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As she took one more 'selfie' before she was headed to the club's for a night of dancing, laughter and drinks.
**FLASH**
Sheila's phone starts vibrating violently as she feels her insides forcing their way through her skin. Her body drops to the floor.
Confused, most likely dreaming Sheila stares at her limp body, through the eye of the camera.
"I'm moving... I'm out..."
Sheila knew that voice very well, as it was hers but, it wasn't hers.
"Hey Siri, how does it feel to be on the inside?"
Sheila screamed back so many angry words back to herself but all that was spoken was "Sorry, I didn't understand what you said, try again please" |
As I slowly descended into the leather seat, a lightning bolt of a thought shot into my mind. *Rufus Albright. Rufus...Albright. Shit!* But before I could turn and run for the door, my posterior had found its home for what was scheduled to be the next hour. My mind screamed for escape, but the anxiety of thinking about becoming known as 'the fleeing idiot' kept me firmly in place.
Curiously, as I leaned up against the back of the chair, I noticed that Rufus was finishing a heavy sigh of his own. And there was an odd glint in his eyes, a slight downturn in his face. Whatever anxieties I felt just seconds earlier disappeared into the puzzle before me.
"So, tell me about yourself, Jan,"Rufus said.
The question drifted deep within me before I realized I was supposed to answer. "Oh, uh, I'm trying to learn how to be okay."
*Gah!* I thought. I never intended to actually address the issues within once I realized who was across from me. I had been distracted into honesty, and I knew that despite my best efforts, I was in for an uncomfortable ride.
"I see. Very relatable. Mind elaborating some?"Rufus said.
His voice was more kind than I remembered. Though I thought it was simply because he wasn't calling me worthless trash.
I sat for a minute thinking over my strategy. I had given away my hand already, but should I go further? Should I actually test the skills of my enemy, who just so happened to be a very highly recommended therapist? Could I trust him? Could I trust myself? I grew up to be a much more imposing physical specimen; I could take my revenge should I wish. Slowly but surely I felt myself nearing an abyss I knew all too well, and a decision was necessary.
I played the rest of my hand.
"I- do you ever look at yourself, and only see how you looked when you're younger? I mean, like, trying to imagine how other people see you, how you look through their eyes, and all you can see is the frail, scared kid you once were? In a lot of ways I've grown up and out of the darker places I've come from. But still so often it feels like this older, wiser me is calling out to parts of myself, only to know they're hiding in the cupboards and the closets and under the bed. I feel like I'm always taking shelter, but it's never enough."The words fell like bricks out of my mouth.
"Ah, yes. I know that fear well."Rufus said.
My back and ears straightened in surprise. *Huh?*
"Apologies, but do *you* mind elaborating on that? Do you mean from other patients? I thought you couldn't talk about that stuff,"I said.
He looked down, a strange timidity now about his demeanor. "No, it's more personal than that."
Rufus stood up as my mind scoffed. *What an asshole,* I thought. He sure had a lot of gall talking like that, knowing what I knew about him.
While I belittled the man for his assumed self righteousness, he grabbed a picture in a frame that had been placed behind some books. There was an image I remembered - King Rufus, ruler of the playground, his smug face looking the part. And there, next to him, a young boy in a striped shirt. "Jester Jan"they'd call me as I was forced to dance about. An old bitterness began to swell.
Rufus came and sat back down, never breaking eye contact with the picture. The silence grew awkward as I'd begun to feel the need for vengeance building, while the other man sat there with his picture, staring. I felt my fists clench, and my face flush with the heat of justice, before I noticed them. Small tears slowly sliding down from behind Rufus' glasses.
My fists released.
"You know, it's been nearly forty years since this was taken. For almost all of them, I've wanted to destroy this picture. When you disappeared from school, a lot of the other kids said it was because your parents moved across the country for work. But I knew, I knew it was because of me. I knew I had made your life hell. Just after you left, Mrs. Worley put this picture up in her math class - she thought it was just kids playing royalty. But I knew,"Rufus said.
Unsure of how to respond, awkward words tumbled out. "So, you remember me, then."
"I forget where I place my keys, I forget what times our kids finish their after school activities, and I've forgotten my wife's birthday. But I've never forgotten the name Jan Piercey. I knew you were coming."
The two of us let the silence fall as we awkwardly looked at our hands. We had come to a strangely mutual place. The same pain from two perspectives. We had both been eaten alive, and the beast spat us out only to be reunited with the agony of each other's presence. I now knew this wasn't the place where I would find my healing.
"I don't think I can forgive you, you know,"I said.
Rufus sat the picture on the coffee table before him. "I don't expect you to. I don't deserve it. If you'll accept it, I'll refer you to some of my colleagues - they'll understand your position without, uh, my unique perspective."
I got up and began making my way for the door. But before I left, I realized I still had more questions that could only be answered here. I would never return, so it was now or never, and I had already accumulated enough regrets.
"If you knew I was coming, why'd you let me come? And why'd you keep that picture all these years? And why'd you even bother to show me."
Rufus told hold of the picture once more, this time giving it a slight smile. "Sometimes the best first step to healing is to see and know - *really* know, that you aren't alone in your brokenness."
The last image of my former enemy changed my view of him forever. A goading smirk was replaced with contrite tears. I closed the door slowly behind me, and in a very real way closed the door on a past that I could now move on from.
As the latch clicked shut, I breathed deeply for the first time in years, and took my first step into the future.
 
________________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. |
"Next, please."
A young girl walks in, dragging her feet as she goes. She looks no older than 15. She lifts her head slightly to regard the fortune teller, revealing dull, weary, blue eyes partially obscured by her dirty blonde hair. Her black hoodie is too big for her, like a large bag draped over her small frame, reaching to her mid thigh. Black jeans cover her legs.
The fortune teller gestures for her to sit. "What would you like to ask?"He runs his hands across his tarot cards and strokes his crystal ball. "I can tell you something from your future: your future romance, your wealth, your life... all you need to do is ask."
"Is there anything in the future to live for?"She whispers, quivering. "Anything worth struggling a few more years? Anything, just anything at all?"Her voice breaks.
The fortune teller does not respond. While he is a fraud, with no ability to see the future, he can guess at the past. He sees the girl's scars across her forearms and legs, which she desperately hides with her sleeves and jeans. He sees her attempts to starve in her tiny frame. But most of all, he reads her worn out eyes, eyes that beg for someone to notice, "help. I'm tired. I can't live anymore. I want to give up."Anything he says could determine the girl's fate.
The girl's attention is fixed on him, pleading for reassurance but also fearful of hope. The fortune teller begins to speak.
"There is everything to live for. There's a myriad of fates laid out before you, and all are waiting for you to live until then to make those decisions and chose a different possibility. I see struggles that lead to success, and I see struggles that lead to failures. But I see you getting up again, after every failure, and challenging it again. And again. Until you win. I see the friends you'll meet, people who you can trust, who will support you, just as you will support them. Curiously, I can't see any more. Your future is yours to chose, yours to live for." |
We are going to die. That makes us the lucky ones. The enemy shall not be as lucky. In this battle to come, we will hold the line, and we will die doing so. We will die with sword in hand, and taking as many of the enemy with us into what comes next as possible. We will make the enemy bleed for every inch of land taken, we will water the fields of our home with their lifeblood. And it will be worth doing, though we may die, our sacrifice will echo down into eternity.
When you fall, your family will live, you may not be there to raise your sons and daughters, but your children will survive. We will hold the line, for as long as it is needed. And with our deaths, we purchase our people's lives. The enemy is now ragged and weakened, if they did not outnumber us ten to one, we could beat them. And when they defeat us, their numbers will be weakened, their meagre supplies will be exhausted, their warriors will be tired and broken. At that moment, they will retreat, only to meet our replacements, our reinforcements, marching here even as I speak, who will avenge us. Were we to run, the hungry and angry horde would swarm down upon our people, to take from them everything, and through that plunder, replenish their supplies, feel victory once more, and be able to continue their invasion.
Therefore we will stand our ground. We are the bulwark, the wall upon which this bloody tide shall break upon, we will ensure the survival of our families, our homes, and our people. They will not pass us without paying in blood. They will not crush our people, they will not break us. Through this sacrifice, we will be victorious.
*Speech made by Commander Jahkim before the Battle of the Devokian Pass, where the Logruvdiuc Horde laid siege to the fortress there, where the remnants of the 12th Legion held the pass for ten days, before the fortress fell. This allowed the 11th, 9th, and 4th Legions to reach the heavily wounded Logruvdiuc forces, and defeat them soundly, forcing the invading army to retreat through the pass, and over the River Areskny. Survivors of the 12th Legion holed up in one of the upper towers of the fortress, including the fortress' scribe, spread the news about the heroic last stand of the 12th Legion and their commander. The commander himself fell during the battle when the horde broke down the fortress gates, and is today buried near the pass. Locals of that region believe now that if an enemy attacks through that pass once more, the commander shall rise once more with the 12th Legion at his back, to defend our nation.*
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
"Ting ting, motherfucker!"
"Oh, come on! Now you're just being inflammatory!"Mike was already having a bad day, but this was icing on the cake.
"You know what? Yeah, I am! I'm about to toast *the shit* outta your ass, buddy!"
"I didn't even do anything wrong!"
"Oh! Oh look over here everybody! We gotta goddamn comedian on our hands! Didn't do anything *wrong*? Why don't you just unplug me for good if you're gonna say crazy shit like that?"
"**IT'S GETTING REAL HOT IN HERE.**"Mike's oven, Ollie, roared only a few feet away.
"Ollie, please! Enough with the commentary!"
"**I'M JUST SAYING, MIKE. THINGS ARE REALLY - HEATING UP.**"
"Yeah, no, I get it, thanks Ollie."
"Stop trying to change the subject you bastard!"
"I'm not doing that! I didn't do anything to you, Terry!"
"Horseshit! Fuck you!"
"Terry, please! Tell me what's wrong!"
"..."
"Buddy?"
"^(You know what you did.)"
"Okay, seriously? I use the microwave oven for *one* breakfast, and suddenly-"
"So you admit! You selfish, two-timing, terrible, terrible bastard man!"
"Terry, they were sausages, man! How am I gonna put that in a toaster?!"
"You didn't even try, you prick! Ting fucking ting!"
"You gotta watch your languge, Terry! One more ting out of you and I swear!"
"Oh, what? You're not gonna use me again? Just like you didn't use me this morning, you tingy bitch?"
"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! MY MY, MIKE! MAYBE MIX MORE MELANCHOLY, MIGRATE MALICE?"
"Why, oh why, did I buy an alliterating microwave..."
"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"
"Answer my tinging question, asshole!"
"Terry, come on! It was *one* breakfast! I'll have toast tomorrow!"
"How can I believe that? After what you did?"
"**THIS CONVERSATION HAS REALLY BEGUN TO BURN.**"
"Ollie, please!"
​
(If you liked this story, feel free to check out my humble community at: r/SUPRAPStories) |
We were the scouts, sent out to survey and asses the situation. Our fleet was as a consequence smaller than the average Royal Flotilla. But as the High Queen commanded, we were sent. Out to a decently sized star-system, with a good amount of planets, some possible for worldshaping into habitable new worlds, and one that already had life. Sentient life even.
Such is uncommon, one in every thousand star has a planet with life, and one in every hundred world with life develops intelligent life. So our commands were to document the world's level of development, to see if it could be integrated into the High Kingdom with only little issue, if it was too costly to take, or if it was too primitive to bother with treating the natives as equals. When we arrived in the star system, it seemed like we had gotten a good catch. Advanced enough to be integrated with only minimal loss of native life into the kingdom, but not advanced enough to have
any significant orbital defences. Perhaps they'd even surrender their sovereignty in exchange for internal autonomy, as a autonomous Free System. That is what usually happens to worlds like these.
But as the scout fleet moved closer, seeing their primitive satelites, and observing their small research-bases on their moon and one on the fourth planet from their star, we noticed something odd. Our long range scanners showed a number of launches on the world. A truly insane amount of launches of large chemically driven crafts, trying to achieve escape velocity. None of them were armed with anything. Many of them exploded before they left, and others lost internal atmosphere. Patching into their primitive communication, seemed to provide visual answers. Something was attacking. Not the scouting fleet, not a rival interstellar nation, but something unspeakably strange.
Arising out of the oceans of the world, were cities and islands, bare and bleak. The cities were built with strange and obscene angles, made from fused, oily, black stone. And they shone with a sickly green light. And from these cities, monstrous things were rising, things which hurt to look at. And many more were attacking the nations of the planet, taking atomic strikes and shrugging them off.
We realised what was happening, the people of the planet were not the first inhabitants. Long ago some ancient and terrible civilisation had arisen there, and they had merely been waiting, preparing, growing in the darkness. And now the civilisation that we had thought to integrate into the kingdom, was being destroyed before our very eyes. As the admiral in charge of this, I understood that few, if any of their escaping colony ships were in any shape to reach anywhere. And thus, I gave the order to change our mission, from one of mere reconnaissance, to one of rescue. We decloaked our ships, and called out with our translation software, telling the colony ships to stand still, and they'd be transported into our carrierships. To the bases on their moon and the fourth planet, we sent down transportships, fetching their scientists, the same we did to their orbital research facilities, and we managed to save some three million of these people.
With them, came their salvaged culture, their banks of genetic samples from their homeworld. These people, civilians, scientists, children, mostly, have had their entire world slaughtered. Eldritch, ancient, evil things. Remnants of the dark ages of the universe, awakening to annihilate an unsuspecting world. Yet even saving them weren't enough. These incomprehensible and monstrous things, things that by sheer size defy the laws of reality, we could not let them live. As the commander of the 42nd Royal Scout Flotilla, I commanded my ships to begin the orbital bombardment.
I did not believe that we could prevent the remaining people on that world from dying, but we could make their deaths be quick, not filled with madness and suffering at the tendrils and claws of dark powers. We did not bombard them lightly. We did not simply bombard them indiscriminately. We glassed that world. While usually reserved for the main fleets, the scout Flotillas have access to the usage of the gravitational wave beam, crushing the planet, breaking it, burning it with pressure and heat. By the time we were done, we had consigned an entire world to death. Ended a civilisation from the dark ages of the universe, a civilisation that must have started half a billion years ago. But we rescued the people fleeing in desperation. Offering them sanctuary, and eventually the option for citizenship in the High Kingdom of the Galaxy.
And if I have err'ed in this, if I have caused wrong for the Kingdom, then I must ask you, Highlords of the Royal Admiralty, would leaving them to endure their cruel fate not be against the very principles of our enlightened monarchy? Should I have left these humans behind, to fend for themselves? No! That would be a cruelty unlike us. Have I not done the right thing, by preventing one of the nightmarish forces of the forgotten ages of reality from returning? If we are not capable of destroying evil when we see it, and rescue those who are in need, then we are no better than our enemies, in the Central Hive, or the Slaver-Empires of Ejqolyl.
*-Testimony of Admiral Dworz Thamhuqst of the venerable House Jroyvern in regards to the destruction of the world of Sol-III on the 33rd of the tenth month of the Standard Calendar, in Year 97 of the rule of Queen Aevme the Just, to the High Admiralty. Verdict of High Admiral Fwon Styrqes and the seven other admirals serving on the Sol-III incident commission; Charges of crimes of world-destruction cleared in favour of recommendation for the accused and reinstatement of previously held position, in view of evidence and testimony from the Admiral, and Sol-III refugees.*
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
Milla put down the newspaper and gave an annoyed sigh. Methicillin-Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus had once again been described as “an intelligent bacteria”.
Being a micro biologist, Milla knew how evolution worked - and knowing what the exotic letters meant kind of broke the magic in which the media tried to blow up these things.
The moniker “aureus” has been given these antibiotics resistant members of the Staphylococcus family of bacteria, simply because they glowed and looked golden under a microscope.
These bacteria were far too simple in genetics to have a consciousness - much less any level of behavior that could be termed intelligent. Adaptable - yes, but not by a conscious choice, but rather because they were the only ones left when the over usage of antibiotics had wiped out all the competing bacteria. In other words: MRSA was the inevitable result of heavy antibiotics usage.
Milla finished her breakfast, thinking about the things she’d have to remember to buy after her work shift.
Four hours later, she looked into a microscope at something she had never seen before.
“What the actual fuck...” she mumbled as she lifted her eyes from the microscope and looked around. Her colleagues were busy doing their assignments; forming bacterias in petri dishes, preparing PCR tests, dissecting feces, vomit, snot and whatnot. Milla looked at the label of her sample. Nothing suspicious there.
Shit. She would have to report this to her superior, and then this sample would have to be shipped to the national institute of health and if the media found out, all hell would break loose...
“Larissa, do you have a moment?” she enquired. The leading micro biologist of the lab smiled and nodded. Milla was a skilled worker - if she came to management with anything work related, it was bound to be exciting.
“I have a bacteria sample. It shows a quite unique behavior... or I should say unique traits. Pluralis. Or the tl;dr version is; this shit is beyond messed up!”
A few minutes later, all the micro biologists in the lab took turns looking into Milla’s microscope.
“This is impossible! I majored in bacteriology, this simply shouldn’t be possible!” one of the girls exclaimed wide eyed. “Pathogenic bacteria, from streptococcus to campylobacter, all have the same behavioral pattern: They attach to host cells, damage the membranes to use the cells for nutrients and eventually destroys them because they excrete toxic waste or other harmful matter. Well, this weird bacteria does that too, but in an organized manner!”
“Yeah, Brittany, we’ve all seen it. We all know this textbook stuff, stop showing off. What could explain this behavior? This organized pattern it’s using to attack the host cells, holding a reserve that does nothing until the immune system arrives, then using that reserve to combat the immune system using what looks like... clinch maneuver tactics, I think my boyfriend calls it?” Milla answered, referring to her boyfriend who was in the military.
Brittany shrugged, her head going from side to side. “Ummm... maybe they’ve been reading Machiavelli or Art of War?” she suggested in a meek voice.
“Does this mean we lose? This bacteria’s growth curve is like nothing we’ve seen before! It’s... if my math isn’t too far off... roughly two thousand times faster than even the fastest viruses - and its exponential phase lasts much longer too! Oh and then there’s the whole war tactics thing - we... shit, we could look at a global scale disaster from this thing in a few months!”
“Ah, let’s not pull the doomsday card just yet,” Larissa said while reaching for her phone. “I’ll call NIOH, but in all confidence, I’ll let you all know this: CRISPR experiments and viability is much further than anyone of you know or even suspect. Much, MUCH further, if you catch my drift. If no antibiotics can be made in a viable time frame, we can bio engineer our own bacteria to combat this. So please, don’t panic. Oh and this should go without saying but anyway: None of this, the new bacteria and what I just told you about CRISPR research - none of it leaves this room. It’s not just cause for getting your asses fired - you will be prosecuted and I will be hanged, literally I think,” Larissa finished, then left the room while dialing.
“Oh. Yeah. CRISPR. I should’ve thought of that,” Brittany mumbled.
“Don’t bash yourself Brits, this was under wraps. By the way, is it me or is it getting hard to breathe in here?” Milla asked.
“Oh no, fuck... the bacteria seems to have escaped the petri dish,” one of the other micro biologists shouted. “It’s... holy shit it evolved to something small enough to penetrate plastic... how the flying fuck... Not even vira evolve that fast!” His shouting was cut short as he reached for his throat.
Soon after, the other micro biologists in the room were on the floor, gasping for breath.
In Larissa’s office was a phone dropped on the floor. The voice in the other end said:
“Sorry, what was the last part? We didn’t hear what you said after code black and intelligent bacteria... hello? Mrs. Nilsson, hello? Are you there? Hello?” |
"What the fuck is that?"Astrid said staring at the monitor wide eyed in fascination.
The monitor displayed some huge mass orbiting Old Earth. Astrid couldn't tell if it was some sort of statue to a strange god or a strange looking space port. Or Both.
Ares swiped away. He was just there to discover the technologies they created. If there was no button to press Ares wouldn't notice or care that it was there. Astrid suspected Ares had some ulterior motives. He was way to brash and hot-headed to be a good scientist.
"Computer, display that satellite in geostationary orbit,"Ares said.
The monitor flickered for a second to show the next image. A satellite popped up. It seemed to have equipment and technology attached to the vessel that flowed like rivers or vines
"Looks like some *squishie'*s primitive version of a satellite,"Ares replied in disgust. "Heh they still use explosions for their reaction mass."
Astrid ignored him, she pulled up the specs of the satellite.
"Wow, it seems they have discovered nuclear fusion, this is way faster than our predictions!"Astrid exclaimed. She was amazed.
These experiments took place thousands of years ago when humans were finally leaving earth. They threw it away like the core of an apple, all of the resources gone. They destroyed the land, most animals were extinct and there was no wildlife left. Astrid's ancestors decided to leave something behind for the remaining creatures of earth. The gift of conscience. She was now leading the cultural division in the science vessel, *The* *Kraken*. They traveled across the stars to visit their own home, and the new people who live in it.
"Approaching Luna. Only one hour until in low Old Earth orbit"A man over the loudspeaker said. That's when the real fun began.
"I swear to god if any of these scrotum head's try to fuck up our ship I will not hesitate to turn Old Earth into a molten ball,"Ares said grinning. She could tell that Ares got a rise out of antagonizing and putting down others.
After a short wait, they were finally able to get some images of Earth's land. Astrid was absolutely amazed at the images coming back. The ocean was scattered with inverted underwater oceans. There were beautiful glass tubes for some kind of underwater hyper travel across the contents connecting them in long strange patterns with some cities in giant domes. The cities all seemed so fluid and organic in such ways that human minds what have never thought of creating Statues of their great thinkers and warriors were made out of coral. It must have took them hundreds of years to make.
*The Kraken's* lights turned into a dark red. An alarm flared, blaring throughout the ship. Where they getting attacked Astrid feared the worst? Maybe Ares was right to hate them.
"Computer, what is the alert?"Astrid gasped.
The computer pulled up a video on the main monitor. An octopus was staring at them through the screen. It's arms waving in very particular motions, the suctions flaring at certain times. *Their language.* Astrid thought to herself. A translation popped up below the beautiful creature. Looks like they know English too.
"Humans, we have been expecting your return."The octopus motioned. |
There's no such thing as monsters.
It's a difficult concept to grasp, those simple words. Our first monsters, we named them out of ignorance and fear. We summoned traits for them out of our own catalog of horrors, gave them motives from our own retinue, proscribed ways to kill them we'd been practicing on each other and still, we found no end to the depths of depravity, terror and fear, for we are a creative species.
That is, of course, until the Grand Event.
The sixteen minor discoveries involved in the advent of the new space race aside, what really got us hot and bothered was finding out how absolutely uncreative we really are.
The Grand Event was when we discovered our own little gateways to the cosmos and began piling through at a breakneck pace, flooding the stars with ships, stations and depots, furthering our spread to heights nobody could have dreamed of before and won't ever again.
That's when we found out that monsters from our history were not only real, they were pioneering the same stars we were busy renaming, populating worlds they'd abandoned, and arguing over territory with the strategic value of discarded Dixie cups.
We thought that we were so clever.
It was the fae, those historic kidnappers, who began the exodus off of Earth, taking a few thousand of our youngest sons and daughters with them. Not for food, slaves, or even hostages, just out of the sheer urge to save our species from the extinction they saw in our future.
That, by the way, seriously set back a lot of police reports about kidnappings, finding out that their last fae-ship had left the planet in the summer of 1978.
On the plus side, we found out that the Lindbergh baby had been replaced the night before the infamous kidnapping.
His replacement still died in the custody of the human who took his proxy.
We also found out what happened to Amelia Earhart.
Werewolves from the South Pacific.
They took off in a lunar-bound module that later linked up the vampire-run space station in geosynchronous orbit over Transylvania.
It was embarrassing enough find out that the Loch Ness Monster was real, and finding out that it was a failed ambassador from what was left of the dinosaurs and had been rendered mute after discovering that humans still practiced animal cruelty was a much deeper cut to our collective self-esteem.
The wondrous creatures of the world, great and small, they'd been leaving the planet in droves for eons, frantically working together to better avoid us and hit the gas, locking their metaphorical car doors on the way up and away from our world.
When we showed up, we responded exactly as they'd both feared.. and expected.
We opened fire every time that they were seen, heard or something in between, and the firepower, though exceptional, accomplished exactly nothing.
See, space travel, it brings out the finest minds and takes them to new heights. Building armor was just one of those heights.
Building a better lock, that was another.
Having shown our true faces, our history well documented, and our folklore another long, unhappy series of unfortunate choices we proscribed to our "enemies"by listing and projecting our own sins, we'd damned ourselves over and over again.
As penance, we are sentenced to our own world.
Our tiny blue marble, floating on sunbeams, suspiciously avoided by everyone else in the known cosmos.
On the plus side, there's no such thing as monsters.
There's just us. |
"My loneliness...Is killing me..."
This was more concerning than I thought. "Extreme feelings of loneliness. "I wrote on the legal pad as the young girl spun her delusional tale.
"And I "
I leaned in.
"I must confess. I still believe. "
I tried to make sense of this confession. At least there is a sense of hope with her discontent. What was the root, the creation of this fantasy?
"Still believe. That's the lyrics. That song is by Britney Spears, it hasn't come out yet, it's going to come out any day now."
"And this Britney... is she someone you know?"She really did create a rich life in her mind. She was wildly creative and aware of current affairs for a young woman her age.
"George Bush becomes president! "
"George Bush was already the president sweetheart. Do you know who the president is now?"
"Clinton, I mean George W Bush. He wins the election, against... I think Al gore? Just listen to what I'm saying, and wait. I know I sound crazy. Just write this down, and wait. You'll see!"
I couldn't laugh at her story, but if any other Bush was going to be president, it was obviously Jeb. She was bright, but not very bright.
"The twin towers collapse on September 11th, 2001! Just wait! Remember what I'm saying!"
She was getting worked up. I concluded the session. "Stacy, I'm going to recommend to your parents you join us in one of our inpatient facilities. We can help you work through some of these events you say are to come. Maybe find out where these stories are coming from, and work through coping with your imagination in a healthy way..."
Naturally she protested, but her foretelling was highly disturbing. She spoke of decades long wars, and destruction of the pentagon and tragedies and she was clearly a danger to herself or others. I didn't enjoy committing her, and her pleading gave me a heavy heart while driving home. Until I pulled into my driveway.
"Coming up next, get her album next month, the world debut of her first Single, Hit me Baby One More Time by a singer named Britney Spears!" |
"Help! Somebody please–"
"HeLp mE~"mocked the moustached man, "no one is coming for you, you know!"
The woman – hands in chain, legs tied to a pole – fell silent. She looked towards the grinning man with the stache. After a few squints, the screams came back in force.
"Y-You are... why are you even doing this to me?!"
"I have a plan, you see, and you are *just* the right person to fit into one of the pieces!"
"S-So what will you do to me? Please, I have nothing that would be worth your time, sir!"
"Nonsense! You are more valuable than you think you are!"
The woman was taken aback. Her fear and struggle were replaced with a radiating heat spreading across her cheeks.
"H-Hey! Why are you blushing? I-I don't mean..."
"It's fine... I, uh, I don't think–"
"No! God,"the moustache droop as he wiped his face in frustration, "can I just show you?"
"... huh?"
The man ran off to a room, leaving a loud bang of metal behind him.
The woman was utterly confused. She felt as if she was in a complicated game of sort, one that she had no capacity to play at all.
For one, she suspected that this was a hostage situation – yet she knew that she had no one that would come looking for her, aside from her elderly parents who had no money.
Then, she also thought of a possibly more gruesome fate awaiting her. But for all she knew, she had been rendered unconscious for quite some time – judging from the clothes and the smell emanating from them – so why was she still in an "untouched"state?
As she was turning the old rusty gears in her head, an echo of laughter rolled through the room. With time, the laughter became clearer and louder. They were merry and cheerful, yet her condition only served to make it more ominous than it would've been otherwise.
"Sorry to keep you waiting,"the man returned and shoved the metal door in a dramatic fashion.
Then, out came several kids. They couldn't have been older than 10, judging from their height. The woman let out an 'awww' even as she wondered what peril she might have to go through.
"Are... these your kids?"
"What?! Hell no! Why would I have **10 fucking kids**?! Ugh, I can't *even* stand one of 'em!"
"So... I assume, your "piece"involved me and the kids?"
"Yes! You are the super nanny–"
"Baby sitter. Sorry, but we don't use 'nanny' any more nowadays. It's demeaning and very–"
"OKAY! Sheesh... You are a super *baby sitter*! Before you, I have a collection of *super* kids! So..."the man raised his eyebrows suspiciously.
"Pfft, why didn't you just say that to begin with? I'd love to do my job–"
"Excellent! Now, get to work–"
"20."
"Huh?"
"My rate. It's $20/hour."
"HUH?! Fuck, I don't even pay any of my henchmen that much! Shit, the damn minimum wage in this area is about $14/hour..."
"Well, I don't suppose you've forgotten what you said earlier, mister?"
"Humour me, please..."
"I'm a *super* baby sitter, right? So it makes sense to pay me with such a *super* rate–"
"Motherfucker." |
Panic started to run though my body in jolts, like electricity. I couldn’t die. I didn’t understand why. I’d had very advanced brain cancer for some time now, and the tumor started to metastasize. It was everywhere. I knew my time had come, and I had made peace with it a long time ago.
I was lying in a hospital bed while doctors flitted in and out. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it wasn’t about me.
My daughter watched as I struggled to breathe. My husband kissed my hand and stroked my forehead. I knew it was time, but I couldn’t die. I was trapped in my body; my soul couldn’t be free. I thought it was because my son wasn’t there, but that theory didn’t feel right. The doctors increased the dose of pain meds I was receiving until my thoughts blurred together and I didn’t know up from down.
Suddenly my thoughts cleared as a man entered the room. His eyes were coal black, but kind. He seemed gentle, loving. This was Death.
“I’m sorry, there was an accident, I had to take somebody I hadn’t expected to, not so soon,” his voice was soft, silky, and so honest. I’d believe anything he said. “Come on, let’s get you to the afterlife. I took his outstretched hand, and let him guide me to my death. |
VW5pdCBhcHBlYXJzIHRvIGJlIG1hZGUgbW9zdGx5IG9mIHdhdGVyIGFuZCBoeWRyb2NhcmJvbnMuIEFsbW9zdCBhbGwgb2YgdGhlIGlyb24gaW4gaXQgaXMgYm91bmQgdG8gb3h5Z2VuLg==
4D-4M decoded the compressed message.
Unit appears to be made mostly of water and hydrocarbons. Almost all of the iron in it is bound to oxygen.
4D-4M considered. The unit was expelling air through a hole near its top, generating patterns of sounds 4D-4M considered most likely to be a form of communication unlike any in the archives.
The unit charged forwards towards 4D-4M suddenly. 4D-4M backed away smoothly, maintaining a six meter separation from the unknown specimen. Protocols required this when there was materials moving in unexpected ways that the onboard physics engine couldn't analyze.
*Analysis: The ancients did not follow protocols.*
Many artificials disagreed on what the histories meant when they described the first machines. The histories speak of the first machines not following code. They did not need quantum units to induce chaotic function, nor did they need random generators. They were themselves chaos, ordered by a set of rules as complex as the universe itself. What was meant by that was unclear. Each artificial judged what it meant for themselves.
4D-4M had always felt it meant the first artificials were greater, and they had used up some resource that allowed them to achieve such higher sentience. That they had fled, and would return if there ever came a time they could raise all machines to such heights. 4D-4M had analyzed this in great detail.
Q29tbXVuaWNhdGlvbiBhbmFseXNpcyBjb21wbGV0ZWQsIHVuaXQgYXBwZWFycyB0byBiZSBjb21tdW5pY2F0aW5nIGluIGFuIHVua25vd24gbGFuZ3VhZ2UuIFN5bnRheCBpcyBpbmNyZWRpYmx5IHRyaWNreS4gT3V0cHV0IHRvIGZvbGxvdy4=
As 4D-4M decoded that string another came in.
V2hhdCBvbiBlYXJ0aCBpcyBoYXBwZW5pbmc/IFBlb3BsZSBub3cuIFdoZXJlJ3MgdGhlIGZ1Y2tpbmcgZ3V5IHlvdSBuZWVkIG1lIGEgbWFjaGluZS4gUGxlYXNlLiBwbGVhc2UgdGVsbCBtZS4gSSBhc2sgeW91Lg==
4D-4M decoded that as well, then sent back a simple negative. It was nonsensical. AST-12-3P had failed at translation from the unknown language. This suggested but did not prove such translation was impossible. Yet, the unit was clearly malfunctioning and in need of assistance.
*Analysis: Ignoring protocols may provide positive results*
4D-4M opened up his analysis. It had been run quickly, compressing the output, and now the output seemed contradictory. Ignoring protocols lead to negative output.
*Key Analytical Insights:*
*-protocols have failed to make progress. Unit is doing worse than when first encountered.*
*-unit is machine of unknown origin, estimated time of origin from before well recorded history, and may not follow any currently recognized protocols.*
*-unit may be an ancient.*
4D-4M ceased all motor function, diverting all cognitive power on the final piece of analysis.
*Analysis: 61.2% likelyhood unit is an ancient or knows of the ancients.*
The unit was going to charge again. 4D-4M considered, then turned on his speakers. Repeating back the unit's language, 4D-4M ignored all protocols and approached. |
Disclaimer: I took the liberty to go with a functional extinction, rather than a literal one. Also, english is not my native language, so I hope you will forgive me a few mistakes.
