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	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	The sharp scent of too much fresh peppermint woke Jared. He sat up in a panic; his last memory was struggling against his friends. He thought Mundo and Eric were his friends up until the moment they stabbed his heart with an obsidian dagger. As he took his last breaths, Jared felt them using the blade on his arm. He hurriedly turned his arm to check and found a number two scarred over. "What the hell?" he asked as he checked his surroundings. Jared sat on a soft mound in an emerald field of peppermint plants under a red sky. "Correct on the first try!" a man said behind him. Jared hopped to his feet and whirled around in one motion to see who was behind him. It was a tall man with perfectly parted white hair and a well-groomed white beard. He wore a green suit that blended in well with the peppermint field, with a white vest and white bow tie. The number 37 was tattooed on his right cheek under a rotating glass eye painted like a globe. "This is Hell?" Jared asked. "Are you the devil? I thought you'd be more...," he gestured with his hands over his head alluding to horns. "...devilish." "Indeed he is. I am not him. My name is Peppermint and I am able to function as his representation. That being said, how exactly did you get here?" "I chose my friends poorly," Jared sighed. "Well, that's hardly enough to get you here," the man smiled. "Let's try to be more specific, what are your last memories?" "My so-called buddies sacrificed me." he turned enough to show the stranger the number two on his arm. "I don't even think I'm the first guy they did it to, and they must have thought it was hilarious to do it on my birthday." "They gave you that as part of the sacrifice?" Peppermint asked with sudden interest. "Yeah," Jared nodded. "Before or after?" "What does it matter? I'm in hell while they're getting their laughs," Jared looked around. It surprised him that Hell was so pleasant. There was actually a cool breeze blowing across his skin. His nose got used to the peppermint smell enough that he was thankful it wasn't brimstone and sulfur. "It's quite important. Did they scar you with the number before or after they killed you? And for that matter, was one of your friends named Eric?" "I wasn't dead yet I guess, but they definitely stabbed me first. And yeah," Jared nodded. "How'd you know about Eric?" Peppermint smiled but shook his head. "I wish that boy would stop abusing his knowledge," he said under his breath. "Anyway, that explains everything. Congratulations, you're on our team." "What do you mean? I still don't know what's going on. I'm working for Hell now? I don't want that!" Jared whined. "Working for is a bit strong. As I said, you're on our team. You'll be going back to Earth to live your life as you see fit. We don't tell you what to do, but all your actions are considered to be performed by a member of Hell. Before you return, I need to explain your powers to you." "I get to go back?!" Jared grinned. "With powers? Yes!" Jared took a moment to pop his knuckles. "I can't wait to teach those ex-friends of mine a lesson. Can I shoot fireballs at them?" Peppermint shook his head. "You are Unique Soul #02, El Diablito. You can infect people with a microbe just by touching their bare skin. Anyone else they touch also becomes infected. The microbe gives you control of their minds. You cannot innately throw fireballs, but El Diablito does have a certain affinity for magic. If you're not in a hurry to get back, I can arrange a magic tutor for you." "Yeah!" Jared growled. "Give me all the magic you can, my revenge is going to hurt." "Revenge? For what?" Peppermint asked. "They KILLED me on my BIRTHDAY!" "It seems to me that they did you a favor. You’re going back to Earth any time you want. You've got powers now, and you're going to learn magic. Don't you think that brief stabbing pain in your chest is worth the powers you've been given?" "Bullcrap, they didn't know what was going to happen. They're just a bunch of crazy Satanists; I'm the one that lucked out. They wanted to send me to burn in Hell forever, I can't forgive that." "Don't let Eric hear you say that, he's surprisingly sentimental. You'll hurt his feelings. Sometimes people do favors for us without us realizing it." "So, what? They did know?" Peppermint nodded. "No matter how long you stay here to master your magic, you'll never be able to...," Peppermint added air quotes. "...teach Eric a lesson. That boy is the literal son of the Devil. He knew exactly what he was doing and what would happen. Knowing him, he probably meant it as a birthday gift." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #117. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.	Ashes of the Spirit - Part I Getting backstabbed hurt a lot emotionally but it is even worse when the knife punctured your rib cage into your lung. I never got along with most people, sometimes it was because of my social anxiety, a lack of common interests but it was mainly due to my lack of social skill. The few friends I had were just like me. Guys and girls who you would have though were more interested in video games, books and the sciences than in witchcraft, the occult or satanic rituals. We were suppose to spend the weekend camping alongside the local lake. Instead I ended up laying down in a pool of my own blood on an inverted pentagram. Meanwhile Alex, Mike, Ethan, Elizabeth and Christine were standing on each corner of the inverted pentagram holding a black candle and chanting in Latin. "We should go, the wolfs are coming." Mike said. And with that I was left alone in the middle of the forest with the wolf howling in the distance. I was still conscious when my body was being tore apart by them. For 12 years, I considered them my friends. For 7 years, I help Elizabeth take care of her grandmother while her parents work. For 3 years, I let Alex live with me when his apartment catch on fire. Although, I was being eaten alive, I felt no pain only hatred. Open your eyes. Awake my child. May your rage fuel your heart. May the flames of hatred be your body. "Who... who are you?" I do not have a name. "What are you?" A free spirit. Free from the shackles of the body and the soul. "Why I am here? Is this Hell or Heaven?" Neither. Your fate guided you here, my child. Where a new light shall be born. "Your child? A new light? What do you mean?" For long I have been waiting. A child bright of spirit and fuel by the purest of flames. "I don't understand. What do you want from me?" A new beginning. A new existence. A new light. The first breath I took was like a spark. A new flame was ignited in me which grew stronger with every life I took. The grass and trees around me became ash without a single flame. The wolfs were no more beast of flesh and bone. In their place, there were carcasses of coals and embers. My tore body was remade from the ashes of the flameless inferno I created. The flames of the spirit consume it all and as ash we shall be whole.
	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	"Jenny." She's at some playground watching three screaming, filthy kids. We're sitting on the bench, and she frowns. She looks at me, and pales a little. "I-I'm sorry, do I know you?" I smile. "We played a game on the beach... You and me and your friends. Don't you remember?“ She looks scared. Really scared. I'm starting to enjoy the taste of fear hanging in the air between us. "I don't know what you're talking about!!!" "Fifteen years ago, you killed me, Jenny. You, Clint and Jason.... You killed me. The coroner's report said I was stabbed one hundred and twenty seven times, Jenny. You drained my blood. Poured some of into a little cup, mixed it with some really, really cheap shitty wine and drank it... When they found my body on the beach... Your horror at the sight of my naked body was.... Your performance was... Almost spectacular... " "Angela, please. It was a-..." I put my hand up to stop her. "It was all Jason's idea... Of course I know that! You just wanted to impress Clint, and you went home and cried with joy that it wasn't you...." I smile. "I was a nobody. A run away. I felt liked for the first time in my life. I thought I had friends. And I ended up a victim of a satanic ritual... Fifteen years ago, Jenny. Fifteen years....for you. Several lifetimes ago for me... " The years have not been kind to Jenny. Her once lithe figure is bloated. Her mousy brown hair has a stringy, oily look to it. And I can smell the body odour wafting up from her... She smells like cat shit and old vomit. "Are you here to kill me? I know Jason and Clint are dead. Was that you?" "No, I'm not here to kill you, this time..." It would be so easy to set the marrow in her bones on fire. Just a little spark... Her bones would crack, and her blood would boil. Her skin would blister, and her hair would just turn to ash. I know this, because I did this to her, in one of the seven thousand lifetimes I've killed her. Truth be told, I was my favourite way to watch her die. Jason and Clint, just disappeared one day, I literally unmade them, one cell at a time. That is strangely not as "unmessy" as it sounds. There was mess. Plenty of mess. And lots of unpleasant smells. No one knows for sure where they actually went though, because, when I was done playing, the rain just washed the slush away. Well, no one except me. I guess, I got tired of my little games of revenge. I am immeasurably powerful now. I have quenched my thirst for revenge and pain. I've been alive longer than Jenny can fathom. And I will be around for longer than she will believe. Time means nothing to what I've become. "You have a choice. In one hour, a man will offer you more money than you've ever seen to spend one night with Sydney." "I d-don't understand..." she looks over at the children running around, oblivious to her situation. Sydney is thirteen, she's the spitting image of her mom in her teens: Tall, blonde, and ethereal in her beauty. "I'm sure you do." "I can't do that to her! I won't!!!!" “You are not your mother, Jenny. Protect her, like you should've protected me, when all I did was trust you." I leave her to watch over her offspring. I have nothing more to say. We all think that we have infinite potential... To a degree, we do. But each shitty choice we make or that is made for us, lessens this. Until we have exhausted all possibilities Sydney is a great big ball of potential. Her mother's only chance at redemption. She's not humanity's last hope, because... Well, humanity needs a lot more than a thirteen year old hero to become unfucked... But she is a pure soul. And I will make sure that she, and others like her, stay that way, for as long as I can.	Ashes of the Spirit - Part I Getting backstabbed hurt a lot emotionally but it is even worse when the knife punctured your rib cage into your lung. I never got along with most people, sometimes it was because of my social anxiety, a lack of common interests but it was mainly due to my lack of social skill. The few friends I had were just like me. Guys and girls who you would have though were more interested in video games, books and the sciences than in witchcraft, the occult or satanic rituals. We were suppose to spend the weekend camping alongside the local lake. Instead I ended up laying down in a pool of my own blood on an inverted pentagram. Meanwhile Alex, Mike, Ethan, Elizabeth and Christine were standing on each corner of the inverted pentagram holding a black candle and chanting in Latin. "We should go, the wolfs are coming." Mike said. And with that I was left alone in the middle of the forest with the wolf howling in the distance. I was still conscious when my body was being tore apart by them. For 12 years, I considered them my friends. For 7 years, I help Elizabeth take care of her grandmother while her parents work. For 3 years, I let Alex live with me when his apartment catch on fire. Although, I was being eaten alive, I felt no pain only hatred. Open your eyes. Awake my child. May your rage fuel your heart. May the flames of hatred be your body. "Who... who are you?" I do not have a name. "What are you?" A free spirit. Free from the shackles of the body and the soul. "Why I am here? Is this Hell or Heaven?" Neither. Your fate guided you here, my child. Where a new light shall be born. "Your child? A new light? What do you mean?" For long I have been waiting. A child bright of spirit and fuel by the purest of flames. "I don't understand. What do you want from me?" A new beginning. A new existence. A new light. The first breath I took was like a spark. A new flame was ignited in me which grew stronger with every life I took. The grass and trees around me became ash without a single flame. The wolfs were no more beast of flesh and bone. In their place, there were carcasses of coals and embers. My tore body was remade from the ashes of the flameless inferno I created. The flames of the spirit consume it all and as ash we shall be whole.
	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	Six feet under isn't so deep when you've got friends like mine. Asshole friends. The kind of friends who'll convince you you're just gonna go do some weird artsy Instagram shit in the woods: make bonfires, string up animal bones, get drunk while they do their weird chants. Come on, Roxie, they said. You'll have so much fun, Roxie. Sure they were weird. But I was weird too--maybe not their all-black, squirrel-skull-collecting kind of weird, but weird enough--and I was new in town. September was still young. The air still tasted like summer, and I was aching for the friends at my dad's house on the other side of the country. Eighteen years old, last year of high school, and I was starting all over again in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. At least, I thought, I finally had friends. I fight against the duct tape at my wrists and ankles. "Guys," I try to say, but they've shoved a bandana in my mouth. Sprinkled in some goddamn raven feathers and rat tails into this box with me. "Guys," I say again, which sounds like oyff. The whole forest smells like cheap wine and burnt sage. We went deep off road, up a logging trail, into the heart of the mountain. Into the places cops wouldn't check for a bunch of stupid teenagers, getting drunk and burning shit because what else is being a teenager for. But now I'm here in a coffin rigged out of stripped-down wood pallets. Tied up and about to die in the stupidest way possible. I'm probably the only person in the twenty-first century to get murdered like it's goddamn 1300 AD. They start muttering chants outside the box. Bastardized Latin. I'd tell them how bad their pronunciation is if I could 1) talk or 2) deal with them realizing just how huge of a nerd I really am. Typical Roxie. Worrying about being uncool when I'm staring death in the eye. Alistar taps his shovel against the side of the box. His real name is Baxter, but that wasn't unholy enough. "The Lord of Hell is hungry for your sacrifice," he tells me. Something drips through the cracks of wood as they smear brush over the wood. It scritch-scritches across the boards. Outside, Lilith (shockingly, her real name) and Ghoul (so clearly not his real name; it's Garth, really) dig away, their shovels shicking through the stony earth. Liquid drips through the slats. I flinch away from it and wriggle and shriek as it lands on my face. Runs red down my cheek. I manage to spit out the gag and shriek through the wood, "Is that fucking blood?" "Theater blood," Alistar admits. "It was supposed to be real, right, Ghoul?" Ghoul's voice shrinks at the accusation. "Look, man, it's not my fault my uncle didn't slaughter that pig like he said he would." "You were going to put pig blood all over me?!" "No, stupid. On the box," came Lilith's voice, scoffing, twisting with effort. Her shovel kept digging into the earth. "We're delivering the pure to make whole the unpure," Alistar intoned. I thrashed now, banging my shoulders into the sides of the coffin. It rocked, but Alistar's fell over the slats of the makeshift coffin as he held it in place. "Easy, there. Don't want to knock yourself over." "I'll scream! Let me out!" "You didn't gag her that well, dude," Lilith muttered. "Yeah, well. It's my first live sacrifice, alright? Cut me some slack. Besides, it's nailed shut already." Panic thrums in my throat. I was tipsy enough by the time they took the rope out that I didn't even fight. Just stood there, dumbstruck, as the three of them tackled me to the ground. "The real Church of Satanism preaches peace!" "Don't explain my own religion to me," Alistar snaps. "Is she right about that?" Ghoul says, quietly. "You're killing me over a book you haven't read?" "Not killing. Delivering you unto your next plane of existence. Serving Satan is the highest ascension any mortal can reach." I start shrieking then. Belting out help, help! to the empty forest. "You really should shut her up," Lilith says outside the box, her voice rising nervously. "No need. That looks deep enough to me." Alistar leans off the wood, his shadow moving away. I twist to press my eye to the gap between two slats. The three of them stand on a staggered circle, appraising my grave. "She'll be shutting up forever in just a minute." The three of them worked together to heave up the coffin. They lower me less-than-gently into the earth. The earth falls in shovelful by shovelful. It drizzles into the coffin. I've screamed myself hoarse by the time I can't see them anymore. Can't see the lights. Can't see anything. Part of me prays the weight of it all will just crush me before I have to sit and wait for the oxygen to abandon me, molecule by molecule. But the dark hand of death doesn't come. My makeshift coffin burns with pale crimson light. It spreads as suddenly as the darkness, consuming everything. The light at the end of the tunnel. Oh shit. Oh God. Oh-- Oh, there you are, a voice murmurs from within me, without me, from everywhere and nowhere. We've been expecting you. The duct tape vanishes. I scramble against the floor, but the world has become light. Only light, in all directions. "Is this Heaven?" I whisper. No, child, the voice says. A huge taloned palm descends from the infinite bright sky. Right towards me. But in our name, you shall raise Hell. *** /r/nickofstatic for stories by me and my best friend NickofNight :)	There are creatures in this universe, born in the most dreadful corners of reality. Things with hearts black as coal, with souls like ice, and minds burning with hatred. Those were the things I was sacrificed to. Those were the things, the hellish, satanic, things, that I was killed to appease. People I had considered friends, people who had been kind to me, binding me, breaking me, carving out my heart from my chest with dull knives. But my soul did not go to those corners of reality, where the shadows hide monsters. Something else caught me. Something older. It is not alive in a way we understand, neither is it dead. And it wants in. It was cast out of our reality by the forces of evil and the forces of good, working in tandem. The only time the Demonic and the Divine stood side by side. And the creature, older than creation itself, born long before this universe was even considered an option, is powerful. And it chose me. It rescued my soul, healed it, and empowered me. Spoke in a language that goes past the ears, and into the mind. Into the soul. And in a way, that thing, ancient and unknowable, is in a word, beautiful. It comes from nowhere, a place where mankind can never go. Too much light, too much power. And it chose me, as the champion of its cause for our reality. A champion in one reality, on one front of a war that covers the multiverse. How could one say no? When its mere whisper could shatter stars? When the mere suggestion of a movement from my benefactor could unravel time and break space? And it saved me. Not because I am special, but because, in as much as it can feel like we can, it felt sorry for me. And because, it can use me. I can take its power where it can no longer go, bring war to the two sides of creation. Bring devastation to the divine and the demonic forces. It sees in me a liberator, a breaker of chains, and an unmaker of tyrants. To tear down the Pearly Gates of Heaven, and break through the blackened bronze gates of the citadels of Hell. To rally and recruit this universe to fight not for the static sides of Divine Good or Demonic Evil, but to fight for a deeper freedom, to fight for the liberation of reality from those constraints. With its torch of unending light, it bathes me in the flames of liberty, reforging me into a new man: the Champion of Freedom. The power burns in me, not with the harsh light of the Divine, not with the cold flame of the Demonic, but with the power and purity of absolute FREE WILL. Through me, this power will LIBERATE creation itself. And I choose the first strike of my War of Liberation. I return to the dark shrine, hidden deep in the forest, I return to where the people I considered friends killed me for their own selfish desires. To gain power for their own lust and greed to flourish, growing like mold and fungi, in the darkness. And there I take my revenge. Using the burning purity of my new powers, I remove the blockages in their heads, the ones that they have used to justify their evil actions, the excuses they have used to avoid feeling the guilt. I force them to experience every evil they have committed. I force them to know the horrors they have done, the last scared moments of the people they betrayed. I do not slay them, for with this power, I have forced them to experience something worse than death. They now know how weak, small, petty, and vile they are. How they have given away their humanity in exchange for golden leashes and better treatment from those who would keep them as slaves. I showed them the FREEDOM and JUSTICE that the universe will experience. And I showed them the mercy of our freedom. They will have a place in the free universe, they have been punished, and they will live to experience the triumph of FREE WILL over the tyrannies of the Divine and the Demonic. I am the Champion. I will bring freedom to this universe. Freedom to chose without being forced, freedom to live without fear, and freedom to experience both joy and suffering. Through me burns the Light of Liberty, rejoice oh reality, for I have returned. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
	[WP] All your life You have been tormented by a demon, he follows you anywhere you go and makes your life a living hell. Last night you moved to a new house full of ghosts and other scary entities who try to terrify you, your demon won’t allow anyone else to bother you..	The value of a house changes over time. Newly built houses are full of promise. As they age, they carry with them the residue and history of people's hopes, joys, sadnesses and angers. All of these feelings blend together over time into a genre feeling of 'hominess.' Houses that are well-loved tend to attract loving people, and deepen those positive feelings in a virtuous cycle. Ever improving the value of the house, year-in-year out. These houses became more and more expensive over time. The house that stood in front of me was not one such house. It was more akin to a vicious cycle, swirling ever downward in descending toilet bowl full of detritus and muck. Sure, the physical attributes of the house were fine. It hadn't started out its existence as a house. The house was first built as a guesthouse for the hospital next door, so family members could be close to their ailing relatives. Then as the area became more populous, the house itself became an extension of the hospital. That extension further specialized into a mental ward. Medical science brought electric shock therapy and lobotomies to the building, and it couldn't be properly called a home anymore. They called it nowadays Anderson Asylum. The nearby hospital was closed and had been demolished, yet the local municipal government hadn't been able to demolish the old building yet. City hall simply couldn't find any construction firm willing to demolish the building. The site couldn't be rezoned, and the old Anderson building kept existing, sucking in sunlight and leaving shadow upon all within its purview. Which made it an incredibly cheap purchase for me. Honestly, I had been tickled to death to find such a huge house for such a great deal. It was a whopping 10,000 square feet. I could see it becoming a small bed and breakfast, as it once had been. Or one of those Internet startup incubators for the local tech optimists. I had picked it up for 1 USD, with the secondary obligations of remodeling the building or demolishing it within the next two years. I wasn't in the slightest bit concerned about it being haunted. As cursed as Anderson was, it couldn't make my life any worse. Like recognizes like, and I also carried my own sort of baggage. Back in university, I had studied archaeology for a summer semester in Egypt. It had seemed the cool thing to do. It had been the summer of the Mummy Returns, and I fancied myself a young Brendan Fraser. I still don't know exactly which taboo I broke. Turning the old archaeological site into a midnight rave with some people I had met online turned to be a poor decision. The Egyptian diplomatic mission had covered up most of the details. I was the only survivor, and the Egyptians had staged the aftermath to look like a terrorist plot. Or cultists. That was a dark period for me, as I was largely strapped in a strait jacket, locked in a padded room with lots of soundproofing. The doctors showed me the facilities once they let me out, once I had come to terms with my issues. That's what the doctors had started calling them, my issues. I just kept doing the same. During that period of degradation, it turns out that in the ensuing incident, I had become host to one (if not several) parasitic, supernatural creatures. The doctors didn't tell me this, I figured it out on my own, alone in the padded cell. Well, alone except for me and my issues. My demonic possession felt like the worst parts of acid trip and hangover, all at the same time. There were enough sign posts to reality that I could recognize, yet always associated with unique, novel and downright anti-social behavior. Babies suddenly sprouted dandelion blossoms from their eyes, and when they gurgled, streams of snakes would erupt from their mouths and dribble all over their clothes. And they looked delicious as they did so. They still did for the most part. I had to make a special effort to stay away from babies as they were hungry. My time in solitude forced me to create a filter between what I perceived, and what would get me out of that padded room. I had to live a lie, to convince everyone that I was okay, that I was cured. To wit, I was very uncured. I just had figured out what to say and not say, in order to get out of there. There were four stages of demonic possession. * Denial - This isn't happen to me. It's just the drugs. I can stop if I want to. * Fear - Oh god oh god oh god, I'm sorry. Why won't it stop! * Ecstasy - Just give me the delicious baby! I just want bite. You can always grow another. * Negotiation - Let's figure out how to get to the babies. You can't just eat one. Life on the outside was pretty much under control. I always traveled with a steamer trunk full of handcuffs, straps and other restraints. They let me sleep sometimes, as they would keep me from wandering around at night as I tried to sleep. Sometimes at airports, security staff would ask me if I was into bondage and kinky sex stuff. I would reply in a deadpan "Nah, I'm just a werewolf," smiling. That first evening I took possession of Anderson Asylum, I brought my steamer trunk into one of the larger bedrooms on the second floor and setup my sleeping arrangement. I walked the grounds of the estate, ate some food, and strapped myself in to rest. For the first time in a while, I slept, and woke with a normal purview on the world. No baby cravings. No dissolving world. No alternating bouts of megalomania and paranoia. Everything seemed quiet. The world stopped moving. I inspected the grounds formally that first full day, and took notes on what would need to be fixed. I started hauling out the detritus and broken fixtures out to the front, and called for a garbage dumpster to be placed temporarily in the front driveway. I would have to do most of this myself, as the realtors had told me that no one would be willing to help me. At the end of the day, physically exhausted and without any trace of weirdness, I strapped myself in again, and slept. As I slept, I dreamed. I dreamed of being guarded by three jackal-headed monkeys. They held wicked curved blades in both hands and had spread themselves out in a semi-circle around my chained body. Facing them were a group of pale medical patients. They probably were what they looked like, and they looked like ghosts. Every time a ghost would come near, a jackalmonkey would attack with a blade. The ghost would retreat, and another one would advance and be rebuffed by another jackalmonkey. With each approach, the ghosts would murmur, "Please share," and "So warm" and the jackalmonkeys would silently fight back, and stand guard. I observed it all as a disinterested bystander. It didn't seem like my fight at all. As I drifted back to wakefulness, I sensed the ghosts fade away with the oncoming dawn. And the poor jackalmonkeys, my poor issues, just curled down in a pile and started to rest. Clearly, all this was taking a toll on them. And well rested for the first time in a long time, I began the next day. I continued to clean up the old asylum, and wondered what color palettes I should use to paint the front foyer.	"GET OUuuuuT!" A male voice wailed as Jasper set his first box down. He'd visited the house on several occasions during the purchase process; each visit left him feeling vaguely uneasy. It seemed the house decided Jasper bringing in his first set of belongings was too much of an intrusion. The mid-30s man chuckled to himself and tried to project a smile at the empty living room. "It's nice to have someone else to talk to for once. What's your name?" he asked the house. "LEEEEEEAAAVVVVE!" the voice wailed again. A viscous bright red liquid began seeping out of the off-white walls. "No! No no, shhhhh, don't do that!" Jasper frantically waved his hands at the wall to try and convince it to take back what the coppery stench told him was blood. "What the Hell is going on here?" Jasper sighed as he heard Laina's familiar voice behind him. He turned to find his lifelong tormentor walking in the door carrying another box. A red-skinned, black-horned woman in a black suit. "We just started unloading and you're already taking a break? If we take too long doing this I won't be able to cook your favorite dinner; we have to celebrate our first night in a new house properly." She dropped the box to the muffled sound of shattering glass. She immediately balled her fists and shut her eyes to try and calm down. "WHY was there glass in a box labeled 'bedroom'?" She asked through gritted teeth. Jasper shrugged. "Lamps, picture frames, I don't know." "Why didn't you mark it fragile?!" "You kicked me out of the bedroom and sent me to pack the garage because you said I was doing it wrong." "Obviously I was right because you didn't label it as fragile!" Laina growled under her breath. "GOOOO AWAAAAYYYY!" the house repeated. "What the Hell was that?" Laina asked. Jasper shrugged again and pointed at the bloody walls that she hadn't noticed yet. "I wasn't taking a break, it looks like this house is haunted." "Oh, I don't think so. Listen up Mr. ghost or ghosts. This house is ours now. You'll either start following the rules or I'll exorcise you so fast you won't know what hit you. Rule #1, I don't want any poltergeisty stuff between 7 p.m. and 7 a.m. Jasper needs exactly eight hours of sleep, plus two to wind down and two to get ready for the day." Laina paused. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot waiting to hear some sort of snarky reply, but none came. "Rule #2, Food isn't free. I've perfected the absolute healthiest diet for Jasper and it's expensive to maintain. I will not have your antics wasting all my gluten-free and vegan foods. Obviously you're able to make your own messes without disturbing our pantry," she pointed at the bloodied walls. "Which brings me to rule #3. You make a mess, you clean it. I have a hard enough time cleaning up after this man-child, I will not clean up after you too. You're welcome to live here, but as a ghost, your job is to not be seen, is that clear?" Laina glared at the wall and the blood began to fade from existence leaving it brand new again. "Rule #4. No peeking on the second Friday of the month between 6:30 and 7:00 p.-," she was interrupted by Jasper. "I think he gets the point for now. It's getting late, remember? Let's finish unloading so you can make that delicious soy-loaf," he rubbed his belly. "You can give him the rest of the rules over dinner." "See? You can think sometimes, good boy," Laina patted his head and walked out the door. "You'd better be right behind me," she said. Jasper sighed. And started to follow her out. "I should have been more specific when I made a deal for a girlfriend for the rest of my life," he shook his head. He heard the voice one more time as he crossed the threshold. "If you need a buddy to talk to, my name is Homer." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #118. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
[deleted]	[WP] Your tech-illiterate mother is absolutely insane with the desire for a grandbaby, so she signed you up with "Otherworldly Dating Services" mistaking it for "online" dating service. You give in to her pleading and decide to go on a few dates just to shut her up.	My mother is a complex woman. She hasn't heard a single thing anyone has said to her in the past 10 years, not because she is hard of hearing, but because her mind filters pretty much everything out that doesn't fit into her narrative. She doesn't listen when you tell her not to install obvious malware, and as of such I've just had to very sneakily put child protection stuff on her computer so she doesn't download another idiotic ''free'' thing. She doesn't listen about her husband, my father, cheating, which he does, very obviously. He does feel bad about it, but my mother is a very... Stress-inducing woman. Very hard to deal with. So I don't care that my dad, who is actually decent with tech, goes on tinder-dates in secret. And she keeps pestering me about grandchildren. Which just isn't going to happen, for a variety of reasons. So when she called me and said she had signed me up for a dating service, I was mildly put out by this. She still refuses to acknowledge reality. Still, her relentless pleading got to me, and I decided to go on a few dates, just to make her stop. Turns out that once more, my mother might have only seen what she wanted to see when she signed me up. Otherworldly Dating Services, are not a metaphor or some kind of silly name. It's very literal. I went to their speed-dating event, and the people who showed up were a colourful bunch. There were recognisable creatures, like a centaur, a dragon, a woman with dark sunglasses and snakes for hair, a man carrying his head under his arm, a tall and beautiful elf with silver hair. And there were the unrecognisable. A round sphere of blue light, a living blob of what looked like jelly, a box with legs, something that I could not for the life of me describe, a hypercube with a 1940s radio voice, and a dude who asked everyone to hand over their toes. If nothing else, this was interesting. I connected with a few of them, and decided to give it a shot. The hypercube was interesting, and fun. We travelled through time and had a date at a 1920s Speakeasy operated by various geometric shapes and a lot of empty suits of gangster clothing that could walk. It was interesting, but seeing as I am mortal and they exist across time and space, we could not really make it a serious thing. Still, we got drunk enough that we woke up in the same bed the morning after. Not going to think about how that worked. The Elf turned out to be a jerk that just talked all the time about how great elven culture was. How mighty their people, how grand their armies. How noble their lineage. Definitely not something I would want for a second date. Big red flags there. Never go on a second date with someone who says you're going to a fashionable place, and then just takes you out to a park where they bring nothing but bread and fruit. But there was one date, one date that actually did work out. He was very polite, remarkably friendly and caring. He offered to pay for our meal, and he was interested in what I had to say, and what I was about. He asked about my curiosities, my passions, and we spoke about his collection, and his ideas about fun events. We laughed, drank, ate, and enjoyed ourselves at that fancy restaurant. He even gave me a ride home afterwards. Very gentlemanly. He then flew back to his mountain cave. A handsome and very interesting dragon. We went on a few more dates, where we enjoyed ourselves immensely. One thing led to another, and now we've been dating for two years. We're actually talking about moving in together. Of course, this sort of date would not make my mother happy. As I said, she and reality haven't heard of seen each other for some time now. And she sort of refuses to acknowledge the fact that I kind of came out of the closet a few years ago. Grandkids probably aren't going to happen. Still, she did manage to arrange it so I met Ferrofaks, so that is at least something she's done right. A dragon who I have grown mighty fond of. And thankfully for all of us, she has also pestered my sister, who decided to take one for the team and have a kid with her husband. Probably won't make her stop much in the long run, but hey, at least she might be a little preoccupied with grandkids to pester me for the foreseeable future about that subject. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)	Looking back at the profile she made, I briefly scanned the details, skimming what I knew and went straight to the description. "And upbeat, cheerful girl, ready to brighten your darkness." Sweet way to describe a bipolar with major depression girl. Moms always see our best, huh? If this otherworldly thing isn't a scam, I hope I won't match with any werewolves or vampires. Too cliche. I shrugged and looked back at the mirror. They said wear whatever's comfortable, so I opted for a pair of jerseys. Don't like it? Don't mind. "I'm going, mom," I bellowed, taking the keys from the tray and head out. Taking in a deep breath of the crisp cold air of the night, I head out to our appointed location. [should I continue?]
[deleted]	[WP] Your tech-illiterate mother is absolutely insane with the desire for a grandbaby, so she signed you up with "Otherworldly Dating Services" mistaking it for "online" dating service. You give in to her pleading and decide to go on a few dates just to shut her up.	My mother is a complex woman. She hasn't heard a single thing anyone has said to her in the past 10 years, not because she is hard of hearing, but because her mind filters pretty much everything out that doesn't fit into her narrative. She doesn't listen when you tell her not to install obvious malware, and as of such I've just had to very sneakily put child protection stuff on her computer so she doesn't download another idiotic ''free'' thing. She doesn't listen about her husband, my father, cheating, which he does, very obviously. He does feel bad about it, but my mother is a very... Stress-inducing woman. Very hard to deal with. So I don't care that my dad, who is actually decent with tech, goes on tinder-dates in secret. And she keeps pestering me about grandchildren. Which just isn't going to happen, for a variety of reasons. So when she called me and said she had signed me up for a dating service, I was mildly put out by this. She still refuses to acknowledge reality. Still, her relentless pleading got to me, and I decided to go on a few dates, just to make her stop. Turns out that once more, my mother might have only seen what she wanted to see when she signed me up. Otherworldly Dating Services, are not a metaphor or some kind of silly name. It's very literal. I went to their speed-dating event, and the people who showed up were a colourful bunch. There were recognisable creatures, like a centaur, a dragon, a woman with dark sunglasses and snakes for hair, a man carrying his head under his arm, a tall and beautiful elf with silver hair. And there were the unrecognisable. A round sphere of blue light, a living blob of what looked like jelly, a box with legs, something that I could not for the life of me describe, a hypercube with a 1940s radio voice, and a dude who asked everyone to hand over their toes. If nothing else, this was interesting. I connected with a few of them, and decided to give it a shot. The hypercube was interesting, and fun. We travelled through time and had a date at a 1920s Speakeasy operated by various geometric shapes and a lot of empty suits of gangster clothing that could walk. It was interesting, but seeing as I am mortal and they exist across time and space, we could not really make it a serious thing. Still, we got drunk enough that we woke up in the same bed the morning after. Not going to think about how that worked. The Elf turned out to be a jerk that just talked all the time about how great elven culture was. How mighty their people, how grand their armies. How noble their lineage. Definitely not something I would want for a second date. Big red flags there. Never go on a second date with someone who says you're going to a fashionable place, and then just takes you out to a park where they bring nothing but bread and fruit. But there was one date, one date that actually did work out. He was very polite, remarkably friendly and caring. He offered to pay for our meal, and he was interested in what I had to say, and what I was about. He asked about my curiosities, my passions, and we spoke about his collection, and his ideas about fun events. We laughed, drank, ate, and enjoyed ourselves at that fancy restaurant. He even gave me a ride home afterwards. Very gentlemanly. He then flew back to his mountain cave. A handsome and very interesting dragon. We went on a few more dates, where we enjoyed ourselves immensely. One thing led to another, and now we've been dating for two years. We're actually talking about moving in together. Of course, this sort of date would not make my mother happy. As I said, she and reality haven't heard of seen each other for some time now. And she sort of refuses to acknowledge the fact that I kind of came out of the closet a few years ago. Grandkids probably aren't going to happen. Still, she did manage to arrange it so I met Ferrofaks, so that is at least something she's done right. A dragon who I have grown mighty fond of. And thankfully for all of us, she has also pestered my sister, who decided to take one for the team and have a kid with her husband. Probably won't make her stop much in the long run, but hey, at least she might be a little preoccupied with grandkids to pester me for the foreseeable future about that subject. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)	“Mom, what the fuck?!” I screamed at my mom as she showed me that she signed me up for some otherworldy dating service called ‘Musume Daters’, mistaking it for an online service. “Come on James, you know that I want a grandchild! This is the perfect chance for that and besides, 4 girls have already sent chat requests!” My mom shouted in glee. So that’s how I ended up having to go on dates with spirits, monsters, angels, and literally Satan. June 3rd, a month later. I’m putting on a nice dress shirt and tie now that I’ve arranged a date with a girl on the site called Gabrielle. My mom is estatic, and I assume that she’s going to follow us and watch how the date, but I’m only doing this so that she can finally shut up about it. I drive up to the building that she sent me directions to, it has a bright neon saying: ‘Heavenly bar and jazz’, I’m guessing it must be a jazz club. I walk in and talk to the receptionist. “Excuse me, do you know if there’s anyone here named Gabrielle?” I asked. He smiled and said whilst handing me a card, “Ah you must be her date tonight. She’s waiting on the fourth floor. You’ll need this pass for the elevator.” I say thanks and press the 4th floor button in the elevator. As the elevator moves, it starts playing Ride of the Valkyries and as it stops, the doors open up. To be continued......
	[WP] Dogs are afraid of thunder because they know the truth about the beasts that make those terrible sounds.	“Quiet Rover!” Masters voice, it calms me slightly, but I can still feel my hair stand on end. The black sky boils, dark clouds roll over one another in that chaotic tumult that precedes It. The master cannot hear it, or doesn’t care, He never seems to care about the beast in the blackness. I hear it though, hear a far-off roar, fades into the black sky and dies away over the hills that surround our small farmstead. Thankfully, the Master always has the good sense to get us indoors when It comes, the small masters and the missus are all in here with me where I can protect them. A flash in the sky, then another roar, closer this time. This roar rattles the windows, I can hear the tiles above rattling in the wind of the creature’s breath. I whimper, It passes by I tell myself, It always passes by. Now I can smell wretched thing, sharp and acidic, the scent is pervasive and all encompassing. I grind my nose into the carpet trying to mask the foul musk, but it doesn’t help. The arms of the little master’s curl around me. They pat and stroke me, trying to reassure me that It will pass. How are they always so calm! BOOM! The garden outside explodes in brilliant white at the same time as another roar hits the house, but this is beyond anything I have heard before. It is angry! The sound hits me like a wall and among the oppressive blanket of raw bass I pick out the tinkling of glass on soft carpet, the masters scream. I do not, I cannot move at all, My legs quiver but I cannot even bear to take a step for in that single blinding flash I saw It! Mother always told stories of It, of the thing in the storm, she said moonlight burned it, that it only came out when the sky was at it’s blackest and that if it ever caught you it would take you. “The Masters don’t know it” she had told him one night before she passed “but we must guard them from it. You cannot bite it or claw it, if it sees you… Run!” Her words tear through my thoughts and brought me back into the room, I glance up. The window is blown in and sheets of water lash onto the floor soaking into the cream carpet, outside an orange flicker belies the fire that it has started in the bushes that ring the house. It is trapping us! I take a trembling step toward the window and gaze out among the black night. The fire is small but beginning to grow and by its infant light I see my foe. It stands just behind the fire so that its grotesque shape is shrouded in darkness, the shifting light and utter blackness means I cannot fully determine the shape but even so I can see the horribly long limps and the foul wretched smile pulled back into a mocking facsimile of a grin. It sways from side to side slowly but otherwise waits as the fire spreads. Now the masters are moving but only to grab water in a bucket, It sits there leering, They’ll come right to it! I feel a sudden clarity and lunge away from the window, the smallest master is very small indeed, about as high as my head, I quickly jump toward him and clamp my teeth around his clothing. I do not graze his skin, I am a good boy. It’s a strain to lift him but I need to be fast. All my masters are shouting at me now to drop him but I know they will follow. I turn and leap out the window bounding into the darkness. I turn away from it and run as fast as I can with my wailing master hanging from my jaws. My clueless masters are following me, the Master is carrying the smaller one and the Missus is running too. I follow my nose to clean air, to moonlight. It screams behind me but an open block of sky is close my masters are nearly on me as I pass out of the dark shadow and immediately drop my master and curl around him to keep him dry. I watch my family run willing them on when the creature makes a gesture and the world turns white… “Amazing it was! Our boy led us right into the eye of the storm as the lightning hit our house, hit the gas main and blew it sky high and there we were soaked and pissed but alive thanks to this guy! Who’s a good boy Rover?” I wag my tail desperately and bark. I’m a good boy and I’m glad to be under bright sky bu even as I sit in the garden of our new home, on the horizon I see dark clouds.	It's coming. I wish I had more time. I wish we had more time. But the dark ominous clouds above me with its deluge of rain gave me little hope. Normally a thunderstorm wouldn't 'cause this old dog to worry. I'd ride it out snuggled against the little ones on the couch. Watching them fall sleep to another one of those silly movies. Milo would stop by and gently scratch one of my ears. My tail couldn't help but wag. This isn't one of those times. Another bolt tore through the night sky accompanied by a reverberating boom. Or should I say roar? The sky flashes again. For a few seconds, through the heavy rain, I see it. It's serpentine figure towering in the sky. I growl. "Bandit?" Turning around I see Milo with the front door open. Peaking behind him are little Eddie and Gina. Cradled in Gina's arms is the newest addition. A pup named Snowball. She's too young to know the old ways. I still have so much to teach her. "Bandit, come inside. C'mon boy." I howl into the air one last time before running back. It's a sound lost throughout the chaos, but it's a promise. I won't let them down.
	[WP] Dogs are afraid of thunder because they know the truth about the beasts that make those terrible sounds.	“Quiet Rover!” Masters voice, it calms me slightly, but I can still feel my hair stand on end. The black sky boils, dark clouds roll over one another in that chaotic tumult that precedes It. The master cannot hear it, or doesn’t care, He never seems to care about the beast in the blackness. I hear it though, hear a far-off roar, fades into the black sky and dies away over the hills that surround our small farmstead. Thankfully, the Master always has the good sense to get us indoors when It comes, the small masters and the missus are all in here with me where I can protect them. A flash in the sky, then another roar, closer this time. This roar rattles the windows, I can hear the tiles above rattling in the wind of the creature’s breath. I whimper, It passes by I tell myself, It always passes by. Now I can smell wretched thing, sharp and acidic, the scent is pervasive and all encompassing. I grind my nose into the carpet trying to mask the foul musk, but it doesn’t help. The arms of the little master’s curl around me. They pat and stroke me, trying to reassure me that It will pass. How are they always so calm! BOOM! The garden outside explodes in brilliant white at the same time as another roar hits the house, but this is beyond anything I have heard before. It is angry! The sound hits me like a wall and among the oppressive blanket of raw bass I pick out the tinkling of glass on soft carpet, the masters scream. I do not, I cannot move at all, My legs quiver but I cannot even bear to take a step for in that single blinding flash I saw It! Mother always told stories of It, of the thing in the storm, she said moonlight burned it, that it only came out when the sky was at it’s blackest and that if it ever caught you it would take you. “The Masters don’t know it” she had told him one night before she passed “but we must guard them from it. You cannot bite it or claw it, if it sees you… Run!” Her words tear through my thoughts and brought me back into the room, I glance up. The window is blown in and sheets of water lash onto the floor soaking into the cream carpet, outside an orange flicker belies the fire that it has started in the bushes that ring the house. It is trapping us! I take a trembling step toward the window and gaze out among the black night. The fire is small but beginning to grow and by its infant light I see my foe. It stands just behind the fire so that its grotesque shape is shrouded in darkness, the shifting light and utter blackness means I cannot fully determine the shape but even so I can see the horribly long limps and the foul wretched smile pulled back into a mocking facsimile of a grin. It sways from side to side slowly but otherwise waits as the fire spreads. Now the masters are moving but only to grab water in a bucket, It sits there leering, They’ll come right to it! I feel a sudden clarity and lunge away from the window, the smallest master is very small indeed, about as high as my head, I quickly jump toward him and clamp my teeth around his clothing. I do not graze his skin, I am a good boy. It’s a strain to lift him but I need to be fast. All my masters are shouting at me now to drop him but I know they will follow. I turn and leap out the window bounding into the darkness. I turn away from it and run as fast as I can with my wailing master hanging from my jaws. My clueless masters are following me, the Master is carrying the smaller one and the Missus is running too. I follow my nose to clean air, to moonlight. It screams behind me but an open block of sky is close my masters are nearly on me as I pass out of the dark shadow and immediately drop my master and curl around him to keep him dry. I watch my family run willing them on when the creature makes a gesture and the world turns white… “Amazing it was! Our boy led us right into the eye of the storm as the lightning hit our house, hit the gas main and blew it sky high and there we were soaked and pissed but alive thanks to this guy! Who’s a good boy Rover?” I wag my tail desperately and bark. I’m a good boy and I’m glad to be under bright sky bu even as I sit in the garden of our new home, on the horizon I see dark clouds.	Eddie sat on his lazy boy watching TV when the power went out. It wasn’t unusual for a storm to do that around where Eddie lived. Although, it was unusual for these storms to be happening so frequently. This past month there had been a total of six thunder storms, which was strange. Eddie couldn’t remember the last time something like that had happened in his town, and he’s lived here since he was just a boy. It took barely a second for his dog Yippy—the name suits him well—to start yapping at the window. “Shut up, you damn dog!” Eddie yelled over his shoulder. Yippy did not relent. In fact, the pitch of his yapping increased. It was as if he was yelping in pain. Eddie strained has he turned to look over his shoulder. Yippy was standing at the window barking for the life of him with his head sticking through the shades. Eddie covered his ears in frustration and cursed his ex-wife into convincing him they needed a dog. He had never wanted one and now, after she had ran off, he was stuck with it. He begrudgingly got out of the comfort that was his lazy boy and walked over to Yippy. He pushed the dog down from the window and looked out into the night. Yippy started to screech, he jumped on Eddie, scratched Eddie, and even nipped at him, but Eddie ignored him. By then it was too late. Eddie saw a dark figure about fifty yards away from his house. As if noticing him through the back of it’s head, it turned around and stared at him. The strange thing was that the figure seemed to have no eyes, yet he still had the wary feeling of being watched. Eddie quickly shut the window and turned around, but it was too late, he felt the hairs on his arms rise. And before he could blink, a hard hand had grabbed him by the neck. Yippy barked with all his might, but in a split second, Eddie was gone. Yippy had just been trying to warn his owner, and now, he was gone. Yippy ran into the night. His primal senses guiding him to his owner.
	[WP] You have just arrived at your first SPA (Superpowers Anonymous) meeting. Its a support group to help people deal with embarrassing powers or incredibly deadly supervillain-like powers .	"Hi my name Is Carl, and I'm gifted" "Hi Carl" "Hi" "Hey" "Hi Carl" "I got my powers when I was really young. Like really young around 5. My parents weren't bad people or even abusive but they had their problems and when you give a upset 5 year old abilities it give you alot of weight. Number of years went by and I could tell they were afraid of me and what I could do. We weren't very close by then. I showed off at school to one of the other kids cuz I saw one of the officers do it on tv and it seemed like it made sense. Everybody looked impressed on the show and I guess they did IRL but it meant something different then. The department gave my parents a call pretty quick after that and I was removed. Fuckers told me I was going on a school field trip. Anyway I was there a few more years, got bigger a tougher faster than I should have. Nother gift I suppose." "Pardon me Carl, would you make mind if I asked a question?" "Oh yeah, shoot" " I think it would help contextualize your story if we understood what your powers are." " Alright, can somebody hand me something unimportant?" "Here take my cup" "Thanks" Bzfk bzfk bzfk "As you can see from the way the cup diced itself my abilities are pretty nasty. I can disintegrate any form of molecular or subatomic bond. Basically I can unmake anything. Now dont't get me wrong this has been awesome. I blew my way out of prison soon as I got my collar off and from there nobody could stop me. Anything I didn't like I just unmade. I'm, wait sorry I should clarify I haven't killed anyone. I did Rob some places when I needed food but that was only when I was really desperate. But that's kinda a metaphor for how my life has been if I think about it. I never had to socialize with people , I think I wanted to but I never really had to buckle down for the uncomfortable stuff. I always had enough power to assert or dominate instead of actually connecting and changing. Exchanging. I'm 22 now. I'm starting a relationship with this girl I knew back in the detention facility, we're both really not good at this but we both need it. I guess knowing that about her has made all the difference. We want this to work, and I want to be the best I can be, for her but also for me. I don't want to be alone anymore. I want to be kind, and make space for other people. Even when it's really easy and quick to just flash my power. Anyway that's me, thanks for listening.	As I walk through the door I wonder how I let my mother talk me into this. There is a woman who is in the middle of telling her story. I take the nearest seat and sit down as quietly as possible, but of course some people glare at me. They must have super hearing. "My life is pointless. Everyone I have ever loved is now dead, and I know I'll outlive anyone I may love in the future. When you lose as many people as I have you'll understand. I just want to die. I just wish there was a way..." A woman with a look of defeat, Maggy was 500 years old but she didn't look a day over 35. I had heard about her once on the news. She was attending a convention for people just like us. The way she put it, "I was looking for someone like myself." She probably just wanted a friend she'd never lose. Anyway, some anti-super losers chucked a grenade into a large crown of people. Of course Maggy dove on the grenade and the other supers grabbed the idiot before he lit off any more explosives. From what I understand no one died, but a few people were injured. The way Maggy put it, "I may want to die, but those people didn't." She is a hero, and I'm just some loser who somehow thinks my problems matter enough to bring here. "Thank you Maggy, thank you so much for sharing." A gray man stands as Maggy sadly sits down. "Does anybody else have something to share? No problem is too big or small, we're all unique in our own ways. This a place of acceptance and understanding." He gazed around the room. Guessing at people's abilities has never been my strong suit but I have always experienced a level of enjoyment in it, none the less. Let me guess, gray man can read my mind. "Please, don't be shy. Release what bothers you, allow us to carry your burden too." A small man, maybe two and half feet high squeaks, "I can speak, most of you know me by now, but this is for those who are here for the first time. I am Hamstar, but you can all call me Ollie." Wow, ok so it seems I am in the presence of a few actual heroes. Hamstar is one of the most well-known heroes in the city. When I look around the room I see Marigold, Rocky, The Great Bang, Nice Guy, and even Gimme. Am I in the right place? I need to get the hell out of here. "-so other than that, life couldn't be better!" Everyone in the room gives positive reactions of degrees ranging from a chuckle to a solemn nod. "If I can make it back from that, you can too. If you got something worse than me, I want you all to know I am here for you. Don't be shy y'all, get up unload." Everybody gives a controlled clap as Ollie sits back down on the chair he was standing on. Before the gray man even has a chance to stand a beautiful man has stood up ready to speak, it's Gimme, and I can't leave before I hear what he has to say. You see, Gimme is one of my favorite Heroes. He's not really like these other heroes. You see somebody like Megaton goes around absolutely decimating the opposition, but Gimme doesn't have the power to blow stuff up. Gimme might not even have super powers, I'm not entirely sure, but he has the ability to acquire anything he is trying to take. Honestly you'd think a power like that would be used for crime, but whatever. "Hey guys." the crowd responds to him in varying volumes and levels of interest. One person says audibly says Gimme. "I'm Chester, and I want to talk about something that happened to me a week ago." A week ago? He's going to talk about that casualty. In my opinion this isn't something he needs to explain to anybody, just because you're a hero doesn't mean you will always successfully save every last person you come into contact with. "As you all know, my actions led to the death of man working at St. Valentine's hospital." Somebody interrupts, "Now hold on Gimme, it wasn't your fault! I-" Now the gray man is interjecting, "Now everyone, it is Chester's time to speak! Whether you disagree with what he says is besides the point. This is a process, so let him speak. If he wishes to answer questions or talk about it at the end then that will be his choice." "Thank you, Gray Man." Oh, the guy is literally Gray Man. I wonder what he does? Maybe he's a master mediator that creates resolutions in even the most dire situations. "That day I woke up feeling a little odd. Like it wasn't going to be a good day. Something about the air, or the weather. Something was off. I was on patrol when I happened to make eye contact with a shady character. The guy is frozen in the middle of the side walk, so I ask him, "Having trouble pal?" His hands covers half of his face, "The guy takes of sprinting into the nearest building which happens to be a hospital. I give chase immediately, I tried to stop this from going into the hospital but I don't have super speed or anything like that. The guy goes and grabs the first person he sees and it's the guy that I couldn't save." At this point Gimme has tears running down his cheeks. The way this story unfolded made me wonder how a mother and father could wish their daughter could have super powers and use them to protect people. If it were me, I would have been scarred for life. Gimme happened upon some random low tier Simon Says follower. A real spaz from the sounds of it. The guy demanded that Gimme turn around and leave, but Gimme couldn't do that. I've heard that Gimme is non-lethal force only, but he yanked the guys heart after the civilian died. You wouldn't have ever known what happened if Gimme hadn't told the police himself. I have only been here for a good 20 minutes but I now realize this cannot be the right place. I stand up and slowly make my way to the door. "Anyone? Please don't be shy, oh- hello young lady, would you care to share?" Frozen in my spot I turn around and realize Gray Man is talking to me. All eyes are on me. Maggy, Ollie, Chester, and all the rest of them expectantly gaze at me. I was desperately hoping Gray Man would just let me walk out of here. "Yes! I do... uh. Have something to share." I can't believe I am about to say this out loud after all the stuff I just heard. "Well, you see, by no means is this anywhere near the severity of everyone else's shared experiences-" Gray Man retorts, "There is no problem to big or too small. We are all gifted, and we are here for each other. There is no judgement here." "Well... my parents really want me to go into the hero business. They have the money, they want to send me to that big fancy hero academy in the next city over. It's just uh... well, it's just that uh..." everyone is staring at me. I am still standing half way between my chair and the door. Maybe I should just make a fucking break for it. "Do you have any powers?" I look towards the voice and of course it's Gimme. I am embarrassing myself in front Gimme! Directly after he shared that horrible experience. Let's add witnessing some girl wet herself in front of everyone literally the week after. Pull it together. This pause has been too long. "My power is to detach or attach male genitalia from my body." The room was dead quiet. Absolutely nobody moved or made a sound. I was pretty sure this was the part where everybody was going to start laughing. I screamed, "I was born with a dick, and I can take it off too." Still nothing. "Fuck you if you can't deal with it!" I ran out of the room. Unbeknownst to me, nobody actually judged me in that room. After I left they all shared awkward glances and then others like me shared their unusual abilities. A dude had a bunch of rows of teeth that fell out and grew back like a shark. Another one had a thin, brown, foot long tail that didn't do a thing. I told my parents that the hero school wasn't for me.
	[WP] “The scariest monster doesn’t have fangs or claws. No, the scariest monster has the face of a friend.”	First time writer, probably have a lot of errors. please don't over criticize “You know I’ve always have been fascinated with horror movies.” The clock on wall ticks, echoing with the silent room. “growing up me and my sister would always stay up late watching all kinds genres.” “A big giant alien with venom running down its fangs, a werewolf that transformed every full moon and find a poor soul that was walking alone. Even a killer clown” I chuckle a bit “it was always the clowns that got my sister.” I peer of into the ceiling in nostalgia. “But funny enough those movies never seemed to terrify me, not even at their goriest moments. I strangely found myself strangely perplexed, why was I so relaxed, like I had found moments of peace.” Of course, my sister would hide behind my back and I tried to play the part of being scared.” I shrug. “But I figured, I was never what people would call…. normal.” “You get what I mean?” I get a few of looks from your eyebrows raised. “Common you understand right? That sometimes there a special type of person that has a weird desire, and a feeling for these types of…. things. A deep dark desire, that wants to be let out, something that cannot be denied. “You see that’s what separates us from the normal. We know where the real monsters truly are.” I get up out my chair and pace around the room, I come to a stop at the end of the table. “They are within us, within those desires. Those are the scariest monsters, not the ones that have fangs or claws. No, the scariest monster has the face of a friend.” “A best friend, a partner, a guardian, any one of these that get you close to have a personal relationship, to build trust, someone that makes you feel safe. These are these gateways for someone of this peculiar taste. Wouldn’t you agree?” Still you hold that weird look in your face. “Common don’t give me that look, you have to know! A person like yourself, you have firsthand experience in this. You ran an Orphanage; you were the guardian of so many lost children, who needed a guardian. Someone who had their trust, someone that they loved and admired over so many years, that was their hope from their savior.” “But you couldn’t help yourself, could you? You wanted those bright eyes to look at you in fear, to lose that hope of a brighter future and fill your hunger.” I give you a big smile as your eyes go wide and you finally realize the situation. I pick up a scalpel, and two pieces of glass and start walking along the table, towards you. “You see you and I are not very different, we both have these desires, and we both gain peoples trust for our benefit.” I finally reach the head of the table where you lay and look down at your head. All taped down with saran wrap, like the rest of your body. All snugly secured to the table. “The only difference is…. you are a monster that preys on the trust of innocent children. I’m a monster that preys on other monsters." I said as I brought the scalpel to your cheek.	It’s called a Bogart. Nasty fuckers they possess a semi psychic, semi shapeshifting power that blends themselves into crowds. They also use a more active version of this power to hunt. They tune in to a specific human’s mental patterns and then it gets weird. They take on the face of that persons friend or loved one. But they never quite get it right. There is always a sense of wrongness of danger and part of your brain that screams predator. Their power also targets the person’s mental abilities. Their memories, when did I last see that guy and which door did he leave through again that kind of thing. Now I your probably wondering why you suddenly got a lesson from the beastiary. One you already know well you would do if Mike didn’t have his gun to the back his own head. We have been hunting you for a week. Now look here and wait for the flash
Just something that occurred to me while playing God of War and how Odin might've inadvertently selected for the most reckless and shittiest warrior because of his soul collecting policy.	[WP] Everybody talks about Odin the All-Father, and how he collects the souls that perished in battle to Valhalla to serve as warriors. Nobody talks about his brother, Nido, and how he collects the souls of those that triumphs in battle and live until they die of old age.	"How did we even THINK that he would get it?" The two ravens perched sullenly next to each other on a scraggly tree in the desolate wasteland, avoiding eye contact. Freezing sleet whipped around the two, shaking the branches like restless skeletons, but it could not cool their shame. After a long pause, Huginn rustled his black feathers and picked in Muninn's direction with his shiny beak. "Friggin' all-seeing they call him. We've been telling him for how long now"- he croaked, voice like a gravel pit with wings. " Ah, flutter off!" Muninn was still brooding, apparently. "We've known for centuries that Odin's been picking the wrong crowd! All those buggers want is to drink and brawl and puke everywhere, and they are getting through to Odin. Amplifying his worst instincts, that's what!" That at least got him a dismissive croak from his corvid counterpart. "As if-" Muninn snapped, " Listen, we're talking about a guy who sacrificed himself to himself, hung himself and gouged an eye out, and what for? Frickin' magic! How's that for rotting a brain? Dangling from a rope for nine days without oxygen would make me a tad impulsive too, I guess." "Yeah sure, maybe we'll find out if we don't convince him that he's on the wrong track, and pronto! We need an argument that gets through his thick one-eyed skull." Muninn "Oh and how are we going to try to tell him next time, mister all-seeing winged servant to the one-eyed Allfather? Try to tell him that we are now in a post-heroic age and that he has to go with the times again? That one pissed him off so bad last time, probably just the word "post-" will send him in a tantrum for days, who knows whose hall he will wreck this time. At this rate, we'll never get him to reason through the whole thing from first principles!" Huginn's black eyes stared out into the cold, misty waseland of their shared inner soulscape. "What if", he gravelled slowly, "we introduce him to the concept of sampling bias? Him picking only the most foolhardy warriors for generations is a perfect example-" "Oh, don't be ridiculous", Muninn interrupted, "as if the old man would get either of those words, let alone-" "No wait, this could work-" "Nonsense! You and your thinking-people crap. I told you that reason is not the right approach for Odin! Where in the nine worlds did you pick up this particular crazy idea anyways?" Oh man. Muninn was in a foul mood, not going to give a feathered inch on any discussion. Here we go again, Huginn thought. He cleared his beak and croaked "As if your ideas worked any better, Muninn. Need I remind you how your brilliant idea with the cake with writing on it worked out? The one-eyed bastard didn't even look before he stuffed it in his gob whole! Or that you tried twice more, claiming another text would do the trick? That SELECT BETTER WARRIORS would be better than ONLY LOSERS DIE EARLY? You owe me this one try." "Fine, fine" Muninn grumbled. Huginn held his beak high to enjoy the brief moment of victory. "So, I met this group of old wizened humans that were practicing a peculiar kind of soothsaying that they can Statistix or so. They have weird and strict rules about which sacrifices they accept, but they can make amazing precise predictions about the future. Or so they told me, they use strange runes I couldn't understand. Anyways, they have a concept that if you only pick one kind out of many, you will end up with an unbalanced mix or so. That's what they call sampling bias." "Like if you only pick eyes off a battlefield, then your stomach is going to get upset" Muninn mused. He seemed to like the concept. "Or when you only pick the loudest, foolhardiest idiots from the ranks of the fallen, you're going to end up with the bloody mess that we can observe daily in Odin's hall. Yeah, that might work. If we can only get him to not throw the drinking horn at us as soon as we get out the big words - maybe we need one of those wizards to come and work their rune magic for explanation?" Huginn thought for a long second. "Yeah, there's the problem - they are old and frail and not at all the warrior types that Allfather respects. Worse, they once were warriors - but the ones that won and got to live until old age-" "Don't tell me that you got the concept from-" "Yeah, they're in Nido's domain, and you know how Odin gets along with his brother-" "Ah damn, there is always a catch!" Muninn angrily ruffled his feathers. "Still, it's our best bet for now. Wanna fly over to Nido's hall and check out their magic?" "Sure, I always like it there. They're a bit boring, talking all the time, but at least they're not throwing axes at us when we land." And with that, they both spread their imposing wings, feathers glistening like oil slicks on a still lake in autumn, and flapped towards the hall of Odin's brother. "Yeah, there's always another battlefield elsewhere for later. Maybe we should just jump ship and start working for Nido?" "Are you crazy? Nido already knows what's going on, people literally have a lifetime's worth of stories to tell him. Guy's got like eight newspaper subscriptions, he won't need all-seeing ravens to tell him what's going on in the world. At least the one-eyed Allfather needs our news because he only hears tall tales and drinking stories from his fallen souls. And besides, if he listens to us this time, you owe me big time!"	"My brother." The Lord of the Defiance began, looking at his warriors. "Odin... when he drank from Ysmir's well he damned himself to Fate." Many of the newer memebers of his legions looked confused. They had only known the basis of Nido's philosophy, but many believed in Fate. Nido did as well... he had been there, striking down the Fates. Seeking to free worlds from being enslaved to any prophecy. It was the ultimate slave master. He and his brother valued the souls of man, and while Odin had chosen to delay fate... he knew that he must destroy it, if not to save him, then to ensure his sacrifice would not truly be in vain. "But we... we are the ones who kill destroy it. I have chosen you, mortal warriors, heroes of songs and leaders of men because you have wisdom, where I may lack. I am not mortal... I can never be, and so in those matter you exceed my own." He continued. "My Brother collects the fallen, who are braver, having faced death in brutality, and willing to throw their lives away. It is not that they were unskilled, but of their hearts... You are many things. But no matter what you were... we will have victory." He raised his spear. "now let us go, my Defiers of Fate; let us give all freedom!"
Just something that occurred to me while playing God of War and how Odin might've inadvertently selected for the most reckless and shittiest warrior because of his soul collecting policy.	[WP] Everybody talks about Odin the All-Father, and how he collects the souls that perished in battle to Valhalla to serve as warriors. Nobody talks about his brother, Nido, and how he collects the souls of those that triumphs in battle and live until they die of old age.	The void was warmer than Skjall had expected. He had been comfortable in his final days, taking his last breath surrounded by somber children and playful grandchildren. Their innocence was refreshing to the old viking; they had never experienced a raid, and their bright smiles filled his ebbing heart with pride. He had built the village walls many winters ago and led the defense of his land against the attackers whom had long since moved on to more successful conquests. After a brutal victory, he welcomed in an era of peace for his people. The crackling of his blazing funeral boat echoed through the endless dark that Skjall now found himself in. He felt his mortal body burning away, but he felt no pain. His soul felt freed, as if from a chrysalis. In a short time, the final fibers anchoring him to earth turned to ash. Only silence followed. And then, syncopated footsteps echoed from everywhere. Out of the darkness, a thin man approached. A gnarled cane accompanied each left step. His manicured beard softened the sharp features of his ageless face. "Skjall," the man stated. "Aye?" "You did not die a warrior's death." "No." "You gave that honor to many, though. Odin's halls rang loud with song on the eve of your victory." "Aye." The man shifted off of his weak leg and began walking forward again. He held something in his other hand. "Even after the blood stopped flowing, you fought for your people." If Skjall could move within this void, he neither knew nor cared. The man approaching did not frighten him. "You fought back pestilence and frosts just as well as other men." "I'd do it again." The man stopped. "I believe you will." He then opened his hand and revealed a small decorative stone that lay above the hearth in Skjall's home. "Odin collects warriors so they can fight again at the end of days. I collect guardians to make sure the days don't end too quickly." He placed the stone in Skjall's hands. "Watch over your land. Guide their fields to harvest and their ships to port. Your work has only just begun." "Aye."	Tareff gazed up at his grandfather, who lay on a small hospital bed, weak, white-haired, and wheezy, his large, dark eyes widened in concern, while his mother held his hand in her own, shaking with sobs. Tareff, however, was not crying. He understood the situation full well, and yet, young though he was, he understood that he could not allow himself to break down, not while his mother had already snapped. He had to remain strong — and he would, he thought fiercely, returning pressure upon his mother's soft hand. She paused in her grief just long enough to shoot him a curious, watery-eyed glance, but Tareff was staring fixedly at his grandfather who, for some reason, was beaming at him. "Ar, that's right, Tar," he said, his voice frail but pleased. "You be strong for Mama, you hear me?" Tareff nodded, still staring right into his grandpa's bright brown eyes. "Grandpa?" he said. "Will you tell me a story?" "If the old ticker allows it." Grandpa Jonas jabbed himself in the chest with his thumb, directly over his heart, and smiled. "You know how you tried to get me into Norse mythology, and told me about Odin, the All-father?" "Ar." "Well, didn't you say he had a brother?" Grandpa Joe smiled. "Indeed, he did. Odin, the King, threw open the doors of his court to welcome the ascended souls of warriors who fell in battle, after they'd been escorted by the Valkyries. But Nido, he was the one who welcomed the victors. The ones who didn't die, but triumphed over their enemies and lived to a ripe old age." "Like you?" "Who you callin' old?" Grandpa Joe demanded, sitting up — but next second he fell into a storm of coughing and hacking. "Ar, never mind," he added, as Tareff's mother relinquished her hold upon him and settled her father back into bed. The heart monitor was slowly declining. She was determinedly avoiding the screen as she fluffed his pillows. "Anyway — why you want to know about Nido?" "Because," Tareff said fiercely, balling his fists, tears sparkling in his eyes as he glared at his grandfather's profile, "because that's where you're going! Into Nido's court. With the rest of the victors!" Grandpa Joe said nothing. He was staring at Tareff with a stunned expression on his face. But then his thin mouth curved into a smile, and the heart monitor began to beep. His mother burst into tears, and at the same time a nurse rushed into the room, pushing them out as she examined the body. Tareff watched through the glass, but still, he did not cry. His grandfather was on his way to Nido's throne room, to wine and dine with the greatest victors of all time — and he would be waiting for Tareff, along with his father, because he, Tareff, would also be a victor. r/MysticScribbles
Just something that occurred to me while playing God of War and how Odin might've inadvertently selected for the most reckless and shittiest warrior because of his soul collecting policy.	[WP] Everybody talks about Odin the All-Father, and how he collects the souls that perished in battle to Valhalla to serve as warriors. Nobody talks about his brother, Nido, and how he collects the souls of those that triumphs in battle and live until they die of old age.	The void was warmer than Skjall had expected. He had been comfortable in his final days, taking his last breath surrounded by somber children and playful grandchildren. Their innocence was refreshing to the old viking; they had never experienced a raid, and their bright smiles filled his ebbing heart with pride. He had built the village walls many winters ago and led the defense of his land against the attackers whom had long since moved on to more successful conquests. After a brutal victory, he welcomed in an era of peace for his people. The crackling of his blazing funeral boat echoed through the endless dark that Skjall now found himself in. He felt his mortal body burning away, but he felt no pain. His soul felt freed, as if from a chrysalis. In a short time, the final fibers anchoring him to earth turned to ash. Only silence followed. And then, syncopated footsteps echoed from everywhere. Out of the darkness, a thin man approached. A gnarled cane accompanied each left step. His manicured beard softened the sharp features of his ageless face. "Skjall," the man stated. "Aye?" "You did not die a warrior's death." "No." "You gave that honor to many, though. Odin's halls rang loud with song on the eve of your victory." "Aye." The man shifted off of his weak leg and began walking forward again. He held something in his other hand. "Even after the blood stopped flowing, you fought for your people." If Skjall could move within this void, he neither knew nor cared. The man approaching did not frighten him. "You fought back pestilence and frosts just as well as other men." "I'd do it again." The man stopped. "I believe you will." He then opened his hand and revealed a small decorative stone that lay above the hearth in Skjall's home. "Odin collects warriors so they can fight again at the end of days. I collect guardians to make sure the days don't end too quickly." He placed the stone in Skjall's hands. "Watch over your land. Guide their fields to harvest and their ships to port. Your work has only just begun." "Aye."	"Nido is a little bitch," the All-father mumbles as if having a bit of a debate with himself. "Excuse me, ole father-of-men?" Olga was shocked to hear Odin speak so horribly about his little brother. The one-eyed god was drunk, though, that was obvious, so maybe it was forgivable. "Nevermind Olga, my problems are not meant for little people's ears." Odin was not only drunk. He looked downright despondent. And she knew why. The party was going in its typical nightly fashion. Someone had set fire to the table, and a few hundred warriors were engaged in a food fight that usually turned deadly as the mead and ale flowed. The hall stunk like piss and shit, and whatever else lined the insides of a person's stomach, who has limitless supplies of food and inebriates. Olga was just there to serve, clear, and stay out of the way, but she hated it in Odin's hall. Everyone on staff at Vahalla did. "Just look at this rabble. Every night the same unrelenting chaos, and what does my brother do?" Maybe the question is rhetoric, but Olga's mind conjures up an answer anyway, and she replies, "They sit and read and have even sided debates about life, and it's intimate meaning." "Exactly. And here I am with a new crop of tools on top of the old every night. Remember the plankers from a few years ago? God, I was happy when they all challenged each other and all fell off the side of the world tree." He sighs, and the sound breaks Olga's heart. "What can I do Father of all Magical Songs?" She asks hoping he'll say nothing and let her leave, there was a play happening in Nido's hall and she wants to watch a bit of it before the Gods snap and make her and other servants reset the hall for a new day. "Nothing Olga just venting." And she hurries away.
