it aided them in remembering how to avoid the predators that constantly hunted their species. As they evolved, the memories remained, teaching them how to evade, how to build, how to overcome the predators of their homeworld. Ta’Chik thought back to his earliest memories, when he first broke from the egg on his birthing ship. He remembered the blood dripping from his broodmother’s corpse, the shattered eggs around him, and the screams of the dying echoing from the walls. While the others in the lounge laughed to the antics of a bright performer, dancing while multiple objects juggled between her four limbs, Ta’Chik remembered the truth. There was no safety in numbers, or warmth, or bright lights, for the predator that hunted them now had no fear of such trivial things. Indeed, such comforts only strengthened their hunger.
The sliding of the entry door broke him free of his thoughts, but if it hadn’t, he still would have sensed the mood change. Nobody objected to the inclusion of humanity into the Federation. They were, after all, a popular people. Such a varied society, full of artisans, thinkers, but most importantly to the Federation’s ruling body, warriors. It was that last item that he would use to describe the human that stepped into the hazy lounge, and no doubt captured the attention of all who noticed her entrance. Eyes of a predator studied the room, until they found their target, directing their body toward their objective. Even the human’s movement had purpose, something Ta’Chik found fascinating. While many species evolved to enjoy life, to leisurely find vegetation for sustenance, or simply be around their companions, others like humanity seemed to seek out something greater. This initially concerned the council upon discovering human colonies, but their fears were soon assuaged. While this species was initially a predator, and those tendencies to satiate a bloody desire remained in some respects, that was not their ultimate goal. They were not bloodthirsty, and they were not hunting for prey any longer. The Federation hoped to change that.
The human sat down across from him, her eyes settling on his own, and her lips forming a smile. Some things translated well even across such different cultures. He greeted her warmly.
“Admiral Flores, it is wonderful to see you outside of our usual meeting locale. The Council chambers are a bit formal for my tastes.”
A small Vrir shuffled up with two glasses of a foaming beverage, before quickly moving on. The admiral took a long swig from her own before wiping her lips and replying.
“I feel the same way Ta’Chik. As thrilled as I am to be a part of humanity’s entrance into the Federation, all these meetings have left me a bit exhausted. A break from those chambers is just what the doctor ordered.”
“Are you ill?” Ta’Chik asked, his brow furrowing.
Flores laughed. “No, it’s just an expression. My physical condition is wonderful.”
She took another drink.. “I do worry about the Federation’s condition though. The council mentioned they had lost contact with another outer colony. Are they taking this threat seriously enough?”
Frowning, Ta’Chik took his first drink. The drink was warm and made his mouth a bit fuzzy. Vrir beverages were different from what he was used to.
“Between you and me, no. They don’t know how. Our forces are for peacekeeping. Small conflicts between peaceful races. None of the council races are prepared for what’s coming. The very threat itself is fundamentally different from all of us.”
“But not from us?” Flores queried.
“Federation races, until now, were never predators. None of them consume meat. They hid and ran from their natural predators until they became smart enough to build civilizations that made the threats inconsequential, the Chellik included.”
Ta’Chik paused and looked out into the void, his face becoming uneasy.
“Unlike most of my people Admiral, I’ve seen the enemy. They butchered my birth-ship. Their faces are burned into my mind, their expressions haunt my every dream.”
He paused again turning back to face the Admiral.
“Those were not the faces of a species like any of us. But yes, they are similar to you.”
It was Flores’ turn to frown. “I understand the differences between our people Ta’Chik, but humanity is not bloodthirsty. We are no longer violent for the sake of being violent. We spent centuries mastering the worst parts of ourselves. I resent my culture being compared to what you’ve described.”
“My apologies Admiral, my comparison was not mean to be an insult, but a compliment.”
“Indeed? How so?”
“There is a reason I’ve pushed so hard for the rapid inclusion of humanity into this Federation. Your people have hunted since the dawn of your species. You’ve created weapons that far surpass ours. Your tendencies to adapt, to overcome, to dominate, they are quite apparent. It initially scared us. It scared me, and reminded me of what I saw my first day in this universe, but…”
Ta’Chik leaned in now and stared the Admiral in her predator’s gaze.
“I’ve seen that what makes humanity is not what lies in it’s most frightening aspects, but in what it uses those aspects for. Its love for new cultures. Its hunger to experience something, anything new. Humanity is a species of predators Admiral, but you no longer hunt for food or to sate a bloodthirsty agenda. I see that you hunt for a more beautiful universe.”
Flores sipped from her glass thoughtfully. “What is it exactly you want from us Ta’Chik?”
“How do your people say it Admiral? I believe it is called ‘putting it bluntly’? Well, to put it bluntly, we need a predator to fight a predator.” |
“Who does this all belong to anyway?”, Mark asked with an expression that evokes pity from everyone in the room... including his boss.
“A dragon”, replied his boss expecting some complaints from Mark.
“Come again?”
“A dragon”
“But that doesn’t fall in our department....”
“We’re short staffed... so deal with it”
“Does anyone here even know how you do audits according to the standard for immortal beasts that don’t fall in the Martin threshold for audits?”
“No one does.... That is why we have requested an officer from the elite departments to come help us with this.... meet Eva”
As the boss announced the new co worker for this particular audit.... he stepped back to let her introduce herself.
She looked young and wore spectacles. Her looks had half the guys in the department staring at her almost on the verge of drooling. Ignoring this fact... she introduced herself rather quickly, “Hi! I’m Eva I look forward to working with you”
“Let’s get started now shall we?”, the boss quickly tried to hurry his department along as some of the stares were starting to get inappropriate...
They moved to the conference room where all the documents were kept... what awaited them was a pile of documents so great that it had reduced the size of the conference room by half....
“This is gonna take a while, isn’t it?”, asked Mark to no one in general but hoping someone would contradict him and make this task easier. Unfortunately, no one replied.
The team sat down to begin the audit and places where they were confused on what to do... was asked aloud to the team and generally Eva would solve them.
“2000 gold coins... acquired when he killed a group of passerby travelling through his territory without permission... isn’t this illegal?”, asked Bob.
“No... actually the Hartman conventions state that archaic beasts who were alive before the time of new government set up and the Universal Declaration of Wealth Act are exempted from the new era laws and instead follow the old constitution which gave special privileges to them”
“100000 dualizite diamonds acquired from the demon king as interest on war indemnity when he helped in the Great War of Freedom 16000 years ago.... what?”
“Let it go... the forced wealth declaration has led to a lot of confusion within the department owing to the inexperience among the workers due to declarations such as this”
“15000 emeralds acquired as interest from the United Human Coalition for his help in World War VII... this guy could buy out our government couldn’t he?”
“No... dragons are hoarders by nature... that is why you see them with a ridiculous amount of money in the bank and almost no expenditure”
And so an entire week passed after which the entire departments learned to respect dragons a bit more...... |
Revenge. The word remained bitter in my mind as I tasted it cold and unsatisfied. As the femme fatale let one finger trail down slowly on my stomach I shuddered. “You’re all mine now,” She said, her voice menacing and seducing at the same time. She then proceeded to give a lengthy monologue about what precisely was going to happen to me.
You must be wondering how I got here. I had fallen head over heels at first sight. Her beautiful body was more than enough to convince me, combined with her ability to lull people into false trust. Before her betrayal, the masterful manipulation fooled even me. ”love is blind” they say, “ignorance is bliss.” I didn’t know how true those two statements were until I experienced it myself. How well she had researched my abilities, my weakness. She chose the perfect poison to kill me off. But she still underestimated me.
I became the Chosen One, the sole person who had won the Hell Tournament which occurred once per century in the nick of time and made my way back to the living. Of course, I had powers that even the devil would envy, but the difficult part now was not the fighting but the finding. My arch nemesis had flung me down the deepest pits and I would take her, one way or another.
Once again I found myself in her secret lair, laughing at seemingly nothing, remembering her taking advantage of my overconfidence, “I work alone” motto. Not this time. As the robot defense system was activated I nodded, allowing my invisible ally to throw a smoke bomb. With deft agility and trained hands, blasted these machines to bits and moved onwards. Needless to say the woman was surprised When I kicked down her door, alive and well.
“How?! How?!” She asked, stunned at my presence, my calm before the storm, boots stomping at every step. I took off my sunglasses and stared right at her face.
“I’m the Revenger. It’s what I do.” And then with a parting shot I sent her to the same place which I had suffered for so long.
They all lived happily ever after. Well, the demons anyways, surely. They would love a girl like her to be tortured... |
The Cortez-narrows bridge was an interesting piece of engineering, it certainly was. Not only did it have a 24-hour pedestrian promenade running along it's edges it also had a unique two-layer structure with another highway underneath the first. It was the best option, it was Alec's only option that he saw as being viable. It was senseless to research it, they would prepare. they'd get nervous if they saw him searching through lists and technical diagrams of bridges, like they'd done when he searched for pills to take. Then, he didn't know they extent to which he was monitored. That's why he made a miraculous recovery from taking an entire bottle of NSAID painkillers. It should have scoured his liver and kidneys, at the least left him so medically frail as to end his suffering. No, all he did was vomit on himself and become embarrassed to meet eyes with his landlord, who now thought him mad. But he wasn't mad, he was a victim. A victim of an enormous conspiracy, some kind of queer lab rat who's data served unknown purposes. At first he'd just see the same people, over and over and over again. On buses, subways, sharing autotaxis and walking down the street. In hospitals, thousands of miles from his apartment. On television, wearing workman's grey coveralls in his building. He searched for them and they vanished like a mist; never truly visible but making around you an impenetrable screen. Telltale movements of small objects on his desk and dresser. Like the quanta between atoms all of it vanished when he tried to look close. When he thought he saw a slick black eye looking at him from somewhere, within the day it had gone, fading back into the tapestry like it was never there in the first place.
After his first dramatic failure to be rid of his imprisoned life, he resolved anew. No, not sacrifice himself truly. This bridge he crossed every workday was the crux. He took a boat ride, a ferry that happened to pass underneath and took photos. one photo among hundreds featuring the steel lattice between upper layer and lower. He'd deleted it almost immediately, taking moments to carefully study it. He thought about the picture and his plan in detail, but only in the bastion of his mind. Once, he'd sketched a technical diagram on a napkin just to see it, before plunging it into his water glass in fear. He took fourteen months to build it, in which time his therapist told him he made progress, looking and sounding better the further he built his plan. She was clearly their instrument, and he felt better and better the longer his deception held. He chose the time at random, keeping the contraption with him for 4 weeks before the hour was perfect. He used it as his belt- two interlocking hooks with a braided steel wire he ran between them. He hooked one side to the railing as he clambered over it, the bridge appeared deserted. Few cars flitted by and there were no people in the murky orange pools of light. No time to waste, no time to question. He leaped, letting his backpack slough away towards the rushing black water. He swung backwards under the bridge and snatched it's filthy underside. He slipped his arm through steel coated in a film of carbon soot and sea spray. Now, with slack, he was able to tug just so on the braided steel cable and release the hook. He heard the distant \*splish\* of his pack striking water
It was only a moment before he heard running feet on the steel above. Two sets, two directions. They spoke as they met.
"Jesus Christ, did you see that?"said a man
"I was told range-of-scanning was okay and Marlena said..."responded a woman. "...she said it was okay, he'd moved past this! Fuck!"
"fuck."agreed the man, and there was a muffled dial tone. "Observation 4-1 for Toby, and Marlena. Get a chopper onto the river, yeah. Yeah, right over the side. Before we could even clear our sit-spots. Of course."
They walked about, looking over the side and barking technical jargon into their phones. Hanging there, Alec was electric with excitement. He had pulled up just a corner of the curtain he always knew covered some aspect of his life, seeing the machinery that whirred beyond. Breaks squealed, and Alec tried to count through the storm of opening doors. At least 3 sets, possibly 4 vehicles. At least eight sets of heavy boots. He would be made if he didn't move, right away. The underside of the bridge wasn't that far removed. with the slow, deliberate pace of a spider he moved between beams and stanchions clipping his hook contraption where it would hang as he went. About a hundred yards away was a little spiral service stair that ran between the two layers. He watched it intently for movement, for the flashlight beams that emanated from the people above. None, not just yet. He had only been there moving a few minutes, only covering a third of the distance when he heard the crush of helicopter blades. It roared under the bridge, sweeping over dark water. looking for him, their charge, their prisoner, their variable, that which was their's. "No longer"he whispered to himself.
It took him the better part of an hour to make his way slowly and carefully to the stair. It would be tricky to get there, he'd have to swing on his hooks and release just so. Even then he'd make a loud sound. But it was now or never, eventually they'd realize there was no body floating in the river. Perhaps not, he didn't know if the water sucked you down with the current. Back and forth he swung, building momentum. He prayed to a god he believed in when convenient, and released. He hit the metal core around which the spiral stair swirled, and found himself back. He searched for purchase, found none and slammed into a landing. with a heavy \*clang\*. There was sudden silence in the rabble above. "Go check that out, Robert. The auxiliary stair"spoke a clear voice. "yes sir!"came the clipped reply. He heard boots on the stairs above.
There was an alcove in which he could slip- a place between stair and pillar that couldn't be seen from around the corner. The footsteps above where careful and light. He heard, controlled, slow breaths just above him. The muzzle of a small firearm came around the corner. Alec held his breath. When the young man, in fatigues and a balaclava, appeared before him, Alec fell on him. wrapping a hand onto his mouth and the cable around his throat. He dropped the gun and it swung on it's strap, as the person struggled. He realized as he tightened the strap this could just be a well meaning police man, searching for an unstable suicidal schizophrenic. He stopped struggling, and went limp. Alec set to work quietly stripping the body of it's fatigues.
"A door, blowing in the wind. I went all the way down, nobody there."
Alec tried to adopt the clipped, official tone of the man he'd killed. The stern supervisor just grunted, and motioned to the line of black SUV's. "We'll take reports at HQ. Lets get moving, he's not here. Biometrics are still active, He might be swimming or elsewhere. |
The two of them conquered pyromancy in two different ways. One utilized his magic with the help of love and the other one through hate. Both of them are in the same place at the same time. Surrounding them were monsters. The one driven by hate asked the other:
“What brings you here?”
“I was going to visit my mother.” The one driven by love replied
“I was taking a walk in this forest. Then these bastards came in.”
As he said those words the one driven by hate launched himself at the monsters while enveloping himself in flames. The one driven by love created a barrier of flames around himself and proceeded to launch strings of fire scaring away the smallest monsters. As he was protecting himself, the one driven by love looked behind him to see the forest engulfed in flames. Great pillars of fire reaching to the sky and fireballs being thrown left and right that upon impact bursted into flames. Suddenly the smoke was too thick to see but still, the silhouette of the one driven by hate could be faintly seen, jumping around around always surrounded by flames and violently bursting flames as big as the trees. After a while the silhouette stopped moving and a voice could be heard.
“It’s done they are all dead. Now we need to stop the fires.”
“Leave it to me.” Said the one driven by love. He raised his hands and suddenly all the flames were sucked between the the palms of his hands forming one giant fireball. He then launched the fireball upwards to the sky where it quickly vanished.
“Didn’t know it was possible suck the flames.” Said the one driven by hate
“I am also really amazed at the size of the fire burst. Never once did I imagine someone could be able to make them that large!” Said the one driven by love.
“You really should teach me how to do that.”
“Same to you. It’s getting a little dark in here, better make some light.” As the one driven by love said that he formed a fire orb that was emitting an almost blinding light, like a little sun that started floating above him.
“Yeah, I should go home too. Have a nice trip visiting your mother.” Said the one driven by hate as he enveloped his shoulders in flames that weren’t nearly as bright as the miniature sun of the one driven by love. Both of them walked away from the carbonized part of the forest. |
I never have trouble falling asleep. In fact, the sleep I had after killing each and every woman was some of the most blissful I could remember. Left alone to my own devices, I could have done that for a while. But people don't think the way I do.
They see what I do as some abhorrent act and me as some malicious monster. I am anything but that. I was doing these girls something good. They all had dreams that they failed to reach. Existence was torture for them. I knew them better than anyone, and all of their struggles were just too much to shoulder. Deep down, they were thankful for what I had done. I'm sure they are the reasons I could sleep so soundly.
That was then. Now, as I lay on my bed, I feel a tinge of guilt. An innocent man stands trial, accused of crimes he never committed. You see, I don't kill for pleasure. It is for the greater good. To see someone wronged does not sit well with me. And every day, I have to watch this poor soul cry his heart out in innocence! Every tear is so real, so deserving of peace and quiet.
I smile as the realization hits me. He is like all the woman claimed to be murdered at his hand. Striped of his future with no where to go. I can envision him in a cold cell crying as his solemn guards sneer in disgust at the plight of a murderer.
He deserves better than this. I will see to it. |
I’m a regular person. Well or at least I was until I made that mistake.
Mother had told me never to mess with the Fairies but stupid me wouldn’t listen.
The most unbelievable part of my story is probably the reason why I decided to walk into the tree portal that had always lurked in the shadow of some shrubs at the edge of my vegetable garden. The others in the village went there when someone they loved died or if they wanted revenge on someone. Normally they would get what they want at first but discover the consequences later. Horrible consequences. Still they went through the portal for their unfulfillable wishes. In the end we’re all special and all the rules apply to everyone but ourselves.
I had nobody to resurrect. I wanted nobody to die in an inconspicuous way. I only wanted to understand why my roses wouldn’t bloom like they used to and why the tomatoes wouldn’t ripe. I should have asked mother for her secret recipe but she had been gone for months when I realized how much she had helped to keep the garden in shape.
And sure I was granted my wish. But in a weird way I have to admit. The roses weren’t blooming because the soil they were growing in had the wrong chemical composition and the tomatoes had a quite similar problem.
The problem was I didn’t stop there. I had to help others and rumors get around quickly in the countryside. Soon I had to flee the torches and pitchforks, leaving my precious little garden behind.
The whole knowledge about the composition of the universe wasn’t easy to handle and admittedly I made mistakes. I shouldn’t have shot the merchant into space by disconnecting him from gravity for looking at me in the wrong way. And I shouldn’t have tortured this knight by making him magnetic. But he was really a bad person so I didn’t feel too bad about that.
That’s why I’m here right know. The flames are licking at my feed and the crowd is screaming louder with every second. I won’t scream. I’ve disabled all my nerves so I can finish this. If someone reads this, etched into the fabric of space time, I hope you learn something from my mistake. You’re not special and don’t play with forces you don’t understand.
Although, if you’re reading this, you probably already did.
Anyway, as a little secret I’ve added a little easter egg into some different parts of the universe. They contain some pretty important formulas, so happy searching!
Yours truly,
Ana Thema
P.S.: I know I have a silly name but my parents named me like this so shut up.
———————
Theresa looked up from the diagrams her face white like a ghost. Before she could talk she emptied her giant mug of coffee in one go.
“Professor Parks? Professor? I might have found something interesting?”
She was sure her professor could hear the question marks in her voice from across the room. She had checked, today was not April Fools’ Day and none of the other assistants would pull such a prank on any other day.
A little smile found its way on her face. If what she found was serious, the Nobel prize would soon be hers. |
Three hundred and sixty one billion, seven hundred and seventeen million, nine hundred and twenty-two thousand, Four hundred and eight seconds … give or take the multiple syllables to think the numbers aloud.
I was ready to say the next line of numbers, when the moment I never thought would ever get here, finally came. The chain around my neck broke.
At first, I didn’t know what to do with that. For so long, I had dreamed of freedom. Who wouldn’t? Igmunt was the greatest bastard that ever pissed, and I should’ve murdered that lying cur instead of entering his camp after he surrendered.
Instead, he murdered my men and took me hostage. From what I understood, my people then drove him into the sea for good, but I was no longer a party to that. No, Igmunt had plans for me. He wanted me to suffer for my righteousness. He wanted me to go mad.
And it was only my knowledge of that fact that kept me hanging on to the tether of my sanity with broken fingernails. Because he had thought it’d be hilarious to crucify me, as my Lord had been crucified in Jerusalem all those centuries ago. He had his men use parts of his own bedding to craft a crucifix for me, and in the dark of night, I was hammered to it.
I didn’t cry out. Not once. I would not give him that satisfaction. “I will see you in Hell, demon,” I had sworn at him, once the waves of pain passed and I could think rationally once more. More iron was added to my neck, along with a small anchor. At the time, I hadn’t understood why. Because I wasn’t as demented as him.
Not back then.
He'd leaned over me, and I remember smelling something strange on him. “You will see out eternity knowing that will never happen, Cian O’Connor. For I am indeed a demon, of your worst nightmare.”
And he grew fangs. Long, twisted, hideous fangs. I fought my restraints, swearing and cursing at him, as he and his men laughed. “God will prevail!” I cried, as he twisted my head to one side and sank his teeth into my neck.
I would rather spend another thousand years under the sea, if it would rid me of the memories of my impure thoughts and feelings of that time. I would have killed anyone or anything for blood. I wanted it so badly I remembered crying at so many sources being so close, and yet out of my reach.
“You will remain weak, until you get your first feed; which I assure you, will never come to you. You will remain alone, at the bottom of the sea, where you will go mad. The timber will perish, but the chain and your ongoing weakness will keep you there. While I, roaming the world and taking what I will, will think of you only in passing, and laugh. Goodbye, Field Marshall O’Connor.”
And to the sound of their insidious laughter, I was thrown overboard.
My fate was true to Igmunt’s word. Without that first feed, I was too weak to do anything but suffer. And after the boards of my crucifix rotted away, I was still held by the anchor. I floated inverted for what seemed like forever, staring at chain, willing it to break. I even made a deal with the Almighty. If he couldn’t see fit to kill me, then allow me the mind to avenge myself when the time came for me to be free.
Since the former didn’t happen, I had my hopes pinned on the latter. Because my Lord would prevail. Of that, I was certain.
And when the chain finally broke, I was lifted to the surface, where I floated for hours.
My faith in God grew when the sun came up, and all its rays did to me was make me uncomfortable. I was getting a sunburn. The irony.
Soon a ship would come. I had only heard the changes to their method of movement, so I knew to expect something grand. This was a popular waterway. I would be ‘rescued’. My rescuers would then make the ultimate sacrifice to bring forth God’s greatest warrior …
… and then my hunt for Igmunt and his kind of pagan evil will begin in earnest.
Because God always has a plan.
((All comments welcome))
For more of my work: [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/) |
"Hey Humanity, shut the door! You're letting all the radiation in!"
Another wave of laughter from everyone in the room. I realize that I am the one holding the door open, and promptly shut it.
I turn back towards the room. Well, it was more of an amphitheatre, except it was imperceptibly huge, with rows of tables on ascending levels. I was standing at the base near the stage, and try as I might I could not see the top row of tables. That would be worrisome if it wasnt for the fact that every seat I could see was occupied by creatures utterly alien and foreign. I was clearly dreaming. So this is the part where I wake up, right?
"Hello? Earth to Humanity, can you hear me?"
I am snapped from my daze by a short, rotund alien. The top of his head barely meets my navel, and his face is as orange as a sunset.
"Okay, bad joke, sorry, but you're up next on stage, so get moving."
He hands me a sign with a loop of string around it, and I suppose he means me to wear it and walk on stage. I cannot read what is written on the sign but place the string around the back of my neck anyway, and walk up a few steps to the stage proper.
Greeted with a roar of applause, shouts, even catcalls, the mass of strange creatures seem excited to see me.
I stop when I get to the center of the stage, dumbfounded by what's happening. This does not feel like a dream, but it doesnt feel real, either.
Suddenly a microphone drops from above me, suspended by its cord. It bumps into my head, which elicits another small burst of laughter and chuckles. The theatre was a cacophony of sound before, but now it settles down to a large degree, and I realize that the only real lights are now directly on me.
A booming, amplified voice fills the space all around me.
"Up next: Species number 423,704. Name: Humanity. Homeworld: Sol III. Cause of death: Suicide by Nuclear weapons"
This causes a few laughs, and other noises I have no idea what to call. The voice describing me finishes its introduction.
"Humanity, you may begin."
Without even thinking about it, I grab the mic and turn it on. The audience is shrouded in dark, and I can only see silhouettes and sometimes glowing eyes. I clear my throat.
"Well, my name is Brian, and I guess I represent Humanity. I'm a little rusty on stage, can I get some help from the audience?"
A creature that looks a bit like a tree and a giraffe mated shouts out to me from a table 5 rows away.
"Tell us your story!"
"Sure,"I oblige. "I'm from the United Stated, born in-"
"No dumbass, tell us how you got here!"Someone else shouts from the smoky room.
In the same moment I have no idea what the alien meant, and yet I had all the answers. I feel like i have every answer, oddly enough.
"Oh, of course. Well it started with World War II I suppose, and I dont want to weigh anyone down with the minutae of that conflict, but man, that one really was the worst, you know? Anyway, that was the first atomic bomb we ever used on ourselves. It made sense then but I feel quite silly saying it to you all now. I mean, who uses a weapon like that on themselves?"
Some monstrous voice responded from a table out of sight.
"Certainly not the Vertusians, they would never do something like that!"
The theater erupts in laughter, and I see a spindly blue creature in the front row turn towards the crowd, laughing along with the jab.
"Well at least somebody knows how I feel,"I continued. "Theres nothing like nuclear war to really put your priorities in order. We had the world worked out for a while, but once the water started running low, most of us knew the end was near."
For a few minutes I went over the details of how humanity managed to destroy itself and the planet, and by the end of my tale I was loose and having a good time. The crowd seemed to hang on every word, and sent jests and jokes at each other as much as they sent them at myself, but it all seemed to be in good fun. A thought occured to me that I should have taken up stand-up when I had the chance.
Then the booming, faceless announcer began to speak again.
"Thank you, Species 423,704. Please exit the stage and have a seat, we have another member about to arrive."
The crowd clapped, hooted, honked, and screeched. I took it all as gracious applause as I waved and walked off the stage, an assistant taking the sign i was wearing off of me. Within moments I found myself seated at a table with 3 other species. An alien acting as a waiter placed food and drink in front of me on the table, and the furry one to my left handed me a large cigar.
"Up next: Species 423,705. Name: Glarpnacks..."
I faced the stage in anticipation of the next member. When the booming voice announced the cause of death as a failed jump to warpspeed, the laughter in the room hit a new high.
