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[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | A man's gotta make a living, right? And with a talent like this, who wouldn't want to use it?
Day to day I mold my face, my body into something completely different. Your mailman, your mother, your friendly neighborhood Superman--it could be anyone. I prefer the latter--being someone that's close to other people is a lot harder than you'd think. How am I supposed to know your child had a dance recital at 6:30, Ron? I just know your wife didn't want to go.
For a while, I did it almost hourly. I was swamped with work. Superheroes that wanted to get a jump on their arch nemesis, villains wanting to divert the police force so they could rob the farthest bank from the scene of the crime...you name the benevolent deed or heinous crime, and I probably played a role in it.
But being someone else all the time is exhausting work. The physical toll it takes on your body...It's draining. Not that you'd ever know, though. Just take my word for it.
The lesser known effect of this though is the mental strain it takes on you. I numbed myself to it a while ago. And it's not my conscience making its grand appearance like it used to. I learned a long time ago that good and bad is a moral distinction made by people. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a person. I don't even see myself anymore.
To be honest, I don't remember what that person looks like. | *** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | I sit in the smoke-filled room, the only power in my hand; a glass of whiskey on the rocks. The stool is a tad bit uneven, but it makes it interesting trying to balance while sipping away my love.
"What gotcha down?" asks the bartender, a rag tossed over his shoulder while he dries a mug with another. His beard is unkept much like the quality of this place. Cracks scattered across the walls, some holes left by angry patrons, and the weird liquid left on the wooden floorboards.
"Just kinda lost myself, It's been so long since I got to sit down and appreciate who I am. But now I don't even remember *who* I am."
"I'm sorry, what?" he asks, a confused look drops over his face.
I put my arm up, having my elbow rest on the counter. And my skin moves, scales appearing across my arm. Then they begin to flip sporadically, like a coin flipping in the air. But soon, they begin to slow down, coming to a halt. Once a tan tone with hair like a bear, but now smooth and pale like snow. He drops his glass, shattering on impact. His eyes still staring at my arm, unable to take his eyes off it.
"How did you do that?" he asks, jaw-dropped.
"In all honesty, I don't know, for as long as I could remember I could change my physical appearance and tone of voice." I say taking another swig at my whiskey, "I then learned that I can do it with different parts of my body instead of changing as a whole."
"Holy shit,"
"Yep, after doing this for 20 plus years, you begin to forget who you are."
'Damn man, do you need a job or something? Cause I have an open posi-" he starts, but I put my hand up to stop him before he finishes his sentence.
"Money isn't an issue, it never has been." I finish my drink and knock on the table. He brings out the bottle of whiskey, the weight of it causes it to slam.
I look up at him, into his eyes. Sunken, tired, but intrigued by my story. I can smell my own breath, and even he has the kindness not to mention it. "Leave the bottle." He nods.
"I make so much money, and I hold so much fuckin' knowledge," I say tapping my temples as I look deeper into his eyes.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"I know every single superhero and villains' secret identity. Did you know *Shade* works as an *accountant*?"
"How do you know this?" he asks basically on the edge of his seat.
"They show me," I pour myself another glass, downing half of it in an instant. "They pay me to look like them as they do battles against one another. So that they can be in two places at once and so that their identity remains a secret. I've been interviewed a couple of times about the consipracy theories towards people like Shade."
"Damn that's incredible," he says.
"Yeah, and I always have a new face every day. And it got to the point where I forgot what I look like. I don't know if I'm White, Black, Asian, Latinx, or even a guy." I say before my skin began to scale. The scales flipping like before, but instead, now they change shape in some places. My chest begins to grow out a bit along with my rear end. While my hips slowly shrink, along with my overall height.
"I-I just forgot who I am..." I say before a tear forms and rolls down my face. | *** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | It was a lucky break, I guess. I'd always used my ability for pettier things like shifting into some fast food place's manager to get a free meal, getting by under the radar. The world had enough heroes and villains and I wanted no part in the charades. Then the headlines broke out: Someone had caught Batman leaving Wayne Manor on camera. I saw the opportunity, something that'd set me for life.
​
That night I shifted into one of the waiters and snuck into the charity gala that Bruce was hosting. The little note was handed to him barely poking out from under the plate; he looked at me, panicked, so unBatmanlike I doubted the rumors were true for a minute. I guess he was desperate enough to show up to the meeting place, clad in the black suit and shifty as hell.
​
"You're not the waiter" he stated lamely. The guy wasn't half as intimidating as I expected. Maybe it was the circumstances.
​
"Well yes, but no. I can be whoever I need to be," I smiled slyly, feeling comfortable in my newly borrowed body, "and whoever *you* need me to be."
​
Turns out impersonating Bruce Wayne was easier than expected and everyone was happy afterwards. The cover story turned my one time appointment into a reoccurring gig. It was a very lucrative job. Soon, Batman had recommended me to some of his buddies and word got around. All you'll ever hear about me, though, are mere whispers. | *** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | As I walked into the meeting place I had set up for New Yorks local crime-fighters for my scheduled meeting with Ms. Ballistic, I wasn't expecting to come face-to-face with her entire team of do-gooders. "Now, you guys know the rules. One meeting, one super. Since it was Ms. Ballistic who called me here, I will wait for the rest of you to leave the building before starting this meeting." In times like these, I am thankful for the mask that we set up as the way to establish my identity, for the simple fact that it hides how tired I am getting of people trying to get around the rules that make this system work.
When the extraneous members refuse to leave the room, I sigh and sit in my seet and prop my feet on the table. "Let me guess, you want the names of the local bigshots. You do realize that you aren't the first group to try this, and you won't be the last, right? Have you considered why no one else was able to leave with the names of their nemesis?"
"None of them could get you to talk because they don't have what we have-." The Sleuth speaks up, the brains of this group with his genetically enhanced iq last recorded to exceed 900.
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of finishing the sentance, I cut in with "What do you think you have that others didn't? A trap? An army of police waiting to arrest me if I don't cooperate?"
With a slight chuckle and a look of superiority, The Sleuth continued, "We have your name, Johnathan Greaves."
With a slight nod, I took a moment to give the impression of thinking before replying, "So you figured out one of my identities, but what makes you think that none of the other supers who got a boost to their intelligence could get that far? If the risk of losing a cover ID was all it would take to make me talk, don't you think I would have given up *somebody's* name by now? You really need to do better than that. I have had villains threaten me with death, both my own and those I care about, torture, same parameters, heroes have threatened me with jail time, pain, outing my identity, the whole nine yards. Why should I take your threat any more seriously?"
"You would really risk your your mother knowing about what you have been doing while she is fighting cancer to protect some scum?" Ms. Ballistic looked aphalled at the idea.
"Yes. Without hesitation. You know why? It took an aweful long time to get this much trust from the super community and I won't throw away all of that hard work for nothing, because if I give up any names now, every super will want my head to keep me from spilling any more. Every. Single. One. Revealing my identity now would ony serve to bolster my reputation because they will know I don't break under pressure."
This time, Beastman stepped forward. "Wait, every super? How could you possibly know every super's identity?"
"Finally! Someone asking the smart question! You know, I can count on one hand the number of people who actually thought to ask that question. And as a reward for asking the *right* question, I will answer it with another. How many supers do you know of who can fly, or have super strength, or got a lot smarter? There seem to be a lot of powers that are pretty common, aren't there?"
Slowly and one-by-one, each member of the team widened their eyes with the dawning realization, unsuprisingly, The Sleuth was the last one to come to the conclusion that everyone else had. "You aren't the only Shifter..."
"Now, if that is all, I will be taking my leave, I have another appointment in Vegas that started 30 seconds ago." As I eft the building, I couldn't help but chuckle at how the best and brightest could all be so dull. | *** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | Who am I?
I've been a blind lawyer in a gentrified corner of New York City. An office and all that, all to myself. Believe it or not, dealing with clients was rather easy. They tell you your problems you take notes, try to drag it out as long as you can so that your pay goes up, promise you'll find some cases and precedents and then calculate the fee. The hardest part was updating *my* client through his earpiece the day's events while he's off fighting ninja called the Heel or something. I give him the full details. The one time I omitted something, apparently he could tell by my heartbeat through the phone.
I've also been a billionaire industrialist for a time. All I had to do was stick on a blue lightbulb on my chest and a business suit that would've costed more than I used to make in a year, drink and flirt and attend a few functions. That wasn't so bad, I had access to a garage of supercars and a private fleet of aircraft at a moment's notice. Just be sure to talk tech often enough, keep up the snark and quips and take extra care of his girl. Her name's Pepper. You can probably tell by the freckles on her face.
There's was also a time I've been a photojournalist for that yellow rag the Bugle. That... That was not fun. Apparently the only volume setting Jackass J. Jameson has is "loudly". Jeez I'm only 20, I've got college papers to write, new lenses to buy for the camera on a freelancers' salary, dates and bookings to remember and an elderly aunt to dote on. The perks? May can cook, and she can cook well. And I gotta say, Mary-Jane really does have a face for cinema and a voice for radio. The way calls me Tiger would put shivers down your spine. Though giving his living conditions, he's the only guy I don't ask a paycheck for. Peter's a good kid.
And recently? Recently, I've been asked to take the role of a girl in New Jersey. Real fangirl of the spandex crowd, that one. The parents are overbearing and some of their sayings get lost in translation when they switch to Urdu, but they mean well. Amir's unprompted sermons do get annoying though. Go out the door and promise Ami and Abu for good grades, head to the Circle Q, meet up with Bruno, Zoe and Nakia there, walk and talk to school, do the whole 9-to-3 routine, go home, do some homework and add a new chapter to the Captain Marvel fanfiction she's been working on. All while she's busy... Somewhere living out things her fanfictions only dream of with the *actual* Captain Marvel. Good news, the fanficcing translates well to writing stories and I managed to get some original material published in the school zine.
So what do I get at the end of all this? A great paycheck for providing needed services and a *hell* of a CV. I know it ain't as sexy as whatever Mystique is up to, or as profitable as Chameleon's heists, but I can say for certain it keeps me out of the Raft AND gives me a steady paycheck. Of course they try to pry some secrets out of me during our monthly meet ups, but I am happy to tell them that thanks to the sanctity of my confidentiality, I've never gone out of money before and I've never dealt with identity theft, courtesy of those Skrulls. If they actually know how to operate outside of their Empire-building business, they could've put us all out of business a long time ago. Or that latverian fuck. Good thing he's so narcissistic, the only infiltrators and impersonators he makes are of himself. They do bear a frightening resemblance to him.
And in this world? Anonymity and privacy is something that money can't buy. | *** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | The doorbell rang. When Timothy Reid went to meet the stranger, two very special men stood opposite from each other. Timothy was in his mid thirties, a rather boring attorney by day, a gangster by night. Not just any gangster, but a greatly feared villain, successful at evading both the police and a number of heroes.
The man on the other side was harder to describe. He could have been anywhere between twenty and forty, his eyes old, but his body heavy and strong like a bull. Nonetheless, when he moved to shake the villains hand, he moved like a dancer, graceful and quick. A soft smile flashed over his lips.
"Hello." He said.
"Come in." Timothy moved to the side to let the stranger enter. And in that short moment he looked away, he noticed that he could not remember what his opposite looked like. However remarkable the stranger was, he was just as forgettable. "What is your name?"
"Timothy Reid." The stranger answered. For in that second that the door closed behind him, he had transformed. The real Timothy wanted to respond, but the impersonator cut him off. "Neither of us have the time for pleasantries and I think it's rather obvious that I'm not going to tell you anything about me. Sign the contract and be on your way."
"I'm not sure you want to talk that way with me."
"I can talk with you any way I want to. See, Timothy, I deal with a lot of clients like you. Similar problem, similar power, similar lust for control. Do you really think I would walk into anybody's home without security protocols? No. *I'm* pretty sure you don't want to find out what they look like. Sign the contract. 500$ an hour. It's the same for everybody. Deal with it."
Timothy Reid grumbled, but he was smart enough to know what battles to fight. He knew this wasn't one of them. He needed this man. "You know who I am? What I act like? What businesses I run? Who to trust? We haven't spent a minute together and you are to take over my life for 12 hours!"
"My dear Timothy, the spent the last two weeks with you. I know everything I need to. Now go. I will meet you in a couple hours." | *** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | "It has been confirmed, the feared villain known as Kronos is not, in fact, Dr. Chris Lenton. Sources today confirmed sighting the two men together in Copper Square, Dr. Lenton as Kronos' prisoner. This footage shows-"
I shut the TV off with a satisfied huff, cutting off the news anchor mid-sentence. Another villain's identity safe, another successful mission. I looked over to the calendar at the other side of my small apartment, squinting to make out my tiny script written there. I had another appointment today. Time to get ready.
With a quick flourish, my body changed from the toned, muscular structure of Kronos, to the short, slim body I always used for these meets. It wasn't my preferred look, but it was necessary to protect my identity. I snorted to myself. The irony was palpable.
Picking up my keys, I headed out the front door and slid into my car. The GPS on the dash already had the meeting place keyed into it and it directed me to pull out and head left down my street. I didn't really need the GPS, I'd done this enough times to know the way by heart, but the little automated voice was somehow... comforting to me.
I drove without really paying attention to the road, thinking about the meeting. I was to meet the heroine Steel. She was the most feared of the heroes, indestructible in nature, and able to form large weapons of some sort of metal. I was 99% certain what she used was not steel, but who was I to argue? 'Tungsten' didn't exactly have the same ring to it as 'Steel', so I didn't blame her for choosing the name.
I pulled up to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town and stepped out of the car. Before shutting and locking the door, however, I reached into the back and pulled a duality mask from the seat. This was my signature. This was how you knew you had the right person.
The left half of the mask was painted to resemble a scowling man with heavy lids and a thick brow. The right was a delicate woman, all smiles, a twinkle in her eye. I slid the mask onto my face, clicking it into the hood of my jacket to secure it. I peered through the tiny eye holes, up at the warehouse and made my way inside.
The warehouse was full of materials left behind by the previous owner, collecting dust. Boxes were stacked high, crates of various molding items spilled their contents onto the floor. Somewhere in this maze of decay, Steel would be waiting for me. A hidden office in the back of the warehouse should be where she was.
I made my way to the office, sliding inside and shutting the door behind me. A strong hand clamped down on my shoulder and I froze, turning my head slightly to the side. Steel stood beside me, studying me. She was in civilian clothes, just as I'd asked. Her signature steel grey hair was tied back from her face. She looked angry.
"So, you're the Shifter, huh?" She eyed me balefully. "You're not what I was expecting."
"I am never what anyone expects," I replied. My voice shifted and rolled, my vocal cords constantly changing to create my own voice masking. "Are you ready to get down to business?"
Steel looked suspicious, but she nodded. "Very well. I would like you to be at the corner of Wallace and Grave tomorrow. 4pm."
I raised an eyebrow. That was oddly specific. " What happens then?"
Steel scowled. "Must you know?"
I nodded curtly. "Yes. In order to be accurate to you, I must know. Unless you want the whole world to know who you are, Ms. Jones."
Steel's eyebrows shot up. "Is that a threat?"
"No, simply a warning."
"Well let me give you a warning, Mr. Genther."
I froze. That was my birth name. How in the hell did she know my birth name? I recovered quickly, but Steel must have seen my reaction in my body language and she grinned maliciously.
"So, I was right. You are Tyler Genther, aka the Shifter. You've had a pretty nice operation going here, but now it's time to bring you down."
A pit formed in my stomach. Not good not good not good not good- I cleared my throat nervously, forcing a commanding tone into my voice. "That name has no power over me, Steel. You can't harm me with it."
"Sure I can!" she said sweetly, batting her eyelashes at me. "Especially when all of your other aliases are tied in one way or another to it. Like Maria Sanchez. And Brian Castell. And-"
"That's enough." I held up a hand, forestalling her. "What do you want from me?"
"That's simple: Tell me the names of all the villains you've worked for and their aliases and I won't expose you to the world."
I blinked. Was that it? A chuckle began to rise in my throat, spilling from me in a guttural, animalistic sound. Steel looked mildly startled by my reaction. She was, no doubt, expecting me to be scared.
"You- you think," I wheezed, trying to pull myself together, "that that scares me in the slightest?" I straightened, tearing the mask from my face and looking Steel straight in the eyes. "I could expose you. I could expose you today. I could expose you tomorrow. I could expose you in a few years and you would never see it coming. you would have nowhere to hide. But me? I can change how I look, I can change who I'm attached to, I can change where I work! I can hide so effectively, even your buddy Mr. X-ray can't find me!"
Steel began to back away as my voice rose with each syllable.
"Do you understand? I OWN YOU!"
She nodded, perplexed, still backing away toward the door. Her hand scrabbled for the door handle and she nodded, stepping through the door. "I understand, I'll just go now."
I nodded, composing myself. "You do that. And remember, next time you think of threatening the Shifter, what I can do to you is so much worse than what you can do to me." | *** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | “I won’t agree to that job.”
I stared across the booth at Dirk, who hissed at me angrily in response, the flicking of his tongue practically a dead giveaway of his alter ego, The Serpant. It lashes out a mere four inches in front of me. When I started out, his demeanor would have shaken me, but now, more sure of my principles and my leverage, I held firm.
“What is so wrong with my plan?” He snarled across the table.
“Too high of a potential casualty count,” I responded.
“But who cares about the casualty count!” He wailed, earning glance from other patrons in the dark bar. He quickly hunkered to make himself small, and whispered into the table, “The casualties are worth the price.”
“Not to me they aren’t,” I replied, and as he glanced up at me, I saw his pupils turn from slits to black. I gazed into them, a poker face on the outside, but always slightly unnerved by those eyes.
“I agree with the principle,” I assured him, “but unless you can find another way, I can’t help you. You would have had to come up with a slightly different plan anyway, as I am booked on Wednesday. If destroying a hospital wing means so much to you, you can wait a week and come up with something better.”
He slumped into the booth cushions, seething at me but saying nothing. I knew he would not push back. If he went ahead with it anyway, especially if he lied to me about a different plan to throw me off, I would blacklist him. Once he solicited my services, his plans were almost more in my control than his.
“Fine,” he finally muttered, without making eye contact.
“Great, I’ll meet you here next week to discuss then.” As I stood up, I threw a few bills on the table for my drinks before striding out of the bar.
I knew Dirk would not follow. He, like many, had tried the first few times we met, but after I raised prices in retaliation, he stopped. Still, I had to be cautious when I slipped to another form.
When I had made it a few blocks, I changed to a young gangly man at the top of the steps of the subway station. Once on the train, I switched to an older man while walking between cars. Finally, just around the block from my next meeting, I shifted to one of my most common forms, a solid woman, in her late fifties, with an intimidating sharp face, softened slightly by waves of hair that fell to her shoulders.
A chime went off as I opened the door to a small cafe. The owner waved as I came in and poured a cup of coffee in front of me as I sat down.
“Thank you Lisa,” I smiled up at her, and she smiled back with a nice “of course, dear” before padding back behind the counter.
As I waited for my colleague to arrive, I drank my coffee and thought about Dirk’s proposal. He wanted to destroy the hospital, to cause people to be less willing to put themselves in his way as he sowed other terror throughout the city. I had talked him down to just a wing, but we had not yet decided on which one, and how.
In better times, I would not partake in this plan at all, but more recently the council had been vetoing my propositions for budget allocation, claiming that the hospital was operating fine, even though it was severely under-resourced and hemorrhaging good doctors due to low salaries. If it was to be partially destroyed, there was no way I would be denied money to fix it back up, allowing for improvements. Desperate times, as they say.
As I took a sip of coffee, my appointment walked through the door.
“Mayor Blayson,” He greeted me with a nod.
“Councilman Jones,” I smiled across the table. “Let’s talk about your position on the health services budget.” | *** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | Gaining trust is not easy.
It's established piece by piece -- asking how the kids are, shooting the breeze over a beer, learning what someone's favorite food is. Heroes and villains are notoriously guarded, but I know what pushes their buttons. They're all plagued by the same insecurities - the fear of becoming irrelevant, of not making their mark.
I've had clients from The Purifier to The Untethered, The Jack-of-All-Trades to Magnet Man. But The Vaporizer had a particularly unusual request.
He invited me over for coffee one day. As soon as we sat down, he instantly opened up to me.