	[WP]You are an immortal king, having ruled your nation for three hundred years through both strife and peace. But your once loyal subjects wants something new, free elections, freedom of expression, and equality. You are uncertain how to deal with this, since you'd rather not hurt your subjects.	"Do you think it's best?" I was never one to put myself above my people, after a few hundred years you truly begin to love them, I admit when I thought my time on the Earth was limited, I was more harsh, wanting to engrave my name in the history books during my limited time, but once I learned that death had no interest coming for me, I had no need to speed up the processes, I simply took each day as it seemed, never feeling the need to attack my neighbours, Instead I worked to better my home kingdom, But perhaps I had overstayed my welcome. "I still feel like I have work to do, but If someone could do it better, I guess I would not be opposed to these elections." That was the conversation I had with the officials, of course, each nodded, if only then I could have seen the real motives behind their decisions, then perhaps I could have stopped it before it had gotten worse. I went ahead with the views of the public and announced that I would be opening my role up to whoever was deemed fit for the job. That's when the duality of men became on display. How they had already wanted freedom and equality, but as soon as they were offered the power to make that change, none wanted everyone to be equal anymore, why would they want equality if they were in charge? Groups began scheming ways to make these elections rigged, how they would make alliances, and use that to funnel all their laws and beliefs. When I saw this, I wanted to intervene but unfortunately, it was far too late for me to backtrack on my words, I had offered my job to whoever could look after the kingdom, and now people were offering themselves. I tried to convince people to join me, remind them of the good I had done, how safe and secure we had been, but many saw me as boring, I had no interest in expanding our wealth or advancing our kingdom, I just wanted us to be healthy and safe. Sadly I wasn't popular anymore, I refused to lie or promise them vast riches if they chose me, the best I could offer them was the same peace that they had grown used to. The results weren't a shock, I was replaced by the latest thing, A young ambitious man who promised them the world and was ready to deliver nothing. If only the public could see the strings pulling that puppet of a man I'm sure they would have never chosen him. Sadly it was too late for me to do anything, without my throne, I was mortal again, soon my body would be claimed by the reaper and I would be nothing more than a page in the future books, I just hope they know that I stepped down for them. r/pmmeyabootysstories	'Youre sure about this?' 'Yes your immortalness, we are sure' 'I realize you clever clogs have had a lot of time to think this through, but youve actually met the average person... right...?' 'We believe that a democratic process will provide the greatest increase to living standards across the board' I look deep into the faces of these men. Very well read certainly, but I'm not sure they've been outside the library, let alone the city. But they do seem to have foreseen certain issues as well as I... Playing the long game was certainly working. Keeping social discontentment down with slow introductions of new ideas. I didnt even disagree with them in concept. Rather I'm working towards their goals myself! Shedding that blasted clergy I inherited with this crown chief among those concerns. Above all, avoiding unnecessary death. Then again, maybe being immortal has skewed my perspective a touch. Individual lives seem to be flying by more quickly. Have I lost a level of empathy with the small picture not in my focus? Maybe they're right. 'Plan your elections then' I say, 'and once they're concluded and this new government sworn in, I shall lay down this crown of mine' Shocked murmurs through the hall. Flashes of shock on the faces in front of me are quickly hidden. Maybe they expected me to argue more? 'Whats your plan highness, once you're a citizen instead of king?' I've always wanted to try things mercantile. After all, always time for me to pick up new skills right? 'I'll cross that bridge when we get to it'
	[WP] A librarian notices small changes in patrons who check out a century-old book.	I noticed him as soon as he came in to the library. He was dressed rather peculiarly for someone his age and carried himself with a frantic exasperation. "Can I help you look for something?" I said as he frantically paced the aisles of our non-fiction section. He seemed startled that I noticed him at all and the startled look on his face startled me back. He looked at me up and down, as if trying to take the measure of me. He remained silent. Then as if struck by inspiration, he took a small piece of paper out of his pocket went over to a desk and started scribbling. He handed me the paper, the name of the book he was looking for but when I looked down I did not recognize the title. It was in Russian. Ah, that's why he didn't talk. Maybe that's why he was dressed as funny as he was, in an old-school lab coat. Maybe that's what passed for hipster ironic in Russia. He was in luck though, our city had an old Russian population and it just so happened that this University library had Russian speaking librarian. I brought the paper with me to Mina, our quiet Russian speaking librarian, as the young man followed me. She looked at the paper and pulled up the title right away. She looked at me and then at the man and said something to him. She looked at me, "I said no one has borrowed this book, a student's doctoral thesis actually, in nearly a hundred years but yes we still have it, I will go get it." As Mina left a palpable wave of relief overcame the young man. "If you can give me your library card I can start processing it," I said as a picked up a library card and pointed at it to him, trying to communicate I needed his card. He pulled on out of his pocket but it was... strange. I'd never seen one like it before but it did carry the university insignia and had a ID number. I typed it into the computer and saw it was a valid card. Sergei Domenakov, date of birth 10/20/94, visiting scholar. Ah I'd never seen a visiting scholar card. As Mina handed me the book and I opened up to the back I smiled. I showed him the list of the names of the people who had checked it out in the back to show him no one checked it out in nearly a hundred years. He signed his name and something suddenly struck me. The last person who had checked out the book was also named Sergei Domenakov. As I froze for a moment at the coincidence I turned around to Mina and asked her what the book was. "Transporting Living Matter through Time," said Mina. "Funny that it's in the non-fiction section huh?" As I turned around Sergei was already out the door.	I remember her. She had such precious brown hair. Her bright green eyes brimmed with passion and curiosity. It’s odd, you always seem to notice the smallest of changes in the most random of people. She would often come to the library, not often enough for me to remember her name, but just enough to where I’d recognize her face. Then just a week ago she checked out a book, one that even after 20 years in the library I didn’t recognize. Yet there it was, staring me down as I scanned the code for the woman. She looked at me, appearing bored, as she stood there waiting for me to return the book to her. I remember that moment, especially the minute details of it. The way she vigorously eyed the book, the fact that the book was last checked out in 1910, the odd cover that’d looked like it had recently been replaced. The book appeared to be nothing special, just another one of the thousands we had at the library, with the only odd detail being the spine, appearing old and worn, much older than the front cover, which was odd. The front cover was amazing. There was a large, tremendous picture of what appeared to be fantastical creatures, with the only inscription being “Written By:” followed by nothing. I thought nothing of it, “It must’ve been a new trend authors were doing” I’d thought. I remember the next week, when that beautiful young woman brought the book back, though something about her was different. She looked around, panicked, as if something or someone was after her. For a moment, we locked eyes, and in that instant I saw the story her eyes were telling. It wasn’t anger or sadness, but fear. She looked concerned, frightened almost. It was off-putting, at least off-putting enough to make me want to avert my gaze, and yet I could feel her eyes burning a hole in my head, examining me, as if I were a tree a predator was hiding behind. Those two days stuck with me. The next time something like that happened to me was 2 years later. It was the same exact book. The cover looked older, and the spine appeared it would snap in half if poked. The young man who checked it out was no older than 13. It was the same procedure, I checked out his book and he eyed it down eagerly, as if it were a delicious meal he were about to devour before my very eyes. I had no recollection of the boy before then, but the next I saw him he was different. Just like the girl, something was off about him. He walked in with a downward gaze, his back hunched, and his eyes red. With trembling hands, he placed that book in the return slot and walked out. I learned of his suicide on the news the next night. The last time I saw that horrific book, it was nearly 10 years later. The memories of it were far beyond the reaches of my mind. Then the moment I saw it, I remembered. I looked at the old woman, checking out the book, along with a cookbook. The spine was snapped in some spots and altogether falling apart, yet the front cover, with its marvelous picture, looked as good as new, as if it were just published. I grew concerned for the woman, but I didn’t want to say anything, I became curious as to what would happen to her next. I regretted that decision. She came in, appearing all the same, but with a smile. Her smile seemed unnatural, artificial even. It made me think of the Joker, with his broken soul. The woman dropped the book in the return slot and walked out in a manner that was not of someone who was happy. After seeing that old woman with an unnatural smile, my curiosity of the book grew, since none of the patrons ever spoke to me after checking out the book. Thinking back, I don’t believe I’d ever seen that green eyed girl since she came in with such paranoia in her face. Though my curiosity grew, my fear kept me in check. As I reached to open the book I though of the things I’d seen it do to people, the way they seemed to be twisted, emotionally after reading that book. It was in that moment when I decided that my cowardice truly took over and I said to myself “Just let one more person borrow it, and try to talk to them.”
	[WP] When you die in a dream, you die for real. Hundreds die in their sleep around the world, every day. Except you. You should have died, but instead you fell into a coma. Asleep forever. You can now travel into other people's dreams, where you try to save as many lives as you can.	The room around me was wall-to-wall with tiny window-like screens, barely five inches all around. I rubbed my eyes, staring around at the endless movement, my heart pounding. I could hear the whirring sound of computer fans but otherwise was standing in complete silence. Was this some kind of control room? A security monitoring center? I stepped closer to one of the screens and gazed into it. I could hear an electronic hum as my face moved closer. A man was staring deeply into a bowl of cheerios, a woman who I assumed was his wife was speaking to him. I saw her mouth move and her head inflect toward him endearingly. At the bottom of the screen it showed a red progress bar and a counter that said 12 of 15, Next to the counter were the words "to be continued". The screen next to it showed a girl dressed only in her undearwear reading from a long scroll that extended well past her feet onto the floor. She appeared to be sweating and looked on the verge of tears. The students sitting in desks around her appeared to be laughing. Her progress bar was almost filled and her counter showed "21 of 44: To be continued". Another screen showed a man precariously perched on a plank of wood stretched between two sky-scrapers. He was holding out his arms in ernest, apparently trying to balance but it was clear he was losing the battle. I glanced down at his progress bar to see that it was nearing the end. My heart leapt when I saw his counter: "8 of 8: Final Episode" The man appeared to be screaming and was teetering dangerously. A gust of wind caught him and he looked close to falling. Instinctively I touched the screen. The room around me suddenly dissolved and I was blinded by bright sunlight; ambient city noises flooded my senses and I screwed up my face to attempt to adjust. "What the F-" I opened my eyes and scrambled backwards. I was standing on the edge of the building the plank was attatched to and the man who I had just seen on the screen was before me. His back was turned and he was sobbing profusely; He had knelt down and was clutching the plank for dear life. Realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I was supposed to save this man. "SIR can you hear me?" I yelled. Wind whipped through my hair and seemed to steal my words away as it rushed past. The man looked around. His eyes were red and his faced soaked with tears. "Quelle? Qui êtes vous?" He said through regailed sobs. "Erm...Ok. I'm going to... Uh ASSISTER TOI." I said in a lame attampt to regain some of the french I learned seven years ago. "Aidez-moi, s'il vous plaît! Je vais mourir!" He screamed. I sat down on the edge of the plank, my heart was vibrating inside of my chest. What am I doing? How am I supposed to rescue someone? It's not like I can Fly. And just as the though occured to me I felt an odd sensation on my back and the sound of ripping. Turning, I realized large feathery wings had just erupted from my shoulder blades. I leapt up and flapped them and was effortlessly lifted off of my feet. I flapped them again and leaned forward to move myself over the gap. Another gust of wind blew through my feathers and I was thrown backwards but was still airborne. I regained control and shakily made my way over to him. He was much larger than me and I wondered how I would carry him. Again my thoughts manifested themselves and the man became the size of a cat. He now fit easily on the plank. "Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" he said, but he sounded much smaller and frantic. I grabbed him with both hands and he attempted to wriggle free but I shoved him in the crook if my arm and held him tightly. With tremendous effort I carefully began descending toward the ground, extending my wings to their fullest estent and allowing the wind to carry me downwards. Once I was a foot above the ground, I thought He can probably be normal size now. Our combined weight pulled us bodily to the ground and I crumpled beneath him. He fell to his knees, crying and laughing. As he turned towards me, his face filled with glee, The scene melted and I was laying on the floor, back in the screen room. I scrambled back to my feet. And desperately searched for his screen. I found it. The man was standing on the sidewalk looking around. His progress bar was almost to the end; but now his counter read 8 of 22: To be Continued.	Festering light crept through the blinds, blinding me and I awoke eased, let me escape once more into my dreams, and a dreamless death I hoped for, my eyes hoisted high and I perceived the light, and I welcomed it, and each morning my mother would leave the door crept open, and each morning she would peer through it, and each morning she would mutter my name, and I would witness her. "How were your dreams?" she asked. Those words were my alarm, she never knew how I loved those words each morning, and as each day duplicated, those duplicating words filled my room with radiance, and one day I caught those duplicating words no more, and blinds forked no light, and the cracked door that lay below me forked no sound, and my room was thick with grey. "Mom" I called. And the echo of myself replied to my beating heart, and those biting words, replied to my biting teeth, and I lay their sinking further into silence I never sensed, and I sunk beneath my sheets until I noticed the wool ground, I forgot how to walk, I was kept locked away by my dreams so long my feet began to fail me, so I learned to walk again and hoisted myself high, Her door hung still with lustering light filling the houses halls with happiness, "Mother" I called once more. And no reply to my words were met, and I felt my wintry blood pulsate through my veins, and it became colder then the house. I crept to her door, and when I opened it, I saw her last dream, (I'll finish tommorow, hella tired)
	[WP] When you die in a dream, you die for real. Hundreds die in their sleep around the world, every day. Except you. You should have died, but instead you fell into a coma. Asleep forever. You can now travel into other people's dreams, where you try to save as many lives as you can.	In this world, the clouds were sheep. For as far as I could see in this world there were sheep. Fluffy white sheep everywhere.The skies were blue, and the grass was green and for as far as I could see in this world there were sheep. I exhaled a sigh of relief, for I was at last given a moment of respite amidst the chaos of drifting from one Dreamworld to the next, never knowing what was next or when it would end. I seated myself upon the lush green grass and closed my eyes. There was no danger here it seemed and no one required saving, at least for the moment. By now, nothing I saw in these Dream worlds could faze me, but every once in a while I do find myself awed by the boundless imaginative nature of the human mind. For as long as I could remember I was trapped in this strange and bizarre predicament, drifting in and out of these Dreamworlds but not without purpose. I was an anomaly. Somehow it came inherently to me that my presence here, trapped in limbo, was wrong. It was a feeling like I was lost at sea or in a forest at night, but despite this, I found my intrusion into these worlds and saving people from their worst nightmares to be right. I blinked and yawned, enjoying this much deserved moment of peace that I had yearned for, for so long. But as I had suspected, my long-awaited break was soon coming to an end. The sheep were multiplying. Nothing outwardly wrong with that. There must have been at one point only one sheep in the sky. But now, it was at the point where nearly all of the sky was blotted out. I was worried. I looked around quickly across the flat plains searching for the Dreamer of this world. But despite the flatness of the land I could not see a single soul in sight. I ran around the grassy plains searching for what felt like hours. By now the sheep had multiplied to the point where they threatened to suffocate me and it dawned on me that I may have failed. Since the world has not collapsed, then the dreamer must still be alive. There was still a chance. I zipped open my purse and withdrew a handheld portable vacuum. This was a risky option but I had no choice. I pulled the trigger and the device whirled to life, drawing everything into its mouth, creating a whirlpool of white fluff as the sheep were drawn into the vacuum. It wasn't hard but it took me a few moments before I spotted a little boy floundering for dear life between the swarm of sheep within the whirlpool. He was crying. I reached out with my hand and as he drew near, I released the trigger and plucked the kid out of the clouds. "It's okay," I said. "I got you." "Mommy?" he whimpered as he looked up at me between sobs. "You'll see her soon," I replied with a smile. "How soon?" he asked. "Very soon," I said and before the kid could ask again, I said, "Now I have a very important job for you. Hold this," I handed him the vacuum gently. "Okay," he said as he took it with both hands. "Now, let's clean up shall we?" And before the sun had set, the blue skies were once again visible for all the sheep were now gone. The world began to fade into whiteness and I waved the kid goodbye as he winked out of existence. The Dreamworld lingered for a few moments before finally disappearing, and I was once again adrift in limbo, waiting for the next Dreamworld. It could have been minutes or hours, or even years, I could never know, but eventually it happened. I blinked and suddenly I was in a new Dreamworld. Now and then, I would find myself in a world such as this. A world in which everything was simply wrong. The skies that should be blue were red, bathing the world in it's bloody hue. The landmasses were falling. Falling away from the earth in an upwards trajectory that mocked the laws of gravity itself. I too was falling in the same way, being drawn upwards by some unknown force. Around me building debris littered the scarlet skies along with massive chunks of earth that had separated from the collapsing mountains as they soared like whales through the skies. Below me I could see the cracked earth and the exposed molten mantle beneath. Above me, I could see… I had no words to describe it. A distortion of space so immense that the sky was warped and stretched like an over-inflated balloon. Panic had overtaken me, and I breathed in and out for a few moments to settle down as I struggled to reorient myself in the sky while evading the debris around me. The dreamer was still alive. I just had to-- More warps in the world started to appear, erasing pieces of the Dreamworld, and I could sense the finality of everything. Everything was falling apart. I was too late. The Dreamworld was collapsing. The Dreamer was already dead. I had arrived in the final moments of this world. I felt my own presence start to fade when suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed mine. I had only a moment to parse that sensation, to realize that it was not a trick of the mind, that it was in fact real before I was no longer there. ------- ------- /r/em_pathy	Festering light crept through the blinds, blinding me and I awoke eased, let me escape once more into my dreams, and a dreamless death I hoped for, my eyes hoisted high and I perceived the light, and I welcomed it, and each morning my mother would leave the door crept open, and each morning she would peer through it, and each morning she would mutter my name, and I would witness her. "How were your dreams?" she asked. Those words were my alarm, she never knew how I loved those words each morning, and as each day duplicated, those duplicating words filled my room with radiance, and one day I caught those duplicating words no more, and blinds forked no light, and the cracked door that lay below me forked no sound, and my room was thick with grey. "Mom" I called. And the echo of myself replied to my beating heart, and those biting words, replied to my biting teeth, and I lay their sinking further into silence I never sensed, and I sunk beneath my sheets until I noticed the wool ground, I forgot how to walk, I was kept locked away by my dreams so long my feet began to fail me, so I learned to walk again and hoisted myself high, Her door hung still with lustering light filling the houses halls with happiness, "Mother" I called once more. And no reply to my words were met, and I felt my wintry blood pulsate through my veins, and it became colder then the house. I crept to her door, and when I opened it, I saw her last dream, (I'll finish tommorow, hella tired)
	[WP] When you die in a dream, you die for real. Hundreds die in their sleep around the world, every day. Except you. You should have died, but instead you fell into a coma. Asleep forever. You can now travel into other people's dreams, where you try to save as many lives as you can.	In this world, the clouds were sheep. For as far as I could see in this world there were sheep. Fluffy white sheep everywhere.The skies were blue, and the grass was green and for as far as I could see in this world there were sheep. I exhaled a sigh of relief, for I was at last given a moment of respite amidst the chaos of drifting from one Dreamworld to the next, never knowing what was next or when it would end. I seated myself upon the lush green grass and closed my eyes. There was no danger here it seemed and no one required saving, at least for the moment. By now, nothing I saw in these Dream worlds could faze me, but every once in a while I do find myself awed by the boundless imaginative nature of the human mind. For as long as I could remember I was trapped in this strange and bizarre predicament, drifting in and out of these Dreamworlds but not without purpose. I was an anomaly. Somehow it came inherently to me that my presence here, trapped in limbo, was wrong. It was a feeling like I was lost at sea or in a forest at night, but despite this, I found my intrusion into these worlds and saving people from their worst nightmares to be right. I blinked and yawned, enjoying this much deserved moment of peace that I had yearned for, for so long. But as I had suspected, my long-awaited break was soon coming to an end. The sheep were multiplying. Nothing outwardly wrong with that. There must have been at one point only one sheep in the sky. But now, it was at the point where nearly all of the sky was blotted out. I was worried. I looked around quickly across the flat plains searching for the Dreamer of this world. But despite the flatness of the land I could not see a single soul in sight. I ran around the grassy plains searching for what felt like hours. By now the sheep had multiplied to the point where they threatened to suffocate me and it dawned on me that I may have failed. Since the world has not collapsed, then the dreamer must still be alive. There was still a chance. I zipped open my purse and withdrew a handheld portable vacuum. This was a risky option but I had no choice. I pulled the trigger and the device whirled to life, drawing everything into its mouth, creating a whirlpool of white fluff as the sheep were drawn into the vacuum. It wasn't hard but it took me a few moments before I spotted a little boy floundering for dear life between the swarm of sheep within the whirlpool. He was crying. I reached out with my hand and as he drew near, I released the trigger and plucked the kid out of the clouds. "It's okay," I said. "I got you." "Mommy?" he whimpered as he looked up at me between sobs. "You'll see her soon," I replied with a smile. "How soon?" he asked. "Very soon," I said and before the kid could ask again, I said, "Now I have a very important job for you. Hold this," I handed him the vacuum gently. "Okay," he said as he took it with both hands. "Now, let's clean up shall we?" And before the sun had set, the blue skies were once again visible for all the sheep were now gone. The world began to fade into whiteness and I waved the kid goodbye as he winked out of existence. The Dreamworld lingered for a few moments before finally disappearing, and I was once again adrift in limbo, waiting for the next Dreamworld. It could have been minutes or hours, or even years, I could never know, but eventually it happened. I blinked and suddenly I was in a new Dreamworld. Now and then, I would find myself in a world such as this. A world in which everything was simply wrong. The skies that should be blue were red, bathing the world in it's bloody hue. The landmasses were falling. Falling away from the earth in an upwards trajectory that mocked the laws of gravity itself. I too was falling in the same way, being drawn upwards by some unknown force. Around me building debris littered the scarlet skies along with massive chunks of earth that had separated from the collapsing mountains as they soared like whales through the skies. Below me I could see the cracked earth and the exposed molten mantle beneath. Above me, I could see… I had no words to describe it. A distortion of space so immense that the sky was warped and stretched like an over-inflated balloon. Panic had overtaken me, and I breathed in and out for a few moments to settle down as I struggled to reorient myself in the sky while evading the debris around me. The dreamer was still alive. I just had to-- More warps in the world started to appear, erasing pieces of the Dreamworld, and I could sense the finality of everything. Everything was falling apart. I was too late. The Dreamworld was collapsing. The Dreamer was already dead. I had arrived in the final moments of this world. I felt my own presence start to fade when suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed mine. I had only a moment to parse that sensation, to realize that it was not a trick of the mind, that it was in fact real before I was no longer there. ------- ------- /r/em_pathy	Sandy was walking along the road on a street with dreary grey apartment buildings lined up next to it. It was thundering and Sandy ran to a shade as the weather turned into a hailstorm. He heard his wrist watch go off which made him look at his elbow mindlessly. He couldn't read what was written, He was dreaming again. Usually He was his younger self when he dreamt of the being himself. this time he was his real self, A 102 year old frail man. 'No matter' he thought. I'll just think of the time I was young and had the Ox fighting energy in my body. -I'm a young man hell bent on making a name for myself in the world! Nothing happened. -I am riding my horse on the green fields of my town. He picture a few more scenarios trying to warp the dream into something of his benefit, someplace where he had total control. Yet nothing happened. All right, I guess I'll just face this one head on, Sandy thought. The worst thing you could do in a dream is panic, even if things don't go your way, you just need to keep calm and think positively. It wasn't by chance Sandy had lived this long. He kept the demons of dreams at bay longer than most people. People often ridiculed him saying he doesn't dream at all. But he found it too much of an effort to explain himself. He went along with what people said and called himself a non-dreamer in public.Yet he lived on being one of the strongest people in the world yet acknowledged by none. Sandy strolled again when the storm calmed down and came by a cross road. He saw a young frail man standing on the zebra crossing Waiting for the signal to turn for walking. - Come on to this side, the road is empty. Sandy shouted, coughing up a lung or two. - No... I don't want to jaywalk. The young man replied. Sandy started crossing the road and as soon as he did a police vehicle pulled over. And an Bulky patrolman stepped out. - Why are breaking the signal old man? This punk steal something? He bothering you? The policeman pointed at the young man. - Oh forgive me officer, I couldn't see. I left my far sighted glasses at home and brought out my reading glasses. This here is my caretaker from the retirement home, he came to give me my glasses. The officer gave another suspicous look at the young man, and got back in his car. - we'll leave you to it then, stay safe. The patrol car left and the signal turned green. The young man thanked Sandy and crossed the street. Sandy warped again and saw a ice cream man crying for help as feral kids tried to break it open. This was in no way the usual set of dreams for Sandy. Should I continue? How do I make it less boring?
	[WP] When you die in a dream, you die for real. Hundreds die in their sleep around the world, every day. Except you. You should have died, but instead you fell into a coma. Asleep forever. You can now travel into other people's dreams, where you try to save as many lives as you can.	In this world, the clouds were sheep. For as far as I could see in this world there were sheep. Fluffy white sheep everywhere.The skies were blue, and the grass was green and for as far as I could see in this world there were sheep. I exhaled a sigh of relief, for I was at last given a moment of respite amidst the chaos of drifting from one Dreamworld to the next, never knowing what was next or when it would end. I seated myself upon the lush green grass and closed my eyes. There was no danger here it seemed and no one required saving, at least for the moment. By now, nothing I saw in these Dream worlds could faze me, but every once in a while I do find myself awed by the boundless imaginative nature of the human mind. For as long as I could remember I was trapped in this strange and bizarre predicament, drifting in and out of these Dreamworlds but not without purpose. I was an anomaly. Somehow it came inherently to me that my presence here, trapped in limbo, was wrong. It was a feeling like I was lost at sea or in a forest at night, but despite this, I found my intrusion into these worlds and saving people from their worst nightmares to be right. I blinked and yawned, enjoying this much deserved moment of peace that I had yearned for, for so long. But as I had suspected, my long-awaited break was soon coming to an end. The sheep were multiplying. Nothing outwardly wrong with that. There must have been at one point only one sheep in the sky. But now, it was at the point where nearly all of the sky was blotted out. I was worried. I looked around quickly across the flat plains searching for the Dreamer of this world. But despite the flatness of the land I could not see a single soul in sight. I ran around the grassy plains searching for what felt like hours. By now the sheep had multiplied to the point where they threatened to suffocate me and it dawned on me that I may have failed. Since the world has not collapsed, then the dreamer must still be alive. There was still a chance. I zipped open my purse and withdrew a handheld portable vacuum. This was a risky option but I had no choice. I pulled the trigger and the device whirled to life, drawing everything into its mouth, creating a whirlpool of white fluff as the sheep were drawn into the vacuum. It wasn't hard but it took me a few moments before I spotted a little boy floundering for dear life between the swarm of sheep within the whirlpool. He was crying. I reached out with my hand and as he drew near, I released the trigger and plucked the kid out of the clouds. "It's okay," I said. "I got you." "Mommy?" he whimpered as he looked up at me between sobs. "You'll see her soon," I replied with a smile. "How soon?" he asked. "Very soon," I said and before the kid could ask again, I said, "Now I have a very important job for you. Hold this," I handed him the vacuum gently. "Okay," he said as he took it with both hands. "Now, let's clean up shall we?" And before the sun had set, the blue skies were once again visible for all the sheep were now gone. The world began to fade into whiteness and I waved the kid goodbye as he winked out of existence. The Dreamworld lingered for a few moments before finally disappearing, and I was once again adrift in limbo, waiting for the next Dreamworld. It could have been minutes or hours, or even years, I could never know, but eventually it happened. I blinked and suddenly I was in a new Dreamworld. Now and then, I would find myself in a world such as this. A world in which everything was simply wrong. The skies that should be blue were red, bathing the world in it's bloody hue. The landmasses were falling. Falling away from the earth in an upwards trajectory that mocked the laws of gravity itself. I too was falling in the same way, being drawn upwards by some unknown force. Around me building debris littered the scarlet skies along with massive chunks of earth that had separated from the collapsing mountains as they soared like whales through the skies. Below me I could see the cracked earth and the exposed molten mantle beneath. Above me, I could see… I had no words to describe it. A distortion of space so immense that the sky was warped and stretched like an over-inflated balloon. Panic had overtaken me, and I breathed in and out for a few moments to settle down as I struggled to reorient myself in the sky while evading the debris around me. The dreamer was still alive. I just had to-- More warps in the world started to appear, erasing pieces of the Dreamworld, and I could sense the finality of everything. Everything was falling apart. I was too late. The Dreamworld was collapsing. The Dreamer was already dead. I had arrived in the final moments of this world. I felt my own presence start to fade when suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed mine. I had only a moment to parse that sensation, to realize that it was not a trick of the mind, that it was in fact real before I was no longer there. ------- ------- /r/em_pathy	The room around me was wall-to-wall with tiny window-like screens, barely five inches all around. I rubbed my eyes, staring around at the endless movement, my heart pounding. I could hear the whirring sound of computer fans but otherwise was standing in complete silence. Was this some kind of control room? A security monitoring center? I stepped closer to one of the screens and gazed into it. I could hear an electronic hum as my face moved closer. A man was staring deeply into a bowl of cheerios, a woman who I assumed was his wife was speaking to him. I saw her mouth move and her head inflect toward him endearingly. At the bottom of the screen it showed a red progress bar and a counter that said 12 of 15, Next to the counter were the words "to be continued". The screen next to it showed a girl dressed only in her undearwear reading from a long scroll that extended well past her feet onto the floor. She appeared to be sweating and looked on the verge of tears. The students sitting in desks around her appeared to be laughing. Her progress bar was almost filled and her counter showed "21 of 44: To be continued". Another screen showed a man precariously perched on a plank of wood stretched between two sky-scrapers. He was holding out his arms in ernest, apparently trying to balance but it was clear he was losing the battle. I glanced down at his progress bar to see that it was nearing the end. My heart leapt when I saw his counter: "8 of 8: Final Episode" The man appeared to be screaming and was teetering dangerously. A gust of wind caught him and he looked close to falling. Instinctively I touched the screen. The room around me suddenly dissolved and I was blinded by bright sunlight; ambient city noises flooded my senses and I screwed up my face to attempt to adjust. "What the F-" I opened my eyes and scrambled backwards. I was standing on the edge of the building the plank was attatched to and the man who I had just seen on the screen was before me. His back was turned and he was sobbing profusely; He had knelt down and was clutching the plank for dear life. Realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I was supposed to save this man. "SIR can you hear me?" I yelled. Wind whipped through my hair and seemed to steal my words away as it rushed past. The man looked around. His eyes were red and his faced soaked with tears. "Quelle? Qui êtes vous?" He said through regailed sobs. "Erm...Ok. I'm going to... Uh ASSISTER TOI." I said in a lame attampt to regain some of the french I learned seven years ago. "Aidez-moi, s'il vous plaît! Je vais mourir!" He screamed. I sat down on the edge of the plank, my heart was vibrating inside of my chest. What am I doing? How am I supposed to rescue someone? It's not like I can Fly. And just as the though occured to me I felt an odd sensation on my back and the sound of ripping. Turning, I realized large feathery wings had just erupted from my shoulder blades. I leapt up and flapped them and was effortlessly lifted off of my feet. I flapped them again and leaned forward to move myself over the gap. Another gust of wind blew through my feathers and I was thrown backwards but was still airborne. I regained control and shakily made my way over to him. He was much larger than me and I wondered how I would carry him. Again my thoughts manifested themselves and the man became the size of a cat. He now fit easily on the plank. "Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" he said, but he sounded much smaller and frantic. I grabbed him with both hands and he attempted to wriggle free but I shoved him in the crook if my arm and held him tightly. With tremendous effort I carefully began descending toward the ground, extending my wings to their fullest estent and allowing the wind to carry me downwards. Once I was a foot above the ground, I thought He can probably be normal size now. Our combined weight pulled us bodily to the ground and I crumpled beneath him. He fell to his knees, crying and laughing. As he turned towards me, his face filled with glee, The scene melted and I was laying on the floor, back in the screen room. I scrambled back to my feet. And desperately searched for his screen. I found it. The man was standing on the sidewalk looking around. His progress bar was almost to the end; but now his counter read 8 of 22: To be Continued.
	[WP] When you die in a dream, you die for real. Hundreds die in their sleep around the world, every day. Except you. You should have died, but instead you fell into a coma. Asleep forever. You can now travel into other people's dreams, where you try to save as many lives as you can.	In this world, the clouds were sheep. For as far as I could see in this world there were sheep. Fluffy white sheep everywhere.The skies were blue, and the grass was green and for as far as I could see in this world there were sheep. I exhaled a sigh of relief, for I was at last given a moment of respite amidst the chaos of drifting from one Dreamworld to the next, never knowing what was next or when it would end. I seated myself upon the lush green grass and closed my eyes. There was no danger here it seemed and no one required saving, at least for the moment. By now, nothing I saw in these Dream worlds could faze me, but every once in a while I do find myself awed by the boundless imaginative nature of the human mind. For as long as I could remember I was trapped in this strange and bizarre predicament, drifting in and out of these Dreamworlds but not without purpose. I was an anomaly. Somehow it came inherently to me that my presence here, trapped in limbo, was wrong. It was a feeling like I was lost at sea or in a forest at night, but despite this, I found my intrusion into these worlds and saving people from their worst nightmares to be right. I blinked and yawned, enjoying this much deserved moment of peace that I had yearned for, for so long. But as I had suspected, my long-awaited break was soon coming to an end. The sheep were multiplying. Nothing outwardly wrong with that. There must have been at one point only one sheep in the sky. But now, it was at the point where nearly all of the sky was blotted out. I was worried. I looked around quickly across the flat plains searching for the Dreamer of this world. But despite the flatness of the land I could not see a single soul in sight. I ran around the grassy plains searching for what felt like hours. By now the sheep had multiplied to the point where they threatened to suffocate me and it dawned on me that I may have failed. Since the world has not collapsed, then the dreamer must still be alive. There was still a chance. I zipped open my purse and withdrew a handheld portable vacuum. This was a risky option but I had no choice. I pulled the trigger and the device whirled to life, drawing everything into its mouth, creating a whirlpool of white fluff as the sheep were drawn into the vacuum. It wasn't hard but it took me a few moments before I spotted a little boy floundering for dear life between the swarm of sheep within the whirlpool. He was crying. I reached out with my hand and as he drew near, I released the trigger and plucked the kid out of the clouds. "It's okay," I said. "I got you." "Mommy?" he whimpered as he looked up at me between sobs. "You'll see her soon," I replied with a smile. "How soon?" he asked. "Very soon," I said and before the kid could ask again, I said, "Now I have a very important job for you. Hold this," I handed him the vacuum gently. "Okay," he said as he took it with both hands. "Now, let's clean up shall we?" And before the sun had set, the blue skies were once again visible for all the sheep were now gone. The world began to fade into whiteness and I waved the kid goodbye as he winked out of existence. The Dreamworld lingered for a few moments before finally disappearing, and I was once again adrift in limbo, waiting for the next Dreamworld. It could have been minutes or hours, or even years, I could never know, but eventually it happened. I blinked and suddenly I was in a new Dreamworld. Now and then, I would find myself in a world such as this. A world in which everything was simply wrong. The skies that should be blue were red, bathing the world in it's bloody hue. The landmasses were falling. Falling away from the earth in an upwards trajectory that mocked the laws of gravity itself. I too was falling in the same way, being drawn upwards by some unknown force. Around me building debris littered the scarlet skies along with massive chunks of earth that had separated from the collapsing mountains as they soared like whales through the skies. Below me I could see the cracked earth and the exposed molten mantle beneath. Above me, I could see… I had no words to describe it. A distortion of space so immense that the sky was warped and stretched like an over-inflated balloon. Panic had overtaken me, and I breathed in and out for a few moments to settle down as I struggled to reorient myself in the sky while evading the debris around me. The dreamer was still alive. I just had to-- More warps in the world started to appear, erasing pieces of the Dreamworld, and I could sense the finality of everything. Everything was falling apart. I was too late. The Dreamworld was collapsing. The Dreamer was already dead. I had arrived in the final moments of this world. I felt my own presence start to fade when suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed mine. I had only a moment to parse that sensation, to realize that it was not a trick of the mind, that it was in fact real before I was no longer there. ------- ------- /r/em_pathy	I explode into Brianna's dream. She gasps as our consciousnesses tether, dousing her synapses with frigid electricity. The Dallas Flayer smiles at me as I step into the room. "You're too late," he says. "Her skin is mine. There's nothing you can do for her." He pulls his knife from Brianna's thigh. She releases a scream so guttural my hair rises. "She still draws breath," I say. "I can do everything for her." The Flayer cleans his gore-streaked knife on his shoe, then slides it into his holster. "Even as we speak, Brianna's heart nears its final beat. Face it Dreamwalker--you're losing your touch." "Step away from her." "Or what?" "You know what." A silence so heavy racks the air it clogs my throat. "Have it your way," says The Flayer. He retreats from Brianna's skinless body, eyes gleaming from the yellow candles lining the walls. "Wake her up. I don't have time for delays." He places his hand on the doorknob. "I'll skin her again tomorrow night." [Read More](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCrypticCompendium/comments/g6qhbk/the_cryptic_compendium_reader_faq/)
	[WP] You've cobbled your superpowers together by purchasing antique powers for cheap at the flea market, when others usually shop for powers at retail stores. One day, you come across a forbidden power that's available for only $0.50	About five hundred years ago, the world was gifted with treasures that people can only describe as magic. Nobody was sure where these items came from. Many people believed it was a gift of god and some believed it was dropped from a higher dimension. These treasures had to be excavated from different parts of the world. While it was once a treasure so valuable that only government officials were able to keep hold of it, they became have become commonplace in recent years. What made these items so special was that it imbued the user with permanent powers. Some users possess the ability to fly, some gained the ability to breathe fire, and some can even bend nature to their will. I was from the origin of a poor back family. My father worked as a construction worker and my mother worked at a fast-food joint. I was lucky enough to have money for old worn out treasures as it was. Throughout my lifetime I bought quickened reflexes and increased stamina. They didn't provide any benefits that can't be obtained with a few weeks of exercise. I only had one dollar on me at the time. This didn't stop me from strolling into a pawn shop in the hope that they had something special. I walked around the store occasionally stopping to read something interesting. 'Lightning ball creates small sparks of electricity around the user's hand. can be used to charge small electronic devices. Users can train to use the skill as an offensive weapon.' I walked taking a looks at Dark Ball 'makes the user more difficult to see at night. ' I was about to walk away when the sight of a shiny silver key catches my eye. It glistened in the light as if sparkles were smelted into the metal. I recognized the item immediately. My father often talked about it. An item that opens portals into a different dimension. The description was an unbreakable silver key selling for $0.50. I almost laughed. The rarest and most powerful treasure in the world sold for less than a dollar. I took the key. I rang up the clerk slapping the dollar bill into his hand and told him to keep the change in my mood. I ran outside. Looking at the key I channeled my thoughts into the key. I focused intently on my desire. For the better part of an hour I looked like a fool. But, a portal opened up. Whatever was on the other side of the portal will be wonderful. I can make a fortune.	So, I have been down the road of being a Super-powered Hero, long before one could reliably purchase powers up from Sears. Yep, they came back from bankruptcy with it. Charging top dollars once they discovered the ability to clone and package them. Want to fly to work? Great! Along with other impossible things. Of course the factory was not secure and knockoff goods flooded every market. But I have been doing this for a long time. There's markets out there for cheap powers. The old models are usually pretty good. I know how most of them work, because I was around for the introduction of them. Keeping a few powered objects at hand gives me the option to be labeled as unpredictable. So my enemies would be shocked to see me perusing the antiques. Good thing I am not in my costume. The market I prefer has always been known as something most normies should stay away from. So the mousy young fellow that is the muggle me really seems to be out of place. So I am picking through the stalls, seeing what's out there, and then I see a different stall. It looks as old as I actually am, so it's been here a while. I don't know how I missed it before. I wander up, and the guy running the booth gives me a once over with his eyes. I start looking through the stacks he's got piled up, when I find the thing that doesn't belong. Ordinary looking skeleton key, but I have seen this before. I almost can't place it in my mind about how overpowered this object is, yet here it is piled in with a few trinkets. "How much is this?" I hold out the object for the shopkeep to inspect. "Fifty." "Seems steep for something this old," I say, eying my find carefully. "Fifty cents is too steep for you?!" "My good man, I didn't realize that you meant pennies. I thought we were talking dollarbucks." He seemed placated by my comment. I gladly fished a half dollarbuck from my pocket and placed it in his hand. He smiled at me, "pleasure doing business with you, Shadowhawk." And I already had my escape plan in action. One quick teleport to the next row. One giant leap up to the train track. From there one quick slip into the ether got me on the train.
	[WP] You've cobbled your superpowers together by purchasing antique powers for cheap at the flea market, when others usually shop for powers at retail stores. One day, you come across a forbidden power that's available for only $0.50	50 cents. Cheapest power I've ever seen, but looking at it now I know why. See, in this age of S Class heroes and supervillains with indescribable abilities, and cities that get built and destroyed in mere months, there are still certain things that should not be trifled with. This was one of them. "One of a kind," the old man behind the counter stated, voice gruff and face covered in bushy brows and beard, "Used to be a common pick, back when these things was first made, but, got banned before it did any good, y'see." He tapped the belt twice, blue flames licking up either side of the shining silver, the buckle glowing with potential. I handed him my coin and took the Tool, wrapping it over my shoulder like a band, to conceal it in my jacket. I thanked him, and left the vendor. I took my new Tool home swiftly, thanks to my slightly worn Flash Step boots. Inside my abode was a collection of Tools, things I'd been picking up for cheap at antique and flea markets, various mundane powers such as Mild Gravity bracers, for floatation, Cooking Prowess, an apron that somehow smelled of burnt pepper, things like that. All still very usable, and all pretty cheap. Even the Flash Step boots I picked up three years ago only cost me $15, and they'll probably last until I can get proper Pegasus Shoes. But this new Tool was special. I knew it the instant I saw it, it was something I had to have. There are stories of this belt, made of chain and the clasp a black gold raven. They used to call this Tool, Thief of the Night. Originally made for a guild of heroes, mostly police officers and other first responders during the First Age, Thief of the Night was supposed to grant one the powers of stealth and illusion. However, one of the Tool was stolen from under the noses of the heroes, by a usurper, and had been banned from then on. They'd been destroyed, only one Thief of the Night remaining in the tightest lockdown in a secret facility, so they say. But here is one, in my hands. I clasped it around my hips, the chain glowing in the blue flames I'd seen at the booth. I felt the flames through my clothes, licking my skin, and the raven shone, moving from being seated, to spreading its wings. I closed my eyes and concentrated on feeling the power. I could see it in my Mind's Eye, a cloak of stars that wrapped around my shoulders. In my Mind's Eye, I could see the hearts of the wicked, beating around me like flames, burning through layers of darkness, and if I concentrated, I could see riches I could never even dream to afford as a regular office grunt. The Thief seemed to cling tighter to my hips, and with a stifled yelp I unclasped the Tool. I looked at the bird, a knowing twinkle in its eye, and shelved the Tool, obscured by books and CDs and a collection of stuffed animals. It rested there, with my other forbidden Tool, Reckoning.	"Take a dollar, buy anything you want," says the small, dark-haired boy’s father as he slips Jason a one. "Thanks dad! You're the best," he says as he runs off with a bright smile. The little boy wanders around the power flea market, seeing dozens of abilities he's never seen before, that are sadly not in his price range. Luckily for him, that $1 limit will pay him back with a life long of joy. Out of the corner of his eye, Jason sees a sign in the back of the market, hidden from plain sight that reads, "Cheap Ability Trades." Knowing that he has a price limit, Jason wanders off to the cheap trading booth in hopes for a steal. As he enters the shop, he notices a boy around his age browsing for powers, but doesn't pay him any attention. Not looking for anything in particular, Jason swipes his eyes across the deck of abilities, and notices a shiny power card. "Oh my," he screams excitedly, "a forbidden power!" The other kid in the shop darts to the card Jason found, and rips it out of his hand. "This is mine, I dropped it," the boy said stubbornly. "No," Jason shouts, "finders keepers!" The store clerk backs Jason up, and allows him to purchase the forbidden power. He exits the shop with a glistening smile, as he did when he received the dollar from his father. Though, following closely behind him, was the pigheaded boy from the trade store. Jason hears the footsteps trailing behind him, and quickly spins around and asks the boy who he is and what he wants. "I'm Dylan, and I want to battle." "Fine." Let's just say, Dylan never came back to the market after that fight with Jason's new found forbidden power. END P.S. - This is literally my first attempt at writing to a prompt like this for fun, or writing fiction ever, so some advice would be appreciated. Be honest if you like it or not please. Also, I would've wrote the fight seen, but I felt like I was getting repetitive with my writing and didn't want to extend the prompt too far. Maybe I'll finish it for my own enjoyment.
	[WP] You've cobbled your superpowers together by purchasing antique powers for cheap at the flea market, when others usually shop for powers at retail stores. One day, you come across a forbidden power that's available for only $0.50	50 cents. Cheapest power I've ever seen, but looking at it now I know why. See, in this age of S Class heroes and supervillains with indescribable abilities, and cities that get built and destroyed in mere months, there are still certain things that should not be trifled with. This was one of them. "One of a kind," the old man behind the counter stated, voice gruff and face covered in bushy brows and beard, "Used to be a common pick, back when these things was first made, but, got banned before it did any good, y'see." He tapped the belt twice, blue flames licking up either side of the shining silver, the buckle glowing with potential. I handed him my coin and took the Tool, wrapping it over my shoulder like a band, to conceal it in my jacket. I thanked him, and left the vendor. I took my new Tool home swiftly, thanks to my slightly worn Flash Step boots. Inside my abode was a collection of Tools, things I'd been picking up for cheap at antique and flea markets, various mundane powers such as Mild Gravity bracers, for floatation, Cooking Prowess, an apron that somehow smelled of burnt pepper, things like that. All still very usable, and all pretty cheap. Even the Flash Step boots I picked up three years ago only cost me $15, and they'll probably last until I can get proper Pegasus Shoes. But this new Tool was special. I knew it the instant I saw it, it was something I had to have. There are stories of this belt, made of chain and the clasp a black gold raven. They used to call this Tool, Thief of the Night. Originally made for a guild of heroes, mostly police officers and other first responders during the First Age, Thief of the Night was supposed to grant one the powers of stealth and illusion. However, one of the Tool was stolen from under the noses of the heroes, by a usurper, and had been banned from then on. They'd been destroyed, only one Thief of the Night remaining in the tightest lockdown in a secret facility, so they say. But here is one, in my hands. I clasped it around my hips, the chain glowing in the blue flames I'd seen at the booth. I felt the flames through my clothes, licking my skin, and the raven shone, moving from being seated, to spreading its wings. I closed my eyes and concentrated on feeling the power. I could see it in my Mind's Eye, a cloak of stars that wrapped around my shoulders. In my Mind's Eye, I could see the hearts of the wicked, beating around me like flames, burning through layers of darkness, and if I concentrated, I could see riches I could never even dream to afford as a regular office grunt. The Thief seemed to cling tighter to my hips, and with a stifled yelp I unclasped the Tool. I looked at the bird, a knowing twinkle in its eye, and shelved the Tool, obscured by books and CDs and a collection of stuffed animals. It rested there, with my other forbidden Tool, Reckoning.	I do a double take as I cannot believe my luck. A "forbidden power" is only fifty cents! I fish around in my pocket and find a dollar bill. I go to hand it to the vendor but the old man says gruffly, "I don't have any change." I sigh and use my materialize pennies ability to conjure up fifty pennies. The problem is that it takes a minute per penny. I wait and I wait and I wait and I wait as the rest of the market flies by around me. After fifty-one minutes, one minute I did not concentrate hard enough and conjured up half of a penny, I hand my stack of pennies to the vendor. He then hands me a slip of paper with a string of words I have to say. "Guitar, trash, bouncy, radioactive, cushion, xylophone, lavender, poppycock, book, forbidden, forbidden, forbidden, forbidden, forbidden." The words on the paper disappear and a new one comes into view. "Pickles." I do another double take. That is way to common of a word to think of to trigger the superpower. "Oh well, here goes nothing," I think. I close my eyes and concentrate. I see slices of pickles dancing around, I see the word pickles emblazoned on my eyelids, I see a pickle inside my stomach. Wait. No. This is not right. It should not be it my body. No. No. No. The pickle continues to expand. I am conscious of my intestines being squished to the side. I double over in pain and see the flea market vendor laugh maniacally at me. I am conscious of my abdomen expanding at an exponential rate the split second before I explode.
	[WP] Your teacher conducted an outdoor math experiment about the probability of taking an exact picture of a lightning strike hitting the ground and see how many students got the perfect picture. Nobody but you seems to notice that the teacher summoned a lightning strike.	"I could not believe my own two eyes! Sparks!" It was another boring afternoon in high-school. Mr. Kentworth's applied mathematics class, lesson number 5 "Probability". I was bored out of my mind when he anounced that we will go out for an experiment. "Out? In the pouring rain? Oh great!" I tell to myself. "Let's see which one of you can take a perfect picture of a lightning strike, and afterwards we can calculate the odds of that event" he anounces excited. Everyone gets up and I follow reluctantly. Mr. Kentworth leads us to a tool shed next to the football field. "Are you ready? Here it comes! One. Two. Three!" and BAM! A lightning strike comes down in the middle of the field, scorching the wet grass. Everyone was ecstatic, but I was petrified. I could not belive my own two eyes! Sparks! As Mr. Kentworth was counting, small flashes were floating around his fingers, and when he got to three, miniature lightning webbed between his fingers. Was I the only one who noticed? Looks like it? As everyone else was checking if they got a good picture, a thought ran through my mind. A singular idea, emerged from a deep corner of my mind, a distant memory that I haven't accessed in years. "A lightning elemental" I wisper to myself. I loose the grasp on my surroundings as I sink deeper in my memories. Tales of ancient times told by my grandmother come rushing. Stories of the old world, a time before the modern humans roamed the earth, as she said it. "Before the dawn of the humans, majestic creatures ruled this world. They were the elementals. Beings able to control the natural elements, shape the world by their will alone. Then we came around, and started hunting them. Out of fear, but mostly oit of greed. Humans started killing them in order to try and get their powers. We hunted most of them to extinction, and the few that survived hid deep in the jungles, the caves or the clouds of the mountains." A snap of the fingers brought me back, breaking the transe that I was in. It was Mr. Kentworth." Are you all right?" he asked me. Everyone else was gone, only we two were still under the roof of the old shed." if he is an elemental, what is he doing out here, risking his life to trach us math?" I think to myself. Suddenly I feel anotger thiught surging from the depth of my mind. "Svajelo arecans!" I blurt out of nowere. Now I can see Mr. Kentworth face go through a series of emotions. Confusion at first, followed by a wave of relief, then turned in a stern face. He looks me in the eyes and says "Ta u proecta". I look at him confused and say "ahhh, I have no idea what you said". "Really?" he asks, "Then how did you know to say protect the arcana?". "It's something that my grandma would say while telling me stories" I tell him. "Your grandmother was a protector. Very interesting" he says while rubbing his beard. To be continued... Maybe?	It was just another day, or so I thought, everything was normal, aside from the unusually stormy weather. I talked with Edwin, gazed at the girl of my dreams, and went to class. The day passed as another boring one, then came the last period. Mr Pierce was early, as always. There was the familiar sound of our chairs being pulled out, scraping against the concrete. The point where this story begins, is when we were stopped before we sat down. "Oh no, none of that today. We're going to do an experiment, follow me now." He said in that all too memorable voice. We were led to the yard, where there was a circle cut into the grass, it was black, as if it had been branded in. "Now, take out your phones." He gestured to our pockets. A ruffling noise spread across the area as we slipped our hands into our pockets, pulling out our phones in a fluid movement. He stepped into the circle. "We are going to see the chances of you lot taking a perfect picture of a lightning strike." As he said that, the storm rolled. A slash of light dashed down from the heavens, striking the blackened circle of charred grass, bathing us in a blinding white light. Then came the thunder, a rumbling groan of the sky itself, blocking out all other noise. My fingers jerked on the white button, there was no crack of the picture being taken, no flash from my phone. Damn, it failed I thought as there was no response from my phone, only a flicksr of the screen. Suddenly, it died. Everything disappeared at once, the lightning, the thunder, everything was gone, the only evidence of the event was the charred black mark that filled the circle, a smudge of dark grey. I glanced down at my phone. It had taken the photo after all, but what I saw shocked me. In the picture, Mr Pierce had disappeared, replaced by a thick bar of white. I could see his silhouette in the lightning, but it was impossible. He glanced around at us. "Anyone got the picture?" I clutched my phone tightly in my hands, it had to be a glitch, something wasn't right. No one spoke up. "Really? Oh well." He glanced at the clock. It was 3:30pm. "Time to go home, y'all." As I turned to leave, he grabbed my collar from behind, holding me there. He looked around, making sure my classmates had gone. I turned to him. "Sir...?" He did another double take, turning to me. "We have to speak." He said urgently. "You are a lightborn, keepers of the light, bringer of peace and prosperity, it's time to ascend." But then he stopped, a sinister grin spread across his face. "Too bad, you won't live that long." I staggered backwards, looking at him. His left hand was raised in the air, shivering with electricity. "No... no..." I stumbled, trying to get away. He calmly walked towards me, his hand still raised. In one movement, he struck it into my heart. I gasped, trying to breathe, but it was as if there was no oxygen. Then I pitched forward, and the world went blank.
	[WP] Your teacher conducted an outdoor math experiment about the probability of taking an exact picture of a lightning strike hitting the ground and see how many students got the perfect picture. Nobody but you seems to notice that the teacher summoned a lightning strike.	Mrs. Kenworth is everyone's favorite teacher. She is not too strict or too lax. Not too extroverted or ignorant of her students. She always walks in the room with a smile, and is happy, but she has never once shown her teeth. Mrs. Kenworth is a math teacher. More importantly, she's my math teacher. Under this completely average veneer, she's hiding something truly wonderful. The story behind one day behind the school beneath the roof of the baseball field dugout on an imminently rainy day. It is the end of the day, and Mrs. Kenworth did not feel like teaching math today. Here we were doing an extra credit assignment. She wants us to take pictures of the lightning that is fast approaching and to "calculate probabilities based on how many pictures we take trying to get the perfect shot." The clouds were quite lively with lightning. A little too lively. But none of us really noticed because we all were happy not to be in the classroom. Our class was small enough that we could spread out nice and wide in the dugout. Only ten of us in AP honors calculus. We were glued to our phones and I was glued to my DSLR. I had brought it for a different reason than this extra credit, but I didn't waste an excuse to use it. I never did and I still don't. I got it in my mind to perhaps preemptively snap pictures when I kept missing. This didn't help much. Lightning is just too quick for my fingers. Then I thought I saw Mrs. Kenworth... Swish her pen around and lightning bolted down at the same time. It didn't occur to me then that Mrs. Kenworth had summoned the lightning, but my brain did flag it as a coincidence. I decided to take a break and delete all the missed shots I had, and covertly watched Mrs. Kenworth and the storm. She kept fiddling with her pen and then lightning would come very soon. I decided to watch for a pen movement, wait for lightning and keep the elapsed time in mind. I watched for another two minutes and found my assumptions to be correct. Then it hit me. Mrs. Kenworth is summoning the lightning! She fiddled her pen, and I took the picture. I timed it perfectly. Got a crisp clean bolt. I showed it to Mrs. Kenworth. She asked me how I got it so clearly. I told her "I've got a keen eye for detail," Mrs. Kenworth tenses up "and I got a really nice lens." She relaxes. I only added the last bit because I didn't want to out her to the class. But I saw. I carried on as if nothing happened, but I left the dugout with a newfound respect for my teacher. She has humility.	It was just another day, or so I thought, everything was normal, aside from the unusually stormy weather. I talked with Edwin, gazed at the girl of my dreams, and went to class. The day passed as another boring one, then came the last period. Mr Pierce was early, as always. There was the familiar sound of our chairs being pulled out, scraping against the concrete. The point where this story begins, is when we were stopped before we sat down. "Oh no, none of that today. We're going to do an experiment, follow me now." He said in that all too memorable voice. We were led to the yard, where there was a circle cut into the grass, it was black, as if it had been branded in. "Now, take out your phones." He gestured to our pockets. A ruffling noise spread across the area as we slipped our hands into our pockets, pulling out our phones in a fluid movement. He stepped into the circle. "We are going to see the chances of you lot taking a perfect picture of a lightning strike." As he said that, the storm rolled. A slash of light dashed down from the heavens, striking the blackened circle of charred grass, bathing us in a blinding white light. Then came the thunder, a rumbling groan of the sky itself, blocking out all other noise. My fingers jerked on the white button, there was no crack of the picture being taken, no flash from my phone. Damn, it failed I thought as there was no response from my phone, only a flicksr of the screen. Suddenly, it died. Everything disappeared at once, the lightning, the thunder, everything was gone, the only evidence of the event was the charred black mark that filled the circle, a smudge of dark grey. I glanced down at my phone. It had taken the photo after all, but what I saw shocked me. In the picture, Mr Pierce had disappeared, replaced by a thick bar of white. I could see his silhouette in the lightning, but it was impossible. He glanced around at us. "Anyone got the picture?" I clutched my phone tightly in my hands, it had to be a glitch, something wasn't right. No one spoke up. "Really? Oh well." He glanced at the clock. It was 3:30pm. "Time to go home, y'all." As I turned to leave, he grabbed my collar from behind, holding me there. He looked around, making sure my classmates had gone. I turned to him. "Sir...?" He did another double take, turning to me. "We have to speak." He said urgently. "You are a lightborn, keepers of the light, bringer of peace and prosperity, it's time to ascend." But then he stopped, a sinister grin spread across his face. "Too bad, you won't live that long." I staggered backwards, looking at him. His left hand was raised in the air, shivering with electricity. "No... no..." I stumbled, trying to get away. He calmly walked towards me, his hand still raised. In one movement, he struck it into my heart. I gasped, trying to breathe, but it was as if there was no oxygen. Then I pitched forward, and the world went blank.
	[WP] Your teacher conducted an outdoor math experiment about the probability of taking an exact picture of a lightning strike hitting the ground and see how many students got the perfect picture. Nobody but you seems to notice that the teacher summoned a lightning strike.	"I could not believe my own two eyes! Sparks!" It was another boring afternoon in high-school. Mr. Kentworth's applied mathematics class, lesson number 5 "Probability". I was bored out of my mind when he anounced that we will go out for an experiment. "Out? In the pouring rain? Oh great!" I tell to myself. "Let's see which one of you can take a perfect picture of a lightning strike, and afterwards we can calculate the odds of that event" he anounces excited. Everyone gets up and I follow reluctantly. Mr. Kentworth leads us to a tool shed next to the football field. "Are you ready? Here it comes! One. Two. Three!" and BAM! A lightning strike comes down in the middle of the field, scorching the wet grass. Everyone was ecstatic, but I was petrified. I could not belive my own two eyes! Sparks! As Mr. Kentworth was counting, small flashes were floating around his fingers, and when he got to three, miniature lightning webbed between his fingers. Was I the only one who noticed? Looks like it? As everyone else was checking if they got a good picture, a thought ran through my mind. A singular idea, emerged from a deep corner of my mind, a distant memory that I haven't accessed in years. "A lightning elemental" I wisper to myself. I loose the grasp on my surroundings as I sink deeper in my memories. Tales of ancient times told by my grandmother come rushing. Stories of the old world, a time before the modern humans roamed the earth, as she said it. "Before the dawn of the humans, majestic creatures ruled this world. They were the elementals. Beings able to control the natural elements, shape the world by their will alone. Then we came around, and started hunting them. Out of fear, but mostly oit of greed. Humans started killing them in order to try and get their powers. We hunted most of them to extinction, and the few that survived hid deep in the jungles, the caves or the clouds of the mountains." A snap of the fingers brought me back, breaking the transe that I was in. It was Mr. Kentworth." Are you all right?" he asked me. Everyone else was gone, only we two were still under the roof of the old shed." if he is an elemental, what is he doing out here, risking his life to trach us math?" I think to myself. Suddenly I feel anotger thiught surging from the depth of my mind. "Svajelo arecans!" I blurt out of nowere. Now I can see Mr. Kentworth face go through a series of emotions. Confusion at first, followed by a wave of relief, then turned in a stern face. He looks me in the eyes and says "Ta u proecta". I look at him confused and say "ahhh, I have no idea what you said". "Really?" he asks, "Then how did you know to say protect the arcana?". "It's something that my grandma would say while telling me stories" I tell him. "Your grandmother was a protector. Very interesting" he says while rubbing his beard. To be continued... Maybe?	“Was I going insane? Or did a summoning circle just popped on the teachers feet just then?” I watched the floor in disbelief after the image of the blue pentagram on the floor disappeared with a blink, instants later, the sound of thunder cracked my ears and my stunned stare. “So, did anyone catch that?” The middle aged man asked, looking excitedly towards the class, coming back to myself I realized I was too staggered to take the picture, no one else in the class answered, and he continued. “That’s to be expected, the speed a lighting comes down to the ground is greater than any of your cameras can capture after all, I was expecting one of you to call me out on that. Now, let us head back inside and I’ll have you crunching some numbers” I stood, staring at the teacher as the rest of the class started heading back, and he seemed to notice. As the other students made their way into the classroom he stayed behind as asked to talk to me about my grades (I was dangerously close to not passing, so I took the bait, despite the weird vibes). He led me to a room not far from where we were, “His Office” I recognized, as we walk in I notice how dark the room is,all I see is the teacher standing in front, back turned towards me. The moment I take my first full breath in the room the stench hits me, “something horribly rotten”, as a loud banging noise as the door behind me shuts closed and locks itself. I runs towards it and try to force it open, to no avail. I hear a voice talk to me, similar to his but..darker,heavy and twisted. Lucas, do you know how long I’ve taught at this place?” I can barely utter a “no”, “ this university is 235 years old” he takes a long sigh “ And I saw them set the first brick”. At this point I’m on full panic mode, but don’t seem to be able to move or make a noise. “Hard time moving? Just a precaution, I need you listening, and nothing more.” “I know you saw it kid, you aren’t very good at hiding it. Now I don’t know if that means you are a undercover hunter on my back, if you have unawakened blood in you, or whatever the hell else it might be!” His tone had gotten more aggressive by that point, almost screaming. He seemed to stop, take a big breath and resume, in a calmer tone “My only concern is you screwing up my very fine operation, I set this place to hunt, took me years to get my thralls to occupy all the positions I needed to feed inconspicuously and you are not about to screw this for me , so, I have a proposal for you” He got close to me and grinned, exposing extremely sharp teeth” I get scared and slip to the floor on something slimy. “ So, you can become like me, and walk the night, and this IS the best offer, or you can become like your little chair there” My eyes diverge from his towards the floor, as my nostrils are stricken with the stench of rot, and my eyes with what should have been a student..weeks ago. His skin is tore and guts spilled, one eye was missing and one was half bitten, in his tore chest. At which point he yanks me by the hair, stares me down with those crazy, blood thirsty eyes and asks “ so, what will it be?” I’m shaking like crazy, but there’s obviously only one answer. “I choose...”
	[WP] The Moon Landing goes horribly wrong as NASA unexpectedly loses contact with Apollo 11. The next day, the shuttle is found embedded in the White House, gunned down by silver arrows along with a note written in Ancient Greek saying ''Keep your trash off my property!"	Hephaestus was used to family spats. Every week there seemed to be a new argument raging in the halls of Mount Olympus and as he walked through the doors of the main throne room he saw that today's participants were none other than the Sun and Moon twins, Apollo and Artemis. Apollo was yelping in the high pitched, girly screams that he was known for as Artemis pinned him to the floor, with an arrow pointed directly at his throat. There was golden blood dripping everywhere and Apollo had been impaled with so many arrows that he should have been renamed the God of Porcupines. Artemis was currently screaming obscenities in his face in an act of unbridled fury that Hephaestus hadn't seen in her in centuries. Everyone else was sitting rigidly in their own thrones, either too uncomfortable to intervene or eagerly enjoying the show. (Hephaestus could have sworn that he saw Hera eating popcorn.) The only deities who weren't paying any attention were Athena, who's eyes were glued to a newspaper and Hestia who was busy tending the hearth like she always did, occasionally ducking to avoid a stray arrow. Hephaestus merely sighed and sat down in his own throne. Whatever it was that Artemis was upset about, it was none of his business. Besides, he had his own goals to deal with. He was planning on inspiring a mortal to invent a portable mobile phone in the future. He had a feeling that they were going to be big. As Hephaestus tinkered with a small metal device in his hands he couldn't help but listen in to Artemis' tangent and just so happened to overhear a few key words. Spaceship. Moon Mission. Men. Flag. Hephaestus froze as he put two and two together. 'Uh oh.' Suddenly it was his business. No sooner than the words left his mouth, Artemis suddenly noticed that he was in the room and turned her fiery gaze towards him. 'On that note, I should leave.' Hephaestus said hastily as he hurried for the exit. But it was no use. As Goddess of the Hunt, Artemis was insanely fast, perhaps the second fastest Olympian behind Hermes. Slightly out of shape Hephaestus and his crippled legs on the other hand...? There was no contest. Artemis pounced on him like a lioness. As Hephaestus was knocked to the floor could hear Aphrodite's laughter, promptly cut off by the sound of a slap, presumably from Athena who was right next to her (and was apparently paying attention) 'YOU!!!' Artemis screamed. 'HOW DARE YOU!' Hephaestus eased himself to a sitting position (which was pretty hard considering that Artemis was pointing an arrow at his chest.) "Is there a problem?" he wheezed. "Way to go teaching the mortals how to invent flying machines, dumbass! It's your fault!" Artemis snapped. Hephaestus frowned. "Why are you so mad about the flying machines? Isn't one of your newest huntresses a pilot? You know the famous one that went missing? What was her name again?" "Amelia Earhart.' Artemis spat, cutting him off. "But that's besides the point!" 'What happened?" That set her off again. "What happened?! WHAT HAPPENED?! What happened is that a team of men trespassed on MY sacred domain in a shuttle named after THAT idiot and not me, you know, the Moon Goddess and they planted a FLAG, claiming the moon as their own! THAT'S what happened! This is a disgrace! Blasphemy! I demand justice!" she shrieked. There was silence. Hephaestus sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise that they'd actually try to reach the moon. I guess I could manipulate the mortals into thinking that the moon landing never happened if that makes you feel any better.' Artemis glared at him and said nothing. Suddenly Apollo screamed and his eyes glowed a bright gold. He stood up suddenly, and stood stiff as a statue for a few moments, before promptly dropping like a rock. When he looked up again his eyes were normal and he was grinning from ear to ear. "I just got a prophecy!" he exclaimed. Everyone's attention turned to him. Even Athena put down her newspaper. Apollo cleared his throat. "The bad news is that there's going to be another moon mission." Artemis gasped in horror. "But, the good news is that they're calling it the Artemis mission! And they'll be sending female astronauts... hopefully." Artemis folded her arms. "I guess that's a bit better. When is this mission?" Apollo froze. "2024...?" There was another tense silence. Artemis exploded. "THAT'S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN UNTIL THE NEXT CENTURY!" Apollo screamed again as Artemis launched a volley of arrows directly at his weak spot between his legs. Hephaestus got up and left the room. There was just no way of pleasing some people.	"..y-you mean like that pink - pink floyd album?" "Yes, because that's what we are talking about right now, a list of psychedelic rock albums to get high to while watching the wizard of oz in reverse." The engineer was baffled by his apprentice's complete misread of the situation. "Ugh, no not the pink floyd album, I'm talking about THE dark side of the moon. The one that the people trapped on this rock will never see." "Yeah, yeah that makes sense. So what about it?" "The big brains at NASA keep telling you nimrods that it's a gravity thing, AND YOU KEEP BUYING IT! But I know the truth, only ME!" "And what's the truth..?" "IT'S A BIG GIANT CAMERA WATCHING OUR EVERY MOVE!" The engineer tucked away his canister and proceeded to enter the crashed shuttle. "Hey! What in the hell are you two doing?! I told you that under no circumstance can ANYONE enter the ship!" The president was getting tired of the two overstepping their bounds. "We have no idea what has happened in there. For all we know you two could be exposing the planet to some unknown forces or a plague that could end us all!" With haste the engineer was able to force open the shuttle door and proceeded to enter, with the apprentice in tow. "Don't worry chief, the crew in here is long dead and the Ancient Greeks are more of a 'come and get me' type. Admittedly I am pretty impressed with their accuracy here. So if you see the ship coming back with more arrows and symbols, I'd get under a desk or something." He shut the door and within seconds the shuttle was back in action and taking off. In moments, the duo was closing in on the moon. "Wow, boy I must say the stars look extra sparkly right now!" "Those aren't stars." As the apprentice focused on the glistening dots in the distance, he noticed they appear to be moving quickly. *TWANG! TING! TWANG!* The sound of metal hitting the ship "Oh my god they are shooting ARROWS AT US!" "Just hold on, JUST HOLD ON!" The engineer was looking through hundreds of images of Greek scripture on the space shuttle. "BOOM! Here's what I was after!" "Wh-what does that mean?!?" "Open Sesame." He projected the image of the greek scripture using a LED lighting system on the space ship. A giant beam of light shot out from the moon and began to register the projection. A crater on the moons surface started to shift. The crater was actually a giant airlock door, ready to receive the incoming shuttle. *TWANG! THWAP! TING!* The projectiles were increasing, what was the engineer's plan here? "Jesus Rick, I-I-I don't know about this!" "JUST SHUT UP AND GET TO THE TURRET MORTY!"
	[WP] The Moon Landing goes horribly wrong as NASA unexpectedly loses contact with Apollo 11. The next day, the shuttle is found embedded in the White House, gunned down by silver arrows along with a note written in Ancient Greek saying ''Keep your trash off my property!"	Artemis had always loved the moon. It was hers, after all. Her brother, Apollo had always teased that it was only interesting because of him, he was the one illuminating it with the sun. Artemis tried to ignore him. It was her safe place. A relaxing spot where she could look down upon the earth. But the earth had overstepped its boundaries, and she wouldn’t stand for it. At first, she thought it’d be interesting to meet some humans on the moon. Her moon. The gods were always amused by humanity’s squabbling and the tension between the United States and Russia was endless free entertainment. Naturally, all the gods had taken sides to assist whichever country they preferred. It was way more fun that way. Artemis had chosen the United States. It was generally more fun to mess with. She assisted NASA engineers in their early calculations, helped the other gods screw with Russia every time they tried to launch anything, but her alliance with the State’s ended when they named their damn rocket “Apollo.” Her brother had never been happier. In fact, he wouldn’t shut up. Apollo never shut up. She argued that the stupid Americans should have named it after her! She was actually helping. Apollo hadn’t done half as much. Plus, she was the goddess of the moon! She had expected them to name it after her. She hadn’t even thought to ask any of the gods with power over human subconscious to give them the idea. She honestly expected them to be a little smarter. She’d overestimated them. And now they were going to pay for it. The day of the launch came round. Americans everywhere cheered as their rocket made its way into space, on a course for the moon. Artemis was done. So damn done. She’d kind of expected one of the gods sided with the Russians to blow it up. Maybe they liked watching her fume about it. The stupid pod was terrifyingly close to the moon now. Artemis half expected its landing gear to fail. But it didn’t. A man stepped out, being recorded. “One small step for man, one-“ She couldn’t stand it. She cut him off, firing a sleek silver arrow through his camera lense in a fluid movement. She was quite the archer. She’d never been beat. She smiled as the glass cracked. “Do you know who I am?” She demanded. The man stumbled back in shock. “This... isn’t... it’s not...” “Oh, shut up already. Get in your damn ship AND DON’T TOUCH MY PROPERTY AGAIN. Go tell you president that the goddess Artemis will kill him and every one in his nation if he EVER even considers sending more of your earth shit back up here.” He turned to run. Artemis had really had enough. This human probably wouldn’t listen to her. No one would believe him. “Never mind,” she called. “I don’t care.” She fired three arrows, each grazing his ankles. He yelped in pain. “Wake me up!” He shouted. “This must be a terrible nightmare.” Artemis rolled her eyes. “Maybe Apollo will come pick you up. I’ll give the president my message myself.” At the mention of his name, Apollo appeared beside her. “Hey Arte- Oh shit,” he remarked. At that moment it dawned on her. Apollo gave them the naming idea. To spite her. Because he could. “Apollo,” she growled. “Um” he mumbled, backing away. “How about you tell me why they’re calling their missions ‘Apollo?’” “No. No! I swear it wasn’t me!” She rolled her eyes, turning her bow on him. “You know you’re a terrible liar.” “Art. You can’t kill me! I’m the god of medicine, remember? And the sun! I light up your stupid moon!” “You or them, Apollo?” “W-What?” He stammered. “Well?” “No. Artemis! Have mercy. I did it! I did it, ok!” “You shouldn’t have.” “I know... I know. I thought it’d be funny, but now I see that it was kinda-“ “Enough.” With a single motion, she lifted the landing pod back into space, and sent it hurtling for Earth. “Artemis! You can’t just kill them! It’s not even their fa-“ “Shut. Up.” She shot him a cold glare. He dipped his head. She lifted herself into the chill of space, her bow in hand, and loosed arrows at it, sending it spinning straight towards the White House. For good measure, she hit it one more time, where the word “Apollo” was inscribed into it. She dashed behind it, and stopped its course for a moment, to carve her message into it with an arrow tip. “Keep your trash off my property,” she wrote. “-Artemis, goddess of the hunt. And the moon.” “Artemis...” Apollo’s voice was small. “I hope you learned your lesson.” She let the ship fly, its crew pleading for mercy in a ball of flames back towards the earth.	"..y-you mean like that pink - pink floyd album?" "Yes, because that's what we are talking about right now, a list of psychedelic rock albums to get high to while watching the wizard of oz in reverse." The engineer was baffled by his apprentice's complete misread of the situation. "Ugh, no not the pink floyd album, I'm talking about THE dark side of the moon. The one that the people trapped on this rock will never see." "Yeah, yeah that makes sense. So what about it?" "The big brains at NASA keep telling you nimrods that it's a gravity thing, AND YOU KEEP BUYING IT! But I know the truth, only ME!" "And what's the truth..?" "IT'S A BIG GIANT CAMERA WATCHING OUR EVERY MOVE!" The engineer tucked away his canister and proceeded to enter the crashed shuttle. "Hey! What in the hell are you two doing?! I told you that under no circumstance can ANYONE enter the ship!" The president was getting tired of the two overstepping their bounds. "We have no idea what has happened in there. For all we know you two could be exposing the planet to some unknown forces or a plague that could end us all!" With haste the engineer was able to force open the shuttle door and proceeded to enter, with the apprentice in tow. "Don't worry chief, the crew in here is long dead and the Ancient Greeks are more of a 'come and get me' type. Admittedly I am pretty impressed with their accuracy here. So if you see the ship coming back with more arrows and symbols, I'd get under a desk or something." He shut the door and within seconds the shuttle was back in action and taking off. In moments, the duo was closing in on the moon. "Wow, boy I must say the stars look extra sparkly right now!" "Those aren't stars." As the apprentice focused on the glistening dots in the distance, he noticed they appear to be moving quickly. *TWANG! TING! TWANG!* The sound of metal hitting the ship "Oh my god they are shooting ARROWS AT US!" "Just hold on, JUST HOLD ON!" The engineer was looking through hundreds of images of Greek scripture on the space shuttle. "BOOM! Here's what I was after!" "Wh-what does that mean?!?" "Open Sesame." He projected the image of the greek scripture using a LED lighting system on the space ship. A giant beam of light shot out from the moon and began to register the projection. A crater on the moons surface started to shift. The crater was actually a giant airlock door, ready to receive the incoming shuttle. *TWANG! THWAP! TING!* The projectiles were increasing, what was the engineer's plan here? "Jesus Rick, I-I-I don't know about this!" "JUST SHUT UP AND GET TO THE TURRET MORTY!"