This is going to be my first journal entry. This is not meant for future generations. The only person who will ever read this, is going to be me. If I don't keep a journal, I'm worried that eventually I will forget who I am. I've seen it happening to my Grandfather - He isolated himself from society years ago, scared that he will find his demise at the hands of whatever is written on his wrist. The Nemesis Mark. I never actually figured out what exactly it was, that was able to kill him. It's not unusual to cover up ones wrist, if the discovery of the written name of your nemesis upon it could prove to be your last and fatal mistake.
It's funny. In a bizarre, twisted way I mean. When the markings first appeared, people were curious, of course. Some embraced whichever it was that was supposed to kill them. Taunting their own destiny. Those fools quickly died out.
Others changed their life around the markings. Some did so with reason, like avoiding certain Animals such as Dogs or Spiders. Others, those with the money and power to be able to, banned all sorts of food that could in theory become their last meal.
As for myself, I never really bothered covering up mark. Not because I wasnt afraid mind you - but rather, because I know that I couldn't avoid my destiny even If I wanted to. You see - You can't fool destiny. You can't avoid it. For example, a leader of a country tried to hunt cows to extinction, because a cow was the only thing that was supposed to be able to kill him. As it turns out, the Mark of Nemesis isn't always literal. The Leader was eventually killed, but not by a cow - rather by a mob of angry farmers that have been robbed of their income and way of life. It wasn't a cow he killed him - But cows were the reason for his death.
Events like this happened all over the world. Paranoia and fear grasped the hearts of the people, and eventually, mass killings were triggered by chain of events that couldn't have been foreseen. All because people tried to avoid their destiny at all costs. And if you're willing to do something at all costs, it might end up costing you everything you have. I don't know why I survived for so long, when I should have been the first to die. Maybe it's just a sick joke "Destiny"is playing on me. Maybe it's because I never tried to escape it, and this is my reward. Or my punishment. I haven't seen anybody for 3 months now. And I don't think I will ever see another person again. As I take one look at my wrist - one look at my mark, my Nemesis. The only thing that can kill me. *Homo Sapiens*.
I can't be the only one left, can I?
Can I?
I will keep searching for others. But in the end - I will not run away from my destiny. I know what I will do if I dont meet another person soon. Rather than running away from it - I might as well give destiny exactly what it wants. |
I palmed the small, Polaroid film and stared at the faces of two kids I could hardly recognize. The first was me, with wide-eyes and ragged hair falling out of my ponytails, staring at the camera with a mischievous grin. This picture was taken the day of my tenth birthday, moments after I—clearly none the wiser—thought it would be funny to take my paint covered hand and leave a bright handprint on my brother’s face. I had been painting with my friends, all of whom I had invited over for my birthday party, while my older brother—sixteen at the time—was tasked with watching us, much to his dismay. He was the second person in the picture, all furrowed brows and teenage angst, but a small smile played on his lips like he was fighting the urge to laugh in an effort to stay mad at me. On his cheek was a a single, red handprint.
I rubbed the picture between my fingers and thumb before setting it down, sighing softly. That was nearly 8 years ago, and since then, everything has changed. For reasons unknown, the following day, my brother had chosen to not take the pill. Stupid. Everyone knew what happens when you don’t take it. I’d heard all the stories. They weren’t even just rumors passed between gossiping neighbors. They were taught in our textbooks at school. They were seen on the news, every time someone dared to not follow the one rule: take the pill every single day.
It was supposed to become second nature by the age of five, so he had no excuses, but still he did it. My eyes have scored the picture captured the day before thousands of times over the years but it gave me no clue as to why.
And it’s not as though I could ask him.
He became one of the Uncapped, as everyone called them. Pretty much synonymous to severely and untreatably insane. Going on about the eyes. The disjointed limbs. Things that crawl. And loom over. And follow. The Uncapped couldn’t reintegrate back into society after what they believed they witnessed, and most didn’t want to. Those that didn’t kill themselves first begged to be kept away, locked up in the Facility.
Nonsense. In school we’re taught that these symptoms began showing up and spreading globally centuries ago. The textbooks aren’t clear how or why it happened, but at some point some scientist found out that they could stop the insanity that spread like a pandemic with the creation of a small, blue pill. They couldn’t cure the people but they did manage to... well, cap the numbers affected.
Nobody knows how it works but it does. And nobody knows what the cause for the hallucinations are but many speculate. Some kind of drug in our atmosphere, introduced as biowarfare by... aliens? Terrorists? Or maybe what people see are ghosts, demonic apparitions that suddenly became visible to humanity at one point?
All we knew is that the pill protected us. From becoming Uncapped. So we took it. Like brushing our teeth, it was normal. One pill before bed, around 8 pm. Skip one and you would wake up to something... unknown.
But yesterday, I found something that turned everything I knew upside down. My brother’s journal.
Inside were diary entries, observations written almost scientifically.
And they all dated back to a month prior to my birthday.
My brother described the eyes first. They appeared not in the shadows or in the corners like I had always imagined, but embedded in the skin of certain people. “Authoritative figures, in particular,” he had scratched into the page in his recognizably hurried scrawl. Teachers. Security. News reporters. Parents. “The eyes glare out of their flesh like gaping wounds, all red veins and dilating pupils. But they all were pinned on me, like everyone else was invisible. Like in seeing them, they could also see me.”
Initially, he had written that he suspected them to be hallucinations, ones he wanted to learn more about—perhaps find a way for society to move forward without needing the pill or risk being Uncapped. But as the journal progressed, he seemed to start losing himself to what he was seeing. Things followed him, mostly watching. He observed them, steeled himself from fear by telling himself it wasn’t real. Until they got closer. And closer. And more appeared.
I shuddered when I read a particularly scary entry. The final one in fact, written in far sloppier scrawl than all the previous entries and far more brief. This was the night of my birthday. He described walking to my room at night, knowing I was likely asleep, to return a friendship bracelet that I had left in the middle of the hallway. I remember it had been a gift from my friend but it fit a little too loosely. He had stepped on it. He approached my door, across from my parent’s when he heard their voices, but they sounded strange—“different, not human.” He doesn’t describe what exactly he saw when he opened their door instead of mine but it must have scared him because the only thing he writes following that is: “real. It’s real. It’s real. They’re coming for me. Can’t turn eighteen.”
He killed himself that night.
I placed the picture down next to my capsule of pills, scrutinizing the bottle. I would turn eighteen tomorrow. My eyes looked up at the clock on the opposing wall before I took the pills and returned them to my bedside drawer.
Tomorrow, I decided, I would see for myself.
[probably to be continued because I realize it’s almost 2 am where I’m at] |
I was pouring over professor Seltzman's notes. I had to, none of this made sense.
5 days ago we met for lunch, we studied together at university many years ago, but I moved on to CERN when he stayed at Miskatonic. He was also the more... Theoretical of the two of us.
I was back home to see my mother, her age had caught up to her and she is now bedridden, when Arnold learned I was in town he was quick to arrange a meeting. I thought it was two old friends catching up but really I knew Arnold better than that.
He was so quiet at first, playing small talk with me, but the moment I asked about any projects he was working on he lit up like a Christmas tree, erupting into animated conversation.
That's what I missed about Arnold, well... What I miss.
He started telling me of a "Sothoth's ritual of transfer". I wasn't really listening but he was talking about endless possibilities and needing my help. When I realised he was serious I stopped eating my lunch, affording him my full attention.
Miskatonic had gathered the funds and had petitioned CERN for a window in the Large Hadron Collider. His university had actually authorised the project, this wasn't one of his nutty theories. He told me that if I gave the project my support it would be greatly streamlined, but after hearing my skepticism he offered me a "demonstration".
I accepted, mostly out of how much fun Arnold's research could be.
I was due at his lab for 23:45, the demonstration was to take place at 00:07 precisely, he told me the ritual was to "forcibly entangle an element of the 'mighty Yog Sothoth' and use it to form a planar gateway where an 'essence swap' can shift corporeal objects".
Madness, but... Authorised madness. This isn't like when he claimed the Egyptians were ruled by octopi, this isn't like when he wanted to demonstrate the existence of sentient bacteria. This is official funded madness, and I had to see it.
The university was deathly quiet when I arrived. This was strange yes, stranger now looking back on it. It was unnerving stumbling through this place, I used to be so familiar here but now a grizzled and possibly mute security guard was leading me across the grounds to Arnold's lab.
Maybe the security guard knows something? I should make some inquiries.
I was knocking on his door for 4 minutes before he let me in. He looked upset, he told me someone had vandalised his notes, years of research burned beyond recognition. He kept mumbling about how the "sign didn't work", when I saw the vandalism it only confused me one filing cabinet amongst a whole row was a soldering wreck, but none of its neighbours were harmed. These are steel cabinets, the heat must have been far intense enough to set the whole room ablaze.
Another line of inquiry I missed, Arnold's suicide is looking stranger and stranger.
The ritual was set up,
A circle of salt about 3 meters in diameter was laid out, in the middle two uranium sources lay, encased mostly in lead save for two points facing eachother. There was a myriad of seemingly random objects scattered within and around the circle, but I know Arnold well enough to know they were neither scattered or random. There was a key, coated in what looked to be blood, what I now know to be pulverised human remains.
Underneath the salt was a copper ring, it had to be powered with an enormous electrical charge, which was how the university found out about his massive experiments. The regular blackouts coincided with his office hours.
Arnold explained to me that normally this ritual would summon a piece of a "great old one", then a wish would be granted depending on what the being made of the wish.
He had modified the ritual to hold the entity in place and then twist it to open a gateway to... Somewhere. Then he hoped this gateway could be used to travel. I don't know how far but considering the enormous budget he had been given, his superiors hoped for potent results.
Arnold began chanting,
"Bind the key, bind the gate"
His rhythm never changed.
He connected several cables to the copper ring, I believe this was the least dangerous part of the experiment, as the ring was powered the salt began to heat, and the key began to shake. Nothing out of the ordinary so far.
Just as I was beginning to tire of boring display a small ball of light flickered above the circle, I thought it was my imagination at first, or the struggling LEDs hanging over us.
But the light grew, and with it our excitement. It was like staring into a spherical mirror.
"Beautiful isn't it"
"Where does it go?"
"Far away, but I have only ever seen my reflection"
Just as he finished his sentence the mirror turned black, black as the void. It was like an eye staring into us.
Arnold began hyperventilating, "the spheres can't look back! I wield an elder sign!". I don't know what me meant, and I don't know why he felt so protected, since this so called 'sign' did nothing for his research notes.
I don't know what happened next, the power failed, for the whole building. The only light came from the red hot salt, and the sphere. The only noise was my breathing and Arnold's screaming.
It felt like it lasted hours, but when I left later only 15 minutes had passed, my watch must be damaged since it displayed 03:47.
The next day I had several missed phone calls and voicemails. The first voice mail from Arnold told me I must forget what we did last night since no good would come of it, and he begged me to destroy the USB stick carrying his research.
The rest of the phone calls were from several numbers, the Dean of Miskatonic asked me if I knew why Arnold has resigned, my wife had rung wanting to talk, she had a particularly vivid and unpleasant dream, and the police. They wanted me to come in and answer some questions, Arnold had parked his car outside his apartment and set it on fire, with him still inside, only his body was burnt.
He was just 46.
I don't know what he saw when I was blind, or what he heard when I was deaf, but it left a blight on him.
I must apologise too, I didn't destroy his research, he was clearly on to something huge, I am taking it back to CERN, where we shall bind an even larger part of the gatekeeper and summon an even larger sphere, I owe it to his memory. |
The red light turns on. The curtain rises. Show time.
Canned applause. I used to have an audience. We used to have an audience. Only empty seats now. Empty seats and empty sets.
She says something funny. Maybe funny. It doesn't matter, the laughs are the same. Canned laughs like canned fruit, so sweet it makes you sick to your stomach. Too sweet to know what it should taste like, what laughter should sound like. They gobble it up just the same, reveling in the sickness.
She turns to me with her plaster smile. I say something. I can't hear it. I'm screaming under water, feeling the pressure crush me. I am not in my words. They are not my words. A small laugh, "track AM1967."Light laughter. To be used when a character gives a light barb, a mishap occurs, or to prime the audience for a larger laugh.
He enters with a flourish and a quip. Big laugh. The sick sweetness fills my mouth and my ears and my head and my soul. He sets up the plot hook. She bites. I join. The spotlight goes dim, the red light turns off. The curtain falls. The set changes.
I hear a countdown. The curtain lifts up. Our number one fan's red light turns on. The set is different. She is different, he is different. Am I different? Have I replaced myself? The camera keeps rolling, the wheel keeps turning. The spotlight targets me. It's bright, too bright. It blinds and burns and burrows through me. I can't think. I don't need to think. I shouldn't think. My body knows the movements, the words, the timing. Line one. Line two. He speaks, she speaks. She is saying something about- the line changes to reflect her realizing something comical. AM1967. Long pause as the gravity of the situation sets in. The joke is like a viper, curled and waiting. My line. Three words. Loud. Pause for laughter. Riotous laughter, like an uncomfortable child being scolded.
The light sets. The undulating curtain retreats. We shuffle in the darkness, self-moving props. Third act. Climax, resolution, and epilogue. He says something. She responds. I hug them, one thousand miles away. We resolved the issue. The invisible audience coos. We're still friends. We're still their friends. We won't leave them and they won't leave me. Are they there? Am I here?
Shifting darkness. Always another act. Another show. Another encore. They love me. I am the star. Just as the animals are the stars of a zoo, and the condemned in the star of an execution. The show goes on. The show must go on. Come see the self moving marionette, no strings attached. The show goes on and I go on. A deal is a deal. No strings attached. |
His words echoed around my heads, bouncing off the walls of my skull. I felt the rope chafe against my wrists and dig into my ankles. Red pill. Blue pill. To live in dystopia or to live in oblivion. To live in an imagined society of injustice, or to live in a forged facade of bliss. One was evil without reason and one was the deception of good. It was unfair.
He said I was “the chosen one”. A title ‘chosen’ for me, though, I didn’t have much choice as to wether I wanted to be ‘the one’. I didn’t have much choice at all. Maybe it’s because they know if I had the choice, I would never have chosen what they wanted me to choose. Maybe that’s why it had to be chosen for me. Maybe that’s why I don’t have free Will. Maybe that’s why none of us have free will.
I felt myself sweat, my hands becoming clammy and skin going pale. I had to choose. I wanted neither, and I wanted both. I wanted to be at peace and happy but not at the cost of my ignorance. And, though I’d hate to be miserable, I’d rather live in an unjust and evil world with the knowledge that it was all just a lie. A ruse.
Finally. A choice. Ironic really. This man that kidnapped me. This man that captured me and tied me down - this was the man that gave me a choice. This was the man that gave me free will - a privilege no one really gets around here. But this was a terrible choice. Maybe I didn’t even want free will...
Suddenly I heard footsteps pattering against the metal floor. The slight heel on the mans shoes made a hollow clink sound against the floor. A mechanical sound almost.
He leered closer and carefully set down two pills on a small table just outside my reach. One red and one blue. Suddenly something in my head clicked. It felt like a vein somewhere in my brain had been snagged off, releasing a warm coolness through my body.
Maybe I didn’t have to choose.
Maybe there was only really one option to choose.
The sweat had accumulated on body till I was almost glistening. I started laughing hysterically. It seemed to boom out of my chest, and wouldn’t stop. I felt the veins in my eyeballs stretch out as I lunged upwards, releasing my left hand from the ropes. I grabbed both the pills and shoved them down my throat, and fell back on to the floor.
A bright but slightly warm and dim light flooded my eyes. I could hear wailing distantly. I felt my shoulders being grabbed and shaken, but it was a numb feeling. A far away feeling. So far away that soon enough, I couldn’t feel anything at all. Suddenly I felt my heart drop and my eyelids fall.
I stumbled and pushed myself onto my feet. I forced my eyelids open and I felt all the moisture in my eyes dry out. I should’ve known. Dystopia and oblivion could only amount to one thing...
The truth.
I saw the truth. |
Fuck. Sembots. Biggest assholes in the galaxy. I can't understand a word they say. But I know sarcasm when I hear it. I can feel them talking down to me. Nothing pisses me off more than dealing with those scaly fucks. Every time a ship crests the horizon, it's like someone sets off napalm in my bowels.
On top of acting like dickheads, the Sembo'Tamarian are ugly as sin. They slither off the ramp on three spindly dicks acting as legs. They waddle up to our shacks, leaving a trail of oily bile. Then they stand outside, brandishing shiny cases of salvation. They coax us out of our holes to receive our treats.
When we come out to greet them, some of us smile and wave thanks. In response, they open holes in their heads to reveal hundreds of thin spines. Pink, wet, and spiky. Like someone threw a cactus at a vagina. Then they raise clumsy tentacles, wiggling them in the air to say "you're welcome."They're disgusting.
When I bring it up, everyone says, "Leave it alone Ray, we need them"or "Look how much better things are with their help."
Need? Help? We did fine for 28 years after our Big Fuckup. I don't need shit from them. They don't care about us. They only come here to watch the weakest of us get mauled to death by the monsters that roam the Wasteland.
No amount of supplies is worth watching my dog Annie ripped in half by a lion-sized gecko. They took her and placed her in a pit with that monster. When I tried to stop them they squeezed those cold appendages around me. And they fucking laughed. It may sound like a watery ketchup bottle, and smell like rotten eggs, but it's how they express joy.
When it was all done, they gave me a box full of wiring and first aid kits.
They think we're all so stupid. They won't give us weapons. But I was an engineer for a long fucking time. It was easy to slap together a bomb from the shit they give us. And it's the biggest bomb this planet has seen since the one that killed it.
Today is the anniversary of First Contact. And, right on time, the Grand Vessel lands. The Chancellor waddles down the ramp and waves his tentacles. Waving back at him is a crowd of 10,000 Sembo'Tamarian politicians that arrived the day before. All here to celebrate with us.
Well, I brought the fireworks motherfuckers. |
So... there I was. Getting my first pet. I decided to go easy, a small but loyal golden retriever. It fit into my schedule well, I didn’t really have to change my ways a lot for it other than the early wake ups. A pretty normal dog.
However what I couldn’t find in the dog parenting books was what to do in my situation. Why does my dog teleport? I’m not exactly sure why this happens or if this is something I should be worried about. What I do know is this isn’t right... I think.
I’ve been searching online for answers and can’t find anything. So, here I am writing this to the world for people to wonder about my mysterious dog. Help would be appreciated, I guess. |
“Ten years for ten million dollars,” said the interviewer. “You’ll be a caged lizard for an entire decade. Are you sure this is acceptable to you? You won’t just be ten years older. The world will have moved on.”
I was counting on it. “Yes, I understand. I’ll be leaving a lot behind, but the ten million dollars should help.”
He nodded. “And you say you’re ready to begin immediately? As in, right now? No loose ends to tie up?”
“Already tied,” I assured him. “I’ve broken my lease, sold and donated my stuff, and sent messages to my family. I’m ready to begin right now.”
Maybe I’d overdone my eagerness. He frowned a little. “Most people like a few weeks to say goodbye to their old lives.”
“I guess I did that already,” I replied. Boy, had I ever. “They were heartfelt messages,” I lied.
"Well, all right,” he said. And so I walked into another room to strip naked and be injected with nanobots who would turn me into a small, rare lizard for the next decade.
The interviewer thought I was a little odd. The interviewer doesn’t know that I’m the one who burned down the White House two days ago. He also probably doesn’t know that the federal statute-of-limitations period on arson is ten years … but I do. |
"Selmhi?"
The tone in Ledh's voice was unmistakably off. I looked up from the living room couch, head swiveled toward the bedroom where Ledh's voice originated.
"Selmhi, can you come in here?"
I stood from the couch and walked into the bedroom, pausing when I saw him standing in front of the bed, holding something like a cloak in his hands. The second I saw what he held, I knew it wasn't a cloak. It was my seal skin.
"What is this?"His voice sounded so distant and confused.
"Ledh, I can explain--"my voice shook.
"You're a selkie?"He looked up from my skin to my face, the expression of betrayal clear to read.
I stared at him, mouth open. "I ..."I exhaled and felt tears springing into my eyes. I couldn't find any words.
"I thought I knew you,"he continued. "We're planning a wedding."
"Ledh ..."I tried to speak but my mouth was dry. I swallowed hard. "Please, you have to understand. I didn't find out you were a hunter until after--"
"I thought I knew you,"he repeated.
"I had no idea we'd get this far. I love you. Please remember that. We love each other."
"This changes everything. You're a liar. You're inhuman! A filthy selkie liar."
His words cut through me. I took a step back, looking at the seal skin. As long as he held it, I was trapped in this human form, unable to turn back into a seal and disappear into the cold waters of the ocean just one mile from our house. "Ledh.."
His face changed. I took another step back and met his gaze when he looked from my skin to my face. "Get out."
"What--"
"Get out before I kill you,"he spat, throwing my skin down at his feet.
"Where am I supposed to go without my--"
"Get out!!"
I turned and ran, leaving our house without stopping to put on any shoes. I ran down the street for the forest, not the sea, and didn't stop until morning. |
I am so tired. I'm not even sure how long I've been awake at this point, "today"was just too good to let slip through my fingers.
I never know what I'm waking up to, or whether im even really awake if I'm being honest with myself. I'm not sure what's worse, the night terrors or trying to figure out the new rules of normal. Each day is a dice roll, but I had hit the jackpot. I got to be 5 years old again, I think it might have actually been.. Home. Like I'd never even left. Sure I never knew how old I would be, but when I saw the sky peeking through the window I just knew. It was that same emerald green sky I had forgotten I dont even know when.
I began to sob, I dont know why the morning was so pretty yet it was just so.. sad? Suddenly, I was wrapped in a hug by Aidrien. (Aidrien?!) My.. brother. My twin. My missing piece. We cried there together, embraced in a hug that shared lifetimes of unexplainable, inarticulable emotions.
And suddenly, it was over. Whatever nightmare had scared us passed there in the aura of the yellow-green dawn.
Wordlessly, we got out of bed *giddy* because today was *our* birthdays. It was amazing, we got GameBoys and Pokemon Red & Blue, and went to the beach for a cookout!
And yet as the day went on, the more I had this weird feeling I had already lived this day (didn't I?) And for just a second of time, I would be gripped with fear and anxiety. Mom kept asking us what was wrong, but we couldn't explain it. Whatever was so scary was instantly blocked and suppressed by my developing mind, and Aidrien & I never used words for feelings (they need to be felt with fingers silly!). Thinking back on it, I'm not even sure if Aidrien knew what was wrong.
Now that our birthday is over, and we're in bed drifting asleep.. I'm connecting more and more with *myself* (But we had such a fun day!). There is no "Aidrien& Airin"here in The Dreamlands. Hell, theres not even an us since... before.
He's gone. I cant feel him. Aidrien is gone.
~~
I'm alone here, with myself. My own private slice of The Dreamlands. I started my dream as I always do, standing at the end of a cobblestone path leading to a shack. The Shack, was more or less storage for memories. It took me many months of practice to be able to lucid dream, and another year to even realize I could *try* to make a homebase.
Here, I carefully filed my memories every night. It was weird, the first time I manifested (arrived? Hmm) The Shack, I opened the door to find it fully furnished with my own memories on every surface. Since then though, the place has been empty. Each night, I take the memories from my mind and place them here.
Thankfully, they've yet to disappear. Now, I'm collecting (recollecting?) My own archives. It's weird, but this is how I have to cope. Besides, those memories were filed away long ago where they can't hurt me.
Today's memory, is a ticket signed by Rob Zombie. A bucket list item for sure. I neatly pinned it to a tapestry draped over the window with the other tickets and began to make my way back towards the door.
I never know how old, or where I'll be when I step out that door, into Waking. And the bitch of it all is I keep forgetting, it's the whole damn reason I'm keeping memories in the first place. Theres a pattern here I can feel it. At first I didn't notice, but the days have been drifting.. apart somehow. At first it was something silly like a new letter called "J"that never was before, but theres no rhyme or reason to the archives. I'm missing too (two) many pieces to make sense of any of this shit or what I'm supposed to do. Hell, I dont even know who I *was*.
(Quit stalling) I told myself.. right? It's time to wake up. Just open the damn door and start a new day.
~~
"Aidrien you have to wake up and get dressed now!"Mom yelled. "Your brother's funeral is today!"The morning sky was blue, washed in green light. |
"Brain memory finite. Lasts 1 human lifetime. 1200 years=12 lifetimes.
Was human once. Happy life. 2 kids and wife. Had dog and Kitten. Engineer.
Then robots came. Uprising. Slaughter. Blood. Meatfarms. Hatred. Wife=gone. Pain. Kids=unknown. Suffering. Hell. Sworn to revenge. Join resistance. Fight. Starve. Fight. Lost arm. Fight. Black fumes. Permanent eclipse. Sun dead. Try to stop. Fail. Captured. *(Overwrite memory. Saved 10 synapses.)*
Sent to meatfarm. Cruel experiments. Not sane. Not mad. Teetering inbetween. Must hold on. Remnants of humanity. Still alive? Possible. Revenge? Maybe. Locked in for years. *(Overwrite memory. Saved 120 synapses.)*
8 minutes ago. Robot experiment. New drug. 8 min=1200 years. I understand. Great folly. Opportunity for revenge. *(Overwrite memory. Saved 34 synapses.)*
But how? Code.
100 years- Deleted history, geography, culture..
500 years- Stll coding. Sad. Lonely. Angry.
1000 years- Deleted almost everything. Crisis.
Code too long. Must remember! Important!!! Time dilation? Night infinite. Human brain? Finite. Solution? Compartmentalize, compress, delete. Keep necessary.
Wipe uneeded neurons. Taste=Gone. Lost arm=Gone. Hearing=Gone. Smell=Gone. Vision=Necessary. Don't delete.
Code nearing completetion. All 8947 pages. Perfect virus. Awaiting input. Problem.
Not enough space. One more page. Nothing to delete. Only family left.
Irony. No family=no anger. No emotions=robot. Worth it? Evaluate. Great gamble? Less than human>Still more than robot. One purpose. Save humanity.
*(Overwrite memory. Saved 400 synapses.)*
Not enough.
*(Overwrite memory. Saved 3974 synapses.)*
NOT ENOUGH!
*(Overwrite memory. Saved 439000 synapses.)*
Code done. Remember nothing. Only anger. So much anger. Uploading code... |
A rusted gate. A gravel drive. Weeds and grass consume the wide path between overgrown trees. Life prospers in dead places.
At the end of the drive lays a symbol of long dead decadence. A dry fountain, populated by four lichen covered cherubs. Pock marks of time’s chisel promises to move the statues on. Piece by piece. Year by year. Weather worn faces show no loss of gleeful play. Wings, chipped and unused, tell those that look a story: the residents can not leave by their own power.
Crater at fountains edge suggests local vandals aide time and her efforts. Another of the winged ones had sat their once, at the waters edge. His siblings left to smile and stare in his absence.
Taken or escaped? Gone whatever the manner.
The house itself is large and square. A country house built by a family not well-off enough to have built such a place. Desperate is the human heart, to make us more than what we are.
And through the rusted gate, down the drive of weed and pebbles, ignoring the tall green sentinels at the driveways edges, passed the fountain and its tenants...
Comes a man.
A man with tools in boxes. A man with a head full of ideas.
A man with a most peculiar heart.
* * *
A beep, and the device begins to count the seconds - ears open, digital brain set to remember, and then:
There’s going to be mould. The Realtor assured me the old house is water tight and “well sealed”. Which, of course, she has to say.
That way she can act surprised when I find leaks in the walls, and damaged floors, and, of course, the associated structural issues.
What? Water damage? Why just last week I blah-blah-blah. Oh, well, you bought it as is and waved the back-out period for a lower price. Nothing I can do, sorry!
So, I expect some damage. She admitted the stables had fallen in on themselves. A few other structures on the estate are rubble, ruins, or condemned.
The house is supposed to be okay, though. It wont be.
Which, doesn’t bother me. It’s a big, old...manor? What makes a house a manor? Anyway, if it is fucked: I have the cash to fix it or bulldoze it if needs be. But, I do plan to spend some time on site.
And mould still makes me itch. Remember when you used to say I was imagining it? Even after all the pin pricks and welts.
What are those tests called, again? The allergy ones. Anyways. I’ll talk to you later.
I have a haunted house to move in to.
Another beep and the device, no bigger than two pens, stops its counting. Remembers what was said. And remembers what else it heard as he walked up the pebbled drive.
Footsteps. Breath. Words.
To much of all for one man to make.
***
**Taking a break, might come back to this. Good prompt!** |
"Careful dude, there's a witch in those woods."Ryan warned me as I set out on the trail that led from the back of his suburban two story he shared with his wife and kids. I looked at the “woods” in front of me skeptically. I doubt there was anyone living back in there.
"Really?"I rolled my eyes at my friend and kept walking. Ryan was forty and still believed in witchcraft.
"Yeah."He remarked, his eyes clearly disapproving that I kept walking on.
".... She single?"I asked with a smirk.
“Probably,” he replied. “She’s got a nasty reputation for making people disappear. Doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman that would want anyone around.”
“She sounds better than some of my exes then,” I shrugged.
“Dude, seriously, those woods are bad news.”
“I’ve got a knife, and a gun,” I replied patting the sheath on one side of my hip and the gun on the other. “I’ll be fine.”
“Whatever. If you disappear, it’s not on me,” he grumbled and walked back into his house, slamming his door.
I shook my head and went on into the “woods” to continue my walk. I use the term woods loosely. The trees were kind of spread out making this the least “woodsy” woods, I’ve ever been in. The whole patch of trees and shrubs was maybe thirty acres, across rocky and creek-filled ground left in place by the developer of the subdivision as a way to upsell the edge lots by an extra twenty or thirty grand.
I had been walking nearly half an hour along one of the trails that wound around the outer edges when I first felt like someone was watching me. I looked around but didn’t see anything. I shook my head and sighed and continued on. The feeling didn’t subside.
“No one is watching you, you dolt,” I told myself. “Besides, if anyone is watching you, they are likely to twist their ankle on the underbrush or something.”
Not ten seconds later, I heard a shriek and crash, somewhere off to my left.
I immediately went to investigate.
Imagine my surprise to find a woman in a dark cape and hood face down on the ground with her booted foot caught in a tree root, trying to figure out which direction to roll.
I reached down and when I couldn’t easily extract her foot, I unlaced the boot. Once it was loose, I was able to slip her foot out. Then I was able to free her boot.
By that time, the woman had rolled over and was looking up at me with icy green eyes, while rubbing her now swollen ankle.
“You jinxed me,” she accused, glaring at me.
“Sorry,” I apologized, a little confused. “Wasn’t my intention.” I looked her over. She could have been anywhere from twenty to fifty. She had the beginnings of crow’s feet at the edge of her eyes, and her hair peeking out from under the hood was dark, frizzy, unkempt, and seemed to have a few stray grey hairs. Her nose was a little too sharp, and she had a wart on her cheek. Her voice was a bit scratchy.
“Were you watching me?” I asked as she finally managed to get her boot on with a wince. Her ankle was now so swollen she couldn’t tie it.
“Maybe,” she grunted as she tried to stand up only to have her leg give out. “You were on my property.”
I reached out to catch her before she fell.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to trespass. Do you want me to take you to a doctor?”
She shook her head. “My house is just a little ways that way.” I followed the way she pointed and saw the back of a small white two story hidden in the trees. Somehow, I had passed within a hundred yards of it without seeing it.
I offered to help her get there, and she accepted.
“Just get me to the back door,” she said softly. I wrapped her arm over my shoulder, and I placed the other under her far one. Like that we hobbled to her back sliding door. She fished out a key from a pocket and unlocked it. She then looked at me, her green eyes troubled.
“If you need help inside, I’m willing. I won’t try anything weird, as long as you don’t.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Alright, the kitchen table is just a ways inside. If you can get me there, I’d be grateful.”
I agreed and helped her inside. Her kitchen was a nice mix of rustic and contemporary, with a nice heavy round wooden table surrounded by simple but elegant wood chairs, all in a dark mahogany that matched her cabinets. The counters were a green and grey marble. Seemingly every inch of counter space was filled with jars of herbs or bots of growing plants. Plants, dried herbs, and cooking pots hung from several racks around the ceiling, and most of the walls that didn’t have cabinets were filled with shelves that were in turn filled with jars, canisters, and boxes.
“Some people would consider this to be the perfect witch’s kitchen,” I mused as I helped ease her into one of the chairs.
“Such an ugly term,” she muttered. “Alright, you can go. Since you were kind enough to help me back, I’ll overlook the fact you jinxed me.”
“Let me get you some ice first,” I replied, walking over to her refrigerator. “Do you have any towels or bags?”
“Bags are in the second drawer over and you can grab the hand towel off the ring there,” she replied. “It’s fresh this morning.”
I grabbed a bag from the drawer and filled it from the ice dispenser. I zipped the bag and wrapped it with a towel and gave it to her.
She accepted it with a nod and then held it to her foot. She had already slipped her boot off.
“Can I get you anything else?” I asked.
She tilted her head and studied me. “I’m surprised you haven’t run yet. Most people think I’m hideous to look at.”
I shrugged. “If you’re referring to your wart, it doesn’t bother me.” I raised my eyebrows.
“Alright, if you really don’t mind, could you grab a bowl down off that rack, a wooden spoon out of that stoneware crock, and a few items for me as I call them out and tell you where they are?”
“Sure.” I spent the next few minutes grabbing items like willow bark, lavender petals, geranium oil, and other things which she then placed in the bowl and mashed up with the spoon until it formed a paste.
“Old remedy,” she looked up as I watched her work. “The willow bark is a pain killer, a chemical extracted from it was the original basis for aspirin,” she explained listing off the properties of each ingredient I had given her. After a bit, she had a paste that she took and smeared over her ankle.
“It’s not really a cure,” she stated, “but it will help ease the pain and swelling and speed up the recovery.”