"Look, Sam - that's your name, right? Sam?"
I nodded.
He took a sip of his coffee, hands trembling, and continued. "I'm trying to get out of the game, if you know what I mean. I'm exhausted. You know how many people are up my ass because of what I've done? Bank robberies, beatdowns, tax evasion - the works. I don't have time to --"
I cut him off. "So what exactly do you expect me to do?"
"I want you to go out there as me. As I am now. And while I deal with my problems, I want you to do the nicest things you can imagine. Hold doors open, help old folks across the street. *Anything.* If people start to associate my face with the 'nice guy,' their suspicions will evaporate."
I shrugged. "All right, sure. But I'm gonna need some things from you. Let's start with your ID."
He fished out his wallet and handed it over. I studied it for a moment and instantly morphed into a pitch-perfect recreation of his face, build, and clothing, accurate down to every last pore.
"I'll be off, then," I said, grinning cheerily.
The plan worked swimmingly, all things considered. People started to leave flowers and thank-you notes outside the former Vaporizer's door. He managed to get a couple job interviews. His kids seemed to enjoy being around him.
One day, I made a friendly suggestion. "Hey, have you ever considered donating to charity? Something like the County Orphanage?" The Vaporizer provided his bank account information without hesitation. I made a $100 donation in his name - his real name, Todd Higgins - and a letter of thanks from the orphanage followed soon afterward.
I typically find myself juggling clients. Doing a couple hours in this identity, another couple in that one. After a month of helping Todd out, I decided it was time to make my move. I stuck a letter in his mailbox.
"Dear Todd,
It's your pal Sam. I appreciate everything you've shared with me these past couple weeks. Unfortunately, I'm a busy man, and it's time for me to move on.
I hope you've found my services sufficient. But I want to offer a friendly reminder that I own you now. I have your bank accounts, your Social Security Number, and your face. I can break you in seconds. And if you don't send me $20,000 within 48 hours, that's exactly what I'll do.
Think carefully about your next decision.
Your dearest friend,
Sam."
I sent a burner PayPal link to his email, registered under my "Sam" alias. Todd sent the money by the end of the day. I cashed out and wiped the PayPal from existence.
It's hard making a living. I have to scrounge just like everyone else. But I have an advantage that no one else does.
Tomorrow, I will be a different person. | *** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | \[CW\] Non-graphic mention of suicide
In the everlasting fight between good and evil, between hero and villain, between justice and lawlessness, very little is considered neutral ground. Nobody is ever really, entirely safe from having some C-tier baddie flung through a highrise window, destroying their property and sending a cavalcade of glass shards at, and sometimes through, a day-to-day salaryman trying to enjoy TV. Naturally, Valiant, the company that sponsors a majority of the heroes, will cover the medical bills, along with an additional four or five digit bonus entitled “Damages”. Some would call that hush money, and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong.
Only fifteen years ago, a twenty year old man named Nadir Wasem tragically passed away. The young metahuman, born with what was thought to be Grade 2 mimicry, left a suicide note behind, citing a long-standing untreated depression, overwhelming stress, and a chronic pain in the lower spine that made it impossible for him to focus on the hours upon hours of work piled on him by his metahuman scholarship program. His apartment was cleaned to perfection, handwritten notes for pre-medical classes lined his work table, and his cat, an animal the landlady was quite fond of, was likewise missing. The police did not spend long searching for Nadir - scouring the neighborhoods of New York for the body of a young immigrant did not appeal to them, and they presumed the local homeless populace would eventually turn up with the man’s corpse.
This was not the case, nor was it possible. Unlike most other deaths, Nadir’s didn’t yield a body, but instead a new, faceless, nameless man who disappeared into the shadows of the tight, linear alleyways. The man who was, at birth, presumed a mediocre metahuman with a power that aligned more closely with pranks and party tricks than heroism and villainy, was actually a prime specimen of a mimic. Capable of morphing into anyone, assimilating their personality, vocal quirks, and mannerisms from extremely limited observation, Nadir hid his abilities and bided his time until he could vanish.
Karim, the Faceless Man, built his name quickly - as quickly as a clandestine neutral party that doesn’t exist in the public eye can, anyway - he cooperated with crime lords to hide murders, to testify against claims of corruption, and to morph into family and lovers and undermine members of the local office. Then, he worked with desperate police detectives, finding and bringing them evidence they could never even hope to find. No matter the job, he was always a different person, with a different voice, tattoos and scars in new places every time - for a long while, nobody even knew it was one man playing both sides.
Ilana found him first. She made a big mistake, taking on a villain while under the influence of a less-than-legal narcotic. Blundering through the fight, and failing to control her own power levels, she left many more people injured than the Maniac would have alone - ironically, injuring civilians was never part of his MO. While Starwoman could rebuild her reputation, perhaps with a heart-wrenching overcoming of addiction story, Illana Alois couldn’t risk any connections being drawn. Her construction company was doing incredibly well, especially now that they had been contracted to fix Starwoman’s mess.
As it goes, a hefty wad of cash changed hands, and for several weeks, Ilana was quite notably found in her office at the same exact time as Starwoman made her apologetic statements to the press. It was an easy job, as Karim found Ilana to be an exceedingly dull, uninteresting person whose “real” life’s passions consisted of amassing wealth and reinvesting it. On the contrary, the Faceless Man was quite creative with how he spent his generous paycheck. Using some underground connections, he was able to install a heartbeat detector in his body, and he set up a secure web server in a location that not even the most experienced wanderer of NYC’s streets could easily locate. With that in place, he began to collect every piece of information he could about the biggest heroes, and villains, around.
After Ilana, Karim turned body-doubling into a full time job, replacing mild mannered business people as they morphed into massive demons and wreaked havoc, replacing eccentric millionaires as they donned arbitrarily animal-shaped suits and beat up poor thieves in the night, and replacing famous opera singers as they took off to steal the most guarded items in the world for their own sick pleasures. With each contract, his great list of buried, hidden sins grew, and his own persona slowly slipped away, his own mannerisms and tone replaced with the most favorable elements of those he saw in others.
Over the years he had done the job, he had become a perfectly charismatic amalgam - he even kept a pet face he occasionally returned to when he wandered the streets. It was perfectly imperfect, an attractive young middle-eastern man whose face was as handsome as it could be without seeming unusual or artificial. Sexual conquests proved easy for him, as did stumbling upon party scenes and all the deviously appealing horrors that came with it. Karim began to succumb to weekly drunkenness, a reliance on party drugs to enjoy life, and an ever present gnawing lust for new faces, new, strange people to absorb.
Life seemed too routine, too predictable, too easy to model. After the greatest three years of his life, and a two-year period of constant dissatisfaction, he had averaged to complete hollowness.
(I’m a little busy today, but I might continue this story a little later) | The first two that came to me I thought was just a coincident. Like I run and own a multinational company chances are two people would be connected by my company. But when the fifth came to hire me as a shapeshifter it started getting insane. Now I've been hired by almost all superheros and villains beside one of each and all of them are directly connected to my business or me. Almost 70 percent of them are my employees and the other thirty are either business partners or close friends. I do find it funny when I have a meeting schedule with a superhero and a super villain and they both cancel because of something coming up and then I can almost always flick in the news and see them fighting on 5th Avenue. Now it's time to meet the last super villain and then later today the last super hero.
I was not expecting the two biggest names in super hero and villain work to be these two. My own to children my daughter Suzy is the world's most feared villain and her twin brother Lucifer the most revered hero. Now I have the awkward decision to make tell them who I am and what to do or to pretend to be them. Though I could just ground them for all enernity like come on you are both twelve, didnt tell me you had powers, and started trying to destroy and or save the world. Though it may be problematic with my wife being each other theirs head assistant. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | A man's gotta make a living, right? And with a talent like this, who wouldn't want to use it?
Day to day I mold my face, my body into something completely different. Your mailman, your mother, your friendly neighborhood Superman--it could be anyone. I prefer the latter--being someone that's close to other people is a lot harder than you'd think. How am I supposed to know your child had a dance recital at 6:30, Ron? I just know your wife didn't want to go.
For a while, I did it almost hourly. I was swamped with work. Superheroes that wanted to get a jump on their arch nemesis, villains wanting to divert the police force so they could rob the farthest bank from the scene of the crime...you name the benevolent deed or heinous crime, and I probably played a role in it.
But being someone else all the time is exhausting work. The physical toll it takes on your body...It's draining. Not that you'd ever know, though. Just take my word for it.
The lesser known effect of this though is the mental strain it takes on you. I numbed myself to it a while ago. And it's not my conscience making its grand appearance like it used to. I learned a long time ago that good and bad is a moral distinction made by people. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a person. I don't even see myself anymore.
To be honest, I don't remember what that person looks like. | The first two that came to me I thought was just a coincident. Like I run and own a multinational company chances are two people would be connected by my company. But when the fifth came to hire me as a shapeshifter it started getting insane. Now I've been hired by almost all superheros and villains beside one of each and all of them are directly connected to my business or me. Almost 70 percent of them are my employees and the other thirty are either business partners or close friends. I do find it funny when I have a meeting schedule with a superhero and a super villain and they both cancel because of something coming up and then I can almost always flick in the news and see them fighting on 5th Avenue. Now it's time to meet the last super villain and then later today the last super hero.
I was not expecting the two biggest names in super hero and villain work to be these two. My own to children my daughter Suzy is the world's most feared villain and her twin brother Lucifer the most revered hero. Now I have the awkward decision to make tell them who I am and what to do or to pretend to be them. Though I could just ground them for all enernity like come on you are both twelve, didnt tell me you had powers, and started trying to destroy and or save the world. Though it may be problematic with my wife being each other theirs head assistant. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | I sit in the smoke-filled room, the only power in my hand; a glass of whiskey on the rocks. The stool is a tad bit uneven, but it makes it interesting trying to balance while sipping away my love.
"What gotcha down?" asks the bartender, a rag tossed over his shoulder while he dries a mug with another. His beard is unkept much like the quality of this place. Cracks scattered across the walls, some holes left by angry patrons, and the weird liquid left on the wooden floorboards.
"Just kinda lost myself, It's been so long since I got to sit down and appreciate who I am. But now I don't even remember *who* I am."
"I'm sorry, what?" he asks, a confused look drops over his face.
I put my arm up, having my elbow rest on the counter. And my skin moves, scales appearing across my arm. Then they begin to flip sporadically, like a coin flipping in the air. But soon, they begin to slow down, coming to a halt. Once a tan tone with hair like a bear, but now smooth and pale like snow. He drops his glass, shattering on impact. His eyes still staring at my arm, unable to take his eyes off it.
"How did you do that?" he asks, jaw-dropped.
"In all honesty, I don't know, for as long as I could remember I could change my physical appearance and tone of voice." I say taking another swig at my whiskey, "I then learned that I can do it with different parts of my body instead of changing as a whole."
"Holy shit,"
"Yep, after doing this for 20 plus years, you begin to forget who you are."
'Damn man, do you need a job or something? Cause I have an open posi-" he starts, but I put my hand up to stop him before he finishes his sentence.
"Money isn't an issue, it never has been." I finish my drink and knock on the table. He brings out the bottle of whiskey, the weight of it causes it to slam.
I look up at him, into his eyes. Sunken, tired, but intrigued by my story. I can smell my own breath, and even he has the kindness not to mention it. "Leave the bottle." He nods.
"I make so much money, and I hold so much fuckin' knowledge," I say tapping my temples as I look deeper into his eyes.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"I know every single superhero and villains' secret identity. Did you know *Shade* works as an *accountant*?"
"How do you know this?" he asks basically on the edge of his seat.
"They show me," I pour myself another glass, downing half of it in an instant. "They pay me to look like them as they do battles against one another. So that they can be in two places at once and so that their identity remains a secret. I've been interviewed a couple of times about the consipracy theories towards people like Shade."
"Damn that's incredible," he says.
"Yeah, and I always have a new face every day. And it got to the point where I forgot what I look like. I don't know if I'm White, Black, Asian, Latinx, or even a guy." I say before my skin began to scale. The scales flipping like before, but instead, now they change shape in some places. My chest begins to grow out a bit along with my rear end. While my hips slowly shrink, along with my overall height.
"I-I just forgot who I am..." I say before a tear forms and rolls down my face. | The first two that came to me I thought was just a coincident. Like I run and own a multinational company chances are two people would be connected by my company. But when the fifth came to hire me as a shapeshifter it started getting insane. Now I've been hired by almost all superheros and villains beside one of each and all of them are directly connected to my business or me. Almost 70 percent of them are my employees and the other thirty are either business partners or close friends. I do find it funny when I have a meeting schedule with a superhero and a super villain and they both cancel because of something coming up and then I can almost always flick in the news and see them fighting on 5th Avenue. Now it's time to meet the last super villain and then later today the last super hero.
I was not expecting the two biggest names in super hero and villain work to be these two. My own to children my daughter Suzy is the world's most feared villain and her twin brother Lucifer the most revered hero. Now I have the awkward decision to make tell them who I am and what to do or to pretend to be them. Though I could just ground them for all enernity like come on you are both twelve, didnt tell me you had powers, and started trying to destroy and or save the world. Though it may be problematic with my wife being each other theirs head assistant. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | It was a lucky break, I guess. I'd always used my ability for pettier things like shifting into some fast food place's manager to get a free meal, getting by under the radar. The world had enough heroes and villains and I wanted no part in the charades. Then the headlines broke out: Someone had caught Batman leaving Wayne Manor on camera. I saw the opportunity, something that'd set me for life.
​
That night I shifted into one of the waiters and snuck into the charity gala that Bruce was hosting. The little note was handed to him barely poking out from under the plate; he looked at me, panicked, so unBatmanlike I doubted the rumors were true for a minute. I guess he was desperate enough to show up to the meeting place, clad in the black suit and shifty as hell.
​
"You're not the waiter" he stated lamely. The guy wasn't half as intimidating as I expected. Maybe it was the circumstances.
​
"Well yes, but no. I can be whoever I need to be," I smiled slyly, feeling comfortable in my newly borrowed body, "and whoever *you* need me to be."
​
Turns out impersonating Bruce Wayne was easier than expected and everyone was happy afterwards. The cover story turned my one time appointment into a reoccurring gig. It was a very lucrative job. Soon, Batman had recommended me to some of his buddies and word got around. All you'll ever hear about me, though, are mere whispers. | The first two that came to me I thought was just a coincident. Like I run and own a multinational company chances are two people would be connected by my company. But when the fifth came to hire me as a shapeshifter it started getting insane. Now I've been hired by almost all superheros and villains beside one of each and all of them are directly connected to my business or me. Almost 70 percent of them are my employees and the other thirty are either business partners or close friends. I do find it funny when I have a meeting schedule with a superhero and a super villain and they both cancel because of something coming up and then I can almost always flick in the news and see them fighting on 5th Avenue. Now it's time to meet the last super villain and then later today the last super hero.
I was not expecting the two biggest names in super hero and villain work to be these two. My own to children my daughter Suzy is the world's most feared villain and her twin brother Lucifer the most revered hero. Now I have the awkward decision to make tell them who I am and what to do or to pretend to be them. Though I could just ground them for all enernity like come on you are both twelve, didnt tell me you had powers, and started trying to destroy and or save the world. Though it may be problematic with my wife being each other theirs head assistant. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | As I walked into the meeting place I had set up for New Yorks local crime-fighters for my scheduled meeting with Ms. Ballistic, I wasn't expecting to come face-to-face with her entire team of do-gooders. "Now, you guys know the rules. One meeting, one super. Since it was Ms. Ballistic who called me here, I will wait for the rest of you to leave the building before starting this meeting." In times like these, I am thankful for the mask that we set up as the way to establish my identity, for the simple fact that it hides how tired I am getting of people trying to get around the rules that make this system work.
When the extraneous members refuse to leave the room, I sigh and sit in my seet and prop my feet on the table. "Let me guess, you want the names of the local bigshots. You do realize that you aren't the first group to try this, and you won't be the last, right? Have you considered why no one else was able to leave with the names of their nemesis?"
"None of them could get you to talk because they don't have what we have-." The Sleuth speaks up, the brains of this group with his genetically enhanced iq last recorded to exceed 900.
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of finishing the sentance, I cut in with "What do you think you have that others didn't? A trap? An army of police waiting to arrest me if I don't cooperate?"
With a slight chuckle and a look of superiority, The Sleuth continued, "We have your name, Johnathan Greaves."
With a slight nod, I took a moment to give the impression of thinking before replying, "So you figured out one of my identities, but what makes you think that none of the other supers who got a boost to their intelligence could get that far? If the risk of losing a cover ID was all it would take to make me talk, don't you think I would have given up *somebody's* name by now? You really need to do better than that. I have had villains threaten me with death, both my own and those I care about, torture, same parameters, heroes have threatened me with jail time, pain, outing my identity, the whole nine yards. Why should I take your threat any more seriously?"
"You would really risk your your mother knowing about what you have been doing while she is fighting cancer to protect some scum?" Ms. Ballistic looked aphalled at the idea.
"Yes. Without hesitation. You know why? It took an aweful long time to get this much trust from the super community and I won't throw away all of that hard work for nothing, because if I give up any names now, every super will want my head to keep me from spilling any more. Every. Single. One. Revealing my identity now would ony serve to bolster my reputation because they will know I don't break under pressure."
This time, Beastman stepped forward. "Wait, every super? How could you possibly know every super's identity?"
"Finally! Someone asking the smart question! You know, I can count on one hand the number of people who actually thought to ask that question. And as a reward for asking the *right* question, I will answer it with another. How many supers do you know of who can fly, or have super strength, or got a lot smarter? There seem to be a lot of powers that are pretty common, aren't there?"
Slowly and one-by-one, each member of the team widened their eyes with the dawning realization, unsuprisingly, The Sleuth was the last one to come to the conclusion that everyone else had. "You aren't the only Shifter..."
"Now, if that is all, I will be taking my leave, I have another appointment in Vegas that started 30 seconds ago." As I eft the building, I couldn't help but chuckle at how the best and brightest could all be so dull. | The first two that came to me I thought was just a coincident. Like I run and own a multinational company chances are two people would be connected by my company. But when the fifth came to hire me as a shapeshifter it started getting insane. Now I've been hired by almost all superheros and villains beside one of each and all of them are directly connected to my business or me. Almost 70 percent of them are my employees and the other thirty are either business partners or close friends. I do find it funny when I have a meeting schedule with a superhero and a super villain and they both cancel because of something coming up and then I can almost always flick in the news and see them fighting on 5th Avenue. Now it's time to meet the last super villain and then later today the last super hero.
I was not expecting the two biggest names in super hero and villain work to be these two. My own to children my daughter Suzy is the world's most feared villain and her twin brother Lucifer the most revered hero. Now I have the awkward decision to make tell them who I am and what to do or to pretend to be them. Though I could just ground them for all enernity like come on you are both twelve, didnt tell me you had powers, and started trying to destroy and or save the world. Though it may be problematic with my wife being each other theirs head assistant. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | Who am I?
I've been a blind lawyer in a gentrified corner of New York City. An office and all that, all to myself. Believe it or not, dealing with clients was rather easy. They tell you your problems you take notes, try to drag it out as long as you can so that your pay goes up, promise you'll find some cases and precedents and then calculate the fee. The hardest part was updating *my* client through his earpiece the day's events while he's off fighting ninja called the Heel or something. I give him the full details. The one time I omitted something, apparently he could tell by my heartbeat through the phone.
I've also been a billionaire industrialist for a time. All I had to do was stick on a blue lightbulb on my chest and a business suit that would've costed more than I used to make in a year, drink and flirt and attend a few functions. That wasn't so bad, I had access to a garage of supercars and a private fleet of aircraft at a moment's notice. Just be sure to talk tech often enough, keep up the snark and quips and take extra care of his girl. Her name's Pepper. You can probably tell by the freckles on her face.
There's was also a time I've been a photojournalist for that yellow rag the Bugle. That... That was not fun. Apparently the only volume setting Jackass J. Jameson has is "loudly". Jeez I'm only 20, I've got college papers to write, new lenses to buy for the camera on a freelancers' salary, dates and bookings to remember and an elderly aunt to dote on. The perks? May can cook, and she can cook well. And I gotta say, Mary-Jane really does have a face for cinema and a voice for radio. The way calls me Tiger would put shivers down your spine. Though giving his living conditions, he's the only guy I don't ask a paycheck for. Peter's a good kid.