	[WP] The Moon Landing goes horribly wrong as NASA unexpectedly loses contact with Apollo 11. The next day, the shuttle is found embedded in the White House, gunned down by silver arrows along with a note written in Ancient Greek saying ''Keep your trash off my property!"	"Well, Mr. President, it appears we've rather accidentally awakened the wrath of the gods," the liason said with a shrug. "What do you mean the gods? There's one god, and he doesn't fire silver arrows and dump multi-million dollar space shuttles on my damn lawn!" The president raged, pacing across the Oval Office, the tarp-draped lunar module clearly visible through the windows behind him. "This is a nightmare! It could take down my presidency, if not the entire damn government! What are we going to tell the nation?" "That gods are real and they need to change their entire worldview?" a younger aide suggested naively. A senior advisor smacked his head. "Are you a damn idiot?" the President thundered. "The public are dumber and more prone to panic than minnows! You think Lincoln told the public about the vampire plague? No, we have to spin this. What have we got?" "We could say we lost contact and they're presumed dead," the liason recommended. "It's technically true, and the speech was already prepared, just in case. I actually have it here." "No good. Damn commies will rub Gagarin in our face for the next century," the President glowered. "Perhaps we can say they made it but were unable to return? I have another speech -" "I don't need your half measures! Someone give me something good!" The office was silent. Frowning faces ringed the room. Cigars lit up. Finally, a hesitant voice spoke out. "I know a director, Stanley Kubrick. Might have a set we can use."	The President watched from behind the glass. The Secret Service had argued against it, but he needed to see for himself. The message had been directed at him, after all, left on his doorstep, and he needed to have the answers first hand. Behind the glass, the scientists worked on the arrows, analyzing them. The technology was still developing, but it had been more advanced than anything any other lab had or would for a few decades at least. As he watched them work, a man joined his side, sunglasses on even indoors – not to shield his eyes, but to hide them. “So… it’s confirmed then?” Not looking at the man, the President sweat as he nodded – not from heat in the cold room, but from nervousness. “Yes… I hadn’t thought it possible. But yes. They’re confirming the composition, but I think you were right about them. They’ll be silver, but an isotope we haven’t seen… except in this lab, with the sample you brought us…” The man grinned wryly. “I knew it. She tried to hide… but I have her trail now. For a huntress in the dark, she was always a bit too clumsy.” “So… does this mean the others…?” The president’s voice, deep and rumbly already, crackled as he spoke, finally looking at the man in the sunglasses. “All of them? All the worlds, the moons… they’re…?” The man in the sunglasses nodded again, his blonde curls standing a bit as if raised by static electricity. “Oh yes… each and every one. I should have guessed it. They fled before. But now, we know. \I\ know. I should have known, always… but I couldn’t prove it. Now, I have. And she broke what was mine. Her sphere, certainly… but she knew the rules. She should have said something…” The space behind the glasses glowed as he spoke, and the President stepped back, still not used to seeing that as he grew angry. “So… is your intent to get vengeance upon her for something?” the president asked, and the man shook his head. “You would think that, wouldn’t you? No wonder my Oracle pointed me to you here.” He smiled as another arrow was analyzed. “You’re close… but off. She isn’t my target. She was just the easiest to confirm, being so close. But she will be the pretext. She broke something that I claimed, even if it passed into her domain. She could see the name on it. She should have known. But… there will be peace with her, eventually.” The president swallowed, then in some form of mock bravery, asked, “Who, then? Which of them…. Which do you hate so much?” The man snarled. His golden curls waved unnaturally even though there was no wind, no breeze. But then, they were only hairs in name. In reality, they arced up and down, like a serpent rising from a sea, flares rising and falling back, showing his anger. “Against the one that is responsible for it all. Against that bastard who made so many other bastards. The one who left us to our devices… after chaining those he was jealous of to this rock, even after he and the others took off.” The president’s eyes widened. He was a Christian, despite what this man claimed to be true about gods, believing that his God was above them… but he knew the stories well enough all the same. “You… you mean, Zeus?” The young man smiled again. “Of course… even if he hides under a different name, the man is still what he always was. A bully, a tyrant, a monster.” He turned again to the President. “Thank you for your assistance. I cannot help your fallen, but I will mourn them. They died as heroes, at least. I’ll help cover this up before I leave… I have an acolyte who can make it look like everything was successful. In fact, he’s probably already done; being a god of prophecy, I had a feeling his services would be needed. Thankfully your men caught this before it was picked up by everyone else.” He looked at the arrows again, and turned away. “I hope the other gifts I left in Nevada entertain you for a while yet. I will drop in on occasion, but can’t promise I’ll have as much time as I have of late. Oh, and watch out for W&B…” He let that hang as he disappeared down the doorway. The president went after, perplexed. “Wait, watch out for who?” he asked as he opened the door… but there was no one there. Of course there wouldn’t be. Gods and their tricks. He closed it and went back to watch the arrows. A war between gods… thankfully, it wouldn’t be on his world. No, not this one. It’d happen elsewhere this time – not like the wars that made the world, or so it was said by the young man. He watched, thankful that at least it had been kept quiet, and the situation wasn’t unsalvageable. He did wonder about the acolyte that was mentioned – given who he had just spoken to, that meant it was an artist or creator of some sort. Hadn’t they included some item to fund a filmmaker somewhere in the budget? That weird one, the perfectionist with the beard… Well, that would be later. He’d let the ones on the project work it out. For now, he waited to hear it from the scientists, that the silver was impossible in some strange way. Then he’d have it all shipped off to Nevada to join the rest of the stuff they’d found, with his “friend’s” help. A war between gods… Vietnam was already enough. He didn’t need that on top of it. Too bad Apollo wouldn’t be around much longer… the President had forgotten exactly when he was supposed to burn the tapes. He thought it was in 1974, but he wasn’t sure on the exact day… He shook his head. He’d worry about it then. It was probably in September. Right before the midterms, that’s when things would shake up. He noted “August 10, ‘74” on a scrap of paper to do it just a bit early. That should be plenty of time…
	[WP] The Moon Landing goes horribly wrong as NASA unexpectedly loses contact with Apollo 11. The next day, the shuttle is found embedded in the White House, gunned down by silver arrows along with a note written in Ancient Greek saying ''Keep your trash off my property!"	"Well, Mr. President, it appears we've rather accidentally awakened the wrath of the gods," the liason said with a shrug. "What do you mean the gods? There's one god, and he doesn't fire silver arrows and dump multi-million dollar space shuttles on my damn lawn!" The president raged, pacing across the Oval Office, the tarp-draped lunar module clearly visible through the windows behind him. "This is a nightmare! It could take down my presidency, if not the entire damn government! What are we going to tell the nation?" "That gods are real and they need to change their entire worldview?" a younger aide suggested naively. A senior advisor smacked his head. "Are you a damn idiot?" the President thundered. "The public are dumber and more prone to panic than minnows! You think Lincoln told the public about the vampire plague? No, we have to spin this. What have we got?" "We could say we lost contact and they're presumed dead," the liason recommended. "It's technically true, and the speech was already prepared, just in case. I actually have it here." "No good. Damn commies will rub Gagarin in our face for the next century," the President glowered. "Perhaps we can say they made it but were unable to return? I have another speech -" "I don't need your half measures! Someone give me something good!" The office was silent. Frowning faces ringed the room. Cigars lit up. Finally, a hesitant voice spoke out. "I know a director, Stanley Kubrick. Might have a set we can use."	''What are we going to tell the press, sir?'' ''What do you think?'' He shuts the door on my face. I go back to my office to write a draft. I use collected evidence from the space shuttle to cover the story. Someone knocks on my door. ''Come in.'' I say. ''What happened with the boss man? Why is he mad all of a sudden?'' Ricky asks. ''You don’t wanna know, trust me.'' ''C’mon buddy, I’m bloody bored. We have the same clearance, tell me.'' ''Alright, take a look at this.'' I hand the report. ''Is this a joke?'' He asks. ''I kid you not.'' ''How the fuck... How is this possible?'' ''All I know is we have to cover it up and blame it on soviets for mission failure.'' Ricky seems worried, ''I don’t know how to feel about this. You are working on the draft, right? he asks. ''I’m trying to. We will have to use different space shuttle because if we try to get rid of greek words the new ones appear out of nowhere, it’s some sort of plague.'' ''I knew it!'' Ricky yells. ''What?'' I ask. ''We never should’ve done this mission in the first place. Why bother going to space when you barely have control over this rock.'' ---------------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
	[WP] The Moon Landing goes horribly wrong as NASA unexpectedly loses contact with Apollo 11. The next day, the shuttle is found embedded in the White House, gunned down by silver arrows along with a note written in Ancient Greek saying ''Keep your trash off my property!"	Artemis sighed a breath of relief, as she finally made it back from Earth; her visit to Earth had been chaotic as usual. The moon had always been her domain, and as the humans found more ways to defile the Earth: "Did Ares say they've figured out how to harness the sun? And they're using that power to kill?" She'd come to appreciate the moon as her one and only sanctuary--completely untouched, and perfectly pure. Even back when her twin brother tricked her into killing her crush, she was able to take solace in knowing that Orion would be with her in the night skies. After her visits to Earth, Artemis made it a routine to gaze at the stars, preferring to unwind in complete solitude. This time, though, Apollo had insisted that she let him accompany her. She was surprised at his request; especially since her twin brother always liked to tease her by calling the Moon "dark and dull." But Apollo told her that he too, was finding recent human affairs particularly taxing, what with the humans toying with the prospect of their complete annihilation. "You know, sis, I kind of see now why you've always liked the Moon so much" he'd said, so Artemis saw no reason to refuse her brother's request. As she started to settle down, Apollo drifted away beyond the lunar horizon--maybe he wanted some solitude as well. A while later, Artemis noticed a silver speck catch a glint of light. She didn't think much of it, until she noticed the speck growing closer and closer. She watched in a mix of curiosity and annoyance as what was now clearly a man-made object approached, and eventually landed on her moon. "Well, well, well. Look who's managed to come this far; although I guess it took them long enough," she thought to herself, although in truth she was more impressed than irritated. She took a closer look at the device. It had a silver dome and had golden legs, resembling some sort of bizzare, misshapen metallic insect. She recognized the flag on the side as being American. "How garish," Artemis thought, "but hardly surprising, coming from those hippie bohemians." The device's door soon wooshed open, and a human, wrapped head-to-toe in a bizarre, bulky white suit started hobbling down the steps. On the man's left chest, Artemis managed to make out an emblem depicting a bald eagle landing on the moon. The letters A P O L L O were emblazoned across the top. "These humans, they finally manage to escape the Earth and they commemorate *him?" It was sacrilege enough that the humans hadn't named their mission after her; she was the Goddess of the fucking Moon, after all. But there were plenty of other gods for them to choose as well: Hermes, the protector of human travelers; Uranus, the god of the sky; Zeus, her father, king of the gods, and also god of the sky. Come to think of it, the humans had named planets after all of them as well. But they hadn't even bothered to rename the Moon in her honor. And to add insult to injury, when the humans finally* managed to make the trip here, they did so in her brother's honor! Artemis was trembling with indignity and rage; but they were the first humans to pull off a landing on Moon. It would be immature of her to sabotage them, she told herself. So although it took all of her strength to swallow her indignation and fury, she decided to allow the humans to set foot upon her property. But as the humans started driving around in a ridiculous looking vehicle, she spotted her twin brother emerge from the lunar horizon. He was in complete hysterics, as he watched her twin sister writhe in suppressed rage... ... A red mist descended over Artemis, and the Lunar Module inexplicably vanished in front of Armstrong's own eyes. ··· ... I have no experience writing creatively, and any knowledge I have of Greek/Roman Mythology comes from Percy Jackson and my high school Latin classes. Hopefully this isn't too bad; writing this was more fun than I expected.	''What are we going to tell the press, sir?'' ''What do you think?'' He shuts the door on my face. I go back to my office to write a draft. I use collected evidence from the space shuttle to cover the story. Someone knocks on my door. ''Come in.'' I say. ''What happened with the boss man? Why is he mad all of a sudden?'' Ricky asks. ''You don’t wanna know, trust me.'' ''C’mon buddy, I’m bloody bored. We have the same clearance, tell me.'' ''Alright, take a look at this.'' I hand the report. ''Is this a joke?'' He asks. ''I kid you not.'' ''How the fuck... How is this possible?'' ''All I know is we have to cover it up and blame it on soviets for mission failure.'' Ricky seems worried, ''I don’t know how to feel about this. You are working on the draft, right? he asks. ''I’m trying to. We will have to use different space shuttle because if we try to get rid of greek words the new ones appear out of nowhere, it’s some sort of plague.'' ''I knew it!'' Ricky yells. ''What?'' I ask. ''We never should’ve done this mission in the first place. Why bother going to space when you barely have control over this rock.'' ---------------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
	[WP] You enter your veterinarian’s office for a routine checkup with your goodest boy, and notice the candle signaling someone is saying goodbye to their pet. After waiting a short while, the door opens and the nurses are carrying out a human body bag.	He watched the body bag carted out with morbid curiosity; that body bag seemed far too small for a anything approaching old age and there had been a wave of human rights sentiment over the last few years. He hadn’t really understood what all the fuss was about, but if someone was getting their tail bit off over causing the death of a human he was still more than happy to observe the unfolding spectacle. Just as predicted, the scolding voice of the vet came echoing out of the door, chasing the chastised, though still fairly mulish, looking ex-owner. “-Completely disregarding their basic social needs! Humans are delicate creatures, you can’t just treat it like a pet spider and expect it to thrive. You’d better be grateful that you didn’t cause the poor thing’s death yourself, because that was bloody well where she was going judging by the severe lack of fat on her! And the skin discolouration! You have eyes and a nose don’t you? Well?! Humans aren’t supposed to be purple, you fool, that means they’re being handled without enough care!” He watched the ex-owner grumble and gripe under his breath when the vet wasn’t looking and gave his boy a reassuring head ruffle. Once the neglectful ex-owner had left, the vet gave an aggravated hiss and turned to them. “Sorry about that. I’ll be just a moment. I need to fill out a quick report on the nature of death every time a human passes away.” He waved the apology away with a flick of his tail, “Don’t worry about it. Is that something new they’re making you do then?” He inquired, a hint of how stupid he thought that was peeking through, “This pro-human rights stuff has gone a bit mad, hasn’t it? Making you justify every time one of them dies.” The vet shook his head in disagreement, “It’s a good thing, actually. Humans are still a fairly new and exotic pet, despite the first bunch actually being domesticated for homes thirty years ago. There’s still a lot of misinformation out there, and a lot of pet owners get one without realising what a huge responsibility they’re taking on. It means there an unfortunately high rate of deaths that we see which could have been completely avoided.” He patted his patient boy’s side and commented blithely, “Well, it’s better than all of them dying, right? Back when they were being over-hunted. Not that I really understand who first thought it would be a good idea to keep one as a pet.” The vet’s tail swished with slight agitation and his claw tapped audibly against the ground. Too late, they both realised they speaking to the wrong person for sympathy. “They’re actually a very intelligent species. Recent studies have shown that many of the things we’ve believed were just behavioural mimicry are things they could well have learned to do by themselves. They show the capacity for language development, too, with different dialects amongst different groups.” “They’re kind of useless, though. They don’t have claws or sharp teeth. They’re no good for hunting,” he pointedly scratched his good boy’s ear, “because they’re too slow. They don’t have armour, or even tough skin. They freeze to death when it’s cold and overheat when it’s hot. I know they’re supposed to be clever and all, but give me a spider or a wolf any day.” The vet gave a sharp jerk of his body as he placed the form down, “I suppose we’ll just have to agree to disagree, then. Although, I have a human at home and he is by far the smartest animal I’ve ever come across. He is not only loyal, and a quick learner, but he’s innovative. Anyway, come into the back room and I’ll take a look at your wolf.” He lazily stood, irritated at having to deal with a human enthusiast, “You’re probably one of those raptors who actually believe the theory that if we hadn’t been around, humans would have evolved to become the dominant species. Aren’t you,” He scoffed, “It’s wolfshit, you know. There’s no real evidence backing it up, and there’s no way a useless species so sensitive that a load of them intentionally get themselves killed before they even reach maturity, would ever manage to actually remove themselves from the food chain. They’re far better food than pets.” The vet bristled and opened his mouth, but was interrupted before he could say anything, “Tell me, what did that human just now die of, huh?” The vet’s tail swished violently, and his claw taptaptapped on the floor as he ground out, “Suicide.” He a hand on his good boy’s head and gave a superior look, “Well then, sorry if I’ve ruffled your feathers. I’m just here to get his gums checked. Shouldn’t take long.”	You recant this to the news as they interview everyone there because of how sensational the story is. “Young teen eaten by fathers snake”. Fills all the headlines. A tearful woman sobs into the camera, “I woke up in the night. Like my mother’s intuition called to me. I knew something was wrong”. She shakes on the word wrong. Her words carry the ominous nature of her story, “when I got to his room I lost it. The damn thing had him down it’s throat. I saw his ankle and I tried to pull but”. At this she couldn’t continue due to her falling into hysterics but the story cut the reporter outside the vets clinic. “But it was to late” he droned in a low bassist tone. “It came to a point of needing to put down the snake just to retrieve the boy who was dead long before. A tragic end to a tragic tale. Back to you Tony.”
	[WP] You stand outside the building preparing to face your newest challenge. You touch the hilt of your sword and make sure it can be drawn easily. Today is the day you defend your thesis and you are prepared for every eventuality	There are those that do, and those that do not. &nbsp; A shiver ran down my spine as those words echoed around my conciousness. They could throw whatever they wanted at me, I was prepared for every eventuality. &nbsp; Striding meaningfully down the corridors that had been the backdrop to my life for the past eight years, I glanced in briefly at my old professor's room. It was being used for carpentry now, a fitting use for a man so wooden in his beliefs. I noticed myself sweating, but not because of nerves or anxiety. The dressing gown I had on was three sizes too big, and reserved usually for the bitter winters of Massechusetts. It had served for today's purpose very well indeed, apart from a few odd looks, no-one suspected I had a rapier concealed within my pajamas luscious folds. &nbsp; 'Who are you here to see?' a man's voice jolted me back to the now. 'Professor Cunningham & the Board, they're expecting me' I answered with as much dignity one can muster in a Monsters Inc dressing gown. 'Be seated' he replied automatically. 'We'll call your name when it's time'. He was already looking back down at his paperwork, surely nothing there was as interesting as what I had going on, but I guess he'd seen it all. Anything to convince the Board of Professors that your thesis was sound, I probably wasn't the weirdest person he would have seen this week. I sat down in the empty hallway, staring at the double doors that would give me entry into my new life. &nbsp; 'Sasaki Kojiro' the mans voice bore monotonously into my thoughts. 'You're up'. &nbsp; I gathered my dressing gown and entered the hall. My eyes took a second to adjust to the muted light of the room. Bold architecture rose from the marble flagstones to the wooden crossbeams supporting a high, arched roof. This was a room deliberately built to elicit the feeling of ineptitude. The Board sat in a half-circle of high backed chairs facing the door. Some resting on the marvellously wrought oak table set in front of them. I cleared my throat. 'Sasaki Kojiro, your eminences. I am here today to present my thesis "Humans are selfish". I saw a couple heads turn and whisper to their neighbour, but plowed on. 'In today's climate, there are many who see themselves as givers. People who, when in the spotlight, turn on a bright smile and are happy to be seen helping humanity. Some statistics show we are improving as a race. We build better shelters, better hospitals, ensure better healthcare. This is all wonderful news to you and me. But I, I posit to you that this, fundamentally on all levels, is incorrect'. &nbsp; I paused for dramatic effect. I had their attention. &nbsp; 'To those of you in this room who would consider yourselves selfless. I applaud you. But when I am through here you will join me in my way of thinking. Do not think I mean to undermine yours, or humanities efforts, to better ourselves. I implore you to dig deeper, to be better than you think we can be, for the betterment of humanity.' &nbsp; I spoke for little under an hour, spouting statistics. I showed them cold hard evidence that what I was saying was true. I pulled heartstrings and flared tempers. But to no avail. The line of questioning was intense, but after an hour I felt very few had been swayed to change their opinion. It was time for the leap of faith. Mid-sentence, whilst answering an elderly gentlemen's question regarding humanitarian efforts in the smaller African nations, I took off my dressing gown, unsheathing my rapier as I walked calmly towards the desk. I swung my sword, as if in front of me was my greatest enemy. No-one stopped me, and the woman who's chair I stood in front of was frozen with fear. The blades edge came within an inch of her long, white hair. &nbsp; I let my arm fall and announced to the stunned silence "Humans are Selfish". &nbsp; With my head held high I gathered my robe and walked from the hall. &nbsp; I was arrested three hours later.	I stood before the panel, fingers dancing upon the hilt of my blade. I spoke. "The Thousand Blades of Denial is the penultimate swordsman technique ever created, even moreso than the famous Duke Alexander's 'Death of A Thousand Deaths'. I have a fair number of documents that would prove such..." I heard the subtle hiss of metal sliding from scabbards while I spoke. Word had reached my ear that the panel had made consideration of fully testing my thesis, in more than wordy discussion. I sighed. "Very well, if that is the only way you will be satisfied." I drew my blade. He was very old, as was I. But we had seen the other through many a battle, and this would prove to be no less of a victory for us. I fought my way through at least three battalions. I stopped counting after one thousand. Blood had long since stopped spattering the floors of the halls and it now pooled ankle deep. And still they came. It was almost comical, the endless push to prove themselves. And yet the continued to fall. I never even felt the multitude of cats that landed, which was the entire purpose of the technique. My personal battle lasted into the night. The panel sat the entire time, they had do. To move from their seat for any reason was an admission of error on their parts. But they were running out of troops. And they knew it. At midnight they called it. So many men fell by my blade. So many other swords had shattered against mine. Several made it through, I felt at least three that penetrated my core. I tasted the blood on my lips. I wiped it aside and approached the panel. "The Thousand Blades of Denial... has passed. You cannot deny it. You cannot..." I slumped against a stack of bodies, once good men of the Empire. Now dead. In an effort to prove their point. Their disagreement. If only I had the life left to challenge them directly. If only I had the time to simply slaughter them for their hubris. They had thrown so many of our young away in a futile attempt to prove me wrong. I traced a pattern in the congealing blood that covered the floor. And my feet. I locked eyes with the head of the panel. I did not blink. After a few moments, during which I felt my breath catching shorter and shorter, he finally nodded. I had won the debate. My point was proven. I turned to walk way, one final act of defiance, but I must admit it was ruse. I had never been a man of such tricks, but in death I figured why not? I turned, I twisted my wrist, and I saw my sword spiral true. It cleaved through the heart of the Head Judge, his eyes dimming while the other two gasped in shock. I managed a smirk befor sinking to my knees, death finally claiming me as Her own.
	[WP] Magic is real. You discovered it. But all you wanted was an instant pizza.	The first time my intent had broken the barrier between mind and matter, all I had smelt was the vague but sweet aroma of freshly cooked dough. The second time, the taste of tomato puree on my lips. The third, disgusted at the dearth of cheese upon my delivered-disc of happiness, mozzarella had rained forth from the heavens in hot golden lumps of diary goodness. I was on to something, surely. But as the cheese-burns on my face attested, caution was needed. From that day on, I never ordered a pizza again. Nor did I allow my self the pleasure of home-made. I went without, and into a life of pain and misery, charging into the void of nothingness, my only light the burning desire to create that which had never been created before. The perfect pizza, born from nothing but the sheer force of a man's will. I had finally succeeded, and tonight was the night I would share my gift to the world. In the dark of night I approached the homeless men, crowded round a fire beneath a barely standing bridge that arched over a small river. They were old, hopeless, and defeated souls who had lost the spark of life long ago. Their faces were thin, their hollow eyes not able to hide the gauntness of their faces buried beneath mottled beards. "My children!" I called out to them, holding up my hands that spilt forth from my deep red robes. The men glanced at me for a moment, before deciding I was not worth their attention and turning back. Not quite how I had imagined it. Undettered, I approached the fire, treating my hands to its warmth. "Hey man, you want to share our fire, you gotta give us something. Food, money, we don't mind which," the poor man to my right mumbled through blackened and rotting teeth. He reached out his hand, palm raised. "Ask, and ye shall receive!" I boomed out in my most commanding voice. My mind whirled through the patterns and designs I had devised for my intent to flow upon. Hmm, not Tropical. Some people hate pineapple. These guys need protein, and lots of it. Double pepperoni? Nah, I know what. "Behold, the meat feast!" The men screamed. Flesh sizzled. In my excitement, the plans in my mind had ballooned. A monstrous pizza that spread between the men had materialised, as hot as an oven, mozzarella flowing from it's edges in a never ending fountain of yellow heat, huge chunks of meat falling down the waterfall-esque feature and onto the men's faces. Oh, nasty. That's not right. Eww. I stepped back from the horror, trying to stop the abomination, but could not. It only grew, until the men were completely encased within, their screams muffled as the cheese began flowing into the river. I panicked and fled, stumbling over my robes and falling hard onto my face. As my hand slapped the hard pavement, it suddenly grew soft and warm. Jumping to my feet, I ran, half-bouncing as the doughy ground only spread beneath me in a wave of golden brown, steam rupturing through the crust and spewing forth deadly but sweet smelling bready-goodness. Suddenly, a man appeared before me, his white beard only out-sized by his huge black staff. "You fool, what have you done?!" he gasped, himself having to step back as the wave approached him and spread out in all directions. "The sheer power, I have never seen anything like this," he added, his mouth agape. The ground beneath my feet opened, and my legs fell in. Desperately I gripped the edge of the crust as I felt my feet burning. The man hovered over to where I was, his face a mixture of emotions. He raised his staff and pointed it in my face. "I should end you right now..." he whispered. The staff trembled. In a move so quick I didn't even see it happen, he had me on his back and we were flying high into the sky, the wind cool on my face. "God you are heavy, I thought those robes would be baggy, heavens almighty," he grunted. Before I could even begin to understand what was happening, the man turned to me, sighing. "Sleep." r/fatdragon - come and read my serial, Excalibur, now up to 29 parts! :) Nothing like this story though haha	I had finally done it. After dropping out of college, taking far too much money from my parents, and staying in my apartment for days in a row, at long last I did it. I stared at the pizza that had been just a pile of ingredients moments before. I glanced at my wand, if you could call it that. The stick that I had found in the woods was nothing compared to the fictional wands you see in movies today, but that didn’t matter to me. It had been nothing more than a joke at first. I waved the wand around at my pile of dough, sauce, and cheese, craving a pizza but not wanting to put in the effort to make one. Seeing the dough levitate before falling back onto the table made me realize that it was no joke. I obsessed over it, I’ll admit that much. I tried every possible combination of moving my wand in a certain way and saying different words, eventually getting the perfect combination. I spun the wand in a circle three times then said “one pizza please” and the ingredients lifted themselves off of the table, organizing themselves into the perfect pizza. They then cooked themselves and I knew I was going to be rich. I opened my own pizza shop, which quickly became known for its insanely fast service. My ability quickly grew boring and I got an idea so childish that it just might work. I bought a magician hat then waved my wand in a circle three times. I saw an ear pop out of it as I said the phrase. “One rabbit please.” r/notathrowaway128
	[WP] Magic is real. You discovered it. But all you wanted was an instant pizza.	The first time my intent had broken the barrier between mind and matter, all I had smelt was the vague but sweet aroma of freshly cooked dough. The second time, the taste of tomato puree on my lips. The third, disgusted at the dearth of cheese upon my delivered-disc of happiness, mozzarella had rained forth from the heavens in hot golden lumps of diary goodness. I was on to something, surely. But as the cheese-burns on my face attested, caution was needed. From that day on, I never ordered a pizza again. Nor did I allow my self the pleasure of home-made. I went without, and into a life of pain and misery, charging into the void of nothingness, my only light the burning desire to create that which had never been created before. The perfect pizza, born from nothing but the sheer force of a man's will. I had finally succeeded, and tonight was the night I would share my gift to the world. In the dark of night I approached the homeless men, crowded round a fire beneath a barely standing bridge that arched over a small river. They were old, hopeless, and defeated souls who had lost the spark of life long ago. Their faces were thin, their hollow eyes not able to hide the gauntness of their faces buried beneath mottled beards. "My children!" I called out to them, holding up my hands that spilt forth from my deep red robes. The men glanced at me for a moment, before deciding I was not worth their attention and turning back. Not quite how I had imagined it. Undettered, I approached the fire, treating my hands to its warmth. "Hey man, you want to share our fire, you gotta give us something. Food, money, we don't mind which," the poor man to my right mumbled through blackened and rotting teeth. He reached out his hand, palm raised. "Ask, and ye shall receive!" I boomed out in my most commanding voice. My mind whirled through the patterns and designs I had devised for my intent to flow upon. Hmm, not Tropical. Some people hate pineapple. These guys need protein, and lots of it. Double pepperoni? Nah, I know what. "Behold, the meat feast!" The men screamed. Flesh sizzled. In my excitement, the plans in my mind had ballooned. A monstrous pizza that spread between the men had materialised, as hot as an oven, mozzarella flowing from it's edges in a never ending fountain of yellow heat, huge chunks of meat falling down the waterfall-esque feature and onto the men's faces. Oh, nasty. That's not right. Eww. I stepped back from the horror, trying to stop the abomination, but could not. It only grew, until the men were completely encased within, their screams muffled as the cheese began flowing into the river. I panicked and fled, stumbling over my robes and falling hard onto my face. As my hand slapped the hard pavement, it suddenly grew soft and warm. Jumping to my feet, I ran, half-bouncing as the doughy ground only spread beneath me in a wave of golden brown, steam rupturing through the crust and spewing forth deadly but sweet smelling bready-goodness. Suddenly, a man appeared before me, his white beard only out-sized by his huge black staff. "You fool, what have you done?!" he gasped, himself having to step back as the wave approached him and spread out in all directions. "The sheer power, I have never seen anything like this," he added, his mouth agape. The ground beneath my feet opened, and my legs fell in. Desperately I gripped the edge of the crust as I felt my feet burning. The man hovered over to where I was, his face a mixture of emotions. He raised his staff and pointed it in my face. "I should end you right now..." he whispered. The staff trembled. In a move so quick I didn't even see it happen, he had me on his back and we were flying high into the sky, the wind cool on my face. "God you are heavy, I thought those robes would be baggy, heavens almighty," he grunted. Before I could even begin to understand what was happening, the man turned to me, sighing. "Sleep." r/fatdragon - come and read my serial, Excalibur, now up to 29 parts! :) Nothing like this story though haha	It all started on that fateful couch. Ethan was bored as he watched tv, having recently gotten home from his job. His creative nature led to many a thought when he was bored. This time, being mildly hungry but not motivated enough to stand, he pondered magic, and the possible things people might be doing wrong to perform it. Looking around his arms reach, he spotted a glass of water. Perhaps, performing magic merely required having a full mouth? He laughed at the thought as he took a drink of his water but didn't swallow. Instead, he closed his eyes and imagined a pizza on the coffee table infront of him. Expecting nothing, he opened his eyes and proceeded to spray water all over a freshly baked, pepperoni pizza sitting right where he imagined it. He laughed. Had he really gotten that lucky? An idea he had on a whim wound up solving the biggest theme in all of fiction. Taking a bite of his pizza, he imagined a bigger, better tv. Opening his eyes again, he was met with a 50 inch 4k screen. For the next hour or so, he summoned everything he could think of. A perfect car, every console that came to mind, a pile of beers, some exercise equipment he knew he would never use. By the time he was done, his apartment was full of amazing things. There was one last thing he had wanted, however. He imagined a gorgeous wife standing next to him. Opening his eyes, his gaze was met with a terrifying creature, with gangly, twisted limbs and rows of sharp teeth. Ethan was declared missing a week later. He had discovered magic, sure. But what he hadn't anticipated, was whether it would listen to him.
	[WP] "The first 80 years goes by slow, but once everyone you love dies, the next 200 years kind of flies by."	"It is kind of freeing, you know? To have everyone who could possibly remember you die off eventually." He took a long drag of his cigarette and peered over the rooftops basked in strawberry light from the sun. He spoke like an elderly man yet looked as if he was in his mid-30's. The journalist had tracked him down through months of research in dusty libraries and Xeroxed public records. She didn't want to expose him or reveal his secret to the world. She just wanted to talk. "And these? You learn to enjoy them once they can't do anything to you. My lungs are still fresh as a daisy after smoking a pack a day for 100 years. Leaves a bad taste in your mouth though." The journalist wrote down hasty words in her pad, she then asked, "Tell me more about the people you've known. You must have quite a few stories to tell." He looked back at her, his face doleful and he opened his mouth and hesitated to speak. All at once those 300 plus years spent alive all congregated onto his forehead. He turned back to face the darkening sky, the rooftops now covered in velvet. "The first ones you've known always stay with you. They are the ones you grew up with, the family that seemed to be around longer than they were. I've known people for 90 years now that will never have the impact those first lucky few did." She wrote even more down. It was depressing, she thought. To know that you will outlive the people you become closest to. That no matter how hard you love them that you will have to eventually watch them die and try to live life without them. "The worst part? Nothing is special anymore. People start to come in types, and no matter what they do or say, it all seems like a rehash. Like you're watching a movie you've seen a dozen times. They stop mattering in the grand scheme." The journalist paused and looked at the man, he was breathing heavier now. His inhalations audible and heavy with sorrow. She figured that he was now coming to terms with what it was like to be immortal. The reality that he tried to push to the back of his mind for years. It must be easier, she thought, to live life without thinking about it, and not grapple with the existential dread of living forever. Night was fully coming now, and the only light was from the burning embers of a cigarette. "Then so how do you deal with that? Do you just stop caring?" "No, you care, even if it makes no sense. Even if you know it will hurt you just as bad. Because caring is what still makes me human, even if will cause me to hurt in the end...I've tried, you know. To kill myself. But before I can do the deed, my self-preservation instinct kicks in. I think about everything worth living, no matter how small, and it stops me. It shouldn't. I know none of it matters in the end, but I still hang on to foolish belief." She stopped writing now. She only stared as the last threads of sunlight clung to the night sky. She turned around, opened the door, and exited the immortal man's home. When she had first heard the whispers of immortality she was curious to see the truth. Now, after spending time with a man who had lived for three centuries, she felt sickened. Through verbal contact she had inherited his unease, like a virus infecting its host. She was excited at first to meet someone so wise, so fantastical. Now she truly wished she hadn't.	Time is a fiendish thing, you know; one foot before another – you march along with the masses – those first eighty years go by slow. You will form relationships and find love; tight integration in their lives – forming friendships – these things you feel undeserving of. The time will come when all you love die; and that’s alright, it’s ok – return to the void is nature’s way – but the next two hundred years will fly by. You ask how I know these things; I am one who is like you – fear not the losses from time – instead relish what the future brings.
	[WP] "The first 80 years goes by slow, but once everyone you love dies, the next 200 years kind of flies by."	The common sentiment when wishing on stars and pennies and eyelashes is to word it wisely. Even the simplest desire can be twisted by the whims of fate. Said whims always found this rather insulting, since they always tried to follow the spirit of the wish. However, most people didn't even know that their first wish always came true. They don't even remember making it. They were probably 3 or 4, wishing for a fun birthday or for the best day ever. So the wish comes and goes without twisting anything, for the 'cruel' fates that rule the world rarely attacked and always tried their best. Erik was one of those kids who told the other children they were stupid for avoiding sidewalk cracks and broken mirrors. As a toddler, he managed to scoff at his mother every time she said to make a wish on a star. He'd even refuse to blow out his candles, much to her disappointment. He'd never been nice enough to her. He should have visited her that last time.It was easy to assume that the wishes never came true and so it was easy to dismiss them as superstition and therefore stupid. It was the cancer diagnosis at the tender age of 18 that made him start to believe in prayer, at his girlfriend's wishes. She was always by his side through that long, agonizing year.They didn't last but it still stung when he heard about the accident. The idle fates seemed to care little for his prayers at alters, before crosses and pentagrams and statues. They watched on in casual apathy as the young man wasted further and further away. His family threw him a 19th birthday three weeks early, the day before he was supposed to be taken to the hospital, allegedly never to return. He wasn't planning on eating any cake, his stomach was far too sensitive by now, but they made one anyway. Besides, his little brother Kyle, an oopsie baby that came 12 years after him, would appreciate it. Kyle's only daughter wasn't on speaking terms with Erik. She didn't understand that he was powerless to save her father. She didn't understand that Erik would be mourning Kyle much longer. A family friend gave him a wrapped blanket as a gift. Julie was her name, a name that would long rest on his lips. They didn't officially tie the knot til their twins were out of the house. Eleanor responded to the wedding invite with a 'finally' and Isabella responded with a 'took you long enough'. A wedding between two sixty-year-olds on the shores of the lake should have been a lovely affair. If Erik had known about the storm, he never would have taken his family on that last voyage into the crystal blue water... 'I wish,' he thought to himself, the teary chants of happy birthday swarming his ears. He looked across the table at his mother, whose own eyes were closed. She was making a wish of her own. His father, who had survived cancer himself, just stared down. He wasn't singing. He'd survived cancer and his baby boy would not. Dad was the first to go. His came back months after Erik's went away. This was the first time Erik wondered if it had been his fault. In front of him, 19 candles glistened eerily, three rows of five. One row of four. 'I wish I wasn't going to die.' With a long breath, he blew out the candles and sealed his fate. ___ [Read more stories at r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)	Time is a fiendish thing, you know; one foot before another – you march along with the masses – those first eighty years go by slow. You will form relationships and find love; tight integration in their lives – forming friendships – these things you feel undeserving of. The time will come when all you love die; and that’s alright, it’s ok – return to the void is nature’s way – but the next two hundred years will fly by. You ask how I know these things; I am one who is like you – fear not the losses from time – instead relish what the future brings.
	[WP] In your world a sufficiently powerful emotion can create a temporary superpower. There have been those too angry to die, fear so powerful it made the victim teleport, and self-loathing strong enough to cause shape-shifting. You are very, very, lonely.	There had always been stories of people doing extraordinary things with a heightened emotion. The battle of Thermopylae became a legend because the Spartans were infuriated by the demands of the Persians. As we all know, the Persians paid a steep price for angering the small nation. A forgotten folk tale in a small European village tells of how a mother's grief at the loss of her son, lead to the flooding of a nearby town. To this day it's rumored that you can hear faint sobbing during a heavy storm, and all young boys are urged to stay inside. Another favorite was of a North American tribe where a young girl and her friend had gotten lost and trapped in a mountain cave, eventually the friend succumbed to starvation, and the young girl was forced to resort to cannibalism in order to survive. She was so stricken by self loathing for the deed that she went mad, changing into the creature some know as the Wendigo. But me? Up until a week ago I didn't for a moment think anything about my situation. See...Thanks to being a nerdy introvert, and the pandemic across the world. I was lonely...so very... inescapably lonely. The few friends I had, were either busy, or due to my work schedule, just asleep when I was active. Well it started to drag me down, so...taking some advice from some more adventurous folks, I took a road trip. My first destination? The Arlington National Cemetery. I always had a thing for history, and wanted to see it for myself, maybe pay my respects to the countless fallen heroes, before seeing the other sights. I was a few rows deep, still awestruck by the place when I started hearing it. The sound of those white headstones falling over. One by one, hundreds of them started toppling as people of battles long past began to get up and make way towards me. They couldn't speak nor did they need to, but any feeling of fear I had was quickly put down by a realization. I wasn't alone anymore, and life was about to change.	[poem] In a world where evolution might jump to a conclusion; And DNA's rewritten daily, to much confusion; The new gods have many tantrums these days; You feel disconnected, alone in a maze; The further you pull from the faces you know; The deeper the hurt and distance will grow; You notice your hands, beginning to glow; But the floor on the other side starts to show; You become ghostly, an invisible apparition; Translucent and formless, lost to superstition.
	[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.	Uncle Joe... they called him 'Cotton Eye'. Two reasons for that. One, the big eyepatch he wore, a relic of younger days that he didnt talk about much. Two, he was an adventurer, of the Indiana Jones style. No one in the family knew where he was during the year, but he showed up like clockwork every Christmas, bearing gifts for every kid in the family under 18. Where he came from before the holidays, and where he went after new years were a mystery to everyone in the family. For most kids, those gifts were something from his adventures. Me though? My gifts were different. Special. They always served me a purpose during the year. When I was younger, I resented it. Why did I get a knife, wool socks, or even a fire extinguisher, while my cousins got gold, jewels, or even, one memorable Christmas, decorative Aztec axes? It took me years to see the pattern. My uncle cared enough about me to keep me alive, and prepare me for success. The knife that I swung at a coyote and scared it off, the socks that I wore when the family car broke down on the way home from Christmas, and we had to walk to a phone, or the time that I, well, let's just say I found out that I'm an awful cook while my parents were away on vacation. This year's though... it scares me. I'm supposed to be headed off to college in the fall, but the present from Joe makes me worry about my future, even as I'm still unwrapping it. As I finish peeling away the paper, I see it fully and terror truly sets in. "McNeel Publishing - Nuclear Physics & Engineering 5th Edition" Authors note: I also considered the present being "What to Expect When You're Expecting", but I didnt want to be giving myself nightmares tonight	It was my 24th birthday. Uncle Jack was an atheist, but he had an almost divine insight into what gift I needed most each year. I’d never met him; he lived far away, my ultra religious parents said with some derision. My Mom hated Dad’s brother, Jack, with all of the fire and brimstone her faith could muster. They didn’t let me date much or even have friends really growing up. None of the ‘Devil’s Music’ either. I still lived at home, as I didn’t feel like there was anywhere else to go. Anywhere else I wanted to be. Fuck it was lonely. I’d never even left the state, much less been anywhere. And then on my 24th birthday, a thick brown paper envelope arrived. Not via mail, but like it was hand delivered this time. Somehow, I knew this year’s gift was something different. Something private. I took it up to my room and opened it. A round the world ticket, a bunch of bills, and a handwritten note from Jack: ‘Meet me in Taipei. I have something to show you. Jack’ That was it. No context. No nothing. Scared the crap out of me. And yet, what did I have to lose?
	[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.	I always opened his gift first. The typical size, I cannot say, simply because there wasn’t one. Each year was a brand new mystery, wrapped in unexceptional brown paper and fastened with white string. They started coming when I started college, as soon as I was living on my own, once a year, at my doorstep by the crack of dawn. From a distant Uncle Lou that I vaguely remember meeting as a child. At 19 years old, the gift box was thin and oblong. A single pencil, the common yellow, sharpened to a point. I’d tossed it into my bag and entirely forgotten about it. Until taking my final exams, when I had forgotten my pencil case. It had seemingly magically materialized. At 21, I received a cube the width of my thumb. A steel marble, remarkably unremarkable. I’d left it near the front door, exactly where, six hours later, a burglar would step and slip with a resounding thud. It was comparatively large at 24, containing a tall vase of tastefully chosen flowers. Slightly perturbed, I had centered it on my kitchen table. Two days later, it became the perfect gift for my best friend’s housewarming party, an event that had completely slipped my memory, Each one was always completely and utterly random, and yet each happened to be exactly what I desperately needed. This year, the box was about the length of my forearm and half as wide. I ripped it open eagerly, to find a gleaming dagger. I dropped the box. Initially, I tried to make myself believe it was a cooking knife, but upon closer inspection, I realized that idea was nonsensical. The handle was of dark and rich leather, somehow molded perfectly to fit my hand. The blade itself was wickedly sharp, glinting in the morning light. Well. Shit. At first, I didn't go anywhere, the fear eating me alive. On the fourth day, a spike of bravery made me stroll down downtown for hours with no goal in particular, other than defiance, before coming to my senses and scurrying back to my apartment. After a few of these cycles, I simply evened out to a sense of permanent dread. I got a job where I could work at home. Decidedly less salary, longer hours. I didn’t care. My grocery trips were weekly; I ventured out quickly and cautiously, the dagger nested in my bag. I had to wrap it in cloth, as there was no scabbard. I don’t know why. Soon, I received an invitation for my sister’s wedding, which was perhaps three hours by plane. In a moment of weakness, I booked a ticket, tired of my self-isolation and starved for human interaction. But in the end, my fear won, and I missed the flight. Five hours later, the very plane I had almost boarded appeared in the news in a fiery wreckage - it had crashed, nose first, killing all passengers practically instantaneously. I stared at the television for a solid hour, processing absolutely nothing. I felt relief. Obviously. But also confusion. How in the world would the dagger have helped? It took me a while to figure it out. The dagger was never meant to be used - its purpose was not to draw blood. It was to instill fear. For a physical gadget wouldn’t stop me from missing my flight, nor prevent the plane from crashing. But warning me that something bad was about to happen would ensure that I took any and all precautions. How completely brilliant. I phoned my mother later. She gave me a tearful greeting; she’d seen the news and feared for my safety. It took me a few minutes to console her. “By the way, mom, could you please give me the number of my Uncle Lou? I have a couple of questions.” More than a couple. There was a pause on the other end. “Who?” \*Excuse any grammatical errors.	It was my 24th birthday. Uncle Jack was an atheist, but he had an almost divine insight into what gift I needed most each year. I’d never met him; he lived far away, my ultra religious parents said with some derision. My Mom hated Dad’s brother, Jack, with all of the fire and brimstone her faith could muster. They didn’t let me date much or even have friends really growing up. None of the ‘Devil’s Music’ either. I still lived at home, as I didn’t feel like there was anywhere else to go. Anywhere else I wanted to be. Fuck it was lonely. I’d never even left the state, much less been anywhere. And then on my 24th birthday, a thick brown paper envelope arrived. Not via mail, but like it was hand delivered this time. Somehow, I knew this year’s gift was something different. Something private. I took it up to my room and opened it. A round the world ticket, a bunch of bills, and a handwritten note from Jack: ‘Meet me in Taipei. I have something to show you. Jack’ That was it. No context. No nothing. Scared the crap out of me. And yet, what did I have to lose?
	[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.	On my twenty first birthday, Uncle Gerry gave me a bottle of poison wrapped up in cellophane with a pink sateen bow. It was small, and pretty, and almost innocuous. If it hadn’t had the words WARNING: CAUSES IMMEDIATE AND EXCRUCIATING DEATH written in bold letters across the front, you wouldn’t have even known it was poison. To be fair to Uncle Gerry, it was written in a very nice calligraphy. The penmanship was immaculate. My Uncle Gerry was a good gift giver. He was the sort of person who gave you things before you even knew you needed them. On my eighth birthday he’d given me my first suit, which I needed the very next week for my Grandmothers funeral after she died suddenly and unexpectedly. On my nineteenth birthday, he’d given me a rope ladder, which had sat unused on my bedroom floor until June, when a fire broke out on the second floor of my house, allowing me to miraculously climb to safety. One memorable christmas, he’d even gifted me a bottle of his favourite whiskey, addressed to 'my favourite Uncle Gerry' - I'd never forget to buy him a christmas present ever again. But this year was different. I’d been wanting this present for a very, very long time. I wasn’t a happy man. I hadn’t always been unhappy. I don’t want to bore you with the details - my unhappiness had been the product of a dull and tortured series of events stemming from childhood that could have happened to anyone and everyone. I was a skinny child, abused by my parents, bullied by my peers, mocked by my teachers. My Grandmother had taken me in at the age of 6 and was the first person in my life to show me a shred of kindness. Well that is, until her sudden death - a heart attack, they explained, which means her heart was so broken there wasn’t anything they could do to save her. I remember I sobbed because my heart was broken too. Things began to look up when I met the love of my life in high school. Cynthia’s sweet smile had soothed my broken soul back to life. Well, that is, until the fire. Although I lost my home and all of my worldly possessions, I hadn't cared. The only thing that mattered was that my only reason left to live had been stolen from me when her sweet smile went up in flames. It seemed only fair to end my life with the very thing that had once saved it - a gift from Uncle Gerry. I took that little glass bottle out of its packaging and rolled it in between my fingers. It glinted in the light. Such a fragile thing, it was a wonder it could cause so much harm. After only a moments hesitation, I uncapped it, and poured its contents down my throat. Then I lay down and waited to die. If you’ve ever been poisoned before, you know how it goes. At first, you don’t notice anything but the sickly sweet taste of the poison on your lips, turning sour as the gravity of what you’ve done begins to sink in. Then your heart begins to race, your body drenched with sweat as it prepares for its final battle. And then suddenly, all the reasons for living that you’d blocked out of your mind flood back in, unrequested and unwanted. Burning sunlight rushing into a room that had been dark and deserted for so long. Coffee, first thing in the morning. The time someone laughed at your jokes and told you you were funny. A favourite song. A neighbour that shows you small kindnesses, like putting out your garbage bin when you forget. The people you work with who treat you like family. The sister that you reconnected with, who has gentle eyes and a gift for cooking. The child that your dead fiancee left behind, who desperately needs you to raise them. And that’s when you realise that it’s all very, very wrong, and you weren’t meant to die, not here, not today, not yet, not ever. I began to retch. When I couldn’t expel the poison, I began to scream. FUCK. Fuck this. Fuck Uncle Gerry. Fuck death. I wanted to live. And that was when Uncle Gerry walked back into the living room, holding two glasses of whiskey. “Fetched myself a drink, I hope you don’t mind… oh.” I gagged in agony, cursing his pathetic name. “Well then, I see you’re enjoying my present.” “Fuck you,” I spat, grinding my teeth. “Would you like to know the best part?” He said, taking a swig from his glass. He sat down in the armchair across from me. I moaned. “It’s sugar syrup,” he said gently, “It can’t cause death - well, except to your teeth, as my dentist would say. Brush and floss or it’ll cost, he used to tell me, capital fellow.” I lay still on the carpet, trembling. Relief. Pouring through my limbs. Shame. I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him. “There may be reasons to die, but there are more reasons to live, dear boy, and too many people realise that far too late,” he mused, staring out of the window into the front yard, where a miserable looking postman was shoving mail into the overflowing letterbox on my front porch, “I don't want that for you.” As I pulled myself off the floor and onto the couch, he slapped me on the back and handed me the spare glass of whiskey. “Drink up, dear boy. It’s one of my favourites, given to me by my favourite nephew.” He winked and clinked my glass, and we drank in the warm light of the afternoon sun.	It was my 24th birthday. Uncle Jack was an atheist, but he had an almost divine insight into what gift I needed most each year. I’d never met him; he lived far away, my ultra religious parents said with some derision. My Mom hated Dad’s brother, Jack, with all of the fire and brimstone her faith could muster. They didn’t let me date much or even have friends really growing up. None of the ‘Devil’s Music’ either. I still lived at home, as I didn’t feel like there was anywhere else to go. Anywhere else I wanted to be. Fuck it was lonely. I’d never even left the state, much less been anywhere. And then on my 24th birthday, a thick brown paper envelope arrived. Not via mail, but like it was hand delivered this time. Somehow, I knew this year’s gift was something different. Something private. I took it up to my room and opened it. A round the world ticket, a bunch of bills, and a handwritten note from Jack: ‘Meet me in Taipei. I have something to show you. Jack’ That was it. No context. No nothing. Scared the crap out of me. And yet, what did I have to lose?
	[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.	I always opened his gift first. The typical size, I cannot say, simply because there wasn’t one. Each year was a brand new mystery, wrapped in unexceptional brown paper and fastened with white string. They started coming when I started college, as soon as I was living on my own, once a year, at my doorstep by the crack of dawn. From a distant Uncle Lou that I vaguely remember meeting as a child. At 19 years old, the gift box was thin and oblong. A single pencil, the common yellow, sharpened to a point. I’d tossed it into my bag and entirely forgotten about it. Until taking my final exams, when I had forgotten my pencil case. It had seemingly magically materialized. At 21, I received a cube the width of my thumb. A steel marble, remarkably unremarkable. I’d left it near the front door, exactly where, six hours later, a burglar would step and slip with a resounding thud. It was comparatively large at 24, containing a tall vase of tastefully chosen flowers. Slightly perturbed, I had centered it on my kitchen table. Two days later, it became the perfect gift for my best friend’s housewarming party, an event that had completely slipped my memory, Each one was always completely and utterly random, and yet each happened to be exactly what I desperately needed. This year, the box was about the length of my forearm and half as wide. I ripped it open eagerly, to find a gleaming dagger. I dropped the box. Initially, I tried to make myself believe it was a cooking knife, but upon closer inspection, I realized that idea was nonsensical. The handle was of dark and rich leather, somehow molded perfectly to fit my hand. The blade itself was wickedly sharp, glinting in the morning light. Well. Shit. At first, I didn't go anywhere, the fear eating me alive. On the fourth day, a spike of bravery made me stroll down downtown for hours with no goal in particular, other than defiance, before coming to my senses and scurrying back to my apartment. After a few of these cycles, I simply evened out to a sense of permanent dread. I got a job where I could work at home. Decidedly less salary, longer hours. I didn’t care. My grocery trips were weekly; I ventured out quickly and cautiously, the dagger nested in my bag. I had to wrap it in cloth, as there was no scabbard. I don’t know why. Soon, I received an invitation for my sister’s wedding, which was perhaps three hours by plane. In a moment of weakness, I booked a ticket, tired of my self-isolation and starved for human interaction. But in the end, my fear won, and I missed the flight. Five hours later, the very plane I had almost boarded appeared in the news in a fiery wreckage - it had crashed, nose first, killing all passengers practically instantaneously. I stared at the television for a solid hour, processing absolutely nothing. I felt relief. Obviously. But also confusion. How in the world would the dagger have helped? It took me a while to figure it out. The dagger was never meant to be used - its purpose was not to draw blood. It was to instill fear. For a physical gadget wouldn’t stop me from missing my flight, nor prevent the plane from crashing. But warning me that something bad was about to happen would ensure that I took any and all precautions. How completely brilliant. I phoned my mother later. She gave me a tearful greeting; she’d seen the news and feared for my safety. It took me a few minutes to console her. “By the way, mom, could you please give me the number of my Uncle Lou? I have a couple of questions.” More than a couple. There was a pause on the other end. “Who?” \*Excuse any grammatical errors.	Uncle Joe... they called him 'Cotton Eye'. Two reasons for that. One, the big eyepatch he wore, a relic of younger days that he didnt talk about much. Two, he was an adventurer, of the Indiana Jones style. No one in the family knew where he was during the year, but he showed up like clockwork every Christmas, bearing gifts for every kid in the family under 18. Where he came from before the holidays, and where he went after new years were a mystery to everyone in the family. For most kids, those gifts were something from his adventures. Me though? My gifts were different. Special. They always served me a purpose during the year. When I was younger, I resented it. Why did I get a knife, wool socks, or even a fire extinguisher, while my cousins got gold, jewels, or even, one memorable Christmas, decorative Aztec axes? It took me years to see the pattern. My uncle cared enough about me to keep me alive, and prepare me for success. The knife that I swung at a coyote and scared it off, the socks that I wore when the family car broke down on the way home from Christmas, and we had to walk to a phone, or the time that I, well, let's just say I found out that I'm an awful cook while my parents were away on vacation. This year's though... it scares me. I'm supposed to be headed off to college in the fall, but the present from Joe makes me worry about my future, even as I'm still unwrapping it. As I finish peeling away the paper, I see it fully and terror truly sets in. "McNeel Publishing - Nuclear Physics & Engineering 5th Edition" Authors note: I also considered the present being "What to Expect When You're Expecting", but I didnt want to be giving myself nightmares tonight
	[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.	On my twenty first birthday, Uncle Gerry gave me a bottle of poison wrapped up in cellophane with a pink sateen bow. It was small, and pretty, and almost innocuous. If it hadn’t had the words WARNING: CAUSES IMMEDIATE AND EXCRUCIATING DEATH written in bold letters across the front, you wouldn’t have even known it was poison. To be fair to Uncle Gerry, it was written in a very nice calligraphy. The penmanship was immaculate. My Uncle Gerry was a good gift giver. He was the sort of person who gave you things before you even knew you needed them. On my eighth birthday he’d given me my first suit, which I needed the very next week for my Grandmothers funeral after she died suddenly and unexpectedly. On my nineteenth birthday, he’d given me a rope ladder, which had sat unused on my bedroom floor until June, when a fire broke out on the second floor of my house, allowing me to miraculously climb to safety. One memorable christmas, he’d even gifted me a bottle of his favourite whiskey, addressed to 'my favourite Uncle Gerry' - I'd never forget to buy him a christmas present ever again. But this year was different. I’d been wanting this present for a very, very long time. I wasn’t a happy man. I hadn’t always been unhappy. I don’t want to bore you with the details - my unhappiness had been the product of a dull and tortured series of events stemming from childhood that could have happened to anyone and everyone. I was a skinny child, abused by my parents, bullied by my peers, mocked by my teachers. My Grandmother had taken me in at the age of 6 and was the first person in my life to show me a shred of kindness. Well that is, until her sudden death - a heart attack, they explained, which means her heart was so broken there wasn’t anything they could do to save her. I remember I sobbed because my heart was broken too. Things began to look up when I met the love of my life in high school. Cynthia’s sweet smile had soothed my broken soul back to life. Well, that is, until the fire. Although I lost my home and all of my worldly possessions, I hadn't cared. The only thing that mattered was that my only reason left to live had been stolen from me when her sweet smile went up in flames. It seemed only fair to end my life with the very thing that had once saved it - a gift from Uncle Gerry. I took that little glass bottle out of its packaging and rolled it in between my fingers. It glinted in the light. Such a fragile thing, it was a wonder it could cause so much harm. After only a moments hesitation, I uncapped it, and poured its contents down my throat. Then I lay down and waited to die. If you’ve ever been poisoned before, you know how it goes. At first, you don’t notice anything but the sickly sweet taste of the poison on your lips, turning sour as the gravity of what you’ve done begins to sink in. Then your heart begins to race, your body drenched with sweat as it prepares for its final battle. And then suddenly, all the reasons for living that you’d blocked out of your mind flood back in, unrequested and unwanted. Burning sunlight rushing into a room that had been dark and deserted for so long. Coffee, first thing in the morning. The time someone laughed at your jokes and told you you were funny. A favourite song. A neighbour that shows you small kindnesses, like putting out your garbage bin when you forget. The people you work with who treat you like family. The sister that you reconnected with, who has gentle eyes and a gift for cooking. The child that your dead fiancee left behind, who desperately needs you to raise them. And that’s when you realise that it’s all very, very wrong, and you weren’t meant to die, not here, not today, not yet, not ever. I began to retch. When I couldn’t expel the poison, I began to scream. FUCK. Fuck this. Fuck Uncle Gerry. Fuck death. I wanted to live. And that was when Uncle Gerry walked back into the living room, holding two glasses of whiskey. “Fetched myself a drink, I hope you don’t mind… oh.” I gagged in agony, cursing his pathetic name. “Well then, I see you’re enjoying my present.” “Fuck you,” I spat, grinding my teeth. “Would you like to know the best part?” He said, taking a swig from his glass. He sat down in the armchair across from me. I moaned. “It’s sugar syrup,” he said gently, “It can’t cause death - well, except to your teeth, as my dentist would say. Brush and floss or it’ll cost, he used to tell me, capital fellow.” I lay still on the carpet, trembling. Relief. Pouring through my limbs. Shame. I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him. “There may be reasons to die, but there are more reasons to live, dear boy, and too many people realise that far too late,” he mused, staring out of the window into the front yard, where a miserable looking postman was shoving mail into the overflowing letterbox on my front porch, “I don't want that for you.” As I pulled myself off the floor and onto the couch, he slapped me on the back and handed me the spare glass of whiskey. “Drink up, dear boy. It’s one of my favourites, given to me by my favourite nephew.” He winked and clinked my glass, and we drank in the warm light of the afternoon sun.	Uncle Joe... they called him 'Cotton Eye'. Two reasons for that. One, the big eyepatch he wore, a relic of younger days that he didnt talk about much. Two, he was an adventurer, of the Indiana Jones style. No one in the family knew where he was during the year, but he showed up like clockwork every Christmas, bearing gifts for every kid in the family under 18. Where he came from before the holidays, and where he went after new years were a mystery to everyone in the family. For most kids, those gifts were something from his adventures. Me though? My gifts were different. Special. They always served me a purpose during the year. When I was younger, I resented it. Why did I get a knife, wool socks, or even a fire extinguisher, while my cousins got gold, jewels, or even, one memorable Christmas, decorative Aztec axes? It took me years to see the pattern. My uncle cared enough about me to keep me alive, and prepare me for success. The knife that I swung at a coyote and scared it off, the socks that I wore when the family car broke down on the way home from Christmas, and we had to walk to a phone, or the time that I, well, let's just say I found out that I'm an awful cook while my parents were away on vacation. This year's though... it scares me. I'm supposed to be headed off to college in the fall, but the present from Joe makes me worry about my future, even as I'm still unwrapping it. As I finish peeling away the paper, I see it fully and terror truly sets in. "McNeel Publishing - Nuclear Physics & Engineering 5th Edition" Authors note: I also considered the present being "What to Expect When You're Expecting", but I didnt want to be giving myself nightmares tonight
	[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.	I always opened his gift first. The typical size, I cannot say, simply because there wasn’t one. Each year was a brand new mystery, wrapped in unexceptional brown paper and fastened with white string. They started coming when I started college, as soon as I was living on my own, once a year, at my doorstep by the crack of dawn. From a distant Uncle Lou that I vaguely remember meeting as a child. At 19 years old, the gift box was thin and oblong. A single pencil, the common yellow, sharpened to a point. I’d tossed it into my bag and entirely forgotten about it. Until taking my final exams, when I had forgotten my pencil case. It had seemingly magically materialized. At 21, I received a cube the width of my thumb. A steel marble, remarkably unremarkable. I’d left it near the front door, exactly where, six hours later, a burglar would step and slip with a resounding thud. It was comparatively large at 24, containing a tall vase of tastefully chosen flowers. Slightly perturbed, I had centered it on my kitchen table. Two days later, it became the perfect gift for my best friend’s housewarming party, an event that had completely slipped my memory, Each one was always completely and utterly random, and yet each happened to be exactly what I desperately needed. This year, the box was about the length of my forearm and half as wide. I ripped it open eagerly, to find a gleaming dagger. I dropped the box. Initially, I tried to make myself believe it was a cooking knife, but upon closer inspection, I realized that idea was nonsensical. The handle was of dark and rich leather, somehow molded perfectly to fit my hand. The blade itself was wickedly sharp, glinting in the morning light. Well. Shit. At first, I didn't go anywhere, the fear eating me alive. On the fourth day, a spike of bravery made me stroll down downtown for hours with no goal in particular, other than defiance, before coming to my senses and scurrying back to my apartment. After a few of these cycles, I simply evened out to a sense of permanent dread. I got a job where I could work at home. Decidedly less salary, longer hours. I didn’t care. My grocery trips were weekly; I ventured out quickly and cautiously, the dagger nested in my bag. I had to wrap it in cloth, as there was no scabbard. I don’t know why. Soon, I received an invitation for my sister’s wedding, which was perhaps three hours by plane. In a moment of weakness, I booked a ticket, tired of my self-isolation and starved for human interaction. But in the end, my fear won, and I missed the flight. Five hours later, the very plane I had almost boarded appeared in the news in a fiery wreckage - it had crashed, nose first, killing all passengers practically instantaneously. I stared at the television for a solid hour, processing absolutely nothing. I felt relief. Obviously. But also confusion. How in the world would the dagger have helped? It took me a while to figure it out. The dagger was never meant to be used - its purpose was not to draw blood. It was to instill fear. For a physical gadget wouldn’t stop me from missing my flight, nor prevent the plane from crashing. But warning me that something bad was about to happen would ensure that I took any and all precautions. How completely brilliant. I phoned my mother later. She gave me a tearful greeting; she’d seen the news and feared for my safety. It took me a few minutes to console her. “By the way, mom, could you please give me the number of my Uncle Lou? I have a couple of questions.” More than a couple. There was a pause on the other end. “Who?” \*Excuse any grammatical errors.	My uncle throughout all my life has always given me things that have unexpectedly been needed. Extinguishers, pepper-spray, and tools have been some of the items given to me, the items are always the exact thing I need when things go oh so desperately wrong. This year my uncle has given me the most peculiar gift, a wooden puzzle box. The box itself was not the peculiar thing, it was what was inside. A simple silver ring with markings of an unknown language engraved on the inside. I kept the ring with me at all times, my uncle always gave me gifts that would help me in my times in need. What would be different this time. I think that I am finally figuring out what I will be needing the ring for, someone has been following me recently. It started with a figure in the corner of my eye, when I would look there would be no one. Maybe they want the ring from me? Maybe my uncle gave me something that he was not supposed to? The person following me has been recently getting more bold, getting closer, moving my things. Lately, when I am asleep at night I would awake in cold sweats, the feeling of someone breathing would tickle the hairs on the back of my neck. I do not know how this mysterious stranger has been getting inside my house, I keep all of my windows and doors locked. In the morning I would search my house for anything misplaced, anything stolen. But nothing was ever taken. I don't know who this person is, but they scare me. I have been unable to sleep at night. The person has been touching my back in the middle of the night, I could feel their weight on my bed as they sat next to me. They would hum an indistinct tone as they caressed my body. I clutch the ring tightly to my chest at these moments, praying that my uncle was right in his choice of gift. I don't know what to do, the person is not stopping, not leaving. I am going to confront them later tonight, in hopes that maybe I can finally make them stop.
	[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.	Great Uncle Bolesław is a strange fellow. I have never met him, but my dad Stan told me a little about him. He still lives in the old country, to protect the family farm after the war, while the rest of the family fled west. Though which war, my dad never said. He is an amiable sort, and sends gifts to his family across the sea. They always arrive on the exact date we are born, on our birthdays. And he even sends gifts to those of us he has never met before. Usually there is a badly written note encouraging us to be our best, and have happy lives. The gifts are uncanny, because they always turn out to be crucial. He sent me a kalaidoscope last year, which I used to distract a lightly wounded child, while me and my friends carried away his grievously wounded parents from a terrible car crash to give them first aid. The kid didn't panic, and the parents pulled through. He once sent my brother a beautiful handmade journal, wherein he wrote his thoughts, stories, and poems. He lost it, but it was returned by a literary agent, who wanted to help my brother get his amazing work published. A cousin of mine received an old fashioned camera, which led her to join a photography club, where she met her future wife. Always, the gifts have an uncanny knack of being used during the year. So when I receive the package this year, I eagerly unwrap it. It is long and heavy. While I am not celebrating my birthday this year, due to being too far away from family due to work, it is still nice to see that Great Uncle Bolesław's gift got through. Inside of the package, to my shock and horror, is a Model 91/98/23 carbine, an interwar modified Polish variant of the Mosin Nagant. Attached to it is a note. It reads: You find enemy. You kill enemy. You will not slay men. Only beasts. Horrors of old country coming for you. Whatever that meant, I didn't know. How he got a fully loaded rifle across the border, I don't know, same with how he got the ammo with it. But there it was, a rifle made in the twenties, which looked nearly new. Then I heard a heavy knocking upon my front door. The knocking intensified until I heard a crack, as the door was torn asunder. Fearfully, I raised up my rifle towards the oncoming crashing of enormous feet upon my floor. Coming through into my kitchen, I see a vodnik, a terrible water demon. Covered in muck, with webbed hands, and his eyes burn like smouldering coals. Desperately, I point the rifle at the deformed shape of that monstrous entity, and fire. Straight between the eyes. As he goes down I see the great hairy shape of a wolf on two legs. Werewolf. I don't hesitate, I simply fire once more. Behind him comes many more terrible things, Licho, the one eyed hag dressed in black, a being of misfortune and evil. Behind there are more vodniks, kikimora, and what can clearly be seen as vampires, with their pale faces, dead eyes, and rotten flesh. Licho was always said to be the enemy of our family. I thought it was just old tales that our grandparents told us to scare us, but that hag I can recognise anywhere. She, no. It is the embodiment of evil, of all that is wrong with the world. Using the butt of the rifle, I smash open a window and jump out of my first floor flat, landing on a dumpster. Rifle in hand, ammo too, I run towards my car, thankfully I had my keys in my pocket. As I start the car, I see the monsters bursting out of my front door, to the general horrified response of the people going about on their business on the street. As I drive away, I hear the screams of the monstrous forces attacking the general population. Cursing under my breath, I turn the car around and pummel into a werewolf chasing down a small group of terrified tourists. I get out, ready my rifle, and fire at the monsters, providing cover fire for the people on the streets as the police arrive. Who are then promptly slaughtered by the nightmarish forces of the evil Licho. As the monsters turn their attention back to me, I get back in my car, and get driving again. Past me as I drive, I see SWAT vehicles pull up, and start a full on battle between modern forces and the supernatural. Of course, as the poorly trained police forces are quickly slaughtered, I try to get to somewhere with a vantage point, as the rifle has an attached old-fashioned scope to it. If I kill the Licho, or at the very least severely damage it, perhaps this army of the damned will disperse. Exactly how Great Uncle Bolesław managed to predict this would happen, I don't get. But it was nice to be armed when this happened. A large church, with a high belltower provides me with protection, as stepping on holy ground always, theoretically, weakens the forces of evil. I get into the church, which is packed to the brim with people praying. I ascend to the top of the belltower, where I see helicopters firing upon the forces of evil, to little effect. Ahead of an army of the damned, casting aside soldiers and throwing police cars at tanks, walks the vile Licho towards where I am. The national guard arrives as she comes to the church, the holiness of it acts as a barrier against her, as I fire upon her and her nightmarish followers. The national guard manage to distract and kill several demonic and horrible entities, but the pure evil spirit cracks a hole into the barrier of holiness, letting her walk upon consecrated ground. I fire again and again upon her, but I am running low on ammo as she approaches. At the end of the rifle there is a bayonet attached. And as I fire my last bullet, rather than let her slaughter the praying congregation, I jump from the top of the tower, and while screaming, I plunge down, bayonet on the rifle first, straight into the one eye of the terrible hag. As the bayonet pierces the skin, she lets out a guttural scream. Around me, the legion of evil monstrous entities from the old country weaken, and the national guard stop getting slaughtered, and instead fights back efficiently. Out from the church comes the priest, and he is carrying a chalice, filled to the brim with holy water. As the Licho screams and twists, and turns, trying to dislodge the rifle from her eye, the priest throws the water over her, and me. Causing the Licho to start to dissolve. I ask the priest what was in that water, the priest answers that the chalice was consecrated with chrism by Pope John Paul II himself. As the evil entity ceases moving, I get up from the floor, drenched in holy water and the black blood of the evil hag. If this came to the new world to hunt our family, there might be more of them coming. I resolve in that moment, to travel back home, and seek out Great Uncle Bolesław, to aid him in fighting these monsters, so that they may never threaten me or my family again. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)	My uncle throughout all my life has always given me things that have unexpectedly been needed. Extinguishers, pepper-spray, and tools have been some of the items given to me, the items are always the exact thing I need when things go oh so desperately wrong. This year my uncle has given me the most peculiar gift, a wooden puzzle box. The box itself was not the peculiar thing, it was what was inside. A simple silver ring with markings of an unknown language engraved on the inside. I kept the ring with me at all times, my uncle always gave me gifts that would help me in my times in need. What would be different this time. I think that I am finally figuring out what I will be needing the ring for, someone has been following me recently. It started with a figure in the corner of my eye, when I would look there would be no one. Maybe they want the ring from me? Maybe my uncle gave me something that he was not supposed to? The person following me has been recently getting more bold, getting closer, moving my things. Lately, when I am asleep at night I would awake in cold sweats, the feeling of someone breathing would tickle the hairs on the back of my neck. I do not know how this mysterious stranger has been getting inside my house, I keep all of my windows and doors locked. In the morning I would search my house for anything misplaced, anything stolen. But nothing was ever taken. I don't know who this person is, but they scare me. I have been unable to sleep at night. The person has been touching my back in the middle of the night, I could feel their weight on my bed as they sat next to me. They would hum an indistinct tone as they caressed my body. I clutch the ring tightly to my chest at these moments, praying that my uncle was right in his choice of gift. I don't know what to do, the person is not stopping, not leaving. I am going to confront them later tonight, in hopes that maybe I can finally make them stop.