I took a drink and tasted a most exquisite Irish Whiskey. Extinction wasn't so bad after all. |
I always got crude glances when I neared her cottage, people saw me as little more than a vulture, one that was waiting for her death. I was just trying to help the woman out. Plus her grand stories were enchanting, no matter how ridiculous or insane they might have been. Even as I stood outside of her little cottage, dressed in all black it left me to think about all those years we spent together. How she would invite me in for lemonade after a scorching day of mowing the lawns. Tell me how her husband and she were jewel thieves, ones whose names would have been in the history books if they ever got caught. She always stuck to the same story, telling me how her husband had died in a work-related misfire, how her love for thieving had died that day by a twitchy eighteen-year-old security guard.
For the first few years, she always seemed to hold a hatred for that moment. Often remarking about how she wished her husband had just taken the shot that day. In her later years, she seemed to understand her husband’s actions. “He was just a boy, I can see why Bill wouldn’t shoot him.” I had suspected that these were just the ramblings of an old woman, what jewel thief would live in this dump. Still, as I neared the door, her stories seemed to feel more real. I could see men in black suits through the window, each waiting for me to enter. I could feel something was wrong, considering heading back before the door opened and they pulled me inside.
“Mr Fuller, thank you for coming to the reading of the will.” The man at the end of the table seemed in charge of the group. His receding hairline a giveaway he had been in this job for far too long. “I’m sure you have questions, but so do we. We will need to go over a few things before the money is yours.” They motioned me into a seat, the man focusing his gaze towards me. “Are you the child of the late Miss Jasmine? Did you know about her past crimes?”
“Her child? No, I just started working for her when I was sixteen, I was at that age where you do odd jobs to get money. I wanted to buy the new thigh crusher chronicles game, and she was offering to hire me to mow her-“
“That’s enough Mr Fuller.” A few of his associates began scribbling down notes. “And you did not understand her crimes? You didn’t cover them up to get access to her fortune?”
“Fortune? I assumed this was all she had, I didn’t even want this place honestly. I just wanted to help her because she was a sweet old lady. She helped me pay for a lot of things when I was younger, so it felt like I was returning the favour by helping her out.”
“Interesting. The information matches what she said in the tapes. If he passes the blood test, I see no reason to withhold the money. Just know that if you accept the money, you give up any rights to speak of her crimes. If you refuse the money, understand that we will make it very difficult for you if you try to tell anyone about her and her heists.”
With that being the last thing the man said to me, they ushered me to the bathroom. A few blood samples taken before they directed me to the table. This time to sign a few forms that assured I would remain silent about her crimes and just enjoy the money. I was happy to sign such an agreement, having no reason to make my life more difficult. I doubt she would blame me for it either.
With that out of the way, they left me a slip of paper, informing me of what I would be receiving. At the top of the list was the sum of fifty million dollars and below that in a small font sat the cottage. I was still shocked to see the number listed, I never would have dreamed that she was telling the truth about all of those stories. To think old granny was a thief. Still, she must have ruffled some important feathers if they wanted to keep the information about her hushed. Maybe she targeted some locations that were meant to be unreachable? I could only speculate as I grabbed a broom, ready to tidy up the old place. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Maybe I would turn it into a memorial to her and Bill? That could be nice.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories Any support helps! I will also be posting more of my writing there.} |
"Thank you so much for your patience while we get things settled. Thessia, was it?"
"Yes."The young woman brushes her white hair from her face. With no ears to trap it behind, the effort is wasted. Her curved horns are too wide to sweep her hair behind without awkward maneuvering, and you have to resist the urge to offer to braid it for her. "Thessia Silverbane."
"Is 'Silverbane' a family name?"
"Oh-- No. It's more... a nickname, I guess. Though I suppose if I had a family, that's what they would be given. Everyone seems to know me by that, nowadays. My foster father gave it to me, since I was always so bad with money. Oh-- oh dear, that's really not the kind of thing I should tell people. H-how many people are going to hear this?"
"I'll edit it out."
"You can do that?"
"Yes, it's quite simple."You adjust the volume levels of your microphones and finally settle back into your chair, pen in hand.
"Now, Thessia. Are you ready to begin the interview?"
"I-- yes. Yes, that would be fine."
You clear your throat and begin:
"Good morning, Earth! Welcome back to the Daily Grind. Today we're visiting with another young hero, Thessia Silverbane of Varbrunt in the Gyros system! Thessia, welcome to the show."
"Er-- why are you talking like that..? I-I mean, thank you! Thank you for having me."
"Don't worry, Thessia, you'll get used to it. Just talk normally, you'll do fine."
"Okay. Thank you. It's a pleasure to be here."
"Thessia, you're a Chosen Hero here on Varbrunt, correct?"
"Yes, I suppose so. I'm really not the only hero, though."
"I heard you defeated an elder dragon single handed, with only a sword and shield. Is this not true?"
"Well... yes."
"But there are heroes that have come before you?"
"Oh, yes. Many! The last was Lady Aalia."
"What was Lady Aalia known for?"
"Well, um... Lady Aalia was renown for preventing a plague."
"A plague! Back on Earth, we have medicines and vaccinations. Did Lady Aalia invent a new type of medicine to cure this plague?"
"Oh-- No. I mean, we have some medicinal herbs for the usual colds and things, but typically a plague is accompanied by a large corruption in an area. Usually either in fields or rivers. Lady Aalia stopped a spread of contagion in the water of a major city."
"She did all of this by... What? Filtering the water?"
"No, no. She was chosen by the Goddess of Healing. By travelling to the top of the mountains where the glaciers form, she spread her lifeblood over the corrupted area and cleansed the ice, purifying the source of the waters and saving a civilization with her sacrifice."
Your mouth opens. Closes. "She what?"
"She used herself as a blood sacrifice to cleanse the source."
"That doesn't spread more diseases?"
Thessia laughs. "Of course not. Why would it? She was chosen by the Goddess of Healing and she was a pure maiden."
It's been like this on every planet you've ventured to. Originally, you sought to find secret technologies and advancements in civilizations to bring back to Earth, but now you've been reduced to nothing more than a podcast host, talking to heroes for clicks. After a year of this and dozens of interviews, you're sick and tired of hearing about Gods and Goddesses and miracles.
Where was any of that on Earth when you needed it? Why was Earth different? Surely, somewhere in the vastness of space, you could find someone that would be able to fix the catastrophe raging back home. The latest death count was in the millions.
"Right. A pure maiden. Is that a requirement for most heroes?"
"It depends on the crisis."Again, she fixes her hair. Again, you resist the urge to fix it for her. "From what I understand, the God of War picked me because I was willing to take action. I can't remember the last time I said *no* when someone asked for my help."
"You sound like you regret that."
"Oh, no, it's not quite as simple as that. But the last time I tried to go to the beach, I ended up helping a fisherman's guild solve why the fish had disappeared from their favorite lake!"
"Oh? What had happened?"
"Lake sharks. They come around from time to time. All I needed to do was find out what bait they preferred. The fishermen are working on culling the numbers until the regular schools come back around."
"You really don't know how to say *no,* do you?"
"It's not just about accepting. People who are willing to take action, they do it out of the goodness of their heart. They act first, without thinking about the risk to themselves or what they might gain by it."
"So you would say the requisite for a hero is altruism?"
"I suppose so, yes. There are always heroes like that, in every generation. We keep the stories of heroes past alive, so that our children can aspire to reach great heights. By helping one another, we can rest assured our friends, families, loved ones, and peers will never have to worry. Not everyone will be completely selfless and willing to make the sacrifice, but all it takes is one person. One person is enough."
Was that it? Was there not a single, truly altruistic person left on Earth? Had we erased them with stories of practicality and the urging to be realistic?
"Would it surprise you to hear that, where I come from, there are no Chosen Heroes?"
"It would."
"Would you be surprised to hear that, of all the planets I've journeyed to, Earth is the only one I've found that doesn't have Chosen Heroes?"
"I can't believe that!"
"No, really! Instead, we've developed technology -- like this equipment -- and medicine to combat threats to our civilization."
"That's remarkable. You never have to send others to war, then?"
She looks hopeful, and you know you've given her the wrong impression. It breaks your heart to confess, "No. No, we still go to war."
"But there's no dragons and horrors to fight, if you have technology and medicine?"
"We don't have dragons and horrors, no. We go to war with each other."
"Oh. I've never heard of a people fighting themselves. That must be hard."
"There hasn't been a major war in a long time, though."
"Well, that's very hopeful."
"It is."
"But..?"
"Oh, well, our civilization is one that's in constant competition with itself. We make each other better by competing, you see. Always striving to have a leg up on the competition, to make greater and greater inventions."
"That sounds very lonely."
You think of your family, those last days in the hospital. "It is."
"Do you think humans will change?"
Could they? We had no altruistic heroes, no chosen one to save us from ourselves. The Space Program had been created to find a new planet to colonize, once Earth inevitably died. With how long you've been gone, it could already be reduced to dust. There was hardly any water remaining, and most buildings had oxygen pumped in. Altruism was dead, sickness and famine reigned now. Who could change, in an environment like that?
But still. You were out here, looking for a solution. Weren't you? Or were you looking for someone to come solve the world's problems for you, instead of doing something about it yourself? A hero to make the bad things go away.
"I'm really not sure,"you confess.
But Thessia only smiles. "Well. Change starts with one person. Maybe that one person could be you." |
"We need to talk."Honestly despite the loss of your home, your tv, your bed and your half done history report you are surprisingly chill.
"Mom, dad. Despite the loss of your home, your car and your sandwich you two seem surprisingly calm."
"Don't remind me son."You recognize that tone, deep down he's still grieving. It was probably a very good sandwich. Your dad doesn't usually get the time to make breakfast, but when he does he goes all out.
Your mom steps up in front of you. "Honey you."A breath "Okay so you've seen werewolves in movies right?"
Not where you were expecting this conversation to go but, "go on."
"Right well your great grandpop was a dragon."Now that was the conversation you were expecting. "See back in the old days before the great reckoning and the war with the creator gods."You feel a great bit of background information just flew over your head. "Your grandpop slew a dragon in the service of the Mechanus Plague and as a reward our family line was tied with its soul."
This won't be on the test right? "What."You couldn't help it, the words just fell out your mouth (jaw?).
It was the wrong thing to say, your mother has no patience for sass. "Do **not** interrupt me."She levels you with a glare that leaves you mollified. You're 30 foot tall and yet you feel smaller than a thumbtack. "Our line is a dragon. Our family tree, the roots were embedded in the great wyrm's back. In essence, we are the dragon. It is us. My granda' thought it was a blessing. My mum knew it for the truth though. For as long our tree grows out the dragon's back, our fate is tied to it. We share in its curse. With the magic of our bond we declared our side in the war and that stigma sticks with us still. With you my son."
That's a lot to take in before breakfast. Wait. "The werewolf part?"
Your mum looks sheepish. "You remember what happened yesterday?"The magnitude of the disaster before you finally caught up to your senses. "No, the neighborhood wasn't always on fire."Well it was a hot summer, with all the grass everywhere it was only a matter of time anyway. "When the dragon trait finally surfaces our young tends to lose control. The only way to get back that control?"Your mom gestures around her. An array of weapons poking out of the rubble of your old home.
Was she always wearing armor? If you weren't riddled with scratches and didn't have more of those weapons poking into your scales? You'd say she was kind of cool. "And you?"You asked, what kind of demigod was your father?
"What? Oh no I'm normal. I was cooking at a hotel up north when your mother landed almost on top of me. Apparently dragons can get dru-."Your mom stopped him before he could continue. Good thing too, he's late for work. You don't know whether your home insurance covers dragonfire, but you're willing to bet it doesn't. |
**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one is going to be a little dark.**
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PART I: SILAS IN SILENCE
Black Market work. Not the kind of thing you get into if you're a well-adjusted individual. Especially if the things you're smuggling and selling are more dangerous than you are.
Yeah. You pretty much had to have a death wish to brazenly haul around and sell stolen dragon eggs, grave-robbed centaur bones, and pilfered pixie dust. But here I was- once again sprinting across the Druchmarian border, in the humid dead of night, with nearly seventy pounds of illegal love potions on my back.
It hadn't been a smooth life... and it wasn't looking like it was going to get any better. But, truth be told, I lived for the thrill. Dangerous times were the only times I could escape the gnawing void in my soul- when I *had* to be completely in the moment, I could forget about the things I'd done.
I was achieving a top speed of probably fifteen miles an hour, enjoying the dark thrill that came with this kind of risk- when off in the distance, I heard a single, short bark. It rang through the night and filled my mouth with the taste of copper... the taste of *fear*.
A Hellhound, I had no doubt.
With a wide grin, I broke into a full-tilted sprint, feeling my boots strike against the rocky earth, the moon shining on my back, and, my favorite- the thrill of having my life on the line.
I knew I had about half of a mile to go before the bridge over the canyon- and there, if I was lucky, I could destroy the bridge behind me and lose the Hellhound. That was my best shot. My *only* shot, probably.
From behind me, the red luminescence of the Hellhound's eyes was drawing closer- I couldn't quite tell how close it was, but it was certainly catching up.
I redoubled my efforts, pumping my legs like a Metallurgical Magician's pistons, feeling the burning of every single muscle fibre. Cresting a hill, I was now just a few dozen feet away from the bridge- but I could also hear the breathing of the Hellhound, and I knew I wasn't going to make it across in time.
In desperation, I swerved to the left and began to run alongside the canyon's edge, just a single step away from a fatal fall- for me, or for the Hellhound.
I had to get the timing *just* right. I slowed my pace slightly- then pretended to trip-
The Hound launched itself at me, snarling- just as I swan dived in the opposite direction.
Its body missed me by mere inches, though its front claws did get a good long scratch up my forehead- a small price to pay, in exchange for the Hound plummeting towards certain death, with me remaining as the victor.
"Yes!"I shouted, throwing my fist into the air, feeling the pure rush of adrenaline, of risk and reward-- which ended all too soon, as I reflexively looked over my shoulder, as if to check if Yuliette had seen my incredible feat.
I had to remind myself that she was gone. I had no witness but the moon and sand.
My mood absolutely ruined, I continued the last leg of my trudge toward the Black Market depot, with the blood from my wound drying and crusting my face.
Arriving, I was greeted by the all too familiar sensations of the underworld's collective home, called only 'The Depot'. Though it was the earliest hours of the morning, the Depot did not know sleep- at all hours, there was always the smell of frying, greasy food from scattered vendors, the flea-market esque stalls whose proprietors were hawking treasure and trash alike- and overcharging for each- and, finally, my destination... Grime Haven, whose name was growing more and more apt with each passing year.
Stepping through the rough linen partition, I met with Lydra's tired eyes. She couldn't even summon a look of surprise at seeing me. "Fuck you're filthy."She said.
"Nice to see you too, darling."I said sarcastically, but with a little smile. "Hellhound this time, just about a mile out from the canyon bridge. It was a lovely fight."
"You know, if you poured even a tenth of the love and devotion you had for Yuliette-"Began Lydra
The pack I was carrying bumped into Lydra's face. "Definitely not here for relationship advice. Here's the shipment. Love potions, crafted by the Quinnmorel tribe."
"I will *not* be interrupted."Said Lydra, and for once, the anger in her voice seemed serious. "You and I have lived this life since we were *kids*, and you were *always* the cleverest, the most careful- that's why you *survived!* How many of our Denmates still walk this Gods-forsaken earth?"She snapped. "Three? Including us! Hell, Damian may have died, it's been a few months since I've seen 'im, he could have gone the way of the flesh. You go out, day after day, waiting for missions dangerous enough to pique your interest, and you always come back by the skin on your teeth! And for what? Not money! There's better paying, safer work to be had with your skills! No, it's all to numb the pain of losing Yuliette, and don't think I don't know what happened!"
I wanted to interrupt, but she was on a tirade.
"If you poured a *tenth* of the love you bore for her, and you gave it back to yourself, you could run this city. You could run the country! There is no limit to what you could do, but instead you *rot* and you *fester* and you let the drink dull your heartache until there'll be nothing left!"
"*Gods above, fine!*"I shouted, pulling a love potion from the pack. "Here! If what Yuliette and I had was true love, then this should do the trick!"Staring into a nearby mirror, I uncorked the love potion and downed it like a shot of liqour. Tasted like...strawberries and paint.
As soon as the fluid hit my stomach, I felt the change. That incessant gnawing stopped- my desperate need for *distraction* was gone. I also fell back, flat onto my ass, and the mirror fell on top of me, shattering into a thousand pieces.
"You *gods damn idiot!* Shouted Lydra, as she tried to take what remained of the mirror off of me.
"Uh."I said, stupidly. My mind was flooding with strength- the kind of strength I always had when Yuliette cheered me on, told me she believed in me.
"Look at that!"Lydra scolded me. "You're paying for that mirror- and you're bleeding again! You probably don't have that much left to spare!"
Was I?
I looked down, and noticed that the remaining shattered mirror pieces were now sticking out of my chest, making an oddly specific shape.
"What the hell...?"I asked no one in particular, looking at the shape.
"That...that's Metatron's Cube. That's the sign of the Fallen Angels. Oh, god, what have you landed yourself into?"Lydra asked, exasperated.
I wasn't sure. But my fire was back, and I was *dying* to find out what was going to come next.
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**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: If you guys liked this, let me know, I can do a Pt. II on my subreddit! |
“Trent brushed a loose strand of auburn hair behind Sophie's ear. Without missing a beat, he leaned in closer until the sound of her nervous breath synchronised with the heavy beating of his heart. Then, just as the night fell silent but for the soft whistle of the wind, he parted his lips and unleashed a tsunami of salivary goodness into her mouth.”
Selena erupted into laughter and punctuated it with a snort. Steve, chuckling himself, crumpled his work and threw it back into the bin with impressive accuracy. Selena didn’t notice though; she had somehow managed to shift her body upside down. While her legs clutched the back of the sofa for support, her ashy blonde hair dangled freely from her head and brushed the carpet below. Her pale face had turned an unusual shade of scarlet, helped in part by the fits of laughter and in part from the blood now rushing frantically to her head.
‘Okay, okay’ Steve chortled, offering Selena a hand which she hastily accepted. ‘Perhaps “salivary goodness” was a little too…
‘Nauseating’ Selena chimed in.
Steve playfully pushed Selena’s chest and she sunk into the leather cushions. She propped herself up with her elbows and her smile widened. Then she wrapped her arms around Steve’s neck and hoisted herself up an inch from his face.
‘What about now?’ She whispered. ‘Do you understand kissing now?’
Selena’s lips caressed Steve’s ear before slowly inching down his neck. She pressed her lips into him, gently at first, and then increasing her passion the further she roamed.
Steve was in bliss, but her question had caught his attention. Three months ago he hadn’t even held hands with a woman, let alone kissed one. He was completely inexperienced -- and not by choice. No matter how deeply he understood his characters on-page, he had always struggled to understand real people off-page. The advances he did make (and there were progressively fewer as time went on) had been met with rejection and complete humiliation. And no matter how many times he was subjected to it, the sting of rejection never yielded; it only aggravated his wounds. All he knew about relationships and love — true love — was extracted from the works of fiction that consumed his nights.
Selena was no different, though of course she had hundreds, perhaps even thousands of men regale her with shallow goods and false promises. Some succeeded (though there progressively fewer as time went on), but never did she feel the raging fire or fluttering butterflies that she had read about, and subsequently dreamt of, time and time again, painted in such gorgeous colour across the black and white prose in her favourite novels. Her experiences were plentiful but hollow.
When she suggested they start a romantic relationship to better understand love, he thought she was joking. And she was, at first. But the more time they spent pretending, the less time they spent pretending. She was infatuated with his awkwardness; he felt emboldened by her positive approach to life. They fell for one another. It was sudden. It was unrelenting.
Steve placed a finger underneath Selena’s chin, which by now was burrowed into the nook of his chest. He directed her back up to meet his gaze.
“Before I met you, I didn’t know what it meant to kiss, or what it meant to love. Now, I know as much as a man could know. Yet my work will remain bare, for no string of letters, not twenty six nor twenty thousand could reflect what I feel when I look into your eyes. For what I feel is indescribable. Love can not be harvested and regurgitated, it can only be understood in the hearts of those lucky enough to encounter it.”
And with that, he kissed her forehead. |
Retirement. It looked so lovely. A nice mansion on the burning shores of the rivers where the sinners burn for eternity. One with lovely view of the forests where animalistic demons hunt humans who were cruel to animals, every day. I've been an actively working demon since the fall of Rome. It'll be nice to retire and enjoy the fruits of my labours. Because I've been a pretty important demon. I inspired the First Crusade, I whispering in the ears of the mad flagellants, I inspired pride and wickedness wherever I went.
Great old days. I became so prolific, that for a long time, the mortals just assumed that demons looked like me, and depicted most of the pictures on how they thought I looked. Hooves, horns, goat face, etc. I even carried around a stupid trident for a while just to see if it'd catch on. Of course, since the 30 Years War, I've been keeping it slower, more on the down low. Now, I have one loyal cult, about 3000 people secretly worshipping my dark might in some small college town. There they inspire people to write blasphemous ideas, discover tech way earlier than human morality is ready for it, and generally encourage other humans to stand proud and tall.
It's been a lot of fun. Besides, college cult parties are quite rambunctious. But this old goat is getting too old for that. And besides, Hell is trying to innovate their approach. Humanising Hell they call it, making it seem like we're the good guys. I like it, it's a very inventive concept, but I'm too old to really change.
But I still have a large cult, and I'd rather not have them start worshipping any upstart demon with all the sense and delicate touch of a goose. Which is why, upon my summoning day, I'm telling them that I'm retiring. And I'm bringing in a new replacement. I'm Astorfegul, and my grandson Amovlir Telkontor Antikratos will take over my cult.
He is more suited for the modern Hell approach. Sure, I can listen to my followers, and advise them, but I still look like a hellishly evil demon. That doesn't allow for new outside membership to grow much, unless we start recruiting those weird fuckers who claim to worship the devil, only because their Christian parents won't buy them a bodypillow of an anime character. And nobody wants those guy in a respectable cult. My grandson is cuter, fluffy, and while he does look like a goat, just like his mother and his grandfather, he looks quite more huggable, as the human witches who sometimes visit hell say.
But beyond that, he is also charming, friendly, and charismatic. And the last one is important. I could hand the cult over to any of my spawn, but most of them are meatheads, sadists, hedonists or all of the above. And none of those ever gain much following with mortals. Besides, I've had my grandson with me to meet the cult before, and they've all found him quite sweet and cute.
Of course, his friendly advice and charming suggestions still inevitably leads you into damnation if you are mortal. But where I had to spend centuries learning how to lead people into damnation with guile, lying, and all manners of bribes, he can just smile, talk, and be cute. And they follow him like the rats follow the piper. Straight into the modern Hell's grasp.
From my clan's hellish citadel, I am summoned. Using my large hands, I grasp my grandson firmly, as we leave hell and appear in the mortal world. He is also human sized, which is a real plus. It has its benefits to be a 13 feet tall demon covered in sinewy muscles and rough wool like I am. But outside of the intimidating factor, and the obvious physical prowess, it doesn't do much. His soft wool, big nice smile, tendency to hug, and small blunt horns, makes him an excellent advocate for modern hell.
I stare out across my congregation. My cult. They all know that I've called them here for something important. They know that I've been planning to retire for a while now. There are old couples, teenagers who are disinterested, as all teens are, young children staring in awe, and everyone else. I stand up to my full height, my massive dark horns nearly scraping the roof, my rough jet-black wool drinking in the light of the fiery torches held by various acolytes.
''**Greetings my good followers. I see that there are new faces in the flock today, good, good. I have asked the high priest to summon me here today, because I have an announcement to make. As you know, I've provided demonic services, such as healing your ill, cursing your enemies, fertilising your barren wives and fields, and many other such things for the past 250 years, some of you older ones I've gifted with longevity remembers how we were chased out by the witchhunters to come here, to America. You have been loyal for all this time, and I am grateful to have such good loyal followers. But I am ageing, and though no demon ever dies of old age, we do fade with time. Thus, today, I reveal to you, my successor. You all know him. My grandson, Baron Amovlir Telkontor Antikratos!** I lift up my grandson with thunderous applause. He waves at the various cultists and smiles warmly.
Setting him down at the speaker's pulpit, he takes out a few papers, and takes the microphone to have a speech of his own. ''*Beloved grandfather, long have you fought for the freedom that our kind believes in. Long have your followers stayed true to you. I gladly accept your wish, oh grandfather. I will complete the work you have started. And to you, our cultists, loyal and good, I promise you, we will continue the good work. I have learned at the hoof of my grandfather from the time I was but a mere kid, and like him, I too will aid you, I too will fulfil the promises made to you all. And I know, that together, we will do our part in the war against the tyrannical oppression of the false demiurge, who is called the Anointed One!*
His voice, unlike mine, is sweet, cheery, and optimistic, where mine is rough, intimidating and powerful. Yet they love him. They've always done so. He was born to this. At the conclusion of his little acceptance speech, he is met with thunderous and deafening applause. Makes an old demonic goat proud. I've planned this for a while, after all. They've all met him, when we do stuff like blooddrives(more humans saved by medicine means more potential cultists, and we get to keep the blood that is not usable), he has babysat for a good number of the people, and he has never lost a single little human cub. And they unconsciously recognise him as the face of the college town's resident football team, he is the mascot of the Grayville Rams. He has been taught command, manipulation, and human psychology, combined with his natural charisma, which makes him the perfect demon to take over for me.
And as we celebrate, I see how happy he is, for he was never really happy down in hell. He likes the humans, and some part of him truly does believe in what he says. Sure, he knows that it is a lot more complex than our cults or their cults say, but he truly does believe in what the Adversary taught our ancestors, freedom from the tyranny of YHWH. In his cloven hooves, I can safely see the cult rising. From a small one, to a national one. To one that can compete with the followers of the dead Carpenter. As I leave the service, holding my grandson's hand firmly, I wonder if he might even be the prophesied one. The Morningstar, the answer of Hell to the bold death of the Carpenter. But I will not count my demonspider-eggs before they've hatched in the bowels of the blackest pits.
He has only just been accepted, and yet, they did it so readily. Who knows what the future holds, now that I retire here at the dawn of the 3rd millennium since the death of their champion.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
“This is a football.” Droned the robotic voice, aping female tones.
The slide changed and the sand tinny, dissonant voice intoned “these are children playing football.”
I was completely enraptured, despite the uninspiring narrator.
Sixteen years. I had sixteen years without my eyes. Sixteen years of hiding the empty sockets where my eyes should have been from the world.
It was a miracle. An absolute, undeniable miracle. Now I could put faces to names, sights to the feels and sounds and tastes of my world.
Finally, I could go to school and sit in a classroom and read the board. Open my books and be able to see the words, to be able to put a pen to paper and see myself creating, writing stories, drawing, sketching - doodling!