And recently? Recently, I've been asked to take the role of a girl in New Jersey. Real fangirl of the spandex crowd, that one. The parents are overbearing and some of their sayings get lost in translation when they switch to Urdu, but they mean well. Amir's unprompted sermons do get annoying though. Go out the door and promise Ami and Abu for good grades, head to the Circle Q, meet up with Bruno, Zoe and Nakia there, walk and talk to school, do the whole 9-to-3 routine, go home, do some homework and add a new chapter to the Captain Marvel fanfiction she's been working on. All while she's busy... Somewhere living out things her fanfictions only dream of with the *actual* Captain Marvel. Good news, the fanficcing translates well to writing stories and I managed to get some original material published in the school zine.
So what do I get at the end of all this? A great paycheck for providing needed services and a *hell* of a CV. I know it ain't as sexy as whatever Mystique is up to, or as profitable as Chameleon's heists, but I can say for certain it keeps me out of the Raft AND gives me a steady paycheck. Of course they try to pry some secrets out of me during our monthly meet ups, but I am happy to tell them that thanks to the sanctity of my confidentiality, I've never gone out of money before and I've never dealt with identity theft, courtesy of those Skrulls. If they actually know how to operate outside of their Empire-building business, they could've put us all out of business a long time ago. Or that latverian fuck. Good thing he's so narcissistic, the only infiltrators and impersonators he makes are of himself. They do bear a frightening resemblance to him.
And in this world? Anonymity and privacy is something that money can't buy. | The first two that came to me I thought was just a coincident. Like I run and own a multinational company chances are two people would be connected by my company. But when the fifth came to hire me as a shapeshifter it started getting insane. Now I've been hired by almost all superheros and villains beside one of each and all of them are directly connected to my business or me. Almost 70 percent of them are my employees and the other thirty are either business partners or close friends. I do find it funny when I have a meeting schedule with a superhero and a super villain and they both cancel because of something coming up and then I can almost always flick in the news and see them fighting on 5th Avenue. Now it's time to meet the last super villain and then later today the last super hero.
I was not expecting the two biggest names in super hero and villain work to be these two. My own to children my daughter Suzy is the world's most feared villain and her twin brother Lucifer the most revered hero. Now I have the awkward decision to make tell them who I am and what to do or to pretend to be them. Though I could just ground them for all enernity like come on you are both twelve, didnt tell me you had powers, and started trying to destroy and or save the world. Though it may be problematic with my wife being each other theirs head assistant. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | The doorbell rang. When Timothy Reid went to meet the stranger, two very special men stood opposite from each other. Timothy was in his mid thirties, a rather boring attorney by day, a gangster by night. Not just any gangster, but a greatly feared villain, successful at evading both the police and a number of heroes.
The man on the other side was harder to describe. He could have been anywhere between twenty and forty, his eyes old, but his body heavy and strong like a bull. Nonetheless, when he moved to shake the villains hand, he moved like a dancer, graceful and quick. A soft smile flashed over his lips.
"Hello." He said.
"Come in." Timothy moved to the side to let the stranger enter. And in that short moment he looked away, he noticed that he could not remember what his opposite looked like. However remarkable the stranger was, he was just as forgettable. "What is your name?"
"Timothy Reid." The stranger answered. For in that second that the door closed behind him, he had transformed. The real Timothy wanted to respond, but the impersonator cut him off. "Neither of us have the time for pleasantries and I think it's rather obvious that I'm not going to tell you anything about me. Sign the contract and be on your way."
"I'm not sure you want to talk that way with me."
"I can talk with you any way I want to. See, Timothy, I deal with a lot of clients like you. Similar problem, similar power, similar lust for control. Do you really think I would walk into anybody's home without security protocols? No. *I'm* pretty sure you don't want to find out what they look like. Sign the contract. 500$ an hour. It's the same for everybody. Deal with it."
Timothy Reid grumbled, but he was smart enough to know what battles to fight. He knew this wasn't one of them. He needed this man. "You know who I am? What I act like? What businesses I run? Who to trust? We haven't spent a minute together and you are to take over my life for 12 hours!"
"My dear Timothy, the spent the last two weeks with you. I know everything I need to. Now go. I will meet you in a couple hours." | The first two that came to me I thought was just a coincident. Like I run and own a multinational company chances are two people would be connected by my company. But when the fifth came to hire me as a shapeshifter it started getting insane. Now I've been hired by almost all superheros and villains beside one of each and all of them are directly connected to my business or me. Almost 70 percent of them are my employees and the other thirty are either business partners or close friends. I do find it funny when I have a meeting schedule with a superhero and a super villain and they both cancel because of something coming up and then I can almost always flick in the news and see them fighting on 5th Avenue. Now it's time to meet the last super villain and then later today the last super hero.
I was not expecting the two biggest names in super hero and villain work to be these two. My own to children my daughter Suzy is the world's most feared villain and her twin brother Lucifer the most revered hero. Now I have the awkward decision to make tell them who I am and what to do or to pretend to be them. Though I could just ground them for all enernity like come on you are both twelve, didnt tell me you had powers, and started trying to destroy and or save the world. Though it may be problematic with my wife being each other theirs head assistant. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | "It has been confirmed, the feared villain known as Kronos is not, in fact, Dr. Chris Lenton. Sources today confirmed sighting the two men together in Copper Square, Dr. Lenton as Kronos' prisoner. This footage shows-"
I shut the TV off with a satisfied huff, cutting off the news anchor mid-sentence. Another villain's identity safe, another successful mission. I looked over to the calendar at the other side of my small apartment, squinting to make out my tiny script written there. I had another appointment today. Time to get ready.
With a quick flourish, my body changed from the toned, muscular structure of Kronos, to the short, slim body I always used for these meets. It wasn't my preferred look, but it was necessary to protect my identity. I snorted to myself. The irony was palpable.
Picking up my keys, I headed out the front door and slid into my car. The GPS on the dash already had the meeting place keyed into it and it directed me to pull out and head left down my street. I didn't really need the GPS, I'd done this enough times to know the way by heart, but the little automated voice was somehow... comforting to me.
I drove without really paying attention to the road, thinking about the meeting. I was to meet the heroine Steel. She was the most feared of the heroes, indestructible in nature, and able to form large weapons of some sort of metal. I was 99% certain what she used was not steel, but who was I to argue? 'Tungsten' didn't exactly have the same ring to it as 'Steel', so I didn't blame her for choosing the name.
I pulled up to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town and stepped out of the car. Before shutting and locking the door, however, I reached into the back and pulled a duality mask from the seat. This was my signature. This was how you knew you had the right person.
The left half of the mask was painted to resemble a scowling man with heavy lids and a thick brow. The right was a delicate woman, all smiles, a twinkle in her eye. I slid the mask onto my face, clicking it into the hood of my jacket to secure it. I peered through the tiny eye holes, up at the warehouse and made my way inside.
The warehouse was full of materials left behind by the previous owner, collecting dust. Boxes were stacked high, crates of various molding items spilled their contents onto the floor. Somewhere in this maze of decay, Steel would be waiting for me. A hidden office in the back of the warehouse should be where she was.
I made my way to the office, sliding inside and shutting the door behind me. A strong hand clamped down on my shoulder and I froze, turning my head slightly to the side. Steel stood beside me, studying me. She was in civilian clothes, just as I'd asked. Her signature steel grey hair was tied back from her face. She looked angry.
"So, you're the Shifter, huh?" She eyed me balefully. "You're not what I was expecting."
"I am never what anyone expects," I replied. My voice shifted and rolled, my vocal cords constantly changing to create my own voice masking. "Are you ready to get down to business?"
Steel looked suspicious, but she nodded. "Very well. I would like you to be at the corner of Wallace and Grave tomorrow. 4pm."
I raised an eyebrow. That was oddly specific. " What happens then?"
Steel scowled. "Must you know?"
I nodded curtly. "Yes. In order to be accurate to you, I must know. Unless you want the whole world to know who you are, Ms. Jones."
Steel's eyebrows shot up. "Is that a threat?"
"No, simply a warning."
"Well let me give you a warning, Mr. Genther."
I froze. That was my birth name. How in the hell did she know my birth name? I recovered quickly, but Steel must have seen my reaction in my body language and she grinned maliciously.
"So, I was right. You are Tyler Genther, aka the Shifter. You've had a pretty nice operation going here, but now it's time to bring you down."
A pit formed in my stomach. Not good not good not good not good- I cleared my throat nervously, forcing a commanding tone into my voice. "That name has no power over me, Steel. You can't harm me with it."
"Sure I can!" she said sweetly, batting her eyelashes at me. "Especially when all of your other aliases are tied in one way or another to it. Like Maria Sanchez. And Brian Castell. And-"
"That's enough." I held up a hand, forestalling her. "What do you want from me?"
"That's simple: Tell me the names of all the villains you've worked for and their aliases and I won't expose you to the world."
I blinked. Was that it? A chuckle began to rise in my throat, spilling from me in a guttural, animalistic sound. Steel looked mildly startled by my reaction. She was, no doubt, expecting me to be scared.
"You- you think," I wheezed, trying to pull myself together, "that that scares me in the slightest?" I straightened, tearing the mask from my face and looking Steel straight in the eyes. "I could expose you. I could expose you today. I could expose you tomorrow. I could expose you in a few years and you would never see it coming. you would have nowhere to hide. But me? I can change how I look, I can change who I'm attached to, I can change where I work! I can hide so effectively, even your buddy Mr. X-ray can't find me!"
Steel began to back away as my voice rose with each syllable.
"Do you understand? I OWN YOU!"
She nodded, perplexed, still backing away toward the door. Her hand scrabbled for the door handle and she nodded, stepping through the door. "I understand, I'll just go now."
I nodded, composing myself. "You do that. And remember, next time you think of threatening the Shifter, what I can do to you is so much worse than what you can do to me." | The first two that came to me I thought was just a coincident. Like I run and own a multinational company chances are two people would be connected by my company. But when the fifth came to hire me as a shapeshifter it started getting insane. Now I've been hired by almost all superheros and villains beside one of each and all of them are directly connected to my business or me. Almost 70 percent of them are my employees and the other thirty are either business partners or close friends. I do find it funny when I have a meeting schedule with a superhero and a super villain and they both cancel because of something coming up and then I can almost always flick in the news and see them fighting on 5th Avenue. Now it's time to meet the last super villain and then later today the last super hero.
I was not expecting the two biggest names in super hero and villain work to be these two. My own to children my daughter Suzy is the world's most feared villain and her twin brother Lucifer the most revered hero. Now I have the awkward decision to make tell them who I am and what to do or to pretend to be them. Though I could just ground them for all enernity like come on you are both twelve, didnt tell me you had powers, and started trying to destroy and or save the world. Though it may be problematic with my wife being each other theirs head assistant. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | “I won’t agree to that job.”
I stared across the booth at Dirk, who hissed at me angrily in response, the flicking of his tongue practically a dead giveaway of his alter ego, The Serpant. It lashes out a mere four inches in front of me. When I started out, his demeanor would have shaken me, but now, more sure of my principles and my leverage, I held firm.
“What is so wrong with my plan?” He snarled across the table.
“Too high of a potential casualty count,” I responded.
“But who cares about the casualty count!” He wailed, earning glance from other patrons in the dark bar. He quickly hunkered to make himself small, and whispered into the table, “The casualties are worth the price.”
“Not to me they aren’t,” I replied, and as he glanced up at me, I saw his pupils turn from slits to black. I gazed into them, a poker face on the outside, but always slightly unnerved by those eyes.
“I agree with the principle,” I assured him, “but unless you can find another way, I can’t help you. You would have had to come up with a slightly different plan anyway, as I am booked on Wednesday. If destroying a hospital wing means so much to you, you can wait a week and come up with something better.”
He slumped into the booth cushions, seething at me but saying nothing. I knew he would not push back. If he went ahead with it anyway, especially if he lied to me about a different plan to throw me off, I would blacklist him. Once he solicited my services, his plans were almost more in my control than his.
“Fine,” he finally muttered, without making eye contact.
“Great, I’ll meet you here next week to discuss then.” As I stood up, I threw a few bills on the table for my drinks before striding out of the bar.
I knew Dirk would not follow. He, like many, had tried the first few times we met, but after I raised prices in retaliation, he stopped. Still, I had to be cautious when I slipped to another form.
When I had made it a few blocks, I changed to a young gangly man at the top of the steps of the subway station. Once on the train, I switched to an older man while walking between cars. Finally, just around the block from my next meeting, I shifted to one of my most common forms, a solid woman, in her late fifties, with an intimidating sharp face, softened slightly by waves of hair that fell to her shoulders.
A chime went off as I opened the door to a small cafe. The owner waved as I came in and poured a cup of coffee in front of me as I sat down.
“Thank you Lisa,” I smiled up at her, and she smiled back with a nice “of course, dear” before padding back behind the counter.
As I waited for my colleague to arrive, I drank my coffee and thought about Dirk’s proposal. He wanted to destroy the hospital, to cause people to be less willing to put themselves in his way as he sowed other terror throughout the city. I had talked him down to just a wing, but we had not yet decided on which one, and how.
In better times, I would not partake in this plan at all, but more recently the council had been vetoing my propositions for budget allocation, claiming that the hospital was operating fine, even though it was severely under-resourced and hemorrhaging good doctors due to low salaries. If it was to be partially destroyed, there was no way I would be denied money to fix it back up, allowing for improvements. Desperate times, as they say.
As I took a sip of coffee, my appointment walked through the door.
“Mayor Blayson,” He greeted me with a nod.
“Councilman Jones,” I smiled across the table. “Let’s talk about your position on the health services budget.” | The first two that came to me I thought was just a coincident. Like I run and own a multinational company chances are two people would be connected by my company. But when the fifth came to hire me as a shapeshifter it started getting insane. Now I've been hired by almost all superheros and villains beside one of each and all of them are directly connected to my business or me. Almost 70 percent of them are my employees and the other thirty are either business partners or close friends. I do find it funny when I have a meeting schedule with a superhero and a super villain and they both cancel because of something coming up and then I can almost always flick in the news and see them fighting on 5th Avenue. Now it's time to meet the last super villain and then later today the last super hero.
I was not expecting the two biggest names in super hero and villain work to be these two. My own to children my daughter Suzy is the world's most feared villain and her twin brother Lucifer the most revered hero. Now I have the awkward decision to make tell them who I am and what to do or to pretend to be them. Though I could just ground them for all enernity like come on you are both twelve, didnt tell me you had powers, and started trying to destroy and or save the world. Though it may be problematic with my wife being each other theirs head assistant. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | Gaining trust is not easy.
It's established piece by piece -- asking how the kids are, shooting the breeze over a beer, learning what someone's favorite food is. Heroes and villains are notoriously guarded, but I know what pushes their buttons. They're all plagued by the same insecurities - the fear of becoming irrelevant, of not making their mark.
I've had clients from The Purifier to The Untethered, The Jack-of-All-Trades to Magnet Man. But The Vaporizer had a particularly unusual request.
He invited me over for coffee one day. As soon as we sat down, he instantly opened up to me.
"Look, Sam - that's your name, right? Sam?"
I nodded.
He took a sip of his coffee, hands trembling, and continued. "I'm trying to get out of the game, if you know what I mean. I'm exhausted. You know how many people are up my ass because of what I've done? Bank robberies, beatdowns, tax evasion - the works. I don't have time to --"
I cut him off. "So what exactly do you expect me to do?"
"I want you to go out there as me. As I am now. And while I deal with my problems, I want you to do the nicest things you can imagine. Hold doors open, help old folks across the street. *Anything.* If people start to associate my face with the 'nice guy,' their suspicions will evaporate."
I shrugged. "All right, sure. But I'm gonna need some things from you. Let's start with your ID."
He fished out his wallet and handed it over. I studied it for a moment and instantly morphed into a pitch-perfect recreation of his face, build, and clothing, accurate down to every last pore.
"I'll be off, then," I said, grinning cheerily.
The plan worked swimmingly, all things considered. People started to leave flowers and thank-you notes outside the former Vaporizer's door. He managed to get a couple job interviews. His kids seemed to enjoy being around him.
One day, I made a friendly suggestion. "Hey, have you ever considered donating to charity? Something like the County Orphanage?" The Vaporizer provided his bank account information without hesitation. I made a $100 donation in his name - his real name, Todd Higgins - and a letter of thanks from the orphanage followed soon afterward.
I typically find myself juggling clients. Doing a couple hours in this identity, another couple in that one. After a month of helping Todd out, I decided it was time to make my move. I stuck a letter in his mailbox.
"Dear Todd,
It's your pal Sam. I appreciate everything you've shared with me these past couple weeks. Unfortunately, I'm a busy man, and it's time for me to move on.
I hope you've found my services sufficient. But I want to offer a friendly reminder that I own you now. I have your bank accounts, your Social Security Number, and your face. I can break you in seconds. And if you don't send me $20,000 within 48 hours, that's exactly what I'll do.
Think carefully about your next decision.
Your dearest friend,
Sam."
I sent a burner PayPal link to his email, registered under my "Sam" alias. Todd sent the money by the end of the day. I cashed out and wiped the PayPal from existence.
It's hard making a living. I have to scrounge just like everyone else. But I have an advantage that no one else does.
Tomorrow, I will be a different person. | The first two that came to me I thought was just a coincident. Like I run and own a multinational company chances are two people would be connected by my company. But when the fifth came to hire me as a shapeshifter it started getting insane. Now I've been hired by almost all superheros and villains beside one of each and all of them are directly connected to my business or me. Almost 70 percent of them are my employees and the other thirty are either business partners or close friends. I do find it funny when I have a meeting schedule with a superhero and a super villain and they both cancel because of something coming up and then I can almost always flick in the news and see them fighting on 5th Avenue. Now it's time to meet the last super villain and then later today the last super hero.
I was not expecting the two biggest names in super hero and villain work to be these two. My own to children my daughter Suzy is the world's most feared villain and her twin brother Lucifer the most revered hero. Now I have the awkward decision to make tell them who I am and what to do or to pretend to be them. Though I could just ground them for all enernity like come on you are both twelve, didnt tell me you had powers, and started trying to destroy and or save the world. Though it may be problematic with my wife being each other theirs head assistant. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | I sit in the smoke-filled room, the only power in my hand; a glass of whiskey on the rocks. The stool is a tad bit uneven, but it makes it interesting trying to balance while sipping away my love.
"What gotcha down?" asks the bartender, a rag tossed over his shoulder while he dries a mug with another. His beard is unkept much like the quality of this place. Cracks scattered across the walls, some holes left by angry patrons, and the weird liquid left on the wooden floorboards.
"Just kinda lost myself, It's been so long since I got to sit down and appreciate who I am. But now I don't even remember *who* I am."
"I'm sorry, what?" he asks, a confused look drops over his face.
I put my arm up, having my elbow rest on the counter. And my skin moves, scales appearing across my arm. Then they begin to flip sporadically, like a coin flipping in the air. But soon, they begin to slow down, coming to a halt. Once a tan tone with hair like a bear, but now smooth and pale like snow. He drops his glass, shattering on impact. His eyes still staring at my arm, unable to take his eyes off it.
"How did you do that?" he asks, jaw-dropped.
"In all honesty, I don't know, for as long as I could remember I could change my physical appearance and tone of voice." I say taking another swig at my whiskey, "I then learned that I can do it with different parts of my body instead of changing as a whole."
"Holy shit,"
"Yep, after doing this for 20 plus years, you begin to forget who you are."
'Damn man, do you need a job or something? Cause I have an open posi-" he starts, but I put my hand up to stop him before he finishes his sentence.
"Money isn't an issue, it never has been." I finish my drink and knock on the table. He brings out the bottle of whiskey, the weight of it causes it to slam.
I look up at him, into his eyes. Sunken, tired, but intrigued by my story. I can smell my own breath, and even he has the kindness not to mention it. "Leave the bottle." He nods.
"I make so much money, and I hold so much fuckin' knowledge," I say tapping my temples as I look deeper into his eyes.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"I know every single superhero and villains' secret identity. Did you know *Shade* works as an *accountant*?"