	[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.	On my twenty first birthday, Uncle Gerry gave me a bottle of poison wrapped up in cellophane with a pink sateen bow. It was small, and pretty, and almost innocuous. If it hadn’t had the words WARNING: CAUSES IMMEDIATE AND EXCRUCIATING DEATH written in bold letters across the front, you wouldn’t have even known it was poison. To be fair to Uncle Gerry, it was written in a very nice calligraphy. The penmanship was immaculate. My Uncle Gerry was a good gift giver. He was the sort of person who gave you things before you even knew you needed them. On my eighth birthday he’d given me my first suit, which I needed the very next week for my Grandmothers funeral after she died suddenly and unexpectedly. On my nineteenth birthday, he’d given me a rope ladder, which had sat unused on my bedroom floor until June, when a fire broke out on the second floor of my house, allowing me to miraculously climb to safety. One memorable christmas, he’d even gifted me a bottle of his favourite whiskey, addressed to 'my favourite Uncle Gerry' - I'd never forget to buy him a christmas present ever again. But this year was different. I’d been wanting this present for a very, very long time. I wasn’t a happy man. I hadn’t always been unhappy. I don’t want to bore you with the details - my unhappiness had been the product of a dull and tortured series of events stemming from childhood that could have happened to anyone and everyone. I was a skinny child, abused by my parents, bullied by my peers, mocked by my teachers. My Grandmother had taken me in at the age of 6 and was the first person in my life to show me a shred of kindness. Well that is, until her sudden death - a heart attack, they explained, which means her heart was so broken there wasn’t anything they could do to save her. I remember I sobbed because my heart was broken too. Things began to look up when I met the love of my life in high school. Cynthia’s sweet smile had soothed my broken soul back to life. Well, that is, until the fire. Although I lost my home and all of my worldly possessions, I hadn't cared. The only thing that mattered was that my only reason left to live had been stolen from me when her sweet smile went up in flames. It seemed only fair to end my life with the very thing that had once saved it - a gift from Uncle Gerry. I took that little glass bottle out of its packaging and rolled it in between my fingers. It glinted in the light. Such a fragile thing, it was a wonder it could cause so much harm. After only a moments hesitation, I uncapped it, and poured its contents down my throat. Then I lay down and waited to die. If you’ve ever been poisoned before, you know how it goes. At first, you don’t notice anything but the sickly sweet taste of the poison on your lips, turning sour as the gravity of what you’ve done begins to sink in. Then your heart begins to race, your body drenched with sweat as it prepares for its final battle. And then suddenly, all the reasons for living that you’d blocked out of your mind flood back in, unrequested and unwanted. Burning sunlight rushing into a room that had been dark and deserted for so long. Coffee, first thing in the morning. The time someone laughed at your jokes and told you you were funny. A favourite song. A neighbour that shows you small kindnesses, like putting out your garbage bin when you forget. The people you work with who treat you like family. The sister that you reconnected with, who has gentle eyes and a gift for cooking. The child that your dead fiancee left behind, who desperately needs you to raise them. And that’s when you realise that it’s all very, very wrong, and you weren’t meant to die, not here, not today, not yet, not ever. I began to retch. When I couldn’t expel the poison, I began to scream. FUCK. Fuck this. Fuck Uncle Gerry. Fuck death. I wanted to live. And that was when Uncle Gerry walked back into the living room, holding two glasses of whiskey. “Fetched myself a drink, I hope you don’t mind… oh.” I gagged in agony, cursing his pathetic name. “Well then, I see you’re enjoying my present.” “Fuck you,” I spat, grinding my teeth. “Would you like to know the best part?” He said, taking a swig from his glass. He sat down in the armchair across from me. I moaned. “It’s sugar syrup,” he said gently, “It can’t cause death - well, except to your teeth, as my dentist would say. Brush and floss or it’ll cost, he used to tell me, capital fellow.” I lay still on the carpet, trembling. Relief. Pouring through my limbs. Shame. I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him. “There may be reasons to die, but there are more reasons to live, dear boy, and too many people realise that far too late,” he mused, staring out of the window into the front yard, where a miserable looking postman was shoving mail into the overflowing letterbox on my front porch, “I don't want that for you.” As I pulled myself off the floor and onto the couch, he slapped me on the back and handed me the spare glass of whiskey. “Drink up, dear boy. It’s one of my favourites, given to me by my favourite nephew.” He winked and clinked my glass, and we drank in the warm light of the afternoon sun.	My uncle throughout all my life has always given me things that have unexpectedly been needed. Extinguishers, pepper-spray, and tools have been some of the items given to me, the items are always the exact thing I need when things go oh so desperately wrong. This year my uncle has given me the most peculiar gift, a wooden puzzle box. The box itself was not the peculiar thing, it was what was inside. A simple silver ring with markings of an unknown language engraved on the inside. I kept the ring with me at all times, my uncle always gave me gifts that would help me in my times in need. What would be different this time. I think that I am finally figuring out what I will be needing the ring for, someone has been following me recently. It started with a figure in the corner of my eye, when I would look there would be no one. Maybe they want the ring from me? Maybe my uncle gave me something that he was not supposed to? The person following me has been recently getting more bold, getting closer, moving my things. Lately, when I am asleep at night I would awake in cold sweats, the feeling of someone breathing would tickle the hairs on the back of my neck. I do not know how this mysterious stranger has been getting inside my house, I keep all of my windows and doors locked. In the morning I would search my house for anything misplaced, anything stolen. But nothing was ever taken. I don't know who this person is, but they scare me. I have been unable to sleep at night. The person has been touching my back in the middle of the night, I could feel their weight on my bed as they sat next to me. They would hum an indistinct tone as they caressed my body. I clutch the ring tightly to my chest at these moments, praying that my uncle was right in his choice of gift. I don't know what to do, the person is not stopping, not leaving. I am going to confront them later tonight, in hopes that maybe I can finally make them stop.
	[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.	On my twenty first birthday, Uncle Gerry gave me a bottle of poison wrapped up in cellophane with a pink sateen bow. It was small, and pretty, and almost innocuous. If it hadn’t had the words WARNING: CAUSES IMMEDIATE AND EXCRUCIATING DEATH written in bold letters across the front, you wouldn’t have even known it was poison. To be fair to Uncle Gerry, it was written in a very nice calligraphy. The penmanship was immaculate. My Uncle Gerry was a good gift giver. He was the sort of person who gave you things before you even knew you needed them. On my eighth birthday he’d given me my first suit, which I needed the very next week for my Grandmothers funeral after she died suddenly and unexpectedly. On my nineteenth birthday, he’d given me a rope ladder, which had sat unused on my bedroom floor until June, when a fire broke out on the second floor of my house, allowing me to miraculously climb to safety. One memorable christmas, he’d even gifted me a bottle of his favourite whiskey, addressed to 'my favourite Uncle Gerry' - I'd never forget to buy him a christmas present ever again. But this year was different. I’d been wanting this present for a very, very long time. I wasn’t a happy man. I hadn’t always been unhappy. I don’t want to bore you with the details - my unhappiness had been the product of a dull and tortured series of events stemming from childhood that could have happened to anyone and everyone. I was a skinny child, abused by my parents, bullied by my peers, mocked by my teachers. My Grandmother had taken me in at the age of 6 and was the first person in my life to show me a shred of kindness. Well that is, until her sudden death - a heart attack, they explained, which means her heart was so broken there wasn’t anything they could do to save her. I remember I sobbed because my heart was broken too. Things began to look up when I met the love of my life in high school. Cynthia’s sweet smile had soothed my broken soul back to life. Well, that is, until the fire. Although I lost my home and all of my worldly possessions, I hadn't cared. The only thing that mattered was that my only reason left to live had been stolen from me when her sweet smile went up in flames. It seemed only fair to end my life with the very thing that had once saved it - a gift from Uncle Gerry. I took that little glass bottle out of its packaging and rolled it in between my fingers. It glinted in the light. Such a fragile thing, it was a wonder it could cause so much harm. After only a moments hesitation, I uncapped it, and poured its contents down my throat. Then I lay down and waited to die. If you’ve ever been poisoned before, you know how it goes. At first, you don’t notice anything but the sickly sweet taste of the poison on your lips, turning sour as the gravity of what you’ve done begins to sink in. Then your heart begins to race, your body drenched with sweat as it prepares for its final battle. And then suddenly, all the reasons for living that you’d blocked out of your mind flood back in, unrequested and unwanted. Burning sunlight rushing into a room that had been dark and deserted for so long. Coffee, first thing in the morning. The time someone laughed at your jokes and told you you were funny. A favourite song. A neighbour that shows you small kindnesses, like putting out your garbage bin when you forget. The people you work with who treat you like family. The sister that you reconnected with, who has gentle eyes and a gift for cooking. The child that your dead fiancee left behind, who desperately needs you to raise them. And that’s when you realise that it’s all very, very wrong, and you weren’t meant to die, not here, not today, not yet, not ever. I began to retch. When I couldn’t expel the poison, I began to scream. FUCK. Fuck this. Fuck Uncle Gerry. Fuck death. I wanted to live. And that was when Uncle Gerry walked back into the living room, holding two glasses of whiskey. “Fetched myself a drink, I hope you don’t mind… oh.” I gagged in agony, cursing his pathetic name. “Well then, I see you’re enjoying my present.” “Fuck you,” I spat, grinding my teeth. “Would you like to know the best part?” He said, taking a swig from his glass. He sat down in the armchair across from me. I moaned. “It’s sugar syrup,” he said gently, “It can’t cause death - well, except to your teeth, as my dentist would say. Brush and floss or it’ll cost, he used to tell me, capital fellow.” I lay still on the carpet, trembling. Relief. Pouring through my limbs. Shame. I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him. “There may be reasons to die, but there are more reasons to live, dear boy, and too many people realise that far too late,” he mused, staring out of the window into the front yard, where a miserable looking postman was shoving mail into the overflowing letterbox on my front porch, “I don't want that for you.” As I pulled myself off the floor and onto the couch, he slapped me on the back and handed me the spare glass of whiskey. “Drink up, dear boy. It’s one of my favourites, given to me by my favourite nephew.” He winked and clinked my glass, and we drank in the warm light of the afternoon sun.	I always opened his gift first. The typical size, I cannot say, simply because there wasn’t one. Each year was a brand new mystery, wrapped in unexceptional brown paper and fastened with white string. They started coming when I started college, as soon as I was living on my own, once a year, at my doorstep by the crack of dawn. From a distant Uncle Lou that I vaguely remember meeting as a child. At 19 years old, the gift box was thin and oblong. A single pencil, the common yellow, sharpened to a point. I’d tossed it into my bag and entirely forgotten about it. Until taking my final exams, when I had forgotten my pencil case. It had seemingly magically materialized. At 21, I received a cube the width of my thumb. A steel marble, remarkably unremarkable. I’d left it near the front door, exactly where, six hours later, a burglar would step and slip with a resounding thud. It was comparatively large at 24, containing a tall vase of tastefully chosen flowers. Slightly perturbed, I had centered it on my kitchen table. Two days later, it became the perfect gift for my best friend’s housewarming party, an event that had completely slipped my memory, Each one was always completely and utterly random, and yet each happened to be exactly what I desperately needed. This year, the box was about the length of my forearm and half as wide. I ripped it open eagerly, to find a gleaming dagger. I dropped the box. Initially, I tried to make myself believe it was a cooking knife, but upon closer inspection, I realized that idea was nonsensical. The handle was of dark and rich leather, somehow molded perfectly to fit my hand. The blade itself was wickedly sharp, glinting in the morning light. Well. Shit. At first, I didn't go anywhere, the fear eating me alive. On the fourth day, a spike of bravery made me stroll down downtown for hours with no goal in particular, other than defiance, before coming to my senses and scurrying back to my apartment. After a few of these cycles, I simply evened out to a sense of permanent dread. I got a job where I could work at home. Decidedly less salary, longer hours. I didn’t care. My grocery trips were weekly; I ventured out quickly and cautiously, the dagger nested in my bag. I had to wrap it in cloth, as there was no scabbard. I don’t know why. Soon, I received an invitation for my sister’s wedding, which was perhaps three hours by plane. In a moment of weakness, I booked a ticket, tired of my self-isolation and starved for human interaction. But in the end, my fear won, and I missed the flight. Five hours later, the very plane I had almost boarded appeared in the news in a fiery wreckage - it had crashed, nose first, killing all passengers practically instantaneously. I stared at the television for a solid hour, processing absolutely nothing. I felt relief. Obviously. But also confusion. How in the world would the dagger have helped? It took me a while to figure it out. The dagger was never meant to be used - its purpose was not to draw blood. It was to instill fear. For a physical gadget wouldn’t stop me from missing my flight, nor prevent the plane from crashing. But warning me that something bad was about to happen would ensure that I took any and all precautions. How completely brilliant. I phoned my mother later. She gave me a tearful greeting; she’d seen the news and feared for my safety. It took me a few minutes to console her. “By the way, mom, could you please give me the number of my Uncle Lou? I have a couple of questions.” More than a couple. There was a pause on the other end. “Who?” \*Excuse any grammatical errors.
	[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.	On my twenty first birthday, Uncle Gerry gave me a bottle of poison wrapped up in cellophane with a pink sateen bow. It was small, and pretty, and almost innocuous. If it hadn’t had the words WARNING: CAUSES IMMEDIATE AND EXCRUCIATING DEATH written in bold letters across the front, you wouldn’t have even known it was poison. To be fair to Uncle Gerry, it was written in a very nice calligraphy. The penmanship was immaculate. My Uncle Gerry was a good gift giver. He was the sort of person who gave you things before you even knew you needed them. On my eighth birthday he’d given me my first suit, which I needed the very next week for my Grandmothers funeral after she died suddenly and unexpectedly. On my nineteenth birthday, he’d given me a rope ladder, which had sat unused on my bedroom floor until June, when a fire broke out on the second floor of my house, allowing me to miraculously climb to safety. One memorable christmas, he’d even gifted me a bottle of his favourite whiskey, addressed to 'my favourite Uncle Gerry' - I'd never forget to buy him a christmas present ever again. But this year was different. I’d been wanting this present for a very, very long time. I wasn’t a happy man. I hadn’t always been unhappy. I don’t want to bore you with the details - my unhappiness had been the product of a dull and tortured series of events stemming from childhood that could have happened to anyone and everyone. I was a skinny child, abused by my parents, bullied by my peers, mocked by my teachers. My Grandmother had taken me in at the age of 6 and was the first person in my life to show me a shred of kindness. Well that is, until her sudden death - a heart attack, they explained, which means her heart was so broken there wasn’t anything they could do to save her. I remember I sobbed because my heart was broken too. Things began to look up when I met the love of my life in high school. Cynthia’s sweet smile had soothed my broken soul back to life. Well, that is, until the fire. Although I lost my home and all of my worldly possessions, I hadn't cared. The only thing that mattered was that my only reason left to live had been stolen from me when her sweet smile went up in flames. It seemed only fair to end my life with the very thing that had once saved it - a gift from Uncle Gerry. I took that little glass bottle out of its packaging and rolled it in between my fingers. It glinted in the light. Such a fragile thing, it was a wonder it could cause so much harm. After only a moments hesitation, I uncapped it, and poured its contents down my throat. Then I lay down and waited to die. If you’ve ever been poisoned before, you know how it goes. At first, you don’t notice anything but the sickly sweet taste of the poison on your lips, turning sour as the gravity of what you’ve done begins to sink in. Then your heart begins to race, your body drenched with sweat as it prepares for its final battle. And then suddenly, all the reasons for living that you’d blocked out of your mind flood back in, unrequested and unwanted. Burning sunlight rushing into a room that had been dark and deserted for so long. Coffee, first thing in the morning. The time someone laughed at your jokes and told you you were funny. A favourite song. A neighbour that shows you small kindnesses, like putting out your garbage bin when you forget. The people you work with who treat you like family. The sister that you reconnected with, who has gentle eyes and a gift for cooking. The child that your dead fiancee left behind, who desperately needs you to raise them. And that’s when you realise that it’s all very, very wrong, and you weren’t meant to die, not here, not today, not yet, not ever. I began to retch. When I couldn’t expel the poison, I began to scream. FUCK. Fuck this. Fuck Uncle Gerry. Fuck death. I wanted to live. And that was when Uncle Gerry walked back into the living room, holding two glasses of whiskey. “Fetched myself a drink, I hope you don’t mind… oh.” I gagged in agony, cursing his pathetic name. “Well then, I see you’re enjoying my present.” “Fuck you,” I spat, grinding my teeth. “Would you like to know the best part?” He said, taking a swig from his glass. He sat down in the armchair across from me. I moaned. “It’s sugar syrup,” he said gently, “It can’t cause death - well, except to your teeth, as my dentist would say. Brush and floss or it’ll cost, he used to tell me, capital fellow.” I lay still on the carpet, trembling. Relief. Pouring through my limbs. Shame. I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him. “There may be reasons to die, but there are more reasons to live, dear boy, and too many people realise that far too late,” he mused, staring out of the window into the front yard, where a miserable looking postman was shoving mail into the overflowing letterbox on my front porch, “I don't want that for you.” As I pulled myself off the floor and onto the couch, he slapped me on the back and handed me the spare glass of whiskey. “Drink up, dear boy. It’s one of my favourites, given to me by my favourite nephew.” He winked and clinked my glass, and we drank in the warm light of the afternoon sun.	Great Uncle Bolesław is a strange fellow. I have never met him, but my dad Stan told me a little about him. He still lives in the old country, to protect the family farm after the war, while the rest of the family fled west. Though which war, my dad never said. He is an amiable sort, and sends gifts to his family across the sea. They always arrive on the exact date we are born, on our birthdays. And he even sends gifts to those of us he has never met before. Usually there is a badly written note encouraging us to be our best, and have happy lives. The gifts are uncanny, because they always turn out to be crucial. He sent me a kalaidoscope last year, which I used to distract a lightly wounded child, while me and my friends carried away his grievously wounded parents from a terrible car crash to give them first aid. The kid didn't panic, and the parents pulled through. He once sent my brother a beautiful handmade journal, wherein he wrote his thoughts, stories, and poems. He lost it, but it was returned by a literary agent, who wanted to help my brother get his amazing work published. A cousin of mine received an old fashioned camera, which led her to join a photography club, where she met her future wife. Always, the gifts have an uncanny knack of being used during the year. So when I receive the package this year, I eagerly unwrap it. It is long and heavy. While I am not celebrating my birthday this year, due to being too far away from family due to work, it is still nice to see that Great Uncle Bolesław's gift got through. Inside of the package, to my shock and horror, is a Model 91/98/23 carbine, an interwar modified Polish variant of the Mosin Nagant. Attached to it is a note. It reads: You find enemy. You kill enemy. You will not slay men. Only beasts. Horrors of old country coming for you. Whatever that meant, I didn't know. How he got a fully loaded rifle across the border, I don't know, same with how he got the ammo with it. But there it was, a rifle made in the twenties, which looked nearly new. Then I heard a heavy knocking upon my front door. The knocking intensified until I heard a crack, as the door was torn asunder. Fearfully, I raised up my rifle towards the oncoming crashing of enormous feet upon my floor. Coming through into my kitchen, I see a vodnik, a terrible water demon. Covered in muck, with webbed hands, and his eyes burn like smouldering coals. Desperately, I point the rifle at the deformed shape of that monstrous entity, and fire. Straight between the eyes. As he goes down I see the great hairy shape of a wolf on two legs. Werewolf. I don't hesitate, I simply fire once more. Behind him comes many more terrible things, Licho, the one eyed hag dressed in black, a being of misfortune and evil. Behind there are more vodniks, kikimora, and what can clearly be seen as vampires, with their pale faces, dead eyes, and rotten flesh. Licho was always said to be the enemy of our family. I thought it was just old tales that our grandparents told us to scare us, but that hag I can recognise anywhere. She, no. It is the embodiment of evil, of all that is wrong with the world. Using the butt of the rifle, I smash open a window and jump out of my first floor flat, landing on a dumpster. Rifle in hand, ammo too, I run towards my car, thankfully I had my keys in my pocket. As I start the car, I see the monsters bursting out of my front door, to the general horrified response of the people going about on their business on the street. As I drive away, I hear the screams of the monstrous forces attacking the general population. Cursing under my breath, I turn the car around and pummel into a werewolf chasing down a small group of terrified tourists. I get out, ready my rifle, and fire at the monsters, providing cover fire for the people on the streets as the police arrive. Who are then promptly slaughtered by the nightmarish forces of the evil Licho. As the monsters turn their attention back to me, I get back in my car, and get driving again. Past me as I drive, I see SWAT vehicles pull up, and start a full on battle between modern forces and the supernatural. Of course, as the poorly trained police forces are quickly slaughtered, I try to get to somewhere with a vantage point, as the rifle has an attached old-fashioned scope to it. If I kill the Licho, or at the very least severely damage it, perhaps this army of the damned will disperse. Exactly how Great Uncle Bolesław managed to predict this would happen, I don't get. But it was nice to be armed when this happened. A large church, with a high belltower provides me with protection, as stepping on holy ground always, theoretically, weakens the forces of evil. I get into the church, which is packed to the brim with people praying. I ascend to the top of the belltower, where I see helicopters firing upon the forces of evil, to little effect. Ahead of an army of the damned, casting aside soldiers and throwing police cars at tanks, walks the vile Licho towards where I am. The national guard arrives as she comes to the church, the holiness of it acts as a barrier against her, as I fire upon her and her nightmarish followers. The national guard manage to distract and kill several demonic and horrible entities, but the pure evil spirit cracks a hole into the barrier of holiness, letting her walk upon consecrated ground. I fire again and again upon her, but I am running low on ammo as she approaches. At the end of the rifle there is a bayonet attached. And as I fire my last bullet, rather than let her slaughter the praying congregation, I jump from the top of the tower, and while screaming, I plunge down, bayonet on the rifle first, straight into the one eye of the terrible hag. As the bayonet pierces the skin, she lets out a guttural scream. Around me, the legion of evil monstrous entities from the old country weaken, and the national guard stop getting slaughtered, and instead fights back efficiently. Out from the church comes the priest, and he is carrying a chalice, filled to the brim with holy water. As the Licho screams and twists, and turns, trying to dislodge the rifle from her eye, the priest throws the water over her, and me. Causing the Licho to start to dissolve. I ask the priest what was in that water, the priest answers that the chalice was consecrated with chrism by Pope John Paul II himself. As the evil entity ceases moving, I get up from the floor, drenched in holy water and the black blood of the evil hag. If this came to the new world to hunt our family, there might be more of them coming. I resolve in that moment, to travel back home, and seek out Great Uncle Bolesław, to aid him in fighting these monsters, so that they may never threaten me or my family again. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
	[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.	On my twenty first birthday, Uncle Gerry gave me a bottle of poison wrapped up in cellophane with a pink sateen bow. It was small, and pretty, and almost innocuous. If it hadn’t had the words WARNING: CAUSES IMMEDIATE AND EXCRUCIATING DEATH written in bold letters across the front, you wouldn’t have even known it was poison. To be fair to Uncle Gerry, it was written in a very nice calligraphy. The penmanship was immaculate. My Uncle Gerry was a good gift giver. He was the sort of person who gave you things before you even knew you needed them. On my eighth birthday he’d given me my first suit, which I needed the very next week for my Grandmothers funeral after she died suddenly and unexpectedly. On my nineteenth birthday, he’d given me a rope ladder, which had sat unused on my bedroom floor until June, when a fire broke out on the second floor of my house, allowing me to miraculously climb to safety. One memorable christmas, he’d even gifted me a bottle of his favourite whiskey, addressed to 'my favourite Uncle Gerry' - I'd never forget to buy him a christmas present ever again. But this year was different. I’d been wanting this present for a very, very long time. I wasn’t a happy man. I hadn’t always been unhappy. I don’t want to bore you with the details - my unhappiness had been the product of a dull and tortured series of events stemming from childhood that could have happened to anyone and everyone. I was a skinny child, abused by my parents, bullied by my peers, mocked by my teachers. My Grandmother had taken me in at the age of 6 and was the first person in my life to show me a shred of kindness. Well that is, until her sudden death - a heart attack, they explained, which means her heart was so broken there wasn’t anything they could do to save her. I remember I sobbed because my heart was broken too. Things began to look up when I met the love of my life in high school. Cynthia’s sweet smile had soothed my broken soul back to life. Well, that is, until the fire. Although I lost my home and all of my worldly possessions, I hadn't cared. The only thing that mattered was that my only reason left to live had been stolen from me when her sweet smile went up in flames. It seemed only fair to end my life with the very thing that had once saved it - a gift from Uncle Gerry. I took that little glass bottle out of its packaging and rolled it in between my fingers. It glinted in the light. Such a fragile thing, it was a wonder it could cause so much harm. After only a moments hesitation, I uncapped it, and poured its contents down my throat. Then I lay down and waited to die. If you’ve ever been poisoned before, you know how it goes. At first, you don’t notice anything but the sickly sweet taste of the poison on your lips, turning sour as the gravity of what you’ve done begins to sink in. Then your heart begins to race, your body drenched with sweat as it prepares for its final battle. And then suddenly, all the reasons for living that you’d blocked out of your mind flood back in, unrequested and unwanted. Burning sunlight rushing into a room that had been dark and deserted for so long. Coffee, first thing in the morning. The time someone laughed at your jokes and told you you were funny. A favourite song. A neighbour that shows you small kindnesses, like putting out your garbage bin when you forget. The people you work with who treat you like family. The sister that you reconnected with, who has gentle eyes and a gift for cooking. The child that your dead fiancee left behind, who desperately needs you to raise them. And that’s when you realise that it’s all very, very wrong, and you weren’t meant to die, not here, not today, not yet, not ever. I began to retch. When I couldn’t expel the poison, I began to scream. FUCK. Fuck this. Fuck Uncle Gerry. Fuck death. I wanted to live. And that was when Uncle Gerry walked back into the living room, holding two glasses of whiskey. “Fetched myself a drink, I hope you don’t mind… oh.” I gagged in agony, cursing his pathetic name. “Well then, I see you’re enjoying my present.” “Fuck you,” I spat, grinding my teeth. “Would you like to know the best part?” He said, taking a swig from his glass. He sat down in the armchair across from me. I moaned. “It’s sugar syrup,” he said gently, “It can’t cause death - well, except to your teeth, as my dentist would say. Brush and floss or it’ll cost, he used to tell me, capital fellow.” I lay still on the carpet, trembling. Relief. Pouring through my limbs. Shame. I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him. “There may be reasons to die, but there are more reasons to live, dear boy, and too many people realise that far too late,” he mused, staring out of the window into the front yard, where a miserable looking postman was shoving mail into the overflowing letterbox on my front porch, “I don't want that for you.” As I pulled myself off the floor and onto the couch, he slapped me on the back and handed me the spare glass of whiskey. “Drink up, dear boy. It’s one of my favourites, given to me by my favourite nephew.” He winked and clinked my glass, and we drank in the warm light of the afternoon sun.	"John, if you're reading this note, you've no doubt seen the gift I have sent you this year. It is one I wish I'd never have to send. I want you to first know, I love you more than you could know. Secondly, the answers you find in this book you can never unlearn. The contents of this book will stay a part of you till your last breath. Lastly, I pray that you find success in your mission. The horrors that await are yours alone. I wish I could be there for you, boy, but I can't. You will no longer receive any more gifts from me, for reasons you will soon know. P.S. Please, for the love of all that is good in this world, don't ever forget to be kind. Treat everyone with compassion. You'll soon learn why that is hard to come by in our line of work. With love, Uncle Donald Brittager" That is the note attached to the "gift" my Uncle Don sent. The weird thing about my Uncle Don and his gifts is they always were exactly what I needed, even when I didn't know it yet. For example, one year when I was a senior in high school he sent me a mixing bowl, a bunch of ingredients for a cake, and a recipe. The note attached said, "You will know what to do with this in two days time. Always remember what I told you, be kind. Have compassion. I love you." Two days later my girlfriend's mother died in a car accident. I've never baked a day in my life, but I baked that cake from Uncle Don and gave it to her and her grieving family. I told them how sorry I was and I didn't know what to do, but I wanted to help. Lindsey's father hugged me and she cried in my arms all night. We started eating the cake and her father started having an allergic reaction to it, but I didn't think he had any allergies. Turns out he doesn't, doctors still can't explain it. They started running a bunch of tests and found a defect in his heart that most certainly would kill him within the next couple of years. Another gift I received was a fucking truck. I'm not joking a fucking truck came to my door and the driver said, "Delivery for John Garrett." It was loaded with everything for a new baby. Diapers of every size, baby food, a crib, toys, clothes, etc. Literally everything you'd need to raise a child until about 3 years old. Lindsey and I just found out we were pregnant my second year of law school that morning. I got a note later that read, "You've no doubt received the truck. I hope you raise your daughter right and teach her kindness above all." There was some other stuff, but that was the meat. We found out we were having a girl a few months later. The good news is, since we couldn't afford child care, Lindsey's father was able to take care of Sarah while I was in class and Lindsey was working as a nurse. My parents had already passed, both cancer. I have thirty some odd of these stories I can fully remember. My mother would tell me Uncle Don would send gifts when I was a baby/small child that were equally as strange. I could go on, but I can't. For starters, because I can't stop looking at this year's gift. The note makes it seem like Uncle Don is going to die. I've never even met him and I'm heartbroken. He's done so much for me and I've never gotten to see him and hug him and tell him how much I loved him. I opened the gift and after reading the note I saw what was underneath. It's a book. Sorry, that's an understatement, it's a fucking nightmare shaped like a book. It's cover made of something fleshy and it's spine, I can't believe it, is a literal spine. The pages are surprisingly soft and written in something black and thick. It's not ink, but almost like an oil or something. I crack it open to the first page. There is a warning: UNDERSTAND THAT READING THIS BOOK WILL GIVE YOU THE TOOLS TO DEFEATING THEM. YOU WILL LEARN UNSPEAKABLE HORRORS AND TERRIFYING REALITIES. YOU CANNOT RETURN FROM THIS. I think back to just a couple weeks ago. I woke up, Lindsey was no longer in my life. I tried pounding on her chest, but she was gone. No cause, she just...died. I called out to Sarah crying. It's best that she knew then. Sarah didn't answer. I went to her room. I collapsed. I screamed. I threw things in our house. I broke down so much the cops were called. They brought their bodies out of the house to conduct an autopsy. The coroner told me he wishes he could explain it other than an act of God. He could see my anger. He hugged me and told me that the big guy upstairs fucking sucks though. I laughed. I thought Lindsey would too. I cried in his arms. I turn the page of the book. I start reading it. There are drawings of terrifying creatures. One such creature has several arms and legs protruding out of what seems to just a torso. Almost, like one of those sticky balls you had as a kid that had a bunch of suction cups on it. Yeah, like that, but arms and legs. Each finger and toe had an eye on it. Another creature lives in the shadow. They follow you for years. There is no sound associated with it, other than whispers in the wind. Whatever that means. No figure. Just darkness. If it comes after you, it's just death. No fight, you just cease to exist. I wonder if Uncle Don knew about Lindsey and Sarah. There's words written under the descriptor of the creature. "The only ones who can survive encounters with these creatures are those of the bloodline of this book's authors. The spell to cast so you can communicate with this creature is Ethu Fo'mare Kital Luso. Understand though, that this will allow the creature to kill you even if you are of the bloodline. There is no known way to kill this creature, but some say communication can prove quite effective." I think about the possibility of confronting this being that took my family away. I think back to Uncle Don telling me to always be kind. I'm sorry Uncle Don, I can't be kind to this bastard. I without hesitation recite the passage. Nothing happens. I go and sit on the porch. I light up a camel. It's a still night not a branch moving in sight. I hear wind blowing in my ears. I hear the words, "The last of the Brittager family and the dynasty of the undying fighters." My eyes widened. I'm horrified. I can't look around for fear of what I might see, and knowing that it would be nothing. I feel breathing on my neck. I hear faint laughter as if in the distance. "Dear God, what have you done, is right, John" the wind blows in my ear.
	[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.	He'd appear once per year, an uncle distant enough that no one really knew who he was related to, but who always bore a striking resemblance to me. Ever since I was born, he'd come only to give me a gift, then leave without a word - nothing but a smile, a smile that seemed to say so much without saying anything at all. It was like he knew precisely what I would need most for that year. It made my life play out perfectly, like it was a carefully-constructed design. A wedding ring, for when I'd finally met the love of my life. A winning lottery ticket, when I desperately needed capital to start my technology company. A gun... for when those bastards tried to take that all away from me. I took to never questioning it. Instead, I would take each gift with reverence, always looking for the best opportunity to use it. Uncle would always know best, after all. But now, it seemed that today would be the last gift I would ever receive. For the first time, and likely the last time, uncle had requested that I visit him. In his message, he explained that he was sick, and that he was no longer able to bring my birthday gift. Instead, I would need to go to him. I was in the prime of my life. The gifts had rocketed me upwards, leading to unparalleled success. If today was the last gift I would ever receive, then so be it. He had already served me beyond compare, and for that I would remain forever grateful. But I could not let him go without an explanation. The helicopter ride made short work of the distance, and I arrived at his home with a keen sense of urgency. I couldn't let him die before explaining how he always knew, how each gift was so perfectly suited for my life. I entered, not knowing what I would find. Inside, an incredibly sophisticated machine lay sprawling across the epicenter of the house. He lay on a simple bed in the middle of it all. He beckoned me forward and I came, excitement mixed with dread. He lifted something with effort, pushing it into my hands. The machine seemed incredibly complex, and yet refined into a simplistic design. It was all linked to this single interface, small enough to fit in one hand. I stared at the gift, inspecting it with disbelief. It had a weight to it, not just in mass but in implication. He lifted a shaking arm, pointing towards the assigned date. My birth date. His arm continued to move. He placed his shaky hand on my shoulder and brought me into a hug, squeezing tightly. He moved his lips to my ear, and whispered something with the last of his strength: "Your turn."	"John, if you're reading this note, you've no doubt seen the gift I have sent you this year. It is one I wish I'd never have to send. I want you to first know, I love you more than you could know. Secondly, the answers you find in this book you can never unlearn. The contents of this book will stay a part of you till your last breath. Lastly, I pray that you find success in your mission. The horrors that await are yours alone. I wish I could be there for you, boy, but I can't. You will no longer receive any more gifts from me, for reasons you will soon know. P.S. Please, for the love of all that is good in this world, don't ever forget to be kind. Treat everyone with compassion. You'll soon learn why that is hard to come by in our line of work. With love, Uncle Donald Brittager" That is the note attached to the "gift" my Uncle Don sent. The weird thing about my Uncle Don and his gifts is they always were exactly what I needed, even when I didn't know it yet. For example, one year when I was a senior in high school he sent me a mixing bowl, a bunch of ingredients for a cake, and a recipe. The note attached said, "You will know what to do with this in two days time. Always remember what I told you, be kind. Have compassion. I love you." Two days later my girlfriend's mother died in a car accident. I've never baked a day in my life, but I baked that cake from Uncle Don and gave it to her and her grieving family. I told them how sorry I was and I didn't know what to do, but I wanted to help. Lindsey's father hugged me and she cried in my arms all night. We started eating the cake and her father started having an allergic reaction to it, but I didn't think he had any allergies. Turns out he doesn't, doctors still can't explain it. They started running a bunch of tests and found a defect in his heart that most certainly would kill him within the next couple of years. Another gift I received was a fucking truck. I'm not joking a fucking truck came to my door and the driver said, "Delivery for John Garrett." It was loaded with everything for a new baby. Diapers of every size, baby food, a crib, toys, clothes, etc. Literally everything you'd need to raise a child until about 3 years old. Lindsey and I just found out we were pregnant my second year of law school that morning. I got a note later that read, "You've no doubt received the truck. I hope you raise your daughter right and teach her kindness above all." There was some other stuff, but that was the meat. We found out we were having a girl a few months later. The good news is, since we couldn't afford child care, Lindsey's father was able to take care of Sarah while I was in class and Lindsey was working as a nurse. My parents had already passed, both cancer. I have thirty some odd of these stories I can fully remember. My mother would tell me Uncle Don would send gifts when I was a baby/small child that were equally as strange. I could go on, but I can't. For starters, because I can't stop looking at this year's gift. The note makes it seem like Uncle Don is going to die. I've never even met him and I'm heartbroken. He's done so much for me and I've never gotten to see him and hug him and tell him how much I loved him. I opened the gift and after reading the note I saw what was underneath. It's a book. Sorry, that's an understatement, it's a fucking nightmare shaped like a book. It's cover made of something fleshy and it's spine, I can't believe it, is a literal spine. The pages are surprisingly soft and written in something black and thick. It's not ink, but almost like an oil or something. I crack it open to the first page. There is a warning: UNDERSTAND THAT READING THIS BOOK WILL GIVE YOU THE TOOLS TO DEFEATING THEM. YOU WILL LEARN UNSPEAKABLE HORRORS AND TERRIFYING REALITIES. YOU CANNOT RETURN FROM THIS. I think back to just a couple weeks ago. I woke up, Lindsey was no longer in my life. I tried pounding on her chest, but she was gone. No cause, she just...died. I called out to Sarah crying. It's best that she knew then. Sarah didn't answer. I went to her room. I collapsed. I screamed. I threw things in our house. I broke down so much the cops were called. They brought their bodies out of the house to conduct an autopsy. The coroner told me he wishes he could explain it other than an act of God. He could see my anger. He hugged me and told me that the big guy upstairs fucking sucks though. I laughed. I thought Lindsey would too. I cried in his arms. I turn the page of the book. I start reading it. There are drawings of terrifying creatures. One such creature has several arms and legs protruding out of what seems to just a torso. Almost, like one of those sticky balls you had as a kid that had a bunch of suction cups on it. Yeah, like that, but arms and legs. Each finger and toe had an eye on it. Another creature lives in the shadow. They follow you for years. There is no sound associated with it, other than whispers in the wind. Whatever that means. No figure. Just darkness. If it comes after you, it's just death. No fight, you just cease to exist. I wonder if Uncle Don knew about Lindsey and Sarah. There's words written under the descriptor of the creature. "The only ones who can survive encounters with these creatures are those of the bloodline of this book's authors. The spell to cast so you can communicate with this creature is Ethu Fo'mare Kital Luso. Understand though, that this will allow the creature to kill you even if you are of the bloodline. There is no known way to kill this creature, but some say communication can prove quite effective." I think about the possibility of confronting this being that took my family away. I think back to Uncle Don telling me to always be kind. I'm sorry Uncle Don, I can't be kind to this bastard. I without hesitation recite the passage. Nothing happens. I go and sit on the porch. I light up a camel. It's a still night not a branch moving in sight. I hear wind blowing in my ears. I hear the words, "The last of the Brittager family and the dynasty of the undying fighters." My eyes widened. I'm horrified. I can't look around for fear of what I might see, and knowing that it would be nothing. I feel breathing on my neck. I hear faint laughter as if in the distance. "Dear God, what have you done, is right, John" the wind blows in my ear.
	[WP] When people stop believing in a God or Goddess their power decreases. When nobody has faith in them any more they cease to exist. You are a Goddess of an ancient religion who is determined to survive	######[](#dropcap) The sun rises for another dawn, Aerie groans. “Apollo, Amaterasu, Ra, and I don’t know how many of you solar deities are left,” she clutches her head, “but did you really have to raise the sun after a hangover?” Aerie doesn’t remember when her body lost immunity to alcohol poisoning, but it’s been a pain to deal with. She yawns, parts some of her long black hair, then gets ready for the day. She opens the fridge, and surveys the barren landscape of the icy cold container, seemingly empty save for an apple and mostly empty alcohol bottles. “Right, I don’t need too much to eat. Still…” She reaches for the lone fruit and takes a bite, “Got to satisfy these cravings somehow…” Aerie hits a key on her computer, the news pops up. Standard news fair, two reporters. Talking heads trying to guess whether or not the gods of weather are going to be fickle today. “...and back to you Chris.” “Thank you Amy. Now for our top news headlines, updates on the war, civil unrest rocking the globe, and teaching an old dog new tricks.” “Good to see those deities are doing well for themselves.” After finishing the apple, she returns to her closet to pick out her clothes for the day, grumbling that she used to be able to snap her fingers and change. “This should do.” Ready for the day, she leaves her home wearing a casual black denim jacket resistant to the toughest winds covering a button-up, loose-fitting navy blue blouse blown by even the slightest breeze, modest jodhpurs-styled jeans that hug just right even if the pockets don’t, and some comfortable black dealer boots, the kind where they get comfortable after you wear them too long after every single day. Train’s on time today, fortunate in a life of recent misfortunes. Aerie takes a seat, then looks out the window. The morning sun peaks between trees and illuminates the dimly lit train car. “It’s always refreshing to see the sun I guess.” Aerie takes out her phone, she scrolls through her daily news feed. “Clickbait. Clickbait. More war. Clickbait. Something about saving the dolphins. More stuff from the deities of love, Aphrodite is really having a field day these days.” Her stop. 22nd and North St. Home of The Pantheon. A quaint little cafe that caters to all tastes. It’s been here forever. Legend has it that it was here before the city. Still thought it had decent coffee then, still think it has decent coffee now. “Hello!” The barista greets me with a warm smile, it takes them a moment to recognize me, a twinkle in their eye. “Oh! Madame Aerie! We were expecting you! Right this way to the elevator.” Aerie nods. Climbing into the elevator, the barista scans it for a bit, before settling on the right button to press. It’s a pain for it to go up and down. 1… 3… 25… 50… Mortals might think it strange for a two floor cafe to have so many floors. DING! “Here we are!” The doors slide open. The crashing waterfall greets Aerie as she takes a breath, moisture heavy in the air but not warm. The mushrooms glow faintly in a neon like green, while the sun stone above bathes the Pantheon’s customers in its grace. It should be freezing down here, fortunately the place stays warm enough considering the conditions. Before, Aerie steps out, the barista coughs for a moment, staring intently at the woman. “Right, of course.” Aerie digs through her pockets and produces a small gold coin with some ancient scriptures, “Thank you for your service Kharon.” The barista smiles, “You know, every time I think your Pantheon is extinct you always manage to toss me another one of these.” “Surviving is what I do best.” Aerie smiles back. Kharon bows, and the elevator doors close. Aerie surveys the room. Deities from a number of pantheons gather to eat, drink, debate, and contemplate life and their own mortality. But one table stands out in particular. It was a woman with her red headed hair tied in a bob and cat’s eye glasses, wearing a low-cut emerald green dress that hugs her ever so precariously, its sequins glisten even in the soft glow around her, and bright red heels, a color reminiscent of a blood sacrifice. Aerie strolls to her reservation, poise and confident. “Hangover killing you?” the woman chuckles. “No Catherine,” Aerie chuckles back, “It’s going to take more than a few gallons of the beverage to kill me.” “Well said. So, what did you want to talk to me about?” “It’s about the Invasion.” Catherine sighs, “All work and no play I guess.” “Been like that since all the other end times local to this planet.” “Fair.” Aerie surveys the room, “At this rate, humanity and we don’t stand a chance against them.” “You would think an ancient goddess who's barely hanging on in some forsaken museum and an Elder Goddess who's popular would be enough to stop those things, but these days humans tend to worship their ego more than us.” “Well… If the world has lost faith in the deities...” Aerie grins. “Why don’t we give them something to believe in?”	Whisps of memory float by. An ancient time, temples full of worshipers, brighter days. I feel so faint that it seems every time I open my eyes another century has passed. I live by feeding on the few prayers of those who pray to the unknown gods, the great mystical beyond. Those tiny morsels of worship are the scraps upon which the great pantheons survive, but it is not enough. I fade away, drained slightly more each day. This was the state from which I sharply awoke. My Temple was being touched by mankind once more. People, unlike any I had seen before, skin a new color, clothes simple but unfamiliar, language fresh and evolving, were carefully tip-toeing through the halls. Feeling their hands on my sculptures, and their eyes on my portraits, I could not contain a shiver of life as it flowed through me. I could finally focus, and understand their words. "This is clearly the goddess of the ancient people who lived here. These paintings clearly are the completion of the artworks we saw in the city outside." "Siri, how far are we from the base camp?" "We are 1.42 miles from BASE CAMP." At this I was dumbfounded. A goddess who speaks so directly to her people. That level of condescension is unheard of, intolerable! And yet, she lives and thrives among her people while I waste away. Perhaps the aid of a fellow goddess will help me gain strength? No, she would be giving followers to me, hurting herself for my survival. In these lean times she would not sacrifice so. I must force them to call my name, and respond aloud when they do. I concentrated on the few humans in my Temple. Eight, wandering different places. I bathed in their reverence, drank from their souls. I gathered my strength. Two of them approached the altar. I concentrated on the vines cluttering the ceiling. I can open little skylight and shine light on the relief my name, etched so long ago. "Look! Is that the name of the goddess of this place?" "Let me check my translator. Corta--" I HEARD MY NAME CALLED! or close enough! With the last of my strength I opened the heavens and delivered the rain of the ages. The new faithful in my Temple would be swept away by the water of life, but I can rest peacefully knowing that more will come, more will praise the name Corda, Goddess of the spring.
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	"WOOOO!" Escaped my lips, bolting upright. The Ampli-phial implant still had a few residual drops left according to my retina's HUD display, giving me a world class kick back into consciousness. I probably didn't deserve it after the last 6 days of almost nonstop E.T. slaughter and mayhem, I probably deserved the death I was all but certain was happening when I was jettisoned from the obliterated alien star cruiser. But, as always, it felt good. Really fuckin' good, like an orgasm, a double shot coffee and three rounds undefeated in the ring in one rigid spike of NOW. The towering, celestial elves around me kept their space, letting me hop up from the table they had been analyzing me on. I winked at them, quickly grabbing my tattered pants to cover up my junk. The underwear was optional, and mostly saturated with purple blood by now, so I left it on the table behind me. "You fancy dudes see that shit? Oh man. Jammed an implosive charge into one of those Ornockii Brood Queen's sphincter, talk about GUTS. Ha!" A low grumbling distracted me. "Say, where's the shitter?" One of the elves, floating on invisible forces, leaned to the ear of the fanciest and tallest elf, clearly engaged in psychic conversation. Regardless, I was gonna take a shit. At the far wall of the chamber was a receptacle of adequate proportion, and as grandad always said, 'any port in the shit storm'. With a brief jaunt and an even quicker hunker-down, I unleashed. The elves paled at this. Was it a sacred vessel? Perhaps a fancy nano-surgery system? With all the clear tubes and fancy lights and floating elvish runes it could have been anything. I didn't really care, nor would I ever. I patted down my pocket, and sure enough, one burned stub of a cigar remained, chunks of shrapnel still embedded into it. No big deal, wouldn't hurt the flavor, though the Ornockii blood might. Two pockets and a flick later it was lit, and I basked in the afterglow of a battle well fought, an undeserved survival and a shit to write home to Mama about. TP, however, fuck... Guess they aren't all that advanced after all. "Hey toots, toss me those old undies."	Banzan laughed maniacally to himself. He had hoped someone was alive, clutching the embraces of death, walking the fine line of their foolish mortality. Unfortunately, he did too good of a job. What’s left of his audience are bloodied, tattered bodies. The sole voice in that chamber was Banzan’s. A dark dwarf stormed in, and stopped. He witnessed the scene. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but somewhere in his heart he expected this. He knew he should’ve never trusted Banzan, but by the time he realized he knew it was too late. That was why he wasn’t so surprised when Banzan suddenly flew toward him, and slashed him. The dark dwarf watched his body separate from him. Darkness followed. Banzan looked up through into the starry expanse of space. He saw many stars, many gleaming dots. The perfect setting to end this, Banzan thought, as he swallowed a very miniscule, unassuming ball. Visions flooded his mind, and for a moment Banzan lost grasp of himself. Only for a moment, though. A sudden movement—another interruption. Banzan didn’t have much time. He had to make it to the warp gate before the effects wore off. He has to finish off the king while the forbidden high still grips him, choking his vitality, luring his spirit playfully. “Captain Banzan!” A woman, human, called. She looked worn, exhausted, but relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her. Her eyes betrayed kindness. “So this is where you are! I’m glad you’re safe! Look, the operation to take down the damn drug-stealing rebels is—” She froze, and long after she realized the situation, long after she could’ve pulled out her neutralizing ray, yet she didn’t, Banzan had swiftly cut her down too. It was a painless death. It was an end befitting of her, and end to her sufferings. Banzan quickly made it out. He utilized a secret passage which only he knew. His comrades wouldn’t find him, for the route was on no map. He planned this for this day meticulously. He thought he could handle the casualties of his dear partners… Even though they were Elven warriors..! He couldn’t deny the fact that they were also his friends. Banzan took more pills. His head exploded from the inside, an atomic bomb dropping within the confines of his consciousness. It wiped away any pre-existing doubt. He made it to the warp. An elven soldier had been waiting for him. “So it was you who sent Mira and Zayn to their deaths?” Banzan said, the voice of killing intent erupting from the cracks of his delusion. “We should’ve never trusted you Banzan. I’ve already let the High Palace know about you. Give up while you can. They’ll make your death an easy one, I can guarantee it,” the elven soldier said. Banzan had taken too much. Not just drugs, but sorrow, war, and betrayal. He knew how well ideals can corrupt a soul. All he has left is his mission. The elven soldier dropped his weapon. He walked over slowly to Banzan. Banzan walked past him and activated the gate. Shortly after the warp started, the ship blasted an emergency alarm. The lights flashed red. The ship crashed and shook wildly, as if colliding nonstop. There was no space rubble in the area, and the elven soldier knew this. He smiled a bitter-sweet smile. “I knew this was how it was going to end. There’s no end to your despair. ” he said, as Banzan disappeared. The ship exploded. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Banzan rushed the warp procedures. He had to. He rigged the ship to explode as the final measure. Even if they knew he was coming, there would be no chance of help for them. All routes were secured. Banzan had won. The high still gripped him. It was heavy, yet thrilling. It was the most intense thrill Banzan ever experienced. He didn’t need to yet he took more pills. He was extremely nervous, and the pills had no effect besides filling his mind with excruciating visions and clearing his thoughts with a pain worse than any he had ever experienced in his over one hundred years of war across the far reaches of space and time. He crashed into the High Palace. The elven aristocrats were having themselves a nice little party. The royalty rose in shock. In a crater and out of a box of black glass, Banzan rose. A corner of the palace was obliterated instantly. One moment things were tranquil, the next… Banzan stepped forward. His eyes tore into the souls of every member and guest present. His presence commanded the fear and attention of every soul that could comprehend terror. He surprised everyone but the Elven King. It was strange. There were no guards. Even though Morrow said he informed the Palace, what gives? Was it a bluff? Was he lying to him? It mattered not. Banzan crouched, his head low to the ground. He readied himself. “So… the prodigal prince returns. What a mess you’ve made, my dear son.” The Elven King smiled warmly. The royal crowd gasped and stirred a commotion. “Don’t call me that!” Banzan roared. As loud and flashy his arrival was, his departure was quiet. He disappeared. “Banzan! Banzan, my boy!” The Elven King mocked. “You’re finally home! And in such good taste too! What is it? Looking to play a game of hide and seek with your sickly old father? Sounds great. I haven’t worked up a sweat in over…” The Elven King disappeared as well. There were numerous clashes, but nobody could see a thing. “-200 years!” The Elven King and Banzan reappeared. Banzan was bleeding at the side. There’s no way! Banzan panicked. He can keep up with the forbidden high? And at such an intense level? Banzan had no choice but to take more and more. They continued clashing. The audience scrambled, trying to run away. Some were caught in the dogfight. Most escaped safely, thanks to the royal guard. “Father! No, Elven King! What do you seek to accomplish! You’ve acquired immortality, power, status, wealth, and the deepest and darkest magical secrets the universe could hope to offer. I’ve served as a soldier for fifty years and not once have I trusted you! What are you scheming!” Banzan knew it was a futile question, but part of him yearned for the truth. Quickly, he was losing himself. The drug was too strong. It was already too late for him. If he didn’t finish business here, all his sacrifices would be for nought. He could not let that happen. “Banzan,” the Elven King said. “When you live over two hundred thousand years, you’ll understand... “I… “I..! “I’m trying to end this immortal curse! And for that, for that..! “I need sacrifices!” As the Elven King roared those words, he cast a forbidden magic. It was a magic much worse than the forbidden high, worse than the Cratersphere, worse than the Final Terra Nova. Suddenly, multiple silhouettes glowed a translucent blue that could be seen through the walls. They were funny silhouettes of outlined frills and dashing collars. They were the aristocrats and royal guard. Screams of terror and fear filled the battered palace. From all over, magic power flooded the Elven King, and the aristocrats around dropped like flies. Soon there was no screaming. For the first time, the damned aristocrats felt fear. It was fear towards this terrifying intruder, but towards their beloved king, for all of them knew, at that instant, what was transpiring, what fate awaited them. “Power! Power! I need more and more and more and more! This is necessary, Banzan! Or should I say, Beluar!” The Elven King laughed maniacally. His howls filled the lifeless bodies of his dead family and friends. “I didn’t intend to begin the next phase now, but if there is one thing I learned in the many years of my foolish existence is that surprises are the spice that keeps life interesting.” “You… You..!!!” Don’t tell me..! You let the aristocrats remain here on purpose? For this..? "YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER!” Banzan charged into the figure of his father, who was nothing but a void of destruction now.
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	“Power is Morality”. This was the one rule of the Commonwealth, and the High Elves had all the power. There was once a time long ago when that power was used to protect and guide the other races, but now the rest of us have toiled in the mud, slaves in all but name. However the pursuit of power has also been their undoing, as Arcane Magic led to Blood Magic, to the summoning and binding of demons, to eventually our salvation. They say it started with a young ambitious Mage, attempting a new summoning at the cost of thousands of our lives. The survivors tell of a man rising out of the pool of blood, his strange green armor streaked with red and by the end of the night, every High Elf, and Demon were dead in that manor, then soon in the city and surrounding lands. Where the Stranger went, he brought death for our Masters and freedom for us. We joined his march of liberation, and soon Human, Gnome, Dwarf, Goblin, Drow, and Wood Elf joined forces to free our peoples. Now we stand before Capitol of the Commonwealth where the former Masters are making a desperate last stand, facing us are legions of elite solders, and bound demons. We are massively outnumbered, and the cold grip of fear starts to take hold throughout our ranks, until for the first time, the Stranger spoke, a whisper that all heard as if shouted, each word dripping with power, giving us strength, and coming out as if forced: “Rip and tear until it is done.” This is my first reply to a prompt and any feedback is appreciated.	Banzan laughed maniacally to himself. He had hoped someone was alive, clutching the embraces of death, walking the fine line of their foolish mortality. Unfortunately, he did too good of a job. What’s left of his audience are bloodied, tattered bodies. The sole voice in that chamber was Banzan’s. A dark dwarf stormed in, and stopped. He witnessed the scene. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but somewhere in his heart he expected this. He knew he should’ve never trusted Banzan, but by the time he realized he knew it was too late. That was why he wasn’t so surprised when Banzan suddenly flew toward him, and slashed him. The dark dwarf watched his body separate from him. Darkness followed. Banzan looked up through into the starry expanse of space. He saw many stars, many gleaming dots. The perfect setting to end this, Banzan thought, as he swallowed a very miniscule, unassuming ball. Visions flooded his mind, and for a moment Banzan lost grasp of himself. Only for a moment, though. A sudden movement—another interruption. Banzan didn’t have much time. He had to make it to the warp gate before the effects wore off. He has to finish off the king while the forbidden high still grips him, choking his vitality, luring his spirit playfully. “Captain Banzan!” A woman, human, called. She looked worn, exhausted, but relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her. Her eyes betrayed kindness. “So this is where you are! I’m glad you’re safe! Look, the operation to take down the damn drug-stealing rebels is—” She froze, and long after she realized the situation, long after she could’ve pulled out her neutralizing ray, yet she didn’t, Banzan had swiftly cut her down too. It was a painless death. It was an end befitting of her, and end to her sufferings. Banzan quickly made it out. He utilized a secret passage which only he knew. His comrades wouldn’t find him, for the route was on no map. He planned this for this day meticulously. He thought he could handle the casualties of his dear partners… Even though they were Elven warriors..! He couldn’t deny the fact that they were also his friends. Banzan took more pills. His head exploded from the inside, an atomic bomb dropping within the confines of his consciousness. It wiped away any pre-existing doubt. He made it to the warp. An elven soldier had been waiting for him. “So it was you who sent Mira and Zayn to their deaths?” Banzan said, the voice of killing intent erupting from the cracks of his delusion. “We should’ve never trusted you Banzan. I’ve already let the High Palace know about you. Give up while you can. They’ll make your death an easy one, I can guarantee it,” the elven soldier said. Banzan had taken too much. Not just drugs, but sorrow, war, and betrayal. He knew how well ideals can corrupt a soul. All he has left is his mission. The elven soldier dropped his weapon. He walked over slowly to Banzan. Banzan walked past him and activated the gate. Shortly after the warp started, the ship blasted an emergency alarm. The lights flashed red. The ship crashed and shook wildly, as if colliding nonstop. There was no space rubble in the area, and the elven soldier knew this. He smiled a bitter-sweet smile. “I knew this was how it was going to end. There’s no end to your despair. ” he said, as Banzan disappeared. The ship exploded. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Banzan rushed the warp procedures. He had to. He rigged the ship to explode as the final measure. Even if they knew he was coming, there would be no chance of help for them. All routes were secured. Banzan had won. The high still gripped him. It was heavy, yet thrilling. It was the most intense thrill Banzan ever experienced. He didn’t need to yet he took more pills. He was extremely nervous, and the pills had no effect besides filling his mind with excruciating visions and clearing his thoughts with a pain worse than any he had ever experienced in his over one hundred years of war across the far reaches of space and time. He crashed into the High Palace. The elven aristocrats were having themselves a nice little party. The royalty rose in shock. In a crater and out of a box of black glass, Banzan rose. A corner of the palace was obliterated instantly. One moment things were tranquil, the next… Banzan stepped forward. His eyes tore into the souls of every member and guest present. His presence commanded the fear and attention of every soul that could comprehend terror. He surprised everyone but the Elven King. It was strange. There were no guards. Even though Morrow said he informed the Palace, what gives? Was it a bluff? Was he lying to him? It mattered not. Banzan crouched, his head low to the ground. He readied himself. “So… the prodigal prince returns. What a mess you’ve made, my dear son.” The Elven King smiled warmly. The royal crowd gasped and stirred a commotion. “Don’t call me that!” Banzan roared. As loud and flashy his arrival was, his departure was quiet. He disappeared. “Banzan! Banzan, my boy!” The Elven King mocked. “You’re finally home! And in such good taste too! What is it? Looking to play a game of hide and seek with your sickly old father? Sounds great. I haven’t worked up a sweat in over…” The Elven King disappeared as well. There were numerous clashes, but nobody could see a thing. “-200 years!” The Elven King and Banzan reappeared. Banzan was bleeding at the side. There’s no way! Banzan panicked. He can keep up with the forbidden high? And at such an intense level? Banzan had no choice but to take more and more. They continued clashing. The audience scrambled, trying to run away. Some were caught in the dogfight. Most escaped safely, thanks to the royal guard. “Father! No, Elven King! What do you seek to accomplish! You’ve acquired immortality, power, status, wealth, and the deepest and darkest magical secrets the universe could hope to offer. I’ve served as a soldier for fifty years and not once have I trusted you! What are you scheming!” Banzan knew it was a futile question, but part of him yearned for the truth. Quickly, he was losing himself. The drug was too strong. It was already too late for him. If he didn’t finish business here, all his sacrifices would be for nought. He could not let that happen. “Banzan,” the Elven King said. “When you live over two hundred thousand years, you’ll understand... “I… “I..! “I’m trying to end this immortal curse! And for that, for that..! “I need sacrifices!” As the Elven King roared those words, he cast a forbidden magic. It was a magic much worse than the forbidden high, worse than the Cratersphere, worse than the Final Terra Nova. Suddenly, multiple silhouettes glowed a translucent blue that could be seen through the walls. They were funny silhouettes of outlined frills and dashing collars. They were the aristocrats and royal guard. Screams of terror and fear filled the battered palace. From all over, magic power flooded the Elven King, and the aristocrats around dropped like flies. Soon there was no screaming. For the first time, the damned aristocrats felt fear. It was fear towards this terrifying intruder, but towards their beloved king, for all of them knew, at that instant, what was transpiring, what fate awaited them. “Power! Power! I need more and more and more and more! This is necessary, Banzan! Or should I say, Beluar!” The Elven King laughed maniacally. His howls filled the lifeless bodies of his dead family and friends. “I didn’t intend to begin the next phase now, but if there is one thing I learned in the many years of my foolish existence is that surprises are the spice that keeps life interesting.” “You… You..!!!” Don’t tell me..! You let the aristocrats remain here on purpose? For this..? "YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER!” Banzan charged into the figure of his father, who was nothing but a void of destruction now.
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	"Archon, there is a life form in that crater." "Unlikely. That crater was formed by the detonation of some type of superweapon. No living being could have survived that, no less the fallout." "And yet, I get readings from the very center of it. A very strong life signal, and from what the readings say, whichever being is laying there is immensely powerful, perhaps even powerful enough to have... created the crater itself. Sir." "Fine. Send a few squads down to capture it." "Certainly, sir" As the squads came into vision, swarming out of thw hangar bays of the Elven spaceship hovering above the newly-formed crater of pure glass, Axol awoke from his unconsciousness following the crash of his combat high just three days prior, feeling surprised at the appearance of the Elves. "Goddamn Knife-Ears, always sticking their fancy noses where they don't belong." Axol grumbled as he got up and activated another dose of the cocktail of combat enhancers he'd used earlier in preparation for what was to come. "I'll show 'em what happens when ya get all up in my business without askin' me, see how they like it." As the ships flew towards him, he calculated the angle and force he was going to need, and leapt at the closest dropship, crashing through the cockpit with the sheer force of his jump, sending the ship into a spin as he tore through the inside, tearing the heavily armed elves limb for limb, ending their previously thought to be immortal lives with little to no effort. When he was done, no more than six seconds had passed, and he tore out the side of the small ship and leapt to the next one, brusting through the side door and repeating the process. Not more than two minutes later, all the squads the Archon had sent down were dead or dying, and the Archon could have sworn that this terrifying monster was looking straight at him form the burning remains of his ships, even though he was several miles up in the air behind a full two feet of transparasteel. A shiver went down his back as he realised the scanners simply stated this was a human, and the cold sweat trickled down his back at the notion that this was what the humans had become since the elves had left Earth millennia ago. "Contact the colonies. Notify them of what the humans have become. We must never engage them."	Banzan laughed maniacally to himself. He had hoped someone was alive, clutching the embraces of death, walking the fine line of their foolish mortality. Unfortunately, he did too good of a job. What’s left of his audience are bloodied, tattered bodies. The sole voice in that chamber was Banzan’s. A dark dwarf stormed in, and stopped. He witnessed the scene. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but somewhere in his heart he expected this. He knew he should’ve never trusted Banzan, but by the time he realized he knew it was too late. That was why he wasn’t so surprised when Banzan suddenly flew toward him, and slashed him. The dark dwarf watched his body separate from him. Darkness followed. Banzan looked up through into the starry expanse of space. He saw many stars, many gleaming dots. The perfect setting to end this, Banzan thought, as he swallowed a very miniscule, unassuming ball. Visions flooded his mind, and for a moment Banzan lost grasp of himself. Only for a moment, though. A sudden movement—another interruption. Banzan didn’t have much time. He had to make it to the warp gate before the effects wore off. He has to finish off the king while the forbidden high still grips him, choking his vitality, luring his spirit playfully. “Captain Banzan!” A woman, human, called. She looked worn, exhausted, but relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her. Her eyes betrayed kindness. “So this is where you are! I’m glad you’re safe! Look, the operation to take down the damn drug-stealing rebels is—” She froze, and long after she realized the situation, long after she could’ve pulled out her neutralizing ray, yet she didn’t, Banzan had swiftly cut her down too. It was a painless death. It was an end befitting of her, and end to her sufferings. Banzan quickly made it out. He utilized a secret passage which only he knew. His comrades wouldn’t find him, for the route was on no map. He planned this for this day meticulously. He thought he could handle the casualties of his dear partners… Even though they were Elven warriors..! He couldn’t deny the fact that they were also his friends. Banzan took more pills. His head exploded from the inside, an atomic bomb dropping within the confines of his consciousness. It wiped away any pre-existing doubt. He made it to the warp. An elven soldier had been waiting for him. “So it was you who sent Mira and Zayn to their deaths?” Banzan said, the voice of killing intent erupting from the cracks of his delusion. “We should’ve never trusted you Banzan. I’ve already let the High Palace know about you. Give up while you can. They’ll make your death an easy one, I can guarantee it,” the elven soldier said. Banzan had taken too much. Not just drugs, but sorrow, war, and betrayal. He knew how well ideals can corrupt a soul. All he has left is his mission. The elven soldier dropped his weapon. He walked over slowly to Banzan. Banzan walked past him and activated the gate. Shortly after the warp started, the ship blasted an emergency alarm. The lights flashed red. The ship crashed and shook wildly, as if colliding nonstop. There was no space rubble in the area, and the elven soldier knew this. He smiled a bitter-sweet smile. “I knew this was how it was going to end. There’s no end to your despair. ” he said, as Banzan disappeared. The ship exploded. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Banzan rushed the warp procedures. He had to. He rigged the ship to explode as the final measure. Even if they knew he was coming, there would be no chance of help for them. All routes were secured. Banzan had won. The high still gripped him. It was heavy, yet thrilling. It was the most intense thrill Banzan ever experienced. He didn’t need to yet he took more pills. He was extremely nervous, and the pills had no effect besides filling his mind with excruciating visions and clearing his thoughts with a pain worse than any he had ever experienced in his over one hundred years of war across the far reaches of space and time. He crashed into the High Palace. The elven aristocrats were having themselves a nice little party. The royalty rose in shock. In a crater and out of a box of black glass, Banzan rose. A corner of the palace was obliterated instantly. One moment things were tranquil, the next… Banzan stepped forward. His eyes tore into the souls of every member and guest present. His presence commanded the fear and attention of every soul that could comprehend terror. He surprised everyone but the Elven King. It was strange. There were no guards. Even though Morrow said he informed the Palace, what gives? Was it a bluff? Was he lying to him? It mattered not. Banzan crouched, his head low to the ground. He readied himself. “So… the prodigal prince returns. What a mess you’ve made, my dear son.” The Elven King smiled warmly. The royal crowd gasped and stirred a commotion. “Don’t call me that!” Banzan roared. As loud and flashy his arrival was, his departure was quiet. He disappeared. “Banzan! Banzan, my boy!” The Elven King mocked. “You’re finally home! And in such good taste too! What is it? Looking to play a game of hide and seek with your sickly old father? Sounds great. I haven’t worked up a sweat in over…” The Elven King disappeared as well. There were numerous clashes, but nobody could see a thing. “-200 years!” The Elven King and Banzan reappeared. Banzan was bleeding at the side. There’s no way! Banzan panicked. He can keep up with the forbidden high? And at such an intense level? Banzan had no choice but to take more and more. They continued clashing. The audience scrambled, trying to run away. Some were caught in the dogfight. Most escaped safely, thanks to the royal guard. “Father! No, Elven King! What do you seek to accomplish! You’ve acquired immortality, power, status, wealth, and the deepest and darkest magical secrets the universe could hope to offer. I’ve served as a soldier for fifty years and not once have I trusted you! What are you scheming!” Banzan knew it was a futile question, but part of him yearned for the truth. Quickly, he was losing himself. The drug was too strong. It was already too late for him. If he didn’t finish business here, all his sacrifices would be for nought. He could not let that happen. “Banzan,” the Elven King said. “When you live over two hundred thousand years, you’ll understand... “I… “I..! “I’m trying to end this immortal curse! And for that, for that..! “I need sacrifices!” As the Elven King roared those words, he cast a forbidden magic. It was a magic much worse than the forbidden high, worse than the Cratersphere, worse than the Final Terra Nova. Suddenly, multiple silhouettes glowed a translucent blue that could be seen through the walls. They were funny silhouettes of outlined frills and dashing collars. They were the aristocrats and royal guard. Screams of terror and fear filled the battered palace. From all over, magic power flooded the Elven King, and the aristocrats around dropped like flies. Soon there was no screaming. For the first time, the damned aristocrats felt fear. It was fear towards this terrifying intruder, but towards their beloved king, for all of them knew, at that instant, what was transpiring, what fate awaited them. “Power! Power! I need more and more and more and more! This is necessary, Banzan! Or should I say, Beluar!” The Elven King laughed maniacally. His howls filled the lifeless bodies of his dead family and friends. “I didn’t intend to begin the next phase now, but if there is one thing I learned in the many years of my foolish existence is that surprises are the spice that keeps life interesting.” “You… You..!!!” Don’t tell me..! You let the aristocrats remain here on purpose? For this..? "YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER!” Banzan charged into the figure of his father, who was nothing but a void of destruction now.