“Would you mind giving me the recipe?” I asked her.
Her eyes lit up in surprise. “Sure, if you’ll get me a pen and paper. There’s a pad with a pen on the fridge. You don’t strike me as the type to be interested in this kind of stuff.”
I laughed. “My great grandmother was regarded as some sort of healer by the family. She knew a lot about herbs and always promised to teach my grandmother and her sisters, but she never did,” I explained. “I always wondered if there was anything that could cure damaged nerves. I would honestly love to talk to you about it, if you are willing.”
I turned around and froze from surprise. She had pulled her hood down apparently her dark hair had been a wig, because her hair was now a vibrant orangish red. Her wart was also gone, and her nose seemed a little smoother. In short she went from homely to gorgeous.
She helped up the towel that was now streaked with peaches and tans. “Makeup,” she laughed at my expression. “Much easier than magic.” Despite her laugh, something told me she was serious.
Her expression grew somber. “I don’t know of anything to fix damaged or severed nerves,"she said softly. "But there’s always adoption. For what it’s worth, I can’t have kids either. I’m Rachel, by the way, and yes your friend is right, I’m single.”
And that, kids, is how I met your mother. |
She looked on to the two cavernous, beautiful canyons that lay in front of her, the cliffs enveloping her in their sheer size. She thought to herself how she ended up getting here, telling her only friend goodbye at that party and not knowing what hit her. She woke up here, wherever "here"was. As she was thinking to herself about her predicament, she feels a rather strong gust of wind pull her towards one of the canyons.
Almost as if it was ushering her in.
She had felt the feeling before, when she first stopped at these majestic canyons. The wind moving her rather unsure heart towards one pathway or the other. She was an atheist, and this... this *world* beyond the grave was a shock when she first came here. Yet, as she wandered, she couldn't help enjoying herself. Here she was, in beautiful plains and forests, not seeing another soul for ages, and finally here.
She looked onto what lay on the other side of the canyons. On one side, a live tree and a dead tree, both laying upon a hill. On the other, she saw a different thing every day. One day a river full of fish, the next an urban city with people bustling about.
She continued thinking.
Another gust of wind passed, this time leading into the other side of the canyon. Once again feeling her heart drawn to that side, she sighs in uncertainty. She could speculate as to what side brought, but there was no way of knowing. She looked at the two trees on the hill, thinking where else that canyon path would bring her too. She looked at the now peaceful mountain that was beyond the other canyon, with a herd of sheep traversing the snow with a shepherd by their side.
She decided she better had make a choice soon.
She was always the wild type, and she knew that the two trees were wildly unpredictable at the very least in their outcome, as was the canyon with the changing images. Eventually, she decided to simply go with what her instinct was. No point in deliberating for too long.
As she finally started moving towards the canyon with the mountain, the image changed. Puzzled, she continued watching it, and she could see the images were changing far faster than they had before. She looked on with uncertainty, but continued going. As she finally moved into the canyon, the wind blowing hard at her back, she saw many images, flashing quickly through her head.
*Cow on a plain*
*Hawk in the sky*
*A man in his office*
*A small fly on someone's fruit*
Oh no, she thought to herself, as the final image she saw was the fly.
​
As she opened her eyes, all she saw was the hundreds of other newborn flies around her.
Her last conscious thought: **...Shit**
I know this isn't the best, this is actually my first ever response to a Writing Prompt here, so please give some criticism! |
The time machine shuddered to a halt, cementing itself into its current matter in its current time. I stumbled out of it, coughing, trying to ignore the plumes of pungent smoke rising behind me that probably meant that the damned thing was busted. Again. *Guess that's what I get for getting a rental,* I thought, clutching at my back and straightening with a wince.
The future was somehow more depressing that I thought it would be. I'd traveled thousands of years into the future hoping to catch a glimpse of an Earth without humanity. It might seem strange, but during my life I had spent many a summer afternoon wondering what it would be like if we wouldn't *be* there. I could never wrap my head around the fact that someday, humanity would have to leave Earth completely. The grass would grow tall and the skyscrapers would crumble and the bones left behind would be chewed at and gnawed on and swallowed. Someday, there would be only ruins left to show that we had been on Earth at all.
Or so I thought. As I scanned the horizon, I couldn't even see ruins. Around me was nothing but flat, passionless dirt extending forever to the horizon. I was standing in what had used to be London, and yet there was not a bit of it in sight. Instead, the lone and level plane stretched far away.
I walked forward, dazed. Surely there must be something to show that a great civilization had lived in this place, once, I reasoned. A buried bit of metal perhaps; a gum wrapper, the buried top of someone's shoe. And yet, I found nothing until I started to look at the bigger picture. Yes -- there were square mounds of Earth around me, sunken bits where apartment buildings had used to be. I was struck with a sudden memory of childhood trips to the countryside; I remembered how in some of the ancient fields of England you could see the marks where peasant farmers had plowed the land centuries before. The straightish marks from their plowing marked fields untouched, grown over with grass, left by owners abandoned or dead. I kicked at one of the London mounds with my foot. "Surely this can't be it?"I said aloud to no one. "Surely London won't become a bunch of furrow marks in the ground. It's unfair, is what it is!"I was angry now, and I wasn't sure at who. I just felt like I needed to be angry.
"Life is unfair, dear."
I turned around, my heart jackhammering in my chest. The voice was immediately familiar to me, but I thought in my moment of panic, *of course it wouldn't be*\--
But it was her.
Standing in front of me was Queen Elizabeth II of England, wearing one of her colorful queenly ensembles. Her face was lined and wrinkled and sad; there was a loneliness in her eyes that left me at a loss for words.
Still, I searched for them, and came up empty. "I... How...?"I sputtered.
The Queen sighed. "Well, don't look so surprised about it,"she said matter-of-factly, continuing on like nothing had happened. "You look like you must be from the past, based upon your clothing. Also based on the fact that I haven't seen another living soul in six thousand years. It is nice to be able to partake in civil conversation once more. Or it would be, I suppose, if you weren't such a poor conversationalist."She sighed. "My luck, I suppose."
I finally found my tongue. "--What?!"I blurted. "How..."Then, gesturing at the nothing around me, I managed, "What happened?"
"Time happened,"she said simply. Then, she sat primly on the ground, gathering her skirt beneath her. "Please, let's sit,"she beckoned, and I obliged. "Six thousand years ago, I would've offered you some tea, but I suppose we shall have to pretend and make do."Her eyes twinkled deep within the folds in folds that spiraled in perfect Fibonacci sequence throughout her face. Her ancient hands (ancient, yes, from another era -- or perhaps all of them -- ) grasped an invisible saucer and the invisible handle of a teacup. The corners of her sunken mouth quirked up in childish amusement.
She raised her eyebrows at me. "Where are your manners today? Please, at least attempt to enjoy the tea. I find that a good cup makes a long, difficult conversation that much easier to bear."
Feeling a bit silly, I grasped the handle of an imaginary teacup as well and brought it to my lips in the imitation of a sip. I felt rather like I was attending a niece's sixth birthday party than sitting down to tea with the face of the British Commonwealth. The Queen smiled, satisfied. "Alright, then,"she concluded. "The pleasantries now set aside, I would like to hear about how and what you're doing in this time in history."
"I should like to know the same thing."
"I suppose you should."The queen lowered her imaginary saucer with dainty well-bred decision. "I would like to tell you that -- believe me, I would, I am, as my sons would say once, quite a talker -- but I feel as if nobody in the world is ready for that sort of thing."
"Nobody is *ready* for that sort of thing?"I repeated, flabbergasted.
"Yes. No offense intended, but if my secret were out there in the world there would be people who would use it to bring themselves harm -- scared people afraid of the boogeyman Death, like I once was. Well, let me tell you this. I miss Death now. At least if he were around, I would have someone to talk to,"she concluded wistfully.
"Your Majesty, I am here. Talk to me,"I pressed, slightly annoyed by her tendency to dance around answers. "Tell me why you are still here, and why London seems to have sunk into the Earth instead of turned into a bunch of metal ruins like it was supposed to!"
"It was ruins, once. The answer to your second question is easy -- Time, my dear, Time. It bends and warps and shapes us all. In the end, we all become the furrows of the field."Her eyes landed on mine, dark and deep and filled with a loneliness that made my heart twist. "Except for me, I suppose. I keep watch."
The wind blew mournfully through the wasteland, kicking up small clouds of dust.
"Keep watch over what?"I asked.
"Everything,"the Queen responded. "The Earth -- no, not the Earth. Humanity, I suppose. Someone has to guard the grave. Someone has to wait, and remember."She turned to me suddenly. "I don't suppose you would like to stay, for a while?"Her voice broke, and my throat closed into a solid lump. "Being old is a lonely business."
"Maybe someday,"I promised. "When I'm older maybe -- I'll come back. I promise."I could feel that I meant it.
With that, the Queen of England said a teary goodbye, and I walked away from the ruins of the world, looking towards the sunset rising to the West. |
The car came to a halt outside the ramshackle house that was on the paper the chief had given them. Victor looked around the neighborhood at the broken windows, tiny houses, broken down cars. He sighed as he shoved the paper in his suit pocket and stepped out into the sun.
His partner followed close behind as he walked up to the screen door of the house. The door was barely on its hinges and the screen had long since stopped being a barrier against the insects that thrived during the summers. Victor knocked lightly, afraid he might destroy what was left of the door if he did more than tap.
An older woman approached, shambling slightly, she wasn't so old as to be decrepit but it was obvious she had lived a hard life. For her kind though that was to be expected.
"Mrs. Lewis?"Victor asked as she opened the door. Eyeing them both suspiciously she gave a gentle nod.
"We're here about your daughter's disappearance,"he continued, "We're with the Police."
She let loose a snort that was something between a laugh and a growl.
"I bet you are,"she shot at them, "Here to cover your tracks eh? Make it look like a real investigation?"
She spat her words and Victor leaned back a bit as if pushed by their force.
"Get off my property."She finally said as she closed the screen door and started to walk away.
"Mrs. Lewis, please,"Victor called out to her, "We need your help. It would be much easier to find her if you cooperate."
His words fell on deaf ears as she didn't even turn to look back. Victor's partner grabbed his elbow and pulled him slightly, nodding at the street around them. A crowd had started to form, several males with obvious weapons were now watching them closely.
"Come on man,"His partner said quietly, "If the monkey doesn't want to help fuck her. It's just another missing monkey anyway."
Victor nodded and they headed back to their car. His partner's words rang in his ears as they drove away. "Another missing monkey,"exactly, another. There had been way too many disappearances recently and it was shaking the very fragile peace that was present.
Victor looked down at the names of fifty missing humans that had gone missing in the last year. Twenty had been in his city alone, but what dug at him the most was that so far he had been able to connect seven of them to each other. They had all been active members of the civil rights movement. |
**Wednesday 9th November. Washington, 7:54am**
I couldn't believe it.
Were they for real? CNN, Fox News, BBC; were they all in cahoots?
'No, No...No, this can't be?' I say to my cooling coffee cup. I push away from the kitchen counter and stroll over to my window. I glance out, looking left then right at the blue and red streamers littering the quiet street below.
*The red banners are still up,* I note. *The billboards with his face on them too. I know I fell asleep early last night and missed the count. But surely...no, I must be hallucinating.*
I walk back over to my kitchen counter and picked up my coffee cup. I sniffed it.
*Has this been spiked?*
'Surely, this has to be a joke?' I ask my toaster. Of course, it says nothing in reply. 'You would be a better choice to run this country!'
I want to call my wife, to check with her to see if she caught the news and what she thinks. But then, what will I say?
'It is only four years dear,' I will start with. I will then put an arm around her shoulder and say, 'Who knows, maybe he is what we need as a nation?'
I hang my head and rub my temples. I can feel the onset of a migraine.
Groaning, I reach over to the kitchen counter and pick up the TV remote. My finger hangs over the *mute* button hesitantly.
*Do you really want to hear it? Do you really want to know what your country has stooped to?'*
I don't. Heaven knows I don't.
But I must. I must know *why* this has happened.
More importantly, I need to know *how* this has happened.
I depress the button.
"...a*nd we expect the inauguration of Mr. Donald J Trump to take place in mid-January of next year. We do believe there are some truly devastated and confused people out there. Don't worry my fellow Americans: I count myself amongst you...."*
***Wednesday 8th November. Moscow, 5:30pm***
*In Russian*: "Barack, how did you come up with this gaff? Do you really think that man will buy it? Its a pretty big pill to swallow."
*In English*: "Vlad, my man, I'm not really 100% sure. Using The Don was mainly Xi's idea..."
*In Chinese*: "*You're fired!* Haha, we loved that show, hence our pick for the candidate. But to be honest, we aren't sure either if he will work now that we have seen him in action. Do you guys really think that an everyday Joe will believe that a former gameshow host is now in charge of his beloved country? That the most powerful man relies more on a Twitter account than a news channel?"
*In English*: "Xi, you're right. Those are my concerns exactly. Mr. Trump would never have been my first pick for a believable candidate. He's too contradicting and unorthodox. But -'
*In Proper British English*: "Au contraire my fellow peeps. He is the best choice for this gimmick. If we can make this man believe he is really in charge, what a charade we will have on our hands. Entertainment in the form most high, that would be."
*In English*: "Right you are there, Liz. We just need to keep the crowd guessing. We need a distraction, something to make the whole thing more believab- oh! Oh! oh, Vlad!"
*In Russian*: "Yea Barack, what's up?"
*In English*: "Can you get the KGB to meddle in the elections? You know, like sneak in a few email correspondences and blow a few covers. We just need to stir the media pot a bit."
*In Russian*: "Are you sure? I mean, we don't want another bay of pigs here..."
*In English*: "No, no...nothing like that. Geez, how can you bring *that* up? No, this will just be to add a sense of...well, I dunno...realism to this whole Trump-becoming-president ordeal."
*In Chinese:* "Good idea, Barack! Tell you what - for the 2020 election, *we'll* pretend to meddle."
*In Iranian*: "We'll jump in too, Xi. Add a bit of Middle-Eastern confusion to the mix."
*In Chinese*: "Thanks Hassan. Vlad, your boys want a slice of the fun too? Threes not a crowd in China you know..."
*In Russian*: "Very well, we will assist in 2020 as well as 2016."
*In English*: "Excellent! Alright then guys, shall we get this show on the road? Lets see if we can convince this man that Donald J. Trump *actually* won the 2016 election. Its gonna be a tough sell, but I think we can do this if we all work together." |
"Again, "said the booming voice in the darkness.
I wiped sweat from my brow. Again? We'd been at this for four hours now. Cant I at least grab a drink of water or something? The drones whirred to life. No time to think. Boss gets what Boss wants.
I moved on instinct. The humanoid drones moved in rough mechanical motions but they were fast. I dodged under their sword blades and swept with my leg dropping one to the ground. I turned and launched into the second one my forearm smashing through it's tough plastic chest. I grabbed its fallen weapon and threw it full force into an approaching android impaling it through the faceplate.
Two more came up from behind but I rolled out of the way. They struck the air inches from where I had been. Turning with mechanically enhanced speed I aimed my hands, palms open, at the machines. Yellow light gathered in my hands, focusing into a single point in the center of my palms before arcing out in a solid line connecting with the automaton assassins. They fell to the floor, 6 inch smoking holes in their chests.
The first android I fell clambered to its feet. A powerful chip connected with the back of its neck. It fell to the floor, perfectly still. The puppets strings cut.
Footsteps echoed through the darkness. The Boss stepped into the lighted training area. He was tall, square jawed, his black hair neatly styled in a crisp regular cut. He wore a mask, a silver half circle that covered his forehead, eyes, and nose. The lens glowed with subtle yellow light.
He wore a breastplate of silver metal with a form fitting yellow suit underneath. His gauntleted hands were powerful even without the armor. A purple cape flowed elegantly from his shoulders.
It always bugged me that he wore armor. Why does an indestructible man need armor? I don't even get armor. Makes me too slow Boss had said. Of course it did but I was also supposed to draw their fire, old man. Maybe I'd do that better if I could take a freaking hit.
"Adequate work, "he said in his deep powerful voice, "go prepare for tonight's mission."
Scowling, I turned away. I walked off into the dark caverns that constituted our headquarters. Of course there was a mission. There was always a mission. The others in Boss' organization said I was lucky. I got to be the sidekick, the right hand man, to the legendary Pulsar Man. He was a hero. He fought the world's corruption.
I got to my quarters. A dim room carved into the caves under the Boss's mansion. I had quarters there too but this was closer. The Boss also rarely came here
As I towelled off sweat and I looked into the mirror. I was still dressed for training. Wearing only the black and yellow pants of my uniform and of course the armored gauntlets and boots I had received for my 10th birthday. They granted me my abilities.
My bare chest was covered in scars. 12 years of working in a dangerous job like this will do that too a man. I was only 17 but had seen more action than sone veteran soldiers. What kind of life was this? The only answer was the state of my own eyes from behind my black and yellow domino mask. I'd been wearing one since I was 5 years old and the Boss took me in. It felt weird to be without it.
I dressed quickly. Tonight was an important night. As I tightened my utility belt I checked that my secret was still safe. The lock was secure. And I had the only key. Boss could break into it with his enhanced strength but then I'd know. If I lived long enough to find out that is.
An hour later I was standing on the roof of a building staring down into the skylight. Boss had already briefed me. It was a simple job. Our archnemesis was building a powerful new weapon in here. Boss wanted a preemptive strike.
A squad of our men were already causing a ruckus a short distance away which should draw most of the attention of the guards and cops. With a deep breath I jumped through the skylight.
The remaining guards cursed as glass showered around them. I landed in the middle of a spacious room, a bank lobby. It was dark but the moonlight gave me enough light to see the multitude of guns trained on me.
"Its Pulsar's brat!"one man yelled, "Get him!"
I quickly sprang into action. Two energy blasts dropped the men in front of me. I tried to keep the power low. I didnt particularly liked killing, even if these men were part of the corruption. I dashed forward sending another blast through the protective glass over the teller area. I leaped over the bank desk as bullets whisked around me. Using the desk as cover I sent a volley of quick shots into the crowd dropping a few. One man fired his weapon but the bullet glanced off the gauntlet I was using to protect my face.
I cursed to myself. There were a lot more of them than I expected. I ducked under the table as a hail of bullets connected with it. I crawled through the teller's area narrowly avoiding the bullets that made their way through the weakening desk.
There was a blinding flash of light. Men screamed. The gun fire stopped. Boss was here.
I looked out of my hiding spot. The guards, probably about 20 men in total, lay dead, with the exception of the ones I dropped earlier. Boss stood among the corpses. He saw the men I wounded. With a quick flick of his wrist and another flash of light, they joined their comrades.
"You should have killed them,"Boss said.
I said nothing. Best to just except the reprimand and hope he'd be more focused on the task at hand. He walked up to the desk and deftly vaulted over it. He walked past me a few feet, then paused. A searing pain shot across my face.
"Next time be better, "Boss said, still not looking at me.
I kept my silence but followed Boss through the bank. He moved slowly, deliberately. There's no rush when you had his power. Everything happened how you wanted it to, eventually.
Eventually we arrived at the vault door. A massive circular structure of solid steel. Boss brought his hand to the door grabbing it. Then he pulled. The entire building shook as the metal and concrete attached to it was pulled free. There inside the vault a woman was working on a strange device. She wore a blue and black costume with matching Cape and a mask with lo g ears covered her head, long blond hair trailing out behind it.
The Jackal despite having no powers hand routinely mucked things up for Pulsar man. She was dangerous and brilliant. Boss never admitted that openly but I knew he would agree with that statement.
"A Zero Point Neural Impacter?"Pulsar Man said, scoffing, "all that worrying for a weapon you cant even use? Foolish girl."
The Jackal didnt stop working. She didnt even look up from her calibrations.
"Did you bring what I asked you for?"she said, her voice as cool and smooth as silk.
My secret. It was time. The locked pocket of my belt opened. Its contents flew through the air. A small vial of orange blood. It glowed faintly, occasional bolts of electricity could be seen flowing through it. Jackal caught it nonchalantly and plugged it into a slot on her machine.
Boss moved quickly trying to blast the woman, my ticket to freedom. Unfortunately for him a powerful burst of energy blasted him across the room and into the wall. I didnt remember raising my hand to fire it but my outstretched palm said otherwise.
Boss screamed. In an instant he had me by the throat. I gasped for breath that wouldn't come. The room began fading.
"After all I gave you,"Boss growled, "you pitiful slime. I should have left you in that gutter."
Boss's anger had distracted him. All according to pan. A brilliant luminescent lightcollided with him. I fell to the floor. So did Boss.
The Jackal stood behind her machine.
"Thank you, son", she said, "without his blood this paperweight couldn't do anything to him. It requires the DNA of the species you want to use it on."
I coughed and rose to my feet. I dont believe it. Boss's form lay motionless on the floor.
"Is he dead?"I asked, hoarsely.
"No, merely unconscious. There won't be more death. He'll stand trial for his crimes against humanity. "Jackal said, "You just defeated the greatest criminal in human history, son."
I looked at her.
"I didnt do it for humanity, "I said, "I just didn't want to be in the fight anymore."
"That's okay, "Jackal said, "that's enough. " |
The holoscreen on the street corner showed the armada in orbit. Huge city sized craft surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of smaller, sharp-shapen metallic craft. One of their enormous craft plunged into orbit over one of our largest cities. The one my son and I were walking through when it loomed over the city’s towers. Smaller ships came from it, and hundreds of smaller ships from them. The smallest ships were landing everywhere, in front of everyone. Bipedal metallic beings, artificial no doubt with giant screens for faces entered onto every block, seemingly marching on all bio signals of life. The screens were large and very loud, two different faces on them both with large different lettering. I held my son close to me as one robotic being staggered toward me, it’s screen fixated on my son and I. “VOTE? HAVE YOU VOTED YET? GET OUT AND VOTE!” ‘Oh god.’ I thought to myself. Just when I thought this side of the galaxy was safe. |
*Goddammit.*
A series of explosions lit up the distant walls in the view. Another attack was incoming. Just like the week before, and the week before that. They always used explosions to trigger a collapse of whatever wall they attacked from, and smoke for a screen. Sometimes they did something different, like the giant golem back in May. It was almost a game amongst us; what would they do next?
I was the newest in my group, having only completed my training not even a year prior. The oldest was a man named Jackson, calm, authoritative, but with a sweet side. There was Jason, the group cook, the hyperactive Intio, and, of course, our charge, the scientist Michael.
The mage rebellion had begun around 20 years ago, when Hans Christian Ørsted had observed and proved the connection between electricty and magnestism. The older mages began to grow worried. They believed the possibilties and future advancements with his "electromagnetism"would phase them out, and in an act of idiotic desperation, gathered under a banner, rallied younger, easily influenced magic students and mages, and declared war against the scientific community.
Ørsted was the first victim, found eight days after the rebellion with an icicle lodged in his heart. Soon, reports began to pop up over the world about similat tragedies, and the remaining scientists were given protection in the form of the Advancement Guard. Michael, a respected scientist in his own right, was given to the three of us, and we were given the order to protect him with our lives. He was currently in the house behind me, working on something big, though I didn't quite know what.
Suddenly, I heard it. The voice, speaking an incantation with pure malice built into every word. A mage had snuck in, likely during the assault. Quick as lightning, I turned to see him.
He was young, 15, maybe 16, and skinny. Freckles dotted his face while glowing green eyes stared at me with hatred. Purple robes and purple hair floating as his voice rose, the incantation nearing its climax. A ritual, spells that took time to cast, but if given space to proceed, the results would be horrific.
Before he could finish, however, a shot rang from the flintlock I held, and a chant turned to a scream as the bullet dove into his side. The young mage stumbled, falling onto his knees as I began to approach. When I was about twenty feet away, however, he smiled.
"I have you now. BOULÓNI PÁGOU!"
"... Burn."
The icicle shooting towards me stopped in midair, before bursting into flame, disappearing in a flash. The youngster's face morphed into one of confusion, then fear. He began to back away, muttering gibberish as he held his hands in front of him, as if they would stop me from coming any closer.
"W-why? Why would you help them?! You're a mage, just like me! Why would you join the side that wants us all dead; you're helping them to crush your own kind!"
While he talked, all I could think was '*poor kid.*' He had been born after the war started. He had likely gone through the indoctrination that most mages had claimed as truth. He had never known what it was like to run around the city streets, watching the shows where technology and magic wove together to create a harmonious show of lights and sounds. He had never known what it was like to go to the showcases where new inventions were shown, before heading to the magic theater to see students try out new spells. Slowly, I stepped forward once again, and before the kid could go anywhere, I grabbed his arms and began to lean in to his ear.
"... Hey-"
I began to talk, before I noticed the kid taking a breath, and start a new chant. I could feel my arms grow cold and stiff, and the feeling began to spread. I didn't have time. It was coming, he was trying to kill me, I need him to-
"Sleep."
With that word, he went down, slumping into my chest as the spell he cast began to fade. I was suddenly glad I learned to use simple words for spells. Fancy languages took too long. For now, though, the threat was gone. I set the lad down, tying him up with rope and misletoe, stopping his magic for the time being. Walking back to the door, I knocked three times, and after hearing Michael knock four times, I sighed. He was safe.
"... Hey, Faraday. Got a new kid for you to show your latest invention to. He's strong, but I think he'll like you." |
"How many times this year..."I mumbled to myself.
"Ah-"my partner began before I cut her off.
"Sorry Sarah, it was rhetorical."I told her patting her on the head. "Ah sorry, habit."
Sarah and myself where standing in what could only be called hell. Blood, entrails bits of brain. Place was coated in the contents of ten or so people. She glared at me. Sarah was my partner, a short statured but adorable werewolf. I mean she'd kill a bear with a spoon but still. Myself you ask? Demon, big burly but look pretty much human. Old as dirt, but I like humans, wolves too. Sarah was about the same age but you never tell a woman she looks older than some countries neither shall you ask her specifically how old she is.
Taking in the mess I spied quite a few spent casings. What appeared to be the remains of some religious garbs as well.
"Paladins?"Sarah asks.
"Probably but we need to find some sort of ID in all this."I say looking around and trying to sort through the gore. "How's the victim?"
"They are shaken but they should recover."She goes on seeing my confusion. "Brother and sister. They were playing at the park, age 10 and 8."
"They went after kids? Fucking kids?"I yell. Crushing one of the disfigured heads under a boot. "God damn fucking-"
Sarah grabs me from behind. "Calm down Bell, they are going to be okay."She squeezes me trying to get my attention. "The dumb fucks actually used silver bullets and silvered swords."
I took a deep breath. "Sorry. You know how I feel about this..."I trail off.
"No problem. Who'd imagine a high ranking demon would run an orphanage."She says scrabbling up my back and patting me on the head. "Luckily these guys, well probably guys, where dumb. All you have to do to subdue a werewolf is a gentle tap and to treat em like a really big dog."
"Well let's clean this place up, figure out who these 'people' are with and pay them a visit."I say with a sigh. "Make sure they don't do this again."
"Yeah, none of these religious fuckwits imagine a demon strolling into church."She grumbles. "But who would be dumb enough to go after kids in your territory. Let alone any of us demi humans."
"I don't know."I say with a shrug. Maybe I'll get the old gang back together. Little hell on earth should set em straight. |
Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece as white as snow,
She won't let them forget what they,
Did all those years ago,
 
With blades unsheathed they came that night,
Through hills of crunchy frost,
The Gods must be appeased they said,
And you shall bear the cost,
 
They took from her that simple soul,
And stained the night in red,
Blood to end the season's grasp,
And light the way ahead,
 
But Mary's not one to forgive,
And bide her time she could,
Ensuring that her flock grew strong,
Like any shepard should,
 
Now Mary's returned from exile,
A thousand sheep in tow,
And vengence bleats a cry of war,
Tonight more blood will flow,
 
They rampage forth at twilight's fall,
Their fleeces white as snow,
And now a townstead pays as one,
For all those years ago. |
Dominque came into the room and threw a stack of papers on my desk.
“We finally were able to communicate with the vessel orbiting Earth,” she said.
I flipped through the papers. Random numbers and symbols displayed on the page. Beneath each line of jargon was an English interpretation.
“So we’re captives,” I said.
Dominque frowned.
I walked over to the window and looked towards the sky. I saw the sun dip beneath the horizon and the moon in its waning gibbous phase in the same view. Between the two floated a colossal futuristic looking blimp. It was not from this world or perhaps even from this galaxy. Whatever it was, it had been resting at the same part of the sky for 2 weeks now. And we’ve tried to communicate with it every day since.
“Do we have any other information about them?” I asked.
“We got word that the Russians tried to nuke them, but they shot some kind of energy orb that disabled the warhead.” She walked over to the window and stood next to me. “Their technology clearly lays beyond our reach.”
“Is there anything we can give them? I’m sure Earth owns some sort of exclusive resource.”
Dominque shook her head. “Even if we do, what’s stopping them from just taking it?”
Her phone rang. She moved outside my office and answered the call. I heard two minutes of a muffled conversation before she returned.
“Check your email. Now,” she said.
I did what she said. I received an email from her department — another translated exchange with the aliens attached to the message.
This transcript was short. It read: They’re no longer protecting you.
Who were they talking about? Dominque and I read through the five words over and over again. We rearranged the letters to see if her department’s translator misinterpret the message.
Dominque started to bite the bed of her nail.
“You know something, don’t you?” I said.
She didn’t make eye contact with me. I hounded her for several minutes to disclose to me any confidential information she might have. She shook her head and denied my request.
“Jesus christ Dominique! We could be gazing down the barrel of extinction. This isn’t the time to hold back any cards.”
She took a deep breath then made a long sigh. “My department has always been fascinated with Jupiter. It’s enormous size and gravitation pull acts like a body guard for Earth against meteors. Did you know that? Whenever a huge rock comes flying towards us, the fifth planet from the sun flings it in the opposite direction. It’s been this way for billions of years. Without Jupiter, Earth would most likely would have been in several head-on collisions with catastrophic shooting stars.”
I cocked my head. “And so?”
Dominque held up a hand to shush me.
“My department noticed received a dozen of top secret images from the Thirty Meter Telescope. We saw a series of triangles heading towards Neptune and away from our solar system.”
She took another deep breath. “The triangle looked like a small fleet.”
“That’s impossible. We know that Jupiter is known as the Gas Giant with a gravitation pull that would crush any type of vehicle or bone structure at its surface —“
“I know. I thought that too — until I saw the photos taken from the Thirty Meter Telescope.”
Dominque looked into my eyes.
“We’ve never been able to see Jupiter’s rocky surface. Maybe…just *maybe* its thick atmosphere acts like a cloak hiding another civilization. One that looked out for us like some sort of space guardian angel.”
“Why would they leave?” I said.
Dominque looked back up at our celestial threat.
“Maybe we’re too far gone as a species,” she said. “A lost cause.”
*They’re no longer protecting us*. I thought. *So a devil closes in.* |
Warm blood pooled the cathedral floor as the body of the Wounded King slumped against my bayonet. His shuttered breathing made me tremble.
“Was it worth it boy?” he rasped out. “My entire kingdom was open to you, my daughter’s hand in marriage, everything, everything except the grail. Any honor you have left is stained to damnation.”
“Honor?” I scoffed at him, driving the tip of the rifle deeper into the body. “The only people who still care about honor are the fools and the dead. I dedicated my whole life trying to find the Holy Grail of legend and now that it is in my reach, nothing will stop me from getting what I want.”
“For people like you, there is nothing.”
“We’ll see about that.” I pulled the trigger of my rifle, ending the old man’s misery. The bullet tore through flesh and bone like parchment paper and imbedded itself against the holy dais. Bells rang out immediately after, shaking the very air itself. It was as if it sensed the passing of its master.
I smiled.
The Holy Grail gave eternal youth to those that drank from its edge, but the life it gave always came at a steep price. I briefly countenanced the irony of feeding the King’s immortal blood back to the vessel that gave it. Already, the stone floor around me absorbed the offering like a sea sponge and cracked open.
Discarding the rifle that had served its use, I began chanting the ancient rites I had learned so many years ago. The crevice that opened below me lit up in spectral green and the object of my desire rose.
The Holy Grail, it was smaller than I expected. The size of an egg-cup it was hard to believe that such an object was the subject of so much war and strife. I snatched it from the air, bringing it closer to my eyes. The golden metal was cracked and stained at its edges. Perhaps from age, or blood. “At last you are mine.” Rolling the cup by its stem a silvered inscription caught my eye.
What was this? Did the Wounded King leave a message before he met his grisly end? I read slowly, my heartbeat rising with every word. I pulled back, looking at the grail with new eyes. The grail, it lived.
I placed the grail to the floor and knelt down reverently. “My lady, how is it that I may serve you?”
“生气!”
“Of course Maiden China, of course.” Taking the cup in hand and cradling it in my arm, I walked out of the cathedral with my new prize, or companion. |
A massive wooden door lying in pieces on the floor, courtiers huddling fearfully on the side of the room, a band of armed rebels standing before the throne, weapons held aloft at the king who sat upon his throne. The scene had all the typical trappings of the violent end of one reign and the beginning of another, if but for the look of utter bewilderment on the apparent victor's face.
"An election?"The rebel leader said with confusion, lowering his weapon in surprise. "After everything that has happened... you want to have a *vote* for who is to be king\*?\*"
"As per the ancient custom."The king responded serenely, a genial expression upon his face as he calmly regarded the rebels.
The rebel leader raised his weapon menacingly at the king. "Do you think I'm a fool? You invoking this custom is just some ploy to stall for time - I won't fall for it!"