"How do you know this?" he asks basically on the edge of his seat.
"They show me," I pour myself another glass, downing half of it in an instant. "They pay me to look like them as they do battles against one another. So that they can be in two places at once and so that their identity remains a secret. I've been interviewed a couple of times about the consipracy theories towards people like Shade."
"Damn that's incredible," he says.
"Yeah, and I always have a new face every day. And it got to the point where I forgot what I look like. I don't know if I'm White, Black, Asian, Latinx, or even a guy." I say before my skin began to scale. The scales flipping like before, but instead, now they change shape in some places. My chest begins to grow out a bit along with my rear end. While my hips slowly shrink, along with my overall height.
"I-I just forgot who I am..." I say before a tear forms and rolls down my face. | A man's gotta make a living, right? And with a talent like this, who wouldn't want to use it?
Day to day I mold my face, my body into something completely different. Your mailman, your mother, your friendly neighborhood Superman--it could be anyone. I prefer the latter--being someone that's close to other people is a lot harder than you'd think. How am I supposed to know your child had a dance recital at 6:30, Ron? I just know your wife didn't want to go.
For a while, I did it almost hourly. I was swamped with work. Superheroes that wanted to get a jump on their arch nemesis, villains wanting to divert the police force so they could rob the farthest bank from the scene of the crime...you name the benevolent deed or heinous crime, and I probably played a role in it.
But being someone else all the time is exhausting work. The physical toll it takes on your body...It's draining. Not that you'd ever know, though. Just take my word for it.
The lesser known effect of this though is the mental strain it takes on you. I numbed myself to it a while ago. And it's not my conscience making its grand appearance like it used to. I learned a long time ago that good and bad is a moral distinction made by people. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a person. I don't even see myself anymore.
To be honest, I don't remember what that person looks like. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | As I walked into the meeting place I had set up for New Yorks local crime-fighters for my scheduled meeting with Ms. Ballistic, I wasn't expecting to come face-to-face with her entire team of do-gooders. "Now, you guys know the rules. One meeting, one super. Since it was Ms. Ballistic who called me here, I will wait for the rest of you to leave the building before starting this meeting." In times like these, I am thankful for the mask that we set up as the way to establish my identity, for the simple fact that it hides how tired I am getting of people trying to get around the rules that make this system work.
When the extraneous members refuse to leave the room, I sigh and sit in my seet and prop my feet on the table. "Let me guess, you want the names of the local bigshots. You do realize that you aren't the first group to try this, and you won't be the last, right? Have you considered why no one else was able to leave with the names of their nemesis?"
"None of them could get you to talk because they don't have what we have-." The Sleuth speaks up, the brains of this group with his genetically enhanced iq last recorded to exceed 900.
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of finishing the sentance, I cut in with "What do you think you have that others didn't? A trap? An army of police waiting to arrest me if I don't cooperate?"
With a slight chuckle and a look of superiority, The Sleuth continued, "We have your name, Johnathan Greaves."
With a slight nod, I took a moment to give the impression of thinking before replying, "So you figured out one of my identities, but what makes you think that none of the other supers who got a boost to their intelligence could get that far? If the risk of losing a cover ID was all it would take to make me talk, don't you think I would have given up *somebody's* name by now? You really need to do better than that. I have had villains threaten me with death, both my own and those I care about, torture, same parameters, heroes have threatened me with jail time, pain, outing my identity, the whole nine yards. Why should I take your threat any more seriously?"
"You would really risk your your mother knowing about what you have been doing while she is fighting cancer to protect some scum?" Ms. Ballistic looked aphalled at the idea.
"Yes. Without hesitation. You know why? It took an aweful long time to get this much trust from the super community and I won't throw away all of that hard work for nothing, because if I give up any names now, every super will want my head to keep me from spilling any more. Every. Single. One. Revealing my identity now would ony serve to bolster my reputation because they will know I don't break under pressure."
This time, Beastman stepped forward. "Wait, every super? How could you possibly know every super's identity?"
"Finally! Someone asking the smart question! You know, I can count on one hand the number of people who actually thought to ask that question. And as a reward for asking the *right* question, I will answer it with another. How many supers do you know of who can fly, or have super strength, or got a lot smarter? There seem to be a lot of powers that are pretty common, aren't there?"
Slowly and one-by-one, each member of the team widened their eyes with the dawning realization, unsuprisingly, The Sleuth was the last one to come to the conclusion that everyone else had. "You aren't the only Shifter..."
"Now, if that is all, I will be taking my leave, I have another appointment in Vegas that started 30 seconds ago." As I eft the building, I couldn't help but chuckle at how the best and brightest could all be so dull. | A man's gotta make a living, right? And with a talent like this, who wouldn't want to use it?
Day to day I mold my face, my body into something completely different. Your mailman, your mother, your friendly neighborhood Superman--it could be anyone. I prefer the latter--being someone that's close to other people is a lot harder than you'd think. How am I supposed to know your child had a dance recital at 6:30, Ron? I just know your wife didn't want to go.
For a while, I did it almost hourly. I was swamped with work. Superheroes that wanted to get a jump on their arch nemesis, villains wanting to divert the police force so they could rob the farthest bank from the scene of the crime...you name the benevolent deed or heinous crime, and I probably played a role in it.
But being someone else all the time is exhausting work. The physical toll it takes on your body...It's draining. Not that you'd ever know, though. Just take my word for it.
The lesser known effect of this though is the mental strain it takes on you. I numbed myself to it a while ago. And it's not my conscience making its grand appearance like it used to. I learned a long time ago that good and bad is a moral distinction made by people. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a person. I don't even see myself anymore.
To be honest, I don't remember what that person looks like. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | As I walked into the meeting place I had set up for New Yorks local crime-fighters for my scheduled meeting with Ms. Ballistic, I wasn't expecting to come face-to-face with her entire team of do-gooders. "Now, you guys know the rules. One meeting, one super. Since it was Ms. Ballistic who called me here, I will wait for the rest of you to leave the building before starting this meeting." In times like these, I am thankful for the mask that we set up as the way to establish my identity, for the simple fact that it hides how tired I am getting of people trying to get around the rules that make this system work.
When the extraneous members refuse to leave the room, I sigh and sit in my seet and prop my feet on the table. "Let me guess, you want the names of the local bigshots. You do realize that you aren't the first group to try this, and you won't be the last, right? Have you considered why no one else was able to leave with the names of their nemesis?"
"None of them could get you to talk because they don't have what we have-." The Sleuth speaks up, the brains of this group with his genetically enhanced iq last recorded to exceed 900.
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of finishing the sentance, I cut in with "What do you think you have that others didn't? A trap? An army of police waiting to arrest me if I don't cooperate?"
With a slight chuckle and a look of superiority, The Sleuth continued, "We have your name, Johnathan Greaves."
With a slight nod, I took a moment to give the impression of thinking before replying, "So you figured out one of my identities, but what makes you think that none of the other supers who got a boost to their intelligence could get that far? If the risk of losing a cover ID was all it would take to make me talk, don't you think I would have given up *somebody's* name by now? You really need to do better than that. I have had villains threaten me with death, both my own and those I care about, torture, same parameters, heroes have threatened me with jail time, pain, outing my identity, the whole nine yards. Why should I take your threat any more seriously?"
"You would really risk your your mother knowing about what you have been doing while she is fighting cancer to protect some scum?" Ms. Ballistic looked aphalled at the idea.
"Yes. Without hesitation. You know why? It took an aweful long time to get this much trust from the super community and I won't throw away all of that hard work for nothing, because if I give up any names now, every super will want my head to keep me from spilling any more. Every. Single. One. Revealing my identity now would ony serve to bolster my reputation because they will know I don't break under pressure."
This time, Beastman stepped forward. "Wait, every super? How could you possibly know every super's identity?"
"Finally! Someone asking the smart question! You know, I can count on one hand the number of people who actually thought to ask that question. And as a reward for asking the *right* question, I will answer it with another. How many supers do you know of who can fly, or have super strength, or got a lot smarter? There seem to be a lot of powers that are pretty common, aren't there?"
Slowly and one-by-one, each member of the team widened their eyes with the dawning realization, unsuprisingly, The Sleuth was the last one to come to the conclusion that everyone else had. "You aren't the only Shifter..."
"Now, if that is all, I will be taking my leave, I have another appointment in Vegas that started 30 seconds ago." As I eft the building, I couldn't help but chuckle at how the best and brightest could all be so dull. | It was a lucky break, I guess. I'd always used my ability for pettier things like shifting into some fast food place's manager to get a free meal, getting by under the radar. The world had enough heroes and villains and I wanted no part in the charades. Then the headlines broke out: Someone had caught Batman leaving Wayne Manor on camera. I saw the opportunity, something that'd set me for life.
​
That night I shifted into one of the waiters and snuck into the charity gala that Bruce was hosting. The little note was handed to him barely poking out from under the plate; he looked at me, panicked, so unBatmanlike I doubted the rumors were true for a minute. I guess he was desperate enough to show up to the meeting place, clad in the black suit and shifty as hell.
​
"You're not the waiter" he stated lamely. The guy wasn't half as intimidating as I expected. Maybe it was the circumstances.
​
"Well yes, but no. I can be whoever I need to be," I smiled slyly, feeling comfortable in my newly borrowed body, "and whoever *you* need me to be."
​
Turns out impersonating Bruce Wayne was easier than expected and everyone was happy afterwards. The cover story turned my one time appointment into a reoccurring gig. It was a very lucrative job. Soon, Batman had recommended me to some of his buddies and word got around. All you'll ever hear about me, though, are mere whispers. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | Who am I?
I've been a blind lawyer in a gentrified corner of New York City. An office and all that, all to myself. Believe it or not, dealing with clients was rather easy. They tell you your problems you take notes, try to drag it out as long as you can so that your pay goes up, promise you'll find some cases and precedents and then calculate the fee. The hardest part was updating *my* client through his earpiece the day's events while he's off fighting ninja called the Heel or something. I give him the full details. The one time I omitted something, apparently he could tell by my heartbeat through the phone.
I've also been a billionaire industrialist for a time. All I had to do was stick on a blue lightbulb on my chest and a business suit that would've costed more than I used to make in a year, drink and flirt and attend a few functions. That wasn't so bad, I had access to a garage of supercars and a private fleet of aircraft at a moment's notice. Just be sure to talk tech often enough, keep up the snark and quips and take extra care of his girl. Her name's Pepper. You can probably tell by the freckles on her face.
There's was also a time I've been a photojournalist for that yellow rag the Bugle. That... That was not fun. Apparently the only volume setting Jackass J. Jameson has is "loudly". Jeez I'm only 20, I've got college papers to write, new lenses to buy for the camera on a freelancers' salary, dates and bookings to remember and an elderly aunt to dote on. The perks? May can cook, and she can cook well. And I gotta say, Mary-Jane really does have a face for cinema and a voice for radio. The way calls me Tiger would put shivers down your spine. Though giving his living conditions, he's the only guy I don't ask a paycheck for. Peter's a good kid.
And recently? Recently, I've been asked to take the role of a girl in New Jersey. Real fangirl of the spandex crowd, that one. The parents are overbearing and some of their sayings get lost in translation when they switch to Urdu, but they mean well. Amir's unprompted sermons do get annoying though. Go out the door and promise Ami and Abu for good grades, head to the Circle Q, meet up with Bruno, Zoe and Nakia there, walk and talk to school, do the whole 9-to-3 routine, go home, do some homework and add a new chapter to the Captain Marvel fanfiction she's been working on. All while she's busy... Somewhere living out things her fanfictions only dream of with the *actual* Captain Marvel. Good news, the fanficcing translates well to writing stories and I managed to get some original material published in the school zine.
So what do I get at the end of all this? A great paycheck for providing needed services and a *hell* of a CV. I know it ain't as sexy as whatever Mystique is up to, or as profitable as Chameleon's heists, but I can say for certain it keeps me out of the Raft AND gives me a steady paycheck. Of course they try to pry some secrets out of me during our monthly meet ups, but I am happy to tell them that thanks to the sanctity of my confidentiality, I've never gone out of money before and I've never dealt with identity theft, courtesy of those Skrulls. If they actually know how to operate outside of their Empire-building business, they could've put us all out of business a long time ago. Or that latverian fuck. Good thing he's so narcissistic, the only infiltrators and impersonators he makes are of himself. They do bear a frightening resemblance to him.
And in this world? Anonymity and privacy is something that money can't buy. | It was a lucky break, I guess. I'd always used my ability for pettier things like shifting into some fast food place's manager to get a free meal, getting by under the radar. The world had enough heroes and villains and I wanted no part in the charades. Then the headlines broke out: Someone had caught Batman leaving Wayne Manor on camera. I saw the opportunity, something that'd set me for life.
​
That night I shifted into one of the waiters and snuck into the charity gala that Bruce was hosting. The little note was handed to him barely poking out from under the plate; he looked at me, panicked, so unBatmanlike I doubted the rumors were true for a minute. I guess he was desperate enough to show up to the meeting place, clad in the black suit and shifty as hell.
​
"You're not the waiter" he stated lamely. The guy wasn't half as intimidating as I expected. Maybe it was the circumstances.
​
"Well yes, but no. I can be whoever I need to be," I smiled slyly, feeling comfortable in my newly borrowed body, "and whoever *you* need me to be."
​
Turns out impersonating Bruce Wayne was easier than expected and everyone was happy afterwards. The cover story turned my one time appointment into a reoccurring gig. It was a very lucrative job. Soon, Batman had recommended me to some of his buddies and word got around. All you'll ever hear about me, though, are mere whispers. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | The doorbell rang. When Timothy Reid went to meet the stranger, two very special men stood opposite from each other. Timothy was in his mid thirties, a rather boring attorney by day, a gangster by night. Not just any gangster, but a greatly feared villain, successful at evading both the police and a number of heroes.
The man on the other side was harder to describe. He could have been anywhere between twenty and forty, his eyes old, but his body heavy and strong like a bull. Nonetheless, when he moved to shake the villains hand, he moved like a dancer, graceful and quick. A soft smile flashed over his lips.
"Hello." He said.
"Come in." Timothy moved to the side to let the stranger enter. And in that short moment he looked away, he noticed that he could not remember what his opposite looked like. However remarkable the stranger was, he was just as forgettable. "What is your name?"
"Timothy Reid." The stranger answered. For in that second that the door closed behind him, he had transformed. The real Timothy wanted to respond, but the impersonator cut him off. "Neither of us have the time for pleasantries and I think it's rather obvious that I'm not going to tell you anything about me. Sign the contract and be on your way."
"I'm not sure you want to talk that way with me."
"I can talk with you any way I want to. See, Timothy, I deal with a lot of clients like you. Similar problem, similar power, similar lust for control. Do you really think I would walk into anybody's home without security protocols? No. *I'm* pretty sure you don't want to find out what they look like. Sign the contract. 500$ an hour. It's the same for everybody. Deal with it."
Timothy Reid grumbled, but he was smart enough to know what battles to fight. He knew this wasn't one of them. He needed this man. "You know who I am? What I act like? What businesses I run? Who to trust? We haven't spent a minute together and you are to take over my life for 12 hours!"
"My dear Timothy, the spent the last two weeks with you. I know everything I need to. Now go. I will meet you in a couple hours." | It was a lucky break, I guess. I'd always used my ability for pettier things like shifting into some fast food place's manager to get a free meal, getting by under the radar. The world had enough heroes and villains and I wanted no part in the charades. Then the headlines broke out: Someone had caught Batman leaving Wayne Manor on camera. I saw the opportunity, something that'd set me for life.
​
That night I shifted into one of the waiters and snuck into the charity gala that Bruce was hosting. The little note was handed to him barely poking out from under the plate; he looked at me, panicked, so unBatmanlike I doubted the rumors were true for a minute. I guess he was desperate enough to show up to the meeting place, clad in the black suit and shifty as hell.
​
"You're not the waiter" he stated lamely. The guy wasn't half as intimidating as I expected. Maybe it was the circumstances.
​
"Well yes, but no. I can be whoever I need to be," I smiled slyly, feeling comfortable in my newly borrowed body, "and whoever *you* need me to be."
​
Turns out impersonating Bruce Wayne was easier than expected and everyone was happy afterwards. The cover story turned my one time appointment into a reoccurring gig. It was a very lucrative job. Soon, Batman had recommended me to some of his buddies and word got around. All you'll ever hear about me, though, are mere whispers. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | "It has been confirmed, the feared villain known as Kronos is not, in fact, Dr. Chris Lenton. Sources today confirmed sighting the two men together in Copper Square, Dr. Lenton as Kronos' prisoner. This footage shows-"
I shut the TV off with a satisfied huff, cutting off the news anchor mid-sentence. Another villain's identity safe, another successful mission. I looked over to the calendar at the other side of my small apartment, squinting to make out my tiny script written there. I had another appointment today. Time to get ready.
With a quick flourish, my body changed from the toned, muscular structure of Kronos, to the short, slim body I always used for these meets. It wasn't my preferred look, but it was necessary to protect my identity. I snorted to myself. The irony was palpable.
Picking up my keys, I headed out the front door and slid into my car. The GPS on the dash already had the meeting place keyed into it and it directed me to pull out and head left down my street. I didn't really need the GPS, I'd done this enough times to know the way by heart, but the little automated voice was somehow... comforting to me.
I drove without really paying attention to the road, thinking about the meeting. I was to meet the heroine Steel. She was the most feared of the heroes, indestructible in nature, and able to form large weapons of some sort of metal. I was 99% certain what she used was not steel, but who was I to argue? 'Tungsten' didn't exactly have the same ring to it as 'Steel', so I didn't blame her for choosing the name.
I pulled up to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town and stepped out of the car. Before shutting and locking the door, however, I reached into the back and pulled a duality mask from the seat. This was my signature. This was how you knew you had the right person.
The left half of the mask was painted to resemble a scowling man with heavy lids and a thick brow. The right was a delicate woman, all smiles, a twinkle in her eye. I slid the mask onto my face, clicking it into the hood of my jacket to secure it. I peered through the tiny eye holes, up at the warehouse and made my way inside.
The warehouse was full of materials left behind by the previous owner, collecting dust. Boxes were stacked high, crates of various molding items spilled their contents onto the floor. Somewhere in this maze of decay, Steel would be waiting for me. A hidden office in the back of the warehouse should be where she was.
I made my way to the office, sliding inside and shutting the door behind me. A strong hand clamped down on my shoulder and I froze, turning my head slightly to the side. Steel stood beside me, studying me. She was in civilian clothes, just as I'd asked. Her signature steel grey hair was tied back from her face. She looked angry.
"So, you're the Shifter, huh?" She eyed me balefully. "You're not what I was expecting."
"I am never what anyone expects," I replied. My voice shifted and rolled, my vocal cords constantly changing to create my own voice masking. "Are you ready to get down to business?"
Steel looked suspicious, but she nodded. "Very well. I would like you to be at the corner of Wallace and Grave tomorrow. 4pm."
I raised an eyebrow. That was oddly specific. " What happens then?"
Steel scowled. "Must you know?"
I nodded curtly. "Yes. In order to be accurate to you, I must know. Unless you want the whole world to know who you are, Ms. Jones."
Steel's eyebrows shot up. "Is that a threat?"
"No, simply a warning."
"Well let me give you a warning, Mr. Genther."
I froze. That was my birth name. How in the hell did she know my birth name? I recovered quickly, but Steel must have seen my reaction in my body language and she grinned maliciously.
"So, I was right. You are Tyler Genther, aka the Shifter. You've had a pretty nice operation going here, but now it's time to bring you down."
A pit formed in my stomach. Not good not good not good not good- I cleared my throat nervously, forcing a commanding tone into my voice. "That name has no power over me, Steel. You can't harm me with it."
"Sure I can!" she said sweetly, batting her eyelashes at me. "Especially when all of your other aliases are tied in one way or another to it. Like Maria Sanchez. And Brian Castell. And-"
"That's enough." I held up a hand, forestalling her. "What do you want from me?"
"That's simple: Tell me the names of all the villains you've worked for and their aliases and I won't expose you to the world."
I blinked. Was that it? A chuckle began to rise in my throat, spilling from me in a guttural, animalistic sound. Steel looked mildly startled by my reaction. She was, no doubt, expecting me to be scared.