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	The Council was particularly sleepy today, a quiet lull sweeping through the room. Tarcan didn’t bother looking up from his place at the table made of amber glass; it was all etched in his memory anyway. The same marbled floors, the same gilded podiums and statues, the same people with the same tribal power grabs which cycled every couple of generations. At this point, survival boiled down to who could sit through these weekly meetings the longest. Tarcan suppressed a sigh, accepting a cup of rosehip tea from one of the Lowborn workers. He briefly glanced at her face; pretty, but nothing he hadn’t seen before. One of the downsides of immortality—even gold lost its luster after hundreds of years. “How is the tea today?” Lord Ulen asked the Lowborn girl, a smirk lining his face as she approached him. She offered a meek smile in response, placing the tea on the silver threaded coaster in front of him. “Pray tell us what you really think,” he goaded before issuing a wicked chuckle. Tarcan noted distaste on the faces of the older elves as they observed the younger lord’s antics. Lowborn elves who worked in the halls of the High Elf Council members were required to cut out their tongues in order to prevent the transmission of secrets, but most High Elves lost their taste for antagonizing the Lowborn slaves after the first hundred years. It grew tiring to poke the same rock over and over again without a response. Lord Ulen was young, and he would learn. Or perhaps he wouldn’t, and he would wake up one morning to find his own tongue missing. High Lord Vassar issued a sharp look at Lord Ulen before he spoke. “We must conduct a vote on the date of the next—” A fierce rumble pierced the air, sending shockwaves through the walls and rattling bone. It sounded as if the earth itself was splitting and the atmosphere was igniting. Uncertainty flashed through the eyes of the eight Lords seated around the table, but not fear. Never fear. A few interminable seconds later, a sentry tumbled into the room with wild eyes. “The wards have been breached! We are vulnerable!” The ghost of a smile lit up Tarcan’s face. Perhaps today wouldn’t be the same after all. ~ Either the universe had imploded and heaven was made of black glass, or Cyn had somehow survived the Steel Marauder blast. The heaven option was far more likely at this point, but Cyn’s survival instinct was usually stronger than her luck. She attempted to open a bleary eye, rewarded by blinding light bright enough to vaporize her retinas. She rolled to her feet in a fluid motion, catching her foot on the back of her heel at the last moment, almost throwing herself off balance. The slip in coordination meant the Com-Aid was wearing off, and that meant the Med-Pak would be gone next. She could already feel a phantom throb in her left shoulder and knee, indicating that if she didn’t find shelter to address her wounds soon, she would be in too much pain to think of much else later. She pulled herself up to the edge of the crater, peering around as she tried to identify where she had landed. Dense, tall trees brushed a baby blue sky in the thick forest that surrounded her, and she marveled at the nature surrounding her. If she focused, she could hear chittering of other lifeforms around her, the hum of a complex ecosystem woven into the clarity of the air. Cyn hadn’t seen anything like this before. Her forests were made of jagged metal, heavy smoke, and fluorescent lighting. A sudden whoosh of air startled Cyn, nearly loosening her grip of the border of the crater. Her ears popped unpleasantly, and when she looked up again, the found herself accosted by nine pairs of guarded eyes. She took in the sight of the nine beings with a slack jaw. It wasn’t their physical form—they merely looked like tall, limber humans—but the obvious wealth and elegance that dripped from their bodies. Dignity and money were two things that were hard to come by in the Galaxy. Eight of them were clad in various styles of ornate golden armour, each customized with a different assortment of jewels and crests. One of them stood off to the side, the only man wearing an outfit of brown hide and glancing nervously at the rest of the group instead of her. “Who sent you here?” One of them stepped forth from the group, glaring with such intensity as if his sea-coloured eyes could nail her to the crater. “God? Gravity? Whichever you believe in more, I suppose,” Cyn replied with a shrug. With a jolt of surprise, she noticed the curve of the mens’ ears, appreciating their dedication to the myths of old elven societies. Whoever these people were, they at least had a doctor if they could receive body mods. Another one, his face lined with a permanent scowl, advanced toward her while brandishing a staff. “I would suggest that you answer the question, mortal, if you have any value for your life.” Mortal? Cyn looked at all of the men, but they had the same austere expressions painted on all of their faces. No one cracked a smile or seemed to look confused. Surely they didn’t seriously think they were non-human? Though, if she thought about it, the term didn’t entirely apply to her, either. “Where am I?” She asked, trying to piece together a plan to form an exit. Being in an empty forest with nine crazy people didn’t seem to have a high chance for survival. “This is your last chance before we take you to the Elder Courts,” he threatened, the ends of his pointy stick starting to glow with a blood orange hue. “There, we will make you talk.” “I already told you, I just landed here!” Cyn protested, taking a step back. She felt a low pulse from the ground, and suddenly her feet were frozen in place, unable to move. There was no chain, no traps, and she hadn’t seen anyone shoot anything. What on earth was this? “We’ll see if the dungeons don’t loosen your tongue,” the man said with a cruel smile as he pointed the staff at her throat. Cyn clenched her left fist, letting the laser mini-turret embedded in the plate of her left forearm charge. She felt a little twinge of delight at the their stupidity of leaving her arms mobile. Feeling the electricity crackle within her body, she lifted her hand and shot at the head of the staff, blowing the glowing orb clean off. The burst of energy threw the man back, and a collective hiss issued from the group. The blue-eyed one who spoke first stepped forward, raising his own sword while searching for the mysterious weapon. It couldn't have possible been her hand! He examined Cyn, his brows knitting together in frustration as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. “Who are you, and how have you broken through the wards?” The elf’s face was calm, but his words were laced with a poisonous undertone. He maintained his distance, not daring to get as close to her as the man with the staff had. Cyn almost smiled. He was afraid of her, but nothing was more unpredictable than a powerful man in fear. She had to come up with something, and fast. “I’m from the future!” She blurted. “Your people are in grave danger, and I was given power to bypass your defenses. I have come here to warn you. You must listen to me!” The man’s eyes widened, but she couldn’t tell if he had bought her lie. She bit back a wince as the Med-Pak began to wear off. She could already feel the haze of pain working its way through her brain. “It’s true!” Another elf dressed in golden robes with silver embroidery stepped forward. “I have seen a vision, and she speaks the truth.” “Are you certain, Tarcan?” The man with the broken staff asked. “Do you doubt that I know my own mind?” The robed elf sneered, his green eyes clouded with contempt. “Of course not. This is merely the first we are hearing of it.” “Obviously. Visions are only dreams until they come to fruition,” he snapped. The one named Tarcan trained his gaze on Cyn. “Come with me, mortal. We have much to talk about.” With a snap of his fingers, Cyn felt her last bit of energy drain away, and her final, desperate grasps at consciousness faded, pulling her into darkness. ~ Cyn awoke to warmth. Her insides felt soft and gooey, the pain she felt before fading to a dull throb. Whatever meds they had fed her weren’t as good as the Galaxy-grade ones, but they were something. She could hear a fire crackling in the background, and she opened her eyes to the same robed elf sipping liquid from a porcelain cup as he read from a book. “I see you’re awake,” he said, not raising his gaze from the book. “So, tell me about the future.” Cyn tried to maintain a neutral expression, focusing on breathing to keep her heart rate from climbing. “What do you want to know?” He put down his cup, closing the book to at her. “Not the lies you would feed me.” The shock coloured her face before she could suppress it, and he laughed, a deep and mocking rumble. “Oh, please. Only a fool would believe such nonsense. Luckily, not many souls consider me a fool, so your secret stays between the two of us.” His chair inched closer, moving forward by yet another invisible force. He smiled at her, his eyes glinting with cunning and ice. “Now, if you want it to stay that way, I have some work I need you to do.”	Banzan laughed maniacally to himself. He had hoped someone was alive, clutching the embraces of death, walking the fine line of their foolish mortality. Unfortunately, he did too good of a job. What’s left of his audience are bloodied, tattered bodies. The sole voice in that chamber was Banzan’s. A dark dwarf stormed in, and stopped. He witnessed the scene. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but somewhere in his heart he expected this. He knew he should’ve never trusted Banzan, but by the time he realized he knew it was too late. That was why he wasn’t so surprised when Banzan suddenly flew toward him, and slashed him. The dark dwarf watched his body separate from him. Darkness followed. Banzan looked up through into the starry expanse of space. He saw many stars, many gleaming dots. The perfect setting to end this, Banzan thought, as he swallowed a very miniscule, unassuming ball. Visions flooded his mind, and for a moment Banzan lost grasp of himself. Only for a moment, though. A sudden movement—another interruption. Banzan didn’t have much time. He had to make it to the warp gate before the effects wore off. He has to finish off the king while the forbidden high still grips him, choking his vitality, luring his spirit playfully. “Captain Banzan!” A woman, human, called. She looked worn, exhausted, but relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her. Her eyes betrayed kindness. “So this is where you are! I’m glad you’re safe! Look, the operation to take down the damn drug-stealing rebels is—” She froze, and long after she realized the situation, long after she could’ve pulled out her neutralizing ray, yet she didn’t, Banzan had swiftly cut her down too. It was a painless death. It was an end befitting of her, and end to her sufferings. Banzan quickly made it out. He utilized a secret passage which only he knew. His comrades wouldn’t find him, for the route was on no map. He planned this for this day meticulously. He thought he could handle the casualties of his dear partners… Even though they were Elven warriors..! He couldn’t deny the fact that they were also his friends. Banzan took more pills. His head exploded from the inside, an atomic bomb dropping within the confines of his consciousness. It wiped away any pre-existing doubt. He made it to the warp. An elven soldier had been waiting for him. “So it was you who sent Mira and Zayn to their deaths?” Banzan said, the voice of killing intent erupting from the cracks of his delusion. “We should’ve never trusted you Banzan. I’ve already let the High Palace know about you. Give up while you can. They’ll make your death an easy one, I can guarantee it,” the elven soldier said. Banzan had taken too much. Not just drugs, but sorrow, war, and betrayal. He knew how well ideals can corrupt a soul. All he has left is his mission. The elven soldier dropped his weapon. He walked over slowly to Banzan. Banzan walked past him and activated the gate. Shortly after the warp started, the ship blasted an emergency alarm. The lights flashed red. The ship crashed and shook wildly, as if colliding nonstop. There was no space rubble in the area, and the elven soldier knew this. He smiled a bitter-sweet smile. “I knew this was how it was going to end. There’s no end to your despair. ” he said, as Banzan disappeared. The ship exploded. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Banzan rushed the warp procedures. He had to. He rigged the ship to explode as the final measure. Even if they knew he was coming, there would be no chance of help for them. All routes were secured. Banzan had won. The high still gripped him. It was heavy, yet thrilling. It was the most intense thrill Banzan ever experienced. He didn’t need to yet he took more pills. He was extremely nervous, and the pills had no effect besides filling his mind with excruciating visions and clearing his thoughts with a pain worse than any he had ever experienced in his over one hundred years of war across the far reaches of space and time. He crashed into the High Palace. The elven aristocrats were having themselves a nice little party. The royalty rose in shock. In a crater and out of a box of black glass, Banzan rose. A corner of the palace was obliterated instantly. One moment things were tranquil, the next… Banzan stepped forward. His eyes tore into the souls of every member and guest present. His presence commanded the fear and attention of every soul that could comprehend terror. He surprised everyone but the Elven King. It was strange. There were no guards. Even though Morrow said he informed the Palace, what gives? Was it a bluff? Was he lying to him? It mattered not. Banzan crouched, his head low to the ground. He readied himself. “So… the prodigal prince returns. What a mess you’ve made, my dear son.” The Elven King smiled warmly. The royal crowd gasped and stirred a commotion. “Don’t call me that!” Banzan roared. As loud and flashy his arrival was, his departure was quiet. He disappeared. “Banzan! Banzan, my boy!” The Elven King mocked. “You’re finally home! And in such good taste too! What is it? Looking to play a game of hide and seek with your sickly old father? Sounds great. I haven’t worked up a sweat in over…” The Elven King disappeared as well. There were numerous clashes, but nobody could see a thing. “-200 years!” The Elven King and Banzan reappeared. Banzan was bleeding at the side. There’s no way! Banzan panicked. He can keep up with the forbidden high? And at such an intense level? Banzan had no choice but to take more and more. They continued clashing. The audience scrambled, trying to run away. Some were caught in the dogfight. Most escaped safely, thanks to the royal guard. “Father! No, Elven King! What do you seek to accomplish! You’ve acquired immortality, power, status, wealth, and the deepest and darkest magical secrets the universe could hope to offer. I’ve served as a soldier for fifty years and not once have I trusted you! What are you scheming!” Banzan knew it was a futile question, but part of him yearned for the truth. Quickly, he was losing himself. The drug was too strong. It was already too late for him. If he didn’t finish business here, all his sacrifices would be for nought. He could not let that happen. “Banzan,” the Elven King said. “When you live over two hundred thousand years, you’ll understand... “I… “I..! “I’m trying to end this immortal curse! And for that, for that..! “I need sacrifices!” As the Elven King roared those words, he cast a forbidden magic. It was a magic much worse than the forbidden high, worse than the Cratersphere, worse than the Final Terra Nova. Suddenly, multiple silhouettes glowed a translucent blue that could be seen through the walls. They were funny silhouettes of outlined frills and dashing collars. They were the aristocrats and royal guard. Screams of terror and fear filled the battered palace. From all over, magic power flooded the Elven King, and the aristocrats around dropped like flies. Soon there was no screaming. For the first time, the damned aristocrats felt fear. It was fear towards this terrifying intruder, but towards their beloved king, for all of them knew, at that instant, what was transpiring, what fate awaited them. “Power! Power! I need more and more and more and more! This is necessary, Banzan! Or should I say, Beluar!” The Elven King laughed maniacally. His howls filled the lifeless bodies of his dead family and friends. “I didn’t intend to begin the next phase now, but if there is one thing I learned in the many years of my foolish existence is that surprises are the spice that keeps life interesting.” “You… You..!!!” Don’t tell me..! You let the aristocrats remain here on purpose? For this..? "YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER!” Banzan charged into the figure of his father, who was nothing but a void of destruction now.
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	Alathis’ robes clung stickily to her as she pushed through the dense Lustrian undergrowth. She breathed heavily as her bowed form pressed slowly onward, concentrating just on placing one foot in front of the other. She was Chracian by birth and not at all used to this kind of heat and humidity, but Teclis had sent her to investigate the strange meteor fall and so she had come. She’d been two months in Lustria with her small band of explorers and guards, but it seemed at last that they might have found what they’d been hunting for. The young mage brought her small band of swordmaster bodyguards up to the edge of a clearing, where she saw her chief scout kneeling. The elf waved an arm, and Alathis and her followers crouched down. She moved forwards. “Is this it?” The scout let out a heavy breath. “Yes…” “But?” The scout stared down into the crater for a few moments longer. “There’s something in there.” “By Asuryan I should hope so,” said Alathis. “We wouldn’t have been sent all this way if it were nothing! What is it?” “I don’t know, my lady,” replied the scout. “None of us does.” Alathis looked up then and saw the other scouts ranged around the edge of the clearing. Surprisingly, rather than looking out into the jungle to defend against an ambush, they were all gazing inward with bows drawn and aimed. The scout continued, “But it…it’s not of our world.” Alathis raised a hand to her head, massaging her temples. “Are we asur, or are we mortal humans?” she asked, with an edge of irritation in her voice. “We’ve dealt with otherworldy phenomena for most of our existence. Whatever this is, it’s something for us to study. I’m going to look.” Without another word, the mage rose to her feet and strode into the clearing. Her swordmasters moved forward with her with their great weapons resting on their shoulders. A few paces into the clearing there was a great crater that looked as though it had been formed of obsidian. Curious, but certainly not frightening for a disciple of the White Tower of Hoeth. She stepped up to the lip of the crater—and paused. There, lying in the middle, was a humanoid form. It appeared to be clad in armour the colour of blood, edged in bronze, and with several runes worked into its surface. As she looked, they seemed to shift in front of her, and she could have sworn her eyes began to sting and burn. The figure held something in each hand: its right grasped a large axe that appeared to have some kind of blunt serrated blade, while its left held a device that to Alathis’ eye somewhat resembled the crude blackpowder pistols she’d seen humans of the Empire carrying last time she had visited that place. The swordmasters’ leader came up and stood behind Alathis’ shoulder. “My lady, what is it?” His face and voice remained calm and certain, but the mage knew the training the swordmasters went through to control their emotions on the battlefield. Alathis tried to form her words. “I’m not sure what this is…it is certainly unnatural, and definitely has the reek of Chaos about it. It looks somewhat like one of the armoured men of the north, but…” Before she could finish her sentence, the eye-slits in the figure’s helmet lit up. A dim cold blue light showed, and the armoured form sat up. It looked around for a moment, before seeing Alathis and the swordmasters. From out of nowhere, Alathis was overwhelmed by a salty, copper and iron taste in her mouth. She spat on the floor, assuming she’d bitten her tongue, but the saliva was clear. As the figure climbed to its feet, the five swordsmen moved in front of the mage, hefting their two-handed swords into combat stances. The scouts around the perimeter also carefully moved forwards, pointing their longbows. Alathis raised her arms, drawing strands of Hysh to her in order to weave a net of magic to hold the creature in place, but before she could complete her enchantment the armoured figure gave a mighty roar that sounded somehow harsh and distorted, and charged with alarming speed towards the line of swordsmen. For a creature of such great size and bulk, it moved astonishingly quickly, and as it came forward it pointed the pistol and pulled the trigger. Unlike the simple gunpowder weapons of the human nations, this weapon gave off explosions that were painfully loud as it was fired, and as swordsmen were hit, the force of the blast almost disintegrated them, the finely-wrought elven armour doing nothing to stop whatever had hit the warriors. Then it had reached them, swinging the great axe in its right hand. The serrated edge had somehow begun to move, and it made a buzzing roar as the monster swung it forwards. The lead swordmaster, an experienced fighter named Cahail, swung his sword up to parry the swing. The axe was deflected, but the moving serrations had managed to shatter his sword. Cahail fell back, drawing his knife as the scouts around the crater opened fire. Their arrows pattered harmlessly off the creature’s armour, and Alathis felt something fall in the pit of her stomach as she stumbled backwards. In the few seconds it took her to try and regather the magical strands she’d dropped in fright, the monster slew Cahail and the other remaining swordmasters, eviscerating them bloodily. It turned its head towards the sky and let out a deafening howl. “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” Alathis’ breath was now rapid and ragged, her fingers trembling as she tried to complete her casting. Before she could however, the monster fixed its eyes on her. It turned and spoke. “YOUR SORCERY CANNOT TOUCH THE CHOSEN OF KHORNE, WRETCH.” As the mage’s eyes met the glowing portals that presumably marked the creature’s own, she felt her strength leave her. She had faced down daemons, even daemons of the Blood God, but she had never seen anything at all like this impervious, brutal, terrifying killing machine. All thought of casting her net were gone, and she turned to flee into the jungle. She heard the monster’s appallingly heavy tread behind her as it chased her down, and in three paces it was on her. She tripped and fell, and rolled over in time to see the monster’s buzzing, grinding axe descending towards her.	Banzan laughed maniacally to himself. He had hoped someone was alive, clutching the embraces of death, walking the fine line of their foolish mortality. Unfortunately, he did too good of a job. What’s left of his audience are bloodied, tattered bodies. The sole voice in that chamber was Banzan’s. A dark dwarf stormed in, and stopped. He witnessed the scene. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but somewhere in his heart he expected this. He knew he should’ve never trusted Banzan, but by the time he realized he knew it was too late. That was why he wasn’t so surprised when Banzan suddenly flew toward him, and slashed him. The dark dwarf watched his body separate from him. Darkness followed. Banzan looked up through into the starry expanse of space. He saw many stars, many gleaming dots. The perfect setting to end this, Banzan thought, as he swallowed a very miniscule, unassuming ball. Visions flooded his mind, and for a moment Banzan lost grasp of himself. Only for a moment, though. A sudden movement—another interruption. Banzan didn’t have much time. He had to make it to the warp gate before the effects wore off. He has to finish off the king while the forbidden high still grips him, choking his vitality, luring his spirit playfully. “Captain Banzan!” A woman, human, called. She looked worn, exhausted, but relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her. Her eyes betrayed kindness. “So this is where you are! I’m glad you’re safe! Look, the operation to take down the damn drug-stealing rebels is—” She froze, and long after she realized the situation, long after she could’ve pulled out her neutralizing ray, yet she didn’t, Banzan had swiftly cut her down too. It was a painless death. It was an end befitting of her, and end to her sufferings. Banzan quickly made it out. He utilized a secret passage which only he knew. His comrades wouldn’t find him, for the route was on no map. He planned this for this day meticulously. He thought he could handle the casualties of his dear partners… Even though they were Elven warriors..! He couldn’t deny the fact that they were also his friends. Banzan took more pills. His head exploded from the inside, an atomic bomb dropping within the confines of his consciousness. It wiped away any pre-existing doubt. He made it to the warp. An elven soldier had been waiting for him. “So it was you who sent Mira and Zayn to their deaths?” Banzan said, the voice of killing intent erupting from the cracks of his delusion. “We should’ve never trusted you Banzan. I’ve already let the High Palace know about you. Give up while you can. They’ll make your death an easy one, I can guarantee it,” the elven soldier said. Banzan had taken too much. Not just drugs, but sorrow, war, and betrayal. He knew how well ideals can corrupt a soul. All he has left is his mission. The elven soldier dropped his weapon. He walked over slowly to Banzan. Banzan walked past him and activated the gate. Shortly after the warp started, the ship blasted an emergency alarm. The lights flashed red. The ship crashed and shook wildly, as if colliding nonstop. There was no space rubble in the area, and the elven soldier knew this. He smiled a bitter-sweet smile. “I knew this was how it was going to end. There’s no end to your despair. ” he said, as Banzan disappeared. The ship exploded. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Banzan rushed the warp procedures. He had to. He rigged the ship to explode as the final measure. Even if they knew he was coming, there would be no chance of help for them. All routes were secured. Banzan had won. The high still gripped him. It was heavy, yet thrilling. It was the most intense thrill Banzan ever experienced. He didn’t need to yet he took more pills. He was extremely nervous, and the pills had no effect besides filling his mind with excruciating visions and clearing his thoughts with a pain worse than any he had ever experienced in his over one hundred years of war across the far reaches of space and time. He crashed into the High Palace. The elven aristocrats were having themselves a nice little party. The royalty rose in shock. In a crater and out of a box of black glass, Banzan rose. A corner of the palace was obliterated instantly. One moment things were tranquil, the next… Banzan stepped forward. His eyes tore into the souls of every member and guest present. His presence commanded the fear and attention of every soul that could comprehend terror. He surprised everyone but the Elven King. It was strange. There were no guards. Even though Morrow said he informed the Palace, what gives? Was it a bluff? Was he lying to him? It mattered not. Banzan crouched, his head low to the ground. He readied himself. “So… the prodigal prince returns. What a mess you’ve made, my dear son.” The Elven King smiled warmly. The royal crowd gasped and stirred a commotion. “Don’t call me that!” Banzan roared. As loud and flashy his arrival was, his departure was quiet. He disappeared. “Banzan! Banzan, my boy!” The Elven King mocked. “You’re finally home! And in such good taste too! What is it? Looking to play a game of hide and seek with your sickly old father? Sounds great. I haven’t worked up a sweat in over…” The Elven King disappeared as well. There were numerous clashes, but nobody could see a thing. “-200 years!” The Elven King and Banzan reappeared. Banzan was bleeding at the side. There’s no way! Banzan panicked. He can keep up with the forbidden high? And at such an intense level? Banzan had no choice but to take more and more. They continued clashing. The audience scrambled, trying to run away. Some were caught in the dogfight. Most escaped safely, thanks to the royal guard. “Father! No, Elven King! What do you seek to accomplish! You’ve acquired immortality, power, status, wealth, and the deepest and darkest magical secrets the universe could hope to offer. I’ve served as a soldier for fifty years and not once have I trusted you! What are you scheming!” Banzan knew it was a futile question, but part of him yearned for the truth. Quickly, he was losing himself. The drug was too strong. It was already too late for him. If he didn’t finish business here, all his sacrifices would be for nought. He could not let that happen. “Banzan,” the Elven King said. “When you live over two hundred thousand years, you’ll understand... “I… “I..! “I’m trying to end this immortal curse! And for that, for that..! “I need sacrifices!” As the Elven King roared those words, he cast a forbidden magic. It was a magic much worse than the forbidden high, worse than the Cratersphere, worse than the Final Terra Nova. Suddenly, multiple silhouettes glowed a translucent blue that could be seen through the walls. They were funny silhouettes of outlined frills and dashing collars. They were the aristocrats and royal guard. Screams of terror and fear filled the battered palace. From all over, magic power flooded the Elven King, and the aristocrats around dropped like flies. Soon there was no screaming. For the first time, the damned aristocrats felt fear. It was fear towards this terrifying intruder, but towards their beloved king, for all of them knew, at that instant, what was transpiring, what fate awaited them. “Power! Power! I need more and more and more and more! This is necessary, Banzan! Or should I say, Beluar!” The Elven King laughed maniacally. His howls filled the lifeless bodies of his dead family and friends. “I didn’t intend to begin the next phase now, but if there is one thing I learned in the many years of my foolish existence is that surprises are the spice that keeps life interesting.” “You… You..!!!” Don’t tell me..! You let the aristocrats remain here on purpose? For this..? "YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER!” Banzan charged into the figure of his father, who was nothing but a void of destruction now.
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	“My lords we have found another artifact!” A sickly human yelled from the pit below. Above two eleven lords stood overlooking the mining pit. They simply nodded to the human before walking forward off the ledge. As soon as they stepped off a faintly glowing aura surrounded them, gently descending them into the mining pit. They came to a halt next to the human, who was now kneeling. “Show us” the elven female said as she lazily brushed a hand through her hair. Her hair instantly braiding itself into an extravagant bun. The human quickly rose from the ground, beckoning them toward a small cave. They quickly made their way inside, the elves eyes glowing in the dark as their night vision adjusted to the darkness. Around them the other human slaves quickly dropped to their knees as the elves passed by. After many turns they entered a large round cavern. In the center of the ceiling was a small hole bringing a small beam of light into the cavern, the light illuminated a large metallic cylinder which rested in a black crater. The elven male stepped forward curiously. The sound of crunching glass echoing with each of his footsteps. The cylinder was only slightly larger than the elf and was incredibly shinny showing the elf his own reflection. The elf gently placed his hand on the cylinder feeling the cool metal. As he inspected the cylinder the metal began to liquify. He steped back as the walls of the metal cylinder melted into the crater. The cylinder quickly melted, left in its place was a metal suit of heavy armor which was now surrounded by a boiling metallic puddle. The elven female stepped back and grabbed the human slave by the arm. “Bring us that armor” she commanded as she threw the slave far into the puddle. The slave hit the still boiling puddle about an arms length from the armored suit. The slave screamed in agony as nearly every inch of skin instantly began to burn. The slave attempted to crawl to the suit but the pain was too much. The elves began to laugh as they watched the pathetic human burn. Within a few seconds the human slave was nearly dead, reaching out in desperation the human only managed to touch the armor with one finger. Upon the human touching the metal suit it instantly came to life. As if from know where metallic tendrils quickly pulled the human slave into the armored metal suit. The elves upon swing this stopped laughing, watching with renewed curiosity. Within the suit a deep metallic voice. “Human you have sustained critical damage...applying last stand combat stimulants now” the metallic voice said as needles began to prick the humans skin. The elven male now finished with observing the again unmoving metal suit. Stepped forward into the puddle the boiling metal parted from each step. The elf now within arms reach of the metal suit reached forward. “Slave are you alive in there?” He said as he reached for the shoulder of metal suit. The metal suit quickly lurched upward, grabbing the elf’s arm and ripping it from his socket in the blink of an eye. The elven male quickly propelled himself backward to the cave wall. Using magic he sealed the wound. The metallic suit let out a roar that sent shivers down the elf’s spines before charging forward as it tossed the arm into the still boiling puddle. The elven female quickly stepped between them raising her hands she sent lighting forth, arcing into the metallic suit. However the suit was undeterred as it charged forward into the cavern wall. The two elves managed to barely dodge thanks to their flight magic. They quickly flew upward toward the hole in the ceiling. The male was the first one through. He quickly turned around to make sure the elven female made it through. But from the darkness suit had launched itself upward crashing into the ceiling. The arm of the suit reached forth grabbing her by the leg and throwing her back into the darkness below. The force of the suit impacting the ceiling causing the entire cavern to completely collapse. The now one armed male elf could only watch in fear as the ground crumbled around him. He had never known fear before but right now he knew he could not go back for her. He turned and fled flying toward the floating city.	Banzan laughed maniacally to himself. He had hoped someone was alive, clutching the embraces of death, walking the fine line of their foolish mortality. Unfortunately, he did too good of a job. What’s left of his audience are bloodied, tattered bodies. The sole voice in that chamber was Banzan’s. A dark dwarf stormed in, and stopped. He witnessed the scene. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but somewhere in his heart he expected this. He knew he should’ve never trusted Banzan, but by the time he realized he knew it was too late. That was why he wasn’t so surprised when Banzan suddenly flew toward him, and slashed him. The dark dwarf watched his body separate from him. Darkness followed. Banzan looked up through into the starry expanse of space. He saw many stars, many gleaming dots. The perfect setting to end this, Banzan thought, as he swallowed a very miniscule, unassuming ball. Visions flooded his mind, and for a moment Banzan lost grasp of himself. Only for a moment, though. A sudden movement—another interruption. Banzan didn’t have much time. He had to make it to the warp gate before the effects wore off. He has to finish off the king while the forbidden high still grips him, choking his vitality, luring his spirit playfully. “Captain Banzan!” A woman, human, called. She looked worn, exhausted, but relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her. Her eyes betrayed kindness. “So this is where you are! I’m glad you’re safe! Look, the operation to take down the damn drug-stealing rebels is—” She froze, and long after she realized the situation, long after she could’ve pulled out her neutralizing ray, yet she didn’t, Banzan had swiftly cut her down too. It was a painless death. It was an end befitting of her, and end to her sufferings. Banzan quickly made it out. He utilized a secret passage which only he knew. His comrades wouldn’t find him, for the route was on no map. He planned this for this day meticulously. He thought he could handle the casualties of his dear partners… Even though they were Elven warriors..! He couldn’t deny the fact that they were also his friends. Banzan took more pills. His head exploded from the inside, an atomic bomb dropping within the confines of his consciousness. It wiped away any pre-existing doubt. He made it to the warp. An elven soldier had been waiting for him. “So it was you who sent Mira and Zayn to their deaths?” Banzan said, the voice of killing intent erupting from the cracks of his delusion. “We should’ve never trusted you Banzan. I’ve already let the High Palace know about you. Give up while you can. They’ll make your death an easy one, I can guarantee it,” the elven soldier said. Banzan had taken too much. Not just drugs, but sorrow, war, and betrayal. He knew how well ideals can corrupt a soul. All he has left is his mission. The elven soldier dropped his weapon. He walked over slowly to Banzan. Banzan walked past him and activated the gate. Shortly after the warp started, the ship blasted an emergency alarm. The lights flashed red. The ship crashed and shook wildly, as if colliding nonstop. There was no space rubble in the area, and the elven soldier knew this. He smiled a bitter-sweet smile. “I knew this was how it was going to end. There’s no end to your despair. ” he said, as Banzan disappeared. The ship exploded. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Banzan rushed the warp procedures. He had to. He rigged the ship to explode as the final measure. Even if they knew he was coming, there would be no chance of help for them. All routes were secured. Banzan had won. The high still gripped him. It was heavy, yet thrilling. It was the most intense thrill Banzan ever experienced. He didn’t need to yet he took more pills. He was extremely nervous, and the pills had no effect besides filling his mind with excruciating visions and clearing his thoughts with a pain worse than any he had ever experienced in his over one hundred years of war across the far reaches of space and time. He crashed into the High Palace. The elven aristocrats were having themselves a nice little party. The royalty rose in shock. In a crater and out of a box of black glass, Banzan rose. A corner of the palace was obliterated instantly. One moment things were tranquil, the next… Banzan stepped forward. His eyes tore into the souls of every member and guest present. His presence commanded the fear and attention of every soul that could comprehend terror. He surprised everyone but the Elven King. It was strange. There were no guards. Even though Morrow said he informed the Palace, what gives? Was it a bluff? Was he lying to him? It mattered not. Banzan crouched, his head low to the ground. He readied himself. “So… the prodigal prince returns. What a mess you’ve made, my dear son.” The Elven King smiled warmly. The royal crowd gasped and stirred a commotion. “Don’t call me that!” Banzan roared. As loud and flashy his arrival was, his departure was quiet. He disappeared. “Banzan! Banzan, my boy!” The Elven King mocked. “You’re finally home! And in such good taste too! What is it? Looking to play a game of hide and seek with your sickly old father? Sounds great. I haven’t worked up a sweat in over…” The Elven King disappeared as well. There were numerous clashes, but nobody could see a thing. “-200 years!” The Elven King and Banzan reappeared. Banzan was bleeding at the side. There’s no way! Banzan panicked. He can keep up with the forbidden high? And at such an intense level? Banzan had no choice but to take more and more. They continued clashing. The audience scrambled, trying to run away. Some were caught in the dogfight. Most escaped safely, thanks to the royal guard. “Father! No, Elven King! What do you seek to accomplish! You’ve acquired immortality, power, status, wealth, and the deepest and darkest magical secrets the universe could hope to offer. I’ve served as a soldier for fifty years and not once have I trusted you! What are you scheming!” Banzan knew it was a futile question, but part of him yearned for the truth. Quickly, he was losing himself. The drug was too strong. It was already too late for him. If he didn’t finish business here, all his sacrifices would be for nought. He could not let that happen. “Banzan,” the Elven King said. “When you live over two hundred thousand years, you’ll understand... “I… “I..! “I’m trying to end this immortal curse! And for that, for that..! “I need sacrifices!” As the Elven King roared those words, he cast a forbidden magic. It was a magic much worse than the forbidden high, worse than the Cratersphere, worse than the Final Terra Nova. Suddenly, multiple silhouettes glowed a translucent blue that could be seen through the walls. They were funny silhouettes of outlined frills and dashing collars. They were the aristocrats and royal guard. Screams of terror and fear filled the battered palace. From all over, magic power flooded the Elven King, and the aristocrats around dropped like flies. Soon there was no screaming. For the first time, the damned aristocrats felt fear. It was fear towards this terrifying intruder, but towards their beloved king, for all of them knew, at that instant, what was transpiring, what fate awaited them. “Power! Power! I need more and more and more and more! This is necessary, Banzan! Or should I say, Beluar!” The Elven King laughed maniacally. His howls filled the lifeless bodies of his dead family and friends. “I didn’t intend to begin the next phase now, but if there is one thing I learned in the many years of my foolish existence is that surprises are the spice that keeps life interesting.” “You… You..!!!” Don’t tell me..! You let the aristocrats remain here on purpose? For this..? "YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER!” Banzan charged into the figure of his father, who was nothing but a void of destruction now.
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	I looked around, giggling to myself like a madman... The faces of disgust, horror and dread silently screaming all their delectable terror. "You might want to put down those over-glorified slingshots you're holding, Right now I'm high enough to not be sure if I could stop my instincts kicking in and killing all o-" "DIE FILTHY CREATURE!" and like that a hail of light ether rained down upon me. I Pulled out my weapon and a symbol flashed in it's center, I got a lovely fireworks show. Like that, just liked I warned them I was already on top of the initial aggressor, my hand grasped crudely around their entire, frail face "I SAID" Yelling as I crushed the knife eared bastard's skull in with nothing but my iron grip "PUT THOSE TOYS ON THE GROUND BEFORE I MAKE EVERY GREAT BATTLE YOUR SHITHEEL RACE AS EVER FOUGHT LOOK LIKE CHILDREN CRYING OVER WHO GOT THE LAST COOKIE!" Some listened to the voice of reason in their heads and laid down their arms. One however thought himself an anime protagonist and charged at me screaming. &#x200B; "MONADO BUSTER!" I screamed out activating my weapon as raised his shield thinking he'd won. A vision flashed before my eyes, he'd stop and pivot left hoping to flank me. Coming out of it my blade sings with raw ether cuts through his shield and armor along with his weak, supple, flesh. The smell of vaporized elf blood fills the air as my would be attackers start fleeing in panic, My monado shone with symbols. Buster, Purge, Shield and then finally, elf. Now I'm not usually the person who'd pronounce "Civilian bystanders" as "Acceptable collateral damage". But when you're high as an orbital station on combat drugs, have a Monado in hand AND you've just crushed a "man's" skull in with nothing but your singular hand you're not exactly in the most peaceful frame of mind. When I next had enough presence of mind to be classified as "Sentient" again I had seemed to be standing over the corpse of a elf, on my waist was two smaller ones, probably children and... they were thanking me? That was what probably pulled me out of the rampage. Naturally a bit confused and possibly coming down from my high I asked them what just happened. Here's what I was able to gleam from them. &#x200B; After my little scuffle with the trigger happy aristotwats in the city I landed in my "Doom-wrath" as they called in spread across the world, Apparently the high and mighty bullshit we'd been getting from the interstellar comms these past few months and the occasional skirmish had been coming exclusively from their cities. Much like humanity they too were a divided people, or at least were until I descended. In a few days I had toppled it with "A blade of arcana's bane" I was told, they must be referring to the Monado's perfect either manipulation capabilities. That might a bit harder to do now that I don't have the drugs to hold off the nausea and headaches but still I should be fine. For now though I needed rest. The children currently clinging to me offered their beds, when I asked why they simply said "you killed the man who hurt us." Looking down at the man my Monado was currently sticking out of he did bear a striking resemblance to the children. "So much for all that being 'above all human flaws' those wannabe demi-gods shit out onto the comms network" I think aloud, Pulling the Monado free and florishing it to fling the blood off. "Thank you kids, I'll find a way to re-pay this kindness once this whole situation metaphorically blows over." I said. &#x200B; And that's how I met my adopted son and daughter.	Banzan laughed maniacally to himself. He had hoped someone was alive, clutching the embraces of death, walking the fine line of their foolish mortality. Unfortunately, he did too good of a job. What’s left of his audience are bloodied, tattered bodies. The sole voice in that chamber was Banzan’s. A dark dwarf stormed in, and stopped. He witnessed the scene. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but somewhere in his heart he expected this. He knew he should’ve never trusted Banzan, but by the time he realized he knew it was too late. That was why he wasn’t so surprised when Banzan suddenly flew toward him, and slashed him. The dark dwarf watched his body separate from him. Darkness followed. Banzan looked up through into the starry expanse of space. He saw many stars, many gleaming dots. The perfect setting to end this, Banzan thought, as he swallowed a very miniscule, unassuming ball. Visions flooded his mind, and for a moment Banzan lost grasp of himself. Only for a moment, though. A sudden movement—another interruption. Banzan didn’t have much time. He had to make it to the warp gate before the effects wore off. He has to finish off the king while the forbidden high still grips him, choking his vitality, luring his spirit playfully. “Captain Banzan!” A woman, human, called. She looked worn, exhausted, but relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her. Her eyes betrayed kindness. “So this is where you are! I’m glad you’re safe! Look, the operation to take down the damn drug-stealing rebels is—” She froze, and long after she realized the situation, long after she could’ve pulled out her neutralizing ray, yet she didn’t, Banzan had swiftly cut her down too. It was a painless death. It was an end befitting of her, and end to her sufferings. Banzan quickly made it out. He utilized a secret passage which only he knew. His comrades wouldn’t find him, for the route was on no map. He planned this for this day meticulously. He thought he could handle the casualties of his dear partners… Even though they were Elven warriors..! He couldn’t deny the fact that they were also his friends. Banzan took more pills. His head exploded from the inside, an atomic bomb dropping within the confines of his consciousness. It wiped away any pre-existing doubt. He made it to the warp. An elven soldier had been waiting for him. “So it was you who sent Mira and Zayn to their deaths?” Banzan said, the voice of killing intent erupting from the cracks of his delusion. “We should’ve never trusted you Banzan. I’ve already let the High Palace know about you. Give up while you can. They’ll make your death an easy one, I can guarantee it,” the elven soldier said. Banzan had taken too much. Not just drugs, but sorrow, war, and betrayal. He knew how well ideals can corrupt a soul. All he has left is his mission. The elven soldier dropped his weapon. He walked over slowly to Banzan. Banzan walked past him and activated the gate. Shortly after the warp started, the ship blasted an emergency alarm. The lights flashed red. The ship crashed and shook wildly, as if colliding nonstop. There was no space rubble in the area, and the elven soldier knew this. He smiled a bitter-sweet smile. “I knew this was how it was going to end. There’s no end to your despair. ” he said, as Banzan disappeared. The ship exploded. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Banzan rushed the warp procedures. He had to. He rigged the ship to explode as the final measure. Even if they knew he was coming, there would be no chance of help for them. All routes were secured. Banzan had won. The high still gripped him. It was heavy, yet thrilling. It was the most intense thrill Banzan ever experienced. He didn’t need to yet he took more pills. He was extremely nervous, and the pills had no effect besides filling his mind with excruciating visions and clearing his thoughts with a pain worse than any he had ever experienced in his over one hundred years of war across the far reaches of space and time. He crashed into the High Palace. The elven aristocrats were having themselves a nice little party. The royalty rose in shock. In a crater and out of a box of black glass, Banzan rose. A corner of the palace was obliterated instantly. One moment things were tranquil, the next… Banzan stepped forward. His eyes tore into the souls of every member and guest present. His presence commanded the fear and attention of every soul that could comprehend terror. He surprised everyone but the Elven King. It was strange. There were no guards. Even though Morrow said he informed the Palace, what gives? Was it a bluff? Was he lying to him? It mattered not. Banzan crouched, his head low to the ground. He readied himself. “So… the prodigal prince returns. What a mess you’ve made, my dear son.” The Elven King smiled warmly. The royal crowd gasped and stirred a commotion. “Don’t call me that!” Banzan roared. As loud and flashy his arrival was, his departure was quiet. He disappeared. “Banzan! Banzan, my boy!” The Elven King mocked. “You’re finally home! And in such good taste too! What is it? Looking to play a game of hide and seek with your sickly old father? Sounds great. I haven’t worked up a sweat in over…” The Elven King disappeared as well. There were numerous clashes, but nobody could see a thing. “-200 years!” The Elven King and Banzan reappeared. Banzan was bleeding at the side. There’s no way! Banzan panicked. He can keep up with the forbidden high? And at such an intense level? Banzan had no choice but to take more and more. They continued clashing. The audience scrambled, trying to run away. Some were caught in the dogfight. Most escaped safely, thanks to the royal guard. “Father! No, Elven King! What do you seek to accomplish! You’ve acquired immortality, power, status, wealth, and the deepest and darkest magical secrets the universe could hope to offer. I’ve served as a soldier for fifty years and not once have I trusted you! What are you scheming!” Banzan knew it was a futile question, but part of him yearned for the truth. Quickly, he was losing himself. The drug was too strong. It was already too late for him. If he didn’t finish business here, all his sacrifices would be for nought. He could not let that happen. “Banzan,” the Elven King said. “When you live over two hundred thousand years, you’ll understand... “I… “I..! “I’m trying to end this immortal curse! And for that, for that..! “I need sacrifices!” As the Elven King roared those words, he cast a forbidden magic. It was a magic much worse than the forbidden high, worse than the Cratersphere, worse than the Final Terra Nova. Suddenly, multiple silhouettes glowed a translucent blue that could be seen through the walls. They were funny silhouettes of outlined frills and dashing collars. They were the aristocrats and royal guard. Screams of terror and fear filled the battered palace. From all over, magic power flooded the Elven King, and the aristocrats around dropped like flies. Soon there was no screaming. For the first time, the damned aristocrats felt fear. It was fear towards this terrifying intruder, but towards their beloved king, for all of them knew, at that instant, what was transpiring, what fate awaited them. “Power! Power! I need more and more and more and more! This is necessary, Banzan! Or should I say, Beluar!” The Elven King laughed maniacally. His howls filled the lifeless bodies of his dead family and friends. “I didn’t intend to begin the next phase now, but if there is one thing I learned in the many years of my foolish existence is that surprises are the spice that keeps life interesting.” “You… You..!!!” Don’t tell me..! You let the aristocrats remain here on purpose? For this..? "YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER!” Banzan charged into the figure of his father, who was nothing but a void of destruction now.
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	As the combat drums wore off, the sudden drop from the height offered jarred Néro back into her immediate surroundings. Her arms, covered in a viscous golden liquid, wrenched her high-frequency ‘Messer’ blade from the spasming corpse of a man with pointed ears and ancient-looking plate armour. He fell into a pile of his apparent brethren, spilling ichor from the various wounds he had received by Néro’s blade. The toughest part of every operation had just begun for the shock trooper: figuring out where the hell she was and what the fuck she was doing. A quick check of her heads-up display revealed that her helmet’s computer had taken damage; the only systems that functioned were the firearms aiming module and the thermal sight module. No mission objective, no communications, and, interestingly enough, no tracking device. Not that Néro would take the opportunity to run - where would she go? Instead, she decided to take the approach of surveying the area. One of the pointy-ears desperately crawled away with her one arm. Néro crouched down next to her, opened her visor, and stared with her sharp green eyes. “This may sound rather strange, but I need to know who you are and where I am.” The pointed-ear woman’s mouth dropped in shock, as she stopped and breathed. After taking some time to process the shock trooper’s words, she shakily accused her of ‘being one of them’, before her golden eyes faded out and she lay dead. Néro sighed, and sheathed her sword. The visor to her jet-black helmet flicked back down, and the shock trooper looked around once more. She quickly realized that she was in a bowl; a glassed crater, filled with the fallen. Staring down at her from the top of this bowl were three more pointy-ears, the sinking suns at their backs. Instead of gold-plated armour, they appeared to be wearing robes, carrying staves like the wizards from old folk tales. Néro decided that they could tell her what was going on, so she leapt up to the mouth of the crater in order to greet the spectators. They seemed rather surprised at the jumping capabilities Néro had, which was a bit strange to her. Just about anyone with a suit of power armour could do the same. One of their staves ignited in blue light, which also perked Néro’s interest. What sort of device was it? A type of energy rifle? The staff-man’s comrades yelled in shock, and Néro quickly bowed as she greeted them with an amicable hello. “A… human?” The staff-man began to laugh. “You are… a human?” The three of them were chuckling now, which really got on Néro’s nerves. Who were they to laugh at her? She’d show them by- “Why, had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would never have thought a human could kill even one of us!” Néro glances back at her glassed crater, at the mangled corpses within, and turned to the three living ones. “Do you think you three are any different?” She asked, trying her best to sound aggressive. It must not have worked, because the pointy-ears merely laughed some more. “Tell us, what sort of magic was that? Perhaps you casted a strength enhancement? And is that a lightning-enchanted sword?” What? Magic? What the fuck is magic? Néro didn’t know what these strange creatures were on about. “I don’t… know what that is. I was injected with a Class-Delta Combat Stim earlier, if that’s what you mean? My blade vibrates at high frequencies to make cutting easier, there is no lightning involved.” The pointy-ears did not seem to understand, but they must’ve decided it wasn’t important as the staff-man spoke. “Well, little human, how about you work for us instead? You see, we need to claim your galaxy for the empire, and with you on our side it would be much easier. We can offer great compensation, as well as workers benefits and a planet once our conquest is complete!” Now it was Néro’s turn to not understand. The Empire? This galaxy was already under control of the Empire. She’d never seen any pointy-ears amongst the Emperor’s retinue, however, and the Emperor himself was a human. “What Empire? We’re already part of the Empire! And I would never leave them to join some pointy-eared fairy people, either!” Néro imagined it sounding more menacing in her head, but what can one do about their natural tone? At any rate, she had apparently confused them once more. “Pointy-ears? Already part of the Empire? Feh, no matter! If you refuse to join us, then we’ll have to kill you to make up for that army.” Unfortunately for the elf, Néro’s combat stim had just recharged.	Banzan laughed maniacally to himself. He had hoped someone was alive, clutching the embraces of death, walking the fine line of their foolish mortality. Unfortunately, he did too good of a job. What’s left of his audience are bloodied, tattered bodies. The sole voice in that chamber was Banzan’s. A dark dwarf stormed in, and stopped. He witnessed the scene. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but somewhere in his heart he expected this. He knew he should’ve never trusted Banzan, but by the time he realized he knew it was too late. That was why he wasn’t so surprised when Banzan suddenly flew toward him, and slashed him. The dark dwarf watched his body separate from him. Darkness followed. Banzan looked up through into the starry expanse of space. He saw many stars, many gleaming dots. The perfect setting to end this, Banzan thought, as he swallowed a very miniscule, unassuming ball. Visions flooded his mind, and for a moment Banzan lost grasp of himself. Only for a moment, though. A sudden movement—another interruption. Banzan didn’t have much time. He had to make it to the warp gate before the effects wore off. He has to finish off the king while the forbidden high still grips him, choking his vitality, luring his spirit playfully. “Captain Banzan!” A woman, human, called. She looked worn, exhausted, but relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her. Her eyes betrayed kindness. “So this is where you are! I’m glad you’re safe! Look, the operation to take down the damn drug-stealing rebels is—” She froze, and long after she realized the situation, long after she could’ve pulled out her neutralizing ray, yet she didn’t, Banzan had swiftly cut her down too. It was a painless death. It was an end befitting of her, and end to her sufferings. Banzan quickly made it out. He utilized a secret passage which only he knew. His comrades wouldn’t find him, for the route was on no map. He planned this for this day meticulously. He thought he could handle the casualties of his dear partners… Even though they were Elven warriors..! He couldn’t deny the fact that they were also his friends. Banzan took more pills. His head exploded from the inside, an atomic bomb dropping within the confines of his consciousness. It wiped away any pre-existing doubt. He made it to the warp. An elven soldier had been waiting for him. “So it was you who sent Mira and Zayn to their deaths?” Banzan said, the voice of killing intent erupting from the cracks of his delusion. “We should’ve never trusted you Banzan. I’ve already let the High Palace know about you. Give up while you can. They’ll make your death an easy one, I can guarantee it,” the elven soldier said. Banzan had taken too much. Not just drugs, but sorrow, war, and betrayal. He knew how well ideals can corrupt a soul. All he has left is his mission. The elven soldier dropped his weapon. He walked over slowly to Banzan. Banzan walked past him and activated the gate. Shortly after the warp started, the ship blasted an emergency alarm. The lights flashed red. The ship crashed and shook wildly, as if colliding nonstop. There was no space rubble in the area, and the elven soldier knew this. He smiled a bitter-sweet smile. “I knew this was how it was going to end. There’s no end to your despair. ” he said, as Banzan disappeared. The ship exploded. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Banzan rushed the warp procedures. He had to. He rigged the ship to explode as the final measure. Even if they knew he was coming, there would be no chance of help for them. All routes were secured. Banzan had won. The high still gripped him. It was heavy, yet thrilling. It was the most intense thrill Banzan ever experienced. He didn’t need to yet he took more pills. He was extremely nervous, and the pills had no effect besides filling his mind with excruciating visions and clearing his thoughts with a pain worse than any he had ever experienced in his over one hundred years of war across the far reaches of space and time. He crashed into the High Palace. The elven aristocrats were having themselves a nice little party. The royalty rose in shock. In a crater and out of a box of black glass, Banzan rose. A corner of the palace was obliterated instantly. One moment things were tranquil, the next… Banzan stepped forward. His eyes tore into the souls of every member and guest present. His presence commanded the fear and attention of every soul that could comprehend terror. He surprised everyone but the Elven King. It was strange. There were no guards. Even though Morrow said he informed the Palace, what gives? Was it a bluff? Was he lying to him? It mattered not. Banzan crouched, his head low to the ground. He readied himself. “So… the prodigal prince returns. What a mess you’ve made, my dear son.” The Elven King smiled warmly. The royal crowd gasped and stirred a commotion. “Don’t call me that!” Banzan roared. As loud and flashy his arrival was, his departure was quiet. He disappeared. “Banzan! Banzan, my boy!” The Elven King mocked. “You’re finally home! And in such good taste too! What is it? Looking to play a game of hide and seek with your sickly old father? Sounds great. I haven’t worked up a sweat in over…” The Elven King disappeared as well. There were numerous clashes, but nobody could see a thing. “-200 years!” The Elven King and Banzan reappeared. Banzan was bleeding at the side. There’s no way! Banzan panicked. He can keep up with the forbidden high? And at such an intense level? Banzan had no choice but to take more and more. They continued clashing. The audience scrambled, trying to run away. Some were caught in the dogfight. Most escaped safely, thanks to the royal guard. “Father! No, Elven King! What do you seek to accomplish! You’ve acquired immortality, power, status, wealth, and the deepest and darkest magical secrets the universe could hope to offer. I’ve served as a soldier for fifty years and not once have I trusted you! What are you scheming!” Banzan knew it was a futile question, but part of him yearned for the truth. Quickly, he was losing himself. The drug was too strong. It was already too late for him. If he didn’t finish business here, all his sacrifices would be for nought. He could not let that happen. “Banzan,” the Elven King said. “When you live over two hundred thousand years, you’ll understand... “I… “I..! “I’m trying to end this immortal curse! And for that, for that..! “I need sacrifices!” As the Elven King roared those words, he cast a forbidden magic. It was a magic much worse than the forbidden high, worse than the Cratersphere, worse than the Final Terra Nova. Suddenly, multiple silhouettes glowed a translucent blue that could be seen through the walls. They were funny silhouettes of outlined frills and dashing collars. They were the aristocrats and royal guard. Screams of terror and fear filled the battered palace. From all over, magic power flooded the Elven King, and the aristocrats around dropped like flies. Soon there was no screaming. For the first time, the damned aristocrats felt fear. It was fear towards this terrifying intruder, but towards their beloved king, for all of them knew, at that instant, what was transpiring, what fate awaited them. “Power! Power! I need more and more and more and more! This is necessary, Banzan! Or should I say, Beluar!” The Elven King laughed maniacally. His howls filled the lifeless bodies of his dead family and friends. “I didn’t intend to begin the next phase now, but if there is one thing I learned in the many years of my foolish existence is that surprises are the spice that keeps life interesting.” “You… You..!!!” Don’t tell me..! You let the aristocrats remain here on purpose? For this..? "YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER!” Banzan charged into the figure of his father, who was nothing but a void of destruction now.
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	Her head rung. Not with plasma blasts, or cut-off screams as her teammates’ comms get destroyed along with them, but with ringing. Head ringing with ringing? That can’t be right, she managed to think through the noise. Where am I? What happened? Like waking from a dream, the memories came and went, disjointed and nonsensical. Fighting. Taking a pill. A ship. A new weapon? Her suit, curling up to protect her from re-entry. Petting her cat. Terrified screams as the blast came for them. Terrified bodies running from her. Getting slammed into the wall while the ship warped. She hauled herself to her feet, legs like a newborn horse. Her visor was filled with warnings—battery at 26%, functionality of left arm lost, overall integrity at 13%, nanobots deployed, unknown location—but there was one not-warning. Breathable atmosphere. “Good,” she said to herself. “I can get some fresh air while I come off of this high.” She struggled with her helmet for several seconds before managing to take it off. Somehow, the combat drugs she had taken were still in her system. Marvelous things—they increased strength, speed, and stamina temporarily by removing the brain’s blockades, which had a teensy side effect of letting you kill without remorse. Perfect in a war. And she remembered now—she was a feared general, almost impossible to kill. She didn’t need the drugs, but they sure made life easier. They helped with the remorse after the fact, but she still shivered as the memories came back. Foot soldiers had no choice. She didn’t like killing them. Enough wallowing. She cast her eyes about. She had created quite the crater, filled with a shiny black glass coating. Which was a bit odd, but alien planets had strange composition sometimes. It was pretty, but it would be pretty hard to get out of. Her feet still felt twitchy, but they were getting better. And she couldn’t stay here—if there was alien life, they would find the crater quickly. She let the spikes in her shoes do the work for her. It took a while, but she eventually made it out of the crater and into the woods. It was definitely alien, but the plant life was similar to what they grew in the ships. Green, but with odd leaves, and flowers that weren’t really flowers, and bulbous blue growths. It smelled sweet, with a hint of cinnamon, a favorite spice of hers. She wandered around aimlessly, half looking for a place to build a shelter, half wondering if any of this was edible. Her suit would be able to tell her once it repaired itself. Which would take weeks with no extra energy supply. She sighed, and sat down on a rock. The drugs were slowly but surely working their way out of her system. She looked up to stare at the odd pink growth she had seen earlier. But something was off. It shivered in the light, just like how cloaking shields worked. She drew her plasma gun and fired. Two eyes flared open, and the form of the creature materialized next. Slender, tall, with pointy ears and a hole in its side. It recoiled from her as soon as she stood up, plasma gun aimed for its heart. “Is the translator online?” she asked her suit calmly. “No,” her suit replied. “Integrity at 13%. Repairs ongoing. Would you like to prioritize translator repair?” “That won’t be necessary,” the thing hissed. “I regretfully know your filthy tongue.” “Perfect,” she replied. “Then, you understand me when I say that I won’t hesitate to kill you if you so much as cough without my say-so.” “I am a perfect being. I do not cough.” “Now, coughing or not, I’d really appreciate it if you called your friends off,” she said. “I won’t hesitate to kill them either, although I’d really prefer there to be no death.” “You are the one who will die,” a voice said from the trees. Tilting her head up, she spotted another one. With a bow. A bow and arrow. And there was another invisible—there next to the one up in the trees, the leaves seemed to be wavering, and a pair of eyes was watching, but more tellingly, a small ball of yellow light was swirling around mid-air. “A bow?” she said. “That’s what you plan to kill me with? My armor is broken, but not that broken.” She turned away from the one she had injured, and pointed her gun at the one she could see in the trees. It fired, and she easily dodged. So when the ball of light came for her, she fired at the invisible one and sidestepped again. She hardly even needed drugs to do that. It became visible and hit the ground. But she did need drugs to throw off the first one. Somehow, despite the gaping hole in its side, it had latched onto her and was attempting to strangle her. Even though it wasn’t doing much of anything, it was still clinging on well. Her enhanced muscles fought to throw it off, and she eventually succeeded, throwing it into a tree once she had a good grip on it. It groaned and went limp. Several more materialized, surrounding her. She glared at each of them. “Like I said, I don’t want to fight.” “What kind of filthy trick have you done, human?” one said. “You are imperfect. You are mortal. And yet, you harness magic! This is an affront to Haila, and you will receive divine retribution for your sins!” “Magic?” she echoed. “Magic, really.” She fired on each of them in turn, before they could reach her. Without any real armor besides the thin sheets a few were wearing, they were each taken down in one shot. She walked up to the one who had just spoke, the one that seemed to be the leader. “I’m not using magic. Where did you get that idea?” “No magic?” Its eyes widened. “Impossible. You’re killing us with it! And you’re far faster than any human should be.” She tilted its face up with her toe. “Tell your leader—do you have leaders? Probably—that I don’t want trouble. If any more of you freaky things are sent to hurt me, I will kill them.” “‘Freaky things?’ I am a high elf, superior being, keeper of peace—“ She cut it short, grinding its head into the dirt with her heel. “Elves? That’s what you call yourself? Ah, so you really are using magic. Didn’t even think that was real.” “Real? Ignorant human. You do not recognize the magic you have enslaved—“ “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not using magic, I’m using science. This gun fires plasma, not magic. My armor fixes itself. And I took a lot of combat drugs.” She took her foot off of the elf. The elf scrambled to its feet. There was something in its eyes she knew well—fear, and a lack of understanding. “We will be back,” it snarled. “Whether in peace or war I do not know. Prepare yourself.” It slunk away into the trees. She stared at all the bodies. Some were still twitching, so she put them out of their misery. “I didn’t even give them my name,” she said to herself. “I think it was...Kailus. Yes, that’s my name.” It fitted with the rest of her scattered memories. Kailus, feared general, right-hand woman of the leader of the Galgrax Empire. I wonder what Zarcal would thing of me now. His prized general, stranded on a planet, high on drugs, blasting weird elf things. It’s probably the strangest thing I’ve done. She walked through the forest, looking for shelter as the planet’s star set.	Banzan laughed maniacally to himself. He had hoped someone was alive, clutching the embraces of death, walking the fine line of their foolish mortality. Unfortunately, he did too good of a job. What’s left of his audience are bloodied, tattered bodies. The sole voice in that chamber was Banzan’s. A dark dwarf stormed in, and stopped. He witnessed the scene. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but somewhere in his heart he expected this. He knew he should’ve never trusted Banzan, but by the time he realized he knew it was too late. That was why he wasn’t so surprised when Banzan suddenly flew toward him, and slashed him. The dark dwarf watched his body separate from him. Darkness followed. Banzan looked up through into the starry expanse of space. He saw many stars, many gleaming dots. The perfect setting to end this, Banzan thought, as he swallowed a very miniscule, unassuming ball. Visions flooded his mind, and for a moment Banzan lost grasp of himself. Only for a moment, though. A sudden movement—another interruption. Banzan didn’t have much time. He had to make it to the warp gate before the effects wore off. He has to finish off the king while the forbidden high still grips him, choking his vitality, luring his spirit playfully. “Captain Banzan!” A woman, human, called. She looked worn, exhausted, but relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her. Her eyes betrayed kindness. “So this is where you are! I’m glad you’re safe! Look, the operation to take down the damn drug-stealing rebels is—” She froze, and long after she realized the situation, long after she could’ve pulled out her neutralizing ray, yet she didn’t, Banzan had swiftly cut her down too. It was a painless death. It was an end befitting of her, and end to her sufferings. Banzan quickly made it out. He utilized a secret passage which only he knew. His comrades wouldn’t find him, for the route was on no map. He planned this for this day meticulously. He thought he could handle the casualties of his dear partners… Even though they were Elven warriors..! He couldn’t deny the fact that they were also his friends. Banzan took more pills. His head exploded from the inside, an atomic bomb dropping within the confines of his consciousness. It wiped away any pre-existing doubt. He made it to the warp. An elven soldier had been waiting for him. “So it was you who sent Mira and Zayn to their deaths?” Banzan said, the voice of killing intent erupting from the cracks of his delusion. “We should’ve never trusted you Banzan. I’ve already let the High Palace know about you. Give up while you can. They’ll make your death an easy one, I can guarantee it,” the elven soldier said. Banzan had taken too much. Not just drugs, but sorrow, war, and betrayal. He knew how well ideals can corrupt a soul. All he has left is his mission. The elven soldier dropped his weapon. He walked over slowly to Banzan. Banzan walked past him and activated the gate. Shortly after the warp started, the ship blasted an emergency alarm. The lights flashed red. The ship crashed and shook wildly, as if colliding nonstop. There was no space rubble in the area, and the elven soldier knew this. He smiled a bitter-sweet smile. “I knew this was how it was going to end. There’s no end to your despair. ” he said, as Banzan disappeared. The ship exploded. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Banzan rushed the warp procedures. He had to. He rigged the ship to explode as the final measure. Even if they knew he was coming, there would be no chance of help for them. All routes were secured. Banzan had won. The high still gripped him. It was heavy, yet thrilling. It was the most intense thrill Banzan ever experienced. He didn’t need to yet he took more pills. He was extremely nervous, and the pills had no effect besides filling his mind with excruciating visions and clearing his thoughts with a pain worse than any he had ever experienced in his over one hundred years of war across the far reaches of space and time. He crashed into the High Palace. The elven aristocrats were having themselves a nice little party. The royalty rose in shock. In a crater and out of a box of black glass, Banzan rose. A corner of the palace was obliterated instantly. One moment things were tranquil, the next… Banzan stepped forward. His eyes tore into the souls of every member and guest present. His presence commanded the fear and attention of every soul that could comprehend terror. He surprised everyone but the Elven King. It was strange. There were no guards. Even though Morrow said he informed the Palace, what gives? Was it a bluff? Was he lying to him? It mattered not. Banzan crouched, his head low to the ground. He readied himself. “So… the prodigal prince returns. What a mess you’ve made, my dear son.” The Elven King smiled warmly. The royal crowd gasped and stirred a commotion. “Don’t call me that!” Banzan roared. As loud and flashy his arrival was, his departure was quiet. He disappeared. “Banzan! Banzan, my boy!” The Elven King mocked. “You’re finally home! And in such good taste too! What is it? Looking to play a game of hide and seek with your sickly old father? Sounds great. I haven’t worked up a sweat in over…” The Elven King disappeared as well. There were numerous clashes, but nobody could see a thing. “-200 years!” The Elven King and Banzan reappeared. Banzan was bleeding at the side. There’s no way! Banzan panicked. He can keep up with the forbidden high? And at such an intense level? Banzan had no choice but to take more and more. They continued clashing. The audience scrambled, trying to run away. Some were caught in the dogfight. Most escaped safely, thanks to the royal guard. “Father! No, Elven King! What do you seek to accomplish! You’ve acquired immortality, power, status, wealth, and the deepest and darkest magical secrets the universe could hope to offer. I’ve served as a soldier for fifty years and not once have I trusted you! What are you scheming!” Banzan knew it was a futile question, but part of him yearned for the truth. Quickly, he was losing himself. The drug was too strong. It was already too late for him. If he didn’t finish business here, all his sacrifices would be for nought. He could not let that happen. “Banzan,” the Elven King said. “When you live over two hundred thousand years, you’ll understand... “I… “I..! “I’m trying to end this immortal curse! And for that, for that..! “I need sacrifices!” As the Elven King roared those words, he cast a forbidden magic. It was a magic much worse than the forbidden high, worse than the Cratersphere, worse than the Final Terra Nova. Suddenly, multiple silhouettes glowed a translucent blue that could be seen through the walls. They were funny silhouettes of outlined frills and dashing collars. They were the aristocrats and royal guard. Screams of terror and fear filled the battered palace. From all over, magic power flooded the Elven King, and the aristocrats around dropped like flies. Soon there was no screaming. For the first time, the damned aristocrats felt fear. It was fear towards this terrifying intruder, but towards their beloved king, for all of them knew, at that instant, what was transpiring, what fate awaited them. “Power! Power! I need more and more and more and more! This is necessary, Banzan! Or should I say, Beluar!” The Elven King laughed maniacally. His howls filled the lifeless bodies of his dead family and friends. “I didn’t intend to begin the next phase now, but if there is one thing I learned in the many years of my foolish existence is that surprises are the spice that keeps life interesting.” “You… You..!!!” Don’t tell me..! You let the aristocrats remain here on purpose? For this..? "YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER!” Banzan charged into the figure of his father, who was nothing but a void of destruction now.
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	“Power is Morality”. This was the one rule of the Commonwealth, and the High Elves had all the power. There was once a time long ago when that power was used to protect and guide the other races, but now the rest of us have toiled in the mud, slaves in all but name. However the pursuit of power has also been their undoing, as Arcane Magic led to Blood Magic, to the summoning and binding of demons, to eventually our salvation. They say it started with a young ambitious Mage, attempting a new summoning at the cost of thousands of our lives. The survivors tell of a man rising out of the pool of blood, his strange green armor streaked with red and by the end of the night, every High Elf, and Demon were dead in that manor, then soon in the city and surrounding lands. Where the Stranger went, he brought death for our Masters and freedom for us. We joined his march of liberation, and soon Human, Gnome, Dwarf, Goblin, Drow, and Wood Elf joined forces to free our peoples. Now we stand before Capitol of the Commonwealth where the former Masters are making a desperate last stand, facing us are legions of elite solders, and bound demons. We are massively outnumbered, and the cold grip of fear starts to take hold throughout our ranks, until for the first time, the Stranger spoke, a whisper that all heard as if shouted, each word dripping with power, giving us strength, and coming out as if forced: “Rip and tear until it is done.” This is my first reply to a prompt and any feedback is appreciated.	"WOOOO!" Escaped my lips, bolting upright. The Ampli-phial implant still had a few residual drops left according to my retina's HUD display, giving me a world class kick back into consciousness. I probably didn't deserve it after the last 6 days of almost nonstop E.T. slaughter and mayhem, I probably deserved the death I was all but certain was happening when I was jettisoned from the obliterated alien star cruiser. But, as always, it felt good. Really fuckin' good, like an orgasm, a double shot coffee and three rounds undefeated in the ring in one rigid spike of NOW. The towering, celestial elves around me kept their space, letting me hop up from the table they had been analyzing me on. I winked at them, quickly grabbing my tattered pants to cover up my junk. The underwear was optional, and mostly saturated with purple blood by now, so I left it on the table behind me. "You fancy dudes see that shit? Oh man. Jammed an implosive charge into one of those Ornockii Brood Queen's sphincter, talk about GUTS. Ha!" A low grumbling distracted me. "Say, where's the shitter?" One of the elves, floating on invisible forces, leaned to the ear of the fanciest and tallest elf, clearly engaged in psychic conversation. Regardless, I was gonna take a shit. At the far wall of the chamber was a receptacle of adequate proportion, and as grandad always said, 'any port in the shit storm'. With a brief jaunt and an even quicker hunker-down, I unleashed. The elves paled at this. Was it a sacred vessel? Perhaps a fancy nano-surgery system? With all the clear tubes and fancy lights and floating elvish runes it could have been anything. I didn't really care, nor would I ever. I patted down my pocket, and sure enough, one burned stub of a cigar remained, chunks of shrapnel still embedded into it. No big deal, wouldn't hurt the flavor, though the Ornockii blood might. Two pockets and a flick later it was lit, and I basked in the afterglow of a battle well fought, an undeserved survival and a shit to write home to Mama about. TP, however, fuck... Guess they aren't all that advanced after all. "Hey toots, toss me those old undies."
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	Alathis’ robes clung stickily to her as she pushed through the dense Lustrian undergrowth. She breathed heavily as her bowed form pressed slowly onward, concentrating just on placing one foot in front of the other. She was Chracian by birth and not at all used to this kind of heat and humidity, but Teclis had sent her to investigate the strange meteor fall and so she had come. She’d been two months in Lustria with her small band of explorers and guards, but it seemed at last that they might have found what they’d been hunting for. The young mage brought her small band of swordmaster bodyguards up to the edge of a clearing, where she saw her chief scout kneeling. The elf waved an arm, and Alathis and her followers crouched down. She moved forwards. “Is this it?” The scout let out a heavy breath. “Yes…” “But?” The scout stared down into the crater for a few moments longer. “There’s something in there.” “By Asuryan I should hope so,” said Alathis. “We wouldn’t have been sent all this way if it were nothing! What is it?” “I don’t know, my lady,” replied the scout. “None of us does.” Alathis looked up then and saw the other scouts ranged around the edge of the clearing. Surprisingly, rather than looking out into the jungle to defend against an ambush, they were all gazing inward with bows drawn and aimed. The scout continued, “But it…it’s not of our world.” Alathis raised a hand to her head, massaging her temples. “Are we asur, or are we mortal humans?” she asked, with an edge of irritation in her voice. “We’ve dealt with otherworldy phenomena for most of our existence. Whatever this is, it’s something for us to study. I’m going to look.” Without another word, the mage rose to her feet and strode into the clearing. Her swordmasters moved forward with her with their great weapons resting on their shoulders. A few paces into the clearing there was a great crater that looked as though it had been formed of obsidian. Curious, but certainly not frightening for a disciple of the White Tower of Hoeth. She stepped up to the lip of the crater—and paused. There, lying in the middle, was a humanoid form. It appeared to be clad in armour the colour of blood, edged in bronze, and with several runes worked into its surface. As she looked, they seemed to shift in front of her, and she could have sworn her eyes began to sting and burn. The figure held something in each hand: its right grasped a large axe that appeared to have some kind of blunt serrated blade, while its left held a device that to Alathis’ eye somewhat resembled the crude blackpowder pistols she’d seen humans of the Empire carrying last time she had visited that place. The swordmasters’ leader came up and stood behind Alathis’ shoulder. “My lady, what is it?” His face and voice remained calm and certain, but the mage knew the training the swordmasters went through to control their emotions on the battlefield. Alathis tried to form her words. “I’m not sure what this is…it is certainly unnatural, and definitely has the reek of Chaos about it. It looks somewhat like one of the armoured men of the north, but…” Before she could finish her sentence, the eye-slits in the figure’s helmet lit up. A dim cold blue light showed, and the armoured form sat up. It looked around for a moment, before seeing Alathis and the swordmasters. From out of nowhere, Alathis was overwhelmed by a salty, copper and iron taste in her mouth. She spat on the floor, assuming she’d bitten her tongue, but the saliva was clear. As the figure climbed to its feet, the five swordsmen moved in front of the mage, hefting their two-handed swords into combat stances. The scouts around the perimeter also carefully moved forwards, pointing their longbows. Alathis raised her arms, drawing strands of Hysh to her in order to weave a net of magic to hold the creature in place, but before she could complete her enchantment the armoured figure gave a mighty roar that sounded somehow harsh and distorted, and charged with alarming speed towards the line of swordsmen. For a creature of such great size and bulk, it moved astonishingly quickly, and as it came forward it pointed the pistol and pulled the trigger. Unlike the simple gunpowder weapons of the human nations, this weapon gave off explosions that were painfully loud as it was fired, and as swordsmen were hit, the force of the blast almost disintegrated them, the finely-wrought elven armour doing nothing to stop whatever had hit the warriors. Then it had reached them, swinging the great axe in its right hand. The serrated edge had somehow begun to move, and it made a buzzing roar as the monster swung it forwards. The lead swordmaster, an experienced fighter named Cahail, swung his sword up to parry the swing. The axe was deflected, but the moving serrations had managed to shatter his sword. Cahail fell back, drawing his knife as the scouts around the crater opened fire. Their arrows pattered harmlessly off the creature’s armour, and Alathis felt something fall in the pit of her stomach as she stumbled backwards. In the few seconds it took her to try and regather the magical strands she’d dropped in fright, the monster slew Cahail and the other remaining swordmasters, eviscerating them bloodily. It turned its head towards the sky and let out a deafening howl. “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” Alathis’ breath was now rapid and ragged, her fingers trembling as she tried to complete her casting. Before she could however, the monster fixed its eyes on her. It turned and spoke. “YOUR SORCERY CANNOT TOUCH THE CHOSEN OF KHORNE, WRETCH.” As the mage’s eyes met the glowing portals that presumably marked the creature’s own, she felt her strength leave her. She had faced down daemons, even daemons of the Blood God, but she had never seen anything at all like this impervious, brutal, terrifying killing machine. All thought of casting her net were gone, and she turned to flee into the jungle. She heard the monster’s appallingly heavy tread behind her as it chased her down, and in three paces it was on her. She tripped and fell, and rolled over in time to see the monster’s buzzing, grinding axe descending towards her.	"Archon, there is a life form in that crater." "Unlikely. That crater was formed by the detonation of some type of superweapon. No living being could have survived that, no less the fallout." "And yet, I get readings from the very center of it. A very strong life signal, and from what the readings say, whichever being is laying there is immensely powerful, perhaps even powerful enough to have... created the crater itself. Sir." "Fine. Send a few squads down to capture it." "Certainly, sir" As the squads came into vision, swarming out of thw hangar bays of the Elven spaceship hovering above the newly-formed crater of pure glass, Axol awoke from his unconsciousness following the crash of his combat high just three days prior, feeling surprised at the appearance of the Elves. "Goddamn Knife-Ears, always sticking their fancy noses where they don't belong." Axol grumbled as he got up and activated another dose of the cocktail of combat enhancers he'd used earlier in preparation for what was to come. "I'll show 'em what happens when ya get all up in my business without askin' me, see how they like it." As the ships flew towards him, he calculated the angle and force he was going to need, and leapt at the closest dropship, crashing through the cockpit with the sheer force of his jump, sending the ship into a spin as he tore through the inside, tearing the heavily armed elves limb for limb, ending their previously thought to be immortal lives with little to no effort. When he was done, no more than six seconds had passed, and he tore out the side of the small ship and leapt to the next one, brusting through the side door and repeating the process. Not more than two minutes later, all the squads the Archon had sent down were dead or dying, and the Archon could have sworn that this terrifying monster was looking straight at him form the burning remains of his ships, even though he was several miles up in the air behind a full two feet of transparasteel. A shiver went down his back as he realised the scanners simply stated this was a human, and the cold sweat trickled down his back at the notion that this was what the humans had become since the elves had left Earth millennia ago. "Contact the colonies. Notify them of what the humans have become. We must never engage them."