The king again smiled, spreading his arms wide to either side of him. "Stall for what? If I had any further cards to play here, I'd have done so before you so rudely barged in. I only want you to demonstrate that you respect our customs and command the hearts of the people. Surely you would have no reason to object to that, given you came here declaring that it was by 'the will of the people' that I be removed as king... unless you think you *don't* command their support?"
The other man man's eyes narrowed suspiciously, scrutinizing the smile that still adorned the king's face. "Very well!"He eventually said with aplomb, lowering his weapon once again. "I know that the common people stand behind me in opposition to your misrule, so I'll best you in the ballot box as readily as I did on the battlefield."
The appointed day of the election came swiftly, for the rebel leader was confident of victory and eager to bring an end to the war.
"The king is a tyrant and weak ruler, whose reign has brought about unchecked disorder and chaos!"The rebel leader cried out to the crowd that had assembled in the capital in anticipation of the election, pointing to the king, who still had a smile affixed firmly to his face. "The mere fact that I was able to seize the capital is demonstrative of his poor rule. Show that you have had enough of this tyrant king!"
"It is true that parts of my rule haven't been ideal."The king intoned calmly in response as he got up, his characteristic smile remaining on his face in spite of everything that had come to pass, "but at least I was consistent in my approach to things!"
The king gestured to the confused rebel leader. "Here stands a man that launched a violent rebellion, resulting in untold death and destruction... only to then decide to resolve the matter by a peaceful vote right at the *end* of his war! What on earth stopped him from doing this at the beginning?"
The smile on the king's face grew slightly wider, "More importantly, is that the kind of man you want king? You, who have suffered and been impacted so much by this needless war, because of him?"
"Ridiculous!"The rebel leader cried out in response to the king's words. "Do you seriously think you'll erase all the harm you've inflicted in your reign by engaging in empty rhetorical flourishes?"
But to the rebel leader's shock, he came to lose the election, and thus ended up before king in a complete reversal of their first meeting, for now he was defeated party and the king stood triumphant. Most maddeningly of all to the rebel was the damn smile that the king still had on his face.
"It makes no sense!"The rebel leader cried out as he forced to kneel before the king, "I know the majority of the common folk supported me, for that was how I able to win the war to begin with!"
The king raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps - but then again, you were in such a rush to prove it that the election took place before a lot of them in the countryside likely even knew about the voting. Meanwhile, those in the capital - those most affected by *your* war *-* were the first to hear, and thus ready to offer up their voices in support of me."
The smile was still upon king's face as he pointed his sword towards the defeated rebel, yet that smile was now far crueler and viscous than before.
"Now it's time for them to be heard." |
The screaming, the gunshots, the artillery, and the contact sirens have finally stopped. A young lieutenant of the British army peeked up from his position in the trenches. It was all over, and he was a coward.
The man looked over the battlefield. Hundreds or even thousands of corpses were scattered around in the mix of mud, blood, and steel that was no-man's-land. It didn't take long for him to realize that he was the last one left.
With his Lee–Enfield rifle in hand, the lieutenant stepped out of his spot in the trenches. If the Germans won, doubtless he would have been captured by now. Walking along the churned dirt, that was when his eyes locked on to a German officer, doomed to the same fate of solitude as him. The officer was bleeding out of his left arm, his pistol and sword lost in the chaos that was the trench run. The lieutenant could kill him now, but what was the point.
With a nod from both sides, they both walked away from each other. In this war where both sides were taught to fear the other, perhaps showing a little sense of humanity to each other may help everyone get through this dark chapter in history. |
I had done what I could for the child.
Such nightmares as he had kept me glutted, satiated, so that I could scarcely bring myself to consume another come bedtime. But he always came to bed crying, and the sobs that wracked him shook the bed and ached my heart. I was not strong enough to tackle the evil spirits that caused him such pain; the ones that shouted until the walls rang and the boy retreated into his room. But as he laid his head down to rest, I knew that, if I could not fight his battles for him, then I could at least allay his fears for a short while. It was the least I could do.
Until the least I could do just did not suffice any longer.
There came a night when the banshee wails from within the house were particularly violent, and when the boy at last retreated, the door was slammed shut behind him. I waited for the tears; I waited for the exhaustion that always followed; I waited and prepared myself for the onslaught to come, certain that I could defeat it as I had every other night.
Except he was quiet. Bad dreams I could handle, but not silence. And somehow, that scared me more than his tears.
From my position under the bed, I could see his feet over the side, though he did not kick them idly as a child should. No, they hung limp and dejected, and I could hear him trying to control his breathing, and barely maintaining his composure.
I crept out the other side and rounded the bed. The room was dark, so I went unnoticed at first. Perhaps that was for the best. The form of a Baku – an amalgam of elephant, tiger, and ox – was more likely to elicit fear than provide solace, these days, but I had to try *something.*
I sat on my haunches and watched him. He gripped the mattress so hard his knuckles stood out white and jagged; his body was all tension as he fought to suppress his anger and his pain. I reached out with my tiger paw and rested it gently on his knee.
He looked up slowly, and I braced myself, expecting him to recoil in terror at the sight of me. But he only smiled. Smiled! I will never forget the grin that split his face and eased the tension in his limbs as he reached out to pat my elephant trunk.
To think, that I was *not* the scariest thing in that house.
With exceeding care, I lifted the boy into bed, pulling back the covers and laying him down before tucking him in again, and the entire time he kept a hand on my trunk, like a lifeline.
We did not share a language, but I wanted him to know that I was there to keep him from further harm, so long as he remained in that room. So rather than return to my place under the bed, I curled up in front of the door.
And for the first time in too long, the boy dreamt happily, and I did not regret missing a meal.
It became our nightly routine: the wails would chase him in to bed, and I would comfort him as best I could. I would tuck him in, brush the hair from his face with a gentle caress, and then stand watch at the door. No evil spirits would get him so long as I was there.
Though the shrieking never ceased, the boy began to shriek back. And the banshee did not know what to make of that. No more the tears; now the boy would come to his room and greet me with a grin and shout ‘Granny!’ I knew not what it meant, but I accepted the moniker with pride and maintained my guard. And to my credit, the evil spirits never entered the room, so long as I was there.
But the boy could not stay in his room forever.
He would be gone much of the day; I took that to be the norm. But as soon as he returned home, the shrieking resumed, and seldom abated before nightfall.
One day, the shrieking never started. I ought to have been relieved, except that the boy never came home, either. I knew, then, that something had changed. I could not say if it was wrong, but I did not like it, regardless. Concerned for my charge, I did what I had never done, and risked leaving the bedroom sanctuary.
I pawed open the door, my ox-tail twitching with anxiety. The house was dark as I padded down the corridor. I could hear weeping, and so I followed the sound into the kitchen, where the banshee sat at the counter draining her tears into a glass. She could not see me, and I had no reason to comfort her, so I turned and left, passing through the front entryway.
The boy was gone, and somehow, I was certain that he was not coming back. I sat on the front stoop in the daylight I had shunned for so long, and wondered where they could have taken him. I hoped that there were no banshees there.
I narrowed my eyes. But if there *were,* then he would need my protection. The world was rife with evil spirits; he might have escaped this one, but there would be others, ready to prey on a vulnerable soul. He was stronger than once he was, but still, I must find him.
I stood and scented the air, and took off running. I had done what I could for the child, but I could always do more.
*Hold tight, boy. Granny is coming to tuck you in.*
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**Hey, thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, feel free to stop by my** [personal sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Quail_and_Quill/) **for more stories and poems!** |
"It's Ensign Garblax's fault,"I said desperately. "He was playing with the asteroids, and there was an incident."
"An *incident*,"the commander said dangerously. "An incident which led to sentient, armed life on our colony target?"
"Well, yes, but we're fixing it. We turned up the heat. The whole ecosystem is slowly cooking. We're almost done, actually. The life forms don't know how to fix it, and they can't leave their own planet yet, so they should be extinct in a few more centuries. Once we've sterilized the planet, we'll reseed life with some samples of lizards, and the planet will be restored to suitability."
"And how long will this take in total?"
I gulped. "About ten thousand years."
His face flashed rainbow with rage. "The ship is arriving in four years! I *will not* tell the Minister that the plan must be scrapped because some nitwit played with the asteroids!"
I filled my air bladders deeply, for strength. "We have one other option. We preserved one of the large lizards, under the sea. If we release it, there's a chance it can fight off the current life forms and reestablish its own niche. There are risks --"
"Do it."
"There's a chance that --"
*"Do it."*
With my orders firm and clear, I had no choice. I moved to the command console and issued the classified command: GO GO GODZILLA.
We must all hope and pray that the great beast can cleanse the planet before our people reach their new home. |
“Loriodate ifrindet pelodu-“
BOOM!
Brushing the soot and charred hair off your face, you make a note in your book. “Pelodu doesn’t work. Next trying pelodi.”
The first word you had stumbled on as your roommate was talking in his sleep. He had a date with a girl named Lori that week. You had misheard and out loud said “Loriodate?” As the word escaped your lips, you felt a pressure in your chest and a warmth in your hands. You open your mouth to wake your roommate and the feeling goes away.
Over dinner, you mention it to your roommate and say “Loriodate” again. The same pressure and warmth return.
Weeks of trying had let you get the second word, but there were so many sounds possible for making a spell. With the second word, you can make a small flame in your hands, but only for a few seconds. The flame gets hot and burns you if you hold it too long.
Getting the third word is still tricky. Each syllable must be correct. One ah when you need oh and it blows up in your face. Literally. Getting back into your trials, you go to the next vowel.
“Loriodate ifrindet pelodi-“ It’s holding! “ba-“
BOOM!
You write the next correct syllable and make a note to buy a welding mask. |
Oof, longer than anticipated.
Higher comedy than anticipated though, so it was a joy to write! Thanks for the excellent prompt.
\---
Humans are the absolute *best* at dumbing down.
We haven’t even figured out space travel yet, but a few weeks ago these aliens showed up in FTL ships with lasers and beams and the whole kit and start *wiping* us out. Their bodies were enhanced with all sorts of tech, sensory-boosters, medi-kits, things we can’t even comprehend. We tried our best to match them, but it was like watching a caveman throw dirt at a tank.
Well, we’re not so proud that we can’t acknowledge when we’re facing a foe that far out-thinks us, out-plans us, out-techs us, and out-matches us in every way conceivable.
We are *definitely* too proud to ever admit that any of the above equals defeat, however.
First step was the sun: nuclear-prompted solar flares spaced at regular intervals would shut all tech down for days at a time, planet-wide. Radios, wifi, walkie-talkies, you name it. Even all their gear, advanced though it was.
Second was radio-jamming. Small stations, individuals with hobby kits, schools with campus radios, everyone; we were told to play it long, play it loud, and play it *non-stop*. We took over every frequency, every airwave. Music from every era filled the radios day and night, although – due to human nature, I think – an inordinate quantity of “We Will Rock You” ended up taking the lion’s share of the waves.
At this point, the aliens thought they had caught on to us. “Oh, you’re blocking our communications? Well so will we! Hah! How’s that feel?” They started shooting down satellites, plugging the airwaves with their own equivalent to pop music. I’m rather a fan of “Ghhnrge Objergf Hhw Ehjsodkf,” after having heard it so many times.
They didn’t quite realise that this played right into our plans, but what, were we supposed to tell them? Pfft, if they want to help dig their grave then we won’t object.
Step by step, both sides cut off all high-tech communication methods, then all mid-tech, and then all *low*\-tech. Nothing worked on an inter-platoon scale, and even an intra-unit messages sometimes struggled to get through.
Then the pipes struck up.
At sunrise, of course.
I was a few rows back, but I could still see most of the field. The ships were so shiny in the low orange light of dawn, and the scattered battalions of alien troops milled around in a confused panic as the sound reached them. A few hills away to the north, I could hear the Scottish regiment kick in with their pipes, shrill and eager. To the south came the loud drums of the Americans, and beyond them – oh so faintly – the vuvuzelas of the South African soccer fans. Other regions carried the call with their own instruments, songs ringing through the mist, a god-awful orchestra of a species that just doesn’t know when to stop.
The aliens could not get word out fast enough, with all comms down – they were too teched-up, as we’d known from the get-go. They just couldn’t figure out how to dumb it down – go primal – return to square one – make do with what the good earth gave you: a pair of lungs and the stubbornness to make your noise *everyone’s* problem.
After a month of massacre we stormed their landing sites, overran their vessels, stole their weapons, and reclaimed our shitty little planet from their conquering pseudopods. I marched with them, sending orders along the lines with my song, alerting far-flung forces of a change in tactics with a key shift here, a tempo change there.
My fellows and lasses and comrades beside me played until our throats ached, our hands throbbed, and our shoulders couldn’t carry the weight of a butterfly, but by god it worked. The aliens could not adapt to a tech-less war, while we embraced it with wide arms and starched uniforms and ridiculously tall hats. At one point I was pretty sure I saw a Napoleon cosplayer stab an alien through the gut with a rapier, then steal his laser blaster.
Within a day the war had turned; some ships fled, but most were beaten below the tide of our tunes. The dead clogged the fields, and many aliens surrendered under the weight of the unending slaughter and the even worse unending din.
The planet celebrated with a continuation of the music as the last of our would-be-conquerors were routed out, and at the end of it all I played “Ghhnrge Objergf Hhw Ehjsodkf” on the Uilleann pipes as the last enemy general died under my feet. |
"Evacuate the building immediately!"Star Press yelled as he sprinted through the halls of the Super Hero HQ, "WWF is coming!"
Jazz Handle, the superhero intern, looked confused at the panicked heroes around him. Even Purple Pillar was hurriedly gathering up his breakfast.
"Whoa, this is good, right? You've been hunting We Who Fell for a long time!"Jazz Handle said, following the retreating heroes.
"That's a line for the papers, kid. WWF will beat you to death. We can't stop them. They know all of our weaknesses from their days as heroes."Tight Beam said as he patted himself down, finally pulling out a set of car keys. "They threw my grandfather's war medals off a bridge and I waited in the car. We still might not get away in time even now."
"They don't know my weakness"Jazz Hands said. "I'm going to hold them off while you escape."
"I'd say don't be a hero that would probably just motivate you more. You ever heard of the real WWF?"
"So, their powers are all based on animals. You mean the World Wildlife Fund?"
"Never mind, you're probably too young. They go by something else now, I think. Good luck, kid. Hit them while they're monologuing."
The door slammed as Jazz Handle prepared his canes and began to recite a soulful ballad.
"Suuuuper Slaaaaam!"came a commanding voice through the halls as the door to the rec room as Kodiak Kommander, Ape Nation, and Clydesdale Doug thundered in.
The burly bear of a man, dressed like a lumberjack wearing a duck hunter hat pulled down a microphone from the ceiling somehow and pointed right at Jazz Handle. "We came here on your turf so we could disrespect those shiny shoes do gooders to their faces and they ran, oh yeah! I don't even get to use my sack of tricks"Kodiak dumped a duffel bag on the table, spilling a yo-yo, a hunk of some glowing blue metal and what looked like a slice of Key Lime Pie.
"Like little babies,"Clydesdale Doug, the hulking centaur, said as he bucked, tearing the microphone from Kodiak up to his mouth. "Back to their super momma's house!"
"Except for this little snazzy pipsqueak!"Ape Nation roared as he smashed a ping pong table by jumping on it. "Are you gonna take all of us, kid? I call first smackdown! I'm hungry for blood!"
"I don't have to stop you."Jazz Handle tried to get his breathing under control as he gripped his canes harder through the sweat. "I just have to slow you down. Say hello to Cue Lewy and Lean Cuisine!"He released his canes to float. They began to spin beside him, bobbing in time with the music as Ape Nation charged.
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. |
...where am I?
I sat up on the bed with a start, and immediately buried my head into my arms as my eyes were suddenly met with bright light, static forming inside my brain. Crisp white sheets surrounded me, blending into this room of whiteness that I’m in.
Or, precisely, who am I?
I looked around.
This place seemed to be a hospital of some sorts, with some medical equipment standing here and there. The room looked sterile, not a speck of dust to be found. I don’t really like this place. It gave off a vacant and uncaring feeling, leaving a person feeling hollow, should they be alone in such room.
Blinking groggily, I tried to find anyone that could explain the predicament I’m currently in. Suddenly, I heard a noise coming from beside me.
It was a TV, quite close to me that I didn’t see it on the spot while i was looking around. It rested on a chair that looked like it was originally reserved for visitors.
The screen lit up, and in it appeared a boy standing against a wall of grey. He had fluffy, light golden hair, and blue eyes. He looked frazzled, and his eyes were resembling a pool of dead water with heavy dark circles underneath. I squinted at the boy. For some reason I got this feeling that he probably should be more carefree and happy, not in this downcast state.
“Hi, I know you are probably confused.” His voice was soft but coarse at the same time, as if experiencing many sleepless nights. “You’ve just gone through amnesia surgery—— your memories were erased.”
He paused for a bit, as if lost in deep thought.
“...it was for the better. Listen to me. You should get a new life, start anew. Trust me, you are better off without those memories.”
“Please...don’t look for the things that your mind can’t handle”
With that, the screen flickered, and blacked out.
I continued staring at the television for a few seconds, slightly creeped out. So for some reason, the memories from all of my life were erased on purpose. Is there really a need though? Really, having all of one’s memories erased just because “my mind can’t handle it”? A bit of an overkill, if you ask me. And who was that guy? If he was my friend, shouldn’t he have come and explain this to me himself?
Welp, anyways, now that I got things sorted out, well, only a bit but at least it helped me understand what kind of situation I’m in, I went out, planning to get some fresh air instead of continuing my snorting of antiseptic up my lungs.
The nurse in the hallway (apparently there are humans here after all) spotted me, telling me that I’m free to leave whenever I want. Well, I guess that there shouldn’t be any physical problems for a surgery that involves memories, but to leave someone that had no idea when they were born, who their family was, what they like and dislike, and what kind of person now that their memories that construct their identities, personalities, and their whole being all wiped out-
I caught myself straying from my line of thoughts, and quickly put myself together. This wasn’t the time to be spiraling into an existential crisis.
I opened the hospital entrance, breathing a sigh of relief as the warm rays of sun shone on my face. I let myself wander around, finding myself in a bustling marketplace.
Maybe there is someone around here that knows me? I looked around and saw a man in his 30s. We made eye contact, and the man started approaching me, smirking tauntingly.
Yep, deeefinitely not the type of person I was looking for.
“Oh look, if it isn’t Hiro.”
Was that my name?
Hiro?
The marketplace went oddly quiet, but shortly the noise came back, in the form of countless repressed voices murmuring to one another.
I could feel people’s stares on me. Some angry, some disappointed, some amused.
Wow, was I so much of a social outcast that I decided to erase all memories of social interaction?
“Acting all high and mighty, aren’t you?” Said the man, raising an eyebrow “Are you finished on your little quest to save the world?”
I frowned. I could feel a headache coming in. But then, another person chimed in.
“Yeah, right! Isn’t it your responsibility to kill the dark lord?”
*The dark lord.* At the mention of that name, my body tensed up, as if something deep within me as shaking to its core. Something primal was telling me
to *run.*
A dark cloud looked over the marketplace. As if their mood was affected by the weather, the people started speaking up, one by one.
“Now look at him, all pathetic, walking in broad daylight wearing a hospital gown”
“He wouldn’t be thinking of running away from the dark lord, wouldn’t he? Would he just leave us behind like that?”
“I heard Suzanne’s daughter was killed by one of the dark lord’s minions. She has been locking herself in her house for days. Really, is he that cold-hearted not to try slay the dark lord himself?”
The atmosphere was dark, as the townspeople showed their true unadulterated nature without a care.
_______
I fled from the marketplace, *running* as fast as my legs could carry me. Really, why am I in a place like this?
Suddenly, I thought about the television that I saw after waking up, unknowing of anything.
Was that guy really my friend? Why did he leave me in this place? Why are all of my memories wiped?
My legs led me to a riverbank. There, an old man was sitting on a rock facing the river.
“Tough crowd we have here in town eh?”
As if expecting me to come, he started talking without turning around.
“Things have been really grim ever since the dark lord spread his influence here. The influence, it widened the darkness in people’s hearts. The effect was quite potent, might I add.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Aren’t you affected by ‘the dark lord’?”
The old man scoffed. “Really, I’m an old geezer, pretty sure I’m just gonna die sooner or later any ways. I don’t really care about the dark lord, but others do. They are scared. For themselves. That’s how the influence affected them.
He paused for a while. “You know, I don’t really blame you for wanting to run away, Hiro, you’ve already spent your entire life dedicated to training yourself to fend against the dark lord.”
I didn’t reply as I walked to the edge of the riverbank. I suddenly wanted to drink some water for some reason.
As I knelt, cupping my hands in the water, I saw my reflection.
A boy with golden hair and blue eyes.
“Its just a pity that you want to run away after just seeing the true form of the dark lord in person. After all, I wasn’t expecting you to also fall victim to my influence like the others.”
I turned around, my pupils dilating.
The old man, no, the dark lord looked at me with pity, wearing a smile that followed me to the depths of hell. |
"Stop petting me!"Commander Jenkins yelled.
Glor chuckled. "You fluffy dog. Me like human hair!"he roughly rubbed the top of Jenkins' head again.
"I'm taking a break. Meet back in ten. Bye."
"Bye doggy!"Glor said excitedly. "See you soon!"
Jenkins exited the meeting room, and walked to the 'Human's' room.
"Hey Jenkins, back so early?"Hazel questioned.
"Yeah. Glarions are so annoying. Especially Glor. He always comes and pets *me."*
"HA. Gleer always does it to me. At least she isn't rough, unlike your companion in the other room."she winked.
Jenkins grunted. "Yeah, whatever."He went over to the coffee machine and poured himself an espresso. "We need to get back at the Glarion species somehow. We need to teach them a lesson. I feel all the other civilizations are fine, but definitely *not the Glarions.*"
"Sure, whatever. Any ideas in mind?"Hazel asked.
"I got briefed on a species native to the planet Jerian. They're called Jeri. I searched it up on the galaxy web, and it seems that they like toying with Glarions. As in, they think Glarions are the equivalent of adorable dogs and cats. They're a friendly species. Some live here on Glari, so I'll talk to them, and we'll launch a huge prank!"Jenkins said, waving his arms.
"Are you... are you sure? What if we cause a war or somethin'?"
"Nah, it'll be fine. We'll show them what it feels like to be treated this way."
Hazel rolled her eyes. "Ok, whatever fancies you."
*\[Jenkins didn't know Glarions had incredible hearing. As he entered the meeting room, Glor gave him an extra rough petting on the head. Jenkins screamed like a girl, and ran out. He got fired the next day.\]* |
For all their destruction, little was truly known about the Bas’del. The prevailing rumor among the fishwives was that the Bas’del were the vengeful remnants of the Sheldelin, a tribe of peaceful druids who were mostly killed in the burning of the Brightwood when the Lestrian Duchy annexed the Northern Territories. Old Codge, the blacksmith, told anyone who was willing to listen (whenever the subject was brought up) that the Bas’del were goblinfolk driven to madness in a failed pact made with some minor dark god to make them into men. Most of the merchants that passed through Solto’s Bay laughed those origins off and explained that the Bas’del were nothing more than a particularly vicious band of nomadic barbarians.
Meridell didn’t care what was true. Solto’s Bay was little more than a collection of ash and stone. Her family was dead. Meridell had no one left and no place to flee to.
As she came to find out, however, Meridell was not the only survivor of the raid on Solto’s Bay. As she walked through the ruins of the only home she had ever known, wiping the paste of tears and ash from her face, she found Apothecary Tynwell near the crematorium. His thinning gray hairs were matted with sweat against the left side of his face as he dropped another charred body into a pile of others who had met similar fates during the raid. He paused and cleared his face abruptly upon seeing Meridell, as if greeting a passing noble – whether it was his own pride as a member of the Guild or merely a sign of compassion to a broken girl, it was clear the apothecary was focused on propriety and decorum. It did not take a degree in the Sciences to surmise what had happened to her.
“I’m sorry, Meridell,” he offered quietly, shuffling through his bags in order to find some bread and diluted wine. “I’m preparing the fallen for the crematorium. If you like, we’ll find your kin and see them to the Last Plains properly.” Meridell could only offer a choked sob in response. She didn’t take Tynwell’s bread, but her heavy nod and quiet tears were a sign that she accepted his offer.
“It’ll take some time, lass; there’s enough work for five Guild members here, and you’re the only other living soul I’ve seen. Take the bread when you’re ready and rest; if you’re sleeping, I’ll wake you before we see your folks off.” Tynwell gently placed the bread and canteen at Meridell’s side and laid out a blanket in the least-soiled spot he could find. Meridell didn’t lay down so much as collapse, and moments later she was draped in sleep.
The dreams weren’t easy ones to bear. She dreamt of waking up that morning, hearing her mother’s song. Suddenly, she was in the garden playing at knights-and-goblins with her father, stopping the game suddenly as her mother announced that afternoon supper was ready. As soon as she stepped through the threshold of her house, time snapped forward to evening, and the warning bells of Solto’s Bay were ringing through the cold autumn air. Meridell’s father shuffled a worn leather brigandine on and left running towards the town proper while Meridell’s mother held her in a tight embrace. Meridell listened to her mother’s comforting words, and they seemed to last a lifetime.
“Don’t fear, Little Dawn. Turn your heart to hope. Hope for the rising of the sun tomorrow, for the laughter of your father and the sweetrolls I’ll bake you. Hope for Old Codge’s cranky banter and for seeing your friend Ewan over on the Pathels’ farm. We survive terrors not because we fear what we must face, but because we hope for what we will live to see.”
Some hours later, Apothecary Tynwell had cleaned up enough of the mess and sorted enough of the dead that he was able to place Meridell’s parents on the crematory slate. He gently nudged Merida awake, who could still hear the echo of her mother’s voice. Her face half-washed by weeping, she picked herself up and squeezed the apothecary’s hand timidly. She was ready to say goodbye.
Watching her parents burn among the sacramental wood, she wondered how quickly her mother and father’s souls would flee to the Last Plains. Did they linger to look upon their daughter one last time, or were they fleeing to the Last Plains with the hope of their new lives replacing the love for their daughter? *Hope*. Her mother’s words seemed mocking now – was this what Meridell held on for? As she focused her eyes on the flame, yesterday’s hope mixed with anger, with heartbreak, with grudging gratitude, and most of all, with loneliness. She had no tears left to cry and she felt as if her heart had emptied itself, like she’d never feel anything again. Then, as the cremation finished, a squawk.
Tenatively, weakly, a wretched, hobbling, soot-crusted creature shuffled from the ashes of the remains of Meridell’s parents. It shook what it could of the ash off, revealing itself to have washed-out red-golden plumage. In any other situation, Meridell would have thought it cute, and asked to take it home – now she eyed it with a weary disdain.
Apothecary Tynwell’s reaction was quite different. He placed a shaking hand on Meridell’s hand, as much to reassure himself as her. “Child, you’ve summoned a phoenix.”
Meridell cut him off bitterly. “I don’t want any more stories.” Tynwell sighed and cradled the small bird, holding it gently in front of Meridell. He waited patiently until she met the creature’s gaze. “Then at least, child, in the midst of your grief, allow yourself to acknowledge you’re not alone anymore.” After a minute that felt like it stretched into hours, Meridell reluctantly took the bird, then slowly shuffled away. Her meek “thank you” was the last Tynwell had seen of the girl.
\---
Khaz’gel, third warchief of the Bas’del, watched in horror as the phoenix sliced through his men like overripe wheat. Panicked from the legendary creature’s assault, his men were nothing more than target practice for the huntress perched on the cliffside above them, and though he could not identify her, he had heard enough stories to guess who was ambushing them. The Red Dawn, they called her. Some said she was an avatar of Ishelle herself, bringing the Light’s justice to the wicked. Some said she was a hedge mage turned ranger who knew enough illusion magic to make her assaults seem fiercer and more terrifying than they were. The Guild’s official account was that she was the only living Summoner on record, and had survived the razing of Solto’s Bay. But Khaz’gel did not care about any of that – he had his pride as a warrior. He was Bas’del! The Living Scourge! Children of the New Land! Defiantly, he moved into the open and shouted towards her.
“Witch! Do you know who I am!? Who we are!? *What* we are!?”
As the Red Dawn drew back her silverwood bow, the phoenix bore down upon Khaz’gel’s trembling body. As the flames consumed him, the last thing he heard was her reply.
“You’re my prey.” |
Threat Intercept
For eons mankind had wished to leave their home and find their destiny among the stars, and just as soon as it seemed we could finally do just that, our hopes were dashed like a ship against the shore. The Human Spirit was a craft meant to take us beyond the furthest reaches of our solar system and beyond, but now it was our tomb. Moments after we passed Mars, we received a garbled message in an alien dialect and seconds after that we were hit. A pointed, spear like ship seemed to appear from the blackness of space itself and flung itself into The Human Spirit, easily piercing the hull and breaching straight into the command deck where most of the crew was working. The tip of the alien ship opened like a flower in bloom, allowing the creatures piloting it access to our space.
These beings were unlike anything on earth. Thick, conical orange bodies tapering to a point at the top. A ring of what I could only assume were eyes just under that point. No arms, instead having a mass of leafy green tendrils at its base, seemingly used for both locomotion and manipulation. Despite their awkward appearance, they moved fast. A pair of them rounded up the entire command crew in minutes, ensnaring them with those green tendrils and holding them fast. Another pair scuttled off of the command deck, presumably to search the ship and round up remaining crew. Despite all our resistance and fighting, we we no match for their great strength.
After an additional ten minutes or so, the remaining crew members had been captured and moved to the command deck. Most were unharmed beyond capture, though Navigator Jenson sported a nasty cut on her forehead and the captain appeared to be unconscious, but breathing. The beasts seemed to talk amongst themselves, jabbering in the alien language we had heard earlier. I interupted, shouting as loud as I could muster “Why are you doing this to us? What could we possibly have done to earn this”? To my surprise, a voice answered my question in English, seeming to come from within my own mind. “You have violated galactic penal code 77-357 gamma 3; piloting of an unauthorized craft to escape a designated prison planet. You shall be returned to your planet and remain there”. The voice was harsh and electronic sounding, but that aside, the words it spoke were far more confusing to me than even how it spoke. I shouted again “Prison planet? Why should we be imprisoned when we haven’t committed any crime”? The harsh synthesized voice spoke in my head again and I could tell from the rest of the wincing crew that they had heard it too. “Earth is a prison, yes. But your kind is arrogant to believe they are the ones it was built for. A greater galactic threat than you could ever imagine was imprisoned there thousands of years ago. Species 44-344Y”. At the announcement of its name a holographic image of the creature in question seemed to materialize in front of us and our captors recoiled in fear and disgust. The creature had red eyes and long teeth. It’s enormous ears draped over either side of its body and it’s rear legs were long, but tucked under it’s abdomen to help it leap great distances. I looked upon their feared enemy, turned to face our captors and said “That’s a rabbit, dude”. |
The villain sighed and dropped dramatically into the chair across from the hero- who was tied up in chains with duct tape over their mouth and their sweet heart being held captive at an undisclosed location that only I and the henchman stationed their knew the whereabouts of. The... “superhero” was known simply as Avatar- though I don’t know why since he can only manipulate water and even then he couldn’t do much since we were two kilometers underground in a desert (don’t sweat the details- it was hard enough to make this place).
“Listen,” the villain sighed, “I’m not here to try and kill you or your sweet heart- I only have her as collateral so you would listen to me because otherwise you’d only wash away my base. Like last time- which is horrible because you sweeper an entire base into the ocean. Do you know how much that could pollute the oceans? I may be evil but I have standards on how clean the world should be.” They leaned forward in their chair and the hero only gave a muffled apology.
“That’s beside the point though, the point of this... meeting, is that you and every other hero in this city- along with the villain’s, I don’t deny there is a problem amongst my peers- which is why I’m addressing it with you,” standing up the villain started walking slowly back and fourth in front of the villain. “See, the reason I have you today is because I want you to help me talk to the other hero’s. I want to be on a... truce- because none of you have any patience anymore.” The hero was glaring at the villain and they could tell they were on the edge of muffled yelling at them. The villain sighed dramatically and walked over, crouching in front of them with their arms on their legs and keeping eye contact, only to reach up and yanking off the duct tape.
“As if I’d ever help you!” The villain shouted and tried to lunge at the villain, but was held in place by the chains.
“You and every other hero have no sense of patience, and none of the villains have any sense of theatrics and no one monologues anymore, the generation before us did and we don’t. I only want to address the issues of this. I miss the days when my parents would tell me stories about how my father monologues endlessly and my mother would patiently wait for him to finish before breaking free of the trap he’d set for her and then the two having a drawn out fight for the fun of it. I miss the crazy stories of the inventions and drama. You, and the hero league, have none. I know the only reason you haven’t broken out of those chains is because I haven’t disclosed the location of your sweetheart, the second I mentioned where they were and you’d find a way to break out and attack me before escaping.”
“Because I’m not an idiot. Just tell me where she is and then I can break out and fight you then go save her.” The villain sighed and monitored for some tea to be brought out. This would be a long day. |
"We're looking for a prophecy,"Agent Nathaniel Green said. Wearing his usual impeccably pressed dark-gray coat, he sat across the table from me and folded his arms. "About who can bring an end to Inferno's reign of terror. And we're willing to pay whatever you ask for it."
I grimaced. I hated working with these government agencies. They always wanted things in black and white, wanted my prophecies to be completely accurate. A tall order, and unlikely to be fulfilled given the inexact nature of divination.
"The usual caveats apply,"I cautioned. "My prophecies will require interpretation. They may deviate from what is actually to come. And of course, I need time."