"You- you think," I wheezed, trying to pull myself together, "that that scares me in the slightest?" I straightened, tearing the mask from my face and looking Steel straight in the eyes. "I could expose you. I could expose you today. I could expose you tomorrow. I could expose you in a few years and you would never see it coming. you would have nowhere to hide. But me? I can change how I look, I can change who I'm attached to, I can change where I work! I can hide so effectively, even your buddy Mr. X-ray can't find me!"
Steel began to back away as my voice rose with each syllable.
"Do you understand? I OWN YOU!"
She nodded, perplexed, still backing away toward the door. Her hand scrabbled for the door handle and she nodded, stepping through the door. "I understand, I'll just go now."
I nodded, composing myself. "You do that. And remember, next time you think of threatening the Shifter, what I can do to you is so much worse than what you can do to me." | It was a lucky break, I guess. I'd always used my ability for pettier things like shifting into some fast food place's manager to get a free meal, getting by under the radar. The world had enough heroes and villains and I wanted no part in the charades. Then the headlines broke out: Someone had caught Batman leaving Wayne Manor on camera. I saw the opportunity, something that'd set me for life.
​
That night I shifted into one of the waiters and snuck into the charity gala that Bruce was hosting. The little note was handed to him barely poking out from under the plate; he looked at me, panicked, so unBatmanlike I doubted the rumors were true for a minute. I guess he was desperate enough to show up to the meeting place, clad in the black suit and shifty as hell.
​
"You're not the waiter" he stated lamely. The guy wasn't half as intimidating as I expected. Maybe it was the circumstances.
​
"Well yes, but no. I can be whoever I need to be," I smiled slyly, feeling comfortable in my newly borrowed body, "and whoever *you* need me to be."
​
Turns out impersonating Bruce Wayne was easier than expected and everyone was happy afterwards. The cover story turned my one time appointment into a reoccurring gig. It was a very lucrative job. Soon, Batman had recommended me to some of his buddies and word got around. All you'll ever hear about me, though, are mere whispers. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | “I won’t agree to that job.”
I stared across the booth at Dirk, who hissed at me angrily in response, the flicking of his tongue practically a dead giveaway of his alter ego, The Serpant. It lashes out a mere four inches in front of me. When I started out, his demeanor would have shaken me, but now, more sure of my principles and my leverage, I held firm.
“What is so wrong with my plan?” He snarled across the table.
“Too high of a potential casualty count,” I responded.
“But who cares about the casualty count!” He wailed, earning glance from other patrons in the dark bar. He quickly hunkered to make himself small, and whispered into the table, “The casualties are worth the price.”
“Not to me they aren’t,” I replied, and as he glanced up at me, I saw his pupils turn from slits to black. I gazed into them, a poker face on the outside, but always slightly unnerved by those eyes.
“I agree with the principle,” I assured him, “but unless you can find another way, I can’t help you. You would have had to come up with a slightly different plan anyway, as I am booked on Wednesday. If destroying a hospital wing means so much to you, you can wait a week and come up with something better.”
He slumped into the booth cushions, seething at me but saying nothing. I knew he would not push back. If he went ahead with it anyway, especially if he lied to me about a different plan to throw me off, I would blacklist him. Once he solicited my services, his plans were almost more in my control than his.
“Fine,” he finally muttered, without making eye contact.
“Great, I’ll meet you here next week to discuss then.” As I stood up, I threw a few bills on the table for my drinks before striding out of the bar.
I knew Dirk would not follow. He, like many, had tried the first few times we met, but after I raised prices in retaliation, he stopped. Still, I had to be cautious when I slipped to another form.
When I had made it a few blocks, I changed to a young gangly man at the top of the steps of the subway station. Once on the train, I switched to an older man while walking between cars. Finally, just around the block from my next meeting, I shifted to one of my most common forms, a solid woman, in her late fifties, with an intimidating sharp face, softened slightly by waves of hair that fell to her shoulders.
A chime went off as I opened the door to a small cafe. The owner waved as I came in and poured a cup of coffee in front of me as I sat down.
“Thank you Lisa,” I smiled up at her, and she smiled back with a nice “of course, dear” before padding back behind the counter.
As I waited for my colleague to arrive, I drank my coffee and thought about Dirk’s proposal. He wanted to destroy the hospital, to cause people to be less willing to put themselves in his way as he sowed other terror throughout the city. I had talked him down to just a wing, but we had not yet decided on which one, and how.
In better times, I would not partake in this plan at all, but more recently the council had been vetoing my propositions for budget allocation, claiming that the hospital was operating fine, even though it was severely under-resourced and hemorrhaging good doctors due to low salaries. If it was to be partially destroyed, there was no way I would be denied money to fix it back up, allowing for improvements. Desperate times, as they say.
As I took a sip of coffee, my appointment walked through the door.
“Mayor Blayson,” He greeted me with a nod.
“Councilman Jones,” I smiled across the table. “Let’s talk about your position on the health services budget.” | It was a lucky break, I guess. I'd always used my ability for pettier things like shifting into some fast food place's manager to get a free meal, getting by under the radar. The world had enough heroes and villains and I wanted no part in the charades. Then the headlines broke out: Someone had caught Batman leaving Wayne Manor on camera. I saw the opportunity, something that'd set me for life.
​
That night I shifted into one of the waiters and snuck into the charity gala that Bruce was hosting. The little note was handed to him barely poking out from under the plate; he looked at me, panicked, so unBatmanlike I doubted the rumors were true for a minute. I guess he was desperate enough to show up to the meeting place, clad in the black suit and shifty as hell.
​
"You're not the waiter" he stated lamely. The guy wasn't half as intimidating as I expected. Maybe it was the circumstances.
​
"Well yes, but no. I can be whoever I need to be," I smiled slyly, feeling comfortable in my newly borrowed body, "and whoever *you* need me to be."
​
Turns out impersonating Bruce Wayne was easier than expected and everyone was happy afterwards. The cover story turned my one time appointment into a reoccurring gig. It was a very lucrative job. Soon, Batman had recommended me to some of his buddies and word got around. All you'll ever hear about me, though, are mere whispers. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | Gaining trust is not easy.
It's established piece by piece -- asking how the kids are, shooting the breeze over a beer, learning what someone's favorite food is. Heroes and villains are notoriously guarded, but I know what pushes their buttons. They're all plagued by the same insecurities - the fear of becoming irrelevant, of not making their mark.
I've had clients from The Purifier to The Untethered, The Jack-of-All-Trades to Magnet Man. But The Vaporizer had a particularly unusual request.
He invited me over for coffee one day. As soon as we sat down, he instantly opened up to me.
"Look, Sam - that's your name, right? Sam?"
I nodded.
He took a sip of his coffee, hands trembling, and continued. "I'm trying to get out of the game, if you know what I mean. I'm exhausted. You know how many people are up my ass because of what I've done? Bank robberies, beatdowns, tax evasion - the works. I don't have time to --"
I cut him off. "So what exactly do you expect me to do?"
"I want you to go out there as me. As I am now. And while I deal with my problems, I want you to do the nicest things you can imagine. Hold doors open, help old folks across the street. *Anything.* If people start to associate my face with the 'nice guy,' their suspicions will evaporate."
I shrugged. "All right, sure. But I'm gonna need some things from you. Let's start with your ID."
He fished out his wallet and handed it over. I studied it for a moment and instantly morphed into a pitch-perfect recreation of his face, build, and clothing, accurate down to every last pore.
"I'll be off, then," I said, grinning cheerily.
The plan worked swimmingly, all things considered. People started to leave flowers and thank-you notes outside the former Vaporizer's door. He managed to get a couple job interviews. His kids seemed to enjoy being around him.
One day, I made a friendly suggestion. "Hey, have you ever considered donating to charity? Something like the County Orphanage?" The Vaporizer provided his bank account information without hesitation. I made a $100 donation in his name - his real name, Todd Higgins - and a letter of thanks from the orphanage followed soon afterward.
I typically find myself juggling clients. Doing a couple hours in this identity, another couple in that one. After a month of helping Todd out, I decided it was time to make my move. I stuck a letter in his mailbox.
"Dear Todd,
It's your pal Sam. I appreciate everything you've shared with me these past couple weeks. Unfortunately, I'm a busy man, and it's time for me to move on.
I hope you've found my services sufficient. But I want to offer a friendly reminder that I own you now. I have your bank accounts, your Social Security Number, and your face. I can break you in seconds. And if you don't send me $20,000 within 48 hours, that's exactly what I'll do.
Think carefully about your next decision.
Your dearest friend,
Sam."
I sent a burner PayPal link to his email, registered under my "Sam" alias. Todd sent the money by the end of the day. I cashed out and wiped the PayPal from existence.
It's hard making a living. I have to scrounge just like everyone else. But I have an advantage that no one else does.
Tomorrow, I will be a different person. | It was a lucky break, I guess. I'd always used my ability for pettier things like shifting into some fast food place's manager to get a free meal, getting by under the radar. The world had enough heroes and villains and I wanted no part in the charades. Then the headlines broke out: Someone had caught Batman leaving Wayne Manor on camera. I saw the opportunity, something that'd set me for life.
​
That night I shifted into one of the waiters and snuck into the charity gala that Bruce was hosting. The little note was handed to him barely poking out from under the plate; he looked at me, panicked, so unBatmanlike I doubted the rumors were true for a minute. I guess he was desperate enough to show up to the meeting place, clad in the black suit and shifty as hell.
​
"You're not the waiter" he stated lamely. The guy wasn't half as intimidating as I expected. Maybe it was the circumstances.
​
"Well yes, but no. I can be whoever I need to be," I smiled slyly, feeling comfortable in my newly borrowed body, "and whoever *you* need me to be."
​
Turns out impersonating Bruce Wayne was easier than expected and everyone was happy afterwards. The cover story turned my one time appointment into a reoccurring gig. It was a very lucrative job. Soon, Batman had recommended me to some of his buddies and word got around. All you'll ever hear about me, though, are mere whispers. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | The doorbell rang. When Timothy Reid went to meet the stranger, two very special men stood opposite from each other. Timothy was in his mid thirties, a rather boring attorney by day, a gangster by night. Not just any gangster, but a greatly feared villain, successful at evading both the police and a number of heroes.
The man on the other side was harder to describe. He could have been anywhere between twenty and forty, his eyes old, but his body heavy and strong like a bull. Nonetheless, when he moved to shake the villains hand, he moved like a dancer, graceful and quick. A soft smile flashed over his lips.
"Hello." He said.
"Come in." Timothy moved to the side to let the stranger enter. And in that short moment he looked away, he noticed that he could not remember what his opposite looked like. However remarkable the stranger was, he was just as forgettable. "What is your name?"
"Timothy Reid." The stranger answered. For in that second that the door closed behind him, he had transformed. The real Timothy wanted to respond, but the impersonator cut him off. "Neither of us have the time for pleasantries and I think it's rather obvious that I'm not going to tell you anything about me. Sign the contract and be on your way."
"I'm not sure you want to talk that way with me."
"I can talk with you any way I want to. See, Timothy, I deal with a lot of clients like you. Similar problem, similar power, similar lust for control. Do you really think I would walk into anybody's home without security protocols? No. *I'm* pretty sure you don't want to find out what they look like. Sign the contract. 500$ an hour. It's the same for everybody. Deal with it."
Timothy Reid grumbled, but he was smart enough to know what battles to fight. He knew this wasn't one of them. He needed this man. "You know who I am? What I act like? What businesses I run? Who to trust? We haven't spent a minute together and you are to take over my life for 12 hours!"
"My dear Timothy, the spent the last two weeks with you. I know everything I need to. Now go. I will meet you in a couple hours." | "Hey Bruce... Yeah it was a good night. The reporter from the Tribune asked about meeting for coffee again - I told her to talk to your secretary to schedule a meet.... No I can't do it. You have to. She wants to meet you, not me. You know how this works. I cover for you so you can do the Bat thing. I don't live your life... Yes Alfred IS right. You need to take off the suit and be a normal guy or you'll flip like Robin did... What? Oh I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked about him like that, but you do know better than anyone... OK I've got to go, my alarm's going off. Thanks."
He talks too much. It's hard to be him. Big chest. Big voice. Big persona. I don't fill that body well enough. I feel like Bruce hangs off me like a size 9.0 glove on a size 6.5 hand. There's no precision with a fit like that - I can't operate. I guess I do alright though - nobody mainstream has caught on to my ability yet. Recruiting business is hard though. How am I supposed to let the masked men of Gotham know I exist? Bruce was a lucky break, but even he doesn't know more than a few identities in the city. His offsider, Robin - aka boy wonder - aka psychotic break for one - should have used my services more. He was always Robin. He never had a moment as himself. Now he's Robin robbing banks and Robin disrobing in public. Poor guy. Crazy as a ferret with a mouth full of hot sauce. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | "It has been confirmed, the feared villain known as Kronos is not, in fact, Dr. Chris Lenton. Sources today confirmed sighting the two men together in Copper Square, Dr. Lenton as Kronos' prisoner. This footage shows-"
I shut the TV off with a satisfied huff, cutting off the news anchor mid-sentence. Another villain's identity safe, another successful mission. I looked over to the calendar at the other side of my small apartment, squinting to make out my tiny script written there. I had another appointment today. Time to get ready.
With a quick flourish, my body changed from the toned, muscular structure of Kronos, to the short, slim body I always used for these meets. It wasn't my preferred look, but it was necessary to protect my identity. I snorted to myself. The irony was palpable.
Picking up my keys, I headed out the front door and slid into my car. The GPS on the dash already had the meeting place keyed into it and it directed me to pull out and head left down my street. I didn't really need the GPS, I'd done this enough times to know the way by heart, but the little automated voice was somehow... comforting to me.
I drove without really paying attention to the road, thinking about the meeting. I was to meet the heroine Steel. She was the most feared of the heroes, indestructible in nature, and able to form large weapons of some sort of metal. I was 99% certain what she used was not steel, but who was I to argue? 'Tungsten' didn't exactly have the same ring to it as 'Steel', so I didn't blame her for choosing the name.
I pulled up to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town and stepped out of the car. Before shutting and locking the door, however, I reached into the back and pulled a duality mask from the seat. This was my signature. This was how you knew you had the right person.
The left half of the mask was painted to resemble a scowling man with heavy lids and a thick brow. The right was a delicate woman, all smiles, a twinkle in her eye. I slid the mask onto my face, clicking it into the hood of my jacket to secure it. I peered through the tiny eye holes, up at the warehouse and made my way inside.
The warehouse was full of materials left behind by the previous owner, collecting dust. Boxes were stacked high, crates of various molding items spilled their contents onto the floor. Somewhere in this maze of decay, Steel would be waiting for me. A hidden office in the back of the warehouse should be where she was.
I made my way to the office, sliding inside and shutting the door behind me. A strong hand clamped down on my shoulder and I froze, turning my head slightly to the side. Steel stood beside me, studying me. She was in civilian clothes, just as I'd asked. Her signature steel grey hair was tied back from her face. She looked angry.
"So, you're the Shifter, huh?" She eyed me balefully. "You're not what I was expecting."
"I am never what anyone expects," I replied. My voice shifted and rolled, my vocal cords constantly changing to create my own voice masking. "Are you ready to get down to business?"
Steel looked suspicious, but she nodded. "Very well. I would like you to be at the corner of Wallace and Grave tomorrow. 4pm."
I raised an eyebrow. That was oddly specific. " What happens then?"
Steel scowled. "Must you know?"
I nodded curtly. "Yes. In order to be accurate to you, I must know. Unless you want the whole world to know who you are, Ms. Jones."
Steel's eyebrows shot up. "Is that a threat?"
"No, simply a warning."
"Well let me give you a warning, Mr. Genther."
I froze. That was my birth name. How in the hell did she know my birth name? I recovered quickly, but Steel must have seen my reaction in my body language and she grinned maliciously.
"So, I was right. You are Tyler Genther, aka the Shifter. You've had a pretty nice operation going here, but now it's time to bring you down."
A pit formed in my stomach. Not good not good not good not good- I cleared my throat nervously, forcing a commanding tone into my voice. "That name has no power over me, Steel. You can't harm me with it."
"Sure I can!" she said sweetly, batting her eyelashes at me. "Especially when all of your other aliases are tied in one way or another to it. Like Maria Sanchez. And Brian Castell. And-"
"That's enough." I held up a hand, forestalling her. "What do you want from me?"
"That's simple: Tell me the names of all the villains you've worked for and their aliases and I won't expose you to the world."
I blinked. Was that it? A chuckle began to rise in my throat, spilling from me in a guttural, animalistic sound. Steel looked mildly startled by my reaction. She was, no doubt, expecting me to be scared.
"You- you think," I wheezed, trying to pull myself together, "that that scares me in the slightest?" I straightened, tearing the mask from my face and looking Steel straight in the eyes. "I could expose you. I could expose you today. I could expose you tomorrow. I could expose you in a few years and you would never see it coming. you would have nowhere to hide. But me? I can change how I look, I can change who I'm attached to, I can change where I work! I can hide so effectively, even your buddy Mr. X-ray can't find me!"
Steel began to back away as my voice rose with each syllable.
"Do you understand? I OWN YOU!"
She nodded, perplexed, still backing away toward the door. Her hand scrabbled for the door handle and she nodded, stepping through the door. "I understand, I'll just go now."
I nodded, composing myself. "You do that. And remember, next time you think of threatening the Shifter, what I can do to you is so much worse than what you can do to me." | "Hey Bruce... Yeah it was a good night. The reporter from the Tribune asked about meeting for coffee again - I told her to talk to your secretary to schedule a meet.... No I can't do it. You have to. She wants to meet you, not me. You know how this works. I cover for you so you can do the Bat thing. I don't live your life... Yes Alfred IS right. You need to take off the suit and be a normal guy or you'll flip like Robin did... What? Oh I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked about him like that, but you do know better than anyone... OK I've got to go, my alarm's going off. Thanks."
He talks too much. It's hard to be him. Big chest. Big voice. Big persona. I don't fill that body well enough. I feel like Bruce hangs off me like a size 9.0 glove on a size 6.5 hand. There's no precision with a fit like that - I can't operate. I guess I do alright though - nobody mainstream has caught on to my ability yet. Recruiting business is hard though. How am I supposed to let the masked men of Gotham know I exist? Bruce was a lucky break, but even he doesn't know more than a few identities in the city. His offsider, Robin - aka boy wonder - aka psychotic break for one - should have used my services more. He was always Robin. He never had a moment as himself. Now he's Robin robbing banks and Robin disrobing in public. Poor guy. Crazy as a ferret with a mouth full of hot sauce. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | “I won’t agree to that job.”
I stared across the booth at Dirk, who hissed at me angrily in response, the flicking of his tongue practically a dead giveaway of his alter ego, The Serpant. It lashes out a mere four inches in front of me. When I started out, his demeanor would have shaken me, but now, more sure of my principles and my leverage, I held firm.
“What is so wrong with my plan?” He snarled across the table.
“Too high of a potential casualty count,” I responded.
“But who cares about the casualty count!” He wailed, earning glance from other patrons in the dark bar. He quickly hunkered to make himself small, and whispered into the table, “The casualties are worth the price.”
“Not to me they aren’t,” I replied, and as he glanced up at me, I saw his pupils turn from slits to black. I gazed into them, a poker face on the outside, but always slightly unnerved by those eyes.
“I agree with the principle,” I assured him, “but unless you can find another way, I can’t help you. You would have had to come up with a slightly different plan anyway, as I am booked on Wednesday. If destroying a hospital wing means so much to you, you can wait a week and come up with something better.”
He slumped into the booth cushions, seething at me but saying nothing. I knew he would not push back. If he went ahead with it anyway, especially if he lied to me about a different plan to throw me off, I would blacklist him. Once he solicited my services, his plans were almost more in my control than his.
“Fine,” he finally muttered, without making eye contact.
“Great, I’ll meet you here next week to discuss then.” As I stood up, I threw a few bills on the table for my drinks before striding out of the bar.
I knew Dirk would not follow. He, like many, had tried the first few times we met, but after I raised prices in retaliation, he stopped. Still, I had to be cautious when I slipped to another form.