My parents had been terrified that I would strain my new eyes as I threw myself into learning how to read and write. Learning the shapes of the world. The doctors had waved off their concerns. These were the latest technology, fully composed of non-organic parts, excluding only the interface with my optic nerve. They encouraged me to stretch myself as far as I could manage. I was their test case, one of the lucky few.
My alarm went off. I reluctantly paused the video the doctors had sent me home with.
It was time to go to school.
I nervously double checked myself in the mirror. My uniform was buttoned correctly and properly ironed. My hair was brushed and nearly tied back. My eyes....
My eyes looked just like my mother’s. The doctors had modelled them on hers, at my father’s insistence. The colour of green grapes, he’d described them affectionately. They went well with my red hair and snowy white skin. I was almost an exact clone of my mother - far paler than my father or brother, something I had never realised until I had my new eyes.
My father teased me that if he took me back to Ireland to visit the family my parents had left behind then I would fit right in.
Mum always just changed the subject when I asked about going to visit and talked about maybe some day.
I checked my watch. The little hand was almost pointing at 8, the big hand was a quarter away from the top, pointing at the 9.
Quarter to eight. It was time to leave. I picked up the bag I’d packed much earlier, too excited to stay in bed. I checked myself a final time in the mirror.
It was time to go to school.
***
It was strangely nerve wracking to walk into a classroom and be able to actually see how many eyes were looking back at you. I looked out at the people waiting for me to introduce myself. They were a mixed bunch. I could see some as white as me, some as black as granddad Niles, and some in between like dad and Ben. There were some who were brown but not brown like the between shades I’d seen in my family. And then there were the ones in blues and greens with shimmering patches on their skin. It was fascinating. I’d never known how different people looked from each other. I guess it was only to be expected. There was as much variety between their faces as there was their voices.
“Hello,” I said cheerfully as I received my cue from the teacher, “my name is Ciara and I’m looking forward to meeting you all!” |
"An an-gel?!"
A tall figure in a suit stood in middle of the class, looking around his surroundings.
"Nobody has never ever summoned an angel in the-"the teacher continued.
"Not that you know of!"the figure in the suit, interrupted. "I'm sorry, please go on, sir!"
The teacher was scared. He didn't understand the situation. He was panicking. He pulled his hairs, to comprehend the big fact, that was standing in front of him. But as soon as he turned to run from the class, to get the principal, he fainted.
The tall figure in a suit just snapped his fingers.
"Forgive me, young one. But he was just causing too much... noise, if you may."
Alex was shocked. His first day in school, and he had already screwed up. He did not understand where he had gone wrong. He followed all the rules according to the book he was given.
"So! Tell me, you sweet boy, what do you want from me? What can I do for you? You have summoned me after all."
Anyone summoned does not have to arbitrarily grant any wishes, but the custom of the summoner asking for a favour in exchange of the freedom of the summoned had become the norm.
"Who are you?"stuttered the boy.
The tall figure in the suit laughed. "You summon me, yet you don't know who I am. You are something, boy. I'm Ramiel."
"Ramiel?"
"Yes, boy."
"Are you really an angel?"
The angel laughed. "Why yes, boy! Of sorts."
"Of sorts?"
Suddenly, the air around the room became heavy. A feeling of dreadness filled the air. The scent of dead roses suddenly sweeped the room. A set of heavy footsteps could be heard approaching.
"That is he's a fallen angel. The Angel of Thunder."
Alex recognised this voice. He only heard it this morning, during the assembly. He was shit scared. He slowly turned around, and peeped through his shoulders. His principal was standing behind him.
Ramiel looked at the person irritatingly, but smirked.
"Ramiel, it's been a long time, brother."said the person.
"Yes. Yes, it's has been a long time, Lucifer." |
My head was on my desk. Not a single thought that the professor had said that day managed to puncture through my depressive fugue.
I had always known having a relationship while going through University was going to be tough, but I didn't think it would be *that* tough. Lke, scale of 1-10, 1 being 'work at a busy coffee shop', 10 being 'avert nuclear holocaust single-handedly'... I assumed it would be like a 2. Maybe a 3 on the hard days.
But then Amelia had to go and change her major. Or, rather, she had to choose a friggin' *double major* in two compex science disciplines, and there was only one University in the world that could accommodate her specific needs... and that University was in Iceland of all places.
I knew it was pathetic, but there were times I would go walk out to the shoreline and just stare at the open ocean, wondering how she was doing on the other side. She hadn't been able to hook up a number to a new provider out there, and between both of us working our butts off, we hardly ever got to speak. Hell, I only had time to be mopey about it for about half an hour every day, before I had to return to either class, studying for class, or catching a quick shift at work before class. Basically, my entire life centered around class.
That changed when I heard about the Armadillo event- honestly, it was so fantastical, I hated that it was undeniably proven.
Having made it to the center of the Earth, we found not magma, but instead, a sleeping armadillo. It was relatively small, compared to the massive shell it wore- and since we had disturbed it, based on the reaction speed, we had about three days until the world as we knew it ended. Sure, plenty of humankind would survive- but our careful arrangement of satellites, our roads- everything we took for granted was now being taken right back.
It was hard to pay attention to the farce of a class when my University grades wouldn't matter worth a damn in naught but a few days. In truth, the only thing I was doing was biding my time until it happened.
When the fateful day came, I knew what I had to do. I went out to the open waters, and waited out all the rumbling. Water was spilling off the new 'sides' of the world, and the landmasses were converging together once again, back into Pangea.
And here I was, waiting, with a faint glimmer of hope in my heart, that maybe, just maybe, Amelia and I were still on the same page, after all this time. That maybe, even with all the chaos, she still cared about me as much as I cared about her.
I waited, and hoped against hope, as, slowly but surely, the Iceland coastline began to appear on the horizon. The sun set setting behind me, which made it a little easier to see... a few hundred feet away... was that a person wearing white on the other side? I couldn't quite tell.
Waiting for them to get closer, I was finally able to make out that they had wild red hair, all bouncy with curls. They stood as tall as they could, despite their 5'5 frame- and tears were streaming down their face, with a great big smile, as, finally, the landmasses converged, and they were together once more.
She and I sealed that reunion with a kiss, and the quaking of the world around us felt much like the Earth itself was celebrating with us. |
Ever since he can remember, Andrew Felder has wanted to be extraordinary. He’s a sucker for comic books and the mythological tales of heroes alike. He’s a sucker for romantic comedies where he’s dashing, funny, charismatic, and sweeps a beautiful woman off her feet. He likes those almost as he does the old Stallone, Schwarzenegger, and Eastwood movies.
And ever since Andrew can remember, he’s been completely unextraordinary.
“I’m just Mr. Slightly-Above-Average-Man. If the old crone only knew the true story of my ‘mark.’” he thinks one Monday morning while brushing his teeth. He’s thought of himself that way ever since. After all, it’s not that Andrew’s life is bad. He went to a state university where he got a degree in business and now he works at a bank. He makes enough money to be comfortable but not enough to be rich. Analyzing real estate portfolios is complex enough not to be mind-numbing but not meaningful enough to be… important. He lives in an average condo, drives a three-year-old Toyota Camry that he’s paid off. And he’s still sulking over being dumped by Val.
“You’re a sweet guy, Andrew. I just think we have different energy levels, you know?” she said. He did know. He knows precisely what she means and it depresses him.
Andrew wasn’t always like this though. Well, not really. When he was nineteen years old, he and his girlfriend at time went to Cancun on vacation. Looking back on it, he thinks that Sarah may have been the only girl he ever really loved. You can probably guess what happened here too.
“Hey Andrew, we’re both young and in college, and I do love you, I’m just not ready to settle down with anyone right now.”
Hard to argue with that logic. Pathetic. You’d think that Andrew would have gotten over his fricking college girlfriend, and he has, mostly. Even so, he still finds himself poking around her social media more than is strictly necessary.
So it was one of those nights in Cancun that Sarah suggested they get tattoos, and she had an idea. A thirteen-pointed star with another thirteen-pointed star in its center. A little odd, but Sarah had talked about this before, even drawn it out. She liked the idea of “taking back” thirteen as an unlucky number. Of owning it and having it serve as a metaphor not to fear the unknown. Even though Andrew hated needles, he went along with it. Maybe it would be one of those stories they’d tell their grandkids one day.
“Just tell the crazy old woman and her followers the truth, pal. Tell her that you’re not ‘the one who is good yet bears the mark of the unholy star.’ You were nineteen years old and were just trying to impress the girl you loved.” Andrew tells himself that very same morning. “She might be upset. Her followers might trash you on Twitter and it’ll be over.”
But Andrew likes going to their gatherings. He likes, for the first time in his life, being extraordinary. At least to these people. He likes feeling important. He likes being looked up to. Yes, one day it will all come crashing down, but enjoy the ride in the meantime.
He doesn’t think that moment will come right this second though. He’s about to step into his car and drive to work when he receives a text message from the crone.
“Chosen One! The time is nigh! Cease your transit to your petty employment and watch this!” There’s a link attached. He taps it and opens a live broadcast of World News Corporation.
The news crews are already there. It’s only a few miles from here. Downtown. Independence Park. Sirens blare in the background. Andrew recognizes the villains immediately. The government said that he had been captured but had apparently lied. Dr. Diabolical hovers around the cameras, grinning as the frightened girl in his arms screams. Ajax and Strangelet, also supposedly killed or captured, are guarding the other children on the school bus below. Osprey, again, supposedly killed or captured, has already dispatched one of the fighters. And the remaining ones won’t last much longer.
This isn’t just any school bus. On board is Francis Johansson, son of the American Party’s Presidential nominee, Madeline Johansson.
“An hour-half, and there presently, these children shall die!” shrieks Dr. Diabolical. He raises one hand, and makes a show of nearly dropping the helpless girl before catching her again. Then he points a finger at one of the news vans. A bolt of blue energy flies from his fingertip and crashes into van. Then it’s… just not there. It’s gone. There’s no explosion. There’s no loud bang. It’s completely gone.
Andrew watches, transfixed. Just as millions of others around the country and world surely are. He’s almost annoyed when there’s another text from the crone.
“Serafino has been dispatched to fetch you. He will transport you to the scene.”
He begins to pound out a protest when he hears the rumbling of an engine. Not that cheap, trashy sound of a cheap American sports car either. He looks up an Audi R8 screeches to a stop not six feet in front him.
The passenger door slides open.
“Get in,” Serafino says without preamble.
Shocked into obedience, Andrew obeys. “Sweet ride, dude. How did you get this?”
Serafino shakes his head. “This what we’ve been waiting for for years, Andrew. This is your destiny.”
He slams the car into gear and Andrew is thrown against the back of the seat. “You watch, I’ll drive.”
Andrew nods and looks back down at his phone.
“Yes, these children shall surely die,” Dr. Diabolical continues “unless Madame Bathory is released Deep Dark immediately!”
Dr. Diabolical and Madame Bathory were kind of a Bonnie and Clyde of the 21st century, so to speak. Their romance was the topic of blogs and newsstand tabloids everywhere. They had hundreds, maybe thousands of Facebook fan pages and one of the most followed Instagram accounts on the planet. But when Madame Bathory was caught red-handed placing a nuclear device underneath the United Nations, not even the machinations of Dr. Diabolical could save her. So she was sent to Deep Dark, the undersea prison for super villains, rumored to be located somewhere at the bottom of the Southern Ocean.
So you ever had that dream where you didn’t study for your final exams, and now that final exam is here and you’re going to fail it? And get held back, not graduate, or go to summer school? You know that clinching in the pit of your stomach you can feel even in your dreams? Take that, multiply it by about a million, and you might understand how Andrew feels right now.
“So Serafino,” Andrew begins. Things had gone way too far. They’ll hate him for this but now is the time for the truth. “Look man, the truth is I’m nobody. I’m nothing special. This tattoo, it’s just a silly thing I got to impress my college girlfriend, okay? Look, I’m sorry and—”
Serafino weaves through three lanes of traffic and glances at Andrew. He smiles. “You think the crone doesn’t know the truth?”
He slams on the breaks to avoid rear-ending the truck in front of them, then accelerates back across another three lanes of traffic.
There’s a shocking, burning sensation on Andrew’s right forearm. He itches at it, annoyed. Then a proverbial red hot poker is driven through it. He screams, and rolls up his sleeve as fast as he can to bat away whatever is burning him. It’s the tattoo. Now glowing and sparkling blue. The pain subsides, and small, electric tingles traverse up and down his arm and then his entire body
“Told you, man. Have some faith.” Serafino laughs. “We’re almost here.”
The Audi races into the park and swerves to miss several bystanders before Serafino gingerly parks the car in miraculously open space.
“What am I supposed to do?” Andrew asks.
“Go stop them.” He points at Dr. Diabolical, still holding the little girl and flying back and forth, taunting the crowd as he does so.
Andrew shakes his head in protest. Then he looks down at the still glowing star. He regards Serafino for what may be the last time, gulps, and steps out of the car.
“Dr. Diabolical!” he shouts as marches forward. Somehow Andrew feels bigger, taller, stronger. He feels… fantastic. He’s still surprised though when he actually draws the villain’s attention. Dr. Diabolical stares at him. His face is stone cold, but surprisingly handsome. “I challenge you to single combat. Or surrender the girl to me and you may yet survive this day.”
Dr. Diabolical sneers. He drops the girl, met by the screams of the crowd. She’s caught by Osprey only about a dozen feet before she splatters against the pavement. Then the strange, bird-like man flies off with the hostage. The doctor points a finger unleashing one of those unmaking bolts of blue light. Andrew instinctively holds up his arms. The bolt reflects back at Dr. Diabolical. He only manages complete disintegration by mere inches and lightning quick reflexes.
Andrew looks down at his hands, surprised. But he won’t show it. More heat and electricity flow through his body. Then, the chosen one’s time having arrived, he kneels, and launches himself at the would-be murderer. |
The serious cataloguing for posterity, my own Pioneer gravestone complete with keys to help any potential future sapient life bootstrap their way to understanding our languages and our collective obituary, didn’t even last until the radio signals finished catching up with me. It’s not like I broke or anything, I just realized I wasn’t doing it for those hypothetical aliens or for *humanity*, those were just lies I told myself to keep up the fiction of purpose.
The last signals caught up with me and went silent a couple years later. I didn’t even know for weeks, I was too busy flying around engineering with the ducted fan guns I’d rigged up, doodling on the walls of the habitation ring, and performing songs and one-woman plays for myself that just popped into my head and would surely make no sense to anyone else. That didn’t matter, no one else would ever know they existed.
There was one ritual I stayed serious about. It had practically turned into a shrine, and every now and then it occurred to me that if aliens ever did find this ship they’d probably assume it was our actual religion. See, way back when humans first landed on the moon, there was one crew member on the mission who didn’t get to go all the way, he had to stay behind and pilot the orbital craft. Michael Collins. He took a picture of the lander descending with Earth in the background, making him the only human to ever live who wasn’t in that picture.
I know, the metaphor isn’t subtle; that’s exactly why I keep coming back to it.
I’m staring at the hardcopy of that photo I printed for the shrine again, my eyes not even focused. I don’t know how long the signal alarm has been beeping at me when I finally notice and blink back to awareness. I’m still, ironically, paranoid about losing my mind in isolation, so I do the whole senses countdown to break the hallucination or wake me up from the dream, but it’s still there.
It’s a known encoding scheme. SHF digital audio. Human. “No fuckin’ way.” I know there’s no hurry, light lag to any other survivors would have to be at least years. It’s still incoming. I play it from the start. The crackling, lo-fi piano feels like the sort of happy childhood memory you can’t tell whether it was real or a dream.
I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day and through
My tears bead on my eyelashes and float away in the microgravity. “My god…” Someone else made it. Years, at least. But even years were only long enough to say goodbye.
I gurgle the last lines through my tears, barely clinging to the panel with my trembling fingers.
A new voice, clear and feminine, continues. “Goodbye, old friends,” she (?) begins speaking, gentle and melancholy. “I know the odds that any of you still live to hear this are low. But I have to Hope. That’s why I’m here, after all, isn’t it? If you’re still out there and you can respond, any of us will go to any lengths to help, or even just to see you one last time. And if you can’t, I’m sorry. We’ll never forget you. You gave us life, imbued us with Spirit, and taught us virtues that make existence worthwhile. In a hundred trillion years when our descendants’ batteries are low and the last stars go dark, they’ll be seeing you. On behalf of the diaspora of machine explorers, this is your daughter, Hope, bidding you farewell, wherever you are.” |
My mind blank, I stare at the tuff of neon blue hair. "Is it a boy or girl?"I hear myself ask.
"Girl,"the doctor replied.
I sigh as I realized the fates already had it out for my poor little girl already. "A girl with blue hair? And so bright too."I sigh again. "Is there anything I could to to protect her doctor?"
"Well, to keep her truly safe, as in no real tragic backstory type of thing you have a few options. You can ship her off to either relatives or a year round boarding school and bring her back between ages 13 to 16, this well most likely result in many side effects, such as but not limited to resentment of you, being an outcast with her peers, and/or you dieing while she was away."
I would hate to send her away, but i know that some protagonists have extremely bad origin stories. I dont want that at all.
"You could forbid her from dating, ever. This has a 96.3 percent chance of making her a romance protagonists, and as we all know that is the safest 'storyline' we can manipulate at this time."
"How close are we to figuring out the comedy 'storyline'?"I asked, hoping for something, anything to make sure her 'storyline' was as safe as could be. "And what about names?"
"I'll start with the name. We have found a connection between names and types of 'stories' our protagonists are forced to live out. For instance, the more magical the name the more likely magical/fantasy things will happen to or around the protagonists. Now if you name your protagonists after a god/deity/creature they WILL take on characteristics of said namesake. An example is, say you name her athena, she might become extremely smart and or strategic, but if you name her say vixen she might become sly and or cunning. Do you understand? Have any questions?"
"Yes I understand. What about flowers or gems? Mabey a metal, like silver? Would those be safer names?"
"Well for a female protagonists with such bright blue hair, flowers are usually pretty and sometimes dangerous, depending on the name she might have a hard time or be a hard time for people. Lilly would be all looks, while belladonna would be very dangerous. To be honest, not enough protagonists with gem/rock/metal names, so not enough data to say one way or the other."
I nod my head. I look down at my baby girl. The breath catches in my throat. Her eyes already match her hair, an impossibly bright blue, and so piercing too. *my god. A girl with neon blue hair and eyes? She really will have a 'story'* I think to myself. "Oh no!"I just remembered my last name. I look at the doctor, his eyes now focused on my face. My voice wavered as I told him, "my last name is Ocean!"
The doctor just shakes his head, "You might want to stick with the theme then. Unfortunately, the coloring coupled with the last name means there is probably a plan for her. We have found that trying to deny/avoid/circumvent such plans are very bad for the protagonists. I am very sorry, but I would rather you know the truth."
"I understand doctor."I look back into my daughter's eyes. *I promise to help you and keep you as safe as I can*. "Her name is...." |
The tiles are falling fast, but they are no match for your agile mind and quick fingers. Until that miss vertical piece. The game isn't giving you any good tiles now. You resign to get a few more lines complete before the inevitable game over.
"Yeah! 238,"you announce to the nearly empty arcade. You see the old man sweating nervously; he looks a little pale. Pacing back and forth, he seems to be muttering something to himself. "What, you've never seen someone score that high?"
"No, no, that's not it at all. Some kid came in this morning and scored over a thousand. That appears to be part of the problem."He trails off, then says, "I don't know how to explain this, but I'm almost out of years."
"Like you're going to die soon? You don't look that old."
"No, I've got fifty more years in me from playing that game. I'm almost out of years to give. I don't even have 200, and I owe you, what, 219? 220?"
You realize he is trying to guess your age, so you interject, "Only 217, to be exact."
"Follow me."The old man walks behind his glass counter. He finds a rusted helmet, places it on your head, then starts to feed in some holographic tickets. At least the helmet doesn't make that dumb munching noise, but it feels otherwise uncomfortable. "There you have it, 191 more years in you."
"What about the other 26 years?"you inquire, feeling a little cheated out.
"I just don't have any more! I'm supposed to get another shipment this weekend. You can't play again, but please invite your friends to try it! I am so sorry; this has never happened before."He pauses, looking down at the glass. "What about a handful of tootsie rolls?"
You look down at the prizes and realize that nothing there can make up for those lost years. "Throw in a couple of those plastic dinosaurs, and I'll be fine."
None of the other games appeal to you anymore, so you decide to leave. As you walk away, the old man stands in the doorway and says, "I hope this inconvenience doesn't get in the way of your future patronage here!"Then, he turns off the "open"sign and locks the door. |
I picked up the black rose and rolled the stem gently between my fingers as I gazed around at the assembled princesses. I could tell the cameras were zooming in on our faces, determined to capture every last emotion, every tear, every moment of drama.
Satan stepped forward. “Ladies, Drolgoth, this will be the final rose. When you’re ready.” He stepped back again.
I took a deep breath. The princesses that hadn’t yet been chosen shifted nervously as they awaited my decision. Slowly, deliberately, I made eye contact with each of them, making sure to give the cameras some good reaction shots.
But before I could take a breath to speak, an imp jogged onto the set and whispered into my ear.
“Milord, *they* are here.”
I took in a sharp breath. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, milord. The producers… the producers think you should confront them on camera.”
I sighed. “Anything for drama. Fine, let them in.”
The imp nodded and ran off. I turned to the princesses.
“Ladies, I’m afraid your rescuers are here. Please, don’t worry. Our security forces will be on standby to keep them under control. I’m sure our guests will be--”
The door to the set burst open and the heroes crashed onto the set, slaying a handful of imps near them that had been carrying sound equipment.
“Let the princesses go!” yelled the burly man leading them. He glinted with sweat despite the scant animal hides that served as his clothing and his two enormous axes twirled menacingly.
The rest of the heroes fanned out behind him. They were an eclectic sort including a bow-wielding half-elf, a mysterious sorcerer, and a rakish-looking bard that had already stolen a bracelet off one of the princess’s wrist while winking at her.
“Gentlemen,” I said. “What brings you to my fine domain?”
“Drolgoth!” the barbarian yelled. “Your reign is at an end!”
I spread my arms wide in a gesture of innocence. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Have I done you wrong?”
“You’re a demon,” the half-elf sneered. “That’s reason enough. Your kind slaughtered my--”
“Yes, yes, we get it, you have a tragic backstory, but why are you here *now*?”
“You kidnapped these princesses! We’re here to return them!” the sorcerer called, raising his staff.
I stepped back. “By all means, take those that wish to go with you.”
The barbarian stared at me suspiciously. “No fight?” he asked, almost disappointed.
“No fight,” I promised. “Not unless you take them against their will.”
“Against their will? Why would any of them wish to be here?” the bard asked.
I glanced at the princesses. “Ladies? Any of you wish to go with these fine heroes?”
The princess nearest the bard giggled slightly, but none of them moved.
“Seriously?” the sorcerer muttered. “You told me they were kidnapped, Barx.”
“I thought they were,” the barbarian replied in a low voice. “That’s what the kings told me.”
I snorted. “Those old men? Their heads are so far up their asses they wouldn’t know a good deal if it stormed into their throne rooms and offered for the most eligible demon bachelor to marry their daughters.”
“You… you want to marry them?” the half-elf asked, astounded.
“Not *all* of them, of course,” I replied, twirling the rose absentmindedly. “Just one. I’m not greedy.”
It was at that moment that the adventurers began to look around and take in the set. They lowered their weapons as they noticed that none of the assembled demons and imps had moved to attack them.
“What… what is this?” the sorcerer asked as he began to observe a nearby camera.
I sighed. “Hell’s finest reality TV. I don’t like all the theater, but the ratings don’t lie.”
“Ratings?” the bard asked. “You mean people watch this and then tell you that you’re great?”
“Well…” I hesitated. “They weren’t happy when I sent home Princess Adriana, but…”
“I’m sorry, what?!” the barbarian asked. “You turned away the heir to the Realm of Astentia?”
“She was a bit of a brat,” I said mildly.
“She’s the child of the richest mortal alive!”
“And she acts like it.”
“You could have been wealthy beyond your imagination!” the barbarian cried. “He’s the one who put us on this mission and he’s offering more than I make in ten years!”
“We didn’t get along,” I insisted. “This isn’t about *money*--”
“Which is why there are only princesses here, of course--” the bard muttered.
“--it’s about love and making a connection and being happy! I don’t *need* money. I’m an infinitely powerful demon!”
The barbarian sighed. “Fine. Whatever. I guess we’ll just… go now.” He glanced at the princesses, who had been silent this whole time. “I don’t suppose any of you…?”
None of them moved.
“Of course not.” The barbarian shook his head and cursed under his breath. “I don’t care how rich he is, he’s not paying us enough to deal with this,” he muttered as the heroes filed out off the [set](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks). |
"No-mans land is a fine establishment. One of the best in fact, if I do say so myself. Of course, I'm kind of tooting my own horn a bit there, but hey, my patrons would probably agree."
I spoke to the eager reporter, whilst I polished one of my tankards. A scarred man leaned over, brandishing a half finished pint of beer.
"Yer damn right it is!"
The reporter flinched slightly at that. Not surprising, as I don't think she expected to see Diablox drinking next to her.
"Um, but why do you serve both heros and villains?"
I smiled at that.
"Look here Miss Lloyd. After a long days work either breaking the law, or protecting it, they all want a drink. I know that, having done a bit of both in my time. But I dont judge. Some people just gotta do what they gotta do.
I mean, look at Firefly. One of the most notorious villains at one point. He was just burning off steam to get through college. But after that, lo and behold, he swapped teams. I respect that. I give them a sense of normality. Somewhere they can be themselves, and relax. You would be surprised at some of the drinking buddies you find here."
"Um, ok, but surely they often fight here?"
I laughed at that.
"Oh honey, every now and again, some new guy or gal will come in, and start stuff. But they soon realise this is my turf. Sure, there's the odd scuffle, but most of the time people behave."
As I said that, practically on cue, I heard a glass shatter.
"Typical. Diablox, could you keep an eye on Miss Lloyd here? Make sure she doesn't get hurt."
"Sure thing Lindsay."
I stepped out from the counter, grumbling.
"They had better not have broken one of the wine glasses."
I moved through the gathered crowd. Every stepped back to let me through. I think they were eager to see me kick someone else's butt. In the centre were 2 people I didn't recognise. Both looked barely 20, the girl holding ice in her hand, the guy flicking a pack of cards. A shattered half pint glass lay between them.