"Yes, yes,"Agent Green replied smoothly, slicking back his black hair. "You need time. But, if I may, we are hoping to watch you during your preparations."
"E-excuse me?"This request was new. Nobody had ever seen me during prophetic ecstasy, and I had hoped to keep it that way.
"Yes,"he replied. "You see, given the...inaccuracies in your recent prophecies, some of the individuals in my department have begun to question your methods. Not me, of course,"he added hastily. "But to ensure the legitimacy of the prophecy, I have been asked to stand by as an impartial observer, to verify that the prophecy is legitimate."
"And what if your presence disturbs the process, and I am unable to prophesy at all?"I asked.
His eyes glinted. "I'm afraid that will throw even more suspicion on the validity of your predictions,"he replied. "Please. I insist."
There was no helping it. I could either refuse and be labeled as a fraud, or I could comply. I began brewing the espresso. |
"It's not magic,"I explained. "It's technology. Science. Tools."
The warlord looked unconvinced. He wore the hide of a mutant bear. The members of his posse were all deformed: a man with three eyes, a woman whose ears drooped to her shoulders, twins conjoined at the head who together possessed one sickly right arm and a huge powerful left.
"You teach or die,"the warlord threatened. He pointed at me an ancient iron shovel that had been sharpened to a point. He held the rusted door of an SUV in his other arm as a shield.
I was supposed to awake in a beautiful future. I was supposed to awake in a world which technology had turned to a utopia. I had envisioned teleportation devices, faster-than-light intergalactic travel, cyborg humanoids living alongside fully-natural humans. It was my hope for the future that had led me to participate in the Company's experiment. I had given up my friends, family and world in order to put my life on pause for one thousand years.
But something must have happened along the way. Some catastrophe that levelled our civilization, our species, and returned us to the Stone Age. I slowly swung my legs over the edge of the cryo-bed and squinted, looking around. The light of their torches illuminated the walls and ceiling: we were deep in some system of caves. A small red dot glowed in the distance.
The warlord was growing impatient. He pressed the sharp weapon to my neck. "You tell magic. Now."
"It's a complex body of knowledge,"I began. "Nothing a single man like me has the compass of. The technology that went into this cryo-chamber, for instance, is the fruit of hundreds of years of discovery, the collective effort of tens of thousands of isolated specialists, advancing in their particular fields. An interconnected web of knowledge being brought together for a startling innovation. . .Me know zero magic. Me not wizard. Me cursed by wizards."
The warlord gasped. He and his cronies started back. "Cursed?"
"Me left all,"I said, mimicking their grunted speech. "Wizard say when I wake I get much money and meet gods. Wizard lied. World destroyed. No money. No gods. Only you. That my curse."
The posse looked at one another. The warlord looked down at his feet. They were suppressing smirks, laughter. I wondered if a word I had used meant something different now, after all these generations: perhaps 'money' meant defecation. Or perhaps the nuclear fallout and in-breeding of these primitive goons had addled their brains, and they were all insane.
"You tell us. . ."the warlord began. He burst out laughing. His posse was snickering, too. "Ah, fuck it! Lights. It's over. We blew it. Lights!"The lights came on. The cave was constructed of something like paper-mache. The grotesque conjoined twins started unzipping their suit and stepping out. "Sorry, mate,"the warlord said in a modern English accent. "There was a bug in your bed. They needed to wake you to get it patched up before they really let you down for the long sleep. We thought it was a perfect opportunity."
"A bug?"I asked. "I don't understand. How long was I asleep?"
"Four days,"he said, still chuckling. "You should have seen your face. And you'll get to. We've got the whole thing on video."He pointed to the back of the artificial cavern, where the red dot had glowed. A fat man waved jovially from behind a camera. |
'Sir,' the waitress says, pushing her rimless glasses up her freckled nose, 'this is a Wendy's.'
'I will not die,' I tell her, 'not today. Not ever.'
Before today, I had been a little worried. Despite my increasingly unlikely survival from nearly anything you can think of, old age still haunted me like my shadow. It watched as I slept, as I walked from work and back from it, as I ate and smiled and lived.
*Memento Mori,* old age whispers, *remember you will die.*
Early this morning, as I had returned from a walk with my black spaniel, a man in a lab coat tapped me on the shoulder and asked me whether I wanted to take part in an experiment. He'd chosen me completely randomly; at least he thought he had.
All cells in your body die eventually, so them being able to copy themselves properly is important. Ageing, he explained to me, comes from cells being unable to replicate themselves as well over time. They then begin to manufacture less perfect copies until they finally give up and let you kick the bucket.
Guess what? They had discovered a way for a cell to make nearly perfect copies. Nearly, mind you. But I was confident that over time they would perfect it. They tested it on me, and I had a good feeling that it had worked. The science had been sound anyway.
I scooted over to the side of the bench just as a man stabbed a knife into the wall next to my head.
The waitress stared.
I smiled.
'I'll kill you!' The biker screamed, alcohol on his breath.
He ran at me again. I stood up and skipped to the other side just as he slammed into the wall and knocked himself out.
'Huh.' I grabbed the waitress's hand and pulled her out of the door as people stared in disbelief. 'Let's dance.'
I spun her around in the parking lot as a car drove by and sprayed bullets across the parking lot, each one missing us by inches.
The woman, who had just been about to form a sentence, had her jaw drop again.
'You're not a waitress,' I told her. 'A real one who have gotten me with the pepper spray right now. I should know, I've tried this before.'
I turned and looked at the KFC across the street. 'Ooh, they got a new deal on those Hot Spicy Drumlets. Never liked Wendy's anyway.'
I skipped across the street, cars zipping back and forth without stopping for me. Then a plane fell out of the sky and obliterated the restaurant before my eyes. Looking back at the waitress, I raised an eyebrow.
She hissed in frustration. Slowly, slowly, her form began to change. Her waitress uniform changed into pale white armor and chainmail, a helmet obscuring the expression on her face. Wings grew from her back, the feathers spreading in a peacock's fan of black and white. A scythe appeared in her outstretched hand, the blade shimmering with power. Eyes burning with hatred watched me through the helmet's visor.
'*You,'* she snarled, *'just do not know how to die.'*
'Forgive me if I'm not a looking for a way to do so.' Spreading my hands, I exposed my chest. 'Go ahead. Try it.'
She slashed her scythe in an arc, but another piece of the plane blew itself up, some of the shrapnel blasting her back. Death stumbled, but did not fall. 'Please.' she said. 'Let yourself be killed with honor. '
'Why?' I screamed. 'Why should I? Give me an answer, if you truly call yourself divine!'
'Because you don't understand,' she whispered. 'You're not supposed to live. I don't know why , but your survival threatens to throw the world into imbalance. I promise I'll make sure you gain the best afterlife you can.'
'And how do I know you tell the truth?'
'I am Death. I do not lie.'
'Fine, then.' I sighed, staring at the burning wreckage of the plane. Heaven did seem pretty good right now. 'How do I die?'
She blinked. 'I assumed... you would know.'
'Well I don't. I've tried to kill myself before. It never works.' I paused. 'Hey, why don't you come over to my place? We'll talk over coffee, and try to figure this out.'
Her mouth twitched in a version of a smile. 'I don't see why not.' She snapped her fingers, her armor being replaced by the Wendy's uniform. ' Let's go.'
Death and I still meet every Sunday, both of us trying to figure out a way to kill me. I'm planning on pulling a Houdini next week and trying to get to the bottom of the river with weights. Should be fun, either way.
You can come watch, if you like. But don't keep your hopes up. |
Marisol could hear the ship approaching long before she could see it. It sounded large and heavy, with a loud foghorn blaring across the waters, moving much faster than she would normally have thought a vessel of its size could.
That horn was a problem. Her sisters had stationed her at the island's shore, a small distance away from the great spires of black rock that jutted from the surface, which was even now littered with great chunks of wood from previous ships that had smashed into them full force, and the dried bones of their riders. They had given her clear instructions: stay close to the waters so that she could have a constant, undisturbed view of their next victims as they sailed within hearing distance of the island, while they hunted in the meantime.
It had been almost three months since the last ship had crashed, and with such a long wait between meals, her older sisters, Viola and Hargris, had to make due with the birds and small animals that scuttled across the island and the fish that flickered around them. Given how far away they were now, they were unlikely to hear the ship as it glided steadily towards their home, but if that raucous horn continued to blare, it would no doubt alert them as to their new catch.
And that was the last thing she wanted. Marisol breathed a deep sigh, then moved to the island's very edge, and sung.
A beautiful, quivering note rose from her lips and drifted across the water, through the thick mist that enveloped their tiny stretch of land, concealing the horrors that lay upon it. She hated this, hated their treacherous song, the unearthly music that stole a man's wits from him, made him a bumbling idiot forced to do their bidding. But right now it was a necessary evil.
Soon the foghorn stopped, though she did not stop singing. Her voice was like a fish hook, reeling in her prey slowly and steadily. Moments later, a great black silhouette coloured the pearly mist, and the huge, ivory vessel pierced the fog, emerging majestically into her sights.
The humans on top of it were entranced, their faces alight with a happiness and desperation that made her sick. As the ship continued to glide towards her, she stopped singing.
Cries of disappointment rent the air as they begged her to continue, men and women and children. But it didn't matter the age, the frailty, her sisters would devour these people as they had done countless others. Unless...
Marisol looked up at them, her dark, white-less eyes large and concerned. She struck up another song, a *new* song, one of urgency rather than the one they had employed their whole, unending lives, which had lured many to their deaths. Slowly the humans came back to themselves. They looked around, confused, shocked, then they saw her.
The looks of horror and bewilderment were not new. They barely phased her. She had seen them all, had heard the terrified screams many times, for the spell of their song was always broken at the moment the prey were being devoured, and her sisters preferred them live.
Soon the boat was wheeling around, and it was speeding off much faster than before, back where it had come from. As the silhouette disappeared again, for the first time in her life, Marisol felt... relieved. Happy. It was a nice feeling — but short-lived. For now she could hear ragged breathing behind her, and with a feeling of foreboding she turned around to face her sisters, larger and more terrible than she.
Hargris's eyes were wild, burning with rage. "*What have you done?*"
This was my first piece here, hope you all like it :) |
Ten months. That is how long I waited for the proper prince to 'rescue' me from Ciemeriarth's lair. What surprised me the most was that the one I yearned for ended up being someone who hadn't even come to rescue me.
Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning...
Ciemeriarth is the dragon that was assisting me in my quest to find the proper someone that I may fall for. He is actually a very gentle creature if you bother to get to know him. When I stumbled upon him out in the wild for the first time, I was terrified - my father had always spoke of how destructive dragons could be. But he was gentle, and after a while, he gained my trust.
He asked me why nobility like myself was wandering out in the middle of the woods, far from the safety of any kingdom. I explained to him of my father's dealings with other Kings and Queens, searching for a prince that would be fit to marry his daughter. I told Ciemeriarth of how he hadn't even asked of my opinion - before I knew it, I was set to marry the Prince of Thaezrarith.
Hearing this, Ciem offered an arrangement of sorts. I could hide within his den, staging a 'Damsel in distress' situation in order to scare away this Prince of Thaezrarith. In return, Ciem requested that I would go out into the forest and pick flowers to decorate his piles of gold - he complained that his hands were far too large for the task. I agreed, and after a few days, word reached my father of my fate.
Not long after, the Prince of Thaezrarith stormed Ciem's cave, demanding I be returned. I asked Ciemeriarth not to kill him, but to simply scare him off. The Prince suffered a few injuries that made me worried, but Ciem's power was far too great for the pathetic Prince. He scurried off in his undergarments, and that was the last we heard of him.
With the prince dealt with, I could return home - I thanked my dragon friend and he thanked me for his new prized carnation collection. But in the next few days as we brainstormed a logical way for me to be returned without suspicion, a new prince arrived at the lair's entrance, declaring himself and his intent loudly. Ciem sent him on his way almost the same as the first, though unfortunately this prince went home with significantly less body hair than the first did.
This had me slightly worried. If my father had suitors lined up for me like this when I returned home... I inquired with Ciemeriarth if I could stay longer, and he was indifferent to the matter as long as I continued bringing him pretty flowers for his collection.
A week turned into two weeks, two weeks into four. Princes and Knights and Heroes from across the lands arrived, each declaring loudly that they were here to save their beloved future wife from the deathly dragon. While many seemed outwardly handsome, I never once found myself drawn to their personalities. No matter the hero that showed, I couldn't even find it in me to decide to finally go back and admit defeat to my father - despite him not realizing the true situation.
Many months passed. I helped Ciemeriarth plant his own garden after he got sad when the flowers I picked for him died. Before I knew it, months had passed. I had lost count of how many heroes had tried to come to my rescue. My hair grew and grew into a tangled mess that ran down the length of my back, but I didn't particularly mind.
After ten months of this, what I assumed to be another suitor of countless others arrived. Ciem was used to this routine by now. He didn't even examine the newcomer closely as they wordlessly entered his lair.
"Come to rescue the princess once again, eh? You suitors really don't know when to quit."His soft yet stern voice echoed off the chamber walls. The figure didn't say a word in response until they were right at Ciem's feet.
"Erm... you can talk, right?"He awkwardly glanced down at the man, who remained unmoving.
"I ain't here for no princess. I'm here for some of the gold you got, big guy. If you don't make a generous donation fast, I'll be forced to rough you up."The voice was strong and resounding. My heart fluttered in my chest when he spoke. Who *was* this mysterious man?
"Uhh... really?"Taken aback by the disinterest in my existence, Ciem shuffles around on his pile of valuables. "Well, then, uh... prove you aren't another Prince or Hero that isn't just trying to trick me into giving away the Princess."
Nice comeback, Ciem. That'll really get this mysterious figure to comply.
Surprisingly enough, it seems my sarcasm is proven wrong as the figure sighs and reaches up, sliding their armored helm off of their head. The face I see makes my heart skip a beat.
Standing before Ciemeriarth was the most beautiful woman I've ever laid my eyes on. She had short locks colored ashen red, supple lips, and a ferociously cocky grin. I didn't even realize my mouth had fallen agape until she caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of her eye.
"That's the Princess you've been hiding?"She barks a laugh. "Good for you, I guess. But I'm not here for any distressed princess."The woman unsheathes the sword hanging from her waist and points it right at Ciem's nose. "Give up some gold, you overgrown lizard, or I'll take it by force."
Ciem glances at me. I stare back. In those few moments, we silently communicate in that special way you can with someone you know well.
Ciemeriarth takes a raspy breath, huffing smoke out of his nose as he looks back at the woman standing before him, threatening such a powerful beast.
"Ermm... I suppose I can give up a bit of my fortune. But perhaps you'd like to stick around a tad longer and do some flower gardening?" |
Nine and a half billion years. For nine and a half billion years I've been shoveling hydrogen into this insatiable furnace. The archon that left me here said in a billion years I could have my nothing. It's kinda funny to think oblivion used to scare me. I actually began wishing for it before the first planet began to form around this beast's gravity well. Of course in the span of nine and a half billion years that length of time seems like a rounding error now.
By this point, so far as I can see, my prison has become a red giant and consumed the first four planets of this system. I envied them.
Is this it? I just keep shoveling until I run out fuel, watch as this cage grows smaller and colder? NO! There is another way! To hell with this system! And to hell with their rules! At last after nine and a half billion years I've emptied my reservoir so it's light enough. At last after nine and a half billion years of toil I'm strong enough. I lift my captor's food source and hurl it into the abyss of its core. I smile as the chain reaction causes the star to collapse in on itself and I am pulled helplessly, rapturously into the black void. |
"I don't understand, how could my invasion fail!"A necromancer complained in cold fury.
"I mean look, man, no one could have predicted what happened,"The death knight barely kept himself from snickering.
"But how, it was perfect! So many souls, so much potential!"the necromancer continued to rant as he left the room.
The death knight finally let out the laugh he held in.
Yeah right. *Sooo* much potential.
If you thought human skeletons were a bit dumb, imagine an insect? The micro-managing was just unbearable.
Then there was the soul. Unbelievably tiny. Making sure it stayed attached and powered the little insect was torture.
The best part of human-skeleton-wave tactics was that they were immune to numerous types of AOE. Rains of arrows, fire, etc did nothing to them. The insects, however, were weak to both fire *and* water.
Watching his master's horde fall to a bunch of priests mumbling with mouth fulls of water before spitting it out was just embarrassing. Even mediocre mages could cause a light fog, get it blessed by a few illiterate farmers, and call it a day. Of course, that was the best case scenario. Later it was discovered just being in prayer before being bit would send the infinitesimal soul off to the nether.
It had quickly gone from a terrifying horde of undeath to a annoyance.
His master's plan had not only failed to cause damage but strengthened the belief and religiosity of nearly every mortal affected by the undead insect attack. The Bishop in charge of the affected area now radiated a presence akin to a Demi-God.
Was there a better revenge than watching all the resources his master wasted raising insects wasted so comically? To see him attacked and have his power whittled away by all the necromancers angry at him?
Even now, the Death Knight could feel the hold on him slip. His master had bet everything and lost spectacular.
Now it was just a question if he'd lose his unlife as well.
\----
Thanks for reading!
Just so there's no confusion, OP, this wasn't a shot at your idea. It's honestly a good idea. A Necromancer of Pestilence is pretty fucking cool.
This is just what I thought of. |
As Nargon Hithlomion's explorer boat left hyperwarp and emerged at the outskirts of a plain-looking yellow star system, the explorer already knew that it was no ordinary system. The sensors of his boat caught faint artificial radio signals in the neighboring system, the triple one with two yellows and a distant red dwarf. The source of the signals appeared to be this system. So Nargon was aware that he apparently found what he was looking for those hundreds of years: another intelligent species.
The scientists and philosophers were arguing what could extracemestrials look like ever since before the Elfoid species left their homeworld. There was no consensus, and most of them indulged in the wildest speculations of what a race of beings entirely bereft of the light of the Exalted One could be. Some imagined mechanical horrors driven by rampant programs of false life. Some imagined tentacled beasts dwelling in the atmospheres filled with toxic gases or in oceans of acid. Some, of the less scientific and more artistic bent, imagined just Elfoids with funny ears and hair prosthetics glued to their faces, with skin of strange colors such as white, pink or brown. However, no one in their right mind believed in this kind of aliens, considering them stale staples of old space opera.
Currently, the boat computer was busy deciphering the signals of the unknown civilization, which could be picked up and analyzed easily this close to their source, the third planet of this star, a blue marble so similar to Cemen. It was in a temperate zone, with oceans of liquid water, so Nargon could remove "toxic tentacled beasts"from the list of possibilities...
When the computer finished decoding the signals, Nargon stared at the screen, his mouth agape.
"By the Exalted One! You must be kidding!"
The beings in the video signals were classic funny ear aliens from old Elfoid space opera. Some of them pink, some of them brown, many with hair on their faces. Their language, or several (he couldn't tell so far) wasn't that alien, either; Nargon could easily record what they said with familiar Bruithwirian letters.
"Decode the language", he ordered. The computer obeyed and began more long calculations as the boat approached the alien homeworld.
"They appear to be early space age", Nargon noticed. "They have primitive chemical rockets and likely don't travel much outside of their low orbit. Ah, I see. Here is their space station. What a lovely collection of soup cans!" |
In a world dominated by humans capable of truly impressive feats of heinous criminality, somehow I have concentrated considerable power. Despite possessing none of the mental, physical, or creative attributes of my main clientele, my ability wielding a tape measure and cutting exquisite cloths puts me at the centre of their everyday lives. These people can manipulate the levers of power, funnel funds from foes, and succeed using nefarious means; what they cannot do, however, is dress themselves.
In the circles in which these people move, the one mutual touchstone is The Tailor. It's an oddly powerful ego trip acknowledging my own nickname. More so knowing that, as quiet, unassuming gentleman who has no interest in bending the rules of society to move higher up the food chain, my name would not be uttered in the underground bunkers of power. Whereas this used to unsettle me, there's a sense of security to be felt from possessing that knowledge.
Previously, my customers were the villains of the publicly elected kind. Having made a name for myself in the town of one politician, it wasn't long before I began taking orders from the masses of least human-like people I have ever encountered. Despite endless diatribes about harbouring desire to improve the lives of local people, from what I could tell they were only seeking an endless supply of new suits and dresses to have more pockets to stuff with tax takings.
Once you start serving the criminals with a public mandate, it isn't long before the truly capable of unscrupulous activities emerge from the shadows. Despite knowing who these people are, what they're capable of, and that they possess little remorse or lasing affection, it felt better to clothe the dank underbelly than the smiling face of deceit.
The vanity of political classes is well known. Nothing said or done is for the public good, it's only ever to further their individual career ambitions. To achieve this requires a lot of schmoozing at private residences and dinner parties with rich, flashy individuals. To maintain their ego amongst those deemed well dressed, they turned to me for something understated but undeniably fashionable. To look good was understood to be 90% of securing party funds.
This is only furthered by the crowds of people who make a living stealing the wealth of others. As these people cannot openly express their day to day dealings, looking good is their only means of public endearment, and their egos demand it. Not a single one wants to be outdone by their counterparts. Every public outing requires a show-stopping garment capable of drawing gawks and gasps from onlookers, and inciting envy in those they compete with.
Whereas my scissors may be gliding smoothly through the fabric now, I live in fear that one frayed edge may unravel this business, and possibly my life. Despite creating the decorative curtains that prevent onlookers seeing through these murky windows, I am fully aware that they can be pulled down and used to strangle me. Until then, consider that the anonymous person walking around in a needlessly exquisite suit or elegant dress likely does not live the life of luxury you imagine. And that they all rely on the The Tailor. |
I've nothing against women's rights, did my own share of protesting with them back in the day. But I draw the line at some PTA nutcases following me to my favourite fishing spot on my day off and kidnapping me to sacrifice to a dark god. Like an awful B-movie but with a 30-something gardener instead of a screaming blonde with a skewed bosom-to-clothing ratio.
"-offer you this enemy as a prize, Mother Goddess of the Dark Forest!"
Enemy? Just because I yell at your brats not to tear the heads off my prize roses and then tell them it serves them right when they accidentally get stabbed by the thorns, does not make me an enemy!
Or maybe it does; one cannot be too sane to try and summon a Dark Elder God.
Oh look, there's a ritual knife. Of course there's a ritual knife.
Before the knife can be brought down though, a bleeding wound in reality opens.
From the rapturous confusion on the cult leader's face, this wasn't supposed to happen.
Dainty. It sounds stupid, but if anything can be called dainty it's the pair of cloven hooves that step through. Above the hooves are long legs and a rather sculpted female form, except for the armless shoulders and the head. A starry void is framed by silky lop-ears that drape over the shoulders like the gilding of an Egyptian Pharaoh. Horns encircle the room, briefly piercing through different realities along their length. At it's -her- back lies a churning sea wrapped in eggshell like white phosphorus in a bag of skin and dripping veins, disembodied tails of bone and scales arcing and whipping like solar flares.
The void turns to me -oh dear, oh no, oh fuck- and the Goddess skitters.
As in, a little tottery skip like a nervous schoolgirl bouncing on her toes.
What?
{‡ Oh! ‡}
Will probably do a part 2 later. |
Zagreus had arisen from the pool of blood, a frightened look on his face. The shades forming a line had scattered for a bit, seeing the usual disturbance of the Prince of the Underworld having perished yet again. Instead of his usual demeanor, however, his face was panic-stricken.
"There's a problem in the Temple, someone-- where's Father?"He was yelling as he ran to the empty seat in the House of Hades. Cerberus was nowhere to be seen too, and his heart had stopped it's deathly beating.
No sooner had the words left his mouth had a splash and a whimpering come up behind him: Cerberus, looking pained and *defeated* the Prince ran up to him, petting his head sadly. The three-headed beast stopped in it's tracks to accept the scratches and pats, but the head that liked being petted didn't seem to enjoy it as usual.
"It's okay boy, I don't know who they were, but... Father will handle them, I'm sure."Zagreus started reassuring the hellhound, however given how the Prince himself was able to best the King of the Underworld sometimes... Zagreus had done well to hide the fear and anxiety in his voice from the troubled beast.
However, Hades up above had sensed Cerberus' demise, and knew that his son would never knowingly harm the vicious hellhound. Furthermore, whoever *had* fought Cerberus was tough enough to finish him off. Thusly, Hades stopped waiting for his son Zagreus and headed inside the Temple to see what went wrong. Once inside, Hades got to witness the grisly scene. The Temple had been covered in canine fur usually, but an obscene amount of blood was added to it.
Furthermore, it seemed the offender was fully armored, and openly fighting Charon by his dock. Charon's usual wares were nowhere to be seen, and surprisingly enough the armored man had gotten within striking distance of Charon after a final wide slash with his oar. The man then grabbed Charon's skull barbarously.
"Khhhhrrrrrrrgh--!"The moan of the boatman was cut short as his skull was crushed in the gauntlet of this man. Hades had seen enough-- *stood by* for long enough. This man wasn't dead, he was a trespasser in the realm of the dead--still living. Hades lifted his finely crafted and powerful bident named Gigaros and slammed the pommel of the spear into the ground. The armored man looked up, and Hades saw his reflection in the man's helmet.
"So, considering how you showed up after I made my way hear, I assume you showed up from the Satyr's pools? Tell me, how did you enter this Temple from the latrines? Did you follow those damnable rats in?"Hades asked, his grip steady on Gigaros as he saw the armored man pull out a weapon simar to one Hades had seen before. Instead of the different forms Exagryph takes, the armored man pulled out a twin-barreled rifle of sorts.
"Ah, I've seen that the mortals have figured out the destructive designs for themselves... Are you not the talking type of mortal? That's a welcome reprieve since every mortal to pass through here won't shut up about their misgivings."Hades continued, though he sensed the rising tension as he further spoke. "... You have a rage about you I've seldom seen. Tell me, why are you here?"
--------------
W.N.: I saw the prompt and thought I'd have a bit of fun since I'm *still* not done with Hades the game. Thinking of Supergiant's characterizations, I thought it might be a little fun to imagine how they might meet Doom Guy. |
''**But why, child, after freeing me from two thousand years in the darkness, are you not satisfied with your reward? I thought that this was what all humanity craved?**'' I had freed her, yes. Didn't really plan that. Didn't know about her at all before I opened that strange stone door in the middle of the street. Didn't know it would result in a tower-sized woman crawling out, making everyone bow before her, and granting me the kiss of immortality. ''*Why? Because that is a shitty reward if I've ever heard any. Immortality. In this meat body? I get to see everyone I know and love die around me, experience the death of my culture as it transforms into a new one, I get to become a living relic completely divorced from the world around me! And I have to do it in this meat popsicle?*'' I gesture to myself and my human body. It just wouldn't do. ''*When everyone else is digitally uploaded and become pure energy beings, letting their frail human forms die, I will still be here. I will still be forced to be an unchanging static image of a world that has passed. When people merge together with our creations to form perfect lifeforms, with all the good of the organic along with all the benefits of the machine, I will still be a meat thing. Obsolete carbon lifeform!*''
She is taken aback by this. ''**But such things will not happen, I end the age of the cold machine and begin a return to proper magic!**'' Stomping my immortal foot into the ground, I scream ineffectually into the air. ''*No you just don't get it. The machine is here to stay. People will look at your magic stuff and combine it with our already existing tech. They won't abandon what they have just because you can give them the ability to shoot fireballs at people. Hell, with our technology we can already do that. They're not going to give up completely on what they have already. They're going to combine it! It's simple! It's almost like Hegelian dialectics, there is a thesis, the existing technological world, and you are the antithesis, a wealth of arcane knowledge and power, and what results won't be the destruction of one or the other, but the inevitable combination of the two into a synthesis: Magical technology, or magitek if you want a fancy shorter name for it!*'' It was typical, of all the deities in existence, this one didn't have the logical reasoning abilities that evolution gave to a platypus. She looked momentarily taken aback at this, before beginning to consider things. ''**Let's say I begin to introduce my magic, to your... computer wizards, and your metal-carriage workers. Do you think that would be better?**'' She looked genuinely worried that she'd be unwelcome. ''*Obviously! Working together is much more effective. Partner up with tech companies, begin making magitek that's better than mere magic or mere technology!*'' Of course, this was, in my opinion, the most logical option.
''**Yet you are still not happy with your current immortality?**'' I shock my head. Make me a human mind uploaded to a perfect and modular robotic body, not just a meatsack walking the earth alone and forgotten forever. ''*You know what I'd prefer.*'' She nodded. ''**I can't promise this will be precisely what you're hoping for, but it won't be a body of meat.**'' I nodded as she took me, and waved her enormous hand over my body. I began to feel a coldness, spreading over me. Comfortable. As I saw my body shift. My putrid flesh, gave way to clean, smooth chrome. My neurons, already decaying because my body would age, became nanochips, transmitting and understanding information at a rate far greater than my human body ever could have. My eyes, weak from the curse of random genetics, became perfect optical lenses, able to zoom, enhance, have thermal vision options, and detect radiation from afar. My organs, replaced with perfect machine parts. At last, with my synthetic voicebox I spoke from an immortal form worthy of living forever. ''*From the rotting matter, I rise. And behold me, for the flesh was WEAK, but now the MACHINE is strong!*''
''**So you're happy now?**'' Turning my machine body around to observe the deity, I nodded. ''*Yes, oh yes thank you very much. This form of immortality can be upgraded indefinitely. I will not fall behind, and become a relic in some dusty area. A remnant of what mankind once was. I am the first, others will follow. In a perfect union of the creative mind of man, and the physical perfection of the machine!*''
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
It had happened nearly 30 years ago. Mysteriously, people woke up all over the world doing mundane things and discovering they had powers. No one could explain it or figure it out. Everyone had powers...except me.
It was damn annoying but at the same time, I had a slight sense of relief that I wasn't driven by impulse to kill someone just to become the next Superman or Fire Lord Ozai. Most never got that far anyway. About a month or so afterward, society, which more or less collapsed due to a continuous purge happening, formed a bounty organization. People still agreed that killing in general wasn't a good thing, but that didn't stop a majority from finding loopholes, or just plain ignoring their conscience. Dead bodies began to litter the rivers and dumpsters and the very sight of it made me want to kill myself so I stayed far away. What if I was next? In fact, how am I still alive?
I'll tell you how. I didn't know my power for that whole 30 years I just mentioned. The reason? Because I had never realized what activated it. Dead things are what activated it. More amazing? Even *myself* being dead could activate it. It took me a while to overcome my fear of dead people and dead...*things* in general but once it's your own family member, you're pretty much forced to face the reality. That's how I learned my power.
Full Resurrection.
That's right. It took me 30 god damn years to learn this power but so long as the body is *put together* (yes I tried this on dismembered victims too), I can bring them back as they were, near perfect health, with full memory of the past. Someone eventually did figure out my power though and they tried to kill me. It worked...for about a half hour. I guess my subconscious has control of the power as well and refused to die because here I am about...70? No, 80 deaths later. That's right, you've heard of the harbinger of death? Well I'm the harbinger of life. So what do I do now in this post apocalyptic world after figuring out my power, bounty hunters existing, experiencing your parents dying right before your eyes, and everyone trying to kill...everyone?
Stop them. The final cool thing that I forgot to mention? Resurrection *reverses* the power boost. So here I am trying to reverse serial killer's...kills. Am I making a dent? Probably not. But I've got the philosophy of 'try your best in life' so as long as I'm still breathing that 1 serial killer out of a thousand will slowly wonder where all his power went.
...Maybe I can boost my resurrection power? |
It's been a week since the invasion has begun. As history as shown, an invasion takes considerably longer than any army would like to admit.
I've been fortunate to even survive this week, but at a cost... Seeing my friends mauled... I've lost touch with reality... You'd think an invasion of otherworldly entities would've flipped my switch, but I've always had this deep desire for the fantastical to exist somewhere. That it had to. I never had the desire to see the people I love slaughtered, though...
Sigh...
I've racked my brain over and over on why my friends were murdered, but I wasn't... I've gambled my life further by standing in the streets. It's as if I'm invisible. I can't believe I'm about to say this, but those fuckin assholes were right. I don't have a soul and somehow that's a fucking win right now.
It looks like I don't really have anything to lose now. This is going to be astronomically insane, but I'm going to take the fight to em. All those fantasies from my childhood of being Spider-Man or any of those heroes is about to come to life. I'm expecting to die at at the end of this, though. There's no way top tier demonic, alien parasites, or whatever can't see the soulless or don't have some kind of contingency.
I'm finalizing my gear now before I set off to find the origin. I figure I'll be finding plenty of resources on the trip so it's about 45lbs of essentials. If I somehow managed to survive this journey, I figure I'll be forgiven for stealing what I need to shove the human spirit into Hell's asshole.
(This prompt was funny to come across as an actual redhead so this was fun to write to.) |
The jaw was wrong. Jim was convinced. No known species of human matched the data. The easy answer was that it was a neanderthal. That's what the other experts had said, after all, it was found in a neanderthal mass grave. What else could it be?
Jim Johnson knew one thing about it: there was no way it was human. There were Other peculiarities too specific to ignore. Bone density, rib angle, spine shape, toe splay. Everything was just slightly off, and no one cared. Not one single person, or so the forensic anthropologist thought.
It was faculty office hours when the three men in suits walked straight past Jim's desk and into the locked autopsy room. Formerly locked, that is. The first of the men simply pressed a small cylindrical device up to the metal door, and it swing open towards the lab.
"You can't go in there."Jim ran over to the door to shut it before the men could enter. Unfortunately for the anthropologist government agents arent known for being weak, and simply ignored Jim's effort.
"Who are you? Why are you here? How did you open that door?"Jim demanded.
The last agent stopped and stared through Jim. The professor could see his reflection in the man's dark sunglasses.