When I had made it a few blocks, I changed to a young gangly man at the top of the steps of the subway station. Once on the train, I switched to an older man while walking between cars. Finally, just around the block from my next meeting, I shifted to one of my most common forms, a solid woman, in her late fifties, with an intimidating sharp face, softened slightly by waves of hair that fell to her shoulders.
A chime went off as I opened the door to a small cafe. The owner waved as I came in and poured a cup of coffee in front of me as I sat down.
“Thank you Lisa,” I smiled up at her, and she smiled back with a nice “of course, dear” before padding back behind the counter.
As I waited for my colleague to arrive, I drank my coffee and thought about Dirk’s proposal. He wanted to destroy the hospital, to cause people to be less willing to put themselves in his way as he sowed other terror throughout the city. I had talked him down to just a wing, but we had not yet decided on which one, and how.
In better times, I would not partake in this plan at all, but more recently the council had been vetoing my propositions for budget allocation, claiming that the hospital was operating fine, even though it was severely under-resourced and hemorrhaging good doctors due to low salaries. If it was to be partially destroyed, there was no way I would be denied money to fix it back up, allowing for improvements. Desperate times, as they say.
As I took a sip of coffee, my appointment walked through the door.
“Mayor Blayson,” He greeted me with a nod.
“Councilman Jones,” I smiled across the table. “Let’s talk about your position on the health services budget.” | "Hey Bruce... Yeah it was a good night. The reporter from the Tribune asked about meeting for coffee again - I told her to talk to your secretary to schedule a meet.... No I can't do it. You have to. She wants to meet you, not me. You know how this works. I cover for you so you can do the Bat thing. I don't live your life... Yes Alfred IS right. You need to take off the suit and be a normal guy or you'll flip like Robin did... What? Oh I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked about him like that, but you do know better than anyone... OK I've got to go, my alarm's going off. Thanks."
He talks too much. It's hard to be him. Big chest. Big voice. Big persona. I don't fill that body well enough. I feel like Bruce hangs off me like a size 9.0 glove on a size 6.5 hand. There's no precision with a fit like that - I can't operate. I guess I do alright though - nobody mainstream has caught on to my ability yet. Recruiting business is hard though. How am I supposed to let the masked men of Gotham know I exist? Bruce was a lucky break, but even he doesn't know more than a few identities in the city. His offsider, Robin - aka boy wonder - aka psychotic break for one - should have used my services more. He was always Robin. He never had a moment as himself. Now he's Robin robbing banks and Robin disrobing in public. Poor guy. Crazy as a ferret with a mouth full of hot sauce. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | Gaining trust is not easy.
It's established piece by piece -- asking how the kids are, shooting the breeze over a beer, learning what someone's favorite food is. Heroes and villains are notoriously guarded, but I know what pushes their buttons. They're all plagued by the same insecurities - the fear of becoming irrelevant, of not making their mark.
I've had clients from The Purifier to The Untethered, The Jack-of-All-Trades to Magnet Man. But The Vaporizer had a particularly unusual request.
He invited me over for coffee one day. As soon as we sat down, he instantly opened up to me.
"Look, Sam - that's your name, right? Sam?"
I nodded.
He took a sip of his coffee, hands trembling, and continued. "I'm trying to get out of the game, if you know what I mean. I'm exhausted. You know how many people are up my ass because of what I've done? Bank robberies, beatdowns, tax evasion - the works. I don't have time to --"
I cut him off. "So what exactly do you expect me to do?"
"I want you to go out there as me. As I am now. And while I deal with my problems, I want you to do the nicest things you can imagine. Hold doors open, help old folks across the street. *Anything.* If people start to associate my face with the 'nice guy,' their suspicions will evaporate."
I shrugged. "All right, sure. But I'm gonna need some things from you. Let's start with your ID."
He fished out his wallet and handed it over. I studied it for a moment and instantly morphed into a pitch-perfect recreation of his face, build, and clothing, accurate down to every last pore.
"I'll be off, then," I said, grinning cheerily.
The plan worked swimmingly, all things considered. People started to leave flowers and thank-you notes outside the former Vaporizer's door. He managed to get a couple job interviews. His kids seemed to enjoy being around him.
One day, I made a friendly suggestion. "Hey, have you ever considered donating to charity? Something like the County Orphanage?" The Vaporizer provided his bank account information without hesitation. I made a $100 donation in his name - his real name, Todd Higgins - and a letter of thanks from the orphanage followed soon afterward.
I typically find myself juggling clients. Doing a couple hours in this identity, another couple in that one. After a month of helping Todd out, I decided it was time to make my move. I stuck a letter in his mailbox.
"Dear Todd,
It's your pal Sam. I appreciate everything you've shared with me these past couple weeks. Unfortunately, I'm a busy man, and it's time for me to move on.
I hope you've found my services sufficient. But I want to offer a friendly reminder that I own you now. I have your bank accounts, your Social Security Number, and your face. I can break you in seconds. And if you don't send me $20,000 within 48 hours, that's exactly what I'll do.
Think carefully about your next decision.
Your dearest friend,
Sam."
I sent a burner PayPal link to his email, registered under my "Sam" alias. Todd sent the money by the end of the day. I cashed out and wiped the PayPal from existence.
It's hard making a living. I have to scrounge just like everyone else. But I have an advantage that no one else does.
Tomorrow, I will be a different person. | "Hey Bruce... Yeah it was a good night. The reporter from the Tribune asked about meeting for coffee again - I told her to talk to your secretary to schedule a meet.... No I can't do it. You have to. She wants to meet you, not me. You know how this works. I cover for you so you can do the Bat thing. I don't live your life... Yes Alfred IS right. You need to take off the suit and be a normal guy or you'll flip like Robin did... What? Oh I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked about him like that, but you do know better than anyone... OK I've got to go, my alarm's going off. Thanks."
He talks too much. It's hard to be him. Big chest. Big voice. Big persona. I don't fill that body well enough. I feel like Bruce hangs off me like a size 9.0 glove on a size 6.5 hand. There's no precision with a fit like that - I can't operate. I guess I do alright though - nobody mainstream has caught on to my ability yet. Recruiting business is hard though. How am I supposed to let the masked men of Gotham know I exist? Bruce was a lucky break, but even he doesn't know more than a few identities in the city. His offsider, Robin - aka boy wonder - aka psychotic break for one - should have used my services more. He was always Robin. He never had a moment as himself. Now he's Robin robbing banks and Robin disrobing in public. Poor guy. Crazy as a ferret with a mouth full of hot sauce. | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | “I won’t agree to that job.”
I stared across the booth at Dirk, who hissed at me angrily in response, the flicking of his tongue practically a dead giveaway of his alter ego, The Serpant. It lashes out a mere four inches in front of me. When I started out, his demeanor would have shaken me, but now, more sure of my principles and my leverage, I held firm.
“What is so wrong with my plan?” He snarled across the table.
“Too high of a potential casualty count,” I responded.
“But who cares about the casualty count!” He wailed, earning glance from other patrons in the dark bar. He quickly hunkered to make himself small, and whispered into the table, “The casualties are worth the price.”
“Not to me they aren’t,” I replied, and as he glanced up at me, I saw his pupils turn from slits to black. I gazed into them, a poker face on the outside, but always slightly unnerved by those eyes.
“I agree with the principle,” I assured him, “but unless you can find another way, I can’t help you. You would have had to come up with a slightly different plan anyway, as I am booked on Wednesday. If destroying a hospital wing means so much to you, you can wait a week and come up with something better.”
He slumped into the booth cushions, seething at me but saying nothing. I knew he would not push back. If he went ahead with it anyway, especially if he lied to me about a different plan to throw me off, I would blacklist him. Once he solicited my services, his plans were almost more in my control than his.
“Fine,” he finally muttered, without making eye contact.
“Great, I’ll meet you here next week to discuss then.” As I stood up, I threw a few bills on the table for my drinks before striding out of the bar.
I knew Dirk would not follow. He, like many, had tried the first few times we met, but after I raised prices in retaliation, he stopped. Still, I had to be cautious when I slipped to another form.
When I had made it a few blocks, I changed to a young gangly man at the top of the steps of the subway station. Once on the train, I switched to an older man while walking between cars. Finally, just around the block from my next meeting, I shifted to one of my most common forms, a solid woman, in her late fifties, with an intimidating sharp face, softened slightly by waves of hair that fell to her shoulders.
A chime went off as I opened the door to a small cafe. The owner waved as I came in and poured a cup of coffee in front of me as I sat down.
“Thank you Lisa,” I smiled up at her, and she smiled back with a nice “of course, dear” before padding back behind the counter.
As I waited for my colleague to arrive, I drank my coffee and thought about Dirk’s proposal. He wanted to destroy the hospital, to cause people to be less willing to put themselves in his way as he sowed other terror throughout the city. I had talked him down to just a wing, but we had not yet decided on which one, and how.
In better times, I would not partake in this plan at all, but more recently the council had been vetoing my propositions for budget allocation, claiming that the hospital was operating fine, even though it was severely under-resourced and hemorrhaging good doctors due to low salaries. If it was to be partially destroyed, there was no way I would be denied money to fix it back up, allowing for improvements. Desperate times, as they say.
As I took a sip of coffee, my appointment walked through the door.
“Mayor Blayson,” He greeted me with a nod.
“Councilman Jones,” I smiled across the table. “Let’s talk about your position on the health services budget.” | The doorbell rang. When Timothy Reid went to meet the stranger, two very special men stood opposite from each other. Timothy was in his mid thirties, a rather boring attorney by day, a gangster by night. Not just any gangster, but a greatly feared villain, successful at evading both the police and a number of heroes.
The man on the other side was harder to describe. He could have been anywhere between twenty and forty, his eyes old, but his body heavy and strong like a bull. Nonetheless, when he moved to shake the villains hand, he moved like a dancer, graceful and quick. A soft smile flashed over his lips.
"Hello." He said.
"Come in." Timothy moved to the side to let the stranger enter. And in that short moment he looked away, he noticed that he could not remember what his opposite looked like. However remarkable the stranger was, he was just as forgettable. "What is your name?"
"Timothy Reid." The stranger answered. For in that second that the door closed behind him, he had transformed. The real Timothy wanted to respond, but the impersonator cut him off. "Neither of us have the time for pleasantries and I think it's rather obvious that I'm not going to tell you anything about me. Sign the contract and be on your way."
"I'm not sure you want to talk that way with me."
"I can talk with you any way I want to. See, Timothy, I deal with a lot of clients like you. Similar problem, similar power, similar lust for control. Do you really think I would walk into anybody's home without security protocols? No. *I'm* pretty sure you don't want to find out what they look like. Sign the contract. 500$ an hour. It's the same for everybody. Deal with it."
Timothy Reid grumbled, but he was smart enough to know what battles to fight. He knew this wasn't one of them. He needed this man. "You know who I am? What I act like? What businesses I run? Who to trust? We haven't spent a minute together and you are to take over my life for 12 hours!"
"My dear Timothy, the spent the last two weeks with you. I know everything I need to. Now go. I will meet you in a couple hours." | |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | “I won’t agree to that job.”
I stared across the booth at Dirk, who hissed at me angrily in response, the flicking of his tongue practically a dead giveaway of his alter ego, The Serpant. It lashes out a mere four inches in front of me. When I started out, his demeanor would have shaken me, but now, more sure of my principles and my leverage, I held firm.
“What is so wrong with my plan?” He snarled across the table.
“Too high of a potential casualty count,” I responded.
“But who cares about the casualty count!” He wailed, earning glance from other patrons in the dark bar. He quickly hunkered to make himself small, and whispered into the table, “The casualties are worth the price.”
“Not to me they aren’t,” I replied, and as he glanced up at me, I saw his pupils turn from slits to black. I gazed into them, a poker face on the outside, but always slightly unnerved by those eyes.
“I agree with the principle,” I assured him, “but unless you can find another way, I can’t help you. You would have had to come up with a slightly different plan anyway, as I am booked on Wednesday. If destroying a hospital wing means so much to you, you can wait a week and come up with something better.”
He slumped into the booth cushions, seething at me but saying nothing. I knew he would not push back. If he went ahead with it anyway, especially if he lied to me about a different plan to throw me off, I would blacklist him. Once he solicited my services, his plans were almost more in my control than his.
“Fine,” he finally muttered, without making eye contact.
“Great, I’ll meet you here next week to discuss then.” As I stood up, I threw a few bills on the table for my drinks before striding out of the bar.
I knew Dirk would not follow. He, like many, had tried the first few times we met, but after I raised prices in retaliation, he stopped. Still, I had to be cautious when I slipped to another form.
When I had made it a few blocks, I changed to a young gangly man at the top of the steps of the subway station. Once on the train, I switched to an older man while walking between cars. Finally, just around the block from my next meeting, I shifted to one of my most common forms, a solid woman, in her late fifties, with an intimidating sharp face, softened slightly by waves of hair that fell to her shoulders.
A chime went off as I opened the door to a small cafe. The owner waved as I came in and poured a cup of coffee in front of me as I sat down.
“Thank you Lisa,” I smiled up at her, and she smiled back with a nice “of course, dear” before padding back behind the counter.
As I waited for my colleague to arrive, I drank my coffee and thought about Dirk’s proposal. He wanted to destroy the hospital, to cause people to be less willing to put themselves in his way as he sowed other terror throughout the city. I had talked him down to just a wing, but we had not yet decided on which one, and how.
In better times, I would not partake in this plan at all, but more recently the council had been vetoing my propositions for budget allocation, claiming that the hospital was operating fine, even though it was severely under-resourced and hemorrhaging good doctors due to low salaries. If it was to be partially destroyed, there was no way I would be denied money to fix it back up, allowing for improvements. Desperate times, as they say.
As I took a sip of coffee, my appointment walked through the door.
“Mayor Blayson,” He greeted me with a nod.
“Councilman Jones,” I smiled across the table. “Let’s talk about your position on the health services budget.” | "It has been confirmed, the feared villain known as Kronos is not, in fact, Dr. Chris Lenton. Sources today confirmed sighting the two men together in Copper Square, Dr. Lenton as Kronos' prisoner. This footage shows-"
I shut the TV off with a satisfied huff, cutting off the news anchor mid-sentence. Another villain's identity safe, another successful mission. I looked over to the calendar at the other side of my small apartment, squinting to make out my tiny script written there. I had another appointment today. Time to get ready.
With a quick flourish, my body changed from the toned, muscular structure of Kronos, to the short, slim body I always used for these meets. It wasn't my preferred look, but it was necessary to protect my identity. I snorted to myself. The irony was palpable.
Picking up my keys, I headed out the front door and slid into my car. The GPS on the dash already had the meeting place keyed into it and it directed me to pull out and head left down my street. I didn't really need the GPS, I'd done this enough times to know the way by heart, but the little automated voice was somehow... comforting to me.
I drove without really paying attention to the road, thinking about the meeting. I was to meet the heroine Steel. She was the most feared of the heroes, indestructible in nature, and able to form large weapons of some sort of metal. I was 99% certain what she used was not steel, but who was I to argue? 'Tungsten' didn't exactly have the same ring to it as 'Steel', so I didn't blame her for choosing the name.
I pulled up to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town and stepped out of the car. Before shutting and locking the door, however, I reached into the back and pulled a duality mask from the seat. This was my signature. This was how you knew you had the right person.
The left half of the mask was painted to resemble a scowling man with heavy lids and a thick brow. The right was a delicate woman, all smiles, a twinkle in her eye. I slid the mask onto my face, clicking it into the hood of my jacket to secure it. I peered through the tiny eye holes, up at the warehouse and made my way inside.
The warehouse was full of materials left behind by the previous owner, collecting dust. Boxes were stacked high, crates of various molding items spilled their contents onto the floor. Somewhere in this maze of decay, Steel would be waiting for me. A hidden office in the back of the warehouse should be where she was.
I made my way to the office, sliding inside and shutting the door behind me. A strong hand clamped down on my shoulder and I froze, turning my head slightly to the side. Steel stood beside me, studying me. She was in civilian clothes, just as I'd asked. Her signature steel grey hair was tied back from her face. She looked angry.
"So, you're the Shifter, huh?" She eyed me balefully. "You're not what I was expecting."
"I am never what anyone expects," I replied. My voice shifted and rolled, my vocal cords constantly changing to create my own voice masking. "Are you ready to get down to business?"
Steel looked suspicious, but she nodded. "Very well. I would like you to be at the corner of Wallace and Grave tomorrow. 4pm."
I raised an eyebrow. That was oddly specific. " What happens then?"
Steel scowled. "Must you know?"
I nodded curtly. "Yes. In order to be accurate to you, I must know. Unless you want the whole world to know who you are, Ms. Jones."
Steel's eyebrows shot up. "Is that a threat?"
"No, simply a warning."
"Well let me give you a warning, Mr. Genther."
I froze. That was my birth name. How in the hell did she know my birth name? I recovered quickly, but Steel must have seen my reaction in my body language and she grinned maliciously.
"So, I was right. You are Tyler Genther, aka the Shifter. You've had a pretty nice operation going here, but now it's time to bring you down."
A pit formed in my stomach. Not good not good not good not good- I cleared my throat nervously, forcing a commanding tone into my voice. "That name has no power over me, Steel. You can't harm me with it."
"Sure I can!" she said sweetly, batting her eyelashes at me. "Especially when all of your other aliases are tied in one way or another to it. Like Maria Sanchez. And Brian Castell. And-"
"That's enough." I held up a hand, forestalling her. "What do you want from me?"
"That's simple: Tell me the names of all the villains you've worked for and their aliases and I won't expose you to the world."
I blinked. Was that it? A chuckle began to rise in my throat, spilling from me in a guttural, animalistic sound. Steel looked mildly startled by my reaction. She was, no doubt, expecting me to be scared.
"You- you think," I wheezed, trying to pull myself together, "that that scares me in the slightest?" I straightened, tearing the mask from my face and looking Steel straight in the eyes. "I could expose you. I could expose you today. I could expose you tomorrow. I could expose you in a few years and you would never see it coming. you would have nowhere to hide. But me? I can change how I look, I can change who I'm attached to, I can change where I work! I can hide so effectively, even your buddy Mr. X-ray can't find me!"
Steel began to back away as my voice rose with each syllable.
"Do you understand? I OWN YOU!"
She nodded, perplexed, still backing away toward the door. Her hand scrabbled for the door handle and she nodded, stepping through the door. "I understand, I'll just go now."
I nodded, composing myself. "You do that. And remember, next time you think of threatening the Shifter, what I can do to you is so much worse than what you can do to me." | |
[WP] Humans are the first species to enter in the galactic federation to be considered the apex predator for its home planet, something that isn't talked loud by the others but easily causes fear and confusion when other species interact with then. | They never check over their shoulders. They don't glance at the sky above before they step out from shelter. They don't layer their ships with armor; they laden it with weapons.
Humans. Though they only recently broke onto the Intergalactic stage, they were causing waves- reckless, irresponsible waves. A reputation was growing swiftly; the Humans had their own sense of justice and morality. They decided for themselves what was right, and what was wrong, and hardly gave a damn what anyone else thought.
Only one species had dared to face them in open combat. It was just a decade ago that all alien races unanimously bemoaned the presence of the Graffiths- a carnivorous species with aggressive, law-and-order-imposing tendencies. They were a small race, comparatively- only a few billion- but whenever they were on a space station, *everyone* knew. They were rigid, uncompromising- but they were at least *predictable*.
They challenged the Humans- these flexible, creative, aggressive Humans- to war.
The billions were reduced to millions in three years, and the Graffiths admitted defeat. They slunk back to their own system, heavily watched by Human 'ambassadors'.
Now there was a tension in the air- the seat in the sky was empty. Humans had not outright declared supremacy...but no one dared challenge it. They offered *'opinions'* and *'suggestions'* on all kinds of foreign matters...and none had yet chosen to directly disobey.
We all lived in fear of the day the Humans seized the empty throne for themselves.
-----------------------------------------------
Or...at least, we had.
Until the day came when the Graffiths sold us out to an even worse predator than the Humans- semi-permeable, blood-drinking amoebas of fierce intelligence known only as The Aggressors.
It didn't take long for the Humans to seize the throne then- but only, they said, until the emergency was abated.