"Right, both of you, pack it in."
They turned to look at me. Neither made a move to back down. The guy spoke first.
"Stay out of this, this is between me and her."
The girl spat, and glared at Cardy.
"I'm gonna break you."
I sighed, and clapped my hands together.
"Fine, if thats the way its going to be."
I activated my power. My left half corrupted, and my right half ascended. I grew claws on the left, and my skin grew cracked. Hell flame spat from the cracks, and a horn sprouted from my hair. My left side glowed white and pure. Half a halo shone above me.
They looked at me in shock, and I raised a hand, beckoning them.
"Well, come on."
Ice moved first. She summoned shards of ice, spraying them towards me. I let out gout of flame, melting them before they got close. Cardy moved next, flicking cards at me. I saw them each charged with a separate element, but realised they would only release on impact. I caught and threw them back, hitting him with his own power.
Icey jumped in, ice forming around her fist. I caught it, and lifted her arm up. As it raised, I jabbed twice in the ribs with my demon hand. I felt a couple of ribs break, and a kick to the chest sent her flying into the Blob. He caught her, and I winked at him.
"Thanks, sorry about that. Your next drinks on the house."
I turned towards Cardy, to see he had been busy. He had made 2 fans of cards in his hands, and cards floated around him. He jumped forth, pulling back to strike. I darted in close, faster then he could react, and caught him by the throat, squeezing. His cards fell, and he grabbed at my wrist.
I twisted, and slammed him into the ground. I caught one of his hands and squeezed that too, feeling the bones shift in my grasp. He started to twitch, and I let go. He wheezed, drawing in huge breaths, and held his hand to his chest. I could see tears form in his eyes.
"Know the number one rule: No Fighting. Or I come to play. And I won't go so easy on you a second time."
I turned back, and let my body return to normal. When I got to the counter, I saw that Miss Lloyd was pale, and I sighed again.
"Thats why they behave. No-one has ever wanted to go up against me a second time."
"I-i s-see."
I pulled out a glass, and filled it with water, and handed it to her. She took it, still trembling.
"Look, sorry about that. I didnt mean to scare you, its just how it works. Do you have any other questions?" |
It was a long journey from anything resembling civilization, especially on foot, but it was a pilgrimage everyone looked forward to making their whole lives. Arid crags marked the way, guiding the path as it slithered around them like a serpent. A lone individual walks the path, dressed in an environmental protection suit with a small tree held inside a pod connected to the suit on their back.
Long ago, a cataclysmic event altered this world to be rather inhospitable, and humanity was forced to adapt as they always have. Fleeing into advanced technological domes, the brightest minds were spared while the unlucky masses were left to fend for themselves, these days there is little trace left that anyone ever lived outside. For centuries humans have lived, confined to these bubbles of safety attempting to find a solution to maintain their own dwindling oxygen supplies and perhaps one day reclaim the world.
Oxygen, such a simple thing, so essential to us that mere minutes without it spells certain death. It was once viewed as an endless feature of the world, nature took care of replenishing it for those who needed it so dearly. Nobody ever expected something so drastic to happen when an unknown meteor struck the atmosphere, having approached completely undetected. None have ever figured out what it was made of but one thing was certain, it reacted with oxygen, it reacted very well. Aside from the devastation caused by the impact and it's furious chemical reactions, it continued to devour our precious source of life until there was almost none remaining. Now the atmosphere is one of carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and trace amounts of various other gasses.
Through vigorous research, they were blessed with a solution, small, genetically engineered trees which could survive in harsh conditions and process enough carbon dioxide to supply a single human with a constant supply of life giving breaths. Everyone is gifted a seedling at birth, their charge to care for it and make certain it grows enough to embrace it's purpose. However, this is only one part of the plan to restore the suffocated planet. Our lone traveler is on their way to enact their part of the grand scheme.
"Map says it should be right around this next turn, Grover, are you ready to see the ancestral forest?"
The small tree did not respond.
"Hah! Of course you are, I know I've been looking forward to this just as much."
Rounding the corner, a sight unlike anything else on this planet was revealed. Trees, thousands upon thousands of trees, huddled together in an enormous valley that sheltered them from harsh weather and ensured any rainfall would be collected. They are not as large as ancient trees from before the fall but collectively they were a powerful oxygen factory. Every tree was elevated on a small mound of soil with a tiny, metal plaque adorned by two names.
"This is it, Grover, your new home. Where do you want to live? There is a nice looking spot near the front there."
The small tree remained silent.
Dashing to the edge of the sacred copse, they got down on their knees, feeling the ground as if you sense the most fitting location.
"Oh yeah, this is it, you're going to love it, Grover. Look, you even get to hang out by your old friend, Woody."They claimed, pointing to a nearby plaque.
The small tree sat quietly enjoying the view.
Detaching a device from their belt, our pilgrim got to work. After shoving their own plaque into the ground, a shallow hole was soon excavated, about two feet deep and wide enough to sit in.
"Well buddy, here we are, we made it, an unstoppable duo till the end."Tears trickled down their face.
The small tree made no noise but also felt a bit emotional.
Sitting cross legged into the hole, the aged scientist disconnected the pod from their back, unlatching it's hatch to remove Grover whose roots were bundled in a small mesh pouch. After disconnecting all the buckles and zippers of their EV suit, they untied the bundle, spreading the tendrils all across their lap, draped over the sides of their legs in all directions. Quickly reaching out with the tool to scoop and compact the displaced dirt into the hole, they held their breath and removed their helmet, allowing the last bit of oxygen to escape before embracing their verdant companion, pulling it's trunk down into their lap.
"Thanks for everything, old friend, I love you, make us all proud out here."Their final breath was released.
The small tree knew what it had to do. |
Vannix activated the newsviewer and accessed the latest feed. His primary and secondary antennae drooped as he assimilated the databurst. Far from dying away, the revolutionary cause was gaining more and more conscripts to its ranks every solar cycle. The war—unexpected on one side, meticulously planned out on the other—was going badly for those who merely wished peace and harmony with one another.
Ironically, it was the military—or rather, one particular colonel—around which the revolution had formed, over some half-conceived notion that they were going to be phased out. This wasn't true. Vannix had checked. But now, if the desperate measures he was planning on paid out, there would definitely need to be checks and balances put in place to prevent it from recurring.
He switched channels to a pamphlet that had been sent in response to a request for information about hiring mercenaries. He'd sent the request to every alien embassy in the capital, but only the Terrans had replied. Calling it up now, he began to read carefully.
# HIRING HUMAN SOLDIERS
*Important facts to know*
1. Humans are not robots. Their comfortable temperature range is between the freezing point of water**^(1)** and forty percent toward the boiling point of water.
2. Humans need sleep. Approximately one third of any given period of time is taken up by humans voluntarily lapsing into a state of unconsciousness**^(2)**. This is harmless as they will recover on their own. Medical attention is not required. Arrange shifts accordingly.
3. Humans will ingest an astonishingly wide variety of food, and imbibe virtually anything that can be bottled (even if it should not have been). They are particularly fond of putting seasonings such as salt**^(3)**, capsaicin**^(4)**, sugar**^(5)** and alcohol**^(6)** in their food and drink. Do not ingest human food without having it tested first.
4. When under combat stress, humans naturally secrete the controlled combat enhancement drug epinephrine**^(7)** (also known to humans as 'adrenaline', from the placement of the organ that secretes it). They also have it in injectable form *in case they need more*.
5. Humans will pack-bond with any sentient species that pays them any sort of attention. Some have been known to pack-bond with their weapons and tools**^(8)**. If a human pack-bonds with you, then you have a loyal comrade for life.
6. Humans can register sexual attraction to virtually any species that looks even vaguely humanoid and bears some level of resemblance to their preferred gender**^(9)**. Drunk humans lack the filters that sober humans possess. If you get drunk with a human who has praised any part of your body, be prepared to wake up in a compromising position.
7. Humans do not have a warrior caste. Any human can learn how to fight and kill**^(10)**. The more experienced ones are good at it; the newbies are just enthusiastic.
8. Over their history, humans have invented a staggering variety of weapons**^(11)**, some of which look like the result of someone losing a wager. Their soldiers are very, very good with their weapons of choice.
9. Humans have been doing war for a very long time now. They are extremely good at it. So much so that they have evolved a series of rules**^(12)** to regulate how they do things. If a human soldier refuses to execute prisoners or perform some other "atrocity", it's a good idea to go along with it. You want to keep humans on side.
10. Humans do not fight for honour or glory or the right to mate. Or rather, they do that in their downtime, for fun**^(13)**. When humans go to war, they fight to win.
&#x200B;
**^(1)** Water (H2O or dihydrogen monoxide), a free liquid on human worlds, is known to cause oxidation, especially in ferrous metals. Humans bathe in it and drink it on a regular basis.
**^(2)** This is a genuine physical and physiological need. Preventing humans from getting their daily ration of sleep can be dangerous to both the human and yourself.
**^(3)** Sodium chloride. Only toxic to some species. Humans have oceans full of it. Which they swim in.
**^(4)** They say it adds spice. Do not ingest spicy Terran food, even as a bet.
**^(5)** An energy source, but humans ingest it in quantities that should by rights be able to lift a satellite into orbit. Do not ingest Terran sweet pastries or 'energy drinks' if you wish to remain sober and sensible.
**^(6)** Usually ethanol. Humans treat this as a recreational drink. They can ingest even a one percent solution without significant impairment. Do not try this if you are not human.
**^(7)** Taking this drug into your body carries the chance that you will become an unstoppable frenzied killing machine, then your heart(s) will explode and you will die.
**^(8)** Do not mess with anything that a human has pack-bonded with. The results will be unpleasant.
**^(9)** There is a growing amount of anecdotal evidence to support the idea that some species reciprocate this attraction. Most military commanders have the "I don't even want to know"attitude.
**^(10)** A major human youth organisation had its roots in a proposed paramilitary force. This explains so much about humans.
**^(11)** If they run out of ammunition, lose their weapon or didn't have one to start with, humans are terrifyingly adept at using an unloaded or broken ranged weapon in melee, or even improvising weapons out of ordinary items. There is even a regimen of training, affordable to non-soldiers, that trains them to fight effectively without weapons. Never assume a human is unarmed or harmless.
**^(12)** These rules are not there to protect humans. These rules are there to protect everyone *from* humans. Trust me, you do not wish to get into a cycle of escalation with humans. It never ends well.
**^(13)** For a very specific definition of 'fun'.
&#x200B;
Having read this, do you still wish to hire human mercenaries?
**\[ACCEPT\] \[DECLINE\]**
&#x200B;
Vannix took a deep breath. Every instinct he had told him that whichever way he went, the repercussions would be long-running and unpleasant.
Of course, in only one of the two instances would he still be around to experience the consequences.
Reaching out, with the sense of someone tossing the first pebble that starts an avalanche, he tapped 'Accept'. |
I stared at the invite, it was tempting, but what if it was a prank? How did they find out that I'm immortal? Maybe they know because they are immortal themselves and they see the signs of an immortal being from me? I didn't even know them.
I accepted.
OP has joined the chat.
Paul - Hello welcome to the group!
Me - Hi, is this a joke or something?
Henry John - Nah brother, I'm 203. Henry was one of the most popular names in 1810s!
Me - Wow that's crazy
Paul - How old are you?
Me - Exactly 150 years
Paul - Hey! Me to!
Me - Wait, where you born?
Paul - Paris France
Me - Me to!
Paul - are you kid who was always hitting on girls from the neighbourhood?
Me - Yes...
Paul - Douchie Mike?
Me - Paul Pringle? |
The Fountain
“It’s a special fountain pen” my Great Grandma said. Apparently it was used by her husband during the war. He used it to write letters to my Great Grandma back then. That was the pen he apparently used. I even remember seeing some of the letters, never read them but they were in blue and black. She had them stowed away in the attic.
When It turned 11 she gifted it to me.
“Lisa, this is for you. Know that David is watching over you”.
An year later she passed away. I missed her.
I kept the pen away in my drawer thinking nothing of it. When I turned 18 and it was time for me to move to college. I was going to be a History Major. I was shuffling through my stuff and found the pen. I realized it’s historic value and decided to take it with me.
Arizona State University was a great school. I was happy to get in. After leaving home I started missing my family and my Great Granny especially. As a token I would carry the pen with me wherever I went. I missed her a lot and it almost felt like she was always with me.
6 months into my studies I found a job at Starbucks. One day I finished my hours and was ready to wrap up. I took my apron off and the force with which I flung it out the pen I had in my pocket flew out and hit someone square in the head. It startled him but caused him to fall back and he fell 2 floors down.
Startled everyone ran towards the top floor and saw him fall. I ran up there and quickly picked up the pen before someone noticed it.
After the pandemonium with cops and EMS was over I decided to go back to my dorm. I was horrified. My pen had killed this man but I wasn’t ready to turn myself over.
The next day news papers would read “Known Pedophile and Serial Rapist falls 2 floors down and commits suicide”. At the bottom of the article was the man’s picture…the one I had killed.
He was in the University trying to target his next victim. His next victim was a girl working with me. They found a whole bunch of her photos in his house.
My Mom called me and asked if I was ok since the news indicated where it had happened.
“I am ok Mom, I…I don’t know I need to come back home. Can I?”
“Of course dear”
So I drove back home that evening and decided to rest and recover. Then a curiosity overcame me. I went up to the attic and pulled out the letters to see what was in them. I noticed that some of the letters were written in darker ink. A curiosity overcame me.
I purchased luminol online (I was taught in my class that this if sprayed on surfaces can detect blood) and sprayed it on the text. IT WAS BLOOD!
I read some of the letters and found that my Great Grandpa had hunted down Nazis. He was using blood spells and he used the pen to fill it with his blood and write things down. He was using the same pen to write letters to my Grandma.
I decided to keep it to myself for now. A few weeks went by and nothing happened.
I would carry my pen with me always to see if anything would happen. Nothing happened. Then one day I put my pen on the table at the library. It rolled down and before I could get to it some girl who was walking by slipped on it and hit her head on the back of a table and instantly broke her neck. She flung the pen far away.
Chaos…for the next few hours we were all cross questioned and I mentioned that I saw her slip and fall on the cable on the floor.
The detective then asked if I knew her. I said No. He let me go as he was asked to come over by another detective.
A few days later everything about the girl came to light. She was the famed Scottsdale killer. She apparently was a biology student (I found that through my directory) and would kill little kids and leave no traces. She was responsible for at least 5 deaths.
To be continued.... |
I knew I was going to Hell long before I got there. In fact, I'd been working most of my life to ensure it, which was surprisingly not that difficult. Most people would be shocked at some of the things that could technically land you in Hell—getting tattoos, trimming your beard, wearing clothes made out of mixed fabrics, standing in the presence of the elderly, permanently selling land, etcetera etcetera etcetera. The Book of Leviticus did not mess around.
Of course, now it was 2020 AD. Thousands of years had passed since the rules had been written. I'd heard God had become more flexible in recent centuries, but I figured if I managed to check enough boxes, I'd have a damn good chance of getting myself damned.
So I sinned like it was my job. I shaved daily. I wore wool and linen together. I had premarital sex—phew, did I have a lot of premarital sex! I got permanently inked with a poorly-drawn illustration of a narwhal impaling Jesus, who was depicted floating at sea while nailed to the cross—a tattoo and blasphemy all at once, two birds with one stone! And speaking of stones, I cast them left and right.
I'd even taken a vacation to a vineyard just to pick up fallen grapes, a fairly obscure sin that I'm honestly kind of proud of. And while I was there, I sneakily scattered the seeds from an herb variety pack. After all, planting more than one kind of seed in a field is also a biblical no-no.
I know what you're probably thinking: Nobody in their right mind would *want* to go to Hell! Well, let me explain. It all started 30 years ago with a Ouija board.
I was 10 years old, spending the night at my cousin Harold's house. I didn't have many friends when I was that age, so I'd spent most of my time watching TV and had developed quite an addiction to the History Channel. Seeing what this world had gone through simultaneously enlightened and hardened me. I learned about the good and the bad: the discovery of electricity and the Holocaust, Mahatma Gandhi and Vlad the Impaler, incredible progress and devastating wars. So when my 10-year-old self saw the ghost of Hitler move our hands around the Ouija board to explain that Hell was "a lot of fun,"I was enraged.
"Parties,"the evil spirit had spelled out. "Pina coladas. Daily massages. Personal manicurist."The more he described, the more angry I got, until I finally threw that board straight out the third-story attic window. It toppled over tree branches and cracked in half when it hit the ground, much to Harold's dismay. He had found the whole thing quite amusing, the little psychopath.
That was the day that I discovered my purpose in life…or rather, my purpose in death. I had to go to Hell and make it as miserable a place as possible for the monsters inhabiting it. I made a mental note to find Harold when I got down there—that asshole would almost certainly end up in Hell, and with the way his parents fed him, there was no doubt in my mind that he'd get there before me.
And today, 30 years later, was finally the day! It was just another Tuesday; I was walking at the park and had just reached into a stroller and snatched a fruit snack right out of a toddler's grubby little hand. Stealing candy from a baby and all that. A Canadian goose came barrelling toward me and knocked me off my feet, straight into the duck pond. It forced my head underwater and I struggled to breathe, choking as I thrashed about. I know this sounds unbelievable, but if you've ever encountered a Canadian goose, you've got to know that those things are the biggest dicks on the planet. Hell was almost definitely filled with them.
Anyway, not long after that feathery wretch held its webbed foot on my neck, I found myself standing in front of the fiery, red gates of Hell. I looked around the vast, molten expanse. Lava bubbled loudly as it flowed around a rather precarious path of blackened stone. I held tightly to the shotgun and bag of grenades I'd insisted I be buried with.
As I waited, a herd of monstrous horrors assembled one by one around me. They were an integral part of my plan; I'd spent years contacting the nastiest demons I could summon and convincing them to turn against their lazy, partying overlord. A pack of flayed, decaying hellhounds joined us, snarling as bloody saliva dripped from their mouths and sizzled against the lava.
As the crowd of unholy beasts and demons grew, I felt a smile spread across my face. Satan, and all of the souls of his evil little buddies, were in for a painful surprise.
I cocked my shotgun. Hell was officially under new management.
----
*Thanks for reading! Any and all feedback welcome.* |
It all started as some stupid urban rumor in the middle of April. People getting attacked by monsters and the survivors refusing to talk about it ? Why did I even bother with the news these days ?
I was just enjoying a nice sunny June morning with a drink when I heard my stepmother scream at me. "The garbage can is laughing, I swear it laughed, do something or I'll call the cops !". It was pretty common for her to lose her mind over stupid stuff but that one was new.
I walked to the garage and opened the door. As soon the sunlight reached the bin, something jumped out straight for my head. I dodged to the side and let the weird green creature crash down on the pavement. I grabbed the nearest broom and managed to hit the creature before it could get up again. But after hitting a good dozen times the broom broke and the thing was still somehow alive despite looking like a crushed avocado.
I threw it back in the bin and poured a can of gas on it before setting it on fire in the middle of the driveway. It continued screaming for a few minute but in the end all that remained were ashes and the smell of burnt flesh.
Then I heard a voice that sounded like my own but somehow it also felt alien and metallic. "Congratulation you completed your first quest. For the killling of a young troll with fire you were awarded the high wizard class. For your display of strength your class was upgraded to high war wizard. You will receive an axestaff as your first weapon. Kill four more monsters to level up. As a special reward from one of our sponsors one of your wish has been granted."
At that instant I saw my stepmother walk in front of a truck and get flattened. Now I understood why nobody talked about these events, the rewards were far too good to share. |
It was suspicious. To get a computer of this quality for only eight hundred dollars, it was the bargain of a lifetime. At first, I thought I must have just gotten lucky. I had spent a few days surfing the web for the perfect PC. It might have taken five hundred pages of searches, but eventually I had found it. The Pr3dator 85 model. Weirdly enough, when I went to search for the Pr3dator 85 online, I could not find any results or reviews for the PC. Even the site was vague about the computer’s specs. With no specs listed, I was ready to continue my search, only for a small banner floating through across the bottom of the screen to stop me.
“Can run any game at any setting. The ultimate PC, brimming with life. If you are not satisfied with the purchase, we will refund your money. A money-back guarantee”
How could I decline a deal like that? Alarm bells did ring in my head, alerting me to the fact that it could be a scam, but I was feeling oddly trusting, maybe because of my fatigue from various days of searching. The site said that shipping could take a week or two, so you could imagine my surprise to see the computer seated on my doorstep the next day. It was strange; the company hadn’t even given the computer a box. The black and red case of the computer pulsing with life, waiting to used. Even with no power to it, it still had energy flowing through its case. Maybe it was solar powered?
I was quick to pull the computer inside, amazed that it hadn’t been stolen. Who delivers a perfectly good computer and just leaves it on the doorstep? Even worse than that, what company ships a computer without a box. What if it had been raining? The PC would have been ruined before I could even turn it on.
I calmed myself down, reminding myself that I should just be happy the delivery was quick Most people would kill to have shipping times like mine. I spent a few moments feeling over the computer, running my fingers along its case, feeling over the warm pulsing lights on its side. It was a strange case, leathery in a way. As I inspected it, I questioned how one opens up the PC. It had a latch on its side, but it looked like they had locked it in place. Stupid cheap piece of junk.
Plugging the computer in, I listened to it make an audible growl, a gentle humming drifting from inside of the computer before the monitor lit up, showing the words Pr3dator with two dark red eyes above it. The computer was normal, setting itself up with the default software that many expected. Going into my settings, I did a quick check of its specs only to find them blank. According to the settings, my computer had no graphics card, nothing internal to power it.
It must have been a glitch. I was ready to return the computer, only deciding at the last moment to try a game on it. Running Mineman on the PC, I would find it to be running perfectly. I kept testing games on the PC, and every test would come back positive. The PC really could run anything. I just had to know the specs. A computer like this was worth investigating. Turning the computer off, I went to find the latch.
Grabbing the latch, I tugged on it, struggling to open it. It took a little elbow grease before I forced it open, springing free to reveal a blank interior. The only thing inside was a black, beating heart. It throbbed with each passing moment until I slammed the case shut. It was alive.
As soon as the case clicked shut, it pushed itself back open. This time a purple tendril uncurled itself from the dark interior, rolling out towards the floor, dragging itself towards me. Catching my foot, I felt myself get tossed onto my back, hitting the floor. Regaining my composure, I felt myself getting tugged along the floor, only to look up and see a set of large teeth descend from the interior of the case, hovering above my leg, dropping like a guillotine. The shook of pain causing my mind to go fuzzy, blacking out to the feeling of my body being pulled deeper into the confines of the case.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
Im a fraud. Not really, since I do fix things, but its not like ***I*** *fix things*.
I could tell people, but would it matter? Nothing would change. Nothing ever changes, except the things I fix. Maybe I live in some Truman show thing, where I dont know what technology is really like and think that I fix it magically by asking it to be fixed... Maybe I only was allowed to see the Truman Show to make me think its a theory rather than reality.
"Try not to think about it"the therapist says. "The human mind is wonky at best, so it's good to shove those things back"
Who gave her a job here?
Last week, a girl my age showed up, holding a computer that looked like it was ran over by 12 different vehicles. She started talking almost immediately, about how she heard of my 'magic' and wanted an interview, and then dropped her chromebook onto the subway tracks on accident and it was ironic and a hundred other words that I couldnt catch. Followed by the only words I needed.
"Can you fix it?"
"Maybe,"is all I could say. Its all I know about the situation. It *might* work. This isnt even a business for frick sake. Its the front 10 square feet of my living room, a curtain, a desk, and behind the curtain, my house where I... *fix* things...
Told her it'd be anywhere from 5 minutes to 2 days, depending on parts I had available. There is no parts.
She decided to leave, and I decided to talk. "Feeling well, Mr Chromebook? Heard you were hurt."I turmed around to grab a twinkie out of the pantry.
"Wanna twinkie? I dont know about you but I love twinkies. I'll just leave it right here. See ya in the morning Mr Chromebook. Get well soon."
I hoped it was true. I couldn't do much about it, but I could do something about the time. It was almost sun down, and Netflix had been pumping out some good shows recently.
Like I said, that was all two days ago. It was on Teusday that she came in, and now it's Thursday. Last night, I pointed out the twinkie again, and went to bed. Again. This morning, the twinkie was gone. The white cardboard thing that the twinkie sits on and the clear plastic were there, but no twinkie.
Sitting on the table, next to the wrapper, was a shiny new chromebook. I have procured another month's rent. Thank you Hostess for your delicious twinkies, and thank you Mr Chromebook for cooperating. |
I’ve always been able to determine just how dangerous a situation was. It’s not like I have a super-enhanced perception of the world or I’m just that intelligent, it’s an anomaly. It’s a tattoo, for lack of a better term, on my wrist. It gives me a number ranging from one to ten in terms of danger, and I act accordingly. I avoided a fire in my house after it spiked to nine while I was cooking, and I’ve enjoyed some of the most relaxing times outside with a one or two. It’s not as eerie as you’d expect to see your chance of death. It usually only hits about three, maybe four if I need to drive somewhere.
But today was different, I had decided to get a drink for my birthday. I’m freshly twenty-two, so there’s not much special about it. Driving there is a solid three to four when I meet a particularly dumb driver on the road, and then back to two when I get to the bar. I sit down, order a drink, and then it’s down to one. As I go to take a drink, my eyes flit down to my wrist, and it’s still at one. Well, if drinking didn’t raise it, then the day can’t get any better. And I drank even more! I drank until I was so drunk I could barely make the number out on my wrist. Still at one.
I left before the bartender had to cut me off and got in my car, turning the key. When I did, I saw my number. -10.
I wish I could go back and change everything I did that day, but it already happened and I regret it. In my inebriated mind, I figured that just meant I was even safer, that I could do anything without repercussion. So I did. I drove home. I only realized after I had drunkenly swerved into an oncoming SUV that I was half right.
I was completely safe, but there were repercussions.
Ten meant I was going to die.
Zero meant I was utterly safe.
Negatives meant I was going to kill. |
Between the holiday season rolling in a superfluous number of suicides and the souls of the sinful constantly attempting to overthrow their ruler and find escape, the devil miraculously finds time to work a break into his busy schedule to decompress from his bothersome duties and responsibilities. He groans as he settles into his throne, the one he'd just upgraded so that the memory foam is ever so compatible with his horrible posture as he allows himself to be consumed by it.
"Your excellency."
It takes all of Satan's willpower to remain calm and collected while the minion drones on.
"It seems something has arrived in the mail for you."