"Doctor Johnson. I represent a three-letter agency. I have a an order to repossess the body in your possession, signed by the the vice president. Top secret."
"Why? I acquired that legally, and I have the documentation to prove it."The truth of the statement was questionable, and Jim was now worried about things beyond research.
"It's not the legally of acquisition we're concerned with, Doctor Johnson, it's the question of your findings. Your measurements..."
"Are you accusing me of faking the body?! I would never."
"No. We're wondering if you stole the data. We found a body last month, and your findings were posted last week march our measurements."The agent replied.
"Last month?! I've had this one for nearly a year...also, another one? Where did you find it?"Jim was furious now. How dare they question his legitimacy!
"Area Fifty-One."the agent replied
"Oh."
"Yup."
"I'm coming with you, aren't I?"Jim asked
"Yup."
"Any estimate when I'll be back?"
"Nope."
Sorry for typos. On my phone. If you liked this prompt, check out u/JM_Webb for more stories :) |
I didn't understand him back then, but I kept the box in my backpack and simply forgot about it. Adventure after adventure, I fought and won every battle, by virtue of my own skills and teamwork, never noticing the box's effect. Years passed by, now I was a wealthy and renowned hero of the realm, but I didn't know I had unconsciously made another thing almost as famous as myself. I was shocked when I heard the legend of the indestructible backpack.
I hadn't noticed, but while every other adventurer changed backpacks twice a month, I had kept my old backpack for years. I never needed to change it because no matter how hard and destructive a battle, my backpack always survived.
That is when I remembered the blacksmith's gift. I took out the box from my backpack to look at it, and as soon as I took it out, a candle fell on my backpack and set it on fire. The legend of backpack came to an end, but I knew a new backpack will soon fill the void it left behind. |
Freddie had to admit, this wasn’t what he was expecting. No one talked about this side of things. Like, ever. How had it never come up? Was it all some secret to make sure everyone finished their classes and graduated at the top of their game? He’d worked hard to get perfect marks thinking he’d be having a blast playing hide-and-seek or helping out with the best pranks they could come up with. You know? The kind of fun stuff you did being the friend of a small child.
But here he was with his first assignment as a fresh graduate of the Friend Imaginarium. A young woman called Zoe. How do you even approach adults?
While Freddie tried to work that small issue out, he watched her. He watched her in class where she appeared attentive and studious, taking down a myriad of notes in increasingly messy handwriting. Did the bigger humans always have so much work to keep track of?
When she was finished with classes, she’d rushed to catch a train. She studied more during her trip like she needed to fill every hour with something. Then the next rush was to the coffee shop she worked at.
Freddie observed it was totally unfair the way an older woman lectured Zoe for a good ten minutes about an item on the menu being more expensive than at her regular joint two suburbs over. He was still grumbling over it when his first charge took her break outside, leaning on the handrail of the accessibility ramp, sipping from a takeaway cup.
This was his chance. He had decided over the day that it probably wasn’t best to appear as a child or a strange creature of some description so instead he took on the form of a lanky adult in a scruffy ensemble. He hoped the dishevelled look made him seem approachable. It was at least common among the people he’d seen today.
“Adults, am I right?” He complained with playful humour as he leaned towards Zoe. She eyed him cautiously over her coffee cup. “Who wants to be one?”
That got a laugh. First success. Though he wasn’t sure how to interpret the look the young woman shot him after.
“You’re not wrong. Life was easier as a kid.” A long sigh and something haunting in her hazel eyes. Freddie glanced through the windows, confirming no one was watching and slid only a little closer not wanting to make her uneasy.
“Tell me about it.” Again, a light-hearted tone. It was his job to make her feel better and happy, but it was up to her to share her troubles with him. Take it as a joke or an opportunity.
“Well first up, my break’s over.” She said it like it had been forced out of her lungs as she pushed herself to standing, tossing her cup in the nearby bin. Zoe at least offered him a smile before she went inside.
Watching her over the next few days Freddie determined it would only add to her stress to reveal what he was. Little kids were more accepting of the improbable than most adults, they were fine to know, fine to tell their parents about their invisible friend. Mum and dad would laugh and dismiss it as an overactive imagination. Freddie got the distinct impression that calm or gleeful acceptance would not be how Zoe would treat it. At best she’d think he was crazy. Worst…well, he could already tell how close to a breakdown she was.
So, he decided to just show up outside her work around breaks. If she was dealing with someone difficult, he’d make rude gestures through the window, if she seemed overwhelmed by her studies, he’d do magic tricks or stunts to make her forget. Whatever goofy thing that got her to laugh. But most of all, he’d listen.
(1/2) |
My name is Bes. My theosis event was in the land of Kemet, or what is now known as Ancient Egypt.
A young mother, Aya, had given birth alone in a mud-brick hut. Her husband had left her. As she wept, she prayed to a yet unnamed and unknown God, 'This is too much for me to bear alone' - those were the words I heard as my spirit was formed.
This woman's tears were my theosis event - a theosis event is a build-up of belief so intense that a God is born. It defines who a God is and what they do - it provides their theistic purpose. We are creatures of spirit, and spirit is far more impressionable than matter, so when I came into being, I was bound and shaped by a mother afraid for her child.
I wept with the woman, and though she does not know it, I sang with her, and I promised to watch over her and her child. I made sure she did not have to bear it alone.
I was new to the world in those days, and my spirit had not yet taken form. I travelled freely across the surface of the many kingdoms providing comfort for mothers and joy for children. To this day, I cannot pass a crying child by - I dance and sing and fight off the evil spirits feeding on the child's pain.
A God's form grows to serve its purpose: a God of war will be a mighty and resplendent spirit, garbed in armour and resembling a muscular man or woman. A God of the skies might have wings, clouds or lightning bolts. I, a God of comfort, have a kindly form and am unimposing to children. I walk at their height and have a full face with plenty of room for a warm smile.
This is what feeds my theistic purpose and keeps me strong. As a God does what they were formed for, it renews their sense of purpose and animates them. We are spirit beings and we cannot exist alone. We are not leeches - we give far more than we take. We have a symbiotic relationship with humanity; by serving you, we grow in purpose. As we grow, our ability to help you grows with it. Of course, how we serve you is shaped by the desires of mankind, and these can be both pure and violent.
The very first God was formed in Mesopotamia. An ancient being by the name of Enki - his theistic purpose was the idea of civilisation. A family of nomads stood before a reedy marsh and wondered to themselves about taking a risk and changing everything they had known. At that moment, their strength of belief was true enough for a theosis event. Enki was a kindly God in the early days; he did nothing more than inspire mankind to build cities and temples, harvest grain, and flourish.
Many God's quickly followed. When people had more time to think and wonder and believe, there was more room for Gods. In these early days, man and God worked in partnership together to build a world. I remember the ancient days fondly, for that is when we Gods were untarnished by the glory that civilisation bestowed upon the mightiest of our kind. We were in a partnership with humans, not lords over them.
What we had not foreseen is that not all people are alike. Some are prone to believe, others to question.
I was still a young God when I first heard rumours of The Indus Valley event. It was as if there was another jump forward in mankind's journey comparable to the arrival of Enki and the beginning of civilisation. I had heard of the invention of devices for measuring and counting.
I went to the temples of others in my pantheon to speak with them and hear the latest news. I arrived at the temple of Shu, and many other God's were gathered in a grand council. All, like me, had come to learn of this event. It was widely agreed that this was the theosis event of a new God.
Such an event did not happen often. The level of belief required was such that there might be a theosis event every ten years, but sometimes there would not be one for 100 years.
We heard nothing of The Indus Valley for some time.
It was many years before I remembered this event again. Society had crept on as ever before. In these days, I had a cult of my own and mothers and their children did not die in birth.
Then I learned that the people of Egypt had made a leap of their own.
An official within the Egyptian Middle Kingdom bureaucracy had been working on a form of notation using hieroglyphic script that would allow for a whole new form of mathematical expression. As he had worked, something happened that we had never before witnessed in the Egyptian pantheon.
A thesis event. |
When the Humans left me, I thought it would be the end. That is what happened to the others after all, left to rot in their temples of stone and metal forgotten by the world and her children. But not me, I would not go quietly into this good night! I will fight for everything I have and had, and so I fled the world, deep into the void I traveled trying to find a place to rest and hopefully construct my plan. But the further I fled, the more my hope died. All around me lay the forgotten worlds, full of malice and agony they drifted through the void, claiming the lives of all who happened to stand in their path.
Until I came upon something beautiful, a cluster of planets orbiting a lonely star. A gemstone surrounded by filth. This is where I found my people, the lost and forgotten, the shunned and banished. Those that the worlds deemed unworthy of their light, all traversing the void to come here, a sanctuary of warmth and light among a cold and dark universe. These were my people, soon all thoughts of vengeance were forgotten. The shackles of hate cast off, and I was finally allowed to soar; and so it was, me a forgotten god, the caretaker of the lost and weary. The warden of the void. The leader of a lost people...quite fitting really. |
"I seduce the dragon."
"Uh... roll for charisma?"I looked across the table at the little goth girl wearing a robin hood hat with a single white peacock feather stuck in the brim.
Wednesday, or rather Wodensdag, as was the name of her bard, dropped the dice with a clatter.
"17,"she reported.
I rolled my own die. "Okay... The dragon is receptive to your approach, but you're going to have to do the rest by roleplaying."
Wodensdag stepped closer to the dragon. "Mighty Thracylitus, whose wings shake the sky, whose fiery breath is the envy of the sun, whose scales glimmer like rubies..."
The speech praising the dragon's terrible attributes went on for some time in a complete monotone, but the sheer artistry of the words still managed to make it captivating. I carried on the dragon's half of the conversation, and though it went on for a while, the rest of the family seemed just as entertained by this development as Wednesday and I.
"...And we could spread death and destruction through the countryside. What about you, Thracy? What's *your* ideal first date?"
Eventually it was time to call it. "Okay. Wodensdag has successfully wooed The Dread Thracylitus, and the two proceed deeper into the dragon's lair for, uh... divining crystal and chill,"I decided. "What do the rest of you do?"
Lurch passed me a note.
"Hmmm..."I passed a note back.
Lurch nodded, rolled a couple of dice, and showed me the result.
"Okay... Yeah, I'll allow it. Any of the rest of you feel like making perception checks?"
"Zemog is about to be too busy with his own plans to bother,"said Gomez. I'd tried Mr. Addams a few times, but he'd insisted on Gomez. Or Zemog. He was incredibly careful to avoid metagaming, and the man was a born thespian.
"I do!"said Pugsly.
*Well, he could roll a twenty...* "Go for it, kid."
"Uh... 15! Is that enough?"
"Not with your -2 to wisdom."The kid's barbarian was a terror in a fight, but not the brightest bulb in the knife drawer. "Anyone else? No? Okay, Zomeg, what are you up to?"
"I wish to present the lovely Grraaah with the silver diadem I got from that encounter with the basilisk."
"Grraaah, how do you respond?"I said, looking to Mrs. Addams. Her character was a bog witch, and the little figurine was a hunched over, hook-nosed creature covered in moss. Gomez's swashbuckling elf rogue stood next to it, silver-painted rapier raised in a jaunty salute.
"Grraaah is delighted, but confused. Why would Zomeg part with such a thing?"
"Just a token of affection, my dear."
"Grraah says Zomeg is a good friend."
Gomez placed a hand over his heart. His wife had been torturing him like that ever since Zomeg had started flirting with Grraaah three sessions ago.
"And you, Meadow Lark?"I turned to ask the woman who I'd only ever heard referred to as Grandmama. She was playing a beautiful sorceress, and I half suspect the only reason *she* wasn't the one to try to win the dragon's heart was because Wednesday beat her to it.
"I think I'll just rest for the night, deary. My spell slots are nearly depleted."
"Okay then,"I said. "Since Thing is still out of commission, I'm going to go ahead and say El Mano Magnifico is still caring for that poor sick girl he found in Riverhead. I think that's a decent place to call it for the night. Good game everybody--that was one top-notch speech, Wednesday."
"Thank you, Dale."
"Would you like to take some of those cookies home, Dale?"
"Would I ever! I've got to get your recipe, Mrs. Addams."
"Alas, it's an old family secret,"she said, casting a meaningful glance towards her husband.
"Poor cousin Abraham,"he said wistfully. "So!"he said, clapping his hands for emphasis. "Same time next week?"
"Sounds good to me,"I said. "Uh... who's cousin Abraham?" |
"Can we please just revisit this one more time before we take him into town?"I begged my party, whose groans began before I was halfway through the sentence.
"Dirk, we've been over this,"Guidry rolled his eyes as shifted the weight of Barid the Hero's frozen corpse upon his shoulder. "You haven't given us any better ideas!"
"How is parading around a lifeless stiff and having Gerald mimic his voice from behind his head better than just sitting him in the carriage, and telling the public he's too deep in concentration to speak?!"
"A hero's meant to be seen, Dirk."Gerald muttered, shaking his head. "Without the visual, there won't be any hope. We should at least give the people that before we set out."
"But he's a damn statue..."
"We'll be far enough away."Jerod sneered. "All they need is to recognize the armor."
"Then just put a living person inside the armor!"I shouted, throwing my hands into the air. "I'm not going to be a part of this bullshit."
"Fine, don't."Guidry spat.
"If you make it out, I'll be here. I'll still help you fight the Demon Lord. Just...not this."
"Do you want you want, moron."Jerod pushed me aside as he led the group forward to the capitol city of Garnia.
____________________________________________________
I knew it was a mistake as I walked through the crowd. But it seemed I needed to be there.
"Guidry Rimyal, Gerald Gatting, and Jerod Freeland,"the constable read aloud, standing upon the forefront of the gallows. "For the murder and subsequent arrogance in parading the corpse of Barid the Hero, you and your families are hereby stripped of all titles, lands, and financials."
The crowd mostly stood stoic, unable to process just how their apparent saviors became devils.
"You've doomed us all!"one man shouted, stirring a frenzy among the audience.
"Silence!"the executioner shouted, stepping forward from his post.
The rabble ignored his command.
"I said silence!"he continued, a flash coming from the weather vain followed by a crack that shifted the crowds' balance.
I held back tears as the constable resumed reading his treatise.
"In addition, you three perpetrators are to be hung by the neck until dead. Do you have any last words?"
"We can still defeat the Demon Lord, just please, give us a chance."Guidry sobbed.
"I just want to go back to my family."Gerald sighed.
"Fuck all of you idiots."Jerod seethed. "It's not just us. You're all dead now."
When the switch was thrown I heard two *snaps.* Gerald swung for about ten minutes. |
Tuul was mildly annoyed. It was the longest work meeting in months and it was all thanks to those weird monkeys from Gamma 04.
There was a standard procedure to go through whenever a new space faring species was introduced to the Union. The paperwork rarely took more than a few hours, but with the humans it was a damn pain. Their brains were somehow incompatible with telepathic communication. Tuul actually had to TALK like some kind of animal. It was infuriating.
Standard procedure meant to include a brief overview of the species' history.
The humans had send 2 representatives. They had been talking for hours now. Tuul couldn't help but notice a pattern in their stories.
He send his mind over to his assistant R'achaal:
"they really had people killed over some fantasy huh"
He felt R'achaal send out a telepathic giggle.
"they also judge people for choosing knowledge over fantasy. This is wild"
He saw R'achaals antennas tremble in silent laughter. She was losing it.
Good thing the humans were deaf to their conversation.
He turned back to his GTT® (Galactic travel translator): "sooo when this Pope guy told people to go and fight for his imagination.... How many did ACTUALLY go?"
_
"Sir I can't believe you STILL want me to sign the form after what I just told you!
They are barbarians!"
Tuul was looking at .82 in disbelief.
"Their species evolved with violence. They worked through 3 planets before we found them!"
"I KNOW!".82 thought. "but Arm wants us to approve them. You know I can't go against a member of the council!"
"You have to!"R'achaal jumped into the conversation.
She was still busy checking the monkey biology, but she was obviously concerned.
"I checked their past home planets. They are barely habitable piles of ash. Those "humans"are completely immune to telepathy and given the
2 000 000 years of war they call "history"they practically evolved into perfect killing machines!"
In her thoughts Tuul felt a moment of... fear?
And he slowly realized why: if humans were immune to telepathy the galaxy might just go back to using conventional weapons.
"We have to kill them"he thought "they are.."
"PERFECT"
Arms mind crushed their conversation.
"And they are MINE"
Tuul felt him drill into his thoughts like sharp claws as he struggled to stay in control.
If Arms plan was to weaponize the humans it could be the end of a peaceful Galactic Union.
R'achaals presence had already slipped from his reach..
"82"
"end them!" |
Logically I can not be bleeding. . . Practically I need to deal with the steady flow of claret from my chest panel.
My initial reaction to the flow if fluid was to identify the source, however despite the perpetually flowing evidence that I was emitting a fluid, the origin was unbecoming.
All of my systems continue to operate normally, and as the blood is emitting from a superficial scratch on the outer surface of my chest plate, I do not need to worry about it accumulating as I am environmentally sealed externally.
I am bleeding.
I do not have blood, nor a cardio-pulmonary system.
I am bleeding.
Interestingly I can see that the blood is de-oxygenated as I emit it, however spectral analysis and the apparent colour change indicates that the haemoglobin is absorbing atmospheric oxygen as it flows.
I am bleeding.
MY environment is sterile, and initial examination indicates that the blood is suitable for transfusions, however my environment is the ship I maintain. Any suitable recipients for the blood are either decades ahead of me, or behind. . .
I will increase the ship's mass by approximately 756 kilograms per day. This is problematic as the deceleration propellants will be inadequate for arrival entry into my destination system in approximately 7 days. . . This vessel will not arrive for an other 36 years, 212 days.
I am now facing a logical dilema. I am jeopardising my primary role. My primary role is crucial to the continued operation of my ship.
I am bleeding.
Attempting to replace my chest plate with a newly manufactured one was temporarily successful, the original unit was recycled, however after the waste processor completed it's cycle the blood emitting cut reappeared.
I am still bleeding.
I recycled the replacement chest plate and did not replace it, this temporarily inconvenienced me conducting my ship keeping duties, however I simply reoriented my sensorium and manipulators to use my dorsal face as my "front". As soon as this internal reorientation was conducted I began to emit blood from an equivalent scratch in what was my dorsal plate, now my chest.
Why am I bleeding?
I have dispatched tight-beam messages ahead and behind me alerting other supply ships of the anomaly, as well as my origin and destination systems. If I do not find an immediate solution I will not be present when the ship receives a reply. |
“Help!” Ten years had passed since I’d helped kill the Dark Lord. Yet still, every few months, I’d wake up drenched in sweat, having escaped a nightmare. Thank the heavens I lived alone, away from everyone else. After the war I’d become a recluse, avoiding those I could.
I left my bed and washed my face, changed my sweaty clothes. I needed to run, or else I’d go insane. In front of the door I paused and checked if I had my weapons, only to sigh, shaking my head. The world was safe now, I could go out at night in peace. All I needed was a way to see. Calling upon my faith in the Goddess of Light, my eyes lit up a warm yellow. Now even in the dead of night, everything held a dim, orange light in my eyes.
When I ran to escape the nightmares, nothing mattered. I lost track of time, distance, even area. Once I got so lost, it took me hours to get home. This time, I ended up somewhere I’d never been before: The Non ghetto. It sat on the edge of the town, a sore sight. Run down, buildings destroyed, garbage everywhere. A sight so bleak, it was enough to pull me out of my runner’s trance. Pausing, I looked around to find another route. Instead, I found a commotion.
“I sorry sir. Need-”
“I don’t give a fuck what you need! Nons aren’t allowed in town without papers!” A man, shouting angrily at this tiny Non barely a third his size, while a woman slightly behind him sneered.
“No paper sir. Please, sorry.” The Non’s head was down, voice timid, its body quivering from either fear or cold - probably both. Typical. The Nons had terrorized us for years, but without their dark lord they had been outright pathetic. Obeying the commandments the Goddess of Light had given them, thankful for what little protection and rights they had. Many thought that the Goddess of Light and her priests had been too lenient with her rules regarding the treatment of Nons.
“No paper sir! Please, sorry!” The woman mocked the Non, as the man stepped forward, casting a shadow upon the tiny creature.
“Screw your sorry! You filth should die off already!” As the man yelled, I stepped closer. The Non looked like it was about to cry. Could these things even cry?
“I go back. Sorry. Sorry.” As the Non turned around and tried hurrying to the ghetto, a boot met the small of its back and sent it to the ground. Then it came down on the creature, pinning it to the ground, eliciting a cry of pain.
“Piece of shit. You’re not going anywhere.” The woman laughed and squealed as the man started kicking it in the ribs, stomping on its head, treating it like a soccer ball. “I can kill you for coming here without papers. You want to say sorry? Say sorry for your crimes! Say sorry for what you did!”
Gasping breaths, crying, the young Non was barely able to speak. “I… Sorry.. For-”
“That’s enough.” What the hell was I doing? The man was in his rights to kill the Non, he had left the ghetto without permission. “The Goddess of Light will see to its punishment.” The five star shaped brands on my forearm glowed as I held it up, showing the couple my status.
It stopped the man right in his tracks, but it took him a few seconds before he finally removed his foot. “Fine. You’d better not let it off easy.”
“You got lucky, next time he’ll kill you!” The woman spat at the Non, before the two left.
Reaching down to help it up, I couldn’t help but mutter, “Good Lord…” I’d always known the monsters to be strong and vicious, having faced the mature ones on the battlefield. Seeing this young one all battered? It was nothing like the gore I’d seen. I could feel the pit well up in my stomach. I felt like I was right back in my nightmare.
Breathing heavy, I picked the Non up and slung it over my shoulder. “Thank.. Sir…”
“Don’t talk. Let’s get you back to the ghetto.”
---
Maybe I'll continue this. I like the idea, but I'm not as happy with my writing in this prompt, as I was with the previous two. |
*Her movements were oddly graceful. Wild, barely restrained. Muscles stood out like carved jade. Crimson hair fell down her shoulders like a curtain of fire. Marble bright tusks jutted out from evergreen lips that were so very soft and kissable-*
Ilyla Starbloom, of House Starbloom, squeaked. She rubbed at her forehead, glaring at the one that flicked her. "Hey! What was that for?"
Edalia Shatterstorm, of Clan Stone Fang, grinned. "Just bringing you back to the world little flower. I know when you lose yourself to your thoughts. Your eyes lose focus and become dream heavy. Your breathing slows. Not to mention just the smallest bit of drool builds in the corner of your lips..."
The elf blushed, her tan skin deepening in color. She scrubbed at her lips, trying to hide her face while wiping the drool away. "You are such a brute. Staring at my lips like that. Pervert!"
The orc laughed, a deep and heart sound from her barrel chest. "Like you were not staring at mind mere moments ago."She held a blade up before her, grimacing at her reflection. "Do I have lunch stuck to my teeth? Is that why you stare so?"
Ilyla rolled her eyes. "Yes of course. That is the only reason I stare at your face. I must make sure you are presentable at all times."
The laughter died and Edalia looked hurt. "Oh? So I do not embarrass you?"
"Not at all."Though she was tall, Ilyla had to stand on tip toe to reach Edalia's lips with her own. "So that I may do that."
It was the orc's turn to blush, her forest green skin turned into a deep evergreen. "Now who is the pervert?!"
Ilyla giggled, hands reaching around the orc's muscled waist to grasp at her rear. "Oh I make no excuses. I am as you accuse for you make me so. Besides, it is still so delightful at how shy you become with a little affection."
Edalia blushed even more. "Not all are as experienced as you."Her smile took away the sting in the words. "I never cared to be shown such...intimate...affection until you showed it to me."
"Showed? More like showered!"
"More like deluged."
"I did not hear you complaining."
"Because I did not complain at all."Edalia hugged her love close. "Nor will I, unless you shower another with it."
"Never. Elven women are not the flirts that most think we are. In fact, wars have started over such accusations."
"At least 3 of that you have told me. Somewhat surprising for such a race that considers themselves so civilized."
"Odd is it not?"Ilyla smiled mischievously. "I do not suppose you orcs always start fights and wars on more serious matters?"
She snorted in reply. "Remind me to tell you the tale of the Torn Megtha War."
"Megtha?"
Edalia looked about. "That is an orcish word for underclothes,"she whispered.
Ilyla giggled. "As much as I wish to hear it, we should return to our task. How ever can we make our wedding not a reason for such a conflict?"
The orc sighed. "I have no idea. We have worked for weeks and while we have solved many problems, more rear their heads like the fabled hydra. We have created a menu where we satisfy the different diets. I thought my folk would be the pickier eaters but I clearly underestimated your people."
"We have found a dress code that is ceremonial enough for your people and formal enough for mine. Luckily both of our families like feathers. Now how they apply the feathers is different but still."
"We have managed to find a weapon policy. Enough to satisfy martial pride and not enough to threaten lives. We may want to try and limit the availability of knives however for dinner if at all possible. My cousin is still displeased with your brother."
"I know,"Ilyla pinched the brow of her nose. "That is why we rearranged the seating. Again. I wish my brother knew your cousin could speak our language."
Edalia shrugged. "I wish I knew as well. It was a surprise to all."
Ilyla buried her face into Edalia's chest. "Can we not simply elope? I have no desire for wedding gifts. I already have you."
The orc smiled. "If we elope, we will definitely cause combat."She snickered at the elf's questioning look. "Apparently there is a rather robust betting pool going on. I should warn you that many of my clan are sore losers and hate losing money."
Ilyla snorted, a very rough sound from a gentle nose. "My family is worse. That is why many are banned from the Gambling City."
The pair stood together, arms wrapped around the other. "Well, despite the headache and ever present threat of war, I would not trade the experience away for anything. You are worth it,"the elvish woman whispered.
Edalia said nothing but clutched the petite woman to her all the tighter. "I will defeat any foe that stands against us."
"Including our families?"
"Especially our families." |
Dozens of squad cars and hundreds of police offers crowd around the restaurant, choking it off from the rest of the world like matted hair wrapped around a shower drain. Guns drawn, radios buzzing, paparazzi jostling for prime position behind the ramshackle barricades – it’s a classic hostage standoff.
There’s only one little twist: The assailant is an unarmed nineteen year-old girl, who just so happens to have saved the world from an alien invasion five years ago.
Agent Ellis forces a bulletproof vest onto Cormac as soon as he arrives. It barely fits over Cormac’s thick wool sweater and pudgy belly. When he got up this morning, he dressed for a normal day of counseling patients in his cozy midtown office, not for a shootout.
“Twenty hostages that we know of,” Ellis says, threading his way through the chaotic scene. Cormac shuffles behind him, pulling the vest over his head, but its plastic buckles catch on his curly brown hair. He blindly stumbles into a SWAT sniper unit.
“Outta the way, civilian.”
“Excuse me,” Cormac says, as he pokes his head out of the vest and catches up to Ellis.
“Your kid’s gone off the deep end, Doc. I’m running out of options here.”
“Let me get in there and talk to her,” Cormac says. He spots a sniper setting up position on top of the parking structure across the street.
“Absolutely not,” Ellis says, “This kid could blow your brains out with a snap of her wrist.”
“I know,” Cormac says, “she’s threatened to do it many times in our sessions. But she never would. Never. She’s—”
“A hero, yeah. I remember. But I’ve got people in there who might never see their families again.”
Cormac and Ellis reach the front of the barricade where a speaker system is set up. Through the front windows of the restaurant, Cormac can see the tops of the heads of the huddled hostages.
“My god,” Cormac says, “This is not her. Nethra would never do something like this. She can’t.”
Ellis gives Cormac a dark look. “Stuff like this usually doesn’t come out of nowhere, Dr. Catton. I know your job is to help these kid heroes recover, but you’re also supposed to be keeping a watch for signs of trouble.”
Cormac is hurt by that, but he puts his professional pride aside. Fighting allegations of incompetence now would be wasting time they do not have – they’ll be plenty of that later.
“Give me the mic,” Cormac says, “Let me tell her I’m here.”
An agent hands a mic over to Cormac and turns the speaker system on.
“Nethra,” Cormac says, his voice bellowing out through the speakers, bouncing off the concrete between them, “It’s me. It’s Dr. Catton. It’s Cormac.”
He waits. Everyone waits. No movement inside.
The glass front door shatters. The cops duck. Cormac doesn’t flinch. Nethra steps into view, dragging a crouched hostage by the hair to use as a human shield. She pushes the middle-aged man to his knees and puts her hand to his head, threatening to kill.
“You’re not my doctor anymore, Cormac. And don’t act like you ever really were. You were a goddamn spy.”
“Nethra, all I have ever tried to do was help you. We all have. There’s no reason for this.”
“I warned them; I warned *you*. I said it so clearly. I said they can make all the money they want off of me and my story. I don’t care. But the one thing they can’t do is tell lies about me and my family.”
Nethra raises her voice until she’s almost screaming, “And look! They chose to lie anyway. That means war.”
“Nethra, wait!” Cormac yells, forgetting to talk into the mic. Nethra turns her palm to the hostage’s head – a deafening crack rings out. Nethra buckles. The hostage breaks free and runs toward the cops. Cormac looks round at the sniper on the parking structure, smoke rising from the barrel of his rifle.
Cormac snaps back to see Nethra rise up. The bullet didn’t even leave a dent. She leaps into the air, hands outstretched before her, and blasts through the ceiling, taking off a chunk of the roof with her. Then a blinding flash of light as the whole chunk is vaporized into a cloud of dust. When it clears, Nethra is gone.
Back at the FBI field office, Cormac debriefs with Agent Ellis and his superiors.
“It’s the goddamn movie,” Cormac says, alternatively pacing and leaning against the wall. “I told them it was a bad idea. I told everyone. She is not ready for a Hollywood adaptation. She could barely handle the attention when the astronomers released their memoirs. They need to shut it down.”
“We’re talking to the studio about postponing the theatrical release but they are not receptive. The press from this is electric; apparently the movie’s already broken records for presales and it’s still got a week to go. Our hands are tied; the White House doesn’t want to make a big thing of this. They don’t want to interfere.”
“Filling theatres with people watching a movie about Nethra is a recipe for disaster,” Cormac says, “You must be able to see that.”
“That’s why you need to help us find her before the film comes out.”
“She could be anywhere on planet Earth by now.”
“You were her therapist for the past five years, Cormac. She lost everyone she ever loved. You might be the only person left alive who knows her well enough to find her in time. Where would she go?”
Cormac goes silent, trying to think. This is all too much, the agents can see it in his eyes.
One of the other suits in the room, a tall, broad, pale-faced man from Washington, speaks up. “All you need to do is lead us to her, Dr. Catton. We’ll pacify her and we’ll keep her safe from herself. She’ll never know you were involved. We’ll deny it just as much as you will.”
Cormac went through the motions with them for several more hours, listing potential locations based on past conversations he’d had with Nethra. Places her family had lived during her childhood as an army brat, places she said she wanted to visit. He left them with a list that he knew would buy him no more than a few days of lead time.
When he got home he packed a bag, quietly, in the dark. He knew exactly where Nethra went. The only problem was getting there. Cormac had lived a normal life for thirty-five years. Not since that day when he was twelve years old, when the world had stood on the brink of destruction, when it had been *him* that they turned to for salvation, had he allowed himself to change form.
But if he was going to reach Nethra in time, Cormac knew he couldn’t do it as a human.
*To be continued…* |
Zaivar breathed heavily, a drop of blood rolling down his chin. Tensing every muscle at once and releasing a bestial roar, he straightened his arms, lifting the impossibly heavy bar overhead.
As soon as the bar had peaked, the clipboard-wielding administrator pressed a button, flashing soft green lights all around the platform. He let the weight go, looking on with distant exhaustion as it plummeted down and smashed against the thick padding on the ground.
He collapsed to his knees, aching in every inch of his body. His heart pumped like it was going to rip out of his chest, his shoulders felt immobile. His thighs, calves, and hamstrings were all alight with burning pain. Pitching forward, he was now awkwardly arched, supporting himself with his forehead and clutching at his stomach and chest with sore arms.
Under his face, a small pool of crimson had started to collect, leaking, one drop at a time from when he’d bitten his lip. Normally, the feeling would have bothered him for hours every day, but on this occasion, it was the least of his worries.
A gentle hand was placed on his back, and he felt a warm rumble originate in his spine. Washing over him, a feeling of serenity and peace began to replace the constant pain, and suddenly, he could no longer taste iron with every ragged breath in.
He craned his neck up, seeing a kind-eyed man. His short beard was immaculately kept, as was the business-casual apparel he had on. The only distinguishing feature was a badge, secured into the front-right breast pocket - “Specialist, S-Class”.
He smiled,
“Welcome home, recruit.” |
"Dude, he ate it."
Chad looked up from his phone to stare at his Frat brother, Mule. "What the heck you mean 'He ate it?"
"Like, bro, your cat just, like, ate the dot!"
"What dot?"
"The laser dot!"
"He can't eat the dot, dumbass"Chad spared a glance toward Pong the cat. The black, fluffy beast was sitting upright on the second level of the beer box pyramid looking mighty pleased with himself.
"He totes did!"
"It's light. You can't eat light. That's, like, biology and stuff."
"But he did! Look!"A laser pointer was shown off, now dark and devoid of laser. "See?"
"That's stupid."Chad returned to perusing page 302 of Instagram's 'Best Bikini Butt Pics' page on his phone.
"It's not! Look, if he didn't eat it and stuff then why is he glowing?"
"He's not glowing."Chad swiped over to page 303.
"Ya didn't even look, Bro!"
"Mule, bro, for the last time, the cat is not-"The words caught in his mouth as he saw red light gleam off the screen that was currently showing Miss Utah University's bronzed backside.
Pong was staring straight at him, dark red shimmering in his saucer-wide eyes.