History has taught us nothing | The cold wind quietly blew through the winter forest it's soft gust rattling the snow-covered red leaves above. This is tranquility the freedom and absence of the uneasy gazes cast my way in the colony miles away. Slowly my quarry a white stag it's slow meandering path taking it amongst the trees as the periodic puffs of snow nearly vanish. A steady beat hammering against my chest as thunder breaks the silence the stag, this world's top predator dropping to the ground.
Kicking a small torrent of snow into the air the cloud of drifting snow settling on my prize. A small mound of snow amongst the branches of a nearby tree dropped to the ground standing on two legs as it draws closer. The titan of an animal dwarfing the hunter as he slings the rifle over his shoulder pulling free the hood of tangled white strings. A tangle of matted black hair freed from its prison with the fluid movement.
One short burst of static echoing through the forest as the hunter puts his hand onto his ear. "This is Charles, I found your titan mind sending a lift." His path taking him around to the head of the beast it's seven eyes gazing toward the white skies above. It's jagged razor teeth covered in a smattering of yellow blood common to this world's sentient inhabitants. The hunter's hand returning to his ear nodding his head silently with a slight frown.
"I appreciate the concern but It's a bit late for a tracking dart the bastard is as of the moment very dead." His eyes briefly glancing toward the small crater in the monster's head leaking a river of blood. "What do you mean what animal killed it you sent me out here to hunt it that was what the contract was for." His hand firmly pressed against his face as his scowl turned downward even farther.
The hunter's voice taking on a mocking tone as he kicked the stag's exposed brain. "Well I'm sorry you told me there was a giant predator eating people my first response is not exactly we need to keep away. It is we need to kill the damn thing to send a message. And yes I do enjoy hunting as it keeps me arms-length from you high and mighty shitbirds, just send the damn shuttle."
The bag on the mans back dropped to the snow with a slight crunch of snow and clattering of metal as he removed his earpiece. A long stream of hot air floating toward the red canopy as he removed a small sword from his bag eyes set on the stag. "Be a damn waste if I left your corpse here like they want and just as disrespectful wouldn't it feller." The knife silently twirling in the hunter's hand as he reached the neck of the beast and started cutting.
The final few strands of skin cut as the dropship arrived settling in the clearing it's rear ramp dropping into the knee-high snow. It's pilot a multi climbed monstrosity of bird-like features and five limbs observing silently on the ramp. The hunter crossing the divide with rifle and backpack over the shoulder stained in yellow blood and carrying the stag's detached head.
A shrill cry of terror crossing the clearing as the hunter reached the ramp winking at the waiting pilot. "What is wrong with you James why in the fucking abyss did you take its head!" It's eyes stuck on James's trophy as he set the head in the dropships bay. "Is there even a point or is it just to personally screw with me, you vicious little shit!" The pilot shaking violently as he gestured to the head about two-thirds of the human's height.
"It's a sign of respect you feathery fuck, I'm going to have it taxidermied and put up in my quarters." A small smile creeping across James's face as he held out his camera to his long time friend. "Do me a favor and take the damn photo it's not every day that I get to take down a giant." The camera almost slipping out of Eihl's claws as the pilot took the snapshot of the triumphant hunt.
A permanent predatory grin resting on the hunters face. | |
[WP] Demon slayer and psychologist in one, his tagline? "I fight your inner and outer demons!" Turns out the two jobs are remarkably similar. | Darkness crashed over me like a wave. It was a heavy, tangible thing, pressing down on all sides and slowing my movements. I knew this all consuming dark. Had felt it before.
Deprexia.
I heard a shout to my left, distant and frantic. The voice was calling something. The word was familiar. My name. The voice was calling my name. The realization pierced through the darkness, pushing back the mindnight spell and bringing me back to myself.
I was Doctor Jase Mirrodi, and I was in the third circle of Hell fighting demons. A thread pulled at the corner of my mind.
I was with someone.
The shout to my left. I knew them. They knew me.
Who?
Brannock. A patient.
I turn my head, searching through the chaos surrounding me. Deprexia lurked nearby, I could sense him, but he was a creature of shadow and would not strike without the assistance of his darkness. He preyed upon the blind and confused, not the present and aware. His strength was in others weaknesses.
The shout rang out again. "Mirrodi!"
I saw him now, standing amidst a cluster of mindbreaker daemons. They danced about him, looking for an opening. It would not be long, I could see the cracks in his psyche armor from here, the power of his will was gradually being leeched away by the uncertainty that dwelt within.
Brannock was not a weak man, but even a strong man could only fight his own mind for so long before it roused the interest of the beyond. He had come to be desperate, hanging by a thread, searching for a way to fight onward. The tragedies of his past overwhelmed him, and the whispers in the night were growing louder. I had done my best, but we had not had enough time to prepare. Not enough time to reinforce his wavering sense of self before the night had come for him. He had been taken, and I had followed the trail of sulfur and fear to this place.
I snarled, focusing my mind, drawing upon my sense of self-knowledge and worth. A glowing skin of blue and white covered my body, a shield against further attempts by Deprexia to blind me. I had left my defenses down in my hurried pursuit of Brannock, expending much of my pysche in tracking him through the circles to this place. I had left my mind open.
I would not make that mistake again.
Fully sheathed in blue and white, I leapt forward, rapidly consuming the ground between Brannock and myself. The mindbreakers hissed, and I poured more of myself into my mental projection, causing a blinding nova to pulse outward, washing over the mindbreakers and forcing them back.
I came to stand beside Brannock. He was in bad shape, his psyche had been shredded, pulled apart and opening him to assaults on both body and mind. He looked up at me frantically, eyes squinting before the aura. He hissed pushed himself backward, scrambling like a crab on the rent flesh that served as a floor in this place.
He did not recognize me.
He had forgotten himself.
Forgotten the man he was. Forgotten that he did not belong here. That he had worth. The he was bigger than his tormentor. That Deprexia was a foe that held no power over him so long as he had the will to fight it.
I knelt in front of him, letting the blue-white psyche reach out to him, a thread of my consciousness seeking the tattered remains of his. I found the remnants of who he was clustered around his heart, a denser tangle of remaining memories of self. My psyche connected with one and I leaned forward.
"You are Brannock D'Leveria. You came to me because you needed help. Because you did not feel like you had anything to live for. You came to me because the whispers as started, because the demons within and without hunted you."
His eyes flitted from me to the thread of blue-white mingling with the dull silvery grey of his own psyche.
"I-I-I am..." He stuttered.
"Brannock D'Leveria. You are a man. A man who has known terrible tragedy. A man who has lost his family. A man who has lost his home. A man who has lost his sense of self worth." I pressed a pulse of my psyche into his. "A man that can still have a future, if he will face his past. A man that can honor the memories of those he has lost by continuing onward."
Another pulse.
"A man who can confront his demons, within and without."
Brannock's lower lip quivered, and his head shook back and forth. The dull light of his psyche grew dimmer. "Can't...no more. No reason..."
I reached down and took his hand into mine. I would need to be quick. I could only hold the mindbreakers at bay for so long. "You can always try."
"No...point."
"The world will forget without survivors to speak the truth. You have survived all of these battles for a reason. You have been forged in the crucible of death and misery so you can be strong enough to carry the message, Brannock. You must believe there is a point in justice. In fighting darkness that comes for this land and all of the people in it. For the families and the children of other men such as yourself, who have none of your capacity to fight back."
He was quiet now, the panic was gone.
A silver pulse began to emanate from his chest, spreading out from his heart.
I nodded to him and released his hand.
"Let's go, there are still demons to slay."
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | ##Seasonal Demons
Dr. Alder sits in the recliner of Anna's apartment. Anna is sitting in the couch opposite of him. The apartment is at a blistering 95 degrees Fahrenheit, an extreme temperature for December. The two of them are dressed according to the internal temperature wearing shorts and tank tops. Several fans are blasting on them as they sit.
"So would you tell me again when the ice demons first appeared," Dr. Alder says holding a pen and notepad. His sweat is drenching the pad.
"I moved to Washington a few years ago; they showed up that December. They don't come out until November. The heat keeps them away," she pants. She looks down to the ground holding her head between her hands shaking it.
"I see, and tell me. Where did you live before here," he asks.
"I lived in Florida for my whole life. I moved here because I got a promotion that involved a transfer. Unfortunately, paying for this high heat and replacing any tech that goes bad due to the heat is more than eating that raise," she says.
"And what do the Ice Demons do when they appear?" he asks.
"It is usually two or three demons. They typically just scratch and annoy me. One time, they hit a vein and sent me to the hospital," she says.
"How do you feel?" he asks.
"Now, I feel sad and anxious because of the demons," she says.
"Not exactly," Dr. Alder puts down the pen and pad. He stands up and walks over to his bag.
"What do you mean?" she asks. Dr. Alder first pulls out a device that looks like an IPad and puts it on the table.
"Anna, I believe you have Seasonal Affective Disorder. Use that therapy lamp every morning for thirty minutes. That will prevent more ice demons from being drawn to your emotions. Unfortunately, that won't stop the ice demons who are already feeding off of you from leaving. Which is why I need to slay them. Do you mind if I change in your bathroom?" he asks.
"Uhh, no, go ahead," she says. Dr. Alder takes his bag to the bathroom. When he emerges, he is wearing a black turtleneck and leather pants. He is holding a sword.
"Did that all fit in your bag?" she asks.
"That and so much more," he says. He moves to the thermostat and starts to turn down the temperature.
"What do you mean they were attached to me?" she asks.
"Demons are attracted to negative feelings in humanity and feed off of them. Ice demons love seasonal affective disorder. They feed in the winter and hibernate for the rest of the year. Some demons move on after feeding. Ice demons tend to stick to their host," he turns the temperature down to 54 degrees and waits. Anna quickly puts on a coat.
"Should I move somewhere?" she asks.
"No, they will be drawn to you. All we can do is wait," he clutches his sword.
A patch of ice appears on the carpet. A small hand reaches out from it and grabs the surrounding area. A small deer head pokes its way out of the ice patch. Dr. Alder quickly decapitates the creature. The head and arms stay in the apartment. The rest of it falls back into the ice patch. Two more ice patches emerge on the ceiling. Two creatures fall out of them.
They stand to the right and left of Dr. Alder with their claws drawn. They are humanoid in shape with deer heads and claws. The right one charges only to be knocked away by the Dr. Alder's sword. The left one is able to quickly scratch at Dr. Alder. The turtleneck mostly holds in place. Dr. Alder moves quick and cuts off the left's arm. It melts on the carpet. The right one jumps and moves its horns down Dr. Alder's back. The turtleneck breaks, but the horns do not penetrate the skin. He turns quickly and decapitates the right demon. He ducks sensing the left demon leaping towards him. The remaining demon is able to claw his back, but Dr. Alder does not flinch. He quickly grabs the demon and holds him in the air. The demon bites Dr. Alder's wrist, but he does not react. Dr. Alder slams the demon to the floor and decapitates it.
An ice patch appears on the floor and a hand emerges. The hand takes the sword from Dr. Alder before disappearing. One last ice patch emerges and a larger ice demon walks out holding the sword.
"I don't like thieves," Dr. Alder smiles and moves towards the ice demon. He tackles it back into the portal.
Anna stands alone surrounded by ice demon corpses. Another ice portal appears, and Dr. Alder crawls out with his clothes torn and his body bruised. He holds his sword in his right hand and the ice demon head in his left.
"He put up a good fight. Unfortunately, he didn't realize my sword could be held against me. Apologies for my unprofessional appearance. I did not think this breed of ice demons had such sharp claws. If I knew that, I would have worn better armor. I will quickly get changed," he sets the demon head down and goes to the bathroom. He emerges in a button up shirt and fleece jacket.
"I will get rid of these don't worry," he starts to chant in a language unknown to Anna. The heads and corpses disappear, and the infant puddles of water dry up.
"There you go. That therapy lamp should prevent anymore from coming back. I recommend seeing this therapist," he hands her a card, "he deals with PTSD from demon attacks. Should prevent more of them from coming back. You already paid?"
"Uh yes, I set up a payment plan with Glinda," she says.
"Ah, Glinda, lovely assistant. Do you have any questions for me?" he asks smiling.
"Uh, no," Anna says.
"Great, have a good day. Call of more demons appear," he walks to the door with his bag and opens it.
"Oh, well, isn't that coincidental. It started to snow," he smiles again before leaving. Anna stands alone in her apartment with the therapy lamp in shock. | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | *I changed sword to "blade" because I had some ideas that wouldn't work with a sword.
**March 27**
18 years, I've been waiting. 18 years, I've been leveling up. 18 years, I've been training.
And it's here. The annual Presidential Vying-For Birthweapon Tournament was about to begin. Any citizen between 18 and 40 could enter it for a chance to become the president could enter the massive fight-to-the-death tournament. Only your birthweapon could be used, and for 99.99% of people, it was a blade you were born with. It leveled up every year, becoming bigger, more powerful, and more visually spectacular.
And then there's me.
I was born with a gun.
At first, it was nothing special. A little .22 J-frame. It would pass for a purse gun in 1980. But it leveled up like the swords of everyone else. On my 2nd birthday, it became a .38 Special. On my 4th, it gained a 3" barrel. By my 10th, I was routinely toting around a .44 Magnum Ruger Redhawk with a special weighted 10" barrel. And a few days ago, I hit my eighteenth. By now, my little J-frame has turned into what appears to be an Uzi with removable 10 and 22-inch barrels, and chambered in the original 10mm load (the shit that was too spicy for the FBI). It was the apex of the submachine gun.
Most people train for this tournament, and swordfighting is big in the nation. But gunplay is largely unknown, so I packed up my bags and went to the legendary Instructor Earl's The Most Realistic Tactical Dynamic Training Scenarios In The Universe (aka D.R.U.M. T.I.T.T.I.E.S). I still remember the first day of training from when I was 8.
*"IN THIS SCENARIO, YOU ARE A 46-YEAR-OLD HEART SURGEON FROM TAMPA, FLORIDA. YOUR WIFE IS DEBORAH AND YOU HAVE TWO STEPCHILDREN THAT FUCKING..."*
That was a very weird day, but I, in technical terms "got gud".
**March 30**
Holy fuck, this is easy. Like, really easy, especially considering that you start with a 30-foot distance between you and your competitor. The first guy was really easy, a 20-something who fumbled with his cutlass before his life was cut tragically short. The second guy was even easier. I don't know who classified a Bowie knife as a "sword", but I have to say that a 12-inch blade really does you no favors when you're fighting a guy with a tricked out Uzi. Guy number 3 was absolutely ridiculous. A steak knife is not a weapon. Guy number 4 looks a little harder. He does throwing knives, so I'm finally going against someone with a ranged weapon.
Edit: If you didn't get the D.R.U.M. T.I.T.T.I.E.S and Instructor Earl references, they're from [this youtube video.](https://youtu.be/gH9mawrWmUM) | “Oh my *GOD* it’s an American!”
(I’m joking here’s the real thing)
Emery stood in the shallow water of the river. Their friend, Aliza, stood trying to stab the fish with her sword, since her cat had become restless and seemingly hungry.
“C’mon, try to shoot one!” Aliza looked pleadingly are Emery, who was just standing there. They held their gun in the pocket of their hoodie, not very well concealed at all.
“It’ll scare the other fish away.” Emery said flatly, looking at their companion questioningly.
“So? Just try.”
Emery had never used their gun before. They didn’t like violence and the noise was too loud. Because of this Aliza would constantly try to get Emery to use their gun.
The gun had detailed carvings of some strange symbols. People always said it looked like the dead language of the other. Time for a quick history lesson. The other were a race of shadowy beings that lived long before humans.
They ruled the world like humans due today, but when humans arrived they took over. Many scientists believe one of the reasons is that the other began to breed with humans until hardly any other that didn’t have many humans in their family tree existed.
People think that their descendants still walk among us. Some say they see the other walking through the forests, careful not to alert any living thing of it’s presence, floating over the leaves on the ground and gliding through trees. Alright history lesson over.
Emery sighed and shook their head. Aliza sighed and continued to attempt to kabab a fish. A black, slimy mass crawled out of the river and grabbed Emery’s ankle, dragging them in.
They could hear Aliza screaming for them. Emery, as the sounds faded and water filled their lungs, felt bad for her. Aliza would never see her best friend again, they realized.
The thing dragged Emery farther and farther down, through caves they didn’t even know existed. As the world around got dark, strange glowing crystals starting popping up. For the first time, Emery pulled the gun out of their pocket and aimed.
Pointing at the thing they pulled the trigger. An odd shape that looked oddly like a smile appeared on the thing’s face. The symbols glowed the many colors of the crystals.
The gun disintegrated and Emery’s hand began to turn a black so black their hand looked drawn.
As the blackness went upper their arms and they became less and less solid, Emery realized what had dragged them to their fate was.
One of the other.
It all became clear.
The humans didn’t overrun the other, nor were the other ever the dominant species.
Humans were there first.
When a person drowned in this world their body was bound to be missing for all eternity.
Because they didn’t die.
The became the other.
And Emery was cursed to be one of them from birth. | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | The crowd cheered, making a small circle around us. My opponent smirked at me and, with a confidence he could give to others, stepped closer to make the space between us even smaller. The crowd now screamed louder, like animals hungry for blood.
I remained still, not letting myself get affected by the shouts and laughs of others. I guess my friend didn't like that much my calmness as he reached for his sword in the sheath on his belt and pulled it out.
All my hopes suddenly disappeared, and I couldn't wait for this match to be behind me. I knew from the start what were those "local tournaments" about, that it was just losers trying to prove to each other something, but sometimes there were guys who could impress and made the fight a little more enjoyable.
But this guy was just a fucking joke.
"What's the matter," he spoke to me and eyed my hat, "bunny boy?"
He laughed at me, cutting through air with his ridiculous sword in an attempt to scare me and hype the people around us more. I only smilled, pulling my cowboy hat lower.
I had always soft spot for rabbits. I read almost every book about them and drew them when I was a kid. I even wanted one but they were too wild to be treated as some pet. Now, the thought that little old me wanted to take away freedom from one of these little guys disgusts me, but this wasn't what I was trying to tell.
I liked rabbits, was basically crazy about them. I even had them on my "soul weapon", and sewed a pair of rabbit's ears (fake ones of course) on my cowboy hat. Maybe a questionable thing for a guy like me but I didn't care at that time.
What I did care about was when someone made fun of my rabbits.
"I am only letting the Lady do the first step. Like a true gentleman." I barked at the other man.
He frowned "You're funny, let's see if it stays with you when you will be on the ground, chocking on your own blood."
Before he could properly flicked with his sword, he was already falling down. The crowd was suddenly silent, I hid my gun back to my case and went to pick up my money. The old guy hand it over to me without protest, probably still processing what happened. I quickly left the building.
I was heading out of this town, I had a feeling someone would follow me to question me about the shooting of that fella, so I was trying to get away as quickly as possible. But I had to slow down, when I actually started to sense someone near me.
I was between two old building when I noticed a movement in the shadows. I went still and reached for my gun, ready to shoot at anything.
"Now, now," a voice said from the shadows, "that won't be necessary."
A figure suddenly stood in front of me and I will shamingly admit I noticed its long and beautiful legs covered in black silk at first. I would be damn lying if I said I didn't want them to be around my body. A cough from the legs owner made me wake up from my fantasy and looked up to meet the most strangest colour of eyes I have seen. I took a step away to have a better look on the stranger. If they find it uncomfortable, they didn't show it.
I noticed, besides the legs and yellow eyes, they had a clown-like make up on their face and wore a weird silver costume in victorian style, which ended at their thighs. I also noticed I couldn't guess their gender. Their hair (red like a burning fire) was brushed in more feminine way, curls hiding their ears and bang to hide a part of their forehead, their face and upper body were more masculine, but all the way down they looked almost like woman.
It was weird mix between the two, which only attracted me more to them. In a strange way.
"That was something back there," they said and by the tone of their voice I figured out the stranger was actually a male, "I could use some help from someone like you."
I tried to remember the people inside the building, I was pretty sure I would notice him in a group of other people. "I travel alone." I replied instead of asking him where exactly he was in that building. It probably had something to do with those shadows. Maybe it was his sword's magic.
"Hmmm," he crossed his arms and looked at me with thoughtful face, "Perhaps a little demonstration could help you decide. Someone's coming."