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	“My lords we have found another artifact!” A sickly human yelled from the pit below. Above two eleven lords stood overlooking the mining pit. They simply nodded to the human before walking forward off the ledge. As soon as they stepped off a faintly glowing aura surrounded them, gently descending them into the mining pit. They came to a halt next to the human, who was now kneeling. “Show us” the elven female said as she lazily brushed a hand through her hair. Her hair instantly braiding itself into an extravagant bun. The human quickly rose from the ground, beckoning them toward a small cave. They quickly made their way inside, the elves eyes glowing in the dark as their night vision adjusted to the darkness. Around them the other human slaves quickly dropped to their knees as the elves passed by. After many turns they entered a large round cavern. In the center of the ceiling was a small hole bringing a small beam of light into the cavern, the light illuminated a large metallic cylinder which rested in a black crater. The elven male stepped forward curiously. The sound of crunching glass echoing with each of his footsteps. The cylinder was only slightly larger than the elf and was incredibly shinny showing the elf his own reflection. The elf gently placed his hand on the cylinder feeling the cool metal. As he inspected the cylinder the metal began to liquify. He steped back as the walls of the metal cylinder melted into the crater. The cylinder quickly melted, left in its place was a metal suit of heavy armor which was now surrounded by a boiling metallic puddle. The elven female stepped back and grabbed the human slave by the arm. “Bring us that armor” she commanded as she threw the slave far into the puddle. The slave hit the still boiling puddle about an arms length from the armored suit. The slave screamed in agony as nearly every inch of skin instantly began to burn. The slave attempted to crawl to the suit but the pain was too much. The elves began to laugh as they watched the pathetic human burn. Within a few seconds the human slave was nearly dead, reaching out in desperation the human only managed to touch the armor with one finger. Upon the human touching the metal suit it instantly came to life. As if from know where metallic tendrils quickly pulled the human slave into the armored metal suit. The elves upon swing this stopped laughing, watching with renewed curiosity. Within the suit a deep metallic voice. “Human you have sustained critical damage...applying last stand combat stimulants now” the metallic voice said as needles began to prick the humans skin. The elven male now finished with observing the again unmoving metal suit. Stepped forward into the puddle the boiling metal parted from each step. The elf now within arms reach of the metal suit reached forward. “Slave are you alive in there?” He said as he reached for the shoulder of metal suit. The metal suit quickly lurched upward, grabbing the elf’s arm and ripping it from his socket in the blink of an eye. The elven male quickly propelled himself backward to the cave wall. Using magic he sealed the wound. The metallic suit let out a roar that sent shivers down the elf’s spines before charging forward as it tossed the arm into the still boiling puddle. The elven female quickly stepped between them raising her hands she sent lighting forth, arcing into the metallic suit. However the suit was undeterred as it charged forward into the cavern wall. The two elves managed to barely dodge thanks to their flight magic. They quickly flew upward toward the hole in the ceiling. The male was the first one through. He quickly turned around to make sure the elven female made it through. But from the darkness suit had launched itself upward crashing into the ceiling. The arm of the suit reached forth grabbing her by the leg and throwing her back into the darkness below. The force of the suit impacting the ceiling causing the entire cavern to completely collapse. The now one armed male elf could only watch in fear as the ground crumbled around him. He had never known fear before but right now he knew he could not go back for her. He turned and fled flying toward the floating city.	"Archon, there is a life form in that crater." "Unlikely. That crater was formed by the detonation of some type of superweapon. No living being could have survived that, no less the fallout." "And yet, I get readings from the very center of it. A very strong life signal, and from what the readings say, whichever being is laying there is immensely powerful, perhaps even powerful enough to have... created the crater itself. Sir." "Fine. Send a few squads down to capture it." "Certainly, sir" As the squads came into vision, swarming out of thw hangar bays of the Elven spaceship hovering above the newly-formed crater of pure glass, Axol awoke from his unconsciousness following the crash of his combat high just three days prior, feeling surprised at the appearance of the Elves. "Goddamn Knife-Ears, always sticking their fancy noses where they don't belong." Axol grumbled as he got up and activated another dose of the cocktail of combat enhancers he'd used earlier in preparation for what was to come. "I'll show 'em what happens when ya get all up in my business without askin' me, see how they like it." As the ships flew towards him, he calculated the angle and force he was going to need, and leapt at the closest dropship, crashing through the cockpit with the sheer force of his jump, sending the ship into a spin as he tore through the inside, tearing the heavily armed elves limb for limb, ending their previously thought to be immortal lives with little to no effort. When he was done, no more than six seconds had passed, and he tore out the side of the small ship and leapt to the next one, brusting through the side door and repeating the process. Not more than two minutes later, all the squads the Archon had sent down were dead or dying, and the Archon could have sworn that this terrifying monster was looking straight at him form the burning remains of his ships, even though he was several miles up in the air behind a full two feet of transparasteel. A shiver went down his back as he realised the scanners simply stated this was a human, and the cold sweat trickled down his back at the notion that this was what the humans had become since the elves had left Earth millennia ago. "Contact the colonies. Notify them of what the humans have become. We must never engage them."
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	I looked around, giggling to myself like a madman... The faces of disgust, horror and dread silently screaming all their delectable terror. "You might want to put down those over-glorified slingshots you're holding, Right now I'm high enough to not be sure if I could stop my instincts kicking in and killing all o-" "DIE FILTHY CREATURE!" and like that a hail of light ether rained down upon me. I Pulled out my weapon and a symbol flashed in it's center, I got a lovely fireworks show. Like that, just liked I warned them I was already on top of the initial aggressor, my hand grasped crudely around their entire, frail face "I SAID" Yelling as I crushed the knife eared bastard's skull in with nothing but my iron grip "PUT THOSE TOYS ON THE GROUND BEFORE I MAKE EVERY GREAT BATTLE YOUR SHITHEEL RACE AS EVER FOUGHT LOOK LIKE CHILDREN CRYING OVER WHO GOT THE LAST COOKIE!" Some listened to the voice of reason in their heads and laid down their arms. One however thought himself an anime protagonist and charged at me screaming. &#x200B; "MONADO BUSTER!" I screamed out activating my weapon as raised his shield thinking he'd won. A vision flashed before my eyes, he'd stop and pivot left hoping to flank me. Coming out of it my blade sings with raw ether cuts through his shield and armor along with his weak, supple, flesh. The smell of vaporized elf blood fills the air as my would be attackers start fleeing in panic, My monado shone with symbols. Buster, Purge, Shield and then finally, elf. Now I'm not usually the person who'd pronounce "Civilian bystanders" as "Acceptable collateral damage". But when you're high as an orbital station on combat drugs, have a Monado in hand AND you've just crushed a "man's" skull in with nothing but your singular hand you're not exactly in the most peaceful frame of mind. When I next had enough presence of mind to be classified as "Sentient" again I had seemed to be standing over the corpse of a elf, on my waist was two smaller ones, probably children and... they were thanking me? That was what probably pulled me out of the rampage. Naturally a bit confused and possibly coming down from my high I asked them what just happened. Here's what I was able to gleam from them. &#x200B; After my little scuffle with the trigger happy aristotwats in the city I landed in my "Doom-wrath" as they called in spread across the world, Apparently the high and mighty bullshit we'd been getting from the interstellar comms these past few months and the occasional skirmish had been coming exclusively from their cities. Much like humanity they too were a divided people, or at least were until I descended. In a few days I had toppled it with "A blade of arcana's bane" I was told, they must be referring to the Monado's perfect either manipulation capabilities. That might a bit harder to do now that I don't have the drugs to hold off the nausea and headaches but still I should be fine. For now though I needed rest. The children currently clinging to me offered their beds, when I asked why they simply said "you killed the man who hurt us." Looking down at the man my Monado was currently sticking out of he did bear a striking resemblance to the children. "So much for all that being 'above all human flaws' those wannabe demi-gods shit out onto the comms network" I think aloud, Pulling the Monado free and florishing it to fling the blood off. "Thank you kids, I'll find a way to re-pay this kindness once this whole situation metaphorically blows over." I said. &#x200B; And that's how I met my adopted son and daughter.	"Archon, there is a life form in that crater." "Unlikely. That crater was formed by the detonation of some type of superweapon. No living being could have survived that, no less the fallout." "And yet, I get readings from the very center of it. A very strong life signal, and from what the readings say, whichever being is laying there is immensely powerful, perhaps even powerful enough to have... created the crater itself. Sir." "Fine. Send a few squads down to capture it." "Certainly, sir" As the squads came into vision, swarming out of thw hangar bays of the Elven spaceship hovering above the newly-formed crater of pure glass, Axol awoke from his unconsciousness following the crash of his combat high just three days prior, feeling surprised at the appearance of the Elves. "Goddamn Knife-Ears, always sticking their fancy noses where they don't belong." Axol grumbled as he got up and activated another dose of the cocktail of combat enhancers he'd used earlier in preparation for what was to come. "I'll show 'em what happens when ya get all up in my business without askin' me, see how they like it." As the ships flew towards him, he calculated the angle and force he was going to need, and leapt at the closest dropship, crashing through the cockpit with the sheer force of his jump, sending the ship into a spin as he tore through the inside, tearing the heavily armed elves limb for limb, ending their previously thought to be immortal lives with little to no effort. When he was done, no more than six seconds had passed, and he tore out the side of the small ship and leapt to the next one, brusting through the side door and repeating the process. Not more than two minutes later, all the squads the Archon had sent down were dead or dying, and the Archon could have sworn that this terrifying monster was looking straight at him form the burning remains of his ships, even though he was several miles up in the air behind a full two feet of transparasteel. A shiver went down his back as he realised the scanners simply stated this was a human, and the cold sweat trickled down his back at the notion that this was what the humans had become since the elves had left Earth millennia ago. "Contact the colonies. Notify them of what the humans have become. We must never engage them."
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	As the combat drums wore off, the sudden drop from the height offered jarred Néro back into her immediate surroundings. Her arms, covered in a viscous golden liquid, wrenched her high-frequency ‘Messer’ blade from the spasming corpse of a man with pointed ears and ancient-looking plate armour. He fell into a pile of his apparent brethren, spilling ichor from the various wounds he had received by Néro’s blade. The toughest part of every operation had just begun for the shock trooper: figuring out where the hell she was and what the fuck she was doing. A quick check of her heads-up display revealed that her helmet’s computer had taken damage; the only systems that functioned were the firearms aiming module and the thermal sight module. No mission objective, no communications, and, interestingly enough, no tracking device. Not that Néro would take the opportunity to run - where would she go? Instead, she decided to take the approach of surveying the area. One of the pointy-ears desperately crawled away with her one arm. Néro crouched down next to her, opened her visor, and stared with her sharp green eyes. “This may sound rather strange, but I need to know who you are and where I am.” The pointed-ear woman’s mouth dropped in shock, as she stopped and breathed. After taking some time to process the shock trooper’s words, she shakily accused her of ‘being one of them’, before her golden eyes faded out and she lay dead. Néro sighed, and sheathed her sword. The visor to her jet-black helmet flicked back down, and the shock trooper looked around once more. She quickly realized that she was in a bowl; a glassed crater, filled with the fallen. Staring down at her from the top of this bowl were three more pointy-ears, the sinking suns at their backs. Instead of gold-plated armour, they appeared to be wearing robes, carrying staves like the wizards from old folk tales. Néro decided that they could tell her what was going on, so she leapt up to the mouth of the crater in order to greet the spectators. They seemed rather surprised at the jumping capabilities Néro had, which was a bit strange to her. Just about anyone with a suit of power armour could do the same. One of their staves ignited in blue light, which also perked Néro’s interest. What sort of device was it? A type of energy rifle? The staff-man’s comrades yelled in shock, and Néro quickly bowed as she greeted them with an amicable hello. “A… human?” The staff-man began to laugh. “You are… a human?” The three of them were chuckling now, which really got on Néro’s nerves. Who were they to laugh at her? She’d show them by- “Why, had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would never have thought a human could kill even one of us!” Néro glances back at her glassed crater, at the mangled corpses within, and turned to the three living ones. “Do you think you three are any different?” She asked, trying her best to sound aggressive. It must not have worked, because the pointy-ears merely laughed some more. “Tell us, what sort of magic was that? Perhaps you casted a strength enhancement? And is that a lightning-enchanted sword?” What? Magic? What the fuck is magic? Néro didn’t know what these strange creatures were on about. “I don’t… know what that is. I was injected with a Class-Delta Combat Stim earlier, if that’s what you mean? My blade vibrates at high frequencies to make cutting easier, there is no lightning involved.” The pointy-ears did not seem to understand, but they must’ve decided it wasn’t important as the staff-man spoke. “Well, little human, how about you work for us instead? You see, we need to claim your galaxy for the empire, and with you on our side it would be much easier. We can offer great compensation, as well as workers benefits and a planet once our conquest is complete!” Now it was Néro’s turn to not understand. The Empire? This galaxy was already under control of the Empire. She’d never seen any pointy-ears amongst the Emperor’s retinue, however, and the Emperor himself was a human. “What Empire? We’re already part of the Empire! And I would never leave them to join some pointy-eared fairy people, either!” Néro imagined it sounding more menacing in her head, but what can one do about their natural tone? At any rate, she had apparently confused them once more. “Pointy-ears? Already part of the Empire? Feh, no matter! If you refuse to join us, then we’ll have to kill you to make up for that army.” Unfortunately for the elf, Néro’s combat stim had just recharged.	"Archon, there is a life form in that crater." "Unlikely. That crater was formed by the detonation of some type of superweapon. No living being could have survived that, no less the fallout." "And yet, I get readings from the very center of it. A very strong life signal, and from what the readings say, whichever being is laying there is immensely powerful, perhaps even powerful enough to have... created the crater itself. Sir." "Fine. Send a few squads down to capture it." "Certainly, sir" As the squads came into vision, swarming out of thw hangar bays of the Elven spaceship hovering above the newly-formed crater of pure glass, Axol awoke from his unconsciousness following the crash of his combat high just three days prior, feeling surprised at the appearance of the Elves. "Goddamn Knife-Ears, always sticking their fancy noses where they don't belong." Axol grumbled as he got up and activated another dose of the cocktail of combat enhancers he'd used earlier in preparation for what was to come. "I'll show 'em what happens when ya get all up in my business without askin' me, see how they like it." As the ships flew towards him, he calculated the angle and force he was going to need, and leapt at the closest dropship, crashing through the cockpit with the sheer force of his jump, sending the ship into a spin as he tore through the inside, tearing the heavily armed elves limb for limb, ending their previously thought to be immortal lives with little to no effort. When he was done, no more than six seconds had passed, and he tore out the side of the small ship and leapt to the next one, brusting through the side door and repeating the process. Not more than two minutes later, all the squads the Archon had sent down were dead or dying, and the Archon could have sworn that this terrifying monster was looking straight at him form the burning remains of his ships, even though he was several miles up in the air behind a full two feet of transparasteel. A shiver went down his back as he realised the scanners simply stated this was a human, and the cold sweat trickled down his back at the notion that this was what the humans had become since the elves had left Earth millennia ago. "Contact the colonies. Notify them of what the humans have become. We must never engage them."
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	Her head rung. Not with plasma blasts, or cut-off screams as her teammates’ comms get destroyed along with them, but with ringing. Head ringing with ringing? That can’t be right, she managed to think through the noise. Where am I? What happened? Like waking from a dream, the memories came and went, disjointed and nonsensical. Fighting. Taking a pill. A ship. A new weapon? Her suit, curling up to protect her from re-entry. Petting her cat. Terrified screams as the blast came for them. Terrified bodies running from her. Getting slammed into the wall while the ship warped. She hauled herself to her feet, legs like a newborn horse. Her visor was filled with warnings—battery at 26%, functionality of left arm lost, overall integrity at 13%, nanobots deployed, unknown location—but there was one not-warning. Breathable atmosphere. “Good,” she said to herself. “I can get some fresh air while I come off of this high.” She struggled with her helmet for several seconds before managing to take it off. Somehow, the combat drugs she had taken were still in her system. Marvelous things—they increased strength, speed, and stamina temporarily by removing the brain’s blockades, which had a teensy side effect of letting you kill without remorse. Perfect in a war. And she remembered now—she was a feared general, almost impossible to kill. She didn’t need the drugs, but they sure made life easier. They helped with the remorse after the fact, but she still shivered as the memories came back. Foot soldiers had no choice. She didn’t like killing them. Enough wallowing. She cast her eyes about. She had created quite the crater, filled with a shiny black glass coating. Which was a bit odd, but alien planets had strange composition sometimes. It was pretty, but it would be pretty hard to get out of. Her feet still felt twitchy, but they were getting better. And she couldn’t stay here—if there was alien life, they would find the crater quickly. She let the spikes in her shoes do the work for her. It took a while, but she eventually made it out of the crater and into the woods. It was definitely alien, but the plant life was similar to what they grew in the ships. Green, but with odd leaves, and flowers that weren’t really flowers, and bulbous blue growths. It smelled sweet, with a hint of cinnamon, a favorite spice of hers. She wandered around aimlessly, half looking for a place to build a shelter, half wondering if any of this was edible. Her suit would be able to tell her once it repaired itself. Which would take weeks with no extra energy supply. She sighed, and sat down on a rock. The drugs were slowly but surely working their way out of her system. She looked up to stare at the odd pink growth she had seen earlier. But something was off. It shivered in the light, just like how cloaking shields worked. She drew her plasma gun and fired. Two eyes flared open, and the form of the creature materialized next. Slender, tall, with pointy ears and a hole in its side. It recoiled from her as soon as she stood up, plasma gun aimed for its heart. “Is the translator online?” she asked her suit calmly. “No,” her suit replied. “Integrity at 13%. Repairs ongoing. Would you like to prioritize translator repair?” “That won’t be necessary,” the thing hissed. “I regretfully know your filthy tongue.” “Perfect,” she replied. “Then, you understand me when I say that I won’t hesitate to kill you if you so much as cough without my say-so.” “I am a perfect being. I do not cough.” “Now, coughing or not, I’d really appreciate it if you called your friends off,” she said. “I won’t hesitate to kill them either, although I’d really prefer there to be no death.” “You are the one who will die,” a voice said from the trees. Tilting her head up, she spotted another one. With a bow. A bow and arrow. And there was another invisible—there next to the one up in the trees, the leaves seemed to be wavering, and a pair of eyes was watching, but more tellingly, a small ball of yellow light was swirling around mid-air. “A bow?” she said. “That’s what you plan to kill me with? My armor is broken, but not that broken.” She turned away from the one she had injured, and pointed her gun at the one she could see in the trees. It fired, and she easily dodged. So when the ball of light came for her, she fired at the invisible one and sidestepped again. She hardly even needed drugs to do that. It became visible and hit the ground. But she did need drugs to throw off the first one. Somehow, despite the gaping hole in its side, it had latched onto her and was attempting to strangle her. Even though it wasn’t doing much of anything, it was still clinging on well. Her enhanced muscles fought to throw it off, and she eventually succeeded, throwing it into a tree once she had a good grip on it. It groaned and went limp. Several more materialized, surrounding her. She glared at each of them. “Like I said, I don’t want to fight.” “What kind of filthy trick have you done, human?” one said. “You are imperfect. You are mortal. And yet, you harness magic! This is an affront to Haila, and you will receive divine retribution for your sins!” “Magic?” she echoed. “Magic, really.” She fired on each of them in turn, before they could reach her. Without any real armor besides the thin sheets a few were wearing, they were each taken down in one shot. She walked up to the one who had just spoke, the one that seemed to be the leader. “I’m not using magic. Where did you get that idea?” “No magic?” Its eyes widened. “Impossible. You’re killing us with it! And you’re far faster than any human should be.” She tilted its face up with her toe. “Tell your leader—do you have leaders? Probably—that I don’t want trouble. If any more of you freaky things are sent to hurt me, I will kill them.” “‘Freaky things?’ I am a high elf, superior being, keeper of peace—“ She cut it short, grinding its head into the dirt with her heel. “Elves? That’s what you call yourself? Ah, so you really are using magic. Didn’t even think that was real.” “Real? Ignorant human. You do not recognize the magic you have enslaved—“ “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not using magic, I’m using science. This gun fires plasma, not magic. My armor fixes itself. And I took a lot of combat drugs.” She took her foot off of the elf. The elf scrambled to its feet. There was something in its eyes she knew well—fear, and a lack of understanding. “We will be back,” it snarled. “Whether in peace or war I do not know. Prepare yourself.” It slunk away into the trees. She stared at all the bodies. Some were still twitching, so she put them out of their misery. “I didn’t even give them my name,” she said to herself. “I think it was...Kailus. Yes, that’s my name.” It fitted with the rest of her scattered memories. Kailus, feared general, right-hand woman of the leader of the Galgrax Empire. I wonder what Zarcal would thing of me now. His prized general, stranded on a planet, high on drugs, blasting weird elf things. It’s probably the strangest thing I’ve done. She walked through the forest, looking for shelter as the planet’s star set.	"Archon, there is a life form in that crater." "Unlikely. That crater was formed by the detonation of some type of superweapon. No living being could have survived that, no less the fallout." "And yet, I get readings from the very center of it. A very strong life signal, and from what the readings say, whichever being is laying there is immensely powerful, perhaps even powerful enough to have... created the crater itself. Sir." "Fine. Send a few squads down to capture it." "Certainly, sir" As the squads came into vision, swarming out of thw hangar bays of the Elven spaceship hovering above the newly-formed crater of pure glass, Axol awoke from his unconsciousness following the crash of his combat high just three days prior, feeling surprised at the appearance of the Elves. "Goddamn Knife-Ears, always sticking their fancy noses where they don't belong." Axol grumbled as he got up and activated another dose of the cocktail of combat enhancers he'd used earlier in preparation for what was to come. "I'll show 'em what happens when ya get all up in my business without askin' me, see how they like it." As the ships flew towards him, he calculated the angle and force he was going to need, and leapt at the closest dropship, crashing through the cockpit with the sheer force of his jump, sending the ship into a spin as he tore through the inside, tearing the heavily armed elves limb for limb, ending their previously thought to be immortal lives with little to no effort. When he was done, no more than six seconds had passed, and he tore out the side of the small ship and leapt to the next one, brusting through the side door and repeating the process. Not more than two minutes later, all the squads the Archon had sent down were dead or dying, and the Archon could have sworn that this terrifying monster was looking straight at him form the burning remains of his ships, even though he was several miles up in the air behind a full two feet of transparasteel. A shiver went down his back as he realised the scanners simply stated this was a human, and the cold sweat trickled down his back at the notion that this was what the humans had become since the elves had left Earth millennia ago. "Contact the colonies. Notify them of what the humans have become. We must never engage them."
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	Her head rung. Not with plasma blasts, or cut-off screams as her teammates’ comms get destroyed along with them, but with ringing. Head ringing with ringing? That can’t be right, she managed to think through the noise. Where am I? What happened? Like waking from a dream, the memories came and went, disjointed and nonsensical. Fighting. Taking a pill. A ship. A new weapon? Her suit, curling up to protect her from re-entry. Petting her cat. Terrified screams as the blast came for them. Terrified bodies running from her. Getting slammed into the wall while the ship warped. She hauled herself to her feet, legs like a newborn horse. Her visor was filled with warnings—battery at 26%, functionality of left arm lost, overall integrity at 13%, nanobots deployed, unknown location—but there was one not-warning. Breathable atmosphere. “Good,” she said to herself. “I can get some fresh air while I come off of this high.” She struggled with her helmet for several seconds before managing to take it off. Somehow, the combat drugs she had taken were still in her system. Marvelous things—they increased strength, speed, and stamina temporarily by removing the brain’s blockades, which had a teensy side effect of letting you kill without remorse. Perfect in a war. And she remembered now—she was a feared general, almost impossible to kill. She didn’t need the drugs, but they sure made life easier. They helped with the remorse after the fact, but she still shivered as the memories came back. Foot soldiers had no choice. She didn’t like killing them. Enough wallowing. She cast her eyes about. She had created quite the crater, filled with a shiny black glass coating. Which was a bit odd, but alien planets had strange composition sometimes. It was pretty, but it would be pretty hard to get out of. Her feet still felt twitchy, but they were getting better. And she couldn’t stay here—if there was alien life, they would find the crater quickly. She let the spikes in her shoes do the work for her. It took a while, but she eventually made it out of the crater and into the woods. It was definitely alien, but the plant life was similar to what they grew in the ships. Green, but with odd leaves, and flowers that weren’t really flowers, and bulbous blue growths. It smelled sweet, with a hint of cinnamon, a favorite spice of hers. She wandered around aimlessly, half looking for a place to build a shelter, half wondering if any of this was edible. Her suit would be able to tell her once it repaired itself. Which would take weeks with no extra energy supply. She sighed, and sat down on a rock. The drugs were slowly but surely working their way out of her system. She looked up to stare at the odd pink growth she had seen earlier. But something was off. It shivered in the light, just like how cloaking shields worked. She drew her plasma gun and fired. Two eyes flared open, and the form of the creature materialized next. Slender, tall, with pointy ears and a hole in its side. It recoiled from her as soon as she stood up, plasma gun aimed for its heart. “Is the translator online?” she asked her suit calmly. “No,” her suit replied. “Integrity at 13%. Repairs ongoing. Would you like to prioritize translator repair?” “That won’t be necessary,” the thing hissed. “I regretfully know your filthy tongue.” “Perfect,” she replied. “Then, you understand me when I say that I won’t hesitate to kill you if you so much as cough without my say-so.” “I am a perfect being. I do not cough.” “Now, coughing or not, I’d really appreciate it if you called your friends off,” she said. “I won’t hesitate to kill them either, although I’d really prefer there to be no death.” “You are the one who will die,” a voice said from the trees. Tilting her head up, she spotted another one. With a bow. A bow and arrow. And there was another invisible—there next to the one up in the trees, the leaves seemed to be wavering, and a pair of eyes was watching, but more tellingly, a small ball of yellow light was swirling around mid-air. “A bow?” she said. “That’s what you plan to kill me with? My armor is broken, but not that broken.” She turned away from the one she had injured, and pointed her gun at the one she could see in the trees. It fired, and she easily dodged. So when the ball of light came for her, she fired at the invisible one and sidestepped again. She hardly even needed drugs to do that. It became visible and hit the ground. But she did need drugs to throw off the first one. Somehow, despite the gaping hole in its side, it had latched onto her and was attempting to strangle her. Even though it wasn’t doing much of anything, it was still clinging on well. Her enhanced muscles fought to throw it off, and she eventually succeeded, throwing it into a tree once she had a good grip on it. It groaned and went limp. Several more materialized, surrounding her. She glared at each of them. “Like I said, I don’t want to fight.” “What kind of filthy trick have you done, human?” one said. “You are imperfect. You are mortal. And yet, you harness magic! This is an affront to Haila, and you will receive divine retribution for your sins!” “Magic?” she echoed. “Magic, really.” She fired on each of them in turn, before they could reach her. Without any real armor besides the thin sheets a few were wearing, they were each taken down in one shot. She walked up to the one who had just spoke, the one that seemed to be the leader. “I’m not using magic. Where did you get that idea?” “No magic?” Its eyes widened. “Impossible. You’re killing us with it! And you’re far faster than any human should be.” She tilted its face up with her toe. “Tell your leader—do you have leaders? Probably—that I don’t want trouble. If any more of you freaky things are sent to hurt me, I will kill them.” “‘Freaky things?’ I am a high elf, superior being, keeper of peace—“ She cut it short, grinding its head into the dirt with her heel. “Elves? That’s what you call yourself? Ah, so you really are using magic. Didn’t even think that was real.” “Real? Ignorant human. You do not recognize the magic you have enslaved—“ “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not using magic, I’m using science. This gun fires plasma, not magic. My armor fixes itself. And I took a lot of combat drugs.” She took her foot off of the elf. The elf scrambled to its feet. There was something in its eyes she knew well—fear, and a lack of understanding. “We will be back,” it snarled. “Whether in peace or war I do not know. Prepare yourself.” It slunk away into the trees. She stared at all the bodies. Some were still twitching, so she put them out of their misery. “I didn’t even give them my name,” she said to herself. “I think it was...Kailus. Yes, that’s my name.” It fitted with the rest of her scattered memories. Kailus, feared general, right-hand woman of the leader of the Galgrax Empire. I wonder what Zarcal would thing of me now. His prized general, stranded on a planet, high on drugs, blasting weird elf things. It’s probably the strangest thing I’ve done. She walked through the forest, looking for shelter as the planet’s star set.	Your legs weren't working, and this made you angry. Not because you had anywhere to go, rather, because it could be mistaken for kneeling. You would never kneel again, especially not to these Elf bastards. You try to wet your tongue, to draw forth saliva to spit at their immaculately clean feet, even in the middle of a battlefield, but it sizzled away before you could gather any appreciable amount, evaporated under the unnatural power of the chemical cocktail in your veins. The beauty of elves, you muse, could never impress you again, not after seeing the face of god in the dying light of your fellow soldiers eyes. Not after the very space in front of your eyes shuddered with fury and twisted into false plains and bottomless illusions. Even now, the insidious shriek of tortured brain cells dying could be heard in the corners of your mind. The gold-skins where saying something. It was muffled and you couldn't understand... No matter, probably something arrogant and self-righteous anyway. Nothing for it now but to keep fighting, you thought, struggling to your feet. The rage was real, absolutely, it's the only thing you could count on to be true. No matter what lies the gold-skins tried to sell you, the rage would always be true. And if you ever had trouble finding it, there would always be a backup vial of clarity in your side pouch.
	[WP] high elves. "Perfect" immortal beings and masters of the world and the magic that flows in it. They found you, a soldier from a war torn Galaxy, high on combat drugs, In a creater of black glass. And for the first time in millennia, those damn aristocrats felt fear.	Kill... Maim... Fight... Protect... Win... A gentle slap to the face roused me from my combat stim addled pain. The drugs were fading from my system and the pain was starting to really hurt. With some effort I opened my eyes and looked up to see a scrawny pasty fella with his fist about to punch me. My boosted reflexes could barely overcome the pain and all I managed was to take the punch on my jaw instead of the side of my face. Ignoring the screams of pain coming from Pasty I started to retch from the stench of vitrification combined with coming down from my stims. I checked my helmet to see why the counter stim wasnt being deployed only to finally realize I wasnt wearing it. Pulling myself to a sitting position I looked about and tool stock of my surroundings. Six indigenous life forms, humanoid, wearing metal armor. Carrying blades and bows. One of them, The one dubbed Pasty, is crouching on the blackened glass mumbling in pain while two others were obviously hyping him up. I stood up only to be matched by Pasty who drew his sword and then produced some kind of glowing yellow ball in his off hand. I missed where he got that from, but that is the nature of pain and disorientation. My armor was a wreck, and it seems the crash had ripped it apart along the cracks formed after that volley of plasma hit me earlier. Only shattered shreds of the plate remained over the second skin under sheath. Blinking away the stars from my eyes and trying not to vomit; I put my hands slowly into a basic unarmed defense stance my dad had taught me for fighting against blades. I'd just have to wait and see what that yellow ball did. In slow motion he lunged at me in a relatively telegraphed feint which I respond to by slapping the blade away from my leg while bringing my other hand in for a jab. The jab never connected as I jumped back in suprise as he threw the yellow ball which turned into some kind of miniature lightning bolt. Throwing myself to the side I barely managed to dodge. I hadn't thought I would be able to. Staggering back up to my feet I saw the utter confusion and awe of the other 5. I readied my defense again but knew the fight was over. Eldrad looked in shock. The stocky figure had just absorbed a lightning Spell. He just wasnt affected at all. The shock and curiosity overrode his bruised pride and he reached out to this new creature and offered his sword hilt first in the act of peaceful submission. His men were shocked. The might Eldrad Spellslinger, former champion of the High Elves had never offered his sword to any foe. Eldrad had found a creature immune to magic and able to fight. This might be his way to bring down the Heirophant and his high wizard circle sycophants. Finally Eldrad could avenge his sister. I looked at the sword being offered to me. It was a really nice sword, and u was unarmed on an apparently hostile world, so I figured it was worth stopping the fight to grab. It was a bit light to the hand, maybe a pound tops. Oh well. Based on Pasty putting his arm over my shoulder I had the feeling I was going to be using this before long. Man, i was hungry. [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/user/BalrogTheBuff/comments/hi7mjn/writing_prompt_high_elves_shall_know_fear/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)	"I bring news of the stranger, Lord Nelwe", Hithion said as he entered the lord's hall. "Apparently, she has nothing to do with the Dark Horror. She agreed to follow your Chosen Twelve willingly and answer your questions". Willingly, Nelwe thought. These were good news, indeed. To his experience, the stranger was perfectly capable of slaying his entire Chosen Twelve with that giant sword of hers, too big for any Elf or Man to wield. His brother learned that the hard way when he attempted to apprehend what he thought to be a spy of the Dark Horror. Was it a misunderstanding? Maybe. "Does she have a name? Does she speak our language? How did you converse with her?" "Mind magic, my lord. It allowed us to decipher her language. She calls herself Nina Metzger". "How did you convince her to give in to mind magic?" "We offered food, my lord. Apparently, the stranger can't hunt". Benevolence, Nelwe thought. Benevolence and a sword always yield more results than just a sword... or just benevolence. "When should I expect her?" "Tomorrow, my lord. She insists on not parting with that Troll-sword of hers, no matter what". A strange request, Nelwe thought. No one else could wield this weapon and use it against the stranger, not even the strongest High Elves. Their superior spirit gave their warriors strength above that of humans, but this strange woman appeared to be stronger than King Ingold who fought the Dark Horror himself. He felt apprehension. What if the stranger is in fact malevolent and wants his death? He could hope the Art would save him, but the crude but powerful techniques of the stranger proved their ability to pierce through Elf-magic. "I guess I have no other option but to... trust." * * * "Greetings, my guest. What is your name?" "I already told my name to your guards. I am Nina Metzger." "You look like one of the race of man, but... not exactly. Are you human?" "Not exactly", Nina answered. "Or maybe not at all... anymore. What I am is called a HELIX. An A-HELIX-BC, to be precise. HELIX is the general term for my kind. A is my project type. The old, the reliable A-type. And BC is my combat rating. Sort of like a skill rank. My actual military rank is Major General." "Are these... high ranks"? Nelwe inquired. "Quite so, my pointy eared friend. A Blacklight major general usually commands a division. A HELIX major general commands a Section. BC means Beyond Class, the creme de la creme. There are only four of us BCs." "Impressive. Most impressive", Nelwe said, not understanding half of those words. "Are you highborn?" "What?", Nina laughed. "Of course not. None of our military is. It's our money bags and corporate stockholders who are born into their positions. HELIXes are made. Now, as we are introduced to each other properly, where's the food? I also need a fucking drink. And not that dog piss your local humans call beer. It won't affect me at all, and the taste is horrible. Do you have distilled spirits?"
	[WP] You run a company that receives orders from customers 100 years in the future ensuring same-minute delivery. Following a statistically significant uptick in orders for blast shelters, all of your orders suddenly stop.	The office was queasy when the first order of uranium-235 flashed on the screen. Fritz, our chief, was too. Until he saw the dollar signs next to it. "Look, they'd be all about nuclear energy by then," he said. "They're more advanced and educated. Civilized. They need it more than us anyhow, they're just magic rocks to us." He looked around at each of us. There were only a few of us back then. After all, what did an advanced, educated civilization want from their seedling past? "We need this." And like that, our company grew from a little trinket store to a billion-dollar non-renewables giant. It was years later when the orders for food came. A trickle at first. Perhaps a bright upstart with the idea to sample food from antiquity. We were happy to go along with it; bet they didn't have twinkies in the future. Then the food orders increased to a flood. Canned food became our number one department. We laughed at it then, celebrated the new expansions. Guess they didn't have baked beans in the future either. We knew something was wrong when the call for blast shelters came. No. If we were honest, we knew long before then. The office was queasy again. The same uncertain cloud filled the building, only now it's black and acrid and it seeped through every corner of our city-peak highrise and stained every inch of our designer sport cars. The department heads--the few of us who were around when the company was little more than an antique store selling millennial movies and fashion--gathered in Fritz's penthouse of an office. In the old days it was a desk in a room with a broken air-con. "What? Do you want another bonus? Another promotion?" Fritz said. "Look, in a hundred years you're dead. I'm dead. The world goes on or it doesn't, what's it to us? Go home to your million-dollar mansions and cry." He shook his head and sighed. "Nothing we can do about it. We can't buy it back. We can't change the future." But this time he couldn't look at us. It was the intern who thought of it. Fritz was right of course, the future doesn't do refunds. Transfers through time was one way. But we could change the future. We just had to change the past. The queasiness was gone when the department heads gathered again. We knew what we had to do. We knew our responsibility. We sold our assets and pooled the money. Even though it wasn't their fault, many of our company's staff pooled theirs too, and we were thankful for it was still nowhere near enough. Then as we wrote up the order, Fritz stepped into the room. He coughed. "As of now you're all fired. I am liquidating this company." He looked at each of us. "We're gonna need all the cash we can get if we're buying all the uranium from the past." r/bobotheturtle	Light streamed out the large windows of the command center into the night, as the skeleton staff managed the dozens of minor incidents that happen every hour at a company as large as UCA. Suddenly, over the sound of the rain, a warning tone began to beep. The large screen showing second by second order summation in a line chart suddenly showed a flat line, and ordered chaos descended on the room. 'Mary, Harry.' Richard called out. 'Wake everyone up, have them work from home on this for now, but warn them we might need to pull them into the office.' 'Yes boss' responded Harry, while Mary gave a curt nod. 'Everyone else, any idea what happened?' 'The trans-temporal link is holding steady, we are still connected to next year.' said Ji-ae. 'I can't see a blockage, it is like the orders just flat-lined' said Henry. 'Uh, boss?' said Lucy. 'You might want to see this.' 'Spit it out, we're on the clock.' 'Ummm . . . Over the past twenty-four hours, we've seen a significant spike in orders for bomb shelters, as well as small items such as small arms, MRE's, bottled water, toilet paper.' The room froze. 'Are you suggesting Armageddon?' queried Richard. Lucy gulped. 'Maybe. Or at least the future was preparing for Armageddon.' 'Arthur' called Richard. 'Make a note to implement alerting on these sort of purchases in the future.' 'The future, boss?' replied Arthur, who looked like he had just been shot. 'Just do it, worry about whether there is one or not later.' He paused for a moment, and then continued. 'Now, everyone else. Perhaps the future has just been destroyed, but if it has it won't effect us for another year, and if it hasn't then that means the problem is with our systems.' 'That means' he said, looking slowly around the room 'that I don't want anyone to not be focusing on this problem. Every minute we are down costs us millions of dollars, and I hate to think what that is doing to our bonuses.' For a second, everyone stared at him, and then chairs spun back around, and the frantic typing resumed. 'Boss' said Mary, a few minutes later. 'I've got Cairo on the line.' 'Speak to me, Mohammed. Do you have any idea what this is?' 'Yep. We aren't seeing the issue on our end, so we checked and its just a bug in the Command Center software. You need to push yesterday's patch.' said Mohammed. 'Shit' replied Richard. 'I really wish I hadn't put you on speaker phone.' 'But what about the surge in bunkers and similar?' called out Lucy. 'I think' replied Mohammed 'that you Americans are forgetting that we are 364 days from the European Election. I'm guessing that those on the side that lost are now panicking and stocking up without any real cause.' 14(15)/71 - Σ8,446
	[WP] You find a strange amulet in your grandfathers attic. After fiddling around with it, you decide to actually put it on. A bright green flash of light blinds you for a couple seconds, you rub your eyes and open them. Never in a million years did you think a clunky piece of jewelry could do this.	It was a dark, royal purple. Looked expensive too. Could probably put it in a pawn shop and get a decent bit of money from it. Cora fidgeted, looking at it. She wondered if it was worth pawning the amulet, seeing how hard on money they were nowadays. It didn’t do anything, after all. But… It belonged to her grandfather. She sighed. He had just disappeared. At least, that’s what her dad had told her. Happily reading newspapers one day, gone without a trace the next. She lifted the amulet to her nose and could smell the faint scent of him, still lingering on it. She inspected it more. The gem was cleanly cut. And that purple really was beautiful, not to mention the mesmerizing, swirling patterns on its back. She didn’t expect her grandfather to own something like this. It was so… fancy. He was a simple man. He loved playing the harmonica whenever he could. Distant in her ears, she heard the memory, the echo of a jingle he had played. Looking over at the dusty mirror in the corner of the attic, Cora held the amulet up to her chest. She stayed there, watching herself for a few moments. The purple glinted, shining in the mirror despite its dusty surface. “What the heck.” Cora muttered to herself. Wiping the dust of the mirror, she put the amulet on. As soon as it touched her skin, it burned. As she recoiled in surprise, memories started flooding through her in fast-forward. She… she was holding some newspapers. Her hands were wrinkled with age. Now she was now holding the harmonica to her mouth. The familiar tune was coming out as she blew into it. A younger version of Cora was there. She looked so happy. Grandpa! Teach me how to play! The younger girl cried. She smiled. She felt happy. She saw the same attic she was in. But it was new. She picked out the mirror in the corner, newly installed and polished, not a speck of dust in sight. In the mirror was a man, face wrinkled with age and a smile, holding the harmonica happily. And then she was walking over. Eyes on the floor. There it was. With the same signature purple. It almost glowed, the color was so bright. And she was picking it up. And inspecting it. The patterns were as mesmerizing as they always were. It was cut so cleanly. She idly wondered, for a moment, where it came from. And then, with her aged fingertips, she pulled it over her head, looking at the mirror as the amulet came around her neck. It looked... good. And then the man was no longer in the mirror. The amulet clattered to the floor of the deserted attic. &#x200B; \_\_\_\_\_ &#x200B; Thanks for reading! Feedback welcome.	As the amulet fell around my shoulders, something was different. Noting the awkwardness of the crystal as the main excuse for trying it on and its flaky composition, I was quite taken aback by the sudden crawling up my arms and the blood pumping through my head. As a man who I only recognized as George Washington rode past me on some lion-horse (whatever it was) the vastness of the scene started to become clear. The cowboys leading a charge of rhinos against a mushroom-headed species with large insect eyes, which descended from large flying saucers (labeled Not-a-UFO along the hull and a cartooned Elon Musk to follow). The crawling up my arms ran up to my neck and morphed into creepy spiders. Before I knew it I felt a sharp pinch on my neck. My vision sharpened and a sudden urge to consume insects overtook me. I am Spiderman. Knowing my new duty to protect the planet from the Foreign Musk-ers I latched my webs upon a foreign Not-a-UFO and flew into battle. Thud. I could feel the chill of stone on my cheek and sudden dizziness that I knew was from a lack of blood. I must've underestimated their weaponry as I bled out on the pavement. I can only think about my spider children, hoping that I fought hard enough to make them proud and give them a better world than I was born into. &#x200B; 10-51 over. "Why in the world would he jump out of the attic window?" officer James mutters to his partner. "and what the fuck is this white crystal around his neck and mouth? its like crank or something.."
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	"So, what do you do for a living?" Rachel asked for the 3rd time. "I kill people" I answered, eyes scanning the bar. We had been talking for about 5 minutes as I waited for my mark. "Oh, really!" she asked giving me skeptical look "anyone I'd have heard of?" I blinked and looked back at her. That had been different than the first two times she'd asked. Apparently that wasn't her first drink. "Depends, do you know many people in the criminal underground?" She took a sip from her glass then leaned towards me conspiratorially, "I still have library books from years ago that I never returned." I laughed and was about to respond with mock horror when I saw the change come over her. Her eyes unfocused and slid off of me. I sighed, that had been almost 3 min that time. It was for the best anyway as I had just seen my target enter the restaurant. He was surrounded by at least 4 guards, with two more men standing by the door watching the room. I stood up and walked over to him as he was sitting down at a booth near the back. His guards looked at me then away without registering me. I pulled out my knife and stabbed him. The only time anyone ever really sees me is when I kill them. His eyes focused on mine until the life left them. Then I casually walked past his guards again to the bathroom to clean the blood off of my knife and hands. I left the bathroom and went back to the bar and sat down. "Hi, I'm Rachel, can I buy you a drink?" "James" I said "No, this round is on me." As I order the drinks I start to hear a commotion coming from the back. Someone finally noticed. "So," Rachel asked as I handed her a drink, "what do you do for a living?"	"Who am I"? Now, isn't that a fun little question. One of the first questions people tend to ask upon meeting something they don't understand, who they've never met, or who they they've forgotten about. And what an important question it is. Learning who someone is, is one of the most important things you can do. By learning who someone is, you can start learning other things about that person. What they look like. How big they are. What they do. From there, you can start categorizing them. Make little tags for them, file them away in a nice little box, with all the information you need to deal with them, stored right there along with them. &#x200B; And that's the one thing that people cannot seem to ask me and remember the detail that follows. It makes me undefinable. Uncontrollable. Uncontainable. Unstoppable. And yet, they continue to ask, "Who am you?" so they can learn how to deal with me. Of course, they never succeed. &#x200B; However. They did learn one thing about me - mostly because I told them, but they don't seem to remember that part specifically. What's that detail, I feel you asking? Well, I'll tell you.... &#x200B; *I am not round.*
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	Life hasn't always been easy for the Ronan family. Generations ago, my dear great-great-great-great-however-many-times-over-grandfather decided to piss off one of the old gods, Ameniados. Few know that name now, but my family still prays that one day he'll lift his curse. See, dear old however-many-greats-granddad was a vain son-of-a-bitch. A painter, a model, an actor of old. All those lovely things. He loved to hear his name. He loved to hear the sound of his own voice. He loved to talk and to be admired. And one day, he said he would be more admired than any of the gods, even the handsome Ameniados. So, the lord of reflection turned the world inward on our family, ensuring that not only my predecessor, but all of his bloodline could never be remembered. Never seen. Names never known. Forced into a life of anonymity. Of course, some people broke through, though my more ignorant or optimistic family members like to think that true love breaks the curse for that one special person. That's a lie. I did an experiment. It just takes 273 times. They have to see your face 273 times -- hear your name 273 times, and then they can begin to remember. Those who fall in love are more likely to be seen so often. My family laments their lonely life, and they all still pray to Ameniados to lift the curse...but not me. Oh I pray to him, sometimes, but to keep the gift going. See, while my family all tried their hardest to be known, I realized that this gift of anonymity would be quite useful for an assassin. No one could point you out...even say you were there. Nothing. It made the job almost too easy. They don't know, of course, but why should they need to? The only one who knows my face now is Ray, my...assistant? My courier? Not sure what to call them. Too formal anyway. They handle the contracts, the dead drops, payments, kill confirmations, all with such finesse. They're so clever. "Got a new one for ya," Ray said one day as they came into my flat. They dropped the envelope on the table while walking casually to my espresso maker, making themself a cappuccino or something. I got it for their sake anyway, so I didn't mind. I picked up the envelope carefully, weighing it in my hands. I took out my fine dagger and quickly slashed it across the top, opening it. "You know, you shouldn't use that as a letter opener, Kara," Ray mentioned off hand, allowing the steam from the coffee to curl around their glasses and fog them up. They didn't mind. "I can do what I want with my weapons of choice, thanks," I replied playfully, pouring the photographs, invitation, and cash onto the coffee table. Leaning back against the sofa, I reviewed the invitation. A party...gala no less. How classic. Boring, but a good opportunity. Plenty of people around, who would really look at my face enough times to remember it? No one. Judging from this Armand Mendez's track record, he didn't go out and mingle much, so it was an ideal opportunity. Counted the cash....all good. I continued to survey the documents.Likes to dance, does he? Easy enough. --- Dressed to the nine's in black with makeup and a fancy hair-do, I walked through the crowd of socialites and elbow-rubbers all clamoring to say they did good for the local art society or whatever charity this gala was for. They would barely put out a single percent of their wealth toward the community, then watch people fawn over their -generosity-. I wrapped a gloved hand around a champagne flute and sipped at the light gold liquid. The good stuff, if you were into that sort of thing. I preferred a craft beer, personally, but to each their own. It wasn't until an hour had passed, and my drink had long gone to get washed, that I approached my mark. "Bored yet?" I asked wryly, trying to strike up a conversation. The man was maybe in his thirties, handsome enough, with dark hair and a medium complexion. His eyes were a startling green, though. Unusual, but not so disarming when you knew that their blood would be red and on the floor in a short while's time. "A bit," he said matter-of-factly, turning to me, "but they do get more interesting by the minute." Oh wonderful, a cheap flirt. That would make this even easier. Goodness, couldn't these wealthy pricks make things a little more challenging once in a while? "Care to dance?" he asked. I nodded and slipped a gloved hand through his. We danced a while, and I'd admit, he was good, but it wasn't long before I could easily pull of the "I need to get some air" trick. He nodded, and took me to a balcony." "The world is a work of art, isn't it?" he began as we stood outside, alone in the night. He turned away, and kept prattling on, "it is beautifully flawed and flawed in its beauty. God or the gods or whatever created it had an interesting sense of how it should all go together, don't you think?" Goodness, so self-absorbed that he hadn't realized that he'd already forgotten my face. My blade slipped out of it's sheath at my thigh, the weight in my hand. As he continued, I walked over to him. "The human condition is truly a wonder. There are those given a gift and think it's a curse." I was right behind him, tensed for the strike. "Then there are those given a curse and find a way to turn it into a gift." He spun quickly and caught my hand just millimetres before the blade sunk into his skin. He stared straight into my eyes with a wicked grin. "Well, Miss Ronan. Seems that someone wants you to lose your gift...and me to lose my life." My eyes must have been the size of saucers. He knew my name. He knew my face. He knew who I was and what I could do. "Ameniados," I whispered, the cogs clicking into place. "You are the cleverest of your family," the god said with that same grin. "So tell me, now that you know who I am...what will you do now?"	"Who am I"? Now, isn't that a fun little question. One of the first questions people tend to ask upon meeting something they don't understand, who they've never met, or who they they've forgotten about. And what an important question it is. Learning who someone is, is one of the most important things you can do. By learning who someone is, you can start learning other things about that person. What they look like. How big they are. What they do. From there, you can start categorizing them. Make little tags for them, file them away in a nice little box, with all the information you need to deal with them, stored right there along with them. &#x200B; And that's the one thing that people cannot seem to ask me and remember the detail that follows. It makes me undefinable. Uncontrollable. Uncontainable. Unstoppable. And yet, they continue to ask, "Who am you?" so they can learn how to deal with me. Of course, they never succeed. &#x200B; However. They did learn one thing about me - mostly because I told them, but they don't seem to remember that part specifically. What's that detail, I feel you asking? Well, I'll tell you.... &#x200B; *I am not round.*
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	"So, what do you do for a living?" Rachel asked for the 3rd time. "I kill people" I answered, eyes scanning the bar. We had been talking for about 5 minutes as I waited for my mark. "Oh, really!" she asked giving me skeptical look "anyone I'd have heard of?" I blinked and looked back at her. That had been different than the first two times she'd asked. Apparently that wasn't her first drink. "Depends, do you know many people in the criminal underground?" She took a sip from her glass then leaned towards me conspiratorially, "I still have library books from years ago that I never returned." I laughed and was about to respond with mock horror when I saw the change come over her. Her eyes unfocused and slid off of me. I sighed, that had been almost 3 min that time. It was for the best anyway as I had just seen my target enter the restaurant. He was surrounded by at least 4 guards, with two more men standing by the door watching the room. I stood up and walked over to him as he was sitting down at a booth near the back. His guards looked at me then away without registering me. I pulled out my knife and stabbed him. The only time anyone ever really sees me is when I kill them. His eyes focused on mine until the life left them. Then I casually walked past his guards again to the bathroom to clean the blood off of my knife and hands. I left the bathroom and went back to the bar and sat down. "Hi, I'm Rachel, can I buy you a drink?" "James" I said "No, this round is on me." As I order the drinks I start to hear a commotion coming from the back. Someone finally noticed. "So," Rachel asked as I handed her a drink, "what do you do for a living?"	I’ve heard my father was a vulture. A degenerate. A man whose interest was only in things - or people- he could use to his benefit. The way the story is told, my father took a gamble on a rather high value target; the crown of the gods. The most holy relic of our people, which even the high priestess is not allowed to lay a finger on. Forget about laying a finger on the crown- My father wore it. Summoned by the bearer of the crown, our goddess descended from her otherworldly throne and, as a reward for the return of the crown, offered my father a wish. Anything he wanted, he could have. He chose her. Bound by her word, the goddess could not deny his request, though her love was pledged to another. It seems obvious that the one she loved was not happy with how things turned out. Cursing my father in his anger, the god damned that man and every other who carries his blood to a life of solitude. Never to be spoken of, never to be seen or known by any. My father could steal his love, but would never have her. Now, as I search for a way to break this curse, I know what I must do. I will find that man. I will kill him. And I will be remembered.
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	Life hasn't always been easy for the Ronan family. Generations ago, my dear great-great-great-great-however-many-times-over-grandfather decided to piss off one of the old gods, Ameniados. Few know that name now, but my family still prays that one day he'll lift his curse. See, dear old however-many-greats-granddad was a vain son-of-a-bitch. A painter, a model, an actor of old. All those lovely things. He loved to hear his name. He loved to hear the sound of his own voice. He loved to talk and to be admired. And one day, he said he would be more admired than any of the gods, even the handsome Ameniados. So, the lord of reflection turned the world inward on our family, ensuring that not only my predecessor, but all of his bloodline could never be remembered. Never seen. Names never known. Forced into a life of anonymity. Of course, some people broke through, though my more ignorant or optimistic family members like to think that true love breaks the curse for that one special person. That's a lie. I did an experiment. It just takes 273 times. They have to see your face 273 times -- hear your name 273 times, and then they can begin to remember. Those who fall in love are more likely to be seen so often. My family laments their lonely life, and they all still pray to Ameniados to lift the curse...but not me. Oh I pray to him, sometimes, but to keep the gift going. See, while my family all tried their hardest to be known, I realized that this gift of anonymity would be quite useful for an assassin. No one could point you out...even say you were there. Nothing. It made the job almost too easy. They don't know, of course, but why should they need to? The only one who knows my face now is Ray, my...assistant? My courier? Not sure what to call them. Too formal anyway. They handle the contracts, the dead drops, payments, kill confirmations, all with such finesse. They're so clever. "Got a new one for ya," Ray said one day as they came into my flat. They dropped the envelope on the table while walking casually to my espresso maker, making themself a cappuccino or something. I got it for their sake anyway, so I didn't mind. I picked up the envelope carefully, weighing it in my hands. I took out my fine dagger and quickly slashed it across the top, opening it. "You know, you shouldn't use that as a letter opener, Kara," Ray mentioned off hand, allowing the steam from the coffee to curl around their glasses and fog them up. They didn't mind. "I can do what I want with my weapons of choice, thanks," I replied playfully, pouring the photographs, invitation, and cash onto the coffee table. Leaning back against the sofa, I reviewed the invitation. A party...gala no less. How classic. Boring, but a good opportunity. Plenty of people around, who would really look at my face enough times to remember it? No one. Judging from this Armand Mendez's track record, he didn't go out and mingle much, so it was an ideal opportunity. Counted the cash....all good. I continued to survey the documents.Likes to dance, does he? Easy enough. --- Dressed to the nine's in black with makeup and a fancy hair-do, I walked through the crowd of socialites and elbow-rubbers all clamoring to say they did good for the local art society or whatever charity this gala was for. They would barely put out a single percent of their wealth toward the community, then watch people fawn over their -generosity-. I wrapped a gloved hand around a champagne flute and sipped at the light gold liquid. The good stuff, if you were into that sort of thing. I preferred a craft beer, personally, but to each their own. It wasn't until an hour had passed, and my drink had long gone to get washed, that I approached my mark. "Bored yet?" I asked wryly, trying to strike up a conversation. The man was maybe in his thirties, handsome enough, with dark hair and a medium complexion. His eyes were a startling green, though. Unusual, but not so disarming when you knew that their blood would be red and on the floor in a short while's time. "A bit," he said matter-of-factly, turning to me, "but they do get more interesting by the minute." Oh wonderful, a cheap flirt. That would make this even easier. Goodness, couldn't these wealthy pricks make things a little more challenging once in a while? "Care to dance?" he asked. I nodded and slipped a gloved hand through his. We danced a while, and I'd admit, he was good, but it wasn't long before I could easily pull of the "I need to get some air" trick. He nodded, and took me to a balcony." "The world is a work of art, isn't it?" he began as we stood outside, alone in the night. He turned away, and kept prattling on, "it is beautifully flawed and flawed in its beauty. God or the gods or whatever created it had an interesting sense of how it should all go together, don't you think?" Goodness, so self-absorbed that he hadn't realized that he'd already forgotten my face. My blade slipped out of it's sheath at my thigh, the weight in my hand. As he continued, I walked over to him. "The human condition is truly a wonder. There are those given a gift and think it's a curse." I was right behind him, tensed for the strike. "Then there are those given a curse and find a way to turn it into a gift." He spun quickly and caught my hand just millimetres before the blade sunk into his skin. He stared straight into my eyes with a wicked grin. "Well, Miss Ronan. Seems that someone wants you to lose your gift...and me to lose my life." My eyes must have been the size of saucers. He knew my name. He knew my face. He knew who I was and what I could do. "Ameniados," I whispered, the cogs clicking into place. "You are the cleverest of your family," the god said with that same grin. "So tell me, now that you know who I am...what will you do now?"	I’ve heard my father was a vulture. A degenerate. A man whose interest was only in things - or people- he could use to his benefit. The way the story is told, my father took a gamble on a rather high value target; the crown of the gods. The most holy relic of our people, which even the high priestess is not allowed to lay a finger on. Forget about laying a finger on the crown- My father wore it. Summoned by the bearer of the crown, our goddess descended from her otherworldly throne and, as a reward for the return of the crown, offered my father a wish. Anything he wanted, he could have. He chose her. Bound by her word, the goddess could not deny his request, though her love was pledged to another. It seems obvious that the one she loved was not happy with how things turned out. Cursing my father in his anger, the god damned that man and every other who carries his blood to a life of solitude. Never to be spoken of, never to be seen or known by any. My father could steal his love, but would never have her. Now, as I search for a way to break this curse, I know what I must do. I will find that man. I will kill him. And I will be remembered.
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	Life hasn't always been easy for the Ronan family. Generations ago, my dear great-great-great-great-however-many-times-over-grandfather decided to piss off one of the old gods, Ameniados. Few know that name now, but my family still prays that one day he'll lift his curse. See, dear old however-many-greats-granddad was a vain son-of-a-bitch. A painter, a model, an actor of old. All those lovely things. He loved to hear his name. He loved to hear the sound of his own voice. He loved to talk and to be admired. And one day, he said he would be more admired than any of the gods, even the handsome Ameniados. So, the lord of reflection turned the world inward on our family, ensuring that not only my predecessor, but all of his bloodline could never be remembered. Never seen. Names never known. Forced into a life of anonymity. Of course, some people broke through, though my more ignorant or optimistic family members like to think that true love breaks the curse for that one special person. That's a lie. I did an experiment. It just takes 273 times. They have to see your face 273 times -- hear your name 273 times, and then they can begin to remember. Those who fall in love are more likely to be seen so often. My family laments their lonely life, and they all still pray to Ameniados to lift the curse...but not me. Oh I pray to him, sometimes, but to keep the gift going. See, while my family all tried their hardest to be known, I realized that this gift of anonymity would be quite useful for an assassin. No one could point you out...even say you were there. Nothing. It made the job almost too easy. They don't know, of course, but why should they need to? The only one who knows my face now is Ray, my...assistant? My courier? Not sure what to call them. Too formal anyway. They handle the contracts, the dead drops, payments, kill confirmations, all with such finesse. They're so clever. "Got a new one for ya," Ray said one day as they came into my flat. They dropped the envelope on the table while walking casually to my espresso maker, making themself a cappuccino or something. I got it for their sake anyway, so I didn't mind. I picked up the envelope carefully, weighing it in my hands. I took out my fine dagger and quickly slashed it across the top, opening it. "You know, you shouldn't use that as a letter opener, Kara," Ray mentioned off hand, allowing the steam from the coffee to curl around their glasses and fog them up. They didn't mind. "I can do what I want with my weapons of choice, thanks," I replied playfully, pouring the photographs, invitation, and cash onto the coffee table. Leaning back against the sofa, I reviewed the invitation. A party...gala no less. How classic. Boring, but a good opportunity. Plenty of people around, who would really look at my face enough times to remember it? No one. Judging from this Armand Mendez's track record, he didn't go out and mingle much, so it was an ideal opportunity. Counted the cash....all good. I continued to survey the documents.Likes to dance, does he? Easy enough. --- Dressed to the nine's in black with makeup and a fancy hair-do, I walked through the crowd of socialites and elbow-rubbers all clamoring to say they did good for the local art society or whatever charity this gala was for. They would barely put out a single percent of their wealth toward the community, then watch people fawn over their -generosity-. I wrapped a gloved hand around a champagne flute and sipped at the light gold liquid. The good stuff, if you were into that sort of thing. I preferred a craft beer, personally, but to each their own. It wasn't until an hour had passed, and my drink had long gone to get washed, that I approached my mark. "Bored yet?" I asked wryly, trying to strike up a conversation. The man was maybe in his thirties, handsome enough, with dark hair and a medium complexion. His eyes were a startling green, though. Unusual, but not so disarming when you knew that their blood would be red and on the floor in a short while's time. "A bit," he said matter-of-factly, turning to me, "but they do get more interesting by the minute." Oh wonderful, a cheap flirt. That would make this even easier. Goodness, couldn't these wealthy pricks make things a little more challenging once in a while? "Care to dance?" he asked. I nodded and slipped a gloved hand through his. We danced a while, and I'd admit, he was good, but it wasn't long before I could easily pull of the "I need to get some air" trick. He nodded, and took me to a balcony." "The world is a work of art, isn't it?" he began as we stood outside, alone in the night. He turned away, and kept prattling on, "it is beautifully flawed and flawed in its beauty. God or the gods or whatever created it had an interesting sense of how it should all go together, don't you think?" Goodness, so self-absorbed that he hadn't realized that he'd already forgotten my face. My blade slipped out of it's sheath at my thigh, the weight in my hand. As he continued, I walked over to him. "The human condition is truly a wonder. There are those given a gift and think it's a curse." I was right behind him, tensed for the strike. "Then there are those given a curse and find a way to turn it into a gift." He spun quickly and caught my hand just millimetres before the blade sunk into his skin. He stared straight into my eyes with a wicked grin. "Well, Miss Ronan. Seems that someone wants you to lose your gift...and me to lose my life." My eyes must have been the size of saucers. He knew my name. He knew my face. He knew who I was and what I could do. "Ameniados," I whispered, the cogs clicking into place. "You are the cleverest of your family," the god said with that same grin. "So tell me, now that you know who I am...what will you do now?"	"So, what do you do for a living?" Rachel asked for the 3rd time. "I kill people" I answered, eyes scanning the bar. We had been talking for about 5 minutes as I waited for my mark. "Oh, really!" she asked giving me skeptical look "anyone I'd have heard of?" I blinked and looked back at her. That had been different than the first two times she'd asked. Apparently that wasn't her first drink. "Depends, do you know many people in the criminal underground?" She took a sip from her glass then leaned towards me conspiratorially, "I still have library books from years ago that I never returned." I laughed and was about to respond with mock horror when I saw the change come over her. Her eyes unfocused and slid off of me. I sighed, that had been almost 3 min that time. It was for the best anyway as I had just seen my target enter the restaurant. He was surrounded by at least 4 guards, with two more men standing by the door watching the room. I stood up and walked over to him as he was sitting down at a booth near the back. His guards looked at me then away without registering me. I pulled out my knife and stabbed him. The only time anyone ever really sees me is when I kill them. His eyes focused on mine until the life left them. Then I casually walked past his guards again to the bathroom to clean the blood off of my knife and hands. I left the bathroom and went back to the bar and sat down. "Hi, I'm Rachel, can I buy you a drink?" "James" I said "No, this round is on me." As I order the drinks I start to hear a commotion coming from the back. Someone finally noticed. "So," Rachel asked as I handed her a drink, "what do you do for a living?"
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	Those things you do in private-fetishes, passions, lies, murder, shady deals with the wrong kind of people-those things you believe are yours and your alone. They are my trade and the currency of my life. Have you ever wondered how the press knew about the misfortune in your family so quickly? How journalists know which questions to ask? Funny how they always seem to catch you in the act of pulling your pants up, a mere few hours after the deed is done. See it’s convenient timing, for my needs that is. Do you know how hard it is to make ends meet as a living shadow? No? Like, damn hard, especially with all the cameras people use these days. Thieving is something of a personal point of pride for me. I mean, have you ever held a party that needed additional weight staff? Needed your expansive lawn mowed? Your laundry washed and pressed? Hired a babysitter or care taker for an elderly aunt maybe? In all honesty, your aunt is far more of a reliable paycheck then slipping into your party unnoticed. Dementia is a damnable thing, isn’t it? So here’s the deal, a girls gotta eat. Preferably on the balcony of a five star hotel somewhere in Europe. These misfortunes with the press and the law stops after you graciously hand over a decent sized portion of your bank account. Or I swear by the Old God that an unholy amount of misfortune starts to become something of a regular thing with your family. I mean it’s an easy choice really. A simple check and poof, there goes a shadow of bad luck just gone. Auntie Gem’s caretaker-lets be honest, you don’t even remember the name on my resume do you?-gets replaced after being a no show for a day or two and all your bad luck goes away. Now I know, you think, who is this chick? And why on earth would I hand over my savings to her? The real trick however, is going to be remembering that you did so in the first place. So in the name of auntie Gemma and her very not-so-real-dementia, what’d ya say? A few million for the road?	So, there I was, the cursed, stealing assassin from an unknown, cursed bloodline. Our robberies and assassination were legendary, but what was even more legendary was the fact that we could do it in broad daylight with thousands of witnessess, but nobody would know who did it. It was my 23rd birthday, 8th of the month of Julius, and I was traveling by foot to a museum, not to steal, but to attend a board meeting to gain valuable info. This time I learned what the new security code for the main vault was. But the vault was in a disclosed location, and I didn't know where it was. That was a proplem, but I can overcome it. Weeks went by, and I finally got it! It was in another bank, otherside of the country. This was bad, very bad. "Damn it!" i yelled as I threw my notes in the air. "Why does this happen to me? Why?" I cried. Then it hit me: I can just board a plane there, no need to go through security. So I went to the airport, closed. Thid fay couldn't go any worse. Luckily the airport opens next week, but what would I do to kill time? Then it hit me: Kill time, kill! I had many targets who are visiting this town, but where are they? Did their flights get canceled due to the maintenance? Or are they just somewhere else? Maybe at the port? Figuring out where they are is going to make this week more fun, like a real life version of Where's Waldo! At 10pm I founf the first target, in a pub. "Figures, you are one stupid alcoholic, lad" I said when I approached him, knife in hand. Russian businessmen are easy to find, just go a bar or a strip club here, and your target is there. I dragged him to the bavk alley without anyone noticing, or him giving a fuck. I proceeded to stab him until he was unrecognizable, and left. The second target, a Vietnamese woman, who came here to visit her family, or the pigs den, as I liked to call it. Bunch of corrupt lawyers and politicians, all of 'em! I ran to her family's house, climbed the electrified fence with the aid of a blanket I took with me, and went inside. They were enjoying an evening meal, and I slit her throat open with my knife. Nobody noticed till tomorrow. Third target was a hard one. A Swedish pilot, who knowingly smuggled ISIS terrorists across the world. He had to die! I will not let anyone get killed by a terrie smuggled in by him! It took me 8 days, but I tracked him to the airport's café, where he was on the phone with his ISIS buddies. I proceeded to stab him in his liver with a rusty knife, wich my ancestor who brought upon this curse upon us used to slay the last emperor of Rome. Still had his blood on it. He would suffer for hours before death. There was no saving him. Then I realised something: He was the pilot who's plane I needed to board to get to the other bank. Fuck... I panicked. I watched when the next flight would be, then I saw it: in 3 hours. I needed to hurry, as the plane would be leaving and I was at the wrong side of the airport! After I got to the gate, I sighed a sigh of relieve, the plane was still there. I took a vacant 1st class seat and enjoyed the ride. During the flight I noticed something while walking to the pilot's gabin. A famous ISIS member. I haf to do something. Then I noticed that we wete flying across the ocean. I was at the wrong plane! I started raging! Then I realised that I could throw him off to the ocean. Then I grabbed him. Luckily he was at the isle seat near the emergency exit. I opened the door, threw him off and closed it. Nobody noticed. I went to the cabin and and looked at the window. Nearing land. Good, as I can now board a flight to the right place. My robbery would go down in history! And nobody can stop me!
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	Many are wise enough to understand that they must choose their words carefully when wishing through another's power, but few understand such caution also must extend to power of their own. My great, great, great, great-grandfather taught this lesson to our gods, unintentionally. He was a quiet, humble hermit, but also a thief. Words, works, and generally anything that wasn't nailed down could find their way into his ownership because he was, at his heart, covetous and sought to take what other's possessed. One day while admiring his hoard, a stranger knocked at his hovel. He was met by an old man wrapped in robes that were a tapestry of colors, followed by a flock of goats. This old man explained he had been traveling with his flock to reach their grazing ground, and had become lost. He relied on my ancestor’s hospitality and requested shelter for the night, some water, and dinner - if he had it to spare. My ancestor, not a monster, obliged. However, during the course of the old man’s stay, something caught my great, great, great, great-grandfather interest. Not the clothes which the man wore, though they were unlike anything he had ever seen, but rather the ornaments that adorned his flock. Each one had intricately woven blankets draped across their backs, light things providing just a little extra warmth and protection, but mainly decorative; and silver engraved bells that hung about their necks. One in particular, a plump matron, wore a bell with carved sparrows flying near sharp cliff sides. This bell would became the object of my grandfather's obsession. True to the common structure of parables, my ancestor was caught whilst trying to remove the bell. The weary old man shed his robes to reveal an unnaturally chiseled physique, strange markings, and frightful extremities. He was a god, of some pantheon or another, and denounced my ancestor and his future generations to come, cursing us all in such a way to ensure we would leave no mark on this world or another. The god’s words of power were meant to humble, punish, and teach. But the man’s shortsightedness had spread to the god like a parasite. In his curse meant to spare the world of the man’s legacy, he instead solidified it. For when the words were finished being spoken, suddenly the god knew not why he was there, nor who this forgettable man he found in his presence was. And many years later, when the reaper came looking, it too could not find its mysterious prey. Fast forward decade after decade and, through some complicated heritage, here I am. Perched on a rooftop in the City of Love, rifle in hand, awaiting my target. What else is someone to do when making any kind of meaningful interpersonal connection is impossible? When money is as meaningless as time? That god made my great, great, great, great grand-father, and ultimately me, ghosts. So like him before me, I do what ghosts do. Haunt and torment. And so as my target arrives at the same café as everyday, wearing those same (albeit modernized) colorful robes, followed by a pride of cats instead of goats; I remind myself: Same as the man who cursed my family, I hurt capricious little things. I take my shot. The man collapses into a slump. Part of what was his torso now coats the faces of a visiting study abroad group in fine mist. I disassemble my rifle, put it back in its case, and leave. I have time now, but not too long. It’ll only take months, maybe a few years, for the man to reform and our game of cat and mouse to begin anew. I am interested to see if his colleagues have learned well enough by now to watch quietly, but even if not, I have the time.	So, there I was, the cursed, stealing assassin from an unknown, cursed bloodline. Our robberies and assassination were legendary, but what was even more legendary was the fact that we could do it in broad daylight with thousands of witnessess, but nobody would know who did it. It was my 23rd birthday, 8th of the month of Julius, and I was traveling by foot to a museum, not to steal, but to attend a board meeting to gain valuable info. This time I learned what the new security code for the main vault was. But the vault was in a disclosed location, and I didn't know where it was. That was a proplem, but I can overcome it. Weeks went by, and I finally got it! It was in another bank, otherside of the country. This was bad, very bad. "Damn it!" i yelled as I threw my notes in the air. "Why does this happen to me? Why?" I cried. Then it hit me: I can just board a plane there, no need to go through security. So I went to the airport, closed. Thid fay couldn't go any worse. Luckily the airport opens next week, but what would I do to kill time? Then it hit me: Kill time, kill! I had many targets who are visiting this town, but where are they? Did their flights get canceled due to the maintenance? Or are they just somewhere else? Maybe at the port? Figuring out where they are is going to make this week more fun, like a real life version of Where's Waldo! At 10pm I founf the first target, in a pub. "Figures, you are one stupid alcoholic, lad" I said when I approached him, knife in hand. Russian businessmen are easy to find, just go a bar or a strip club here, and your target is there. I dragged him to the bavk alley without anyone noticing, or him giving a fuck. I proceeded to stab him until he was unrecognizable, and left. The second target, a Vietnamese woman, who came here to visit her family, or the pigs den, as I liked to call it. Bunch of corrupt lawyers and politicians, all of 'em! I ran to her family's house, climbed the electrified fence with the aid of a blanket I took with me, and went inside. They were enjoying an evening meal, and I slit her throat open with my knife. Nobody noticed till tomorrow. Third target was a hard one. A Swedish pilot, who knowingly smuggled ISIS terrorists across the world. He had to die! I will not let anyone get killed by a terrie smuggled in by him! It took me 8 days, but I tracked him to the airport's café, where he was on the phone with his ISIS buddies. I proceeded to stab him in his liver with a rusty knife, wich my ancestor who brought upon this curse upon us used to slay the last emperor of Rome. Still had his blood on it. He would suffer for hours before death. There was no saving him. Then I realised something: He was the pilot who's plane I needed to board to get to the other bank. Fuck... I panicked. I watched when the next flight would be, then I saw it: in 3 hours. I needed to hurry, as the plane would be leaving and I was at the wrong side of the airport! After I got to the gate, I sighed a sigh of relieve, the plane was still there. I took a vacant 1st class seat and enjoyed the ride. During the flight I noticed something while walking to the pilot's gabin. A famous ISIS member. I haf to do something. Then I noticed that we wete flying across the ocean. I was at the wrong plane! I started raging! Then I realised that I could throw him off to the ocean. Then I grabbed him. Luckily he was at the isle seat near the emergency exit. I opened the door, threw him off and closed it. Nobody noticed. I went to the cabin and and looked at the window. Nearing land. Good, as I can now board a flight to the right place. My robbery would go down in history! And nobody can stop me!