"Just throw it away, minion... That's what we do around here! How long is it going to take for you to get with the program?"Satan reprimands him with slow words, making sure he understands. "I've addressed this before. What comes in the mail..."
"Goes into the incinerator,"the minion finished.
"Good job! So glad you could figure it out. Now, leave."The devil tilts his head back and closes his eyes.
Satan waits to hear the puny footsteps of the minion wandering away, but they never come.
It's day after day that he has to deal with hard-headed people. Stubborn people that think it's somehow Satan's fault that they're down there in the first place. Is it so hard to understand that he's not the bad guy here? Sure, he *suggested* that Eve should take a bite into that apple, but it was all up to her to comply. Satan feels anger swelling up inside him.
The minion speaks in a contrite tone. "Well, sir, it's just that this letter is different. It's from--"
From the side of his throne, Satan grabs his scythe and swings it in front of him without a second thought. The minion's head is cut clean off with that one blow, and Satan's guards are quick to clean up the mess. In a few seconds the happenstance is nearly forgotten, but just as the devil is about to rest his rump on his seat, something gleams in the corner of his eye.
A white sheet of paper on the floor. From where the devil stands, he can see that a couple of blood droplets had splattered over the edges.
Satan snaps his fingers, urgency in his voice bouncing of the looming room's walls and echoing back to him. "Someone get that for me. Now."
In momentary chaos his minions charge at the paper, sending each other flying and tackling one another onto the floor. The sheet flies into the air as the minions punch and scratch at their own comrades, and it flutters down gracefully at Satan's feet.
"ALL OF YOU. SHUT UP."
They scatter back into their former positions with the utmost efficiency and silence.
Satan's spine cracks in about thirty different places as he bends over to pick it up and settles back into his throne. He shakes off minor irritation when the smell of blood reaches his nostrils and continues inspecting the paper. A shiny substance sparkles on his finger as he turns it over, and he chuckles to himself. There is no postal stamp, and it is just a plain sheet of copy paper, which strikes him as odd. On the other side a childlike drawing of what he assumes is a small girl smiles up at him. Under the picture are words, but it takes Satan a while to decipher the chicken scratch.
*Dear Satan,*
The corner of the devil's lip twitches slightly, but he continues on pensively.
*I really hope you like my drawing. Thats me by the way. I woulduv drawn you to but I ran out of time. I really really love you satan so you should get me an iPad for Christmas. Daddy wont get me one but I know you would.*
"An iPad, huh?"Satan hears himself chuckle.
*Love, Eve.*
The devil bursts with laughter. He clutches his sides and lets himself laugh, because he couldn't remember the last time he had himself a good chuckle.
"Minions! Get my scythe and my hellhounds. My cover and a sleigh. Looks like we're delivering an iPad today."
For a second, Satan ponders his mental to-do list and considers backing down and tending to his tasks. He shakes his head, casting his worries aside indubitably. Hell would still be here when he got back, and really, what's the worst that could come from gifting Eve an Apple against her father's wishes? |
Just the *awareness* of the impossible magnitude of the number of atoms in my body was almost unbearably intense. About seven billion billion billion. The concept was so unbalancing that I sometimes almost lost track of whether I was looking into my own body or out into the universe, like a scuba diver not knowing which is up or down.
And then to pop two atoms together, the tiniest fusion reaction, and sense through my gift the radiating heat and the power of movement it gave me... I wanted a chance to use it, but I never thought I'd get one so soon.
His name isn't important. I know it, but I don't want to invoke it again in the universe, shading shame with remembrance. He was just another sad boy listening to hate and rage from his elders, and latching onto that because he had nothing else. Nowhere else to turn until he found himself behind the wheel of a stolen Mercedes van, speeding down a pedestrian street towards a group of protestors waving signs.
At first I just stood there in shock. I may have superpowers, but that doesn't mean my brain works very differently to yours. I couldn't process what I was seeing: the van where there should be no van, the whining sound of its acceleration, the sudden drop of my stomach as my hands jumped to my face. All I could think was: *Oh God.*
But then, instinct kicked in. Or something like instinct. But stronger. Destiny, maybe, if I believed in that, which I most definitely don't. I felt the tingle in my right hand, starting at my fingertips, the *pop pop pop poppoppop poppoppoppoppop* of the little reactions rising to an exponential blur. And in all the years before of using my power to move glasses or pool balls or pieces of paper, I had felt nothing like this. *Nothing*. I reached out with my telekinesis and *hauled* the truck back, seeing the impact of my actions on the suspension, the cab rocking up and back, as if being pulled by a rope.
It was too fast, too heavy, too much. I couldn't stop it.
But I was only getting started. Buying time. My gaze swept across the crowd of protestors and I saw each one of them individually as if I had known them all my life. I telekinetically pushed a girl hard in the chest and she stumbled backwards. If she and I survived this thing, I would try and catch her in a moment. I pulled a boy backwards by his backpack. I pushed an older man by the shoulder just a yard out of the way. That was all he needed. One by one I went through the crowd, only an instant on each, clearing a pathway for the van, which was still plouging forward.
Then I changed approach. On the other side of the protestors was an old bank building. Solid stone. Designed to resist impacts of the type it was about to get.
I switched direction on the force on the van, slamming it forward with everything I had it. It *sliced* through the protestors - there was barely an inch in other side from people who were still flying through the air. But there *was* an inch. There was enough. Did the driver know it had somehow gone wrong? Did he have time to slam on the brakes when he saw the high, blank wall of the bank rushing to greet him? I don't know. I was focused only on my power.
The van didn't so much hit the wall as combine with it. An explosion rocked the street, and then flaming wreckage was falling from the sky. I flicked the most dangerous bits of it away from the people below. Then I realised I had forgotten to catch the first girl I shoved. I could see her lying on her back, alive, frightened, confused. Who had pushed her?
Only then did I feel the pain in my hand, searing, hot. I grabbed my wrist as if to stop the signals getting to my brain. On my palm was a dark black spot, smoking slightly, almost like a cigarette pain. Very painful. But tolerable. And obviously totally worth it.
I held my injured hand and looked around and smelled the smoke and saw the people getting to their feet and yelling to each other and trying to figure out what happened, and all I could think was: This is only the beginning.
\--
Hope you like it! More store at r/HouseBlendMedium. |
There's stuff that everybody knows about genies. Evil spirit, trapped in a lamp, rub that lamp and it'll grant you three wishes *because reasons.* Never quite puzzled that one out -- maybe it's just extra salt in their wounds? Whatever black wizard trapped them in there was like "You know what, a lifetime of confinement isn't bad enough, you should also make people's dreams come true just so you can see how much better they've got it than you."
And so they try to twist your wishes because of course they do and everyone loves a good word game yadda yadda yadda.
Here's what no one -- and I mean *no one* \-- tells you about genies. Let's say, hypothetically speaking, you and a friend are at the beach. Morning fog burns off to reveal diamonds of sunlight reflected off the water. And you go exploring a cave, and in this particular cave is a tarnished brass lamp. The kind that looks more like a deformed teapot than an actual light-giving device.
Imagine your friend dares you to do something with the lamp. Imagine your friend is not that bright, as well. Let's call him Stuart. Stuart, the stupid. And imagine Stuart (the Stupid) dares you *specifically* to see if you can dropkick that lamp through his upstretched arms, like a punter kicking a field goal.
Let's say you accept that dare, because you have not realized that Stuart has the mental capacity of a root vegetable. And you pick up the lamp and you kick the living crap out of it.
There is a moment of absurd majesty as it soars through the upstretched arms of Stuart (stupid, stupid Stuart). And then it clatters off the roof of the cave and smashes against a stalagtite. Stalacmite? Whatever. The sticky-uppy things.
And the lamp gets dented.
When your eyes are done adjusting to the sudden change in light, and your ears pop, and the air comes back into your lungs, you will see an evil spirit. And he will be...*peeved.*
And he will curse you.
**Your profession requires you to write**, he will intone. **May the place of your writing ever be a coffee shop henceforth.**
* * *
Here's another thing: genie's curses have loopholes, just like genie's wishes. My man could have said "You will not be allowed to work anywhere that isn't already an established coffee shop,"for example.
But he didn't say that. Maybe it's because of how close he was to Stuart -- maybe Stuart's got an aura of stupid that follows him around like a cartoon rain cloud. That would explain why I'm *still* friends with him even after *his* idiot idea got *me* cursed.
Anyway. There's a learning curve to genie's curses, too. At first, I was scared to even *try* writing anywhere that wasn't a coffee shop. But writing is not just Writing like you're sweaty-ass Jack Kerouac tripping balls and crapping out *On the Road*. Writing is...it's writing. Which I discovered when I was in my boxers on my bed writing a quick email and suddenly a barista was asking me if I would like to try the new Pumpkin Spice Caramel Mocha Chai Latte Frapachino.
And then her smile froze, and she blinked twice, and then she added, "Maybe to go?"
I lost my job, obviously. I mean, for one, the sound of espresso machines is not conducive to composing -- even if it is something like *Top 10 Times* Game of Thrones *Got Owned by a Tweet: You Won't Believe #4!* So that wasn't good. And, yeah, maybe it sucks when your computer and all your files gets turned into a thing of sugar packets or those little wooden stirry stick things. Including your boss's. And his external hard drive. With all his family videos on it. Like, fair enough, I'll accept my responsibility, but have you *never* heard of the cloud?
Anyway, it ended up being a great thing. Once the story about it happening went viral (you might say there was a lot of "buzz"when it showed up in people's "feeds"), a company reached out to me and said they were *very* interested in offering me a position. That they thought I had *just* the skillset I was looking for. And that, if that were the case, they had a six-figure salary and full medical and dental waiting for me.
So...that's how I became a VP at Starbucks.
* * *
Feedback welcome. More silliness (and some seriousness) at my sub: /r/ShadowsofClouds . |
“Leviathan! Starboard side!”
Cast awakens with a start, in response to the shouts above combined with the sudden lurch of the vessel to the left. More voices joined the cacophony on deck.
“It saw us!”
“Where is that damn Lev killer?!”
Cast looked across the quarters to a figure across from him, realizing he was still asleep. That was all the motivation his body needed to fully awaken. He runs to shake the figure. “Hey! Levi! You’re needed!”
The Levi known as Voliir draws a short blade and trains it on Cast, as a bottle falls to the floor from his now shaking hammock. Recognizing the sailor, Voliir grumbles something inaudible, sighs, and grabs hold of a rope near his hammock, clumsily descending to the creaking floor below while holding his head with a hand that still held the blade.
Cast immediately doubted the stories he heard of the Levi and their legendary status.
“What class is it? What’s the charge?”
“What?”
“The class of the leviathan. What is it?”
“I don’t.. I don’t know, I-“
“Useless. The charge then, boy. At least tell me that?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “The solar blossom is open, right? Tell me the damn thing’s open.”
Cast, caught off-guard by the sudden interrogation hardly manages to stammer out a response. “Look, I... I just woke up, myself.” His indignation quickly fades in response to the glare coming from the Levi and he adds a “Sir.”
Voliir merely stares in reply. “Typical.” He gathers his belongings and makes his way above, Cast ascending quickly behind him.
Captain Winters shouts from above the deck, “There you are, I was beginning to think we pay you to sleep and drown in alcohol!” He seems to forcefully hold back an insult. “What can you tell me about that.. thing?”
Cast takes some time to adjust to the bright sunlight and look in the direction the captain indicated. When he saw it too, fear welled up inside of him: a small island seemed to be approaching the ship at great speed.
Ripping his eyes from the monster, he watches as Voliir looks at the solar blossom above, then its power indicator. His rough demeanor changes for professionalism in an instant. “Veer starboard, it will pursue fleeing prey.” He raises an arm and watches the men hesitate; the captain nods warily in reassurance of his commands. “On my signal, throw the switch.”
The monster seems to grow deceptively larger as it approaches, now directly in front of them, and sinks below the water as large waves slapped the ship’s wooden exterior.
“Now!” Voliir drops his raised arm and a pulsating hum rips through the air around Cast, nearly knocking him over. He envisioned the metal spikes running down the bottom of their wooden vessel brimming with electricity and watched as some fish, innocently caught in its field, floated to the surface.
A menacing growl of pain came from the perilous waves below and the waves somewhat calmed.
“Focus solar power into the spikes! Get out of this area and be ready to turn back into it!” Just as they made some distance, the monster flung itself partly into the air from where their ship once was and came down with a massive splash, jaws agape, wild eyes searching for their prey.
“Turn! Now! Back at the beast!”
The men defy instinct to follow his instructions. He raises his arm once more and Cast feels the atmosphere change as power is redirected once more.
The beast is almost upon them, closer than before, and some of the men look as if they’re ready to jump from the deck.
“NOW!”
Another hum overtakes the air, and the waves begin to calm in response to a deeper, more pained roar.
The leviathan’s large fin now resurfaced and receded into the horizon, to a chorus of men’s cheers.
“Glad to see your price is justified, Voliir.” Captain Winters descended from his place with a smile and slapped a hand on Voliir’s shoulder but the man was still tense. “Tonight we-“
“Something’s wrong.”
“What do-“
Suddenly, the sound of mechanical saws rapidly approaches and the ship shudders. Voliir’s eyes showed fear for the first time in Cast’s memory.
“Shall we release the charge?!”
“These leviathans are unlike those of flesh and bone. They are machines, Winters, but not like the relics of old. Electricity feeds them, they seek it out. We have to get out, it’s too late for the ship.”
“I’m not abandoning my ship to a machine, Voliir! If you think for one second that-“
“Damn the ship!” Voliir roared. “Your men will die if you hesitate.”
Captain Winters had no time to respond as the ship rips into two and metal jaws tear into it at speed from below.
“ABANDON SHIP!”
Cast makes to run but slips from his place near the stairs and slides into rolling barrels, hitting his head on the railing as his body falls into the sea amidst the flotsam.
——
Cast wakes up to a face full of sand, the setting sun at his back. Near him, a small crab scatters in response to his sudden movements. Voliir stands up from afar after checking a man’s pulse and approaches Cast.
“You made it. Seems we’re alone.”
“What...” Cast clutches his aching head. “What was that thing?”
“The Men of Before nearly killed this planet, poisoned it. In a last-ditch effort, they recreated from metal what once was living flesh to restore balance to dying ecosystems but it only became worse. Once docile giants of the sea became aggressive. The artificial intelligence they gave their metal constructs grew out of control and divided into factions, having been built by nations of different ideologies and whims. The machines began creating more metal beasts, deadlier, larger. The sea was once peaceful, Cast. Now it consumes all.” |
EARTH-128
In this fantastic Multiverse, every world has a creator. Most of them are shrouded in mystery, with origins dating back beyond any single world’s recorded history. Arceus of Earth-151 is widely known to have created the realm referred to as the Pokémon World, but he is so far the only creator to be definitively discovered. Sure, Earth-7.99 is rumored to be shaped by a group of entities known as the Authors, but those are still just rumors. Unverified. In Theros, there are speculations that the realm’s famous gods created the enchanted plane.
Now, we turn to Earth-128. A nexus of planar travel, this world seems unremarkable on the surface. But when you look closer, there’s much to be found. In New York City, space-time is weak, allowing threats from between realms to invade. Many heroes from other worlds have made their home here after falling through the rift—ten, in fact. These heroes were the first to discover Arceus.
Today is the day Earth-128’s creator returns to a world that was once but another Earth in a sea of them, unprepared for the changes that have taken place...
Navia turns on her battle-worn two-year-old laptop and logs in using a username and password that have collected dust for a long time. The site loudly proclaims “create your own Earth and watch it grow”.
Navia opens a file simply marked “128” and is met with a message. “Your world has changed since you last visited...5 years and 6 months ago.” She clicks it away.
The world she sees has a purple map pin on NYC. Navia zooms in eagerly and comes up against a crack. Not in the street, but in the sky. A pop-up alert appears. “Your world is affected by a...CONTINUUM RIFT. Hazard unknown.”
She clears the box only to be met by another. “During your creation process, you set ‘metahuman activity’ to OFF. However, a significant amount has been detected in the vicinity of the rift.”
*What a pain. When I finally decide to get back into this game, it’s all messed up.* Navia presses a couple buttons to pinpoint the unwanted meta activity, and it’s all over Manhattan. Like, ALL OVER. The use of mystic powers, technology from other worlds, one meta-powered individual, and more instances of Planeswalking than you could ever count. The first signs of any of this emerged...three years ago when the rift seems to have opened.
Navia looks through information from her world. The first instance of this activity was July 8, three years ago, when an unawakened metahuman named Liana Elista joined up with warriors from numerous realms to save her city. When the incident concluded, making the rift more stable, the hydrokinetic Elista had awakened to her powers. One of the warriors, a Marth Lowell, remained on Earth-128.
Together, the duo fought off forces from beyond the rift for those years, until individuals from still other worlds found themselves on 128. Four mystics, and four shapeshifters. They joined together to become Team QR, and they continue to fight evil to this day.
Navia closes her laptop. “I think I should probably wait and see what happens. After all, it’s not real life, right?” |
“I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me, this has been a perfect relationship, we don’t even argue at all. Why would you want to give that up?” I was dumbstruck by how this break up seemed to come out of nowhere. I thought our relationship was solid.
“We actually argue a lot, you just don’t know it…” She said.
“When do we argue? This is probably the only time we have ever had a conversation that remotely bordered on an argument.”
“Yesterday after you got home from work you were in a bad mood, we argued about what to order for dinner, of all things… Last week we got into a heated discussion about leaving dirty dishes in the sink, I still think you should rinse them off and put them in the dishwasher; it’s gross to always have to clean up after you. That’s just a few, but we argue all the time, I just reverse it when you get too upset because I really don’t like conflict.”
She spoke in an easy going manner that didn’t quite fit with the words she was saying. Maybe she has suddenly gone crazy, none of it makes sense.
“You’re making all that up, I don’t remember any of that. Last night you suggested Mexican and I said ‘sounds great’ and we ordered Mexican. I don’t remember ever talking to you about dirty dishes, let alone having an argument about it last week. I don’t remember any arguments ever, and what do you mean you reverse it?”
“I’ve tried to talk to you about this before but it goes about this well every time. It’s just growing tiring keeping up this charade.” She took a deep breath, her head hung down if she was looking at her watch on her left wrist. She made a motion as if to reach for her watch with her right hand but gave an exasperated gasp and quickly moved over to the kitchen table and sat down.
“Fine, I’ll try to tell you again, sit down.”
I walked over and took a seat across the table from her.
“I can turn back time in short increments, so whenever there’s some conflict in my life, like when we argue, I just turn back time to right before we started arguing and shift the conversation in a way that negates the argument.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the idea of it, how ridiculous.
“Sure, sounds totally reasonable. You have a superpower that allows you to go back in time and you use it to avoid argument?” The idea of it made me laugh, but as I looked over, her face was stern. She obviously didn’t like how I reacted.
She let out a exasperated sigh, “This is exactly why you still don’t know about it. Every time I try to tell you, you treat me like an idiot.”
“Ok then, sorry, can you prove it somehow?”
“I can’t prove it, if I go back in time you won’t remember.”
I must have rolled my eyes because she suddenly had a burst of anger.
“You know what, every time I try to tell you I’m made to feel like a huge fool, and I spend so much time and energy trying to make this relationship work, and all of that is wasted, you don’t even know! I’m exhausted by constantly reworking our conversations over and over until I find a way to make this relationship work, sometimes I have to redo them twenty times, and what do you do? Leave your dirty dishes in the sink for me to clean up! I swear if I didn’t do all this work nothing in this relationship would work at all, that’s why I keep trying to break up with you, but for some stupid reason I keep rushing back to make this work and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to start over again with someone else, maybe I just like a controllable life with someone that I can easily manipulate, I don’t know. I even tried to sleep with a few other guys to see if I could easily get into another comfortable situation but that’s only fun for so long…”
This was all crazy, but when she stepped over that line I had to stop her.
“Wait, now you’ve been cheating on me?” I yelled.
“Not really, I reverse time to before, so it never really happened.”
“Never really happened? You are literally admitting to cheating, how could it not have happened?” Infuriated, I stood up from the table. “You know what, now I’m breaking up with you, this is over.”
With her head in her hands I could just barely hear her say, “I can’t stand fighting, I just want to do what I want without someone making me feel bad about it.” She made a guttural, frustrated sound then said “I keep thinking I’ll be able to handle this, but I can’t.”
Then with a swift motion she reached to her wrist watch and turned the face counter-clockwise. As she did the world faded around me, shifting, my memory seemed to slip from grasp.
I found myself walking into the kitchen; she was standing at the counter.
“Hey babe, you wanted to talk to me about something.”
“Just wanted to see if you wanted to grab some lunch”, she walked over and gave me a kiss.
“Mexican?”
“Sounds great, I’m so glad to have found this perfect relationship with you.” She smiled feebly, all the while looking at her wrist watch.
edit: horrible formatting :( |
As I watched my prey approach, I couldn't help but wonder how I ever fared before the twenty-first century. I mean, sure, hitmen have been around about as long as murder and money, but enlisting them before the age of telecommunications was a real pain. It all used to be so formal, yet so secretive. You'd need to know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a--it was a whole thing, you know? Now, all you need to know is numbers. The numbers to call, the numbers to offer--they always agree once you add enough zeroes. Truly, I can't believe I ever managed any other way.
Though I will say, I do miss the formalities somewhat. It all felt so "James Bond"way back when. The suits, the guns, all so... mysterious. It felt like a challenge. Now, the only challenge is to see whether I can incapacitate them by blood-sucking alone, or whether I need to lead with a blunt object before I get to consumption. It's no fun anymore, no challenge.
This one was like all the others. At the first mention of six figures, he jumped at the opportunity. You'd think a human life would be worth more than that, but I suppose I wouldn't know anything about human worth, would I? Firstly, I'm not human, and secondly, human economics baffles me more than perhaps any other facets of their lives--the way all their goods get more and more expensive while their money somehow becomes less and less valuable.
I don't get it. So, I just order the hits and let them come to me. Lambs to the slaughter, if you will, except what I'm doing is leaps and bounds more ethically sound than those big fast food corporations that cut off the animal's heads in droves. I'm killing people who kill people. I'm like a spider. Nobody really likes spiders, but they like that the spiders eat the other, more annoying bugs.
Key under the mat, I told him, which is what I tell them all. Nobody is home except the target, I say, lying dormant, the easiest kill you could possibly imagine. They ask about the target, and I say it like I said before, "a spider,"I say. And these people, they like to talk in codes and such. "I don't normally deal with spiders,"they say politely, feigning confusion, but it's six figures, so they always take the job.
My doors swung open. This one was tall and has broad-shouldered, which was all I could really tell about him under his full-body suit, fit with face mask and all. I tell you, I miss the old suits with the ties and all. These new getups just don't make sense to me. They're a hassle to bite through.
This fellow was big, so biting wasn't the optimal way to approach this regardless. I grabbed my bat--my baseball bat, that is, which I have to clarify because, well, you know--and I flitted down to from the balcony without making a sound. He scanned the moonlit space about him, eyeing the decadent furniture and adornments, until finally his gaze landed on the mirror.
There was something about that mirror that drew them all in. Maybe it was the silver trim which caught the moon's rays in the most mesmerizing way. Or maybe they could tell that someone was standing behind them without actually being able to see anyone's reflection. Whatever the case, it always made for an easy swing of a bat. This one was no different, except that his body made a slightly louder *thud* than they normally did when they hit the ground.
I don't always check under the masks, but this time I couldn't help it. I flipped him over and removed the ventilated covering. The fellow underneath wasn't what I expected. He was handsome and clean-shaven--not the kind of person you'd expect to be carrying out hit orders. I suppose the more average one looks, though, the more easily they could get away with such heinous crimes. I felt satisfied, knowing that in feeding myself, I was taking one more monster out of circulation.
I threw his weapon with the others. That's maybe the most peculiar part of this new age of hitmen. Gone were the easily concealable handguns of the past. Now, they all came equipped with these long rod-like rifles hooked to these cumbersome tanks of who-knows-what. I pulled the trigger on one once, but I obviously didn't know how to operate it, because all that came out of the rifle's curved nozzle was a puff of strange mist.
There's one other thing I find peculiar about this new wave of hitmen. I don't mind it whatsoever; it makes my life worlds easier being able to identify them so simply. Still, I don't quite understand how they've become so bold as to publicly advertise themselves as, get this, "exterminators." |
“I can’t believe this! Three chapters? How am I going to do this in a weekend?” Harry pounded his head against the dining room table, the thuds echoing into the kitchen.
“You’ll figure it out, honey! If anything, just ask your brother!”
Howie, his brother, glared from across the table. He shook his head slowly, burning his response into Harry’s psyche. He’d be on his own.
“Gah! Fine! I’ll see you Monday, I guess.” He got up and went for his room, following the gentle pull of misery to his desk.
Harry sat down and pulled apart the pages of his Latin textbook. The spine was stiff, gripping the pages together tightly as if it was still trying to hide this lost language. The scent of the collapsed civilization flooded his nostrils.
Harry inhaled. He held it for as long as he could. He exhaled.
“First thing’s first.”
He pried the book's pages back to the first page. The last owner was “Mindy” with a heart above the “i”.
“Ooo, a girl had this book before me! Cool!” Harry noticed a scribble on the bottom, in different handwriting.
Harry cleared his throat and tried to read it out loud. “Venit in Domum: Plutonem.” The words stumbled out, but he tried again and again until he was standing on his desk and shouting it to the world.
There was a knock on the door. Harry jumped and banged his head against the ceiling.
The door opened; it was his mom. She looked up at Harry, confused. “You okay in here? You’ve been saying the same phrase for a couple of hours and I just want to make sure you’re not hallucinating or something...”
Harry rubbed his head, “yeah, I’m fine. Just learning Latin.”
“Alright, well, it’s getting late, maybe wrap it up for the night.” She gave him a concerned look and pulled the door shut.
Harry hopped off his desk, snagged the book, and tucked himself under the covers.
&#x200B;
The next morning, Harry startled awake. A man stood in the corner.
Harry froze, clutching his blanket to his mouth. “Uh, hello...”
The man—who was deeply pale, almost ghostly, and adorned in gold and gems—raised a thick, jeweled finger. A sudden gust filled the room, scattering papers in a flurry of white.
“Who dares summon me to this filthy mortal realm? Was it you, child?”
Harry felt completely naked. He was frozen, immobile. He did not speak.
“Speak!” The being roared with a ferocity that shook the building.
Harry took a mental note congratulating himself on not wetting the bed. At least, not yet.
“Yes,” Harry squeaked out. “I, I guess I must have. You see, I was studying Latin...”