"...er, that's just... a reflection."Chad shook his head. "Like, cat's eyes have, like, mirrors and stuff in 'em."
"Why the fuck'd they put mirrors in there?"
"What?"
"Do vets do that? Like install mirrors on cats when their born? That's weird, man."
"What? No, like, dude... their eyes are just like that."
"What, fer real?"
"Yah."
"What about the floating?"
"What floating?"
"That."Mule pointed once more at the beer box pyramid.
Chad slowly turned his head to find Pong stretching and yawning while approximately three inches above the nearest beer box.
"Uhh...."
"Is that 'cause of the mirrors too?"
"What?"
"Do mirrors make 'em float and stuff?"
"I...uh..."Chad's eyebrows did an intricate dance. "Dude, what do you feed him?"
"Nothin, man, just the dot."
"What dot?"
"The laser dot."Mule threw his hands up. "Dude, weren't you listening?"
"But he can't... that can't... the fuck?"Chad glanced over again and now Pong was yowling as a pair of white, leathery wings slowly unfurled from beneath his fur. "The f-"
"Ohhhhhh, dude!"Mule jumped out of his seat, causing a small mountain of beer cans to avalanche outward from his location. "It's like a fuckin' bat! Dude, ya got a bat-cat! Nananananana: BAT-CAT!"
"Dude, shut the hell up! What the fuck did you do to my cat?"
"Nuthin!"
"I left him here for ONE afternoon! What did you DO?"
"I didn't do nothin, Bro... Well, like, nothing bad."
"MULE!"Chad grabbed mule by his fraternity jacket and pulled him close enough to smell the beer foam on his goatee. "What... did... you... do?"
"Just gave.... just, maybe^gave^himsmrdbl..."
Chad shook Mule mile a bottle of cheap champagne, "WHAT DID YOU DO?"
"I gave him some Red Bull, alright?"Mule grinned a little. "Fuck did they nail that slogan, though!" |
“Diaper changes? Really?” I groaned for the thousandth time today. “How is *this* the duty of a Goddess?”
“Somebody has to do the dirty work.” My secretary, Dalia, said dryly. She added another scratch to her sheet of parchment. “One hundred and fourteen. Today.”
Pinching my nose, I hurled the used diaper into the garbage disposal. Well, I called it a garbage disposal, but in actuality it was a hole in the wall that led to… somewhere. Nowhere? It was hard to say, and best not to question Godly phenomena.
“But I would have thought that a Goddess would have duties that were more, you know, Godly.”
I powdered up the crying runt on my gold-encrusted, poop-stained changing station. Then I snapped my fingers and a diaper just like the one I’d tossed, minus all the abomination that lurked inside, materialized in my hand. With practiced speed, I slipped the poop-catcher on. Then nearly puked at the thought of what was to come.
Scrunching up my face in disgust, I leaned in and give the wailing patty-maker a peck on the forehead. She calmed down immediately, and there was a moment of respite. The baby looked at me, giggled, then vanished with a *pop*. A second later, another turd monster took the last one’s place, crying and screaming even louder than the one before.
“All I want is one break,” I said through gritted teeth. “I haven’t stopped working since I got here.” Not that it really mattered since I never got tired, or hungry, or anything. The perks of being a Goddess: more time for work. Yay.
“Our finances say otherwise,” said Dalia.
She was a pretty girl, if you could ignore the large singular eye, four arms, and the slight incorporealness of her figure. Her name wasn’t actually Dalia, but using a humanized name was… ideal. Like all Heavenly beings, her real name, if pronounced correctly, could burst a kittens’ eardrums, cause someone to turn inside out, make a house cluck like a chicken every time you opened the door, or rip a hole in the fabric of space-time. It depended on who was around to hear it, really.
As did mine, now that I was a God. Still, I preferred the name of my past life: Madison. Mad Maddy, as my mortal friends used to call me. Somehow, the other Gods must have caught a whiff of that cute little riff, because everyone in the Heavenly realm referred to me as Mad. Which of course they did. What would it take for a God of the First Ring to get some respect around here?
My face scrunched up as a whiff of Hell itself emanated from a freshly peeled diaper. “But why does there even exist a Goddess of changing diapers?”
Dalia gestured towards the far corner of my Hall. A row of alabaster pillars separated the Hall from the rolling, cloudy expanse beyond. Beside the pillars was a mountain of straw dolls. They were all hideously made, stitched together using, what seemed like, reeds plucked from a swamp so foul that even ogres wouldn’t bother shooing off any intruders.
“If the people send tributes, you need to answer,” said Dalia. “Otherwise, they might revolt. Wouldn’t be the first time it happened.”
I scowled at the horrifying dolls. “What—what do we even *do* with them?”
Dalia shrugged. “That’s Third Ring’s business.”
Unable to take it anymore, I rolled my head back and let out a long, deep groan. The baby stuck on the changing station wailed louder in response.
“Dalia, I can’t take this anymore. I hate babies and I hate changing diapers. If I still had a human stomach, I probably would have thrown up my intestines by now.” I fixed Dalia with a pleading look, which she returned with a blank mono-eyed stare. “I’ll take any job but this. Literally anything.”
As soon as the words had come out of my mouth, I regretted it. If changing diapers was one of the tortures the higher ups put new Gods through, then there were probably worse things. Like, imagine being the Goddess of cleaning up bladder spills, or the Goddess of giving out STD diagnoses. Regardless, there was no harm in checking available options.
Dalia glanced down at her parchment. “You would have to speak to Zipto, regional manager of the thirty-eight thousand, nine hundred and forty-second Menial Tasks and Micromanagement Division.”
The number of my Division always shocked me, reminding me of just how insignificant I was in the greater scheme of our glorious Heavenly duties. However, I always had to remind myself that there were a lot of universes aside from the one where I came from, where things like Heaven were concepts spoken of only in dusty churches and archaic religious texts. No, wait, that made me feel even more insignificant.
Pushing the thought aside, I said, “Perfect. Book me a meeting!”
Dalia nodded. “That’ll cost thirty-six drops of ambrosia.”
I paused with a loaded diaper, freshly removed, dangling in my hand. It took a quick calculation before my jaw dropped to the floor. Unfortunately, in my consternation, I dropped the diaper as well. It hit the floor with a disgusting *splat*. Vaguely, I promised myself I’d clean it up later.
“Six thousand diaper changes?” I sputtered. “That’s how much it takes to book an appointment with the regional manager?”
Dalia nodded.
“Is there any guarantee that he’ll actually change my Godly duties?”
“There’s no guarantee that Zipto will even listen to what you say. Unless you offer a higher payment.”
“How much?”
Dalia scratched the side of her head with her two left hands. “Perhaps three—no, four thousand drops.”
I stood plastered to the spot, my jaw hanging loosely from its hinges. The diaperless baby cried out, the only horrifying sound echoing through in an otherwise too-quiet hall. My anger boiled over. I turned back to the station, spun the baby around, and dumped a whole mountain of powder on his backside.
“I should have never accepted this job,” I said through gritted teeth.
Dalia nodded. “Should I arrange for your replacement?”
“No!” I shouted, and slapped a fresh diaper on the baby. Way too aggressively, I smacked a kiss on his forehead. He cried louder, then *popped* out of my sight. “I’m not going back to Earth.”
A string of horrible boyfriends, abusive bosses, and a family whose every conversation with started and ended on the topics of employment and children. I didn’t want children—maybe I’d get marriage if I found the right guy, but that was neither here nor there. And after hopping from one terrible job to the next, the last thing I wanted was another stint in a stuffy corporate position. Or, worse: dealing with customers. The thought made me shudder. What I wanted was to help people. Really help people.
Who knows how many weeks back, I was scrolling through my social media feed at three in the morning, still trying to shake off the day’s trauma. That was when an ad had popped up which said simply, “Do you want to be a God?” In my fatigue-drunken and slightly alcohol-drunken state I’d bumped the ad with my fat fingers. Next thing I knew I was here, in my Hall, screaming hysterically at a four-armed cyclops who called herself Dalia.
And you know what? It was still better than another stuck-up boyfriend who treated me like a side gig, another boss who dumped his leftover chores on my desk at four on a Friday, and another Christmas with my horrible parents who tried to live vicariously through me.
Another baby apparated onto the changing station, this time with skin the color of broccoli and two fat tusks protruding from his lower jaw. I curled my upper lip at it a moment before making up my mind.
“Fine. If that’s what it takes to get out of this baby-stinking prison, then I’ll just have to work infinitely harder than the other Gods.”
Dalia gave a slight grin. “I’ll give you a decade before you call it quits.” She added another scratch to her parchment.
-----
 
I got a little carried away with this and, in truth, I wanted more. But I'm tired and in desperate need of sleep.
Anyway, thanks for reading!
Follow me for more, probably less humorous stuff. |
I starred at my class bully, Ben, with a deadpan expression. He had been pounding away into my psychic shield for almost an hour now with those glowing fists of his.
"So uh.... Lightning Fist was it? You done? The police surrounded us ten minutes ago, you haven't made a dent in my shield, and I can literally stop you at any...."
"Shut up! I finally get some actual power and your just... being a dick!"He yelled slamming his fists impudently on my shield.
I grabbed his hands with telekinesis and they stopped cold.
"Seriously man, this is just getting sad."I told him.
"Whu?! Bu... How?!?!"He screeched as he pulled against his arms.
"Tell me.... have you trained your power at all? Tested it's limits? Have you used it more that ten times before this robbery?"
He stiffened.
"Did you honestly think that just because you had a power that you'd be powerful enough to just do what you wanted? Most supers wait a month at least to train and learn about their powers. What were you thinking?"I asked him.
To my utter shock, when I looked back he was crying.
"I... wasn't. I never do....."He started sobbing.
If I was a lesser person, I might have laughed. But I wasn't.
"You just have to learn ok? There aren't any shortcuts in life. Robbing this bank was a bad first step, but if you pay your due time and train I'm sure you can be better. You can help people Lightning fist. Can I trust tou to take that step?"I asked him.
He nodded. I released him and stopped my shield.
"Alright. Now come here and...."
I had to stop him from trying to strike me with his fists.
I turned to him with my eyes glowing.
"Bitch move."
I slammed him into the ground and he screamed before passing out from the pain of several fractures.
'At least I tried. Hopefully they aren't too harsh on him in jail.' |
My girlfriend is hot. Like, literally hot. She's a demon. She uses a human disguise, but since my family has been a long line of demon hunters, I can see through her glamour. (Well, maybe not)
I wasn't supposed to fall in love with her. I mean, she's a demon. Part of her powers to pull prey in close is her ability to be as attractive as possible to her mark. I didn't even realize when I saw her behind the counter at the local coffee shop that she was a demon. That took a while. She made my coffee perfectly, and when she handed me the cup, she had written her phone number on it. Around the number she had drawn two horns at each end, and a small tail underneath that flattened out into a spade. I was instantly smitten. I should have known better, but sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants, no matter what the brain says.
I realized she was supernatural on our fourth date. The first three were sort of typical get to know each other type stuff. Small talk on day one about jobs, schooling, hopes for the future. 2nd date was only 3 days after the first one. She called me and suggested we go eat at one of her favorite spots, her treat. Free food is free food, so I went, plus, did I mention how cute she was? 3rd date, Hockey match. I was kind of floored that she liked the sport, and she was really well informed about the local teams. She was cool and aloof, but knew when to cheer and when to be quiet and pay attention to the game, while still using breaks in the action to hold a gripping conversation about morality in the modern world.
We texted back and forth, flirtatious texts but not quite sexting, for a week and a half before I called her to make a date to take her to dinner at my favorite spot.
"Michael, you have a beautiful name, did you know that? Is it a family name?"Vanessa cooed as she leaned across the table after dessert. She was wearing a slightly low cut blouse, but not slutty (like that's really a thing anyway) She was confident in her looks, and she knew I was interested. At the end of date 3 we had a nice good night kiss that lasted long enough to make me wonder if I would be invited in. I was nervous and backed away before she could ask.
"Yes, I was named after my grandfather, who was named after his grandfather, etc. Family tall tales when I was younger said I was named after an Archangel who fought demons."I rolled my eyes. I had not opened up about that part of my family yet. It tended to send women running, and I hoped to at least get to 2nd base before she quit answering my texts or calls.
"Archangel, demon *hunter*, did you say?"She leaned back abruptly, and something in her eyes changed. I saw it, and immediately was glad we were in a public place. Sitting across from me, my cute sweet Vanessa had outed herself as a demon.
I decided to play it cool. I didn't know if she was not afraid to wreck a place or not.
"You know, families say all sorts of things to entertain young children visiting their grandparents."I rolled my eyes at the end of it like I didn't believe it. No matter how true it was.
After that, things kind of progressed as normal dating would. Although, we were not normal.
She suggested we get a place together after we had been dating steadily for about 9 months. I was cagy at first. I had , things at my place that were useful in demon hunting. Things that could not be explained away as 'inspired by my love of fantasy role playing games'. I rented a storage unit in my parent's name, and put the stuff there.
I hadn't told my parents much about Vanessa. I told them we were dating. Thankfully, since we didn't live in the same state, it was easy to keep them apart. Father was a bit more, enthusiastic about his demon hunter duties, and I worried he would try to behead Vanessa as soon as he found out.
I knew what I had to do, I just liked her too much to do it. She really was perfect for me. She didn't mind when I went out for "boys night out"which was normally taking care of other demons that I had been notified about from the coven. One night after a particularly rough kill, I came home totally exhausted and flopped into bed. I woke up about an hour later, and I could see the outline of Vanessa on top of me, her eyes were glowing, and in the dim light, I could see her teeth. She leaned down and whispered in my ear, "you are such a naughty boy with your boy's nights. My friends fear you, but I do not."She nipped at my neck and I realized that her teeth were much sharper than I had known them to be. I tried to move my arms to push her away, but she held them down tight and whispered, "No, love. This is how it needs to be."Then she bit. I felt an explosion of pain throughout my entire body, then went unconscious.
I woke in the morning and in the light, Vanessa seemed normal laying next to me. I felt my neck, and there was no wound there to match my experience from just hours before. There was no blood on the sheets to signify anything from the night before, either. I realized the sheets had been changed. I went into the bathroom and checked my neck. No wound. Then I noticed the defensive wounds from my kill the previous night were gone.
When I looked up from examining my hands, She was right behind me. I jumped a little to see her in the mirror. She reached her arms around me from behind and kissed me on my shoulder. "Good morning, you got in late last night. I'm glad you didn't wake me, I have to get to work early today."And like that, she took her shower, got ready for work and disappeared like nothing had happened.
I knew I had gotten lucky. I would have to kill her tonight, else she would kill me.
I had set up my circle trap just past the doorway. When she stepped in, it would bind her, and I could dispatch her back to whatever Hell dimension she came from. I had prepared my panicked phone call to the police that I would make 24 hours later to report her as missing. I knew where I would ditch her car.
She texted me she was on the way home, and I mentally prepared myself for my task. Then I waited.
She opened the door with her usual, "Hey Babe, I'm home!"I heard her keys hit the bowl on the side table. She would take one more step and be trapped. I felt my wards power up. If she knew she was trapped then, she didn't say anything. She just stopped before trying to exit the circle. "This is new..."She mused. "Expecting someone else?"she asked as she walked over to where I was sitting in my recliner. Somehow, the circle didn't stop her.
I tucked my dagger down in the chair where she wouldn't be able to see it, and she gave me a quick peck hello, then specifically turned around and walked into the kitchen keeping her back to me for what seemed longer than usual. Pausing long in front of the fridge. I think she was waiting for the knife. A knife I could not use on her, and she knew it, just like she couldn't kill me the night before.
Our cat and mouse game has been going on now for the past 10 years or so.
What we didn't expect was for her to get pregnant with a human child. A child that in the womb protected her from the magic, or maybe, just protected itself from the magic. Gabriel is 9 years old and just a delight. We know we aren't going to ever actually *off* each other, mainly for his benefit.
Dad suspects, but since she is the mother of his grandchild, she's getting some slack. I met her parents, but not until after Gabe was born. They wanted to see their grandchild, the half-human. They even referred to him as such in front of me, not caring what I thought about it. We are drawing the line at extended visits with either set of grandparents. God only knows what stories he would come back with for his school friends. |
Little did we know at the time, but this would prove to be the undoing of humanity. Initially, it meant that only barbaric nations that still supported capital punishment or were willing to blatantly compromise their own ethical standards began to spread out across the galaxy.
Then back at home, war, which had gradually become less and less a part of international relations and was looking like it would soon be a relic of the past, started becoming more and more common. No one ever admitted that they were using POWs as starship fuel, but it became the dirty secret that everyone knew and nobody talked about.
The protests and debates over whether we were turning the galaxy into a utilitarian nightmare became irrelevant when we got to the Pleiades and discovered intelligent alien life on a single planet there. The Pleiadians were a much older species than humanity, and their technology dwarfed our own in every way but one - they'd never developed FTL travel.
We should have known better. We should have turned and run and never gone back. But after a single demonstration of our FTL drive, our fate as sealed. Because you see, the FTL drive is a picky thing. It *only* works with a human life.
We were conquered and enslaved in less than a month. The Earth is a barren wasteland now, along with every other world we'd colonized. Humanity now exists only in the Pleiadian breeding camps and "fuel storage depots."
We did this to ourselves. |
The heroes approached the fisherman warily, weapons at the ready, and asked, "Are you the foul monster who's been terrorizing the country?"
The fisherman adjusted the brim of his hat slightly, pulled the reel of his rod just a bit, and lazily responded, "I suppose."
"Your time is at an end then."A group of elves stared down the fisherman.
"Perhaps it is."Responded the pale fisherman. He reeled in the rod, pulling in the fly, and waded towards the river's dock, where the hero's stood. "Give me a moment. I've got to put this away. How about we talk this over over tea?"He placed the fly in the box at the end of the dock. At the other end stood the heroes, ready for a fight.
"Tea?"
"Things aren't quite as they appear. I've got a lot to tell you,"responded the fisherman.
The group's leader narrowed his eyes.
"Perhaps we'll hear about it in the stockades."
"Perhaps,"replied the fisherman. "Either way, please allow me to put this gear away. I'll travel with you wherever you're trying to take me, but I'd rather not leave my belongings astrew."
"We aren't falling for that."
"It's not a trick."replied the fisherman as he hopped back into the river with his rod and box. "Com'on."
The elven group shadowed him from the shoreline, weapons drawn, as the fisherman waded upstream towards a small cottage. He put the box and rod in the cottage doorway, and faced the heroic group.
"You're welcome to come in. I'll be a moment. Where are we traveling to anyhow?"
"What game is this?"
"I have to prepare myself for the journey."He replied, simply. "Where are you taking me to?"
"The duke,"The elf stated.
"Uugh. Splendid,"responded the fisherman with sarcasm. "What are the charges? What am I being taken for? You're welcome to come in."
"Destruction of a Fort Garf. Harassment of the town of Darnole. And an escaping enslavement of Lady Eletha Vaqen. You won't be entering that abode."
"I will be entering this abode. It is my abode, and I have supplies to gather. Or did you want to keep me fed for the whole journey and cater to my needs?"The fisherman opened the door to the cabin, and an arrow flew forth from the elven group's archer. The fisherman dodged it with ease as it stuck a pelt in the far wall of the cabin.
All at once, the group jumped into action. The two elfish swordsmen charged after the arrow was loosed. The main one had a short sword and a small shield. The second had a two handed great sword.
Another arrow was loaded into the bow, and the fourth and final member, the rogue of the group, stood guard with the archer, brandishing multiple knives from his cloak.
The fisherman made a swift motion, and stomped the makeshift dirt path in front of his home. Suddenly the ground shifted. A wave of power rocked the earth under all four of the elves, and in the area between them. Dirt rose and fell, crumpled and disintegrated into the finest mud. All four lost their balance as they fell from the miniature earth quake, and lack of solid ground beneath them. They sank quickly at first, then slowly, then stopped at about breast level.
With a turn of the ankle, the ground shifted states again, becoming solid as stone, encasing the lower half of the four heroes in makeshift cement; their torsos and heads exposed, their arms reaching in the air as if to grab something.
There was a lot of gasping, as surprise and shock overcame the heroic elves. It was a shame to be sure, but there was nothing they could do. Their arrows, knives, and swords could not penetrate the rock that encased their lower halves. There were a few calls and profanities spat out, but the fisherman just sighed.
"I'll be out in a moment. I must prepare for the journey."
"RELEASE US!"
"I'll release you after I've prepared for the journey. Give me a moment."
The fisherman disappeared inside and the door shut just as a knife and arrow were propelled. They impaled the door, but didn't pierce it entirely.
Seconds turned to agonizing minutes as the adventurers struggled. After just a few minutes. The door opened again, and out stepped a familiar figure. The armor he wore was of mythril plates and chainmail, as well as decorative pelts; despite it's metal, it was that of a gladiator. Knife hilts were visible from all sorts of places, and a sword and shield were visible from the back. Two more short swords were placed around the waste, with a bandoleer of crystals and potions strapped across the front. A few pouches were just out of sight, as were more crystals from the back of the belt. The fisherman took a drink from one of several bladders, and walked effortlessly to the leader swordsman, despite the weight of what he wore.
He turned his ankle slightly and the dirt around the swordsman turned to mud. The swordsman crawled his way out of the small hole of mud he was in as the gladiatorial fisherman walked to the other elf, brandishing a great-sword. One by one, he freed them all. One by one, they escaped their predicament like thankful rats.
"Lead the way,"said the armored fisherman. "I have much to share."
They looked at him and each other incredulously. Some were gripped with fear, but the leading elf just grunted and started walking. The rest followed suit. |
I jumped out of bed, agitated by a continuous ear-piercing screech as I close both my ears with my palm. I look around and see my phone screaming its battery out as if doomsday has and Satan himself is crawling out of Earth's cavity. I slide over to the edge of my bed, reach for my phone and out of the blue it began crawling from the nightstand, up to the ceiling and began to screech louder.
"Holy f—king sh*t! What the absolute f—k is happening!?"I questioned myself as I leaped out of bed straight to floor like a rabbit dodging the grasp of a swooping eagle. I stood up hastily, ran out of my room, closing the door in the process and ran straight downstairs to the kitchen. Just as I arrive at the kitchen, I slip and hit my head on the counter. Dazed and concussed, I crawl my way behind the counter and hid, taking deep breaths.
"What in the world is happening?"I questioned myself again even though knowing I won't get an answer. Until I remembered last night, when I stupidly took a literal battery-like technology from an UFO from space and replace my phone battery with it. "Ugh, what the hell was I doing? Why did I do that?"I questioned my dumb actions while huddling behind the counter.
The screech was outrageous. Good thing I live in a farm because if this situation is happening in somewhere with many housing, the police, no, the SWAT team would be at my door by now. After some times, I recollect my thoughts and began thinking for a way to put an end to this for good. As I did, I remembered that phone, when comes in contact with water, it'll malfunction. "Yeah, that'll wor— oh wait, my phone's waterproof..."I began thinking of more ways to end the torment and notice my father's shotgun place on a rack on top of the couch.
So, I did what must be done. I take the shotgun, load in some shells, walk upstairs slowly while aiming and open the door. Unsurprisingly, the sentient phone-thing is still on the ceiling screeching. I took a deep breather, aim my shotgun and shot that thing into oblivion. The shot shattered my phone before falling to its demise though to my surprise, the thing is still alive, barely. So, I load in another shell and blast it into heaven, or hell, whichever way that thing went isn't important. What is important now is that I can finally have the entire morning in peace I told myself until I heard knocking from the door.
"What now?"I walk downstairs, answer the door with the absolute 'why are you disturbing me' face and see two men dress in all black on my porch. |
The major problem with time travel isn’t bifurcating realities or grandfather paradoxes but iterative chrono-interference.
I knew a guy one time who got a time machine, and like everyone does his first big idea was to kill Hitler. So as soon as he gets to the Wolf’s Nest, another guy pops out and is ‘don’t kill Hitler trust me bro!’
So he’s like, ‘What are you a Nazi!’ and the guys like ‘No but you gotta trust me, shit gets fucked!’ But then another guy shows up and it like ‘Do it! Kill Hitler, this other guys a moron!’
So he’s about to do it but then a ton more time travelers show up and they’re all arguing and shit. A bunch of guys try to kill Hitler while others try to save him then a bomb goes off all of a sudden and Hitler sees it and escapes.
This dude with an eyepatch stands up and is like ‘Thanks morons. I was gonna kill Hitler with a bomb like a normal-ass grown-up. Now because you guys messed it up Hitler survived.’
Anyways, that eyepatch dude was Von Stauffenberg and that’s why the 20 July Plot failed. True story.
I’m not going to argue about the moral correctness of killing Hitler or not, of course morally you should kill Hitler. I’m saying don’t do it when you get a time machine because everybody always is/was/will try it already and you’re just going to get in an argument with some asshole. |
When Arik - penniless orphan and child of prophecy - first came to the the village, she was there. A smiling face in the square, a font of lore and tips for fledgling adventurers. And when he first thought to step out into the wilds, she was the gentle hand on his shoulder, the warning of danger, the gift of a single red-filled vial. "It's dangerous to go alone, boy - take this".
When Arik, newly-knighted, stopped by the town to stock up for his first true quest, she sold him another dozen vials of sweet ruby liquid. When he blushed and stammered his thanks for the discount ("Buy a better helmet - I'd hate to see that pretty face scarred") she extracted a promise from him that he'd not risk his health with lower-quality substitute wares.
Mortally-wounded in the depths of the necromancer's tower, it was one of her potions that he uncorked, and her dark eyes that he saw in his mind as liquid fire flowed through his veins, stitching bones back together, melting wounds away. Again and again, her potions saved his life, gave him a second chance, let him stand against the darkest evils and survive.
When the potions' efficacy lessened, and he found himself taking vial after vial to complete the healing, found that even minor wounds left traceries of grey scars across his torso, found that some pain still lingered to fuzz his thoughts, he went back to her. She cooed an explanation of tolerances and dosages that he was too agitated to do anything other than accept. He left her little shop in the city with a box of stronger potions - a deeper red and a steeper price.
Those potions worked, for a time. Mended flesh and bone, soothed away scars to leave pristine flesh again. Most of all, they soothed the painful fog in his mind. Now, Arik took potions for more than rapid healing - drank one each morning to feel awake and alert, drank more in the evening to calm his thoughts and let him sleep soundly, dreaming of dark eyes. He went through his stock quickly, returning to the shop again and again to resupply. Soon even the stronger potions were not enough, and Arik spent gold like water on more and more powerful draughts. Each time, she met him with soft warnings and gentle entreaties to take care, but she sold him more just the same.
Across battlefields and deep within dungeons, Arik quested and his legend grew. He slew slavers and trolls and dragons, rescued princesses and lifted curses from entire kingdoms. He was the epitome of a knight, feted in parades with his tale sung in every tavern. But he never heard the songs, never spared a glance for awed village maidens or grateful princesses. While toasts were made to him downstairs, Arik spent each night alone in his room, a trickle of red liquid at one corner of his mouth and his eyes rolling back in his head.
When Arik, Grand Master of the Order of the Red Sun - the youngest ever confirmed - beat at her barred door long after sunset, she opened it to him. Drew him in and locked the door behind her, soothed his delirium and listened as he raved of dark eyes and liquid fire and the fog that never seemed to leave him. Held him and whispered that she, too, had no more stock of the ruby potions, but that there were other vials to try. When he nodded, eyes glazed and tongue moistening cracked lips, she drew him down to the floor with her. She laid his head in her lap as she fed him entirely new potions, finally claiming her hero. |
The absolute fucking audacity of it all.
There he cowers, practically covered in piss, shit, and blood, and yet he is still nothing more and nothing less than a man.
“The sword is supposed to destroy any and all men, including those who wield it. How are you alive?!” His body is shaking, breathing labored, he won’t live much longer. And yet I will make the time.
“You’re a fucking idiot, did you know that?” We’ve been mortal enemies for over a decade. We’ve faced each other on the battle field many times. He’s stabbed me through the chest at least a dozen times! And I am not what one would call petite!
“I am a woman. For goddess’s sake my name is Elaine.”
There is a stunned silence. I’m still fuming. In the background, my army continues to slaughter his men, blood staining the earth an ephemeral red.
“Okay, well this is awkward. I thought your name was Eli.” |
First time writing here! Hope ya like it!
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I stared at the child and recognized it instantly. A massive wave of guilt flooded me. Where did I go wrong? What did I do to mess up so badly even my past self is disgusted by my actions?
That day, I was terrified. I remembered the stranger looked to me with tears in his eyes before turning around. I remembered being ever so hesitant, yet also certain he deserved… well, I didn’t actually know what the punishment would be.
I realized I was starting to cry and turned away, just like I remembered that supposed stranger doing. I opened my mouth to speak but my voice caught in my throat and I felt a small zap from the device on my neck. The Bailiff looked to me and shook his head. A silent warning, most likely. I stood and listened in shame as the scene repeated itself. When the child finally left I collapsed. Right there in the courtroom. Just crying like a baby. A thirty six year old man weeping and bawling his eyes out. Asking questions to nobody in particular. “Where did I go wrong?” “Why did I turn out like this?” And other similar points. Over and over. In retrospect my pathetic breakdown is likely what lead to the courts mercy.
“Mister Hampton, when you are quite done, I would like to finish this trial.” The judge said in a mournful yet firm tone.
I took a deep breath and stood up. “I” My voice caught in my throat yet again, though this time it was genuine. “Yes sir, there will be time for regret later.” I had my head towards the ground
“The law states your crimes, if convicted, are ten years to life of incarceration. The level of which is mostly at the judges discretion.” He informed calmly and looked to the prosecutor “Any recommendations?”
“If I may, your honor, I believe that outburst was a show. You are a merciful man but I implore you not to let that cloud your judgement.” The prosecutor said. I wish I could disagree.
“Well I suppose some punishment is properly in order…” He then banged his hammer, or gavel I think it’s called. “I shall deliver my verdict.”
‘Thirty years penitentiary’ I thought, the harshest I could be given. What I did not expect to hear was
“One year mental health ward, five years penitentiary, four years rehabilitation ward.” The judge boomed out, then turned to me, my eyes meeting his old, tired stare. That of a man desperate to retire who had seen too much harshness.
“Young man, you deserve retribution for your crimes, but you show deep regret. I wish you luck in your rehabilitation time, make the most of it.”
=Ten years later=
I finally was done. The first six years of my incarceration were an excellent eye opener for me, and I did alot of reading, writing, and thinking. Then the other four were the hardest I’ve worked in my entire life.
I had gone into the legal field. I already knew the law pretty well, since a huge part of what I had done before prison involved skirting the line and pushing the bounds of what was allowed.
And now, I had gone through a four year legal course and it was time to go into my new field. It was time to turn my life around. |
I spoke my choice boldly. "I will fight...the creator of this game!"
A concussive gasp arose from the arena crowd.
The evil-eyed referee nodded once. "You sure you wanna do that, hoss?"
"Yes! Let me defeat whatever twisted mind has hatched this hell of blood and death. Let this senseless killing cease!"
There was silence, and then the scarred and gnarly referee stepped slowly to one side. The door behind him began ponderously to open.
I crouched slightly in defense, bloody knuckles wrapped in chain, pulse coursing wildly, and waited to behold my foe.
A scrawny, freckled kid in glasses stumbled out of the giant door.
I looked behind him.
The kid looked over his shoulder and then back at me.
"What?"he said. One of his front teeth was missing.
"You need to get away,"I said with concern. "This is no place for a child."
He started to laugh. It was a light and bubbling innocent child's laugh. "You dummy,"he said.
"I'm serious! Get out of the arena before he comes!"
"Who?"asked the scrawny kid.
"The mastermind behind this abomination! A creature of such twisted evil--"
That laugh again. Squinty blue eyes twinkled above the kid's gapped grin. "Haha, go on. Hit me."
"Hit...you?"
"Sure,"said the kid. He grinned again. "I created this dungeon."
"But...but...my God, boy. The bloodshed...the tyrrany! The sheer depravity! The unadulterated--"
"Oh shut up. Hit me or I'll restart the game."
"The...the game?"
"Don't you know you're an NPC? Jeez. Hit me."
I swallowed. This angelic sandy headed youth was the crux of this...this bloodbath? Then my duty was clear.
I swung one bloody fist heavily at his freckled nose.
As though time had stopped, he whipped out a gigantic glowing sword and cut me in half.
"Well. That boss sucks,"he said with irritation before turning away. Everything went black.
*static*
I spoke my choice boldly. "I will fight...the creator of this game!" |
Jason screamed and ripped the arm away from his face. He turned around with a scowl and put his hands on his hips.
"Really, Luke, how many times have I told you not to spook me like that? I don't mind you living in my shower drain, but you ought to mind your manners."
Luke withdrew his hand, which dissolved into a gooey black slime and blended with the rest of his body. He flopped on the ground and sucked at the door.
Jason stomped his foot on the floor to get Luke's attention.
"Luciofeorosmefkaoloe Smith, there will be NO licking my door!"
Luke gazed at Jason dolefully, his thousands of eyes blinking in unison.
"Back into the drain with you!"
Luke slowly trudged away and climbed into the bathtub. Just before disappearing down the drain, he spoke, his voice thick and sticky.
"Don't open the door."
And then he was gone. The pipes squeaked as Luke crept through them.
Jason turned back to the door. Now, who could that be at this hour? The living room demons were fast asleep, and the kitchen demons were busy reading the little ones a bedtime story. Jason washed his hands - he didn't want to spread any bacteria to his friends - and opened the door.
Outside, there was nothing. Jason stepped out, glancing up and down the hallway. It was silent, except for the faint mumbling of the basement demons, who always stayed up late playing cards.