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	Even after all these years, I still can't take my eyes off her. Everyday, she emerges from the treeline like a spirit from the wood. She casts her nets into the river, settles into the shade of the pine trees, and begins to write in the notebook she always carries with her. Few people from the village have the courage to come out this far--which is entirely my fault. To them, my tower is terrifying. They think it has been abandoned as long as any can remember, and yet no ivy grows on the walls and the paint is always fresh. Smoke rises from my chimney, yet no one who visits ever finds anyone living here--at least they don't remember finding me. "Holy shit--you're real!" A long sigh escaped my chest as I reluctantly dragged my attention from the fisherwoman. Once, several years back, I got bored and started the rumor that a wish-granting ghost lived in the tower, who could grant any boon for a price. It was fun at first, but it got old pretty fast. "Obviously. And to answer your questions, no I'm not a ghost. I pissed off the God of Vanity when I shaved his awful goatee in his sleep. I was drunk, it was a dare, and now no one remembers me. Yes, it was worth it. No, I didn't keep the goatee. Being unremarkable was fun for awhile, but I got bored and now grant wishes for entertainment. Seeing as you'll never remember making this arrangement, I'll determine your payment. Don't worry, I think I charge a fair rate." The young man stared blankly, his cavernous mouth hanging open. I rolled my eyes and pulled a bottle of whiskey from my cabinet, taking my time to pour two glasses. "That--that's my whiskey! It went missing from my table a week ago. How. . .?" The man's confusion deepened, a single vein popping out from his forehead as he tries to piece everything together. "You were rude to a dear friend of mine in the marketplace last week. Fortunately, what you lack in manners you more than make up for in taste. Now, business. What brings you here?" The fog lifted partially lifted from my visitor's face now that the conversation returned to him. "My. . .my son. The blacksmith's apprentice. After we had a fight years ago, I gambled away a family heirloom--his inheritance. The cooper has it now. I want it back to try and make amends, but the cooper refuses. I own the bakery, I'm not a poor man, but the cooper wants to spite me. For the ring I'll give you anything." I sipped at my glass, letting the baker stew for a few minutes in silence. The job was straightforward--boring even--but anything to get out of the tower. The fisherwoman ran across my mind--suddenly I thought of the perfect payment. I scrawled a quick note and jammed it into the man's callused hand. "This is to remind you to be nicer to people. I'll take the job. Now get out of my house and head home." The baker hastily left, as if something were chasing him. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he suddenly stopped and looked around, confused again, the poor sod. Then he started slowly plodding towards the village. I was not far behind, not that he nor anyone noticed. They caught glimpses of me, but after a second their eyes would glaze over and pass over me. Perhaps I am a ghost. Getting the ring from the cooper was disappointingly easy. I merely walked up to it and slipped it off his hand. He raised his fist as if to hit me, then suddenly looked at his hand as if it were alien to him, unable to figure out why he was mad in the first place. The ring was resting on the bakery counter minutes later. I quickly collected my payment and left, none remembering I was ever there. The sun was setting when I returned to the stream. The fisherwoman was there, hauling in the last of her catch. I watched for several minutes, wanting to move forward but a leaden melancholy prevented me from lifting my feet. As she emptied her last net, she turned and spotted me, a warm smile creeping over her face. Suddenly, the lead feeling vanished and I could walk again. "Hello!", she called out. "Do I know you? You seem familiar" Again, the sadness welled in me but his time I pushed it down. Slowly, I shook my head. "No we don't know each other. I'm a huntsman--I was in town getting supplies today. Would you like a blueberry scone? I have extra, and they're best eaten fresh." Her sea-foam eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of fresh desert. "Those are my favorites! I usually don't buy them because the baker is such a pain in the ass--here take a few of my fish. I'd be embarrassed not to pay you back." I set the basket of pastries on the riverbank and sadly shook my head at the offer of payment. "No need to repay me--you already helped me once. On the best night of my life, you gave me a dare and together we shaved a God." The woman giggled nervously, the kind of noise that escapes a person when they are convinced they are talking to a madman but are too polite to say anything. "Good sir, I think I'd remember something like that." I shook my head one last time, and began to walk away. "No, you wouldn't", I whispered.	So, there I was, the cursed, stealing assassin from an unknown, cursed bloodline. Our robberies and assassination were legendary, but what was even more legendary was the fact that we could do it in broad daylight with thousands of witnessess, but nobody would know who did it. It was my 23rd birthday, 8th of the month of Julius, and I was traveling by foot to a museum, not to steal, but to attend a board meeting to gain valuable info. This time I learned what the new security code for the main vault was. But the vault was in a disclosed location, and I didn't know where it was. That was a proplem, but I can overcome it. Weeks went by, and I finally got it! It was in another bank, otherside of the country. This was bad, very bad. "Damn it!" i yelled as I threw my notes in the air. "Why does this happen to me? Why?" I cried. Then it hit me: I can just board a plane there, no need to go through security. So I went to the airport, closed. Thid fay couldn't go any worse. Luckily the airport opens next week, but what would I do to kill time? Then it hit me: Kill time, kill! I had many targets who are visiting this town, but where are they? Did their flights get canceled due to the maintenance? Or are they just somewhere else? Maybe at the port? Figuring out where they are is going to make this week more fun, like a real life version of Where's Waldo! At 10pm I founf the first target, in a pub. "Figures, you are one stupid alcoholic, lad" I said when I approached him, knife in hand. Russian businessmen are easy to find, just go a bar or a strip club here, and your target is there. I dragged him to the bavk alley without anyone noticing, or him giving a fuck. I proceeded to stab him until he was unrecognizable, and left. The second target, a Vietnamese woman, who came here to visit her family, or the pigs den, as I liked to call it. Bunch of corrupt lawyers and politicians, all of 'em! I ran to her family's house, climbed the electrified fence with the aid of a blanket I took with me, and went inside. They were enjoying an evening meal, and I slit her throat open with my knife. Nobody noticed till tomorrow. Third target was a hard one. A Swedish pilot, who knowingly smuggled ISIS terrorists across the world. He had to die! I will not let anyone get killed by a terrie smuggled in by him! It took me 8 days, but I tracked him to the airport's café, where he was on the phone with his ISIS buddies. I proceeded to stab him in his liver with a rusty knife, wich my ancestor who brought upon this curse upon us used to slay the last emperor of Rome. Still had his blood on it. He would suffer for hours before death. There was no saving him. Then I realised something: He was the pilot who's plane I needed to board to get to the other bank. Fuck... I panicked. I watched when the next flight would be, then I saw it: in 3 hours. I needed to hurry, as the plane would be leaving and I was at the wrong side of the airport! After I got to the gate, I sighed a sigh of relieve, the plane was still there. I took a vacant 1st class seat and enjoyed the ride. During the flight I noticed something while walking to the pilot's gabin. A famous ISIS member. I haf to do something. Then I noticed that we wete flying across the ocean. I was at the wrong plane! I started raging! Then I realised that I could throw him off to the ocean. Then I grabbed him. Luckily he was at the isle seat near the emergency exit. I opened the door, threw him off and closed it. Nobody noticed. I went to the cabin and and looked at the window. Nearing land. Good, as I can now board a flight to the right place. My robbery would go down in history! And nobody can stop me!
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	"Dammit Hudson, what do you mean there's no evidence? He broke into the most heavily guarded bank in the god damned country, how can there be no evidence?!" The detective's face had gone red, and and it looked as if he were about to pop a vein. The reactions to half a billion dollars disappearing overnight are always fun, but this one was particularly good. "I - it's like I said, sir, there's nothing. The security footage is corrupted, the prints aren't in the system, and the only witness saw nothing but a silhouette they described as 'probably a person.' We've got nothing." I was very much enjoying the young officer - Hudson, I assumed - squirming under his boss' angry glare. Really, even I would've cracked if someone were looking at me like that, Hudson was pretty impressive for holding up as well as he did. After a few moments the detective sighed. "I can't be too mad, I suppose. It's not like this is the first time we've come up empty, and you can't control the evidence. Back to it Hudson, check it all again. We can't afford any mistakes here." I couldn't help but chuckle a bit as I turned and walked away. Sure, it was fun breaking into banks, and of course the money was nice, but this was my favourite part of the whole ordeal. I guess you could call it a hobby, wandering around police stations after a job and seeing the investigating officers' reactions. It's not as if they'll pay any attention to me anyways, so might as well have a bit of fun, right?	So, there I was, the cursed, stealing assassin from an unknown, cursed bloodline. Our robberies and assassination were legendary, but what was even more legendary was the fact that we could do it in broad daylight with thousands of witnessess, but nobody would know who did it. It was my 23rd birthday, 8th of the month of Julius, and I was traveling by foot to a museum, not to steal, but to attend a board meeting to gain valuable info. This time I learned what the new security code for the main vault was. But the vault was in a disclosed location, and I didn't know where it was. That was a proplem, but I can overcome it. Weeks went by, and I finally got it! It was in another bank, otherside of the country. This was bad, very bad. "Damn it!" i yelled as I threw my notes in the air. "Why does this happen to me? Why?" I cried. Then it hit me: I can just board a plane there, no need to go through security. So I went to the airport, closed. Thid fay couldn't go any worse. Luckily the airport opens next week, but what would I do to kill time? Then it hit me: Kill time, kill! I had many targets who are visiting this town, but where are they? Did their flights get canceled due to the maintenance? Or are they just somewhere else? Maybe at the port? Figuring out where they are is going to make this week more fun, like a real life version of Where's Waldo! At 10pm I founf the first target, in a pub. "Figures, you are one stupid alcoholic, lad" I said when I approached him, knife in hand. Russian businessmen are easy to find, just go a bar or a strip club here, and your target is there. I dragged him to the bavk alley without anyone noticing, or him giving a fuck. I proceeded to stab him until he was unrecognizable, and left. The second target, a Vietnamese woman, who came here to visit her family, or the pigs den, as I liked to call it. Bunch of corrupt lawyers and politicians, all of 'em! I ran to her family's house, climbed the electrified fence with the aid of a blanket I took with me, and went inside. They were enjoying an evening meal, and I slit her throat open with my knife. Nobody noticed till tomorrow. Third target was a hard one. A Swedish pilot, who knowingly smuggled ISIS terrorists across the world. He had to die! I will not let anyone get killed by a terrie smuggled in by him! It took me 8 days, but I tracked him to the airport's café, where he was on the phone with his ISIS buddies. I proceeded to stab him in his liver with a rusty knife, wich my ancestor who brought upon this curse upon us used to slay the last emperor of Rome. Still had his blood on it. He would suffer for hours before death. There was no saving him. Then I realised something: He was the pilot who's plane I needed to board to get to the other bank. Fuck... I panicked. I watched when the next flight would be, then I saw it: in 3 hours. I needed to hurry, as the plane would be leaving and I was at the wrong side of the airport! After I got to the gate, I sighed a sigh of relieve, the plane was still there. I took a vacant 1st class seat and enjoyed the ride. During the flight I noticed something while walking to the pilot's gabin. A famous ISIS member. I haf to do something. Then I noticed that we wete flying across the ocean. I was at the wrong plane! I started raging! Then I realised that I could throw him off to the ocean. Then I grabbed him. Luckily he was at the isle seat near the emergency exit. I opened the door, threw him off and closed it. Nobody noticed. I went to the cabin and and looked at the window. Nearing land. Good, as I can now board a flight to the right place. My robbery would go down in history! And nobody can stop me!
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	Let's see, carrots, celery, onion, potato, lobster, crab, saffron, and cream. Samatha was satisfied that she had every thing. She pushed her cart towards the exit. The Chateau Margeaux Sauvingnon Blanc caught her eye. She tossed three bottles into her cart and left the store. She began unloading the groceries into the bins in the back of her car. "Hey! Lady! You have to pay for that!" came a voice. A middle aged man in a Hawaiian print apron stormed out of the store. "Lady, you have t come pay for that or I'm callin' the cops!" Brave. Most people never say anything. She'd hit this store three times already with no problem. Samantha gave her kindest mom smile. She looked the part and most people felt non threatened by a thirty something dressed in Talbots. She knew the routine. "I'm so sorry. My name is Samantha Wendish. I just stole a bunch of groceries. This is my SUV, which I stole, and I'm going to the beach house who belongs to some tech giant. Please go call the police." The manager went back into the store. Like forgetting why you went into a room, he resumed his duties, forgetting the woman. Samantha drove home with the windows down. The Nantucket autumn was nice during the day. It was going to be chilly later, but she had a killer seafood bisque planned for it. The beach house was palatial, 8 bedrooms, but she chose it for the gourmet kitchen. She poured her self a glass of wine, turned on some Fleetwood Mack, and began her prep work. She flash boiled the crab and lobster and then deftly took out the meat. She made an impressive seafood stock from the shells. Samantha sweat the mire poix and added the stock and cream. She lowered it to a simmer and added the meat at the last minute. She garnished with three strands of saffron and chunks of yesterdays sourdough. She poured another glass of wine and took her meal onto the patio. She took a seat by the fire pit and took in the cloudless night sky and the crashing of waves. I should have invited Ina, she's just a few houses down. She'd love my bisque, but a shame she'd never remember me. Samantha finished her soup and refreshed her wine. She grabbed a throw blanket and threw some more logs on the fire. She inhaled the crisp salt air and closed her eyes. She was shaken from her moment by the sounds of children. Was I dreaming? More lights came on in the house and people were moving inside. Oh shit, they're back early. I just need to get to the car. "Daddy, there is a lady on the patio!" came a child's voice. "Kids, get back in the house! Who the fuck are you?!" "I....I am Francine, I'm your secretary's sister. She said it was fine for me to stay here for the weekend. Let me explain...." He quickly drew a handgun and fired. Blood spewed from her abdomen. The owner stammered, "I...I'm Sorry! I am going to call an ambulance!" He ran back into the house and locked the door behind him. He looked around like he forgot something and then continued unpacking his car. Samantha curled up under the blanket. She shivered as the blood left her body. The fire was not enough to keep her warm. She lay on the patio for days. Whenever she was discovered by the family, they quickly forgot. When the coroner finally arrived, the gulls and insects had not forgotten her. She was headed for the pauper's grave, another Jane Doe. [u/ Domestic_Adonis](https://old.reddit.com/user/Domestic_Adonis/)	So, there I was, the cursed, stealing assassin from an unknown, cursed bloodline. Our robberies and assassination were legendary, but what was even more legendary was the fact that we could do it in broad daylight with thousands of witnessess, but nobody would know who did it. It was my 23rd birthday, 8th of the month of Julius, and I was traveling by foot to a museum, not to steal, but to attend a board meeting to gain valuable info. This time I learned what the new security code for the main vault was. But the vault was in a disclosed location, and I didn't know where it was. That was a proplem, but I can overcome it. Weeks went by, and I finally got it! It was in another bank, otherside of the country. This was bad, very bad. "Damn it!" i yelled as I threw my notes in the air. "Why does this happen to me? Why?" I cried. Then it hit me: I can just board a plane there, no need to go through security. So I went to the airport, closed. Thid fay couldn't go any worse. Luckily the airport opens next week, but what would I do to kill time? Then it hit me: Kill time, kill! I had many targets who are visiting this town, but where are they? Did their flights get canceled due to the maintenance? Or are they just somewhere else? Maybe at the port? Figuring out where they are is going to make this week more fun, like a real life version of Where's Waldo! At 10pm I founf the first target, in a pub. "Figures, you are one stupid alcoholic, lad" I said when I approached him, knife in hand. Russian businessmen are easy to find, just go a bar or a strip club here, and your target is there. I dragged him to the bavk alley without anyone noticing, or him giving a fuck. I proceeded to stab him until he was unrecognizable, and left. The second target, a Vietnamese woman, who came here to visit her family, or the pigs den, as I liked to call it. Bunch of corrupt lawyers and politicians, all of 'em! I ran to her family's house, climbed the electrified fence with the aid of a blanket I took with me, and went inside. They were enjoying an evening meal, and I slit her throat open with my knife. Nobody noticed till tomorrow. Third target was a hard one. A Swedish pilot, who knowingly smuggled ISIS terrorists across the world. He had to die! I will not let anyone get killed by a terrie smuggled in by him! It took me 8 days, but I tracked him to the airport's café, where he was on the phone with his ISIS buddies. I proceeded to stab him in his liver with a rusty knife, wich my ancestor who brought upon this curse upon us used to slay the last emperor of Rome. Still had his blood on it. He would suffer for hours before death. There was no saving him. Then I realised something: He was the pilot who's plane I needed to board to get to the other bank. Fuck... I panicked. I watched when the next flight would be, then I saw it: in 3 hours. I needed to hurry, as the plane would be leaving and I was at the wrong side of the airport! After I got to the gate, I sighed a sigh of relieve, the plane was still there. I took a vacant 1st class seat and enjoyed the ride. During the flight I noticed something while walking to the pilot's gabin. A famous ISIS member. I haf to do something. Then I noticed that we wete flying across the ocean. I was at the wrong plane! I started raging! Then I realised that I could throw him off to the ocean. Then I grabbed him. Luckily he was at the isle seat near the emergency exit. I opened the door, threw him off and closed it. Nobody noticed. I went to the cabin and and looked at the window. Nearing land. Good, as I can now board a flight to the right place. My robbery would go down in history! And nobody can stop me!
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	I sat on the edge of the bridge, dangling my feet in the cool water. The way my life has gone, I wondered if the reflection staring back at me was even real. How can I see it when I’ve always been damn near invisible? It’s been that way for all of my family members for as long as I can remember. I dedicated my life to breaking this strange cycle of anonymity, but to no avail. I thought that if I accomplished enough, someone would finally know my name. I finished top of my class at Juilliard, but even then, when they called my name at graduation, I heard confused whispers of “who is that?” from the people around me. How could I still have not made a name for myself? I was able to perform violin concerts at several well-known music halls, but every time someone announced my coming onto the stage, they would say it was my debut performance. But honestly, that wasn’t the strangest thing. The next day, there was never even a review of my performance! Not online, not in the newspaper, nothing! It was as if it had never happened at all. After two years and many concerts, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I looked at the water flowing by me, contemplating my life and feeling more worthless and alone than ever. At least growing up, I could commiserate with my family, but I am the only one left now. Unsure of what to do, I decided to visit my family mausoleum. Honestly, I had never gone there too often because the place really creeped me out. It seemed so over the top, like something made to bury royals, not people who no one ever thought about or remembered. I opened the heavy golden doors and walked inside. Walking to the back, I tripped on something I had never noticed before. It was an old wooden box, covered in dust. It did not look special at all, but something told me to open it. Inside was a scroll that was luckily in much better condition than the box. On the scroll was my family history, a history I never knew. Apparently, my family HAD been royals, which explained the elaborate mausoleum but not why we had been forgotten, so I read on. I’ll give you the short version of what it said. My great-great-great-great-great grandmother was someone renowned for her limitless beauty, and she was next in line for the throne of some old country I have never heard of. There was even a small portrait of her inside the box, which stunned me because any paintings or photos of my family usually disappeared immediately. She was tall, had long blonde hair, green eyes that were almost electric, and was someone I bore an eerie resemblance to. Anyway, on the eve of her coronation, she ran off with the son of the water god. The water god was livid, and he cursed all of her descendants to eternal obscurity. After reading all of this, everything felt so pointless. All of the work I’d put into my career as a violinist was a waste. No matter what I did, I’d never be famous or even recognized at all. I walked the three miles home in the rain and flopped onto to my bed without even changing out of my wet clothes. I cried for hours until I fell asleep. But the next morning, I felt oddly happy. Actually, I couldn’t stop laughing. You see, I finally realized that with this curse, I could do anything I wanted. I could rob a bank, and no one would be able to prove it was me! My image would be automatically erased from security cameras, I’d be unstoppable! Why had no one in my family thought to do this before? I don’t have to be the world’s greatest musician because I can be the world’s greatest criminal! I’ve robbed so many banks over these past three months and made more money than I can even spend. I feel freer than I ever have in my life. I may not have broken the curse, but I have happily adapted to it. You see, officer, I am the one you all have been searching for. I am who is responsible for all of these mysterious robberies on the news. I could spend the next couple hours describing in great detail everything I’ve done, I could even tell you my name, but it really doesn’t matter, officer. You won’t remember me in the morning. You won’t even remember what to say to the other policemen when you take me outside. Well, I think I’ll be going now.	So, there I was, the cursed, stealing assassin from an unknown, cursed bloodline. Our robberies and assassination were legendary, but what was even more legendary was the fact that we could do it in broad daylight with thousands of witnessess, but nobody would know who did it. It was my 23rd birthday, 8th of the month of Julius, and I was traveling by foot to a museum, not to steal, but to attend a board meeting to gain valuable info. This time I learned what the new security code for the main vault was. But the vault was in a disclosed location, and I didn't know where it was. That was a proplem, but I can overcome it. Weeks went by, and I finally got it! It was in another bank, otherside of the country. This was bad, very bad. "Damn it!" i yelled as I threw my notes in the air. "Why does this happen to me? Why?" I cried. Then it hit me: I can just board a plane there, no need to go through security. So I went to the airport, closed. Thid fay couldn't go any worse. Luckily the airport opens next week, but what would I do to kill time? Then it hit me: Kill time, kill! I had many targets who are visiting this town, but where are they? Did their flights get canceled due to the maintenance? Or are they just somewhere else? Maybe at the port? Figuring out where they are is going to make this week more fun, like a real life version of Where's Waldo! At 10pm I founf the first target, in a pub. "Figures, you are one stupid alcoholic, lad" I said when I approached him, knife in hand. Russian businessmen are easy to find, just go a bar or a strip club here, and your target is there. I dragged him to the bavk alley without anyone noticing, or him giving a fuck. I proceeded to stab him until he was unrecognizable, and left. The second target, a Vietnamese woman, who came here to visit her family, or the pigs den, as I liked to call it. Bunch of corrupt lawyers and politicians, all of 'em! I ran to her family's house, climbed the electrified fence with the aid of a blanket I took with me, and went inside. They were enjoying an evening meal, and I slit her throat open with my knife. Nobody noticed till tomorrow. Third target was a hard one. A Swedish pilot, who knowingly smuggled ISIS terrorists across the world. He had to die! I will not let anyone get killed by a terrie smuggled in by him! It took me 8 days, but I tracked him to the airport's café, where he was on the phone with his ISIS buddies. I proceeded to stab him in his liver with a rusty knife, wich my ancestor who brought upon this curse upon us used to slay the last emperor of Rome. Still had his blood on it. He would suffer for hours before death. There was no saving him. Then I realised something: He was the pilot who's plane I needed to board to get to the other bank. Fuck... I panicked. I watched when the next flight would be, then I saw it: in 3 hours. I needed to hurry, as the plane would be leaving and I was at the wrong side of the airport! After I got to the gate, I sighed a sigh of relieve, the plane was still there. I took a vacant 1st class seat and enjoyed the ride. During the flight I noticed something while walking to the pilot's gabin. A famous ISIS member. I haf to do something. Then I noticed that we wete flying across the ocean. I was at the wrong plane! I started raging! Then I realised that I could throw him off to the ocean. Then I grabbed him. Luckily he was at the isle seat near the emergency exit. I opened the door, threw him off and closed it. Nobody noticed. I went to the cabin and and looked at the window. Nearing land. Good, as I can now board a flight to the right place. My robbery would go down in history! And nobody can stop me!
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	The tattoo suddenly appeared without warning, directly on my left hand, it had a smoke pattern with the word "Oblitus" within the smoky tendrils, the pattern snaked it's way up to my neck, and stopped just before reaching my chin. Once the pattern reached that point, my coworker suddenly has a blank expression, "Who are you?" He asks, in a confused voice, "This is private property!" I panicked, wondering why he was drawing his gun at me, I ducked behind cover, as soon as I was out of sight, he looked around, confused, he said "What was I just aiming at?" And a few seconds later he just walked away, with a faint glow in his eyes. After about a week, I had figured out what was happening to me, I was never able to be remembered, the security camera at the Walmart didn't pick up the footage of me. I. Was. Nobody. I had nobody I could think to tell about this, as everyone had forgotten me, "Wait, my family!!!" I exclaimed, my parents should certainly remember me, I rushed to their manor, as I arrived, the security guard tried to stop me from entering, but the intercom said, "Desmond, he's with us!!" He immediately ceased, and kept a close eye on me as I walked through the doors, once I was out of his line of sight, he turned around, and I saw that same glow in the reflection of his face off of the window he was facing. I crept into my father's study, it was as dank and dimly lit as I had remembered, "The curse has reached you, hasn't it boy?" I heard the voice of my father echo through the room, "Curse?" I asked, "You know about the tattoo?", "Oblitus, the smoke, I know far too well about it, you see, your great great great grandfather had angered Morpheus, the god of sleep, you see, Morpheus has a very strange ability with memories." Father continued to explain the curse, "He can use the River Lithe to erase an entire lifetime of experiences from a man's mind, so when Old Johnathan had stolen a whole gallon of the milk of the Lithe, Morpheus was enraged, and had cursed Johnathan and his whole bloodline to never be remembered again, the curse activates when one of his blood reaches 25, it is a dreadful thing... ", " But how do I undo it?" I asked," How do I return to being remembered?", Father shook his head, " We can never undo it, it is bound to our very DNA." Despair started to fill me, I panicked, more than I had when I had the gun pointed straight at my forehead... As the years went on, I started to realize, this curse had given me a golden opportunity, you see, as the curse started, people just forgot about me, but now, it has evolved into something I can manipulate, when I so choose, people don't even see me, for hear me, or feel me shift through their pockets, I also picked up a little useful trick, I can make one person remember me for a whole week, until they forget once again, so I quickly developed a charming demeanor, and went to town, all the women I had charmed forgot me as soon as the week was over, I had so many "girlfriends" in one year that it was hard to remember who I had already charmed once before, lucky for me, they couldn't remember the last time I had charmed them into some fun time, but as time went on, it became less satisfying to steal, to flirt, to prank, and I just, stopped one day, it was only so fulfilling for a short few years, so in time, I learned to do something new. All the people I saved in the past decade since I began to, have no memory of being in danger, it's a thankless job, but it's satisfying nonetheless, as I went on saving lives, I had been at it for about 25 years, I was now in my late 50s, and I was so sure I had no one to talk to, no one to have remember me, when a young man approached me, and raised his arm, that's when I saw it, "Oblitus" and smoke, I had realized, those few years I spent having some "fun time", had caused another person to be cursed, another of Jonathan's blood, my son, had fallen to this same fate.	So, there I was, the cursed, stealing assassin from an unknown, cursed bloodline. Our robberies and assassination were legendary, but what was even more legendary was the fact that we could do it in broad daylight with thousands of witnessess, but nobody would know who did it. It was my 23rd birthday, 8th of the month of Julius, and I was traveling by foot to a museum, not to steal, but to attend a board meeting to gain valuable info. This time I learned what the new security code for the main vault was. But the vault was in a disclosed location, and I didn't know where it was. That was a proplem, but I can overcome it. Weeks went by, and I finally got it! It was in another bank, otherside of the country. This was bad, very bad. "Damn it!" i yelled as I threw my notes in the air. "Why does this happen to me? Why?" I cried. Then it hit me: I can just board a plane there, no need to go through security. So I went to the airport, closed. Thid fay couldn't go any worse. Luckily the airport opens next week, but what would I do to kill time? Then it hit me: Kill time, kill! I had many targets who are visiting this town, but where are they? Did their flights get canceled due to the maintenance? Or are they just somewhere else? Maybe at the port? Figuring out where they are is going to make this week more fun, like a real life version of Where's Waldo! At 10pm I founf the first target, in a pub. "Figures, you are one stupid alcoholic, lad" I said when I approached him, knife in hand. Russian businessmen are easy to find, just go a bar or a strip club here, and your target is there. I dragged him to the bavk alley without anyone noticing, or him giving a fuck. I proceeded to stab him until he was unrecognizable, and left. The second target, a Vietnamese woman, who came here to visit her family, or the pigs den, as I liked to call it. Bunch of corrupt lawyers and politicians, all of 'em! I ran to her family's house, climbed the electrified fence with the aid of a blanket I took with me, and went inside. They were enjoying an evening meal, and I slit her throat open with my knife. Nobody noticed till tomorrow. Third target was a hard one. A Swedish pilot, who knowingly smuggled ISIS terrorists across the world. He had to die! I will not let anyone get killed by a terrie smuggled in by him! It took me 8 days, but I tracked him to the airport's café, where he was on the phone with his ISIS buddies. I proceeded to stab him in his liver with a rusty knife, wich my ancestor who brought upon this curse upon us used to slay the last emperor of Rome. Still had his blood on it. He would suffer for hours before death. There was no saving him. Then I realised something: He was the pilot who's plane I needed to board to get to the other bank. Fuck... I panicked. I watched when the next flight would be, then I saw it: in 3 hours. I needed to hurry, as the plane would be leaving and I was at the wrong side of the airport! After I got to the gate, I sighed a sigh of relieve, the plane was still there. I took a vacant 1st class seat and enjoyed the ride. During the flight I noticed something while walking to the pilot's gabin. A famous ISIS member. I haf to do something. Then I noticed that we wete flying across the ocean. I was at the wrong plane! I started raging! Then I realised that I could throw him off to the ocean. Then I grabbed him. Luckily he was at the isle seat near the emergency exit. I opened the door, threw him off and closed it. Nobody noticed. I went to the cabin and and looked at the window. Nearing land. Good, as I can now board a flight to the right place. My robbery would go down in history! And nobody can stop me!
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	Even after all these years, I still can't take my eyes off her. Everyday, she emerges from the treeline like a spirit from the wood. She casts her nets into the river, settles into the shade of the pine trees, and begins to write in the notebook she always carries with her. Few people from the village have the courage to come out this far--which is entirely my fault. To them, my tower is terrifying. They think it has been abandoned as long as any can remember, and yet no ivy grows on the walls and the paint is always fresh. Smoke rises from my chimney, yet no one who visits ever finds anyone living here--at least they don't remember finding me. "Holy shit--you're real!" A long sigh escaped my chest as I reluctantly dragged my attention from the fisherwoman. Once, several years back, I got bored and started the rumor that a wish-granting ghost lived in the tower, who could grant any boon for a price. It was fun at first, but it got old pretty fast. "Obviously. And to answer your questions, no I'm not a ghost. I pissed off the God of Vanity when I shaved his awful goatee in his sleep. I was drunk, it was a dare, and now no one remembers me. Yes, it was worth it. No, I didn't keep the goatee. Being unremarkable was fun for awhile, but I got bored and now grant wishes for entertainment. Seeing as you'll never remember making this arrangement, I'll determine your payment. Don't worry, I think I charge a fair rate." The young man stared blankly, his cavernous mouth hanging open. I rolled my eyes and pulled a bottle of whiskey from my cabinet, taking my time to pour two glasses. "That--that's my whiskey! It went missing from my table a week ago. How. . .?" The man's confusion deepened, a single vein popping out from his forehead as he tries to piece everything together. "You were rude to a dear friend of mine in the marketplace last week. Fortunately, what you lack in manners you more than make up for in taste. Now, business. What brings you here?" The fog lifted partially lifted from my visitor's face now that the conversation returned to him. "My. . .my son. The blacksmith's apprentice. After we had a fight years ago, I gambled away a family heirloom--his inheritance. The cooper has it now. I want it back to try and make amends, but the cooper refuses. I own the bakery, I'm not a poor man, but the cooper wants to spite me. For the ring I'll give you anything." I sipped at my glass, letting the baker stew for a few minutes in silence. The job was straightforward--boring even--but anything to get out of the tower. The fisherwoman ran across my mind--suddenly I thought of the perfect payment. I scrawled a quick note and jammed it into the man's callused hand. "This is to remind you to be nicer to people. I'll take the job. Now get out of my house and head home." The baker hastily left, as if something were chasing him. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he suddenly stopped and looked around, confused again, the poor sod. Then he started slowly plodding towards the village. I was not far behind, not that he nor anyone noticed. They caught glimpses of me, but after a second their eyes would glaze over and pass over me. Perhaps I am a ghost. Getting the ring from the cooper was disappointingly easy. I merely walked up to it and slipped it off his hand. He raised his fist as if to hit me, then suddenly looked at his hand as if it were alien to him, unable to figure out why he was mad in the first place. The ring was resting on the bakery counter minutes later. I quickly collected my payment and left, none remembering I was ever there. The sun was setting when I returned to the stream. The fisherwoman was there, hauling in the last of her catch. I watched for several minutes, wanting to move forward but a leaden melancholy prevented me from lifting my feet. As she emptied her last net, she turned and spotted me, a warm smile creeping over her face. Suddenly, the lead feeling vanished and I could walk again. "Hello!", she called out. "Do I know you? You seem familiar" Again, the sadness welled in me but his time I pushed it down. Slowly, I shook my head. "No we don't know each other. I'm a huntsman--I was in town getting supplies today. Would you like a blueberry scone? I have extra, and they're best eaten fresh." Her sea-foam eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of fresh desert. "Those are my favorites! I usually don't buy them because the baker is such a pain in the ass--here take a few of my fish. I'd be embarrassed not to pay you back." I set the basket of pastries on the riverbank and sadly shook my head at the offer of payment. "No need to repay me--you already helped me once. On the best night of my life, you gave me a dare and together we shaved a God." The woman giggled nervously, the kind of noise that escapes a person when they are convinced they are talking to a madman but are too polite to say anything. "Good sir, I think I'd remember something like that." I shook my head one last time, and began to walk away. "No, you wouldn't", I whispered.	Those things you do in private-fetishes, passions, lies, murder, shady deals with the wrong kind of people-those things you believe are yours and your alone. They are my trade and the currency of my life. Have you ever wondered how the press knew about the misfortune in your family so quickly? How journalists know which questions to ask? Funny how they always seem to catch you in the act of pulling your pants up, a mere few hours after the deed is done. See it’s convenient timing, for my needs that is. Do you know how hard it is to make ends meet as a living shadow? No? Like, damn hard, especially with all the cameras people use these days. Thieving is something of a personal point of pride for me. I mean, have you ever held a party that needed additional weight staff? Needed your expansive lawn mowed? Your laundry washed and pressed? Hired a babysitter or care taker for an elderly aunt maybe? In all honesty, your aunt is far more of a reliable paycheck then slipping into your party unnoticed. Dementia is a damnable thing, isn’t it? So here’s the deal, a girls gotta eat. Preferably on the balcony of a five star hotel somewhere in Europe. These misfortunes with the press and the law stops after you graciously hand over a decent sized portion of your bank account. Or I swear by the Old God that an unholy amount of misfortune starts to become something of a regular thing with your family. I mean it’s an easy choice really. A simple check and poof, there goes a shadow of bad luck just gone. Auntie Gem’s caretaker-lets be honest, you don’t even remember the name on my resume do you?-gets replaced after being a no show for a day or two and all your bad luck goes away. Now I know, you think, who is this chick? And why on earth would I hand over my savings to her? The real trick however, is going to be remembering that you did so in the first place. So in the name of auntie Gemma and her very not-so-real-dementia, what’d ya say? A few million for the road?
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	Even after all these years, I still can't take my eyes off her. Everyday, she emerges from the treeline like a spirit from the wood. She casts her nets into the river, settles into the shade of the pine trees, and begins to write in the notebook she always carries with her. Few people from the village have the courage to come out this far--which is entirely my fault. To them, my tower is terrifying. They think it has been abandoned as long as any can remember, and yet no ivy grows on the walls and the paint is always fresh. Smoke rises from my chimney, yet no one who visits ever finds anyone living here--at least they don't remember finding me. "Holy shit--you're real!" A long sigh escaped my chest as I reluctantly dragged my attention from the fisherwoman. Once, several years back, I got bored and started the rumor that a wish-granting ghost lived in the tower, who could grant any boon for a price. It was fun at first, but it got old pretty fast. "Obviously. And to answer your questions, no I'm not a ghost. I pissed off the God of Vanity when I shaved his awful goatee in his sleep. I was drunk, it was a dare, and now no one remembers me. Yes, it was worth it. No, I didn't keep the goatee. Being unremarkable was fun for awhile, but I got bored and now grant wishes for entertainment. Seeing as you'll never remember making this arrangement, I'll determine your payment. Don't worry, I think I charge a fair rate." The young man stared blankly, his cavernous mouth hanging open. I rolled my eyes and pulled a bottle of whiskey from my cabinet, taking my time to pour two glasses. "That--that's my whiskey! It went missing from my table a week ago. How. . .?" The man's confusion deepened, a single vein popping out from his forehead as he tries to piece everything together. "You were rude to a dear friend of mine in the marketplace last week. Fortunately, what you lack in manners you more than make up for in taste. Now, business. What brings you here?" The fog lifted partially lifted from my visitor's face now that the conversation returned to him. "My. . .my son. The blacksmith's apprentice. After we had a fight years ago, I gambled away a family heirloom--his inheritance. The cooper has it now. I want it back to try and make amends, but the cooper refuses. I own the bakery, I'm not a poor man, but the cooper wants to spite me. For the ring I'll give you anything." I sipped at my glass, letting the baker stew for a few minutes in silence. The job was straightforward--boring even--but anything to get out of the tower. The fisherwoman ran across my mind--suddenly I thought of the perfect payment. I scrawled a quick note and jammed it into the man's callused hand. "This is to remind you to be nicer to people. I'll take the job. Now get out of my house and head home." The baker hastily left, as if something were chasing him. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he suddenly stopped and looked around, confused again, the poor sod. Then he started slowly plodding towards the village. I was not far behind, not that he nor anyone noticed. They caught glimpses of me, but after a second their eyes would glaze over and pass over me. Perhaps I am a ghost. Getting the ring from the cooper was disappointingly easy. I merely walked up to it and slipped it off his hand. He raised his fist as if to hit me, then suddenly looked at his hand as if it were alien to him, unable to figure out why he was mad in the first place. The ring was resting on the bakery counter minutes later. I quickly collected my payment and left, none remembering I was ever there. The sun was setting when I returned to the stream. The fisherwoman was there, hauling in the last of her catch. I watched for several minutes, wanting to move forward but a leaden melancholy prevented me from lifting my feet. As she emptied her last net, she turned and spotted me, a warm smile creeping over her face. Suddenly, the lead feeling vanished and I could walk again. "Hello!", she called out. "Do I know you? You seem familiar" Again, the sadness welled in me but his time I pushed it down. Slowly, I shook my head. "No we don't know each other. I'm a huntsman--I was in town getting supplies today. Would you like a blueberry scone? I have extra, and they're best eaten fresh." Her sea-foam eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of fresh desert. "Those are my favorites! I usually don't buy them because the baker is such a pain in the ass--here take a few of my fish. I'd be embarrassed not to pay you back." I set the basket of pastries on the riverbank and sadly shook my head at the offer of payment. "No need to repay me--you already helped me once. On the best night of my life, you gave me a dare and together we shaved a God." The woman giggled nervously, the kind of noise that escapes a person when they are convinced they are talking to a madman but are too polite to say anything. "Good sir, I think I'd remember something like that." I shook my head one last time, and began to walk away. "No, you wouldn't", I whispered.	Many are wise enough to understand that they must choose their words carefully when wishing through another's power, but few understand such caution also must extend to power of their own. My great, great, great, great-grandfather taught this lesson to our gods, unintentionally. He was a quiet, humble hermit, but also a thief. Words, works, and generally anything that wasn't nailed down could find their way into his ownership because he was, at his heart, covetous and sought to take what other's possessed. One day while admiring his hoard, a stranger knocked at his hovel. He was met by an old man wrapped in robes that were a tapestry of colors, followed by a flock of goats. This old man explained he had been traveling with his flock to reach their grazing ground, and had become lost. He relied on my ancestor’s hospitality and requested shelter for the night, some water, and dinner - if he had it to spare. My ancestor, not a monster, obliged. However, during the course of the old man’s stay, something caught my great, great, great, great-grandfather interest. Not the clothes which the man wore, though they were unlike anything he had ever seen, but rather the ornaments that adorned his flock. Each one had intricately woven blankets draped across their backs, light things providing just a little extra warmth and protection, but mainly decorative; and silver engraved bells that hung about their necks. One in particular, a plump matron, wore a bell with carved sparrows flying near sharp cliff sides. This bell would became the object of my grandfather's obsession. True to the common structure of parables, my ancestor was caught whilst trying to remove the bell. The weary old man shed his robes to reveal an unnaturally chiseled physique, strange markings, and frightful extremities. He was a god, of some pantheon or another, and denounced my ancestor and his future generations to come, cursing us all in such a way to ensure we would leave no mark on this world or another. The god’s words of power were meant to humble, punish, and teach. But the man’s shortsightedness had spread to the god like a parasite. In his curse meant to spare the world of the man’s legacy, he instead solidified it. For when the words were finished being spoken, suddenly the god knew not why he was there, nor who this forgettable man he found in his presence was. And many years later, when the reaper came looking, it too could not find its mysterious prey. Fast forward decade after decade and, through some complicated heritage, here I am. Perched on a rooftop in the City of Love, rifle in hand, awaiting my target. What else is someone to do when making any kind of meaningful interpersonal connection is impossible? When money is as meaningless as time? That god made my great, great, great, great grand-father, and ultimately me, ghosts. So like him before me, I do what ghosts do. Haunt and torment. And so as my target arrives at the same café as everyday, wearing those same (albeit modernized) colorful robes, followed by a pride of cats instead of goats; I remind myself: Same as the man who cursed my family, I hurt capricious little things. I take my shot. The man collapses into a slump. Part of what was his torso now coats the faces of a visiting study abroad group in fine mist. I disassemble my rifle, put it back in its case, and leave. I have time now, but not too long. It’ll only take months, maybe a few years, for the man to reform and our game of cat and mouse to begin anew. I am interested to see if his colleagues have learned well enough by now to watch quietly, but even if not, I have the time.
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	The tattoo suddenly appeared without warning, directly on my left hand, it had a smoke pattern with the word "Oblitus" within the smoky tendrils, the pattern snaked it's way up to my neck, and stopped just before reaching my chin. Once the pattern reached that point, my coworker suddenly has a blank expression, "Who are you?" He asks, in a confused voice, "This is private property!" I panicked, wondering why he was drawing his gun at me, I ducked behind cover, as soon as I was out of sight, he looked around, confused, he said "What was I just aiming at?" And a few seconds later he just walked away, with a faint glow in his eyes. After about a week, I had figured out what was happening to me, I was never able to be remembered, the security camera at the Walmart didn't pick up the footage of me. I. Was. Nobody. I had nobody I could think to tell about this, as everyone had forgotten me, "Wait, my family!!!" I exclaimed, my parents should certainly remember me, I rushed to their manor, as I arrived, the security guard tried to stop me from entering, but the intercom said, "Desmond, he's with us!!" He immediately ceased, and kept a close eye on me as I walked through the doors, once I was out of his line of sight, he turned around, and I saw that same glow in the reflection of his face off of the window he was facing. I crept into my father's study, it was as dank and dimly lit as I had remembered, "The curse has reached you, hasn't it boy?" I heard the voice of my father echo through the room, "Curse?" I asked, "You know about the tattoo?", "Oblitus, the smoke, I know far too well about it, you see, your great great great grandfather had angered Morpheus, the god of sleep, you see, Morpheus has a very strange ability with memories." Father continued to explain the curse, "He can use the River Lithe to erase an entire lifetime of experiences from a man's mind, so when Old Johnathan had stolen a whole gallon of the milk of the Lithe, Morpheus was enraged, and had cursed Johnathan and his whole bloodline to never be remembered again, the curse activates when one of his blood reaches 25, it is a dreadful thing... ", " But how do I undo it?" I asked," How do I return to being remembered?", Father shook his head, " We can never undo it, it is bound to our very DNA." Despair started to fill me, I panicked, more than I had when I had the gun pointed straight at my forehead... As the years went on, I started to realize, this curse had given me a golden opportunity, you see, as the curse started, people just forgot about me, but now, it has evolved into something I can manipulate, when I so choose, people don't even see me, for hear me, or feel me shift through their pockets, I also picked up a little useful trick, I can make one person remember me for a whole week, until they forget once again, so I quickly developed a charming demeanor, and went to town, all the women I had charmed forgot me as soon as the week was over, I had so many "girlfriends" in one year that it was hard to remember who I had already charmed once before, lucky for me, they couldn't remember the last time I had charmed them into some fun time, but as time went on, it became less satisfying to steal, to flirt, to prank, and I just, stopped one day, it was only so fulfilling for a short few years, so in time, I learned to do something new. All the people I saved in the past decade since I began to, have no memory of being in danger, it's a thankless job, but it's satisfying nonetheless, as I went on saving lives, I had been at it for about 25 years, I was now in my late 50s, and I was so sure I had no one to talk to, no one to have remember me, when a young man approached me, and raised his arm, that's when I saw it, "Oblitus" and smoke, I had realized, those few years I spent having some "fun time", had caused another person to be cursed, another of Jonathan's blood, my son, had fallen to this same fate.	I sat on the edge of the bridge, dangling my feet in the cool water. The way my life has gone, I wondered if the reflection staring back at me was even real. How can I see it when I’ve always been damn near invisible? It’s been that way for all of my family members for as long as I can remember. I dedicated my life to breaking this strange cycle of anonymity, but to no avail. I thought that if I accomplished enough, someone would finally know my name. I finished top of my class at Juilliard, but even then, when they called my name at graduation, I heard confused whispers of “who is that?” from the people around me. How could I still have not made a name for myself? I was able to perform violin concerts at several well-known music halls, but every time someone announced my coming onto the stage, they would say it was my debut performance. But honestly, that wasn’t the strangest thing. The next day, there was never even a review of my performance! Not online, not in the newspaper, nothing! It was as if it had never happened at all. After two years and many concerts, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I looked at the water flowing by me, contemplating my life and feeling more worthless and alone than ever. At least growing up, I could commiserate with my family, but I am the only one left now. Unsure of what to do, I decided to visit my family mausoleum. Honestly, I had never gone there too often because the place really creeped me out. It seemed so over the top, like something made to bury royals, not people who no one ever thought about or remembered. I opened the heavy golden doors and walked inside. Walking to the back, I tripped on something I had never noticed before. It was an old wooden box, covered in dust. It did not look special at all, but something told me to open it. Inside was a scroll that was luckily in much better condition than the box. On the scroll was my family history, a history I never knew. Apparently, my family HAD been royals, which explained the elaborate mausoleum but not why we had been forgotten, so I read on. I’ll give you the short version of what it said. My great-great-great-great-great grandmother was someone renowned for her limitless beauty, and she was next in line for the throne of some old country I have never heard of. There was even a small portrait of her inside the box, which stunned me because any paintings or photos of my family usually disappeared immediately. She was tall, had long blonde hair, green eyes that were almost electric, and was someone I bore an eerie resemblance to. Anyway, on the eve of her coronation, she ran off with the son of the water god. The water god was livid, and he cursed all of her descendants to eternal obscurity. After reading all of this, everything felt so pointless. All of the work I’d put into my career as a violinist was a waste. No matter what I did, I’d never be famous or even recognized at all. I walked the three miles home in the rain and flopped onto to my bed without even changing out of my wet clothes. I cried for hours until I fell asleep. But the next morning, I felt oddly happy. Actually, I couldn’t stop laughing. You see, I finally realized that with this curse, I could do anything I wanted. I could rob a bank, and no one would be able to prove it was me! My image would be automatically erased from security cameras, I’d be unstoppable! Why had no one in my family thought to do this before? I don’t have to be the world’s greatest musician because I can be the world’s greatest criminal! I’ve robbed so many banks over these past three months and made more money than I can even spend. I feel freer than I ever have in my life. I may not have broken the curse, but I have happily adapted to it. You see, officer, I am the one you all have been searching for. I am who is responsible for all of these mysterious robberies on the news. I could spend the next couple hours describing in great detail everything I’ve done, I could even tell you my name, but it really doesn’t matter, officer. You won’t remember me in the morning. You won’t even remember what to say to the other policemen when you take me outside. Well, I think I’ll be going now.
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	I've spent my life being forgotten. I was always left off the role call sheet at school, and eventually I just stopped attending because nobody noticed I wasn't there. Instead, I started rolling with the gangs in my town. At first, I was worried about getting caught, but eventually I learned that even if I was put into prison, they ended up with no record of how I got there and were forced to release me. I was untouchable, as long as nobody killed me. I quickly learned, however, that I also couldn't work with any drug cartels, because all the people I worked with also forgot me no matter how hard they tried to remember. So I did the only thing I could: I started robbing banks. I tried using fake IDs at first, but they were just as useless as my real name, so I started taking a more "hands-on" approach. I bought high explosives and blasted my way into any vault, and since the cops can't shoot me if I'm unarmed, I got away every time. I was unstoppable, and nobody had any idea because they didn't know my name. I also learned early on that I couldn't really use a bank account, so I had to keep everything stashed in various places around my house. No worries, just another thing to keep in mind. After all, how could I be upset after my power let me be rich without any infamy? Even if someone found one stash of my money, I always had more. Although, it occurred to me that there was an increasing void somewhere insidie of me. I mean, I had no friends. I couldn't even leave my mark anywhere I robbed because anything that was distinguishably "me" was erased from existence. I started buying drugs on the side to ease the pain, but it was always hard to find a deal since nobody knew my name. I never felt fulfilled at all, and eventually I just started taking bigger risks. Higher explosives, top-security banks, even getting involved in gang wars that I had no part in. All just to keep feeling alive without anyone else to ease the pain. I think. It wasn't always like this. I don't think it was, anyway. It's hard for even me to remember my history. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don't even recognize myself. Today, I looked in the mirror and I seem to be losing my edge. Literally. There are pieces missing. Or are there? Have I always looked this way? Did they get shot out or blown out during one of my stunts? Am I fading away? Have I ever existed? It's all. . . going. . fuzzy. . .	"Honey, let go. It's just school." "No Dad. If you leave me, you're going to forget me!" "Lia, I swear. I have an alarm on my phone. I'll pick you up at 3:30. I promise." As Lia's Dad walked towards his car and gave her an encouraging wave, she knew that she would never see him again. She walked to her 4th-grade class and sat in the back table, but after 10 minutes, the teacher forgot she was there. They went to recess and had snack time, but Lia was invisible. She screamed and yelled and tried to get there attention, but they thought it was just the wind from the window that was left ajar. When 3:30 came, Lia waited outside as all the parents came to pick up there kids. Then 4:30 came. Then 5:30. As she sat by the curb and watched every passing car, she knew from the bottom of her heart that no one was coming.
	[WP] A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.	My birth was a disease on our world; the prolonging of a plague stretched from greed, pride, and anger from man and God alike. I shouldn't exist. My father was a self-absorbed man, like his father before him, and all the men in this cursed lineage of middling men, dating back to the worthless fool of a rogue that angered Alizur the Defiant--a God known for his stubborn pettiness. What kind of imbecile goes out of his way to insult such a deity, I cannot fathom, but apparently I am the byproduct of such spanning stupidity. A bastard child of regret and loneliness that no one will ever know for more than a passing moment. When I was a boy, my father tried to mold me into one of them. A monster that murders by day and makes meaningless relationships by night, stealing gold to buy a whore when no woman found interest quick enough. What better way to try and bear a child when no one knows your name? It was this stubbornness in their blood to continue against Alizur's best efforts that has breathed life into my wretched existence. I found love, once--or so I thought. A wonderful night of white-hot passion spurned in my youth, a brightness kindled in my chest like the stars above. That was when I learned the true misery I'd inherited from my father; I cried for a day when she awoke the next morning, unable to even recall my name, let alone our passion. I was a ghost. I am a ghost, drifting through a world that will never be my home, waiting to pass into whatever hell awaits me when I die. This bloodline will end with me, that I swear--that is how I will desecrate the sanctity of my ancestors and their prized mistake. But that does not mean I do not share their hatred of Alizur, a God so worthless he picks fights with mortals and condemns the lives of men that have done him no wrong. How many people can pay for the single wrongdoings of a man centuries decayed? And so I slave in the silence of death's shadow, not for a life that I may thrive in, but one that might make Alizur regret the day that he cursed my blood. You see, mortals may not know me more than a moment, a fragment in time, but gods are not fooled by such meager curses. Shirava, the Desolate in particular shares my hatred of him, and has a particular need for the deaths of certain kings without her personal involvement. It may be foolish to trust a God when they've done me no favors prior, but it's a start. I wonder how many gods I will have to befriend in order to sentence Alizur to a personal hell of his own. How I savor the taste of that thought. Alizur cursed me, my father cursed me further, but I am not one to live the mistakes of others. I make my own. --- /r/resonatingfury	As I write this, I know that I'm already dead. Who wields the deadliest blade in all the land? That's not a question that can be easily answered. Soon, even as I lay dying, my last breath escaping into the realm and my soul fleeing to the void, I would likely be no closer to the truth. For you see, I haven't been the best person in the mortal realm. Hell, I might have made the mistake of committing taboo in the high realms as well. I've robbed and murdered my way to the very top, and it's no surprise that I'm to be receiving my comeuppance soon. It is fitting as well that I am to be killed by a person whose face and identity remain unknown, yet whose steel has found its way cleanly in and out of many a person. What I ask for you is not to take revenge. Do not under any circumstance attempt to fight back. It is a futile effort, like trying to cut down a swallow with a kitchen knife. I hope this letter finds you. Forgive me if I don't remember your name nor your face, but I remember the warmth that you provided my blackened heart for the briefest flicker. I pray that you'll never meet this assassin, and will be able to live out your live in relative peace and obscurity. Goodbye and goodnight, my child. --- r/dexdrafts
	[WP] You wake up on a train. You don't know what you're doing here. There is nobody around you, apart from a macabre-looking young boy who stares you. In your hands there is a small piece of paper. With a beating heart, you read: "Leave the train". It is the writing of a very good friend to you.	The sound of the train woke me up. Opening one eye after the other, I look around me. It seems to be a regular train, the one I usually take to go to work. I look through the window, and do not recognize the landscapes. We are in the countryside, going through endless fields. There are no lights, neither in nor out the train, only the pale light of the moon. I guess I fell asleep while going back home, and missed my stop. I suppose I’ll just have to wait for the next station. I take my phone, put on my headphones, and press play. Five minutes passed, and still nothing. As I decided to look through the window once again, I notice we are passing through a station, yet the train isn’t stopping, not even slowing down. Is it an express train ? I usually never take those. It’s starting to piss me off, I’ll have to get to the terminus, it’ll take an eternity to get back home. I’m starting to wonder if I’m alone on that train ? There’s no one around me. Maybe the train is heading back to the train hangar or something ? I never saw those. I should go and tell the train driver I’m still there. I get up on my legs and head towards the head of the train. It is unusually long, and I walk for two solid minutes before reaching the driver’s cab. I knock to the door, once. No answer. I knock again. Still nothing. I try to call the driver through the door, yelling desperately that there is still someone inside the train. Suddenly, the speakers activate, as if they were answering me? “Next Stop : Kisaragi Station.” Kisaragi ? What a weird name. I never heard about that station. I try to look it up on the train’s map on the wall, but it doesn’t seem to exist on the maps. But right now, I have no choice but to wait. I go back to the seat where I originally was, but sitting right in front of it is a young boy. I sit on my seat, and ask the boy if he knows where the train is going. Quite the stupid question, but I had nothing else in mind. He didn’t answer, but given his young age, he may have been told not to speak to strangers. At least, I’m not alone on that train. The boy is looking quite pale, and he has his backpack with him, he probably fell asleep too while going back home from his school. After passing through a long tunnel, the train finally stops. No announce or anything. The doors open, and I get out. The boy doesn’t get off his seat, so I step back on the train and tell him to get out too. He looks at me, and opens his mouth. «-I won’t get down. I accept what happened. You can still get in and accept, too. But you can also get out and deny it. » What now ? What does he mean ? No time to ask him questions, the doors are closing. If this kid wants to stay in, that’s his problem ! Too bad for him ! At worst, they’ll find him tomorrow morning. The train starts, and slowly go away. Soon, it is out of sight. Now, I have to find a way to get out of it. The station is not very big, but there has to be at least a village next to it. I get into the station, obviously empty, and rush towards the exit. I get out, but there is nothing. No town, no village, not even one building, just a road. What the hell is this station ? I guess I’ll have to spend the night here. I get back in the station, sit on the ground, and rest my back against the wall. The night shall be long. I have no friends to call, no family to help me. Except the name of the station, I know nothing about this place, so I wouldn’t be able to tell them where I am anyway. It’s a bit of a desperate action, but I try to look up “Kisaragi station” on Internet. As I expected, nothing. I can’t even walk along the rails, it would be way too long. My train was probably the last of the night. Now I think about the boy. What did he mean by “I accept what happened” ? What happened ? What did he even look like ? He had his backpack, normal clothes… He looked so pale… His face was weird too, now that I think about it. It looked crushed, as if a truck hit him. Now I remember. I know why I’m here. That boy was dead, and so am I. I look down at my neck, and see the noose hanging about it. I get up, and approach the rails. Another train arrives. The doors open. I get in. I have to accept what happened. The doors are closing, and I sit in the train. The train starts, and take me away from Kisaragi station. I accepted what happened. &#x200B; &#x200B; Thank you for reading ! I am not a native speaker, so please point out any error you may see ! I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it. Here is the original story of the kisaragi station : [https://www.kowabana.net/2018/02/17/kisaragi-station/](https://www.kowabana.net/2018/02/17/kisaragi-station/)	I looked around the train it was empty. I tried looking out of the vindows. There was dark outside. "HERE" said a voice loud. I turned around and saw a young boy. I asked were i am. Then he said on a train. "But were are i heading" i replied. The young boy said that he did not know. He suddenly gave me a piece of paper were it stood "Leave the train". Its the writing of a very good friend of you. My heart stopped, i ran around the train but did not find anything apart from a open exit in the roof. I climbed on the roof and suddenly fell of the train. I gripped the end of the roof and climbed up. The wind was so strong. I suddenly realized that i skould get away. I waited and waited until i saw some strange light, it was comming closer and it looked like it was very low. I did not understand the light before i was very close to it. There i knew that this was a tunnel. Then i jumped so fast i could. Then i lost the balance and fell backwards down on the train racks. I was lost and did not know were i was. Eventually i got a bright idea, the train racks will lead me home.
	[WP] After rising from hell to possess a human, the human was sent to a mental help facility. After a year, the demon now thinks it is fully human and that it's previous life in hell were just delusions.	"Catus?! Brother? What has gotten into you?" A pallid, slender humanoid being, cries out. "Can you shut up, please? We are not from this make believe demon-land, and I am not one of you. You can give up the act, Franky...whatever your name is." Catus, who now goes by Kyle, tells his colleague as he eats a bowl of salad, leaning back on an armchair, his eyes on the flat-screen in front of him. "This is not an act! And my name is Prancidus! You were tasked with taking over this vile low-life---" he gestures to all of Catus's new body, "---and conquering the Northern Hemisphere, you bumbling fool!" Kyle decides to take a much less violent approach. His lessons at Ridge Gardens taught him to be better than he once was. "Hey, hey! There's no need for name-calling! If there's one thing I learnt at Ridge Gardens, it was to be nice to thy neighbours." "This wiley vessel had ruined you!" Prancidus cries, as his first in command withers away in the body of a twenty-something college dropout. At this point, Catus, who enjoys being called Kyle, decides to take up the matter, but in ways unfavourable to the brooding demon standing beside him. "Listen bud, if you don't get out, I'll have to call the cops on you. And trust me, I dont want to. I'm enjoying a good relaxation period here, as permitted by my facility. I'd been under too much of stress, and I don't want to give into it." "The cops? You idiot. I'm bigger than the cops! You're bigger than the cops!" "Sheesh. The cops it is then." Kyle pulls out his phone from his back pocket, alarming the other demon. "P-Put it back, Catus!" "Not until you apologize, and call me Kyle." "What has become of you?" The demon groans. "I'm sorry...Kyle." "There you go! That was easy, wasn't it?" "That vile name burns my tongue!" Prancidus growls. "Now please, get out." Prancidus heads out. His mind was set on bringing his first in command back in business. However, two days later, Prancidus finds himself to be one of the homeless. He has nowhere else to go but to reside near the dumpsters of his General's new abode. While taking out his garbage, Kyle chances upon his stinking, doting, demon colleague. "You're still here! And you're near the dumpster...I figured you'd have a place of your own. You know, you may speak fodder, but you're still human." Triggered, Prancidus jumps up from his spot. "I am not a vile human being!" "But you look just like one." "Because, I, like you, you nimrod of a being, am trapped in this idiotic body suit!" "Calm down! I was going to offer you a place to stay! I might have to rethink that---" "No, no...I'm sorry, my liege. I have forgotten my place. I have done nothing to earn your reward, but I will accept." "You haven't done anything. I'm just being helpful. But sure. Okay." Kyle responds. The demon begins to walk with Kyle to the building, and back to the apartment. What Prancidus fought so hard to regain, might return during his stay with the General. This is the second time Catus would have lost himself with Prancidus as second in command: Once, when an exorcism would've almost obliterated him to nothingness in Rome, and second, whisked away, a year ago, to Ridge Gardens, where he was exorcised, differently, of his evilness, personality and ambition. None of this was Prancidus' fault. Catus was in fact a little bit of a bumbling fool, which the latter kept in check. However, he was scheming by nature, a trait well-admired by their kings. Catus believed that their plan to take over the Northern Hemisphere was his greatest. It was, as he believed, his 'unholy fate'. He would then move to the Southern Hemisphere. Yet, here he was, stripped away of everything that made him the Catus Prancidus knew. He was simply Kyle, the helpful, curly-haired, college dropout. He was everything Prancidus despised. Kyle offered his supposedly new friend some food, which he vehemently refused. "This! This must have been one of the mind games these degenerates must have used on you! The offer of food! Giving into our temptation, which we worship, but cloaked in kindness!" He hisses. "What are you talking about?" Kyle chuckles. "You know, I think I remember---" "Yes, yes! You remember what?" Prancidus asks with alacrity. "I remember telling those who helped me things like what you just said. I was absolutely bonkers!" "That wasn't bonkers! That was...that was the real you, my liege." Prancidus groans. "Look, firstly, I need you to stop calling me my liege. It's weird. I'm not kidding. Secondly, you're...what? Sixteen, seventeen? You need to get your priorities set straight. Mental health is important. Think about school. I only took you in because I felt like you needed some help." "My li---Kyle! You know me! You must remember me! I am no school boy!" "I'm sorry. I honestly don't recall." To Catus, his new body was his own body, and that Kyle was his own identity. He labelled his perception of himself as a demon war-lord as fantasy, and blamed it on his obsession with being someone greater than he was. Moreso, it might have been due to an unhealthy addiction to some videogame or show dealing with demons. "Catus, our powers, they die as wither away in these bodies. I cannot manifest them as often, but I can try showing you." Prancidus pleads. It was Prancidus' ill-timing. His so-called magical powers amounted to not even a fizzle. Kyle simply laughed. "Maybe you can try, Catus?" "I'm not summoning demons around here! I am done with all of that! It lead me down a massive spiral. I'm lucky I could get back up! And once again kid, I'm not this 'Catus' guy!" Kyle takes a deep breath. "Phew. I can't have a breakdown now." A lost cause. Catus the unscrupulous, the sly, the devious, had fallen prey to human charms. However, what he just said gave Prancidus a grand idea. His last attempt at bringing back his General. "Would breaking you down help?" "What kind of a crazy question is that? You're beginning to sound unhinged. Look kid, this is worrisome, and I think this is some sort of thing we both got into. This made me drop out of college. You still have a chance. You can get back to school, and get your head on straight." Kyle takes his car keys from a tiny bowl in the middle of the foldable dining table. "We're going to Ridge Gardens." Kyle says with conviction. "No! Not that place! I beg for your forgiveness, my liege!" Prancidus cries. "Nope." Kyle looks around. "Do you have any form of ID on you? Didn't you say your name was Franky?" Prancidus had been angered to a great extent. His Catus would've been a pile of ashes had his powers been restored. "I am Prancidus the noxious, you wretch, you scourge of the Earth!" "Hey bud, that's enough!" Kyle felt something brew within him to retaliate, but a quick breathing exercise helped him sort things out. "I want to go back to the Valley of Hell! I want to go back home!" Prancidus shouts, as Kyle pulls him out of the apartment. A difficult car ride to Ridge Gardens proved to be worth it. The facility readily accepted him, and identifed him as James Badgely. Prancidus was dragged away by a couple of nurses. "It was a good thing you did Kyle!" says the receptionist. "You're lucky you reserved your bed. He would've been turned away otherwise. And he's lucky to have you as a contact." "He needs it. He suffering from the same thing that bothered me. Delusions." He chuckles as he walks away. A year later, a worried Kyle heads over to Ridge Gardens. "Woman!" He calls out to the receptionist. "Woman? Kyle?" The receptionist seems surprised at his change in demeanor and tone. "Yes. Whatever. I am here to see a James Budgey." The receptionist sounded rather confused. "Badgely, you mean? You haven't visited him in two months Kyle. We contacted you several times!" "I need to visit the boy, lady." He lunges towards the receptionist, who was safely protected behind a glass shield. Annoyed and slightly scared, the woman hands out a visitor's tag. Kyle walks to Prancidus' room. The latter now prefers the name James. On arrival, he begins speaking to the boy. "Oh Prancidus! My most loyal friend! Forgive me! I knew what you were saying! I remember! I truly do! I apologize for dumping you in this forsaken land of rot! Let us leave and renew our ambitious journey!" James sat on a chair, looking outside the window. Catus' sudden speech startled him. "Kyle! You scared me dude!" James smiles, and goes on to hug Catus. Catus writhes in disgust. "Let go, you fool!" "Hey. What's wrong?" James asks in concern. "Snap out of it, my dear boy! Come to your senses Prancidus!" "What're you talking about Kyle? You're starting to sound a little...unhinged." Catus stood defeated, his most loyal friend and brother in arms, now turned into a numb idiot. He was sure Ridge Gardens would get him again. And maybe, it wasn't his unholy fate to conquer the Northern Hemisphere after all.	Today is the first day of my new high school life. I've finally overcome my middle school delusion that I was a demon. I will start over fresh at a new school and have a successful life! I passed the entrance exam for this academy easily. They even mailed my invitation in a fancy envelope with a wax seal and paid for my tuition! My parents were overjoyed. I look around the normal looking classroom filled with students like myself. This is where I belong, not in a hospital. I notice a girl sitting in the next to last seat by the window. She has blonde hair and blue eyes. A transfer student? I'm drawn to her for some reason. Is this love at first sight? No no no. I don't have time for that. I have to buckle down and get good grades. She meets my eyes. Oh, no! I must have been staring at her. She smiles and I am suddenly overcome with fear at her frightening gaze. I quickly turn around. What was that? Her face looked a little scary but I'm shaking now like I just watched a horror movie. The door suddenly slides open and a tall man walks in. Everyone stands and bows then sits back down. "Good morning, class." he says. "Good morning." we reply. "My name is Miyahira Akira and I'll be your homeroom teacher and human coach." he says as he writes his name on the board. I put my hand up. "Yes...Ozawa?" he calls on me after looking up my name on the seating chart. "What is a human coach?" I ask. "I will help you learn to act more like human in order to blend in better with society. Please feel free to come to me any time if you have questions about passing as a human." he answers. "But...I am human." I say, confused. Everyone laughs at me. Why is he saying stuff like this? Am I being bullied? "There is no need to pretend. Everyone at this school is a demon, like yourself. Although I must say I'm not sure I can teach you much more. Your voice, mannerism, body language, even your aura are all human-like. The rest of you could learn from Mr. Ozawas example." He says while looking at the yellow haired girl in the back. What was he even saying? This doesn't make sense. "I AM human. I'm not a demon." I say, raising my voice. The teacher looks perplexed. "This school was very carefully set up. No human can pass the entrance exam. Candidates are found through divination magic. You are a demon." he says forcefully. "NO! Your lying!" I shout. "Oh, for Devils sake. I'll prove it." He says. He opens his briefcase and rummages around in it. The other students are whispering to each other. I feel my face becoming flush. I don't understand. Even as a joke this is going too far. Mr. Miyahira takes out a small glass vial filled with clear liquid. He carefully opens the top and pours a single drop on the back of my hand. Once in contact with my skin it burns and fizzes. "Ahhh! You burned me! You burned me with acid!" I jump to my feet and try to wipe my hand off. "This isn't acid! Look! This is holy water!" he says forcefully, showing me the label. "This is crazy! You're crazy!" I say as I look around the room. Everyone is looking at me like I am some kind of monster. Even the blonde girl has an expression of pity. Why is this happening? Is this a relapse? Have I slipped into some new kind of insanity? "That's enough! Go to the nurses office till you calm down!" Mr. Miyahira says, pointing toward the door. The blonde girl stands. "I'll make sure he gets there." she says. "Thank you." he says as he goes back to his desk. The girl takes hold of my upper arm and leads me out of the classroom. I don't protest. I just want this madness to end. I can hear the students whispering to each other as the door slides closed. My high school life is over. I'm going to be branded a lunatic. Everyone will shun me. As we walk down the hall my escort introduces herself. "My name is Inaba Emi." she says. "P-pleased to me you." I say meekly. "You're an idiot. You know that, right?" she asks. "I can't help it. I just spent a year in a hospital being treated for middle school delusion. I thought I was a demon. And now my teacher is saying I am a demon. Did my mind finally break? Is this all a hallucination?" I ask. "No, he was telling the truth. This is a school for demons." she says matter-of-factly. I don't know how much more I can take of this. We arrive at the nurses office to find it empty. "I guess I'll treat your wound since no one else is here." she says and gets the medical kit. What does this all mean? If I am really a demon then how did I end up going to the hospital? My memories are so fuzzy. Inaba comes back with a bandage. There is a small dark mark on the back of my hand. She sprays something on it and places the adhesive bandage over it. "Was that really holy water?" I ask. "I think so. I've never seen some up close before." she replies as she takes the vial out of her pocket. My eyes go wide. "How?" I ask. "I swiped it from his desk when we walked by." she replies. She open the lid and smells it then offer it to me. I take a sniff but don't smell anything. It must really be water. "I'm not sure what I was expecting but it seems so plain." she says as she looks at the vial through the light. "Be careful. That stuff is-" I reach out my hand to grab it but accidentally bump her elbow. The holy water spills out and onto her arm. "Oh my god! Are you okay?!" I ask as I look around for something to wipe it off with. The holy water isn't bubbling or fizzing. She just wipes it off on her shirt. "What? What happened?" I ask. For a brief moment a look of panic crosses her face but then it turns to anger. "You idiot! Be more careful! If I wasn't such a high level demon that could have hurt me!" she says. "I'm sorry! It was an accident. Wow, are you some kind of powerful demon that isn't harmed by holy water?" I ask. "Y-yes, of course. I'm not a weakling like you! Idiot." she turns her head away for a then continues. "You owe me now. Even if it didn't harm me you're going to have to pay me back for spilling water on me." she says. "Yes, I will pay you back. I promise. What do you want me to do?" I ask. She turns her head back to me, blushing. "You...need to go out with me." she says, quietly. "Whaaaat?" I ask. "Don't act like this a big deal or anything! I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. You...you can't refuse." she says. "I see. I guess I have no choice then. Okay, I'll go out with you." I answer. She smiles and I suddenly feel terrified. What have I gotten myself into? ~End (I think we've all seen enough anime to know where this is going)
	[WP] After rising from hell to possess a human, the human was sent to a mental help facility. After a year, the demon now thinks it is fully human and that it's previous life in hell were just delusions.	"I never seem to understand what is gripping at me," the man watches a girl on a bike in thought, "Here I stand, the sun's gentle rays glistening off my damp brow on another wise pleasant spring day. I watch my daughter, she's five now, I watch her because I feel one of the only reasons I'm grounded to this place, grounded to this reality is her. I smile and murmur that I am so proud of her, she can't see me now that she can ride her bike herself, so focused on her new skill. My pride in her explodes, the emotion is uncomfortable actually. My eyes shut so tightly I can start to see spots of white in my blanketed view. “She's okay”, I tell myself. But dancing in my head are a hundred torments that she could otherwise suffer. It's almost as if I can feel them and my heart throbs with despair. What grips me during these episodes?" "I'm unclear how long my thoughts surged through my body, every ebb and flow paralyzing me." When the man's eyes open, "I am so relieved, she was okay. Her smile, the same smile her mother had, could light up any room. If I believed in angels, I would say she was an angel made flesh." "Running my fingers through her wispy hair as she rides by, I cannot help but think again about a world of God, demons, angels, and devils. It's something I struggled with years ago. They say the disassociations were caused by trauma, likely during childhood. My whole childhood is a blank almost, little flashes, little glimpses into what was perhaps…so hellish. What I do seem to recall is my father was an important figure in the cult that he led. We were all forced to do unspeakable horrors, it's no wonder I can block them out. I'm told the human mind is amazing." "When I was released from the hospital I dated one of the nurses the cared for me there. She died during childbirth, and our daughter reminds me of her everyday. The only reason I hold on to sanity." The man smiles. His thoughts interrupted again, the man takes a quick second glance at his daughter as she rides her bicycle by laughing, filled with mirth over her accomplishments. He shakes his head, fearfully he continues his inner dialogue. "Her eyes are so striking. For just a second, I thought I saw hell in them…"	Now transformed into a de-human, it realizes that being human is far more tragic than a demon. Demons sufferings rise as they feed on destruction, death, and dismay. The suffering increased the mind over what was left of intelligence. Half human now, the feelings and emotions demon had once held, now rushed into its heart, head, and blood. Blood is life. Flowing through the blue veins on its way to the heart via vena cava, blood is alive. Traveling away from the heart in the arteries blood makes way descending via the cleaning spleen and renal aortic circuits. To keep everything moving depended on circulation. Moving through the Circle of Willis anterior communicates with posterior. The demon was soon snuffed. Humans are not evil. The intelligence must run the mind, not the reverse.