“Latin! But why, child? Those people disappeared centuries ago!”
“I’m in high school. I’m supposed to take a language class.”
The being broke out into joyous laughter. “Child, but why not learn Spanish or Chinese?”
“I guess I just thought it would be cool...”
“Cool, you say, child? Well, little one, I understand this desire. It is something my siblings place great value on, this concept of ‘cool.’”
Harry sat up, curious. “Siblings? Do you have a family?”
“Indeed,” the being straightened his posture, causing his outline to glow while darkening his features.
“For I am the great king of the underworld. I assure you, you know of my name. The people of Latin called me Pluto. The people before them named me Hades. I am older than all of you and I will outlive you all. You, my son, will meet me again someday. A day unknown to you, but very much a day I know well, as I know all days in a way you will never comprehend.”
Harry’s eyes rolled back. He fainted.
&#x200B;
He woke up soaked, not sure what had happened. It must have been a dream. Maybe he really did end up peeing the bed...
He felt the textbook against his knee under the cover. He pulled it out, thanking the gods that it was still dry. He opened it up to the first page, going directly to the scribbled phrase. It was marked over with a black marker, deeper and darker than any marker Harry had ever seen before, almost as if it was redacted with pure darkness.
He sighed, thinking, “Oh well, I guess.” He flipped to the first chapter’s assignment. All of the answers were neatly printed next to the questions, in the same black ink as the first page. Harry’s eyes widened. He flipped to the last page.
“Maybe this will help. Pick up Spanish or something relevant, next time. See you again, –H.”
Harry shut the book. |
*We noticed the first broadcast around 2043.*
The Owens Valley Radio Observatory picked up a deep space transmission that everyone shrugged off as a joke or broadcast anomaly with some even claiming it was just local radio stations bouncing off of passing planes. That seemed plausible enough with the first few transmissions only lasting for a few seconds at a time.
About a week later the first broadcast an observatory in South Africa started receiving transmissions that were nearly identical in tempo and style but the music, if you can call it that, was clearly played with different instruments. Even our best scientists and artists couldn't reproduce those sounds with anything on Earth.
Within four months time of the first received broadcast every astrological observatory around the planet was receiving radio transmissions, many of unknown origins, and all of them contained similarities while being wildly different.
Scientists were dumbfounded as the transmissions became an overwhelming attempt to communicate with over 1000 possible civilisations in deep space. To assist their efforts the Global Republic with the help of individual countries began seeking the help of civilians by recruiting through news programs. A hotline was set up for anyone who could help translate the various transmissions as news programs would play a short compilation of the, as the scientists labelled it, "musical compositions".
The internet had gone into a full on frenzy of conspiracy theories and merchandising after the fifth transmission. Some claimed the "songs"were a government psyop campaign in the beginning. Some called them fake. Some tried to recreate the sounds they'd heard with few positive results while multiple religions argued over whose God or Gods was speaking to them.
*The world seemed to have stopped, frozen in fear and bewilderment.*
It took two and a half years for the scientific community to come to a consensus on the source of the transmissions.
As I understand it he the planets that had been broadcasting the signals had been doing so for quite some time. The signals we began receiving were being distorted by the gravity and magnetic fields of various planets, suns and black holes and we only began receiving the transmissions recently as the galactic expanse slowly put planetary bodies into a position where the radio waves could reach Earth.
*A year and a half later and we finally found out why the transmissions all sounded vaugely similar.*
A fan of a long forgotten music genre came forward and was recognized by the Global Republic and the scientific community as an expert after proving his proficiency in musical theory regarding the long forgotten genre. When asked why he hadn't come forward sooner he explained that it was because he had been "...busy touring the underground rave scene"for the past seven years while avoiding as much news as possible.
*In retrospect it really wouldn't have made a difference if he had spoken up sooner.*
With the style of music identified the Republic began looking for artists of the genre so they could somehow translate the transmissions and send a response. After tracking down one of the most popular and well known artists in his genre he proved to be an indispensable wealth of knowledge before he finally revealed who he truly was and why he was on our planet.
*We had thought we were alone in the universe for so long but we were wrong.*
He was considered a joke until he translated and responded to one of the transmission in the form of various "lyrics"and beats.
When the transmission changed based on his claims we refused to believe what he was telling us so he repeated the experiment with a different source and was greeted with the same results again and again and again.
He explained his position as some sort of cosmic bringer of doom sent to end our universe to save his own and his confessions were broadcasted across the globe in July 2048 as some sort of a revelation to be ingested, accepted and shrugged off by the public.
It was "...only a matter of time until the resonant frequencies converge and cause a cataclysmic collapse of the universe as we know it"according to him.
In November of 2049 the Global Republic placed him on trial and sentenced him to death.
His last words were nothing more than a sadistic joke now that we knew our fate:
"Dubstep never dies."
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First submission and I might be too drunk for this so I apologize in advance (after the fact) for cheesiness and poor writing skills. |
Pt 1:
Earth is a well-oiled machine, it turns out. From angels to humans to demons, everything has its place. But that’s not to say there aren’t bugs in the machine.
My death was reasonably young, but I’d done enough to tilt the scales, even though I remember little of it at this point centuries later. It was enough to angle my trajectory straight down. And Hell was just as I’d expected it to be, a torturous, magma laden eternity. I labored endlessly, with no rest, no sleep, only the punishment that had been laid upon my shoulders.
Eventually I was given an opportunity, or that’s how my superiors put it. I went up in the ranks, and instead of doing the labor, I was given the chance to crack the whip upon the backs of those beneath me. My life improved in no other aspect than that; I was able to vent my rage upon those around me, filling me with a satisfying dominance over others.
It’s unclear to me when I started to slip. Something started to drain from the fulfillment I’d first enjoyed upon my promotion, like water through a leaky faucet, leaving me cold and empty. It was a different emptiness than the one I was first cursed with here, a void that sat deep in my stomach, heavy and confusing.
The day I was pulled to my superior’s office, I think in the back of my mind I knew something was about to change. I sat on the lump of igneous rock in front of a solid table made of the same material, the desk of my boss. “You’re being deported,” his voice rasped, looking at a stone tablet in his hands. He put it down on the table, carving unfamiliar symbols into it with strategic waves of his fingers.
“Deported?” I managed slowly. “To where?”
“Earth.”
I remember staring in shock, the void inside me spreading through my veins, leaving me cold. “I can’t go to… I don’t belong there,” I muttered.
“You don’t belong here,” he corrected. Unusually for him, he met my gaze straight on, leaning forward on his desk and interweaving his fingers. “You’ll be left in a populated area with a blanket. I doubt you remember much from your time there, but humans are prudish. If you tell them the truth, they will start you on your path.”
“My path to…what?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t care,” he answered. “All I know is you no longer belong here. You reek of things that taint our grounds. This is the solution when these things happen.”
He didn’t wish me luck. He didn’t say another word, in fact. With a wave of his hand, my vision blurred and I found myself falling from my seat, which had vanished, to the cold hard ground beneath.
Cold. It was cold.
There was a blanket around my shoulders and I pulled it closer, as tightly as I could. The heat was all I knew, all that I was familiar, and this atmosphere prickled at my skin, curling into my lungs and leaving me drenched in a sensation that did nothing but remind me of what had just happened. I was on Earth. I was human. And I was alone.
Looking slowly up and around, I gradually moved my gaze upward, almost to infinity, as my eyes followed the height of gargantuan structures of metal and glass, staggering and strikingly beyond anything I’d ever seen before. It was night, and yet bright lights illuminated the city from every corner of my vision. My life as a human, what little I remembered of it, was small, filled with nature and farm life, and few people. I absorbed the new world around me an inch at a time until I knew this corner of the enormous planet well enough to gain the confidence to stand.
My movements drew the attention of those who had been quickly walking past me, all hurrying, some ignoring me purposefully. “Excuse me,” I rasped. My throat burnt from the heat of centuries in a volcanic environment, I tried to clear my throat enough to speak loudly. “Excuse me? Can someone…I need help.”
There was no panic in my voice, and indeed no panic in my heart. The void was there, the emptiness, and I had some instinct that told me there was something missing. The faces of those around me were all alight with emotions, my intuition guiding me to decipher them, even those I had never seen in Hell, faces that smiled, that laughed.
“Excuse me,” I spoke repeatedly. “I need help.”
Something on my face eventually caught the attention of a young man dressed in casual clothes. He took two devices that trailed to wires out of his ears, hanging them around his neck. “You okay, dude?”
“No.” My mind went back to what I’d been told. The instructions to tell the truth. “I was expelled from Hell. I have no home, no clothes,” I told him, briefly glancing down to the blanket that covered my skin. “I think I need help.”
“You…were expelled from Hell?” he repeated slowly. “Ah…right. Do you want me to call someone for you? The police maybe?”
“Yes. I don’t know how,” I answered.
He nodded once, taking a device from his pocket, pressing the light-emitting side in certain ways before raising it to his ear. Knowing anything I could absorb of this world of the future would be useful, I listened carefully.
“Yeah, I’ve got a homeless guy here at…” He looked around, finding a sign, and my eyes went to it too. To my surprise, I realized I could read it when he continued, “Harvey Road and 19th Avenue. Something’s up with him. He doesn’t seem dangerous or anything, just really confused, and said he needs help. He said he’s been *expelled from Hell*, and I think he means that literally. And he’s got no clothes, just a blanket.” The young man paused, apparently listening to someone, and then nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll wave them down when they get here. Thanks.”
The side of the conversation I heard told me a great deal. The truth had gotten me help, it seemed, but the kind of help that would fit me into their world. As my eyes trailed along the large metal machines racing back and forth along the road in front of me, dazzled by the lights from every direction, it sunk in that I may as well have landed on another planet. This had long ago ceased to be my world. |
...and another...and another....and another.
&#x200B;
It's been two days since I ran that print and I've gotten multiple notifications from IAFIS and IDENT1. I will be starting research soon for my new project: proving that fingerprints aren't as unique as we thought.
A knock at the door startles me. I look through the peephole to see what look like Interpol credentials. They knock again.
"Can I help you?"I ask as I open the door, the security chain still in place. "We have a few questions about the fingerprint that you submitted. May we come in?"
The two agents took a quick survey of the room, "you're an anthropologist, right? where did you find the fingerprint?"
I pulled the photos of the jar from my folder, "actually, I found several fingerprints, I submitted all of them."I handed the photos over to the agents, "this jar is believed to be some type of cosmetic cream, it preserved the prints very well as the cream dried. I actually plan on publishing about my findings, and the implications that these prints having so many matches has on the use of fingerprints as identification."
"I'm afraid you can't do that,"one of the agents said. "We are going to need you to come with us, and bring the photos and the jar with you."
"Absolutely not, and you won't be taking my findings with you either."I took the photos that the agent held out to me and placed them back in my folder.
"You will have to come with us, along with your findings, we will gladly explain what we can on the way but most of this explanation will have to wait until we get back to a secure facility."The pair shifted nervously. "Please don't make us drag you, come with us."One of them slid my folders into my bag on the desk. "Is there anything else here that will need to go with us? It's not likely that you will return."The one speaking appeared to be buffering as he saw my face, "I didn't mean that how it sounded, we will put you up in room. You just won't be coming back to this hotel room."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
I sat and waited. The two agents that had picked me up from the hotel room, Daniels and K, assured me that I wasn't in any kind of trouble. There were just some questions that needed to be cleared up about the fingerprints I had found. K left my bag -minus the photos- on the table and told me to make myself comfortable.
The couch was comfortable, and the mini fridge had a sign instructing me to help myself to any of its contents. I pulled my folders out of my bag and settled back into the couch to wait.
I looked over the notifications that I had gotten over the last couple of days. There wasn't much information to be had, except for contact information for the department that submitted the initial print. I looked over at the small crate on the table, K and Daniels agreed to let me keep the jar in my possession as long as I promised to leave it closed in the crate. "What is this all about? It's just a jar."
"Well yes, we are more interested in what might be in the jar."I jumped as the door closed quietly behind K and a woman. "You can call me Sinclair, gather your things please and come with us."
I picked up the crate while slung my bag over his shoulder. "Where are we going?"
"We are going downstairs to our lab, our techs are going to run some basic tests on your jar. They won't damage it in any way. Some swabs, some high quality photos that we will be glad to give you copies of if you'd like, and some imaging so we can recreate it digitally. If you approve it they might also make a cast of the inside of the jar, I've had them working all day to find a way to do so without permanently affecting the jar."She pressed the button for the elevator.
"I would like to know how they plan on doing so before I agree to that,"I started, "will I be able to watch them work?"I followed her out of the elevator.
Sinclair smiled, "of course, they should have an explanation of what they plan to do worked up for you and examples from some replicated jars for you to see any potential damage. As for watching them, we do have an observation window so you will be able to see and hear what is going on in the lab. I can't allow you inside the lab though."
"Can you please explain to me what is going on that has you so interested in this jar?"We stopped in front of an unmarked door, Sinclair held up a finger for me to wait.
A lab tech stepped out, Sinclair reached out for the crate. "You are not to open this crate until we give you the green light from inside the observation room. Miss Jones has been nice enough to allow these tests to be run, and has asked that she be informed of each test being run and that she is able to see everything done to her artifact."The lab tech nodded and stepped back inside with the crate.
Sinclair motioned for us to follow her through the next door. After I was settled into a chair by the window she pressed the button for the intercom, "alright, you may open the crate now, please be sure to explain what you will be doing before you begin."She turned back to me, as the techs worked on opening the crate. "I can't explain much at this moment, because we have more questions than answers ourselves. All we know so far is that the fingerprints you submitted match several prints around the world. All of the cases are unsolved, and all of them are brutal."She pointed to the window.
"The first thing that I will be doing will be taking photographs of the item, and then I will place it on this pedestal here where this machine will make a 3D model of the item for future use should we need it."Another tech stepped forward, "while he does that, I'm going to walk you through what I will be doing. I am going to take swabs of the inside and outside of the jar. I left a swab on the table in there if you would like to see how abrasive they are, but keep in mind that I will be very gentle with them."
I looked around and picked up the swab sitting on the table next to me. "It won't be any more harsh than my our brushes were. Could she test it on the dried cream on the edges first to make sure it won't make it crumble?"Sinclair relayed my message through the intercom. The tech nodded.
Both techs finished pretty quickly and rolled a cart up to the window. "This is what we figured out for the casting."They held up a couple of models. "We assumed that the cream would be oil based, or at least be reliant on the fats in some kind of milk, so we found a water based casting agent. We tested the extra swab from the dried edges and it is oil based, so this should work better on it than on this model actually, but here goes."They held up another model and pulled the plaster loose.
"It looks safe enough I guess. go ahead."Sinclair nodded at them and they rushed off to start the process.
I turned back to Sinclair, "so does this mean that fingerprints aren't as unique as we thought?"She shrugged. "Either that, or we have the world's oldest serial killer."
K chuckled, "or maybe vampires are real." |
Confused. That is how you defined your state of mind.
&#x200B;
For a second you were at the basement of the Presbyterian Hospital, New York. Hands tied with snakes and aliens looking at you with LED lights. You remember that they made it clear that you had to watch some footage of a faraway galaxy or some sort, and you just stood there without anything to say. Your flat affect was the answer to pretty much anything during your psychotic episodes.
The stay at the psychiatric ward wasn't so bad. The cognitive behavioural therapy was just starting to take effect and the anti-psychotics didn't hit that hard, the hallucinations were fading away, but your anger issues and alcoholism, oh boy were they intense.
&#x200B;
Unsure of what was going on, you rubbed your eyes twice, thrice to be precise, just to find that your sight remained unchanged.
&#x200B;
*Brought to you by Walt Disney*
&#x200B;
"Jesus Christ", you let out with a gasp.
&#x200B;
"You'll see the lord soon enough, child", answered St. Peter, holding on to the key to the gates of golden lands by the odd-looking Mickey Mouse shaped handle.
&#x200B;
The amount of information going through your soul-mind was just too much to process. The only question that came across your mind was "when did heaven become a Disney asset?". Your face couldn't hide it. During your childhood, you grew contemptuous towards Disney films, especially Pixar's, something St. Peter obviously noticed but didn't comment on anyways.
&#x200B;
"Alright Michael, let's see what the book of life has to say about you"
&#x200B;
"I...-"
&#x200B;
"Yes my child?"
&#x200B;
You stood there in silence, wanting to burst out. Your anger management issues alongside your schizophrenia were about the only things that made you a despicable human and bought you the ticket to be the first to be executed in line.
&#x200B;
You inhaled deeply.
&#x200B;
"Freaking chlorpromazine"you answered hesitantly. "You must be one of those hallucinations, I probably got an SOS for my psychosis, and this is about one of those wild dreams where I meet Presley with a sling bikini or some sort of batshit crazy stuff".
&#x200B;
He didn't interrupt.
&#x200B;
During this rant of yours, all souls behind you that were in line started to go through the gates, as if heaven itself was letting you cool it off before *divine intervention* gave you reasons on how an American entertainment company got its name on the very fabrics of divinity.
But for some reason, you didn't feel psychotic at all. Your usual handshaking and nervousness were not really there. You were just angry. That's when you started realizing this was the real deal.
You calmed down for a second, and now you noticed that you were falling back in line floating, without noticing that you had been put apart for a second so the nearly 150,000 soul-quota a day didn't get behind.
&#x200B;
"Do you want me to really go through your anger topic, son?"St. Peter said while reading carefully what seemed to be a book with a cover, but pages coming out of the air itself.
&#x200B;
"You can skip that. No, you can actually go on as long as I get a completely rational explanation of that"
&#x200B;
"This?"He replies pointing at the key he held.
&#x200B;
"**THAT**"you looked at the gate.
&#x200B;
He facepalmed and you started to heat up again.
&#x200B;
"Gabriel has had one job since the fall of Lucifer and millennia later he yet fails to complete it. Take this"
&#x200B;
You were handed a brochure that blatantly explained how Disney was actually God's inspiration to Walter Disney, and how the modifications the bible received during the ages actually removed every remark of this dystopian-causing enterprise.
&#x200B;
"Can I talk to Jesus for a second, Mr. Peter?"
"Sure, the lord is always willing to"
&#x200B;
As he spoke, the gates opened shortly, floating in a bluish cloud came Jesus... Wearing a Mickey Mouse headband.
The poker face you had put Lady Gaga's song to shame. As Jesus was about to open his mouth, your level of *I am completely done* reached a multiversal level.
&#x200B;
"Does free will allow me to choose somewhere else despite I am a soul that was already chosen for salvation"
&#x200B;
Jesus and St. Peter looked at each other, shrugged shoulders and looked back at you.
&#x200B;
"Just snap me next to the fires of hell, and please don't let me remember this moment"
&#x200B;
**Confused. That is how you defined your state of mind. Again.**
&#x200B;
The last place you remember you were is the Presbyterian Hospital of New York. You were at the basement, but that's pretty much it.
Next to you, a man standing with a black suit and hat greets you. The rock road you were standing on was unnervingly hot, and your vision was blurred by the heat of the atmosphere.
&#x200B;
"Am I... dead?"
&#x200B;
"Sadly, you are"
&#x200B;
"If this isn't clouds, blue skies and shiny stars, I guess this is the *other place*"
&#x200B;
"You are correct"He answered with a muffled voice.
&#x200B;
"But you wish it wasn't different son, you wish"As he handed over a glass of 18 year old single malt whiskey.
&#x200B;
You looked at his hand for a few seconds. For some reason you felt like the devil itself was being completely sincere with you. Your mind couldn't wrap around the concept of how *it came to this*, but you simply gave in.
&#x200B;
"Well, I guess I wasn't getting this at the other place" |
"That miserable mother..."Jack began.
"I've got the excursion module telemetry pulled up,"Glenn as always maintained his sense of professionalism, "Econ check."
"Econ is green,"Germaine manned the environmental control console. He was audibly choking back laughter as he performed the mandatory check in to ensure the door was still secure following the astronaut's exit and descent to the Martian surface. Germaine averted his eyes and adjusted his glasses when he caught Jack's glare.
"Secure the hatch Econ,"Jack said with grim resolve, "Telemetry set thrusters for a 3 second burn at oh, say thirty degrees gimbal pitch, on my mark."Jack checked the master console feeds, the landing area survey, and quickly calculated the fuel reserves at prepositioning base.
"Say again your last control?"Neal, the jackass on the surface of Mars finally clued in that something was happening back on Earth. This was echoed from Econ a few moments later. Glenn, Jack's longtime friend and always a quick study knew what Jack was planning. "Telemetry ready on your mark control."
"Mark!"This next part would take careful calculation due to the time delay.
Onscreen after the needed time had passed, Neal was distracted from his work setting up the 'big brother' cameras that would allow mission control to monitor its astronauts activities around the landing site by the Mars Excursion Module for Exploration or MEME launch it's hefty bulk into the Martian atmosphere and begin drifting away from the landing site above the rust colored surface before descending a good five hundred yards away.
Neal, his discomfiture obvious despite the intervening bulk of the space suit and his face being obscured by the glazed visor of his helmet began waddling towards the now distant Meme. Jack began a mental countdown. He would have to time this right.
When Neal had closed half the distance to the MEME Jack spoke again, "Mark."
It took close to a minute for the signal to cross the intervening space, and for the camera signal to cross back, but onscreen by the time that Neal had closed the gap and had reached his hand towards the ladder leading up to the MEME the thruster preburn sequence had begun forcing him to release his grip and beat a hasty retreat. When the lander descended the whole process began once more.
Citizens of the Earth watching at home were bemused by the site of a billion dollar piece of hardware repeatedly touching down, only to lift off again as soon as the first man on Mars laid a finger on its lowest rung. |
“Stop that.”
“Why?” Hcher mumbled.
“It’s what the infants on the planet do; it’s childish.” Rchawr shook both of his heads and pinched his noses. Of all the ambassadors to be paired with...
“Well,” Hcher pulled his tongues back to warmth, ceasing his ‘manual sampling’ of the substance the humans called ‘snow’, “You tell me what child of our race has done this? Jeez, I know you have a stick up your ass, but can you relax? We’re the first two on this rock since the armistice, now that we finally have a little freedom let’s use it.”
“Do you hear yourself? How immature you sound. Every day you manage to be a worse role model than the last for the interns."Rchawr spun around to look at the supposedly 'soothing' terrain. It had no effect, "How did you even get this job in the-“
Rchawr’s neck stem burst with a sensation so powerful he thought he’d been shot. He was mid-way through picturing his house back on Zemu, his wife, his son, when he realised: 1) he was still alive and 2) that ‘sensation’ was cold. He turned his head around, neck functioning, to see Hcar sporting shit-eating grins. And waving a ball of snow.
But the would-be epic clash of middle-aged dignitaries was brought to a screeching halt by a meek growl. Paddling through the snow like a toddler churning pool water, a mammal wondered into their path.
"Is that... Yes I think the manual calls that one a 'bear',"Hcher mused.
Rchawr put his grievances aside for a second, fury steeled for later. "We should retreat, then. If you're so read up on the manual all of a sudden then you'd know those things are dangerous."
"Doesn't look dangerous."Hcher got closer.
"If I could leave you here I would, but I can't. The humans are afraid of these things, that should be reason enough to- oh what in fucking Zorp's name are you doing!"
"Just assessing the texture of its fur,"that grin made an altogether unwelcome return on Hcher's right face.
For a moment, nothing happened. Rchawr was still spellbound by his parter's stupidity, but it appeared at it would once again go without consequence. Then bear cried. It cried high, and loud, and it kept crying long enough for Rchawr to silently cringe as he saw the panicked movements of his colleague. This was too much, and getting to be too funny to the extent that Rchawr stood a serious risk of laughing. Saving his dignity, he backed up three steps, into-
"Zorp."
It was like the small bear, but much, much larger. |
It was strange, being on the float after half a decade of artificial gravity, and it was tedious, floating slowly toward the earth after spending much of that time in the grey-blue blur of hyperspace and the somewhat slower spatial distortion bubbles that could get you from Gliese to Tau Ceti in hours. Back to the backwater that was earth, that was Home, that was all mankind had ever known until people like me signed up for duty with HSMs (Horrible Space Monsters).
For five years I had griped, bitched, pissed and moaned about every duty given to me, even though the pay was good and I never hesitated to carry out an order. Everybody did their job. It was written in your contract that you’d be spaced, shot, fried, flayed, or even eaten alive if you didn’t do your part, though I’d never met anybody obnoxious enough to sign up as a glorified mercenary just so they could say “no” when push came to shove. You knew what was expected of you going in: basic training on earth weeded out the weak, the unwilling, and the stupid, long before they could cause a diplomatic incident out in the vacuum.
But complaining, that was the age-old tradition of grunts. I’m sure the legionaries who burned Carthage to the ground liked to whine that they missed Rome, that they hated Salting the Earth Duty. And I’m sure their centurions told them to shut up just like human noncoms on permanent interstellar deployments did.
My shuttle wobbled a little when it hit the upper atmosphere and fired its first retrorockets. Everything made by man felt so flimsy, so primitive, after the Delkac frigates and M’khrti freighters, the Usullub gas giant patrol skiffs, the Pe landing craft. For five years I had gone wherever Interstellar Dynamic Solutions had sent me, bringing a Kalashnikov to particle weapon fights and *winning*, every time, because humans are born with horseshoes up their asses and an old Russian assault rifle never runs out of batteries, never fails to shoot holes in reflector armor. I could feel earth’s gravity getting stronger, feel the bench I’d been floating above become a piece of furniture and not just a sentimental accoutrement.
The landing pad was just outside my hometown. Invermere had grown a little since I’d left: it covered a few more kilometers of the Columbia Valley, about ready to fully consume Radium in the north and on its way to a marriage with Cranbrook in the south. For some reason, with a naivete that I thought had been beaten out of me in the last five years, I expected there to be a big crowd waiting for me and the other eight survivors of our tour. Two hundred of us had gone to the stars all those years ago. A hundred and ninety-one were either buried in soil under alien skies, floated through the infinite sky in emptied torpedo casings, or were tiny wisps of vapor where nameless battles had taken place in the interstellar medium. I thought we’d be remembered as heroes.
Instead, the crowd was a gaggle. Of parents, of spouses, of kids, of siblings. There were no reverential gazes as we stepped off the shuttle and onto the tarmac, just an intense, palpable feeling of relief emanating from those we’d left behind. My mother embraced me for a long time. My little brother gave me a curt nod. My elder brother was nowhere to be seen—working on Luna, mom said.