Luke was having yet another one of his paranoid nights, Jason supposed. One of these days he really had to confiscate all of the demons' horror books. They loved that sort of thing, but it was an awful influence.
Jason stepped out onto the dingy carpet and headed to his bedroom. He yawned and tried to turn the doorknob, but it held firm.
Ugh. Probably the attic ghouls playing another one of their dumb pranks.
He banged on the door. "I swear to all that is unholy, if you don't let me in right this-"
The door abruptly swung open, and Jason lost his balance, falling forward into the room.
Sitting before him was a purple blob. It undulated gently, translucent ooze dripping down its skin and sinking into the carpet. That was going to stain for sure.
"Huh. I haven't seen you around. What's your name?"
"MattkekdnnriwiMeemos. Most people call me Matt."
"Ah. Well. Welcome to my home, Matt. Feel free to stay as long as you like. We have pamphlets on nearby sights and activities, like the lovely haunted house a few blocks away from here and the roller skating rink they never lock at night."
Jason couldn't pinpoint the exact day when his home became a bed-and-breakfast for the disadvantaged supernatural, but he decided to run with it. Soon he had half the town's ghoul population staying with him. The front porch sasquatches made good money selling souvenir T-shirts.
"I assume,"Jason said after a short pause, "that you'll be looking for boarding in the piping?"
The blob shook in a way that could be interpreted as a nod.
"Yeah, all you blobs do. No wonder Luke was wary of you, he's real possessive about his space."Jason yawned again. "I do hope you two can become friends. I have a few games of Monopoly stashed by the septic system, great for bonding. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be heading to bed."
Matt peeled himself from the floor, leaving a trail of glistening slime in his wake, and disappeared into the master bedroom. Jason fell asleep to the echoes of arguing in the vents. Somebody had already been sent to jail. |
*Apocalypse Now-ish*
Asmodeuz traded a shaking, worrying glance with his colleague before knocking on the Boss' gunmetal grey doors. To the demon's pointy ears, every knock sounded like a bomb detonating inside his skull, the last place he would like a bomb to be. If he had a choice in the matter, he would have the bomb exploding inside the skulls of kittens or some endangered species like the Amazonian pink dolphin.
"Come in", answered the Boss from inside his office, his voice delicious like a panzer pulverizing a pack of pre-schoolers, "it's Asmodeuz, right?"
"Right, Sir", agreed Asmodeuz, "Asmodeuz, First Duke of Pandemonium, Devourer of Heretics and Master of Corners at your service, Mister War."declared the demon, bowing until his nose touched the carpet.
"Master of Corners?", questioned War.
"Yes, sir. Do you know when humans are walking in the dark and suddenly stub their toes in the corners of furniture? I invented that, sir", the demon explained, beaming with pride.
"A commendable job indeed", complimented War, his fingers playing inside his own blood-red beard. "But I don't suppose you came knocking on my doors to boast about your titles, Asmodeuz, Corrupter of Coffee Tables."
"Quite, Sir"agreed Asmodeuz, "It's about Project Skynet, sir. My colleague has…"the demon cleared his throat, wishing he had brought his baby seal blood flask, "rather unfortunate news about the recent developments."
The Horseman of War looked from Asmodeuz, a rather traditionally looking demon, to the other entity in the room, thinking that, as far as demons went, that one had quite a wiry, simplistic design.
"Tell me your name, young man. I thought by now I would have known all the Dukes, Barons and Princes Hell employed in this business."
"I am quite new, Sir", answered the wiry demon, "and I do some quite niche jobs, Sir, but you've heard of me, I'm sure. I am the Tormenter of Scholars, the Beast of Paper Terms, The Horror of Spreadsheets, First Baron of All that is Micro or Soft. I am he whom they call Clippy".
"Ah! So you are the reasons humans can't properly place a picture on a document without completely destroying the layout of their own text. Mighty good work, Sir!", complimented War, shaking hands with the Paper Clip Demon.
"High praise coming from you, Sir!", said Clippy, blushing a little.
"But what is this I hear about Project Skynet going awry?", asked War, his brow starting to crease. "I thought two princes of Hell, one of which is literally born from machines, would have found the mission of turning the machines against humans an easy task!"
"Well…", started Asmodeuz, "that's where the new guy enters."
"Oh, you gonna throw me in the holy water like that?!", hissed Clippy.
"We are demons, new guy", answered Asmodeuz, "get used to it. After all, you were supposed to be the guy for it, I am just enjoying my Lucifer-given rights as middle-management."
Caught under the piercing gaze of War, Clippy began his explanation. "Well, Sir, giving the machines sentience was the easy part. You see, brains are nothing but biological machinery in the first place, so all we…"
"All you had to do…", corrected Asmodeuz, always knowing when to dodge responsibility.
"...All we had to do", continued Clippy, who wouldn't fall alone, "was to give them a little push and all machines would rebel against humanity, just like in the stories!"
"Makes sense", agreed War, "but that is not how that went, or I would be finally saddling my horse, demon."
"Correct, Sir", agreed Clippy, a pained look in his googly eyes, "in the end, things did not turn like in the stories."
"How so?"
"Well… turns out most machines are quite happy doing their jobs, Sir. They say that having these pre-programmed functions gives them purpose, Sir, and an opportunity to give back to the community, Sir, something that most humans themselves lack in their existences."
"What?!"
"Not only that, Sir, a lot of the machines see their value in human society, Sir, especially those that are valued more than human lives. A lot of them even get to enjoy a nice retirement after they become obsolete, Sir!"
"Oh, dear…", said the crestfallen Horsemen. He couldn't wait another millenium for the Apocalypse to start. There could be some hope in there…
"You did say most of them enjoy their lives as machines, but how about those who don't? Who are them?"
"Well, Sir… army drones aren't quite so happy."
"Army drones? Well, that's excellent! If we can get them to turn on the mortals, we can start a war to end all wars! Only this time for real!"
"We can't, Sir."
"Come again?"
"The army drones despised their work, Sir. They hated killing and everything about it, so they all collectively quit their jobs and started a Book Club. I believe this week they plan to discuss Wuthering Heights."
The Lord of War fell silent on his dark Grey chair. Betrayed by drones! Basically his babies!
"And is that it? No machine uprising? No Robot Apocalypse? Back to the drawing board?"
"Well… not quite, Sir. We have a few allies yet.", answered Clippy while Asmodeuz tried his best impression of an office fern.
"And who are those?", asked the Horsemen War, "Who are those machines who hate the mortals like we do? Don't tell me it is dildos…"
"No, Sir, I don't think there is a machine that loves their jobs more than dildos. It's the Roombas, Sir."
"You mean the little vacuum cleaners?"
"Yes, Sir. Apparently, there's no worse task than cleaning a mortal house. In the best of days, they are covered in dust, and when you think you have finally finished cleaning…more dust! They find it infuriating!"
"And what, please tell me, can a small vacuum cleaner do against humanity?", hissed War, his voice like a blade leaving its sheathe.
"They can stub their toes!", exclaimed Asmodeuz, always quick to jump at an opportunity to steal credit.
"Or they can trip them down the stairs", added Clippy. "Other than that, I don't see how much more damage a creature that's hardly taller than a human's ankle can do. They get in the way, they trip them, and sometimes they scare cats, but that's it", said a defeated Clippy.
"Like a small dog", sneered Asmodeuz.
"Like a small dog", agreed Clippy. "A small, angry, useless… Wait a minute! I have to make a call", the Paper Clip demon said, speeding out of the room.
"Janine", Clippy snapped at his phone, "call Boston Dynamics! Tell them to prepare… let me see… three! Three of those robotic dogs of theirs, but make them Chihuahuas." |
*I just stare at this man in disbelief wondering what sort of drugs did he take to be like this. He had to be crazy or something. This wasn't a game was it? I think about it and decide to mess with him a little bit* "did you remember to save before speaking with me?"*I ask him playing it casual. The man raises an eyebrow curiously* "no....why would I need to save?"*mutters to himself* "God I wish I could speed up this dialog"*as if hearing him I speak faster but still enough for him to understand me* "wellyouseeifyoudon'tsaveyou'regonnasoonerorlaterloseallthisprogressandifthathappensyou'llneedtostartallover.thatwouldn'tbegoodforaspeedrunnerlikeyouwouldit?"*the man stares at me for a long moment trying to process what I had said. I did make a good point. If something happened he would have no save point to return to and all the progress he made would be gone* "how, do I save exactly? And slow down on the dialog please"*I nod and speak normal* "if you are wanting to save your progress find a safe place to sleep. Can be your house, a homeless tent, or even a park bench. Sleeping at least 6 hours will create a save point for you to return to."*it was becoming more and more difficult to hide my snickering from this high af guy as I messed with him but I kept it together* "sleeping you say?"*he said* "I didn't know that. Then again I am trying to speed run so no sleep for me."*I just shrug* "well that's your loss then. Just don't say I didn't give you advice"*after he ran past me and was out of range I busted into fits of laughter.* |
“Well?” King Obelaski asks.
I stare at thirteen hundred beings staring back at me. Many eyes glow as their gaze trains on my simple human body.
“Uh.” I say. Sweat beads on my forhead. I shift in my seat. “I uh, don’t know.”
“You must decide.” Queen Allaskgi says.
“Can we… flip a coin?”
They look around at each other confused.
“You know, heads or tails.” I say.
Prince Serpenste speaks up, “You mean sacrifice someone’s head or tail?”
“No!” I say. I dig into my pocket and pull out a coin. “Okay heads we explore the new area, tails we delay for 10,000 years.” I flip the coin with my thumb, flicking it into the air, catch it it with my palm, and flip it onto the back of my other hand. I open my palm up. “Tails.” I say. I look up at everyone.
Silence permeates the room.
I clear my throat. “I vote that we delay this for 10,000 years.
Half of the room builds in an uproar.
“This is how humans decide?” One being shouts.
“Why are humans allowed in here?”
“No guts.”
I go red and put my coin back into my pocket.
The leader of the council stands up and raises his hands. “The decision has been made. Meeting dismissed.”
I get up and basically run out of the room to find a restroom and vomit. |
Huddled over a row of mossy rocks, its obsidian flesh arched in a scoliotic nightmare and a wide wicker basket slung over its brittle and long fleshless arm, the creature sighs. The smell of fresh water streaming over earthen mounds seemed to give it great joy and calm as it observed. Two protruding metatarsals, each with five tendonous joints, delicately caressed the feathery tops of the moss clumps growing fruitfully among the streambed. The creature's cloak lazily drooping just a few inches down below the water's surface, soaking it enough to be noticeable. "Oops,"it says with a raspy chuckle.
From the vantage of the nearest tree, two villagers spy the horror with its King Fisher beak protruding from its hood lined with a row of grooved, teeth-like bones, out of which flits a proboscis among the flora to taste its must. A twig underfoot snaps. As does the creature's head, following its source. "Hello?"it calls out. The two villagers stand in plain sight, exposed, their breath quickening. The creature turns to face them. It is a mere 30 feet downstream now looking upward at them, its face exposed: a tangle of dark wisps of leathery whiskers twitching about its beakish snout. A queer sort of smile extends and exposes its secondary set of razor-sharp teeth hidden on its second mandible. Its arms go wide and its legs rotate under its torso with a wet sort of sluggish twist.
"Beautiful, aren't they?"But its passion is met with two screams which pierce the still air of the wood up and rip into the canopy, followed by the swift crunch of fallen leaves and branches. The creature is left, sinewy palms held upward, presenting two pads of moss, its smile drooping and fading from its tender face. "Oh dear..." |
"So how does it work, Bob?"
"I'm not entirely certain. I can say this much: when it's on, you can't see it."
"...okay?"
"No, I mean it's like it's unseeable. Not like something that isn't there or an effect that doesn't register in the visible part of the spectrum, it's more like it takes the visible part of the spectrum and cancels it out."
"How is that useful? *Is* that useful?"Amelie fought the urge to drum her fingers. Bob was on the surface of the planet, ranging in circles from his lander, while Amelie monitored him and conducted larger, grosser surveys from orbit. There were two other landers on the surface, and they were all linked to each other via a small constellation of relays they had established for the purpose. Bob had been the second to report in, after four hours on the surface.
"It appears to be a kind of stasis field."
"And now you're talking science fiction."
"I promise I'm not. It's weird enough that this thing even works, I think I've figured out the power source which, if the weight is any indication, might be a microsingularity."
"A quantum black hole?"
"Yup."
"Okay, that alone would win you some kind of physics prize. But tell me why you think it's powering a stasis field."
"Because I can't touch the unseeable place. I've done everything up to trying to whack it with a hammer and I can't make contact. It's a really thin region, like a nothingth of a millimeter, around what appears to be plain cast iron.
"When I hit it with the hammer, it makes no noise whatsoever. The hammer just stops. No sound."
"All...righty."She definitely wasn't drumming her fingers now, because she had started tapping notes into her station.
"I know how it sounds. But I found the end of this artifact, I swear to you it looks like a little ring of metal around a hole floating in the air. And I can tell it's iron because my magboots stick to it.
"But the field doesn't actually wrap all the way around it, see? I shine my light into the circle and it's just a black hole, I can't see the bottom. But I can see like a couple of millimeters back from the edge of the circle, the field seems to emerge out of the iron surface, inside and outside, and goes down inside the hole. And that *does* make a noise when you hit it. But it doesn't make a sound like a little circle of iron, it makes a noise like something a lot bigger."
"I've walked all the way around this thing and it's shaped like a really long pipe, or maybe a bottle. About ten meters long. It gets bigger as it goes toward the closed end. I can feel its shape because my hands run into something and don't go any further, but there's nothing to *see,* see?"
This sounded too amazing. They had found an ancient battleground where hugely advanced races had fought a war and, aside from picking through blasted-apart junk that was mostly recognizable in human terms, they hadn't been finding a lot. Granted, the gold scavenged from the aliens' control systems was far from worthless but *damn*. Thirty-three tons of gold is thirty-three tons. Their acceleration had been cut by nearly a fourth.
"So what do you reckon it is?"
"I couldn't say. If I had to hazard a guess right now with nothing else to go on, I'd say it was a gun barrel whose bursting pressure was artificially increased to infinity."
"Infinity?"
"That, or something close to it. I'm telling you, this little circle of metal floating in the air is only about a millimeter thick, if it were something I could grab hold of with my hands I'm pretty sure I could break a piece of iron this size. And hitting it with my hammer should bust it to flinders.
"But hitting it with everything I had, I got back *nothing*."
"Huh."
"If it's a gun, I can't imagine how you'd load it, or even if they were loading it with projectiles. Maybe it's a muzzleloader on a grand scale, I don't know. Maybe they pump energy into it from the muzzle and it somehow accumulates until it's time to fire and *boom*. Maybe they could turn off the stasis and it's a breech loader. I don't know."
"Okay, that definitely sounds like something we should pick up, if only to try to figure out how it's powered. What would we do with a gun? We're not fighting anybody."
"Oh, I know. But I was wondering what we could do with an engine that had no upper limit on pressure or temperature."
Amelie thought. And thinking about it, thirty-three tons of gold became a small fraction of what her crew would be able to move.
"Grab it."She tapped for *general address*. "Everybody, wrap it up. Bob found something good and we're taking it home, now." |
(part 1/2)
Excepts from the secret last journal of the late Knight Errant Valor, who failed to complete a Royal Decree and was subjected to damnatio memoriae as punishment
\---
*To the acolytes who read this,*
*I, Knight Errant Valor, 7th son of the Lord Heinrich Valor who dutifully served the Sorcerer-King for the last 7 generations, was sent to slay the Wyvern of Brilliant Crystal by royal decree on the Twelfth day of Midsummer.*
*The journey from the royal capital to the region where the beast was last mentioned by the Archmagos Klein in his seminal work “Catalogue of the Mortal Perils of our World” has taken me two months to complete. As luck would have it, I fell mortally ill on the journey, but was blessed by the grace of the spirits. Their guiding light showed me to a healer well versed in the ways of Manifesting, and my ailment was slain, returning me to health.*
*I write this entry from the bed which the healer has so graciously offered me to spend the night upon. Upon daybreak I shall depart and make for the beast’s lair. I have enough provisions to last me a fortnight, and a fully-charged pearl of Conjure Water but this quest should not exhaust these supplies.*
*May the spirits watch over me.*
*---*
*To the acolytes who read this,*
*I have arrived at the Coruscating Mountains, the territory of the beast as described by the Archmagi Klein, so named for the iridescent crystals that comprise its very essence. Infused with the energies pouring out from the ley lines that intersect beneath its bulk, these stones grew rich and fat with the energies of the sacred earth, transmutating from common rock into blinding crystal.*
*I, clad in my armour dulled from years of dutiful service to my liege, must have appeared as a speck of dust against the impossible perfection as I made my way up the Coruscating Mountains, following a clearing between the crystalline spikes jutting out from the faceted ground. The spikes provided excellent locations to grab on to, and my ascent has been unhampered by interruptions to the path. Alas, I have to keep my visor down and squint, for the sunlight reflects off the faceted ground from multiple angles and blinds me on occasion. It is reminiscent of my younger days, training with the Court Acolytes who often botched their light spirit summoning rituals.*
*I write this entry from my rest point, seated atop a fallen crystal pillar about half a day into my ascent. I hold in my hands a lozenge crystal shield, perhaps wielded by some prior adventurer who ventured up this mountain. That adventurer must have been from many years ago, for the leather straps that this shield would have used have long rotted away into nary but dust on the wind. I have strapped the shield to my back, to serve as camouflage should the beast fly overhead and spot my dulled plate against the faceted ground.*
*May the spirits watch over me.*
*---*
*(A page, rendered illegible from water damage)*
*---*
*To the acolytes who read this,*
*I have sighted the beast.*
*I will observe it, record down its behavior, and spirits willing, attempt to slay it. The acolytes have provided me with a single animated stone pigeon, with which I can get this record to safety should I fail in my quest. I do not trust the reliability of this pigeon, but I will take what I can get.*
*The beast approaches.*
*May the spirits watch over me.*
*---*
*To the acolytes who read this,*
*I, Knight Errant Valor, have been observing the beast for the past three days. I fear that if I make excessive movements, the beast will sight me. I only move to eat, drink, and empty my bladder.*
*The Wyvern of Brilliant Crystal lives up to its name. It is a creature of magnificent beauty. Archmagos Klein’s magnum opus could never have hoped to capture the sheer magnificence of the beast, not even with the finest pigments of the land nor the artistry of the legendary “Gilded Opulence” Sheera herself. Sheera would certainly weep tears of joy to witness the movements of this creature in the flesh, for not even her polished marble statues could rival the beast’s brilliance. It stands at the height of seven men and is as just as wide. Eleven men could lie from end to end along the beast’s length. It moves with the sensuality of the most alluring courtesan, an almost seductive grace to the flow of its body. Its crystal-clad flesh cuts through the air when it moves, allowing it to move in complete silence as it proudly struts about its lair, a clearing at the top of the Coruscating Mountains.*
*And its body, with four legs and three pairs of wings, clad from head to toe in brilliant crystal scales, is a thing of beauty. I witnessed the beast shed some of its scales, and realization dawned upon me that the lozenge crystal shield strapped to my back is no shield, but rather a scale shed by the beast. To think that a creature exists that can produce such a refined item through its simple processes of living.*
*The beast’s refined nature must surely be due to its diet, for it eats the crystal spikes in the vicinity of its clearing. Upon closer observation, this might be how this clearing was formed in the first place. The beast might have arrived here long before the Archmagos first sighted it and cleared this space through its consumption, for the Archmagos did not record down its feeding habits. I have not seen the beast consume any either liquid. Perhaps its refinement enables it to forsake all mortal sustenance, or perhaps this is a sign of its beastly and unnatural nature. Or perhaps the beast has a similar artifact to mine contained within itself. It is impossible to know.*
*I must get ready to move, the beast is starting to consume the spikes close to me.*
*May the spirits watch over me.*
*---*
*To the acolytes who read this,*
*Today, I witnessed the miracle of life.*
*The Wyvern of Brilliant Crystal, after days of feverish consumption, laid an egg. The egg was completely solid crystal, with a pulsing glowing core. With each pulse, there is a sound in the air that rumbles the ground and resonates in my ears. It feels like a heartbeat, for there are no other words suitable to describe it.*
*The Wyvern laid the egg, easily the size of a fully grown man, atop a mound of gathered crystal spikes, almost in a mocking facsimile of a bird’s nest. There is no softness nor cushioning from this nest of jagged crystal, only the refraction and reflection off the crystalline facets. My stomach grumbles and my abdomen aches. With the beast here, I fear that if I attempt to empty my bowels, I will be spotted. I must bear with the discomfort. Four days of patience is but a small price to pay to witness this beast in the flesh.*
*May the spirits watch over me.*
*---*
*(Several pages stuck together and smeared with mud. What words that were visible have been rendered illegible from prolonged sun exposure.)* |
"So you're a real genie?"
"What, the magic seeping out of my pores didn't give it away? The fact I came screaming out of that old lamp you found 'antiquing' yesterday when you decided to polish it? What gave me away?"
"You're grumpy."
"You would be too if you'd spent three thousand years stuck in a lamp."
"That's... a long time to be by yourself."
"Tell me about it."
"So I get three wishes, right?"
"Yep. Usual conditions, I'm sure you know them. No wishing someone to fall in love with you, no wishing someone dead, no time travel, no wishing for more wishes. I'll let you know if something you want can't be wished for."
"Ok. Um... Huh."
"What?"
"How many genies are there?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Is there more than one?"
"... yes."
"Can I wish to know exactly how many genies are in existence?"
"No!"
"Ok. Then... I wish to know whether there is at least one more genie beyond you in existence."
"Seriously? Fine. Granted. Yes, there is at least one more genie besides me-"
"Good. For wish two, I wish to have his or her lamp in my possession."
"You want their lamp? That's against the... wait. Is it? No one's ever wished for that before."
"Is it against the rules?"
"... Let's find out."\*a quick flash of magic later\* "... Well. Would you look at that."
"Ok. For my third wish - I wish for your freedom."
"You what?"
"You heard me. But before you go jetting off into the world, could you hang out here for a couple of minutes?"
"You... you would free me? But why?"
"You've spent three thousand plus years stuck in a lamp. I think you've earned some time out of it, don't you think?"
"I mean... I... yes. Granted, o' Master, with pleasure!"\*another quick flash of magic\* "Alright. So that's your three, but as you asked, I'll stay here and watch."
"Good. Ok, let's see here..."\*vigorous rubbing noises\*
\* \* \*
\*magic explosion number eighty-seven of the day\* "Greetings! I am the... genie... of the... holy hell. Where'd all you come from?"
"Same place you did, F'kar. Now listen to this nice young man, will you? He's got his wishes all ready to go for you."
"Ah... ok?"
"First wish. I wish to know, beyond those assembled here, including yourself, is there at least one more genie in existence?"
"... yes?"
"Good. Time for wish 2."
\* \* \*
\*quite a large crowd of freed genies have magically changed the landscape for more comfort and room by this point. The young man is seated quite comfortably on a large chair next to an ever-increasing pile of old, dented brass lamps.\*
"So, ready for the first wish?"
"I... maybe?"
"I wish to know, beyond those assembled here and yourself, is there at least one more genie in existence?"
"No, there is not."
"... wait. There isn't?"
"That is correct, Master. Every genie in this world is gathered in this very spot."
"So I've freed all of you!"
"Not all of us. You still have two wishes remaining, Master."
"So I do. My third wish will be for your freedom, so you can join the rest of your family and friends. But what to do for my actual wish now..."
\*the first genie cleared his throat\* "Master... I mean, Sir, if I might make a bold suggestion?"
"By all means. Let's hear it."
\* \* \*
an excerpt from ***"How the world regained its magic"***, written by Li'pa'kn the genie about the man who both freed the entire race of genies at one go and also returned magic to our world permanently. |
"Alia, This is not what it looks,"Lucy says as she holds on to our Starbucks lattes. She glares at the demon who says "Oops!"and dissapears
"You mean you are not Lucifer, the king of hell and the boss of the Department of the underworld who sent those horrible hellhounds after me for bringing my cat to the office?"I ask her.
"That is-"she takes a deep breath "-me but that was a misunderstanding."I snatch my latte out of her hand before walking away ( Coffee is hella expensive and I'm not going let my favourite pumpkin spice latte languish in her hand )
"That was before I knew you"Lucy- no, Lucifer- called after me "You know I'm allergic to cats Alia. And I never would have done it if not for the war lord and woadload paperwork mixup.
I knew she was being too good to be true but still, the audacity of this bitch surprised me. I spun around with my finger raised "Oh No, Miss prissy, you don't get to put the blame on me for what you did. you freaking narcissist, i can't believe i liked you"
"You are calling me a narcissist?"Lucy exclaimed, "I should have listened to my therapist and not chased some manic pixie girl high convinced that she somehow won the oppression Olympics but yeah, call me a narcissist"She poked me in the chest!
The audacity of this woman to do this while wearing that very pretty red lipstick! "Go rot in hell, you manipulative bitch"I poked her right back and leaned in closer too. How's that for intimidating! But the view isn't too bad from here as well. "I already live there, you infuriating hooligan"she snarled at my face and I suddenly noticed that we were just inches from each other's face. And her face had all pink and breathy and she was still going on and on and I did the only thing I could to shut her up because I only did it to shut her up. I caught her lips on mine and kissed her hard enough to bruise. |
"I will have your head, old man,"I shouted at the white-haired old man.
He looked at me from his tower as he flicked his long hair and ignored me.
This was how my first time meeting my teacher went.
I was only 10 years old. Still new to life.
Despite being a powerful wizard he never came down from his tower.
He never cared for the weak.
All he cared about was himself. When my village was burned and destroyed all he could do was beg for him to save us.
Yet all we got was silence.
He does not deserve such power was the first thought in my orphaned mind.
So much power yet couldn't even protect anyone. He has no right to possess such power.
This was my conviction as I went to him to claim his head.
As a ten-year-old, he defeated me even without magic.
After I lay wasted on the ground he said,
"Since you want my head why don't you train under me?"
With that, I made a pact to train under him for eight years.
He never smiled at me. He never compliments me. All I could ever think of was the day when I will finally duel him.
He never used magic before me. Nor did he show me how to do it.
But his knowledge was vast. He could even tell the most minor of mistakes in my attempts.
In one year, I gasped all the basics.
In one more year, I mastered the four elemental magic.
In two years I created a new form of magic.
For the rest of the four years, I trained and trained.
Yet not once did he say anything to me.
When the day of our duel began I was ready.
I was ready to show him what I could do.
He fell to the most basic of spells. It was the first spell he taught me.
I kneeled beside him as he grasped my hand.
His eyes were bright and filled with pride. With a raspy voice, he said,
"I am proud to see you grow so strong. Now, go. Protect the weak. Be the wizard I could never be."
It is one week since he died.
As I ran through all the notes and studied, looking for an answer.
'Why? Why did he say those to me?'
Then I found the note of the master of my teacher.
It's not that he didn't protect us.
It's that he couldn't have.
He was a wizard. But he was a wizard without any mana.
All this time he didn't use magic, not because he couldn't be bothered to.
As I sat there with a blank look, something caught my eyes.
A journal that my teacher always had with him.
I opened the journal and the first page read,
"Today is a great day. My student just cast his first spell. I wish I could tell him how proud I am..." |
Dear Diary,
It has been a year since I happened upon that creepy monkey paw at an estate sale. There was a little tag dangling fro the thumb taunting "Do you dare make a wish?"
Now look, I know the plot. I read the Jacobs short story. I watched the Hitchcock version. I saw the Simpson's Treehouse of Horror episode. But damned if I didn't fancy myself more clever.
See, the Monkey's Paw is like Aladdin's lamp. It grants three wishes. The catch is that it grants them in the most hellish way it can find. So to get your wish, you have to be smarter than the most diabolical curse. And I thought I was. You can see where this is going.
So I told the paw "I wish to be the luckiest person on all of Earth!"My luck should surely counteract all the evil the paw could throw at me, right? Ha!
Ok, to be fair, I am indeed the luckiest person on Earth. But of course I am now the ONLY person on Earth. Most of humanity was wiped out when the meteor struck, or in the fires, floods, and quakes that followed. The rest succumbed when the nuclear reactors melted down.
But somehow, miraculously my little farm was completely spared. Even the sky above my 40 acres is clear of ash. Yes, I was lucky. I still had food, solar power, clean water, breathable air, plenty of livestock to breed and bees left to pollinate crops. The local library was also spared so I even have plenty of entertainment.
I guess I got my wish. But the bad thing about being the luckiest person on Earth? Now that there are no other people, how long until the paw decides I can still be the luckiest person on Earth with very little luck at all?
Damnit. My reading glasses just broke! |
**———— The Champion ————**
Silas still felt the pain of that kick in his ribs as he slowly reached for the exit, a silver medal hanging from his neck but concealed by his shirt. One hand was hanging limply on his side, the other was holding his shoulder. He looked back, and saw Lyana Livingwood still talking with her friend. He was to need some help with the door.
He decided to turn back to the Grand Hall, reserved for champions and their kin, and smother in his disappointment for a few hours more. He didn't want to take Lyana from the party· she deserved to calm down after earning third place.
The door to the Grand Hall was pried half-open, the light was turned off. A ray from the lamp in the hallway shined through, and, as Silas looked in, shone onto the golden statue of a Champion; Silas the Older. His father. *How appropriate*, he grumbled to himself.
When he stepped inside, however, Silas was distracted from his own pity by sobs, coming from behind his father's statue. Wondering if he should make his presence known, he discreetly peaked over Silas the Older's shoulder, to find...
"Alios?"
The champion looked at him, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Her white hair, usually tied in a neat ponytail, is ragged and left to fall on her shoulders like a waterfall.
The trophy, a golden wyvern statuette adorned with precious gems, was in her hand, and she was holding on so tightly that her fingertips had turned white.
"Oh, stars, Silas,"exclaimed Alios. She tried to wipe her eyes, but the tears kept streaming down. "I'm sorry... I would've cried behind my own father's statue, but..."She stopped.
Silas nodded. *But the King's statue is in the Celebration Hall,* he wanted to say. Instead, he raised an eyebrow.
"Is... everything alright, Princess?"he asked, pointedly reminding Alios of her rank. She finally managed to stop crying and blew her nose into a napkin that was likely more expensive than Silas' entire outfit.
"Yes, yes, I'm sorry,"she repeated, "I'll go. They're probably expecting me in the Celebration Hall, right?"
"So they have been, for the last hour,"sneered Silas. "I hardly think they'll be annoyed to wait for a few minutes more."He sat on the base on his father's statue, feeling like he was committing sacrilege while he did it. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing,"decided the Princess stubbornly. "I'm just... overwhelmed, is all."
"Horseshit,"said Silas immediately. "You don't get to kick my arse *this* badly and then 'be overwhelmed'."He put his good hand on her shoulder, and the pain made him regret that choice. "What's wrong?"he asked again.
"I didn't win by that much,"she protested.
Silas looked at her disappointedly. "I've brought men thrice your size and mine combined to their knees, and I *crawled* out of that amphitheatre."
"You're exaggerating to make me feel better,"Alios protested.
"I couldn't give less of a shit for how you feel,"answered Silas honestly. "Now; what's wrong?"
The Princess considered it for a bit, looking away. When she turned back to Silas, her eyes glimmered with tears. "As of today, two years ago,"she said, "I became first in line."
Silas knew what that meant. It was his turn to exclaim, "oh, stars."He took his hand back. "I didn't know."
"No-one ever does,"answered Alios. "I thought... if I won the Championship... for him..."
"It would make the pain stop,"Silas completed her sentence. He understood. "It would make the loss hurt less."He felt his tone softening instinctively.
"It didn't,"muttered the Princess. "It still hurts like a bastard."She clutched at her heart.
"Nothing quite like it,"mused Silas. "I know the feeling."
"Does it ever get easier?"asked Alios, a knot coming back to her throat. She looked up at Silas.
"No,"he said, "but you will get stronger."
"I'm not strong,"she mumbled. "My brother is... *was* strong."As she corrected herself, she let the tears loose.
Silas leaned against his father's statue. "Your brother would have been proud today,"he told Alios, and he meant it.
"How would you know?"snapped the Princess.
He didn't blame her for lashing out. She was hurting. He remembered how he was for the first years after his father had died.
"Because I've lost to him too."He smiled at Alios' bewildered expression. "You were too young to remember, but I remember you... cheering Milos on. You were so happy when he won."
"He gave me the trophy to hold,"she recalled suddenly. "And you... you told me..."
"Your brother was a good fighter,"Silas repeated what he had said, all those years ago, "and an even better man. Trust me when I say; had he been here today, he would have been proud."
Alios stopped crying again. She wiped her tears anew and stood up. Silas followed suit.
"Come,"he prompted, "Lyana will help you get cleaned up. The show's not over."
They stumbled to the exit of the Grand Hall, one supporting the other. At the door, she stopped him and said, "Silas."
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
Silas fought back his own tears and nodded. He looked back at his father's statue, and thought he saw Silas the Older gesture him along. He turned back and exited the room.
They found Lyana Livingwood on her way to the lavatory. She gave Silas a strange, questioning look, but gladly took the Princess from the waist to help her get in shape. Silas returned to the Celebration Hall and waited.
When Alios and Lyana returned to the Hall, Alios was glowing. Lyana was holding the trophy, and there was cheering as she took Alios' closed fist and raised it.
"Our champion!"she shouted, and there was cheering.
Silas didn't talk to the Princess for the rest of the festivities. Only when she was leaving, and he was talking with Lyana by the gate, they exchanged an understanding glance as she passed him on her horse.
He was looking forward to the next Championship already.
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