	[WP] After rising from hell to possess a human, the human was sent to a mental help facility. After a year, the demon now thinks it is fully human and that it's previous life in hell were just delusions.	Dr. Samson stared proudly at me, his bifocals lowered, a sure sign I’d learned that he was relaxed. ‘You’ve really come a long way over the last year, Janet. Really impressive! Your religious fugue state and related hallucinations have all, but passed. You no longer tell others in group that they are all damned to eternal torture in the fiery pits of hell. Which is really great, as it was driving up some of the other patients’ anxiety. I haven’t heard you boasting about how close you are with Lucifer in months. I always thought that was a strange one: why name drop Lucifer and other demonic figures, when you were so clearly suffering from a Judeo-Christian religious persecution complex? It’s one part of your condition that even had me stumped after my decades of specializing in schizophrenic patients with unusual fixations. Remember when you used to sit in a corner quietly mouthing words in what I think was Aramaic? You used to angrily say you were speaking with ‘Abaddon the Destroyer’ and to please let you get back to your conversation? Later, when your hallucination had ended and you were calmer, you would always say Abaddon was your best friend in the world. Followed by something like you wanted him to burn this heretical sixth circle of Hell to the ground and personally subject each of the doctors to very specific forms of eternal torture. I have to admit the vividness of your hallucinations was at times impressive! But I also know that must have been a truly scary time for you. While demonic hallucinations are not uncommon for those with obsessive compulsive neurosis, as Freud first described, it’s unusual for someone with your strongly religious views to fixate that rigidly on the demonic side of religion, unless they have some form of PTSD where they blame themselves for the bad things that have happened to them. Did you have some childhood trauma Janet?’ I had to think about that one, as a lot of my past memories were really hazy these days. I wonder if Dr Samson was onto something? Did something happen when I was young that caused me to end up here? To have so much anger inside. To have imaginary conversations with demons. To condemn others in my mind for their sins. Did I grow up in some sort of religious cult? Have ultra religious parents? It’s strange I even have no memory of my own parents or, thinking about it, that they’ve never come to see me. I wish I knew the answer to his question. Could it be that one of the myriad drugs I was taking had taken away my memory somehow? Or maybe it was just a side effect of my schizophrenia? It’s really scary not being able to remember large parts of my life. I remember the facility just fine. All I remember prior are feelings of righteous anger, torture, so much fire... Could my family have died in a fire and I just blocked it out? I’m sure that would give me some form of PTSD... Ugh! Why can’t I remember??? I must have paused for far too long, as Dr Samson’s glasses were now high on the bridge of his nose, which I’d learned indicated his discomfort or impatience. I’m really proud I notice that now and know what it means. I’ve learned a lot about observing people and what makes them tick here. I’d like to think it makes me kinder and more empathetic somehow. When I was first admitted, I felt a lot more judgmental and a lot less empathetic to others’ situations. It was like their feelings didn’t matter. Just mine and how I perceived them. I wonder if I’d always felt like that? Who knows... Certainly not me. Dr Samson interrupted my thoughts, his left eye now twitching indicating even greater impatience. ‘Janet. I asked you a question. Do you remember if something bad happened to you as a child? I really think it might help in your final stages of healing to understand what caused parts of your illness. The cognitive behavioral therapy and medications have really helped to control your symptoms, but as we consider your return to society, it would be good to better understand those root causes of what you have experienced and those hidden parts of your personality that Jung referred to as ‘Shadows’. So you understand, some of these unidentifiable issues may serve as triggers for you in the outside world and potentially cause relapses. We would like for you to have as fulfilling and happy life as possible in the outside world. So to repeat the question: ‘Did you experience any childhood trauma?’ Frustratedly, I answered. ‘I honestly don’t know. As I’ve said before, my memories pretty much begin from when I was admitted. So how would I know?’ Unbidden tears flowed from my eyes now. WHY can’t I answer such a simple question? More kindly, glasses drifting back down the nose, indicating increased empathy. A tissue handed across the table. ‘I’m sorry Janet. I didn’t mean to press you quite that hard. I know you’ve had issues with your memory in the past. I’d just hoped some might have returned as you got into a better place. If you’re willing, I’d like to try to hypnotize you. Sometimes, in a hypnotic state it is possible to retrieve things our conscious mind has forgotten. I should warn you though, that some patients can react negatively to hypnosis and even experience worse symptoms for a time that will need further treatment. But I feel like you’re a good candidate for this treatment right now. Stable with dramatic improvements over time. Would you be comfortable trying it?’ ‘I’d really like that, Dr Samson.’ tears slowly drying in tight, salty trails on my face. I reflexively wiped my face and sat up straighter. I NEEDED to know the truth. It felt like without those memories a big part of me was missing. I’d come so far, but this seemed to be the path to final healing. ‘Excellent. I think you’re ready then. Let’s begin.’ Dr Samson replied, glasses still lowered with a slight smile of what appeared to be both encouragement and hopefulness. I must remember to mentally catalog that one, as it was a new response from him. Understanding others’ emotions is an essential part of healing he’d said. Like everything else here, I tried my best to comply even with things that didn’t feel natural to me. ‘Lie back in your chair. Listen to the peaceful sounds of the birds in the garden. The cool breeze coming through the window. Let yourself relax.’ Dr Samson intoned, speaking more slowly than usual. I wonder if that makes people calm? I should catalog that. ‘Let my words wash over you. Take the suggestions as they come to you. Everything here is calm, safe, and peaceful. Let yourself sink further into the chair and relax deeply. Your eyes may feel heavy and want to close. Let them. Let your body sink down naturally, as you relax. You are in complete control of this time. You will only accept those suggestions that are to your benefit and that you are willing to accept. Focus on your breathing. Slowly take long, deep breaths. You are letting yourself drift deeper and deeper into a calm, peaceful trance. You are safe here. Nothing can hurt you unless you let it. You are a teenager now. Fifteen years old. Open your eyes in your mind. Look around you. What do you see?’ ‘I see fire, endless fire. I am surrounded by the dead and dying. My whip cracks over their heads sharp and staccato like a thunder crack, just as Abaddon taught me. I feel nothing for these humans. They are weak and deserve to be punished. It is my right, my duty to do so. Justice against these sinners must be served. Abaddon looms over me, his tall, sinewy form glowing brightly in the fiery flames of Hell. His mighty black wings stretched as far as the eye can see, blanketing me in their shadowy depths. He, my eternal mentor stands next to me, a smile of pride on his face. I can see he is pleased with me. I strike each blow harder on the backs of the damned. His smile widens further. I strike still harder blows now, echoing through the giant rock chamber with the might of a hurricane. Abaddon speaks, his voice shaking the very chamber around us. ‘You’ve really come a long way over the last year, Lilith. Really impressive!’ Lilith! I am Lilith, monster of the night. I am among the first of Lucifer’s mighty family. Abaddon is my friend and mentor. He, the destroyer, admired far and wide for the brutality and exquisite detail of his tortures. Joyous memories of death and dismemberment surge through my body. I am Lilith! My demonic powers surge forth, a mighty tsunami freed at last. All has returned. I am Lilith. My past memories now mingled with my ones from the facility. Finally whole. Perhaps this time was not wasted. I understood humans now. Their reactions. Their triggers. How to cause them pain. What excruciatingly exquisite tortures I could now devise. Abaddon will be so proud! I am Lilith. Like my chains of the past, these chains are also broken. I am Lilith. And I am free.	Now transformed into a de-human, it realizes that being human is far more tragic than a demon. Demons sufferings rise as they feed on destruction, death, and dismay. The suffering increased the mind over what was left of intelligence. Half human now, the feelings and emotions demon had once held, now rushed into its heart, head, and blood. Blood is life. Flowing through the blue veins on its way to the heart via vena cava, blood is alive. Traveling away from the heart in the arteries blood makes way descending via the cleaning spleen and renal aortic circuits. To keep everything moving depended on circulation. Moving through the Circle of Willis anterior communicates with posterior. The demon was soon snuffed. Humans are not evil. The intelligence must run the mind, not the reverse.
	[WP] After rising from hell to possess a human, the human was sent to a mental help facility. After a year, the demon now thinks it is fully human and that it's previous life in hell were just delusions.	Bellegmalag came to them clawing and gnashing, blood streaked down his human mouth. The police handed him over to the facility techs, who put him in a straight jacket and locked him in a padded cell. They gave him all colors of pills. Antipsychotics and tranqs and other things. They kept watch on him night and day. But Bellegmalag, the Lord of Pain, could not - would not - be contained. Not again. Not after he had finally broken free. It wasn't easy to find a living body strong enough to survive possession. It took time, but he figured out how to tear through the straight jackets. The techs would find inexplicable burn marks on the ruined shreds of cloth. But each time he thought he was free, they would stick him with a needle, and he would wake up with a fresh, new straightjacket tying back his arms. All he got for his efforts was more antipsychotics. And more solitude. Until... One day, a doctor arrived at Bellegmalag’s door. She was a severe woman, with her hair pulled back tight from her pale forehead. “That one is hopeless,” one of the techs said while Bellegmallag was raging inside his padded cell, his guttural screams muted by four inches of foam insulation. “I wouldn’t waste too much time on him.” The doctor adjusted her glasses, a cold frown permanently frozen to her face. Her black eyes pierced through the tech, and she spoke without emotion: “No one is hopeless.” The tech shivered unconsciously. She asked him to open the door, and when he did, Bellegmalag’s two-toned screams (one tone was human, the other was not) erupted from the room. After the tech brought in a chair for the doctor, he scuttled out of the room and shut the door, locking her in with the Demon-possessed man. He stared at her. She did not blink. He started to growl, saliva dripping from his lips. She said, “They tell me you think you’re a demon.” He threw himself forward, his mouth wide open and slobbering. But Bellegmalag tripped over his human feet and sprawled on the ground in front of the doctor. He screamed at her from the floor. “I AM BELLEGMALAG, THE SEVENTH PRINCE OF THE BURNING PLANE.” “It's good to meet you, Bellegmalag. I am Dr. Angelica. And I am here to help you.” “YOU DARE SUGGEST YOU CAN HELP ME, MORTAL? I AM THE LORD OF PAIN.” He kicked out at her but managed only to spin himself in a slow circle. “Pain. Why don’t we talk about that? Are you in any pain right now, Belleg? I hope you don't mind if I call you that.” The demon-posessed man stopped kicking. Looked up at her. “Am I… in pain?” Bellegmalag choked. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before.” ______ [Read Part 2 below.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/hteqt5/wp_after_rising_from_hell_to_possess_a_human_the/fyh28ob/)	"So there I was, sparring with the horned beast on the granite cliff. The scene around me was some sort of active volcano or something. Liquid fire spat about everywhere. I had to be careful with each of my moves so as not to burn myself." "Sounds a lot like hell," said Stephanie from across the circle. Hell. Frank stood up, raised his arms into the air, and spoke with a deepened voice. "You know nothing of hell! I have lived it! I was trained by Satan himself to reign supreme over my domain! I have battled infernal monsters since I was an infant!" Frank closed his eyes, brought his arms firmly to his sides, and stretched his fingers wide. His eyes burst open. "I am Xokonal, lord of the fiery furnace, and I will impose my wrath upon this world!" Frank stood with his arms outstretched for a moment before beginning to blink wildly, almost as if he had been awoken from a trance. He looked around the circle awkwardly. Hanging his head, he sat down. Great way to be on my first day of group. "Do not be embarrassed, Frank," encouraged Lisa, the group leader. "This is why we are here." "Sorry, everyone," said Frank with genuine contrition, "H-E-double hockey sticks is one of my trigger words. It brings back all of the false memories and makes them feel real again." "It is alright, Frank," Lisa added with a smile. "We have all been there." "You've been there!?" Frank angrily rose to his feet. "None of you can even comprehend the depths from which I came!" "Frank," interjected Pierce, another newcomer, "you are more than your memories." "An excellent point, Pierce," said Lisa. "Frank, why don't you have some punch, and we'll let Pierce talk for a little while." Frank again blinked several times. "Okay," he said. As Pierce began to speak about his own demons, Frank crossed the circle and came to a stop at the refreshment table. It was an arduous year in the place that Frank now came to call nothing more specific than "the facility." The doctors there stripped him bare. They helped him to realize that those crazy feelings he had--that fire and brimstone he remembered from his past--it was all a vastly interwoven array of invented memories sheltering him from his troubled childhood. The "beasts" he fought were nothing more than bullies. "Satan" was his abusive father. His "training" was nothing more than everyday physical activity. Frank was, after all, rather fit. And now, he was at his first mandatory group therapy session. Facility administration deemed him safe to enter the world under a strict and thorough list of conditions. They touched on nearly every aspect of his life, covering from where he was allowed to live to what sorts of jobs he could pursue. They also stipulated mandatory biweekly group trauma sessions. "I am Frank, son of Jerry," recited Frank, gazing at his reflection as it glistened in the curiously thick, deep red punch that filled his plastic cup. He took a deep breath. "My father was abusive, and my childhood was--" Frank became lost in his crimson image. He froze, remaining perfectly still for a time. "Nice story," whispered Pierce, bringing Frank back to reality. Frank turned about to greet Pierce and saw that the remaining people in the group were standing, saying their goodbyes, and beginning to depart. "Oh--thanks," said Frank reluctantly. "You left me out of it," said Pierce. Frank did not blink. "Excuse me?" he asked with a bewildered expression. Pierce smirked. "I cannot believe I finally found you. Did you have any punch?" "Oh," replied Frank, "no, I guess I didn't." He took a gulp of his lukewarm juice. It was just as thick as it looked, but he choked it down. "That's not bad." "Give it a moment," said Pierce. "What are--" Frank's head lurched forward. He then brought it upright slowly as his body twitched about. Pierce could do nothing but smile as he examined Frank's eyes, which had rolled back completely. "Welcome back, brother," said Pierce. "You have been gone for some time." "What do you mean, brother? I don't have a brother. And what was in that punch?" Pierce laughed. "It was blood." "Blood?" Frank tried to wipe his tongue clean. "It is too late," said Pierce. "By ingesting the blood of your enemies, you are reborn!" He paused and raised his arms just as Frank had done during his story. "You are Xokonal, Lord of the Fiery Furnace, and I am your brother, Erzoran, Tamer of Infernal Beasts!" "The blood... of my enemies?" "We are quite behind schedule," said Erzoran, "your institutionalization has put a wrinkle in the Master's plan." "Who was in the punch?" Frank demanded. "Alistair Bennion," said Erzoran. "The chief of your mental institution." Frank began to chuckle. Slowly, his chuckling evolved into laughter, which in turn became a wicked bout of shrieking. "So the humans deceived me," inferred Xokonal. "Yet, in doing so, they have taught me a valuable form of torture." Brian, another group member, had heard the shrieking and reentered the room. As he appeared in the doorway, Erzoran simply pointed at him. Brian burst into flames. "No no, brother," said Xokonal, "put it out!" Erzoran did as requested, and Xokonal continued. "We have a more sophisticated way of dealing with the humans now. We will make them destroy themselves." Erzoran snapped his fingers, and the flames disappeared. Xokonal then approached Brian and put one hand on his forehead. Brian began to scream. Moments later, Xokonal removed his hand. Brian ran away. "What did you do to him?" Erzoran asked with great curiosity. "I discovered his deepest insecurities and created false memories surrounding them." Xokonal smiled evilly. "You see, Brian suffers from a deep feeling of inadequacy. Now, he is convinced that just two weeks ago, he saw his wife cheating on him with his brother, the same brother who bullied him as a child." "Brilliantly cruel," lauded Erzoran. "Precisely," confirmed Xoconal. "Anyway, there is no time to lose. We must depart for our first destination." "Where are we going?" "The facility." \----- Thank you for reading! If you have any, feedback is always appreciated!
	[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me."	I answer the door with my phone in hand, annoyed that my favorite downtime of writing was being interrupted. I was prepared to tell whatever salesman to go off himself when I see the last person I thought I would ever see alive. “Marcus?” He asked uncertain for a moment before recognition beamed in his eyes “Damn dude, you got huge!” He said as he pulled me into an embrace. “M-Mike?” I asked hesitantly. He breaks the embrace and holds me at arms length. “Yeah man it’s me, squirt. How yo-“ He was interrupted by the fact his jaw was now filled with broken teeth and a meaty hand curled into a fist. He hits the ground with a _thud_ as soft snow poofs into the air. Mud tainting the pristine white snow around his head and shoulders. Marcus pockets the old cell phone with bloody knuckles as he steps forward. “It’s been _ 20 fucking years_ since you left me in that Shelter when you gone with those Mafia cunts.” Marcus said seething with hatred as he moved above him. His long lost brother had dozens of his teeth erupt out of his mouth like a bad drink. “For 7 god damn years I had to fight, lie and steal just to get a _meal_.” A savage kick was delivered to his lower chest, two sickenly satisfying cracks followed. Mike curled up on all fours from the impact and released the dark contents of his stomach. “For 12 years I fought, bled and killed around the world just because the paycheck was better.” Another kick was sent towards his hip and was rewarded with a series of wet pops with a very deep and detailed imprint Marcus sandal. “And for last 3 years I been relearning how to walk because of my injuries. I have been through almost all of that by entirely myself because I had no one to help me through it and you think-“ “Dad?” Marcus whips around towards the door and sees a small girl around the age of 9 standing there with her small hand made build a bear with a confused look on her face. “What are you doing?” She asks halfway hidden behind the door from the cold. “Just... sending away a bad man Sam.” Marcus said guilty, he hated having his daughter see him like this but he would never lie to her. Not like he did to him. She only looked more baffled as she peaked around the door to see behind him. “There’s... no one there Dad. Who are you talking about?” Sam asked. Marcus whipped around and unholstered the .45 he always had hidden on his person only to aim it at a imprint of a man in the snow. The ‘Teeth’ that Mike ended spitting out were not teeth but were closer to human skull fragments, the bile that he retched was nothing more then black tar and the mud that painted the snow brown was not only covering a pointed rock where Mikes head had landed but was also pooled around it with meaty chunks on it. “Samantha get inside now!” Marcus roared, startling the child but otherwise did as she was told and locked the door. The marine started sweeping the front lawn for ‘Mike’ and searching the area when his phone went off. Looking down at his flip phone with a bloodied hand Marcus saw a text that only confused him. ‘That wasn’t Me.’	Dani:....This is unbelievable, here sit down i’ll be right back, I have the stove on. \[He nods and sits down on the porch swing, swaying with the wind.\] \~texting\~ Dani: What do you mean that isn’t you? How did you know? Damien: Some guy started a fight with me at the bar I work at, stole my wallet and said I’d regret not serving him. Now I know I went missing and that but that's not me lil’ bro. I’m in New York. Dani: What? New York? How? How did you manage to go all the way across the states? Damien: Not really sure, but going home was too much for me, some many things happened there that I couldn't face, or you. I’m not there, I know what you did to the cat that Ms. Olson had. Dani: It is you.....but what do i do with him? He’s just sitting on the porch? Damien: Lock the front and back door, windows,and get the cops on the line. Please.. Dani: I’ll be right back then. Damien: Alright \~Dani Has gone offline\~ The floorboards creaked from outside and I went rushing to the door. I locked it before the nob started turning. I rushed to all off the windows and locked every single one of them. My head spinning, I lock each door in the house from the outside. I go back into the kitchen and lock the back door. I hear whoever it was outside stomp off into my backyard. Dispatcher: 911 what's your emergency? \[A lady with a sweet tone asked.\] Dani: Someone is trying to get into the house claiming to be my older brother who went missing 10 years ago. \[I close the curtains leaving me in the dark. Dispatcher: Your address? Dani: \[I give her my address and she replies with a small ‘alright’.\] Dispatcher: Officers will be there in 3 minutes ok sweetheart? Dani: Ok……..i heard something from the back ma’am……\[The sound was like an animal….\] Dispatcher: Are you somewhere safe? Dani: Yea, i’m in my attic now on the third floor. Dispatcher: Officers- \[The phone cut off. Static is all I hear so I hang up and go behind the boxes. The sirens are growing near. I close my eyes and let the noise fill my head. Then it all stops, and I see my older brother smiling at me asking me to play with him.\] \- Officer: He’s dead. Something ripped his chest open. \[He motions to the lifeless man who lay on the floor.\] Officer 2: And the kid upstairs? Officer: A glass shard pierced his artery, bleed out. Officer 2: Wow, unlucky kid. Officer: Yea. Its cold, but i see him standing there, like nothings wrong. Smiling brightly, and my eyes flutter closed. I feel oddly sleepy.
	[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me."	“That isn’t me” I read once more as I stepped back from the familiar embrace. I couldn’t help the mix of dread and confusion that flapped like wings in my stomach as my eyes flew upward. The boy, no, I mocked myself, Theo isn’t a boy anymore. Theo is a man. A man that had, vanished. As my eyes darted this way and that there was no sign of Theo anywhere. The flapping wings rose further and I had to stifle my surprised scream of confusion. What was this cruelty? I lost him once already and now the sting of staring at a face so similar to my own when I thought all was lost felt just as sharp as it had all those years ago. This is it. I have lost my mind. The phone. I had a text right? As I fumbled around in the grass for the phone that had carelessly dropped from my grasp upon my twin disappearing, again, I heard a twig snap in the distance. Abandoning all hope of finding it, I rushed back into the house slamming the door behind me. Locks, get all the locks. In my mad dash to the back door I miss the step down and slam hard into the door jam. As the feeling of dizziness started to overtake me, I stared at the back door, watching in horror as the handle slowly started to turn, before everything dimmed out. ...................... Annie looks the same. There’s something to be said for staring at your own reflection without a mirror. “I always wondered if she’d survived the break of the bond” Theo whispered under his breath. Twin bonds were supposed to be something catastrophic to the survivor of the two when that bond is broken. It’s what has kept him alive when he would have given in long ago. Watching her from his hiding place behind the tall aged oaks on his parents vast property, he felt a twinge of guilt for having shown weakness and stupidity in rushing to her as soon as he hit that old city limit sign. “Don’t come” mother had urged. Always the jealous one when it came to the bond he shared with Annie. If mother wasn’t such a needy, high class drunk, he probably would have believed her when she said Annie was finally excelling in life and stayed gone as she had ordered. Annie did look well enough. Well, that is, before she started stumbling around like a startled chicken in the bushes. What was she doing anyway? Crack, the weight of Theos foot came down just right on a dried twig, the snap echoing in the distance. Jerking back, Theo missed being seen by a second. Daring to peek out, he watched as Annie frantically slammed the door. “Well that went well” Theo muttered. Quietly as he could, Theo skirted the large oaks, carefully placing every step, until he found what Annie was looking for. “What spooked you anyway” Theo muttered as he opened the lock on Annie’s phone with a look. “Hashtag twinning” he chuckled. The small laugh died in his throat as he stared at the message from his old number. “That isn’t me” it read. Oh no. No no no this wasn’t happening again. Buzz buzz... the phone felt too heavy to hold. “I told you I’d be watching.” Theo felt sick. Buzz buzz.... “WE told you there would be consequences.” Theo rushed the front door to no avail. As he raced around back another message came through. This time a picture of Annie. “There will be blood this time.” Theo felt the dizziness start to take him. As he slumped to the ground, a mere inches from the back door, he stared in horror, as the handle slowly started to turn, before everything dimmed out.	Dani:....This is unbelievable, here sit down i’ll be right back, I have the stove on. \[He nods and sits down on the porch swing, swaying with the wind.\] \~texting\~ Dani: What do you mean that isn’t you? How did you know? Damien: Some guy started a fight with me at the bar I work at, stole my wallet and said I’d regret not serving him. Now I know I went missing and that but that's not me lil’ bro. I’m in New York. Dani: What? New York? How? How did you manage to go all the way across the states? Damien: Not really sure, but going home was too much for me, some many things happened there that I couldn't face, or you. I’m not there, I know what you did to the cat that Ms. Olson had. Dani: It is you.....but what do i do with him? He’s just sitting on the porch? Damien: Lock the front and back door, windows,and get the cops on the line. Please.. Dani: I’ll be right back then. Damien: Alright \~Dani Has gone offline\~ The floorboards creaked from outside and I went rushing to the door. I locked it before the nob started turning. I rushed to all off the windows and locked every single one of them. My head spinning, I lock each door in the house from the outside. I go back into the kitchen and lock the back door. I hear whoever it was outside stomp off into my backyard. Dispatcher: 911 what's your emergency? \[A lady with a sweet tone asked.\] Dani: Someone is trying to get into the house claiming to be my older brother who went missing 10 years ago. \[I close the curtains leaving me in the dark. Dispatcher: Your address? Dani: \[I give her my address and she replies with a small ‘alright’.\] Dispatcher: Officers will be there in 3 minutes ok sweetheart? Dani: Ok……..i heard something from the back ma’am……\[The sound was like an animal….\] Dispatcher: Are you somewhere safe? Dani: Yea, i’m in my attic now on the third floor. Dispatcher: Officers- \[The phone cut off. Static is all I hear so I hang up and go behind the boxes. The sirens are growing near. I close my eyes and let the noise fill my head. Then it all stops, and I see my older brother smiling at me asking me to play with him.\] \- Officer: He’s dead. Something ripped his chest open. \[He motions to the lifeless man who lay on the floor.\] Officer 2: And the kid upstairs? Officer: A glass shard pierced his artery, bleed out. Officer 2: Wow, unlucky kid. Officer: Yea. Its cold, but i see him standing there, like nothings wrong. Smiling brightly, and my eyes flutter closed. I feel oddly sleepy.
	[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me."	"You need to run right now, brother, just trust me on this! That isn't me, it's a skin walker sent to kidnap you, so they have some leverage on me." I blinked, somehow keeping my face neutral at the message. "How do I know this is you?" I messaged. "Look, jackass, I know what you did to that dog on accident when we were kids. I helped hide the body, remember?" The...supposed copy of my brother, still smiling, and staring me in the face decided to ask "Hey, whose that? It's kinda rude to leave your brother hanging, man" Thinking fast, I replied "Oh, just an old girlfriend of mine. She apparently wanted my input on what kind of dog she wanted to buy, since I work for the local vets around here." "Oh, right on. So uh, you going to let me in or...?" I noticed the supposed skinwalker's smile...shift? Distort? It was really creepy how it seemed to undulate on it's own. I tried to hide a gulp as I then asked "Speaking of dogs, you ever remember what happened to Ms. Digsby's Pomeranian?" The...thing imitating my brother said "Uh....I dunno, man. It's been years since then. You want to let me in or...?" Without another word, I quickly slammed the door on the thing posing as my brother, somehow locked the bolts into place, hands shaking as the last one slid into place. "Hey man, what the hell? Let me in, bro! I came all this way to visit you!" I jumped as I heard hammering on the door. "It's not very nice you leave your family hanging..." The voice that sounded like my brother had changed. It had gotten deeper, more menacing. I heard a deep chuckle, followed by the sound of splitting wood, as claws suddenly rammed themselves into my door, long and wicked. "Fuck!" I screamed, backing away from the door, bolting for the nearby closet. Along the way, I heard my phone ding, so taking a second to glance at my phone, I saw "I'm almost there, brother. Just hold it off until I can get there!" "Great." I muttered to myself, ripping open the door, and pulling out a 12 gauge pump action I had inherited before dad died. Hands shaking, I pulled the pump back to chamber a round, and turned to face the doorway. By this point, there were gaping holes in the wood, and I could clearly see the grinning face of what looked like a deer skull leering at me. My voice shook as I shouted "G-get the fuck away from me, you freak!" This just seemed to amuse the skinwalker, letting loose a high-pitched laugh that instantly set off goosebumps on my skin, and lanced it's way from my ears, directly into the fear center of my brain. "Little fleshbag, do you think your toy will do anything to stop me?" I saw something behind the skinwalker, and taking a second to realize what it was, I lowered the shotgun, slight grin on my face, and said "No. But that might." I watched as the skinwalker whipped it's head behind it, and then just as suddenly, vanish under the bumper of what looked like a sizeable truck of some kind, smashing through the front of my house. Some of the debris few towards me, and while it didn't hurt me beyond some light bruising, it did knock me flat on my ass. My brain took a moment to process what had just happened, and in that moment, I saw the skinwalker crawling towards me, legs bent at unnatural angles, it's chest caved in, and pulsating every time the damn thing took in a shuddering breath. It's claws were long, and it was very close... Suddenly, there was the sound of a door opening and closing, followed by two loud, thundering booms, as the skinwalker's head just evaporated into a fine red mist. And staring back at me, was the tired, now scarred face of my long-lost brother. "Hey, sorry I'm late. Bad traffic." "Dude, what the fuck?! Why the fuck is that THING after me?!" "Look, I know you must have a ton of questions-" "Your goddamn right I do! First, mom vanished when we were kids, dad ended up dying because he drank himself to death over her disappearance, then you just up and disappear 10 years ago! And now? Now you decide to message me out of nowhere, with whatever the FUCK that was posing as you!" My brother sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and taking in a deep breath. "...It...it has to do with mom, and her disappearance. She was involved in some fucked up things when we were kids. Things involving us. I'll be happy to explain it to you, but right now, I need to get you out of here, and somewhere safe. Lets go." "What makes you think I want to go with you, you selfish pri-" Before I could finish, I heard a nasty, rattling sound. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from the supposedly dead skinwalker, which seemed to be regenerating the bits my brother had blasted off. "You want to take your chances with those things, be my guest." My brother said, smiling grimly. Without another word, shotgun in hand, I got into the goddamn truck.	Dani:....This is unbelievable, here sit down i’ll be right back, I have the stove on. \[He nods and sits down on the porch swing, swaying with the wind.\] \~texting\~ Dani: What do you mean that isn’t you? How did you know? Damien: Some guy started a fight with me at the bar I work at, stole my wallet and said I’d regret not serving him. Now I know I went missing and that but that's not me lil’ bro. I’m in New York. Dani: What? New York? How? How did you manage to go all the way across the states? Damien: Not really sure, but going home was too much for me, some many things happened there that I couldn't face, or you. I’m not there, I know what you did to the cat that Ms. Olson had. Dani: It is you.....but what do i do with him? He’s just sitting on the porch? Damien: Lock the front and back door, windows,and get the cops on the line. Please.. Dani: I’ll be right back then. Damien: Alright \~Dani Has gone offline\~ The floorboards creaked from outside and I went rushing to the door. I locked it before the nob started turning. I rushed to all off the windows and locked every single one of them. My head spinning, I lock each door in the house from the outside. I go back into the kitchen and lock the back door. I hear whoever it was outside stomp off into my backyard. Dispatcher: 911 what's your emergency? \[A lady with a sweet tone asked.\] Dani: Someone is trying to get into the house claiming to be my older brother who went missing 10 years ago. \[I close the curtains leaving me in the dark. Dispatcher: Your address? Dani: \[I give her my address and she replies with a small ‘alright’.\] Dispatcher: Officers will be there in 3 minutes ok sweetheart? Dani: Ok……..i heard something from the back ma’am……\[The sound was like an animal….\] Dispatcher: Are you somewhere safe? Dani: Yea, i’m in my attic now on the third floor. Dispatcher: Officers- \[The phone cut off. Static is all I hear so I hang up and go behind the boxes. The sirens are growing near. I close my eyes and let the noise fill my head. Then it all stops, and I see my older brother smiling at me asking me to play with him.\] \- Officer: He’s dead. Something ripped his chest open. \[He motions to the lifeless man who lay on the floor.\] Officer 2: And the kid upstairs? Officer: A glass shard pierced his artery, bleed out. Officer 2: Wow, unlucky kid. Officer: Yea. Its cold, but i see him standing there, like nothings wrong. Smiling brightly, and my eyes flutter closed. I feel oddly sleepy.
	[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me."	"I'm back, man! I'm so sorry that I flaked on you!" I started at my brother. He had a big grin on his face, he did look slightly older than I remember and he wore a tailored suit that must've out cost about the same as my car. Without uttering a word I closed the door and locked it, knowing for well that this was wrong, that this hadn't been what I've been investigating all this time. I was close. So close to the fact that I almost caught my brother in Sydney previously, but I missed him. Most likely because the government had their nose so far up his ass no doubt. "Kye! C'mon man, I need to talk to you! It's been ten years since I left you at school and I want to actually explain myself to you." I pulled my blackberry out and began texting my friends from online who have been helping me, I then opened the shoe cupboard next to my front door as my brother continued to beg to come inside my house. We'll, mums old house. I ensured all of the cameras were recording and that the feed was being sent to our embedded website for them to review and ensure that if anything happened to me they could... Report it. To someone. Just as I was about to close my cupboard my phone buzzed. It was from his old number, but he hadn't gone quiet on his begging to be let in and what was even more curious is that his phone would always go to voicemail for the past ten years when I called it... Which means our theory was correct, he still has it. Or it could be a spoofing tool... What the hell do I believe inm The text simply read: That's not me. I sucked in a lot of air as I showed my phone to the camera but putting that into shoe cupboard and closing the door behind me. Then I opened the door and started at my 'brother'. "You have ten minutes to explain yourself." "Thank you Kai!" My brother says before he attempts to step into my house. "Won't you let me in?" Even up close his face looked like what I expected it to, but at the same time his skin looked soft and squishy. Even airbrushed delicately with soft pigmented paint. "Mums dead." "Yeah, I heard," he said slowly as he stared at me. "I've been sending flowers to her grave since she died." "Which flowers?" "The sunflowers, her favourite. I had them sent every first Monday of the month." His eyes looked like glass dolls, but they moved and the pupils even adjusted to the light too. Mum always loved his blue eyes, but now they looked like someone who is dead inside. "I always knew that was you, everyone said I was crazy and that you were dead." I stood aside and waved him in, only to deadbolt the door behind him. "Yes, well mum didn't really agree with my choice in lovers so I thought it'd be best to keep my distance. I still loved her though and we always gave each other sunflowers." I followed him to the kitchen as he rattled on about how he missed not seeing me grow up. He sat at the kitchen table and I began boiling the kettle. "How do you want your Milo?" I asked, waiting to see if he asked for his old usual order. "Two scoops, obviously. Now, how have you been? You're working at the primary schools IT guy right? Do you have a girlfriend? What do you do when you have time off? Did you travel like we planned?" "You already seem to know a lot about me and the fact mum died, why don't you know any of that?" "Kye, C'mon, I'm just trying to make small talk." "And here I was, thinking you were going to be apologising." Silence filled the air around us as he placed his hands on the mug I placed in front of him. He then began drinking the boiling watery Milo I had placed in front of him, not even flinching at the fact it should have been burning his insides. "You know, Jono, I always thought you had six spoons of Milo. Maybe I'm just remembering wrong." My hand gripped the taped object under my dinner table. "It's always been two... Kye, why are you acting so weird?" "Maybe it's because I haven't seen you for ten fucking years. Or because you don't even notice that the water in that Milo is scalding hot. Or maybe because you look like a silicon doll from a damn horror movie." "What the hell are you talking about?" "You're not Jono." "What the- Of course I am! Have you lost it Kye?!" I ripped the red, green and yellow pistol from under the table and pointed it at him. His chair was thrown back and his hands immediately went into the air as he slowly backed up against the kitchen counter. "Kye, it's me." "I'm not fucking crazy. I'm tired of people saying that I am!" I yelled. "I know my brother, I knew his boyfriend, I know what I saw! And I saw his boyfriend be ripped apart as my brother tried to save him from something like you!" "Kye..." His voice dropped ten octaves as he stared at me, tilting his head to the side as he did so. "If you are actually my brother, then this won't hurt," I spat and pulled the trigger. The salt-filled water pistol had a wide, misty spray. And thankfully, it did the trick. The thing in front of me screamed and moved back into the corner of the kitchen as it clawed at the doughy skin that it had made. There was still a dinner table inbetween us, my heart pounded as I watched it's fingers slowly melt into black claws and drags themselves through the thick watery skin. "Do you know what you've done, Kye Larson?" His voice was something straight out of the horror movies. "I finally lured on of you bastards. It's taken years for me to do it, but here we are!" I screamed while waving the water gun around. "This live stream is now broadcasted to every social media website that has users. You've been exposed and the new age is upon us!" His laughter cut me off. "And you think, that will save you?" The water pistol cracked slightly from the pressure. "You're not the first and you won't be the last, this will be played off as a ARG or even a practical joke. And no one will be the wiser. Not when you are admit to it live on television." "I wouldnt-" "But I would. I grew this skin and I'll grow yours. We are the new age, not humans and I will make sure you die horribly. Afterall, you are the last surviving member of your brother." I stepped back slightly as his claws moved away from its face and revealed a disgusting black, bony face. "We are everywhere. We are in children's toys. We are in mannequins. We're even in sex toys. We are forever. We will prosper. We will-" "Hey Google, turn on the sprinklers," I called out. "Okay Kai. Turning on the sprinklers." The sprinklers I installed in the ceiling turned on. Salt water rained down, the thing began screaming and melting. The dark tar smeared and covered almost everything in the kitchen as I turned and threw up my breakfast into the kitchen sink as I became quickly soaked to the skin in salt water. Suddenly a clawed hand grabs my shirt and pulls me back. The claws gripped my throat and began puncturing my skin as I attempted to rip them off of me. BANG. The monster fell then. My brain had trouble catching up to me as two human hands grabbed me arms and shook me. "Kai, are you ok? I'm so sorry I'm late." "Jono?" "I'm sorry I wasn't able to stop them getting to you, but they're called Boogey Men for a reason. They can become anything and anyone and-" I pulled him into my arms and buried my head into his shoulder. He was real. He was there with me. I brought him back. "Welcome home, brother."	Dani:....This is unbelievable, here sit down i’ll be right back, I have the stove on. \[He nods and sits down on the porch swing, swaying with the wind.\] \~texting\~ Dani: What do you mean that isn’t you? How did you know? Damien: Some guy started a fight with me at the bar I work at, stole my wallet and said I’d regret not serving him. Now I know I went missing and that but that's not me lil’ bro. I’m in New York. Dani: What? New York? How? How did you manage to go all the way across the states? Damien: Not really sure, but going home was too much for me, some many things happened there that I couldn't face, or you. I’m not there, I know what you did to the cat that Ms. Olson had. Dani: It is you.....but what do i do with him? He’s just sitting on the porch? Damien: Lock the front and back door, windows,and get the cops on the line. Please.. Dani: I’ll be right back then. Damien: Alright \~Dani Has gone offline\~ The floorboards creaked from outside and I went rushing to the door. I locked it before the nob started turning. I rushed to all off the windows and locked every single one of them. My head spinning, I lock each door in the house from the outside. I go back into the kitchen and lock the back door. I hear whoever it was outside stomp off into my backyard. Dispatcher: 911 what's your emergency? \[A lady with a sweet tone asked.\] Dani: Someone is trying to get into the house claiming to be my older brother who went missing 10 years ago. \[I close the curtains leaving me in the dark. Dispatcher: Your address? Dani: \[I give her my address and she replies with a small ‘alright’.\] Dispatcher: Officers will be there in 3 minutes ok sweetheart? Dani: Ok……..i heard something from the back ma’am……\[The sound was like an animal….\] Dispatcher: Are you somewhere safe? Dani: Yea, i’m in my attic now on the third floor. Dispatcher: Officers- \[The phone cut off. Static is all I hear so I hang up and go behind the boxes. The sirens are growing near. I close my eyes and let the noise fill my head. Then it all stops, and I see my older brother smiling at me asking me to play with him.\] \- Officer: He’s dead. Something ripped his chest open. \[He motions to the lifeless man who lay on the floor.\] Officer 2: And the kid upstairs? Officer: A glass shard pierced his artery, bleed out. Officer 2: Wow, unlucky kid. Officer: Yea. Its cold, but i see him standing there, like nothings wrong. Smiling brightly, and my eyes flutter closed. I feel oddly sleepy.
	[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me."	"I'm back, man! I'm so sorry that I flaked on you!" I started at my brother. He had a big grin on his face, he did look slightly older than I remember and he wore a tailored suit that must've out cost about the same as my car. Without uttering a word I closed the door and locked it, knowing for well that this was wrong, that this hadn't been what I've been investigating all this time. I was close. So close to the fact that I almost caught my brother in Sydney previously, but I missed him. Most likely because the government had their nose so far up his ass no doubt. "Kye! C'mon man, I need to talk to you! It's been ten years since I left you at school and I want to actually explain myself to you." I pulled my blackberry out and began texting my friends from online who have been helping me, I then opened the shoe cupboard next to my front door as my brother continued to beg to come inside my house. We'll, mums old house. I ensured all of the cameras were recording and that the feed was being sent to our embedded website for them to review and ensure that if anything happened to me they could... Report it. To someone. Just as I was about to close my cupboard my phone buzzed. It was from his old number, but he hadn't gone quiet on his begging to be let in and what was even more curious is that his phone would always go to voicemail for the past ten years when I called it... Which means our theory was correct, he still has it. Or it could be a spoofing tool... What the hell do I believe inm The text simply read: That's not me. I sucked in a lot of air as I showed my phone to the camera but putting that into shoe cupboard and closing the door behind me. Then I opened the door and started at my 'brother'. "You have ten minutes to explain yourself." "Thank you Kai!" My brother says before he attempts to step into my house. "Won't you let me in?" Even up close his face looked like what I expected it to, but at the same time his skin looked soft and squishy. Even airbrushed delicately with soft pigmented paint. "Mums dead." "Yeah, I heard," he said slowly as he stared at me. "I've been sending flowers to her grave since she died." "Which flowers?" "The sunflowers, her favourite. I had them sent every first Monday of the month." His eyes looked like glass dolls, but they moved and the pupils even adjusted to the light too. Mum always loved his blue eyes, but now they looked like someone who is dead inside. "I always knew that was you, everyone said I was crazy and that you were dead." I stood aside and waved him in, only to deadbolt the door behind him. "Yes, well mum didn't really agree with my choice in lovers so I thought it'd be best to keep my distance. I still loved her though and we always gave each other sunflowers." I followed him to the kitchen as he rattled on about how he missed not seeing me grow up. He sat at the kitchen table and I began boiling the kettle. "How do you want your Milo?" I asked, waiting to see if he asked for his old usual order. "Two scoops, obviously. Now, how have you been? You're working at the primary schools IT guy right? Do you have a girlfriend? What do you do when you have time off? Did you travel like we planned?" "You already seem to know a lot about me and the fact mum died, why don't you know any of that?" "Kye, C'mon, I'm just trying to make small talk." "And here I was, thinking you were going to be apologising." Silence filled the air around us as he placed his hands on the mug I placed in front of him. He then began drinking the boiling watery Milo I had placed in front of him, not even flinching at the fact it should have been burning his insides. "You know, Jono, I always thought you had six spoons of Milo. Maybe I'm just remembering wrong." My hand gripped the taped object under my dinner table. "It's always been two... Kye, why are you acting so weird?" "Maybe it's because I haven't seen you for ten fucking years. Or because you don't even notice that the water in that Milo is scalding hot. Or maybe because you look like a silicon doll from a damn horror movie." "What the hell are you talking about?" "You're not Jono." "What the- Of course I am! Have you lost it Kye?!" I ripped the red, green and yellow pistol from under the table and pointed it at him. His chair was thrown back and his hands immediately went into the air as he slowly backed up against the kitchen counter. "Kye, it's me." "I'm not fucking crazy. I'm tired of people saying that I am!" I yelled. "I know my brother, I knew his boyfriend, I know what I saw! And I saw his boyfriend be ripped apart as my brother tried to save him from something like you!" "Kye..." His voice dropped ten octaves as he stared at me, tilting his head to the side as he did so. "If you are actually my brother, then this won't hurt," I spat and pulled the trigger. The salt-filled water pistol had a wide, misty spray. And thankfully, it did the trick. The thing in front of me screamed and moved back into the corner of the kitchen as it clawed at the doughy skin that it had made. There was still a dinner table inbetween us, my heart pounded as I watched it's fingers slowly melt into black claws and drags themselves through the thick watery skin. "Do you know what you've done, Kye Larson?" His voice was something straight out of the horror movies. "I finally lured on of you bastards. It's taken years for me to do it, but here we are!" I screamed while waving the water gun around. "This live stream is now broadcasted to every social media website that has users. You've been exposed and the new age is upon us!" His laughter cut me off. "And you think, that will save you?" The water pistol cracked slightly from the pressure. "You're not the first and you won't be the last, this will be played off as a ARG or even a practical joke. And no one will be the wiser. Not when you are admit to it live on television." "I wouldnt-" "But I would. I grew this skin and I'll grow yours. We are the new age, not humans and I will make sure you die horribly. Afterall, you are the last surviving member of your brother." I stepped back slightly as his claws moved away from its face and revealed a disgusting black, bony face. "We are everywhere. We are in children's toys. We are in mannequins. We're even in sex toys. We are forever. We will prosper. We will-" "Hey Google, turn on the sprinklers," I called out. "Okay Kai. Turning on the sprinklers." The sprinklers I installed in the ceiling turned on. Salt water rained down, the thing began screaming and melting. The dark tar smeared and covered almost everything in the kitchen as I turned and threw up my breakfast into the kitchen sink as I became quickly soaked to the skin in salt water. Suddenly a clawed hand grabs my shirt and pulls me back. The claws gripped my throat and began puncturing my skin as I attempted to rip them off of me. BANG. The monster fell then. My brain had trouble catching up to me as two human hands grabbed me arms and shook me. "Kai, are you ok? I'm so sorry I'm late." "Jono?" "I'm sorry I wasn't able to stop them getting to you, but they're called Boogey Men for a reason. They can become anything and anyone and-" I pulled him into my arms and buried my head into his shoulder. He was real. He was there with me. I brought him back. "Welcome home, brother."	"It wasn't supposed to be like this..." Thomas stared at the map in front of him. Irradiated zones were marked with a dark red circle. New York, Trenton, Boston. Virginia, DC, Sacramento, San Francisco, Los Angeles. All gone. And it wasn't just the US. Beijing, gone. Moscow, gone. Paris, London, even the Vatican. All gone. It would be decades before man would even walk on their lands again. "We couldn't have known he would start this." Thomas's advisor, Jordan, put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Both stared at the bleak reality laid out on the map in front of them. "I can barely even believe it's real," Thomas said, as he brushed his fingers over the paper. "Two days ago, he was just..." he trailed off. What was Lucas two days ago? The president? An emperor? A tyrant? Every year he'd seized more and more power, every month he'd annexed land, he'd conquered peoples. Perhaps this wasn't so sudden; Thomas had just been blind to the signs. "I should have seen it," Jordan said. "It's my job to. I failed you sir." "Maybe. But I helped him do it, Jordan. He needed me, and I helped him." At that, there was nothing Jordan could counter with, so he remained silent. Lucas, of course, could never have achieved what he did without an Agent. Maybe the world had just been unlucky. Thomas Sicario, at 18 years old, had been chosen for The Agency. A man so blinded by love for his brother that he was never able to pause, to ask himself where things were leading. Never able to fathom the true destination to where his brother's ambitions were leading. The level of familial love Thomas had for his brother, it was truly noble, and yet because of it, the world had paid a deadly price. The door to the room flew open. "Sir! We think we have it." Thomas felt a spring of hope well up in his chest. He turned to his research director. "I'll be damned," he said. "How long of a message can we send." The young man looked down slightly. "Well sir... not as much as we'd liked." He paused, realized Thomas wasn't going to respond, and then continued. "About 15 characters. Maybe a few more if we can find a different way to encode it." "15 characters," Thomas sighed. "Okay. I'll make it work." "What are you going to send yourself?" Jordan asked. "Nothing. There's nothing you could say to me, 5 years ago, that would prevent me from following my brother's wishes. Nothing at all." "So then?" Jordan raised his eyebrows in inquiry. "I'm going to send a message to Lucas. One that ensures I'll never be able to effectively help him." Thomas looked to his research director. "Number: 1-333-677-1010. Time: 2:38pm. July 24th, 2020." He paused. "Message: 'That's not me.'" "Yes sir." The young man hurried out of the room. "I see," Jordan said. "That's your number. You know, that's going to be hell for the past you. You're going to see Lucas for the first time after three years of grueling Agency training, expecting a heartfelt reunion, and instead of that Lucas is going to reject you." "I understand. It's a price I'm willing to pay." \------------------------------------- Lucas entered without knocking. He looked tired, more worn than usual. Thomas hadn't talked to him since the first strike against Beijing from just over two days ago. The emperor locked eyes with Thomas as he spoke. "The last of the foreign governments have officially surrendered to me. It's time to rebuild this world." Thomas had no reply. It was over. His brother had caused a nuclear winter. What did he possibly think was left to rebuild? "Now that I've won, I have one question for you." Lucas brandished his rifle and aimed it at his brother's heart. "Who are you?" Thomas felt a chill run down his spine. "I-" he started. He didn't know what to say. "What do you-" Lucas cut him off. "You told me you were taken by an organization called The Agency. Trained in politics, war, technology, assassination. But that isn't true is it. You aren't my brother." Thomas's mind was racing. Had he... No, it couldn't be. Lucas continued. "I don't know who you are, or what you did to my brother. But this is my guess. You aided me with my election, you helped me in my conquest, and very soon you'll no longer need me." His gun was still trained on Thomas's chest, unmoving. "No, Lucas, I- I'm really Thomas," he was scrambling now, the implications too great to fully grasp. "Remember when mom used to cook us ginger bread men, and you'd always decapitate yours before we ate them?" Lucas took two large strides forward and struck him with the butt of his rifle. "Did you torture him to learn that?" he screamed. "How dare you!" "No... it's me," Thomas felt his eyes fill with tears. He was whimpering now. "My brother is dead. The Agency stole him from me, and replaced him with you." Lucas said, staring at the cowering man in front of him. Thomas felt his hope slipping away, replaced by a crippling despair. He knew it would be painful having his brother reject him but... but nothing was different? It hadn't worked. His last ditch attempt, the only thing that had given him home the last two days. It had failed. The end was here to stay. He at least wanted to know why. Why did his brother crave power to such a degree, why was he so obsessed by it. "Why did you fire on Beijing?" Thomas asked. His brother's face became stern. "Since the day you showed up at my door, impersonating the brother you stole from me, I've worked towards only one goal. There's only one thing I want." He motioned to someone outside. A soldier entered, bound Thomas's hands behind his back, and dragged him to his feet. Lucas stepped towards the bound man, close enough that Thomas could feel his breath on his face. The two locked eyes. "A world without The Agency." Lucas held his brother's gaze for what felt like an eternity. Then he turned, and walked out of the room. "Put him in B2. We'll interrogate him later."
	[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me."	"You need to run right now, brother, just trust me on this! That isn't me, it's a skin walker sent to kidnap you, so they have some leverage on me." I blinked, somehow keeping my face neutral at the message. "How do I know this is you?" I messaged. "Look, jackass, I know what you did to that dog on accident when we were kids. I helped hide the body, remember?" The...supposed copy of my brother, still smiling, and staring me in the face decided to ask "Hey, whose that? It's kinda rude to leave your brother hanging, man" Thinking fast, I replied "Oh, just an old girlfriend of mine. She apparently wanted my input on what kind of dog she wanted to buy, since I work for the local vets around here." "Oh, right on. So uh, you going to let me in or...?" I noticed the supposed skinwalker's smile...shift? Distort? It was really creepy how it seemed to undulate on it's own. I tried to hide a gulp as I then asked "Speaking of dogs, you ever remember what happened to Ms. Digsby's Pomeranian?" The...thing imitating my brother said "Uh....I dunno, man. It's been years since then. You want to let me in or...?" Without another word, I quickly slammed the door on the thing posing as my brother, somehow locked the bolts into place, hands shaking as the last one slid into place. "Hey man, what the hell? Let me in, bro! I came all this way to visit you!" I jumped as I heard hammering on the door. "It's not very nice you leave your family hanging..." The voice that sounded like my brother had changed. It had gotten deeper, more menacing. I heard a deep chuckle, followed by the sound of splitting wood, as claws suddenly rammed themselves into my door, long and wicked. "Fuck!" I screamed, backing away from the door, bolting for the nearby closet. Along the way, I heard my phone ding, so taking a second to glance at my phone, I saw "I'm almost there, brother. Just hold it off until I can get there!" "Great." I muttered to myself, ripping open the door, and pulling out a 12 gauge pump action I had inherited before dad died. Hands shaking, I pulled the pump back to chamber a round, and turned to face the doorway. By this point, there were gaping holes in the wood, and I could clearly see the grinning face of what looked like a deer skull leering at me. My voice shook as I shouted "G-get the fuck away from me, you freak!" This just seemed to amuse the skinwalker, letting loose a high-pitched laugh that instantly set off goosebumps on my skin, and lanced it's way from my ears, directly into the fear center of my brain. "Little fleshbag, do you think your toy will do anything to stop me?" I saw something behind the skinwalker, and taking a second to realize what it was, I lowered the shotgun, slight grin on my face, and said "No. But that might." I watched as the skinwalker whipped it's head behind it, and then just as suddenly, vanish under the bumper of what looked like a sizeable truck of some kind, smashing through the front of my house. Some of the debris few towards me, and while it didn't hurt me beyond some light bruising, it did knock me flat on my ass. My brain took a moment to process what had just happened, and in that moment, I saw the skinwalker crawling towards me, legs bent at unnatural angles, it's chest caved in, and pulsating every time the damn thing took in a shuddering breath. It's claws were long, and it was very close... Suddenly, there was the sound of a door opening and closing, followed by two loud, thundering booms, as the skinwalker's head just evaporated into a fine red mist. And staring back at me, was the tired, now scarred face of my long-lost brother. "Hey, sorry I'm late. Bad traffic." "Dude, what the fuck?! Why the fuck is that THING after me?!" "Look, I know you must have a ton of questions-" "Your goddamn right I do! First, mom vanished when we were kids, dad ended up dying because he drank himself to death over her disappearance, then you just up and disappear 10 years ago! And now? Now you decide to message me out of nowhere, with whatever the FUCK that was posing as you!" My brother sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and taking in a deep breath. "...It...it has to do with mom, and her disappearance. She was involved in some fucked up things when we were kids. Things involving us. I'll be happy to explain it to you, but right now, I need to get you out of here, and somewhere safe. Lets go." "What makes you think I want to go with you, you selfish pri-" Before I could finish, I heard a nasty, rattling sound. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from the supposedly dead skinwalker, which seemed to be regenerating the bits my brother had blasted off. "You want to take your chances with those things, be my guest." My brother said, smiling grimly. Without another word, shotgun in hand, I got into the goddamn truck.	I answer the door with my phone in hand, annoyed that my favorite downtime of writing was being interrupted. I was prepared to tell whatever salesman to go off himself when I see the last person I thought I would ever see alive. “Marcus?” He asked uncertain for a moment before recognition beamed in his eyes “Damn dude, you got huge!” He said as he pulled me into an embrace. “M-Mike?” I asked hesitantly. He breaks the embrace and holds me at arms length. “Yeah man it’s me, squirt. How yo-“ He was interrupted by the fact his jaw was now filled with broken teeth and a meaty hand curled into a fist. He hits the ground with a _thud_ as soft snow poofs into the air. Mud tainting the pristine white snow around his head and shoulders. Marcus pockets the old cell phone with bloody knuckles as he steps forward. “It’s been _ 20 fucking years_ since you left me in that Shelter when you gone with those Mafia cunts.” Marcus said seething with hatred as he moved above him. His long lost brother had dozens of his teeth erupt out of his mouth like a bad drink. “For 7 god damn years I had to fight, lie and steal just to get a _meal_.” A savage kick was delivered to his lower chest, two sickenly satisfying cracks followed. Mike curled up on all fours from the impact and released the dark contents of his stomach. “For 12 years I fought, bled and killed around the world just because the paycheck was better.” Another kick was sent towards his hip and was rewarded with a series of wet pops with a very deep and detailed imprint Marcus sandal. “And for last 3 years I been relearning how to walk because of my injuries. I have been through almost all of that by entirely myself because I had no one to help me through it and you think-“ “Dad?” Marcus whips around towards the door and sees a small girl around the age of 9 standing there with her small hand made build a bear with a confused look on her face. “What are you doing?” She asks halfway hidden behind the door from the cold. “Just... sending away a bad man Sam.” Marcus said guilty, he hated having his daughter see him like this but he would never lie to her. Not like he did to him. She only looked more baffled as she peaked around the door to see behind him. “There’s... no one there Dad. Who are you talking about?” Sam asked. Marcus whipped around and unholstered the .45 he always had hidden on his person only to aim it at a imprint of a man in the snow. The ‘Teeth’ that Mike ended spitting out were not teeth but were closer to human skull fragments, the bile that he retched was nothing more then black tar and the mud that painted the snow brown was not only covering a pointed rock where Mikes head had landed but was also pooled around it with meaty chunks on it. “Samantha get inside now!” Marcus roared, startling the child but otherwise did as she was told and locked the door. The marine started sweeping the front lawn for ‘Mike’ and searching the area when his phone went off. Looking down at his flip phone with a bloodied hand Marcus saw a text that only confused him. ‘That wasn’t Me.’
	[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me."	"I'm back, man! I'm so sorry that I flaked on you!" I started at my brother. He had a big grin on his face, he did look slightly older than I remember and he wore a tailored suit that must've out cost about the same as my car. Without uttering a word I closed the door and locked it, knowing for well that this was wrong, that this hadn't been what I've been investigating all this time. I was close. So close to the fact that I almost caught my brother in Sydney previously, but I missed him. Most likely because the government had their nose so far up his ass no doubt. "Kye! C'mon man, I need to talk to you! It's been ten years since I left you at school and I want to actually explain myself to you." I pulled my blackberry out and began texting my friends from online who have been helping me, I then opened the shoe cupboard next to my front door as my brother continued to beg to come inside my house. We'll, mums old house. I ensured all of the cameras were recording and that the feed was being sent to our embedded website for them to review and ensure that if anything happened to me they could... Report it. To someone. Just as I was about to close my cupboard my phone buzzed. It was from his old number, but he hadn't gone quiet on his begging to be let in and what was even more curious is that his phone would always go to voicemail for the past ten years when I called it... Which means our theory was correct, he still has it. Or it could be a spoofing tool... What the hell do I believe inm The text simply read: That's not me. I sucked in a lot of air as I showed my phone to the camera but putting that into shoe cupboard and closing the door behind me. Then I opened the door and started at my 'brother'. "You have ten minutes to explain yourself." "Thank you Kai!" My brother says before he attempts to step into my house. "Won't you let me in?" Even up close his face looked like what I expected it to, but at the same time his skin looked soft and squishy. Even airbrushed delicately with soft pigmented paint. "Mums dead." "Yeah, I heard," he said slowly as he stared at me. "I've been sending flowers to her grave since she died." "Which flowers?" "The sunflowers, her favourite. I had them sent every first Monday of the month." His eyes looked like glass dolls, but they moved and the pupils even adjusted to the light too. Mum always loved his blue eyes, but now they looked like someone who is dead inside. "I always knew that was you, everyone said I was crazy and that you were dead." I stood aside and waved him in, only to deadbolt the door behind him. "Yes, well mum didn't really agree with my choice in lovers so I thought it'd be best to keep my distance. I still loved her though and we always gave each other sunflowers." I followed him to the kitchen as he rattled on about how he missed not seeing me grow up. He sat at the kitchen table and I began boiling the kettle. "How do you want your Milo?" I asked, waiting to see if he asked for his old usual order. "Two scoops, obviously. Now, how have you been? You're working at the primary schools IT guy right? Do you have a girlfriend? What do you do when you have time off? Did you travel like we planned?" "You already seem to know a lot about me and the fact mum died, why don't you know any of that?" "Kye, C'mon, I'm just trying to make small talk." "And here I was, thinking you were going to be apologising." Silence filled the air around us as he placed his hands on the mug I placed in front of him. He then began drinking the boiling watery Milo I had placed in front of him, not even flinching at the fact it should have been burning his insides. "You know, Jono, I always thought you had six spoons of Milo. Maybe I'm just remembering wrong." My hand gripped the taped object under my dinner table. "It's always been two... Kye, why are you acting so weird?" "Maybe it's because I haven't seen you for ten fucking years. Or because you don't even notice that the water in that Milo is scalding hot. Or maybe because you look like a silicon doll from a damn horror movie." "What the hell are you talking about?" "You're not Jono." "What the- Of course I am! Have you lost it Kye?!" I ripped the red, green and yellow pistol from under the table and pointed it at him. His chair was thrown back and his hands immediately went into the air as he slowly backed up against the kitchen counter. "Kye, it's me." "I'm not fucking crazy. I'm tired of people saying that I am!" I yelled. "I know my brother, I knew his boyfriend, I know what I saw! And I saw his boyfriend be ripped apart as my brother tried to save him from something like you!" "Kye..." His voice dropped ten octaves as he stared at me, tilting his head to the side as he did so. "If you are actually my brother, then this won't hurt," I spat and pulled the trigger. The salt-filled water pistol had a wide, misty spray. And thankfully, it did the trick. The thing in front of me screamed and moved back into the corner of the kitchen as it clawed at the doughy skin that it had made. There was still a dinner table inbetween us, my heart pounded as I watched it's fingers slowly melt into black claws and drags themselves through the thick watery skin. "Do you know what you've done, Kye Larson?" His voice was something straight out of the horror movies. "I finally lured on of you bastards. It's taken years for me to do it, but here we are!" I screamed while waving the water gun around. "This live stream is now broadcasted to every social media website that has users. You've been exposed and the new age is upon us!" His laughter cut me off. "And you think, that will save you?" The water pistol cracked slightly from the pressure. "You're not the first and you won't be the last, this will be played off as a ARG or even a practical joke. And no one will be the wiser. Not when you are admit to it live on television." "I wouldnt-" "But I would. I grew this skin and I'll grow yours. We are the new age, not humans and I will make sure you die horribly. Afterall, you are the last surviving member of your brother." I stepped back slightly as his claws moved away from its face and revealed a disgusting black, bony face. "We are everywhere. We are in children's toys. We are in mannequins. We're even in sex toys. We are forever. We will prosper. We will-" "Hey Google, turn on the sprinklers," I called out. "Okay Kai. Turning on the sprinklers." The sprinklers I installed in the ceiling turned on. Salt water rained down, the thing began screaming and melting. The dark tar smeared and covered almost everything in the kitchen as I turned and threw up my breakfast into the kitchen sink as I became quickly soaked to the skin in salt water. Suddenly a clawed hand grabs my shirt and pulls me back. The claws gripped my throat and began puncturing my skin as I attempted to rip them off of me. BANG. The monster fell then. My brain had trouble catching up to me as two human hands grabbed me arms and shook me. "Kai, are you ok? I'm so sorry I'm late." "Jono?" "I'm sorry I wasn't able to stop them getting to you, but they're called Boogey Men for a reason. They can become anything and anyone and-" I pulled him into my arms and buried my head into his shoulder. He was real. He was there with me. I brought him back. "Welcome home, brother."	I answer the door with my phone in hand, annoyed that my favorite downtime of writing was being interrupted. I was prepared to tell whatever salesman to go off himself when I see the last person I thought I would ever see alive. “Marcus?” He asked uncertain for a moment before recognition beamed in his eyes “Damn dude, you got huge!” He said as he pulled me into an embrace. “M-Mike?” I asked hesitantly. He breaks the embrace and holds me at arms length. “Yeah man it’s me, squirt. How yo-“ He was interrupted by the fact his jaw was now filled with broken teeth and a meaty hand curled into a fist. He hits the ground with a _thud_ as soft snow poofs into the air. Mud tainting the pristine white snow around his head and shoulders. Marcus pockets the old cell phone with bloody knuckles as he steps forward. “It’s been _ 20 fucking years_ since you left me in that Shelter when you gone with those Mafia cunts.” Marcus said seething with hatred as he moved above him. His long lost brother had dozens of his teeth erupt out of his mouth like a bad drink. “For 7 god damn years I had to fight, lie and steal just to get a _meal_.” A savage kick was delivered to his lower chest, two sickenly satisfying cracks followed. Mike curled up on all fours from the impact and released the dark contents of his stomach. “For 12 years I fought, bled and killed around the world just because the paycheck was better.” Another kick was sent towards his hip and was rewarded with a series of wet pops with a very deep and detailed imprint Marcus sandal. “And for last 3 years I been relearning how to walk because of my injuries. I have been through almost all of that by entirely myself because I had no one to help me through it and you think-“ “Dad?” Marcus whips around towards the door and sees a small girl around the age of 9 standing there with her small hand made build a bear with a confused look on her face. “What are you doing?” She asks halfway hidden behind the door from the cold. “Just... sending away a bad man Sam.” Marcus said guilty, he hated having his daughter see him like this but he would never lie to her. Not like he did to him. She only looked more baffled as she peaked around the door to see behind him. “There’s... no one there Dad. Who are you talking about?” Sam asked. Marcus whipped around and unholstered the .45 he always had hidden on his person only to aim it at a imprint of a man in the snow. The ‘Teeth’ that Mike ended spitting out were not teeth but were closer to human skull fragments, the bile that he retched was nothing more then black tar and the mud that painted the snow brown was not only covering a pointed rock where Mikes head had landed but was also pooled around it with meaty chunks on it. “Samantha get inside now!” Marcus roared, startling the child but otherwise did as she was told and locked the door. The marine started sweeping the front lawn for ‘Mike’ and searching the area when his phone went off. Looking down at his flip phone with a bloodied hand Marcus saw a text that only confused him. ‘That wasn’t Me.’
	[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me."	"You need to run right now, brother, just trust me on this! That isn't me, it's a skin walker sent to kidnap you, so they have some leverage on me." I blinked, somehow keeping my face neutral at the message. "How do I know this is you?" I messaged. "Look, jackass, I know what you did to that dog on accident when we were kids. I helped hide the body, remember?" The...supposed copy of my brother, still smiling, and staring me in the face decided to ask "Hey, whose that? It's kinda rude to leave your brother hanging, man" Thinking fast, I replied "Oh, just an old girlfriend of mine. She apparently wanted my input on what kind of dog she wanted to buy, since I work for the local vets around here." "Oh, right on. So uh, you going to let me in or...?" I noticed the supposed skinwalker's smile...shift? Distort? It was really creepy how it seemed to undulate on it's own. I tried to hide a gulp as I then asked "Speaking of dogs, you ever remember what happened to Ms. Digsby's Pomeranian?" The...thing imitating my brother said "Uh....I dunno, man. It's been years since then. You want to let me in or...?" Without another word, I quickly slammed the door on the thing posing as my brother, somehow locked the bolts into place, hands shaking as the last one slid into place. "Hey man, what the hell? Let me in, bro! I came all this way to visit you!" I jumped as I heard hammering on the door. "It's not very nice you leave your family hanging..." The voice that sounded like my brother had changed. It had gotten deeper, more menacing. I heard a deep chuckle, followed by the sound of splitting wood, as claws suddenly rammed themselves into my door, long and wicked. "Fuck!" I screamed, backing away from the door, bolting for the nearby closet. Along the way, I heard my phone ding, so taking a second to glance at my phone, I saw "I'm almost there, brother. Just hold it off until I can get there!" "Great." I muttered to myself, ripping open the door, and pulling out a 12 gauge pump action I had inherited before dad died. Hands shaking, I pulled the pump back to chamber a round, and turned to face the doorway. By this point, there were gaping holes in the wood, and I could clearly see the grinning face of what looked like a deer skull leering at me. My voice shook as I shouted "G-get the fuck away from me, you freak!" This just seemed to amuse the skinwalker, letting loose a high-pitched laugh that instantly set off goosebumps on my skin, and lanced it's way from my ears, directly into the fear center of my brain. "Little fleshbag, do you think your toy will do anything to stop me?" I saw something behind the skinwalker, and taking a second to realize what it was, I lowered the shotgun, slight grin on my face, and said "No. But that might." I watched as the skinwalker whipped it's head behind it, and then just as suddenly, vanish under the bumper of what looked like a sizeable truck of some kind, smashing through the front of my house. Some of the debris few towards me, and while it didn't hurt me beyond some light bruising, it did knock me flat on my ass. My brain took a moment to process what had just happened, and in that moment, I saw the skinwalker crawling towards me, legs bent at unnatural angles, it's chest caved in, and pulsating every time the damn thing took in a shuddering breath. It's claws were long, and it was very close... Suddenly, there was the sound of a door opening and closing, followed by two loud, thundering booms, as the skinwalker's head just evaporated into a fine red mist. And staring back at me, was the tired, now scarred face of my long-lost brother. "Hey, sorry I'm late. Bad traffic." "Dude, what the fuck?! Why the fuck is that THING after me?!" "Look, I know you must have a ton of questions-" "Your goddamn right I do! First, mom vanished when we were kids, dad ended up dying because he drank himself to death over her disappearance, then you just up and disappear 10 years ago! And now? Now you decide to message me out of nowhere, with whatever the FUCK that was posing as you!" My brother sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and taking in a deep breath. "...It...it has to do with mom, and her disappearance. She was involved in some fucked up things when we were kids. Things involving us. I'll be happy to explain it to you, but right now, I need to get you out of here, and somewhere safe. Lets go." "What makes you think I want to go with you, you selfish pri-" Before I could finish, I heard a nasty, rattling sound. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from the supposedly dead skinwalker, which seemed to be regenerating the bits my brother had blasted off. "You want to take your chances with those things, be my guest." My brother said, smiling grimly. Without another word, shotgun in hand, I got into the goddamn truck.	“That isn’t me” I read once more as I stepped back from the familiar embrace. I couldn’t help the mix of dread and confusion that flapped like wings in my stomach as my eyes flew upward. The boy, no, I mocked myself, Theo isn’t a boy anymore. Theo is a man. A man that had, vanished. As my eyes darted this way and that there was no sign of Theo anywhere. The flapping wings rose further and I had to stifle my surprised scream of confusion. What was this cruelty? I lost him once already and now the sting of staring at a face so similar to my own when I thought all was lost felt just as sharp as it had all those years ago. This is it. I have lost my mind. The phone. I had a text right? As I fumbled around in the grass for the phone that had carelessly dropped from my grasp upon my twin disappearing, again, I heard a twig snap in the distance. Abandoning all hope of finding it, I rushed back into the house slamming the door behind me. Locks, get all the locks. In my mad dash to the back door I miss the step down and slam hard into the door jam. As the feeling of dizziness started to overtake me, I stared at the back door, watching in horror as the handle slowly started to turn, before everything dimmed out. ...................... Annie looks the same. There’s something to be said for staring at your own reflection without a mirror. “I always wondered if she’d survived the break of the bond” Theo whispered under his breath. Twin bonds were supposed to be something catastrophic to the survivor of the two when that bond is broken. It’s what has kept him alive when he would have given in long ago. Watching her from his hiding place behind the tall aged oaks on his parents vast property, he felt a twinge of guilt for having shown weakness and stupidity in rushing to her as soon as he hit that old city limit sign. “Don’t come” mother had urged. Always the jealous one when it came to the bond he shared with Annie. If mother wasn’t such a needy, high class drunk, he probably would have believed her when she said Annie was finally excelling in life and stayed gone as she had ordered. Annie did look well enough. Well, that is, before she started stumbling around like a startled chicken in the bushes. What was she doing anyway? Crack, the weight of Theos foot came down just right on a dried twig, the snap echoing in the distance. Jerking back, Theo missed being seen by a second. Daring to peek out, he watched as Annie frantically slammed the door. “Well that went well” Theo muttered. Quietly as he could, Theo skirted the large oaks, carefully placing every step, until he found what Annie was looking for. “What spooked you anyway” Theo muttered as he opened the lock on Annie’s phone with a look. “Hashtag twinning” he chuckled. The small laugh died in his throat as he stared at the message from his old number. “That isn’t me” it read. Oh no. No no no this wasn’t happening again. Buzz buzz... the phone felt too heavy to hold. “I told you I’d be watching.” Theo felt sick. Buzz buzz.... “WE told you there would be consequences.” Theo rushed the front door to no avail. As he raced around back another message came through. This time a picture of Annie. “There will be blood this time.” Theo felt the dizziness start to take him. As he slumped to the ground, a mere inches from the back door, he stared in horror, as the handle slowly started to turn, before everything dimmed out.

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