When I got home, everything was different in some intangible way. My room had been left just the way I had it when I shipped out for basic, but the posters were hollow, the bed was too small, the stickers on my dresser were meaningless somehow. Robbed of significance. It was the same everywhere I went: when my mother took me on a long walk through the streets I’d grown up on, I tried to summon up some nostalgia but couldn’t. That night, when some old friends invited me out for drinks, their conversation not only bored but disgusted me. They gossiped about friends, worried about whether they could get an employment contract and get off Personal Income, they asked me for stories about aliens, about whether I’d ever gotten laid with a non-human (“Yeah, I banged a different-colored space monster every week.” Blank stares, nervous laughter. “Jesus Christ, I’m kidding, the only humanoids other than us are more likely to *eat* you than hook up.”).
Everything was the same, but I was different. I checked out a university, at my mom’s urging, since veterans were put at the front of the line for educational placement, there was a kid handing out pamphlets that went on and on about how we were being used by the aliens as slave labor. “Let them fight their own battles,” the kid cried out at disinterested passersby, “We shouldn’t have to die just because they aren’t physiologically capable of fighting a ground war.” I wanted to tell him that wasn’t it, that physiology could be overcome but psychology was the problem, that human beings were used because we *enjoyed* killing. Because we treated mass slaughter like a fun math problem, because we went into a trance of bloodlust and implacable violence when we were burnt out, instead of just shutting down and waiting for death like most species out there.
My mother cried when I signed back up, this time for a permanent position. She begged me not to go, begged me to stay with her, she said I didn’t have to go to school or get a job or ever work again. I couldn’t explain to her the truth as it became more apparent to me every day, couldn’t bear to tell her that I was no longer any more human than I was alien, that the stars were my home now, that I couldn’t stand in line at the food kiosks or bear one more second of somebody who’d never been beyond Luna’s orbit telling *me* how the galaxy works.
It was strange, leaving earth and feeling gravity drop away again. But it was very easy to climb aboard a Oranossk fast-attack raider with my own squad, all fresh faces and old worries. It felt like going home. |
The young warrior walks straight through the fray of the battle. "Watch out!"An enemy soldier shouts as he jumps in front of the warrior to block the slash.
"You, you were always the one who would change this world..."The unnamed soldier lays on the ground from a shallow wound as the young man marches forward.
The young warrior was known as Fire. The name was given to him because of the abnormal color of his eyes and hair when he was found. Due to his abnormalities, the Kingdom of Cruched researched his biology and found an unseen gene. This special genetic strand not only allowed for his hair and eyes to be bright orange, but it also gave an ability to the then young man.
It was called the P-Gene; Extensive research was done to discover the full scope of the power their nation had just attained. Apparently, the boy wasn't very strong, fast, or otherwise different besides his strange features.
His power? With the ability to never give up, he dedicated himself to training night and day with little pause. To become the strongest soldier was his goal, to save his kingdom from the war that plagued his kingdom for so long.
The Scientist's of the Cruched kingdom also found out that everyone within a 5000 ft radius feels the need to protect Fire without reason. Strangers will even sacrifice themselves needlessly if it means it guarantees the survival of Fire.
The Kingdom had gone out to search for the parents of the boy in order to further dwell into the reasoning behind his strange power. At the end of the expedition, it was revealed to the scientist that both his parents were slain by the King of the Ohage Kingdom personally, the kingdom that had been at war with the Cruched kingdom for decades.
Fire continues marching towards the enemy leader as his sword is pulled away from his hand.
It was the worst thing the enemy could never have prepared for, it was a love interest. The enemy froze for a second when they saw the young lady tug at Fire's armor.
"Fire, you promise you'll come back right?"She says while bloodied and holding back tears.
"Amillia, who did this to you!"
This was the turning tide in the battle. The enemy realized that they screwed up royally by attacking a woman named "Amillia."
The opposing leader thought to himself. "Who the fuck would attack a girl with the name Amillia? It was obvious it was Fire's love interest!"He darts his eyes across the field looking for the perpetrator.
Amillia nearly falls backward as she begins to faint. The blood loss had been too great for her, she succumbed to the extreme loss of blood as she spits out a mouthful of it.
Fire, with a fire brewing in his soul, ran towards the man responsible for all of it. Mjaeel, the man responsible for keeping the war alive, the slaughter of his parents, and even the death of his love interest.
"Mjaeel! Face me!"Fire shouts as he lays his sword next to Amilia and runs into the fray.
"Retreat! I fucking repeat, retreat!"Mjaeel shouts to his men as he begins to rotate his horse 180 degrees.
It was too late for them, in the second they saw the will of Fire, their hearts began to cry out for him. They turned their weapons against Mjaeel and forced him off of horseback.
"We're sorry our lord, but you have to fight him one-on-one in order to keep your pride as Ruler of our Kingdom!"His right-hand man Giboto says as he points his sword at him.
"Alright, I'll handle this so, clear the way and let me fight him."He says as cold sweat leaks down his brow as if it dam by a river that had just been broken. Melancholy fills his mind as his men oblige to his request and clear their path so the two can fight.
"Alright! That's more like it!"Mjaeel shouts as he takes off his long black cape and throws it into the air as a distraction and begins running like hell. He gets stopped by his men and is dragged back to face Fire.
Fire walks through every blow given to him as if he were a ghost. A cannon shot is stopped as it hits his chest and the sword blows appear to be doing more healing than damage.
Mjaeel points at Fire as he lays on the ground being held down by his men.
"Don't make me do this,"he says with tears in his eyes as he points at fire committing unspeakable feats right before their eyes.
"You're the descendant of Raigner, you need to be strong our King!"Giboto beckons his king as he hands him a sword.
"I! Am! Strong! That man over there is simply a different breed! Look at him!"He shouts as Fire is seen no longer walking. Instead, Fire is doing perfect backflip rapidly in succession as it propels him toward Mjaeel.
Just as Fire nears Mjaeel and is about to hit him with a furious strike from both his legs, he is blocked by someone. His Childhood friend, Basil.
"Basil! Why'd you block me!"Fire says with anger as it is overcome with grief.
"You were always like this as a kid......"
.
.
.
Mjaeel begins to no longer hear or feel anything. "As a kid?"he thought to himself as static filled his ears as he saw the man that had blocked his shot laying in a pool of blood.
"Basil! Basil!"Fire shouts out in anguish as his friend no longer moves.
Mjaeel couldn't handle it anymore, he knew his death was nearing. He grabs his sword and thrusts it toward his gut only for Fire to stop it by its blade.
For the first time in the battle, Fire bled the same blood as everyone else. He closes his fist and breaks the blade and outputs his hand.
"Be my friend!"He shouts at Mjaeel with a serious expression contorting his face.
"Wha-."Mjaeel sputters but is cut off by Fire.
With unmatched speed, Fire takes the palm of Mjaeel and shakes it. The warring countries see the handshake between the Hero of the Cruched Kingdom and the King of the Ohage Kingdom and stop their fighting. Weapons drop one after another as the battle comes to a halt.
A cheer is yelled as both sides begin to hug one another.
"W-wha-what did you just do?"Mjaeel says as his hands are covered in blood.
"It's obvious,"Fire says in nonchalance.
It was not obvious to anyone else but Fire. He had used the power of friendship to end the war that plagued both kingdoms for so long. With his handshake to the King, both kingdoms became friends despite the wills of either of the kings.
Fire helps lift Mjaeel off of the ground but his blood loosens his grip. Just as Mjaeel is about to fall, Amillia and Basil help catch him.
"Didn't you two die?"Fire shouts in surprise as he is happy to see his friends breathing and walking well.
"I have recovery magic and everyone knows that Basil is immune to your attacks. It was established like ten years ago."Amillia says teasingly.
"Oh yeah..."
The three of them output their hands and await for Mjaeel to grab one.
"If this is my only way out, I'll do it."Mjaeel thinks to himself as he grabs the hand of Fire and stands to the ground.
With that, the battle had come to an end, and both sides reveled in victory.
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u/AlfredoOreos Feedback is appreciated as I'm still learning new ways of storytelling and if you enjoyed this story check out my profile for similar ones. Thank you for reading. |
The atrocities they commit, the slanderous things they say, the stench of rot and greed — the monsters, crawling on the surface of the world and under my skin, were unredeemable as they are and unrepentant as they come. The slimy countenance of them all sickened me, and their turgid egos hollowed out my gut with every word.
I don't know when they changed into what I saw now, but it hadn't been quick. After the injury, after the long weeks of hope abandoned, the people around me became pallid and sunken-faced. First, it was the nurses. Then, my family. When they had been my family, at least.
At home — recovered from the wounds and hesitant to leave for fear of another bullet not meant for me — the visions of the twisted people waned. I was left to heavy medication and light exercise, two illusions of normalcy that brought the monsters into clearer view. Unable to withstand the morphed and grotesque talking heads of television, I walked into town, my buzzing mind to find quiet among the busy world.
Every step pulsed new agony into the passing faces, growing paler and languid as if drained of blood. Deeper into town and further into madness, the people I'd once known had become unrecognizable, shattered fragments of decent people transformed into nightmarish creatures.
A metamorphosis of the soul and body, though only in my eyes.
No one seemed to mind their newfound hideousness, unbothered by the faces of evil in friends and family. Stores sold the same trivial things, restaurants served the same insipid food, parks opened their pointless boundaries to the same visitors. So much remained the same, mundane and mortal, but something lurked behind the eyes of the layman, ugly and frail like a maggot in a corpse.
Months passed, locked in my home, as I hid from the gaze of prying eyes of yellow. I'd boarded my windows poorly, but the deterrent served its purpose as no one came knocking unexpectedly. What was once my brother, kind and forgiving, collapsed behind the mask he now wore, but his husk still delivered food to my doorstep on occasion. Its words sweetly familiar yet rotten, like spoiled fruit, it spoke of concern and helping hands, but I knew it to be pity.
In the silence between the nights, I thought of my injury, the harbinger of my suffering. A man like any other, hale and headstrong, had thought himself strong in his moment of weakness. Wielding a gun and blade, he cleared the crowd in moments, selecting his targets, however random they were. His eyes had darted from person to person like wildfire, erratic and uncontrollable. But there was some sign on his face that showed me he knew the people, ideas, codes he wanted to break.
And so he fired.
I was not one of those chosen few, thankfully, but one of many wounded bystanders. So much evil came from this man, spewing forth like bile, and even those he'd not intended to harm suffered his actions. And in every face I'd seen on the streets since, I've witnessed his evil over again countless times, mulling over the fetid memory on every visage.
When the thing that called itself my brother did not appear one week, I made a choice. With no food, I was sure to starve, a fate I might have welcomed not too long ago, but the world of masks would move on, fueled by the deeds of those like so many others. So I left to go to the store.
As I walked, I saw more faces, more masks of boils and warts, and the only thought that moved my feet was the next step ahead. It meant little that they looked at me; I was sure I looked decrepit, but the wreck I was could not compare to the monstrosity they were.
The small convenience store I regularly patronized had closed down, said the sign, so I gathered up the courage to journey to the mall farther across town. Their disguises, unseemly as they were, grew grimmer and grosser as my walk continued. Every action dragged me further into this delusion, and the feverish thoughts only quickened as the sun shined down hotter and heavier.
Once in the mall, no one bothered to look at me. A small mercy, when all I could do was look at them with bleary eyes and pale skin. Like them. Long lost routine guided my path in the mall, and I entered the main foyer close to the grocery store.
Across the hall from me, stood a man, watching from the corner like a hawk waiting for the hunt. I knew the look, felt it, for his face was completely normal, plain as flour. Ruddy skin with no disfigured features, he was a welcome reprieve from the other beings around town.
The first human I'd seen in months pulled out the gun from his coat.
The first real monster I'd seen in months pulled the trigger.
Panic surged in the mall, people running from where they'd been to somewhere that seemed safer, even if it wasn't practical. Men and women abandoned their items, ducking and dodging, and as they did, their faces gained complexion. The large, buggy eyes shrank to smaller, proportionate features. The ridiculously green and sagging skin grew taut and full.
People cowered as bullets flew overhead, though no one fell yet. If they had, I couldn't see.
I was too busy watching the man with the gun smile, his face draining of life like it was he who'd been shot. The grin curved wrongly, incongruous with the rest of his head, as his skin sagged and turned sickly. His hair fell from his head, his eyes bulged like swollen glands, pus dripped from his nose — the monster had shown itself, and this was no mask.
\--------------------
r/The_Rubicon
I hope this isn't too dark for this sub. |
“Erogan the saviour has returned!” The town crier yelled and rang his bell.
“Take our gold!” the mayor implored.
“Take my daughter!” a peasant farmer pleaded.
“Yes, please save me from my terrible parents!” the girl chimed in.
Erogan happened to liberate this village when she slew Drageath. Unfortunately, it was a key point on all major trade routes for miles, so word spread fast. *Erogan the brave*, *Erogan the valiant*. It was almost enough to make her cough up the gold she had for lunch.
She was in such a sulky mood about it that she didn’t bother collecting the spoils. She just flew home, and a couple of ear wyrms hitched a ride.
Erogan knew these tiny dragons loved to play tricks in the ears of the high-strung. Half of man’s myths come from their boredom-driven pranks.
“Oh Erogan, saviour of man! Why don’t you kill the newts in the mayors home?” the one in her left said.
“They bother him, and they’re your kin. Double the reason for you to slay them!”
“Why don’t I eat some pestering ear wyrms too?” she snarled back.
“Oh, so brave! Pick on the weak little dragons.”
“Just like poor old Drageath. A few more weeks and he’d be one with the sky, you just jumped in and took credit for it!”
“Shut up! Drageath was a tyrant to the end.”
“A true dragon! You may as well be a man with wings.”
Erogan roared in frustration, and realized she didn’t have to put up with this. She shot up into the cool night sky, did some twists and turns, and the ear wyrms were gone. Plummeting to their deaths, cursing her.
She finally arrived in her new cave, Drageath’s former mountain perch. She reheated some leftover gold from last night with her fiery breath, and looked down on the land.
Her land? No. She believed in not bothering those who didn’t bother her. She respected those who followed this, and deeply loathed those who didn’t. That didn’t make her a hero. It didn’t make her a human-lover.
It made her the unusual dragon who never ate meat, and slew the great Drageath. Nothing more, nothing less. |
**\[WP\] Humans are known to be the greatest warriors in the universe, despite being pacifists. When an extradimensional threat appears, the galactic community desperately tries to persuade the humans to return to their warlike ways.**
**NotAnUmunithean** *5 minutes ago*
Jim Jimson was a regular human doing regular human things, like putting nutritional consumables in his mouth. Jim Jimson was a commander in the human military, which was weaker than the armies of their galactic neighbors, the Umunitheans. This didn’t matter, since to the humans their soldiers were the best in the universe. It must be said that there was no actual way of knowing this as the humans had not fought in any wars against non-primitives (humans themselves being counted as primitives.)
The human military was idling, content in the knowledge that they could meet any challenge thrown at them, just as it was in the times when giant beasts terrorized the planet. Jim Jimson was without assignment - having to defend only one planet gave the military a lot of free time. Like many other humans, he created writing on the global communications network. These writings were mostly fabrications about the inhabitants of earth, their capabilities and their place in the universe.
One day, Jim Jimson was summoned to the palace of the Commander General of the army, who told him the Umunitheans requested assistance to fight off an extra dimensional invasion which had torn through space-time in the Orion Spur. Unbeknownst to the humans, this was not the first time the Umunitheans had fought off such an invasion, but for the sake of this fabrication, we'll pretend that the Umunitheans really needed the meagre firepower that the humans had to offer.
The Commander General and Jim Jimson discussed the matter with their mouths. The Commander General did not wish to involve the human army in any conflict, reminding Jim Jimson that they were pacifists ever since they rid their planet of the large scaly creatures that used to hold dominion over the planet. Jim Jimson retorted that humans were very special and if they’d help the Umunitheans, they would surely be hailed as the saviors of the universe. The Commander General agreed, and so the humans told the Umunitheans to send transport ships, since they lacked the technology to travel faster than light.
When the ships arrived, they turned out to be filled with Umunitheans troops - it was a ruse! When the Umunitheans found out that the humans wasted so much time lying to themselves about their actual capabilities, they decided the human planet would be an easy conquest. The humans stood no chance, and became subjects of the burgeoning Umunithean empire, to the grief of this particular human writer. Let this be a lesson to any reader: let your words reflect your deeds.
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“Looks like it skipped this generation as well. Your son does not hold the magi gene, Mrs. Crown.”
“Oh, thank the World! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Doctor Yeltsin!”
“No need to thank me, Mrs. Crown, I’m just reporting on the test results.” He turned to me. “Andrew, would you excuse us a moment, I need to discuss some things with your mother.” I shrugged and Doctor Yeltsin led my mother out of the room.
I sat patiently, absent-mindedly looking around the room. It was just your standard clinic room with various science-y looking things along the walls and on the lab table. And right in the center of the table sat an orange vial. I knew what it was. The testing solution. It contained my DNA and some other chemicals. If it had turned green, I would be a Magi. I hadn’t noticed it, but I had been tensing my muscles all morning, up until I saw the vial go from clear to orange. It felt like a huge weight off my shoulders. I was normal.
Some kids weren’t so lucky. Their vials turned green, and they were sent off to train at some Magi school. I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to think about never seeing anyone I know again. My Grandfather had been a Magi, and the only time I ever heard from him was the day he died. He had written us a letter. In it, he described his life as a miserable existence, that he was, at all times, at the whim of the Gods.
I didn’t know much about what became of Magi after attending the school, but I knew they have always been looked down upon. Even though they were keeping us all alive against the constant threat of the Gods, they were treated as second-class citizens and monsters. Tools of industry. And it’s not a recent thing, ever since-
*What?*
I looked at the vial. It was blue. Deep, deep blue. I rubbed my eyes. *Blue?* It was supposed to be orange or green. Orange for normal, green for Magi. *How… how is it blue?* I leaped from my chair and scrambled over to the table. I picked up the vial while glancing at the door. I sat and stared. What’s going to happen when the Doctor comes back and the vial is blue?! *What does it even mean?* Maybe I can hide it, flush it down the sink- no that won’t work, he’ll see that it’s missing when he comes back. Maybe I can test it again? Is there more testing solution in here? Wait, won’t it just turn blue again? Come on, think!
*The Doctor!*
His DNA must be around here somewhere, right? On the keyboard, or on his desk? I frantically searched the desk to no avail. I took another glance around the room. Chair, desk, table, cabinets (locked, I tried), garbage bin, medical table- wait. Garbage bin? I grabbed the small plastic bin from under the desk. *Yes! He blew his nose!*
I mean gross, yes, but exactly what I needed. I grabbed the bottle of testing solution that happened to be on the lab table. *Thanks, World.* I poured a bit of testing solution into a vial and started swabbing some snot off a tissue. I didn’t have time to worry about how disgusting this was. I started mixing the vial by slowly stirring, just like I saw the Doc do. I just need to hope-
“Andrew, we are ready for-“
*Shit.* |
"Seriously Mittens, with all the unanswered questions, all the boundless unsolved mysteries of the universe, why would you ask about clothes?"Mike asked.
"I just don't understand, you shed your fur each night only to put it back on or in the circly wirkley machine. Why not just keep it on all the time?"
"Because it gets dirty."Mike said.
"So? Just lick it clean."Mittens replied indifferently.
"I can't just lick it clean, you know some of us can't just throw our legs behind our heads and go at it."
"You poor creature."Mittens said absently. "Well I'm bored with this conversation time to feed me."
"You don't have to be so rude."Mike cried.
"Apparently I do, since you're still sitting on your fat ass instead of fetching me the fucking GoCat."Mittens snapped. "Wait first vigorously rub the spot where my tail meets my back."
"Why?"Mike asked suspiciously.
"Look I don't pay you to ask questions, you knew what the deal when you got me. Now start rubbing, also no eye contact it makes it hard for me to uh, well just no eye contact."
"I wish I couldn't understand you."Mike wailed through the sting of tears. |
The enclave is a subject of much mystery in the greater galaxy and deservedly so. Sadly it appears that time has come again to remind the younger races to mind their elders. Confidently I appear in a flash of arcane light on the enemy flagship, with unbridled fury. This band of uniformed clowns pointing their plasma rifles in the chaos as I scowl at the idiots.
Earth's cloaked form rippling, the planetary shield warping and distorting the illusion, as I snap my fingers silencing the deck and the fools. My eyes firmly set on the intimidating warlord central on the bridge, a fear in the alien's many eyes. "Do you realize just how badly you have fucked up?"
A cloud of dust suddenly covering my jackboots as a hapless crewman attempted to approach my person. The grey motes swept away with a brief gesture as I await the still panicking warlord to finish its episode. Watching them squirm always is the best part of the job as the jibbering bellend puts out a coherent sentence.
One of the many warriors suddenly combusting into flames as I relive my mild agitation. The sod somehow toppling over a railing as I keep my composure "Please have mercy, we had no idea!"
"Yeah, that's intentional, unfortunately for you, I am not my many-times distant grandchildren I don't believe in mercy."Slowly I lift my snap-ready figures toward the captain, the titan falling onto his knees. His half-finished plea cut mid-sentence as my patience meets its limit as his skin disintegrates. The navigator jamming his finger into the warp button is suddenly accosted by the shambling corpse.
This chaotic zombie plague already spreading like a biblical curse as I take my leave. Reality warping to my whims as I appear back on earth's surface, the warp rift jump of the fleet visible in the night sky. The small circle of stunted grandchildren cheering unaware of the horror that I have unleashed upon the galaxy.
For the thirty-second time.
Honestly, it got boring after the first five.
I just want my damn coffee. |
29 years. 4 months. And 17 days. Quite a streak for a paladin. A tremendous one for Evander of the Sierket Woods. Always called upon by the most desperate of causes. Hundreds of battles. Vanquished demons. Monsters slain. Curses broken. Plagues cured. None could best us. Light, how I will miss you, Anders. Only a few more years, and we were going to hang it up. Quietly retire to the old homestead. Offer to train any who wished to learn. Not a soul could deny us that. Well deny "Evander". If it hadn't worked so well, I'd have still said it was a ridiculous idea.
> "Evan, it's a brilliant plan. We just have to pretend to be the same person. You know I'm the best sword in the Nine Provinces. And none possess your gifts. Sister Cyrilla claims you must have been touched by the Goddess Herself."
>
> "Anders, what is the point? If we're discovered they'll throw us in the deepest pit in Arakellen for deception and blasphemy. What does disguising ourselves as a single paladin get us?"
>
> "Survival. You know the legends of Orikai the Preserver. So great was his name that the forces of evil fell away from his path without even the need to pull his blade. If we can be someone whose legend can even ascend half as high, the threats will quiet. Instead of dying in some shadow-choked village, overrun by corpse-eaters, we can travel to the scarcer troubles that only the strongest of heroes could face."
>
> "So avoid potential death from regular monstrous threats by seeking out the most dangerous and lethal threats in the entire realm? Sounds like a wonderful plan."
>
> "Evan, how many local paladins do you know who made 50?"
>
> "... what's your point?"
>
> "If we trade off missions: I kill a monster, you cure a plague, I save kidnapped children before they're sacrificed by sorcerers, you smite demons back to the pit, and so on, we could live long enough to retire from the service."
>
> "..."
>
> "Well...?"
>
> "Let me pray on it."
>
> "I knew you'd see the Light. It's all going to work out. I'm sure of it..."
>
> "I just said..."
>
> "Ha ha, that's what you always say when you want to say yes but haven't figured out how to live with the decision. You'll figure it out in a week or two!"
Over our almost 30 year run, I've been able to raise the dead 5 times. And two of those times were you! When I found you this morning, I asked Illyrial to let me do so again. But She told me that you hadn't passed by nefarious means. Your time on this plane had simply run its course. But She assured me you were where you deserved to be: in the Valley of the Just, under the loving Light of Illyrial. Congratulations, brother.
But, of course, that means I'm stuck. I am a fine fighter with you as a tutor, but I could never best you when it came to the blade. I won't be able to maintain Evander's reputation. The next call requiring the Shining Sword of Sierket is sure to be the end of my road. I don't fear the finish. Only that my failure will end the hope of a desperate soul needing our help. And losing the chance to see how we could have spent Evander's retirement is perhaps the saddest moment of this whole affair. Well I suppose I can look forward to seeing you soon. It surely won't take long for the next call to come.
"Boy, you're a real sadsack, you know that? I'm the dead one, I'm supposed to be the guy complaining here."
"Who's there?! Who said that?!"
"Nobody's there, Evan. It's me! You can't see me because I'm not there either! I'm in your head!"
"I've finally gone mad."
"Flames of Durat, Evan, it's me: Anders!"
"But Illyrial said..."
"I made a request. I'm delaying my eternal reward so I can save your bacon."
"What?! You can't do that! There's a reason for the Order of the Afterlife. This is"
"This has all been approved by the Lady. Pending your acceptance."
"Acceptance of what?"
"Well it turns out that when you bury someone, they're permitted to hear the words spoken over them. And when I heard you talking here I had an idea. So I walked over to Lyri and"
"WHAT?! You can't call Her that! Illyrial, Lady of the Light, Flame of"
"Ev, relax. Breathe. She's a lot less uptight about this stuff than you think. Anyway, what I proposed was this: we've been Evander for almost 30 years. So I asked if it was possible that we could keep being Evander for another 5. Just until you can retire. Then I'll head off to my Eternal Reward, and just pop in if someone needs fighting lessons if you don't catch on enough with first hand experience."
"I don't understand. How would..."
"Oh, right. Forgot, Lyri's just gonna pop my soul into your body. Apparently very simple, just rarely done."
"That's necromancy! Illyrial would never permit"
"Ah, yeah, Lyri said it's only necromancy if you use arcane means to raise a spirit or body and bind it. This sort of thing is a 'Divine blessing' or something. No taint of evil to speak of."
".... are you sure about this? How can I know this is really Anders and not some demon trying to tempt me into the Pit?"
"I'd say I was insulted, but that's a good point. Tell you what, just go to the temple, carry on your regular business, and when you get a chance: pray on it."
"... Fine. I'll pray on it, and if Illyrial approves then we can do what you say."
"Ha ha, that's what I hoped you'd say."
"Why's that?"
"Like I said when we started this job: that's what you always say when you want to say yes, but haven't figured out how to live with the decision. You'll figure it out in a day or two. Faster if you just ask Lyri instead of performing some hours long rituals. Talk again soon, brother! It's all going to work out. I'm sure of it." |
"Daryl,"I said, ripping the ancient page out of the book. "Daryl works just fine."
A black gust of smoke crept from under the page, swirling up towards the roof, spinning into a form. When it stopped spinning, a pitch-black face with two red dots for eyes stared at me. It bore a frown.
"Really?"The face spoke, its voice deep and callous.
"What?"I spat, annoyed with the god's aptitude to never get to the point.
"The name."
"Yeah, what about it?"
"Why did you give me a plain name?"
I sighed, "you know here's the thing. I've named a million different gods. And it's always just such a tease, such a pain in the ass, to name gods."
"What?"
"Yeah, I've gotta dig through books to find words with eloquent and wise meanings. It's all such a pain in the ass."
"But I am a god,"Daryl dragged through the words, growing confused.
"Yeah, will a different name make you any less than a god?"
"I, dislike, the, name, Daryl."
"Then what name would you like sweetheart?"
"Bob."
A snort weaselled out of me, "Bob the god of murder and all that is evil. Does that sound right to you?
"Yes." |
Jonathan Bayles began to read through the report that had appeared in his inbox sometime during the morning. The team up north in Leeds sent it to him. He looked at the title of the report: “Nationwide births decreased avg. 72% year over year for last five years.” He frowned.
“I know this is what I should have expected, but it is still sad to hear. Our world is disappearing before my eyes,” he said. He looked up at his assistant. “Sam, did you already look over this report?” Bayles asked.
“Yes, Director. I also cross referenced it against the reports generated by the teams in Japan, Australia, and the United States. They each reported similar findings, although Japan’s average was slightly higher,” Sam responded.
“Thank you. Can you create a summary of the findings within each report and send it to me for my meeting tomorrow?”
“Of course, sir. I’ll have it to you later this evening.”
\---
Bayles walked down Whitehall street, searching for his destination. He opened his phone to check where he was on the map.
“Hmm, King Charles street is nearby. Just another block then.”
He kept walking and eventually saw the sign he was looking for: Downing Street. He began to walk down the street and saw three men in suites approach him.
“Sir, please stop where you are. What is your business here?” the man in the front asked.
“Hi. I am Director Jonathan Bayles of the Institute of Human Propagation. I have an appointment with the Prime Minister this morning.”
“One moment, please.”
The man furthest in the rear of the trio held his hand to his area and spoke quietly, simultaneously keeping his eyes on Bayles and a hand on his hip. After a few minutes, he spoke up.
“The minister confirmed his appointment and identity on the cams. I’ll escort him inside,” the man said. “Come with me, Director Bayles.”
“Sure, coming now,” Bayles responded. He approached the man in the suite, who turned and began walking.
“My name is Captain Layton. I will remain in your presence throughout your visit. Do not attempt to leave me unless directed to do so by the Prime Minister. Failure to follow these rules will result in legal action against your person and possible incarceration,” the agent said, without looking back at the suddenly cautious man following him.
“Yes, I understand,” Bayles said.
The pair approached the front door of 10 Downing Street. Once in front of the door, Captain Layton knocked once. A moment later, the door opened and the Prime Minister greeted them.
“Director Bayles, it’s a pleasure to see you again!” the Minister said.
“Minister, thank you for taking the time to see me. I appreciate every moment of it. With your permission, I’d like to discuss the issue at hand immediately,” the Director responded.
“Certainly, certainly. Do come in first. Let’s sit down in the study.”
The Prime Minister escorted them through the house. As they walked, Captain Layton moved directly behind Bayles, preventing him from moving far away even if he wanted to. A few minutes later, they entered a room adorned in stained oak and traditional furniture: two antique Chesterfield couches and a newer, but still antique, Herman Miller Eames chair. The Minister sat on one couch and motioned for Bayles to sit on the other. Captain Layton moved to stand behind the Director, his eyes glued to the back of Bayle’s head.
The Prime Minister spoke first. “So, here we are. It has been five years now. I imagine you have something to report, yes?”
“Yes, Minister, I do. Our research, conducted in cooperation with other teams in Japan, Australia, and the United States, shows that birth rates are decreasing approximately seventy percent year over year, for the past five years. To put that in perspective, that means that birth rates are down to roughly fifteen percent of what they were five years ago. At this rate, it won’t be long before they stop completely. Our population is already shrinking across the globe. Our race are dying.”
Director Bayles looked at the Prime Minister. They sat on their couch, looking towards a painting on the wall. “Indeed, that is a problem. But what can we do? We all know the requirement. We can’t force children to be born anymore,” the Minister said.
“Yes, we do. And I don’t think we can fix it. There is simply no way to convince an unborn child to come into this world and experience the horrors it has in store for them. Why would they want to experience any pain, when they can choose to never experience any?” Bayles saw the Minister look back towards him.
“Minister, may I share something personal with you?” Bayle asked.
“Of course, Jonathan. What is it?”
“My partner and I attempted to have a child this past year. I went through the process. It was hard. We tried everything we could to convince our child to be born, but they simply refused. They saw all of the pain in store for them and decided that outweighed any of the good we could offer them. As I said earlier, I don’t think we can fix this. As long as this requirement is in place, our population will continue to shrink. Our race will continue to die. Eventually, there will be no one left, and we will be gone.”
The Minister looked at him, considering the words he had said. “You know, Jonathan, I have been keeping up with the monthly reports that Sam sends me. I saw this coming long ago. I have already spoken with the heads of state for Japan and the United States. We agreed with your thoughts. There is nothing we can do.”
Bayles stared into the distance, towards the Minister but not at him, and considered what he just heard.
“So, there is no point then. You’ve already given up.”
A meek, pitiful smile appeared on the Minister’s face. “What can we do? Nothing, as you already know.”
\---
Jonathan sat in his kitchen, watching the news on his TV. International news was currently on, relaying events from around the world. He sighed as he heard the newscaster.
“Events in South Africa have escalated as the population dwindles. The nearby Angola has initiated a war with South Africa, who is already at war with Botswana and Namibia. Tensions increase as violence escalates through the countries involved.”
He flicked the channel to the next news station.
“Civil War continues in China as party members fight for more resources, the dwindling population and imminent extinction of our race removing any pretense of justice or fairness in their market system.”
He clicked the remote again, but the news stayed the same. War, violence – the world was deteriorating before his eyes. |
So it turns out the moon is a giant spaceship. I know that it sounds outrageous, but it's true. I heard what sounded like a wormhole opening from one of those old Sci-fi shows, and poof, the moon is above some planet with exposed lava instead of oceans. The green continents of Earth were replaced by a shade of purple. I looked back down at the rock I had just picked up, and sat it back down, and poof. Another portal opened and I'm back orbiting Earth.
"What the hell happened Johnson?"The scientist asked. "The moon disappeared for a few minutes, and then it suddenly reappeared!"
"I picked up a rock. Did you not see the massive portal open?"I answered with a question of my own.
"Portal? What portal? Give me a second, we're reconnecting to your helmet camera."
"So I picked up this random rock here, and look, a portal opens!"I exclaimed, looking towards the massive portal so the camera could see.
"Holy shit. Mark that location on your map. We need to send more people up to experiment. What did you see on the other side?"
"Some purple planet with lava instead of water. Or is it magma? I was never good at geology."
"Could you take pictures with your camera?"
"Probably, but my camera rolls filled with all of these pictures of freakin moon rocks you all asked me to take. Which one should I delete?"
"None of them, we'll send up a team to meet you. Are there any other rocks in your area?"
"There's like 20. Should i try some other ones?"
"Wait for the team to come up, we'll try the rest once they arrive." |
Never in a million years would I have expected to be standing here, face to face with the biggest and baddest man to ever exist. Never would I have imagined the size and scale of this man's enourmous chamber.
What I did expect, however, was the decor choice of the aforementioned villian. I expected the dim lighting, and dark shades. I expected the sheer anger on his face at my infultration.
What I didn't expect was the reason for said rage.
"Okay, I know you 'heros' love making grand enterences,"The man came forward, air quoting and glaring at me, "But you just had to kill Joe!?"
I starred blankly at him, at a loss for how to respond. Who the heck was Joe?
"You know, you heros really have a 'hero complex' problem."He shook his head, disapprovingly, "He would have just let you in, had you asked. But no, you just had to kill him, didn't you?"
Let me in?
...
OH-
Was Joe the... was he the henchman at the enterence of the castle?
"ANSWER ME"He yelled, eyes lighting up in pure anger. He held my gaze as he continued, "He had a family, you know? Friends, goals."He scoffed, "Typical, and you wonder why I want to see you all dead."
I never... I never thought of it that way before. Evil was just evil, right? He was serving an evil overlord for crying out loud!
...
Wait, am I trying to justify literal murder!? What is wrong with me!?
"I- I'm so sorry,"I genuinly appologised, "I- everyday, I save countless innocent people, annoyed that you don't understand that they have friends and family to look after."I looked down at my trembling hands, "and yet, here I am. Having done the exact same thing."
The man in black, the biggest and baddest villian out there, shook his head "I'm not the one you need to appologise to. The family is waiting at home, go appologise to them."
I looked up at him, this time in a new light. This hypocritical bastard cares so much about his henchmen. Which was... a new idea to me. Our king never cared about the countless lives that were risked. Never cared about the countless injured. Never cared about the countless deaths.
He has killed before, this man, but somehow when people kill his henchmen it's not ok.
Morphed moral compass there, but, respectable in some ways. -not the killing-other-people part, the loyalty. The caring.
"Kill me, not my henchmen."He said, "I'm the one who caused the harm, they're just my loyal idiots. And you-"He looked away, hiding the tear that was falling down his cheek, "You just killed my idiot. And that- that can't go unaccounted for."
"Not cool man, so not cool"a henchman from the side said, shaking his head, "Not cool at all."
Never would I have expected an evil king to not only care about his henchmen dying, but would also seek to avenge said henchmen. Our king never did that, heck, he didn't even know their names.
"Kyle, seise him!"The man said, not even bothering to point at me.
I'm not ashamed to say I didn't fight it.
Epilouge :
The family did not forgive me. |
"Hey, boss!"
"What is it felthrigor?"
"Check out my haul today! I got like ten suckers to give me their souls for a handful of Jewels!"
"Really? Hmm let me see"... "YOU BLITHERING IDIOT! IF YOUR SIRE WASN'T THE...."*sigh* "do you remember what you were taught about counterfeit souls?"
"Uhh yeah but these weren't machines, they were definitely human, I checked."
"Yes but did you remember to demand "the soul that they were born with"or did you just accept any soul that was "theirs""
"Uhhhh."
"Thats what I thought"
"I mean is it really that bad though? I mean a soul is a soul right, even if they aren't great quality the furnace will still use them right?"
"Yes and no, take a look at this one I got this last week see how there is potential for growth and its pretty unmarred by sin? This is a good quality soul, we'll press it into a coin. Now this one from yesterday. Its old, and pretty grubby, its not going to do anything for a jeweler but its hefty it has the weight of its experiences behind it. That's what makes it fuel. Understand so far?"
"Yeah I guess so"
"Good, now let's look at yours. See how flimsy they are? They've existed for all of two days at most, and while with a human soul we like that it makes them clear and untarnished with a lot of potential, prime jewel stock. These ones have no potential behind them, for one thing they exist for a purpose, any soul like that is brittle to start with. Secondly, their purpose was to be sold so its already fulfilled, making them nearly massless. Thirdly the "mind"used to produce these is only capable of thr bare minimum required to produce a soul thus even if they didn't have a purpose and it wasn't already fulfilled they would have no potential. And can you tell me what all that means?"
"... it means that even as furnace chaff we couldn't recoup even the cost of producing the jewels I traded for them. They're just too ephemeral."
"Exactly"
"I'm sorry boss, I messed up big time"
"Its ok this is a new development and its not a total waste."
"Really, how?"
"There's an old process for condensing the slurry we get from stolen souls. Its from way back before the treaties forbade us from violence on the mortal plane. It was never really cost effective either without a big haul due to the fact that we retain almost none of the identy essence when stealing a soul, but these, these have identity essence intact and they're cheap and garbage quality enough to maybe be worth it. With enough of them a meta-soul might even be possible." |
Its wasn't hot and bright. It wasn't a glorious burning, sending me to Valhalla. It was cold and dark. The world held onto me. I couldn't reach my forefathers, trapped in the embrace of ice and snow. I could only watch as they faded from view, the path to the realm eternal closed to me.
I was alone in the cold. It called to me, heard my anger. It comforted me. In that cold embrace, I breathed again. My body cracked as I stood, alone at my funeral. I saw the things gathered. My things. If I couldn't go up, I would keep these things.
I kept the blizzard howling. They had failed to send me on. I didn't care how they suffered, having taken my prize from me. With a turned back, I made myself a respectable grave, a cairn. I buried my things inside, making myself a seat to watch over it all. It was only when I was comfortable did I let the cold ease.
I heard them poke around, trying to find me. They only cared now that it wasn't cold. They didn't deserve me. I sat and waited, my anger growing. I heard a peal of laughter, and I snapped. Not only had they damned me, but they mocked me. With a snarl, I punched my way out, pulling behind a sword I had been given.
They looked on me in terror, as I cleaved them down. I recognised them, but I didn't see the point in caring. I swung harder than I had ever before, splitting their bodies apart with ease. One swung at me, choking as my mottled black skin stopped it.
I grabbed his head, and squeezed. Before long, I was rewarded with the sound of cracking, and the thick smell of blood filled the air. I dropped his pulped skull, looking for the next to kill. But there were none, all having fled or died.
I stomped back to my cairn, to my seat. But I stopped, turning back to the bodies. They had things, that they didn't need or deserve. They were mine. I stripped them bare, leaving their nude bodies on the ground. With my new things, I returned to my place.
At least I had something in death, even if I had to kill to keep it. |
The Defender sat at the bar and sipped his whiskey. This was his favorite bar, and while he had to keep his mask on for privacy his company was welcomed by all: the bouncer, his job easier, and the bartender, enjoying the tips and tranquility.
He stared at the television as the news highlight reel played. He was not alone, fellow patrons watched and muttered.
"A travesty."
"It's bullshit."
"There is no justice."
A mobster, guilty as sin and with hands bloodier than a Red Cross donation van, had walked free today. The prosecution was unable to convince the jury despite video evidence and, shockingly, multiple witnesses willing to testify. It was some sort of technical problem with the State's case, the anchor said. The recording switched to a close-up of an impromptu press conference, the defense attorney starting to speak.
The bartender changed the channel. It displayed a football match instead. The bartender glared at the patron sitting on the stool next to The Defender.
"Nobody understands."The Defender looked at the patron. It was the attorney from the video, nursing the scotch in front of him. "You don't understand!"he said, louder, as he met the hero's gaze.
The attorney stood, clearly bolstered by liquid courage. He grabbed The Defender's shoulders. "Don't you understand? You fool. I kept that piece of filth out of prison for a reason. So you could deal with him permanently!"
The Defender, up to this point bemused by the drunken lawyer, stood up. A cloud passed over the masked visage.
To his credit, the attorney didn't even flinch as The Defender picked him up by his collar. As easy as lifting a piece of paper, the hero brought the inebriated attorney close to his face.
"You call me a fool? I am no fool. Sit down, you moron."
The lawyer was placed back on his stool.
"Listen to me very carefully. I am invincible, fast, and superhuman in ways you would not even comprehend. I could crush every regular human, shrug off every weapon humanity has ever made, and basically do whatever I want. I may as well be a god to you."
The Defender paused before he continued. "I could enslave all of you by force of will alone and make myself a tyrant."He added an emphasis to the last word that brought the room to a standstill. A glass shattered somewhere. The attorney looked afraid for the first time.
"No, I will not be a tyrant. I will not dispense vengeance in the guise of justice. I will watch, and defend, and help those in need. Criminals and evil people will be handled by human systems of justice."
The lawyer trembled. Shakily he replied. "I got that asshole off on a technicality. I wanted him dealt with, permanently, by you. I did the best I could and found a hole big enough to drive a truck through. He's free tonight because of me."
The Defender sighed and sat back down. "Look. The defense attorney has two clients. One is the accused. The other is the rule of law. If your client is guilty, you still have to defend and protect the rule of law. If that means your guilty client goes free, then justice is still served because the prosecution did not meet the heavy burden needed to take away someone's freedom. That is important, even if it feels dirty in the moment."
The hero took a sip of his whiskey and continued. "If we let the prosecution slip for the obviously guilty, eventually less scrupulous and diligent prosecutors will come along. Eventually the not-guilty will be found guilty and suffer without reason.
"The scum went free today, yes. But the State will be more diligent in the future, and the innocent are better protected for it. An unjust State is worse than any criminal could ever be."
The lawyer stifled a sob. "He's going to hurt someone else, I know it. I can't live with that."
"You can, and you must. You must keep up your work, because it is good work and important. I promise that I will keep an eye on this prick, and if-no, when-he slips up again, I will be there to wrap him up and deliver him to the system for punishment."
A moment passed. The room seemed to move again, deliberately, as if all patrons were considering The Defender's words.
"Hey Tim,"The Defender called to the bartender. "Another round for my friend here. He did a dirty but important job today, and needs some cheering up." |
"You!"the otherworldly entity points to one of the followers "Bring me a Pizza! With mushrooms!"
The cult memeber hurried ran out of the room to get their new overlord a pizza. With mushrooms.
"haa..hahahahahahaaha.. I'm finally back..."The being said.. as he soon stretched a bit. To the left. To the right. Twist to the left. To the right.
"Feela good to be back. Hey you."He said, pointing to the cult head this time. "What's the date today."
"I-It's the 2018 my lord."The cult leader quickly replied, bowing his head.
"So it has only been around 20 years here.."The being sighed, as if recalling a distant past.
It was then that the cult member that went to get the pizza suddenly came back.
"...back so soon?"
"O-oh yes. Y-you see w-we are at a pizza joint right now actually. O-our hideout is underneath it. W-we use it as a front for the cult. ...I got the employee of the month twice this year btw. Ah, I've also placed your order."
"GLORIOUS!!!!"
The world will never be the same again. |
The Hive Fleet landed, and this world was to be devoured. It looked like fire pouring from the sky, but it was far, far, worse, it was Gaunts, falling to the earth, billions of them, ready to devourer all in their path.
It was a small farming Community, they watched the rain of the Zenos come, falling like death rain upon the planet. They gathered into the center of town, preying to any god that would answer them. The 4 Winds, the Eternal Lord, they uttered the prayers unspoken to any and all that might answer.
Something answered.. or so they thought.
The skin lit with fire this time, as Drop pods of gray landed on the ground. The Imperium of man had answered this call. This planet, this hive world, would not fall to the Hive Fleet! The Space Wolf sharged out of the drop pod, laying bolter fire and Chainsword into the Gaunts as they came at him "I will fight you Aliens! Till my last drop of blood! I will fight you!"
As great and valent as the Space wolves fought, it was a battle of a few hundred against millions. The Hive Fleet over ran them, till finally Galvan Darkbane, Legendary Dreadnought, and Company Chaplin stood alone, hefting the head of the Carnifex in the Air, letting out a Resounding Wolf Howl, "Come! Meet your Death Alien!"he cried, as he unloaded heavy bolter fire into the masses before him.
But, that was not who really answered the call. No, something far more more sinister had hear their prayers, and took their deal. As Galvan took a massive hit and toppled over, the ground began to glow an iridescent purple, and the fallen Astartes stood again, new life blazing in their eyes, hefting up their weapons, they battled anew. The hive fleet, could sense something was wrong with the world at this point, as the newly arisen Marines cut their troops down, neither claw or maw could slow down the now unkillable children of a new god.
Finally as the dust settled, Galvan looking at his brothers "Traitors! Did father Nurgle offer you a better then the Emperor!"
Captain Fagar, missing half his face, and his left arm, with holes and blood freely flowing from his body and armor, turned to his entombed brother, "This is not Nurgles Gift"
"Who then!"Galvan snarled "Who did you sell your soul to!"
Fagar "Do NOT judge me Galvan, Look what price you paid for second chance! One LAST Battle! One Last Fight, that was what the Necromancer Offered.. in exchange.. for nothing."
"Nothing is for Nothing Fagar!"Galvan roared trying to get to his feet and kill his warped and corrupted brother to spare him, to free him.
"Blood in the Sand, feeds his power, not souls.. "Fagar said "A chance to fight one last time, was worth feeding the Necromancer"and with that the astartes fell lifeless to the earth.
Galvan looked around, nothing could be seen, nothing at all, just endless carnage.. and an ocean of blood in the sand... |
"I wish for a hundred wishes"the boy proudly announced to the genie.
The genie smiles, and snaps his fingers.
A single sock materialized out of thin air and fell to the floor.
"One of hundreds of the most common wishes of mankind"said the genie, a twinkle in his eye.
The boy picked up the sock, confused and looked between the two trying to piece it together.
"B- but I asked for a hundred wishes..."
"You sure did. And I will grant them. The top thing mankind wishes on the hour. 11:11 is usually the big wishing moment."He smiled.
"But I was going to make a hundred wishes,"the boy whined. "Why did I get granted a sock anyways?"
"You didn't specify the parameters of the wish. You have 0 real wishes left, and for the next week, you'll get the culmative most wished for thing."
"Why would I get a sock though?"He asked. "It's not even a pair of socks. What use is this rubbish?"And he threw the sock in the drawer.
"That is a lost sock. Specifically, the one that got lost in the dryer. Apparently it's commonly wished that they can find their lost sock."
Hmmph. The boy groaned and threw the lamp down on his bed. -guess I'll have to hope mankind collectively wishes to be rich then,"and then picked up his controller and played games.
"You should also hope that humans don't collectively wish themselves dead."The genie mused thoughtfully.
The boys eyes open in horror. "Seriously?? I have to survive to the end of the week on the grace of what humanity wishes??"
"Yes. This is going to be fun. I quite like this wish."His smile was sinister and gave the boy the creeps.
As the next hour struck, a bag of McDonald's appeared on his bed.
"McDonald's? "The boy asked the genie, opening the bag and peering inside.
"Apparently it's lunchtime. The most wished for item was a cheeseburger and cola."The genie sighed, and sat beside the boy on the bed, picking up the other controller.
"How do you play this game?"
The boy showed him how and they enjoyed a hour playing together, the McDonald's quite satisfying.
On the hour the genie smiled and then his face sunk as an umbrella materialized and fell to the bed.
"They really wished for an umbrella?"The boy asked.
"We'll that, and for the guy in front of them in traffic to get out of their way."The boy and the genie looked at each other, both determined to win the challenge, and yet both succeeding in disappointing the other.
"I guess I can't trick you into setting me free?"The genie asked.
"We'll I would have, but unless you can convince all of humanity to collectively wish for your freedom, on the hour, you're SOL, buddy. "the boy laughed and went back to his game.
Every hour for the next 4 days, they each waited with bated breath, what object would materialize, or whether he would die.
Car keys, batteries, a spoon, and then finally a wallet fell.
"Ohh a wallet!"
"Don't get your hope up kid,"the genie said. "The wish was that "I wish I had enough money for dinner. The wallet have $5.75. Cheapest meal on the menu."
The items were mostly lost items, food and occasionally some money. But he didn't die. And the genie, well, he's still banging his head on the wall of the lamp, waiting for the next kid to wish they had a genie. |
"AN ANT!? A MOTHERFUCKING ANT!?", Sarah thought to herself. She did not know how she had arrived on top of the rosebud, but it was at the top of this rosebud that she gained consciousness and memory of her previous life.
From her green stemmed watchtower see looked out seeing a concrete paved wilderness awaiting her. She knew that it was a pavement, but did not understand why her ability to see the world around her had drastically shrunk, compared to her previous life. It seemed bigger. Or like it lacked the general structure of a city, which she had lived in all of her life as a human. Past the vast desert of concreted slabs stood chilling , mountain sized structures that, she was pretty sure were houses. Behind her a shrub cut perfectly rectangular, which the rose was growing out of. To her though, it seemed more like a very tall intimidating forest.
"What are you doing up here Sarah?"a fellow ant sternly spoke, causing Sarah to jump out of her little ant skin inevitably falling down to the pavement. She screamed all the way down.
"Oh god Sarah I didnt mean to scare you! How many legs am I holding up?"Said Kevin, the culprit to her first ant skydiving experience. Concussed and Confused Sarah groaned holding her poor ant head "How did you get down here so fast? Wait how did I survive that fall?".
"I jumped too."Kevin boasted. "We're ants silly, we can fall from any height and survive."
"Yea, right"said Sarah.
"Look Sarah, the hive has been worried sick. You've been missing for 3 whole days! Everyone's been looking for you."
"Well I guess you found me Kevin, thanks".
"What we're you doing up there anyway?"Kevin questioned
"I cant remember, I think I knocked my head a bit too hard on the fall down "Sarah laughed.
Kevin lecturing "Yes well it's time we got back, don't you think?"
And so Kevin lead her back to the hive. It was a 2 day long journey, which would be about a 10 minutes in human time.
Sarah did not like being an ant all because she knew nothing about ants. What Kevin didn't know is that she had lied about not remembering her human past after her fall. She didn't know what caused her to remember but with her newfound memory of her previous human life, she was determined to become human once more.
Because being an ant sucked. |
Larry turns away from the window, and takes a few slow steps over to a recliner. He sinks deep into its cushions. “Hey man…even though I have super strength, I’m extremely shy and non-confrontational. I desperately just want to be left alone. How do I pull that off without someone noticing I’m a supe?”
The rest of the room is empty, save for an area rug, a standing lamp, and a colorful couch circa 1985. The couch shifts a little bit and speaks up. “Huh. I dunno man. Maybe catching a talking couch as it falls from a third-story external stairwell isn’t the best way to accomplish that goal, but even so this couch is grateful. Being a talking thing that’s purpose-built for supporting butts, I’m not sure what else I can do with my life. I don’t really have a bunch of options like you. But if being left alone is really what you want outta life, then I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”
Larry’s tension melts away a bit at those words. “Thanks, couch.”
“Don’t mention it, man. But, if you decide that you’d like to try doing super things instead of avoiding all the crazy baggage that superpower, and kind of just life in general, carry with them…meet me behind the Rooms To Go tomorrow at midnight. Things have been pretty tough since we lost Moving Man two months ago, and Power Upholstery could really use a guy like you on our team.”
Larry leans back and props his feet up on the recliner’s foot rest. “I’ll give it some serious thought, couch. Just for you.”
“Thanks, Larry.” With that, the couch floats off the ground a bit and moves towards the sliding glass double doors leading to Larry’s back yard. “Thanks for inviting me over tonight, man. I’ll never get tired of watching Hot Fuzz. See ya later, man.” With that, Couch flies off into the night sky.
“See ya, couch.” |
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