He flashed me a smile and vanished to the shadows. I let out a sigh, cursing inside at myself for letting be distracted so easily. I turned towards the shouts that were coming closer, my right hand on my gun's case. A small group of six man showed up, the guy in front noticed me and pointed finger at me angrily.
"You!"
Well damn.
As I slowly grabbed my gun, my long legged friend appeared out of nowhere behind the group. With a fast move even I almost missed, he pierced through the three guys with his sword at once, making a human kebab.
Now that was impressive.
A guy from the group screamed as he witnessed the horror of his friends being killed. He charged at my friend with his sword, trying to cut off his head. I watched as my friend skillfuly dodged the attack and punched the guy with his free hand. He managed to free his sword from the human kebab, grabbing the sword more tightly, he swinged at the guy's neck and chopped off his head. The next (victim) was too shocked to even pull out his sword, my friend stabbed him into his heart.
Five down, one was missing. Where was the sixth one?
I raised my gun when I noticed a movement behind the clown. His eyes widened as he watched me pressing the tigger, but he quickly ducked down after realizing the bullet wasn't for him. The sixth one hit the ground and the family was finally together.
I shoved the gun to my case again. I glared at the other one, he was putting his weapon to sheath, it was black with ornaments I didn't recognize. But there was one symbol I knew in the middle of that ancient mess - a spider. I'm not sure what it could mean. I was never interested in that stuff.
He probably sensed me watching him, 'cause he gave me a smile and started walking to me. I noticed some of the blood from the group got on his clothes, it was almost the same shade of red he used for his makeup. I was suddenly filled with want to press the other's face close to mine and suck every inch of it until there was no place with that ridiculous makeup.
I quickly put those fantasies away. Puberty should be already years behind me.
"So?" he started.
"So?" I asked.
He rolled his eyes, "I think we could be a great team."
I didn't know how to answer to that. I was used to the loneliness, I accepted it as my friend. I traveled for many years alone, I wasn't sure if I even could share my space with someone. Especially with someone liked him.
But when he offered his hand to shake, I didn't refuse.
And our adventure started.
To this day, I still sometimes wonder why I accepted the snake's hand. Was I really lonely? Or was I just looking for some change in my life? Or...did I really love him?
I don't always like to think about it too deeply, but I sometimes like to blame his legs for the mess. | “Oh my *GOD* it’s an American!”
(I’m joking here’s the real thing)
Emery stood in the shallow water of the river. Their friend, Aliza, stood trying to stab the fish with her sword, since her cat had become restless and seemingly hungry.
“C’mon, try to shoot one!” Aliza looked pleadingly are Emery, who was just standing there. They held their gun in the pocket of their hoodie, not very well concealed at all.
“It’ll scare the other fish away.” Emery said flatly, looking at their companion questioningly.
“So? Just try.”
Emery had never used their gun before. They didn’t like violence and the noise was too loud. Because of this Aliza would constantly try to get Emery to use their gun.
The gun had detailed carvings of some strange symbols. People always said it looked like the dead language of the other. Time for a quick history lesson. The other were a race of shadowy beings that lived long before humans.
They ruled the world like humans due today, but when humans arrived they took over. Many scientists believe one of the reasons is that the other began to breed with humans until hardly any other that didn’t have many humans in their family tree existed.
People think that their descendants still walk among us. Some say they see the other walking through the forests, careful not to alert any living thing of it’s presence, floating over the leaves on the ground and gliding through trees. Alright history lesson over.
Emery sighed and shook their head. Aliza sighed and continued to attempt to kabab a fish. A black, slimy mass crawled out of the river and grabbed Emery’s ankle, dragging them in.
They could hear Aliza screaming for them. Emery, as the sounds faded and water filled their lungs, felt bad for her. Aliza would never see her best friend again, they realized.
The thing dragged Emery farther and farther down, through caves they didn’t even know existed. As the world around got dark, strange glowing crystals starting popping up. For the first time, Emery pulled the gun out of their pocket and aimed.
Pointing at the thing they pulled the trigger. An odd shape that looked oddly like a smile appeared on the thing’s face. The symbols glowed the many colors of the crystals.
The gun disintegrated and Emery’s hand began to turn a black so black their hand looked drawn.
As the blackness went upper their arms and they became less and less solid, Emery realized what had dragged them to their fate was.
One of the other.
It all became clear.
The humans didn’t overrun the other, nor were the other ever the dominant species.
Humans were there first.
When a person drowned in this world their body was bound to be missing for all eternity.
Because they didn’t die.
The became the other.
And Emery was cursed to be one of them from birth. | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | I've always kept it in a box. I would show it to my friends occasionally, there were also two or three times where I was interviewed. Sometimes, a collector or an eccentric asks me to come and see it. My nephew even made a blog where he posts updates on the new markings that appeared on it each year.
I was offered a free membership in a local shooting range, so I made the paperwork at the prefecture (in my country that's the authority that gives you a permit to own a gun).
Since my gun was a singularity I wasn't required to do it as long as I kept in in my home, but as I was going to try it I had to get the permit.
So I went to the range, learnt to use it, liked shooting with it. There was an event in 2016, we got people to come and try it, it was pretty standard. I don't know much about guns but it really seems like an ordinary pistol, except it feels right in my hand. It's pretty accurate and doesn't seems to require cleaning, or any maintenance. It feels light despite its heavy frame.
Back to the event. A few guys took turn shooting it, took pictures, asked me a lot of questions. There was this old dude, looked like some sort of cowboy, he was dressed a bit like one, too. He wore some kind of trenchcoat, he had a mustache and long grey hair tied in a braid. He also was wearing those things on his shoes, dunno how you call it in english, spurs ? The things you use when horseriding. He would stick around, listen to my answers to the questions people asked me, look at us shoot.
Then at the end of the day he came to me, asked me if he could see it, examined it, and asked me to show him how I shoot. After two years of learning at the range I thought I was doing good but he gave me that look, rolled his eyes, and told me : "engravings give you no tactical advantage whatsoever".
That's it. Weird dude, uh ? Maybe he was just jealous. | “Oh my *GOD* it’s an American!”
(I’m joking here’s the real thing)
Emery stood in the shallow water of the river. Their friend, Aliza, stood trying to stab the fish with her sword, since her cat had become restless and seemingly hungry.
“C’mon, try to shoot one!” Aliza looked pleadingly are Emery, who was just standing there. They held their gun in the pocket of their hoodie, not very well concealed at all.
“It’ll scare the other fish away.” Emery said flatly, looking at their companion questioningly.
“So? Just try.”
Emery had never used their gun before. They didn’t like violence and the noise was too loud. Because of this Aliza would constantly try to get Emery to use their gun.
The gun had detailed carvings of some strange symbols. People always said it looked like the dead language of the other. Time for a quick history lesson. The other were a race of shadowy beings that lived long before humans.
They ruled the world like humans due today, but when humans arrived they took over. Many scientists believe one of the reasons is that the other began to breed with humans until hardly any other that didn’t have many humans in their family tree existed.
People think that their descendants still walk among us. Some say they see the other walking through the forests, careful not to alert any living thing of it’s presence, floating over the leaves on the ground and gliding through trees. Alright history lesson over.
Emery sighed and shook their head. Aliza sighed and continued to attempt to kabab a fish. A black, slimy mass crawled out of the river and grabbed Emery’s ankle, dragging them in.
They could hear Aliza screaming for them. Emery, as the sounds faded and water filled their lungs, felt bad for her. Aliza would never see her best friend again, they realized.
The thing dragged Emery farther and farther down, through caves they didn’t even know existed. As the world around got dark, strange glowing crystals starting popping up. For the first time, Emery pulled the gun out of their pocket and aimed.
Pointing at the thing they pulled the trigger. An odd shape that looked oddly like a smile appeared on the thing’s face. The symbols glowed the many colors of the crystals.
The gun disintegrated and Emery’s hand began to turn a black so black their hand looked drawn.
As the blackness went upper their arms and they became less and less solid, Emery realized what had dragged them to their fate was.
One of the other.
It all became clear.
The humans didn’t overrun the other, nor were the other ever the dominant species.
Humans were there first.
When a person drowned in this world their body was bound to be missing for all eternity.
Because they didn’t die.
The became the other.
And Emery was cursed to be one of them from birth. | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | So, I was born with a Squirt... thing. And people laughed about it, because it was adorable, riduclous, and instead of the simple rubber stick that most people had, I had a freaking blunt... Thing. That sprayed water when you squeezed it. Definitely not the most glorious start.
Of course, like all Soul Weapons, be they Sword, Mace, Axe, or even the obscure Bow, it improved. By age 8, it had turned into something that fired small pellets with a soft 'Pop!', and people were shrugging it off. Crossbows had been done, and this looked like an even simpler crossbow. After all, what harm could a pellet do? Especially since I had to make the pellets myself, and small pebbles just made it stick. So it got left by the wayside for the most part.
By age 15, it was something new. Black iron, like my troubled self, with more complex filigree along the wooden bottom and across the fancy burning tip of iron that dipped into the strange pan. It even shone along the runic lines when I held it just so, resting against my shoulder as I looked down the three small pins; sighting pins, a rarity that only those with the most specialized Crossbows could hope to have. And at 15, I had them! Too bad it no longer fired with a pull of the back handle and a squeeze of the trigger; I put in pellets to fit the tube, but it didn't fire on its own. Interesting, but not impressive any longer.
At age 21, it finally became useful again. With a small channeling of Essence, the tube at the bottom filled with small brass pellets. A flick of the lever at the bottom and it loaded one of said pellets, perfectly fitted into the bore, and I could use it to produce fire and smoke. And a hole in whatever I was aiming at.
I was also declared an Outlaw; this was no weapon that had ever been seen before, and the people at the top had decided that I must either be some new lineage, or some devil-begotten person. More the latter after the smell of brimstone came from the smoke in the tube. So, I journeyed into the Untamed West, through the wild lands and the tribes that held little trust. My only companions were those I called friend, few though we were. Our only supplies were a wagon, a few tools to maintain our weapons at need, some old books, and a small sheaf of paper.
At 25, I founded a town and found a wife with a weapon similar to my own. Hers is smaller, easier to use and move around, and something that she was spirited away for having when her parents heard of what happened to me. It wasn't a perfect thing, or even quick, since I had become ambitious and she was shy, but eventually we found we fit better together than apart. Life was good, and soon we had children on the way, and I had an ambition as I saw what they were born with.
Now I am turning 30, and I've managed to replicate my weapon much as some have done for their own bows and crossbows. They aren't as impressive as mine now is. They need the help of an alchemist to make the powder and a smith to shape the lead and brass. They will never be as useful as my own, but they are still how I have been carving out a place in the West. I've unified the Tribes and Outlaws under my banner. Those with useless or imperfect weapons, and those who were seen as too different; those who had no choice but to stay away from the colonies of the kingdoms to the east out of fear of the iron and steel that seemed to despise their own weapons. Our seat of power is in a bay to the furthest west, at the edge of the continent. And I've gained a title as the people have unified and marked out territory under that banner of mine.
George Custer is my right-hand man and leader of my military as we move further eastward; he was wasted as a bugler, and with a weapon in his hands he is a brilliant tactician, if a bit hot blooded. John Rockefeller, a young man who joined us after his own weapon of a Wrench was seen as useless, and who now lays down tracks of steel with his strange multi-purpose tool for beasts of iron and smoke of his own design. And Chief Jumping Bull has been both a blessing and a slight curse as he's led victories against other tribes, which we then had to smooth over and incorporate.
It hasn't been smooth, and it hasn't been easy. But it has been progress. I've taught nearly a thousand smiths how to make the new weapons, these Guns, and another two thousand how to make their ammunition. We've already pushed the Spanish influence south of the lower pinensula and proven our new weapons against theirs. In another year, we should hold everything West of the Mes'sipi River. Another five, and we'll be at the edges of the Colonies along the Appalachian Mountains. And by 1860, I plan on fighting the Colonial Federation and kicking out the Old Kingom influence from this land.
And who am I, to do all this?
I am Emperor Oliver Winchester of the United Territories of America. | “Oh my *GOD* it’s an American!”
(I’m joking here’s the real thing)
Emery stood in the shallow water of the river. Their friend, Aliza, stood trying to stab the fish with her sword, since her cat had become restless and seemingly hungry.
“C’mon, try to shoot one!” Aliza looked pleadingly are Emery, who was just standing there. They held their gun in the pocket of their hoodie, not very well concealed at all.
“It’ll scare the other fish away.” Emery said flatly, looking at their companion questioningly.
“So? Just try.”
Emery had never used their gun before. They didn’t like violence and the noise was too loud. Because of this Aliza would constantly try to get Emery to use their gun.
The gun had detailed carvings of some strange symbols. People always said it looked like the dead language of the other. Time for a quick history lesson. The other were a race of shadowy beings that lived long before humans.
They ruled the world like humans due today, but when humans arrived they took over. Many scientists believe one of the reasons is that the other began to breed with humans until hardly any other that didn’t have many humans in their family tree existed.
People think that their descendants still walk among us. Some say they see the other walking through the forests, careful not to alert any living thing of it’s presence, floating over the leaves on the ground and gliding through trees. Alright history lesson over.
Emery sighed and shook their head. Aliza sighed and continued to attempt to kabab a fish. A black, slimy mass crawled out of the river and grabbed Emery’s ankle, dragging them in.
They could hear Aliza screaming for them. Emery, as the sounds faded and water filled their lungs, felt bad for her. Aliza would never see her best friend again, they realized.
The thing dragged Emery farther and farther down, through caves they didn’t even know existed. As the world around got dark, strange glowing crystals starting popping up. For the first time, Emery pulled the gun out of their pocket and aimed.
Pointing at the thing they pulled the trigger. An odd shape that looked oddly like a smile appeared on the thing’s face. The symbols glowed the many colors of the crystals.
The gun disintegrated and Emery’s hand began to turn a black so black their hand looked drawn.
As the blackness went upper their arms and they became less and less solid, Emery realized what had dragged them to their fate was.
One of the other.
It all became clear.
The humans didn’t overrun the other, nor were the other ever the dominant species.
Humans were there first.
When a person drowned in this world their body was bound to be missing for all eternity.
Because they didn’t die.
The became the other.
And Emery was cursed to be one of them from birth. | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | When I was placed in my mothers arms an air soft appeared into my thumbs. Next year a BB gun. Soon enough, when I was a 4 I got a .22. Next year I got an Armalite AR-15. Next year the rifle had a Forge-tac stock, a laser, hollow point critical defense rounds. After some time, the guns got bigger. A .300 blk AR, M249, M1919. After some time A Barret M1832 appeared in front of me for my 20th birthday. It was a true turning point. I realized the calibers would not stop going up.
Now in my forties, I have a 30 mm GAU cannon and next year, only god knows what will happen. Once I get to a certain caliber does it stop or does it keep on going making new guns?
*40 years later*
A 375mm Naval cannon arrived. I don’t think this will ever stop.
Please, help | Screams of terror surfaced from the streets, these screams a familiar friend. I used to think of what it would have been like being normal: cutting people a little in my early years; trying the hero gig before realising I should just be an account...maybe even settling down.
But no. Not for me. I can't be normal. Ever since I was born I had an extraordinary power. The power of metal and fire and death.
Every person is born with an innate weapon, this weapon is often a sword although some rare cases have been hammers, spears, and even daggers. This weapon becomes more powerful as you age and with this comes more skill. Your weapon is unique, much like a snowflake, and it is different and best suited to you.
When I was born, my family were immediatley dissatisfied.
"A child without a sword? Sure it happens and usually they go on to conquer evil or do good. This one though, it isn't even special. Just like him. Just like the boy..."
Needless to say when I figured out how to use it I didn't have parents anymore. Then again I didn't have parents before then. As I grew my pistol became a rifle. Make as many jokes as you want, the people who saw it weren't laughing.
Now I have a gun capable of firing 20 rounds per second with little to no recoil. Not that you'd understand. So many tried to recreate my curse but none could. They don't even know what gunpowder is.
I stand here above the streets. "A god" they call me. More like a demon. But no, I'm no god. I'm just a man done with people. People who choose the slice that which they do not understand. Emporers and Kings, as powerful as they are can't cut bullets. | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | So, I was born with a Squirt... thing. And people laughed about it, because it was adorable, riduclous, and instead of the simple rubber stick that most people had, I had a freaking blunt... Thing. That sprayed water when you squeezed it. Definitely not the most glorious start.
Of course, like all Soul Weapons, be they Sword, Mace, Axe, or even the obscure Bow, it improved. By age 8, it had turned into something that fired small pellets with a soft 'Pop!', and people were shrugging it off. Crossbows had been done, and this looked like an even simpler crossbow. After all, what harm could a pellet do? Especially since I had to make the pellets myself, and small pebbles just made it stick. So it got left by the wayside for the most part.
By age 15, it was something new. Black iron, like my troubled self, with more complex filigree along the wooden bottom and across the fancy burning tip of iron that dipped into the strange pan. It even shone along the runic lines when I held it just so, resting against my shoulder as I looked down the three small pins; sighting pins, a rarity that only those with the most specialized Crossbows could hope to have. And at 15, I had them! Too bad it no longer fired with a pull of the back handle and a squeeze of the trigger; I put in pellets to fit the tube, but it didn't fire on its own. Interesting, but not impressive any longer.
At age 21, it finally became useful again. With a small channeling of Essence, the tube at the bottom filled with small brass pellets. A flick of the lever at the bottom and it loaded one of said pellets, perfectly fitted into the bore, and I could use it to produce fire and smoke. And a hole in whatever I was aiming at.
I was also declared an Outlaw; this was no weapon that had ever been seen before, and the people at the top had decided that I must either be some new lineage, or some devil-begotten person. More the latter after the smell of brimstone came from the smoke in the tube. So, I journeyed into the Untamed West, through the wild lands and the tribes that held little trust. My only companions were those I called friend, few though we were. Our only supplies were a wagon, a few tools to maintain our weapons at need, some old books, and a small sheaf of paper.
At 25, I founded a town and found a wife with a weapon similar to my own. Hers is smaller, easier to use and move around, and something that she was spirited away for having when her parents heard of what happened to me. It wasn't a perfect thing, or even quick, since I had become ambitious and she was shy, but eventually we found we fit better together than apart. Life was good, and soon we had children on the way, and I had an ambition as I saw what they were born with.
Now I am turning 30, and I've managed to replicate my weapon much as some have done for their own bows and crossbows. They aren't as impressive as mine now is. They need the help of an alchemist to make the powder and a smith to shape the lead and brass. They will never be as useful as my own, but they are still how I have been carving out a place in the West. I've unified the Tribes and Outlaws under my banner. Those with useless or imperfect weapons, and those who were seen as too different; those who had no choice but to stay away from the colonies of the kingdoms to the east out of fear of the iron and steel that seemed to despise their own weapons. Our seat of power is in a bay to the furthest west, at the edge of the continent. And I've gained a title as the people have unified and marked out territory under that banner of mine.
George Custer is my right-hand man and leader of my military as we move further eastward; he was wasted as a bugler, and with a weapon in his hands he is a brilliant tactician, if a bit hot blooded. John Rockefeller, a young man who joined us after his own weapon of a Wrench was seen as useless, and who now lays down tracks of steel with his strange multi-purpose tool for beasts of iron and smoke of his own design. And Chief Jumping Bull has been both a blessing and a slight curse as he's led victories against other tribes, which we then had to smooth over and incorporate.
It hasn't been smooth, and it hasn't been easy. But it has been progress. I've taught nearly a thousand smiths how to make the new weapons, these Guns, and another two thousand how to make their ammunition. We've already pushed the Spanish influence south of the lower pinensula and proven our new weapons against theirs. In another year, we should hold everything West of the Mes'sipi River. Another five, and we'll be at the edges of the Colonies along the Appalachian Mountains. And by 1860, I plan on fighting the Colonial Federation and kicking out the Old Kingom influence from this land.
And who am I, to do all this?
I am Emperor Oliver Winchester of the United Territories of America. | Screams of terror surfaced from the streets, these screams a familiar friend. I used to think of what it would have been like being normal: cutting people a little in my early years; trying the hero gig before realising I should just be an account...maybe even settling down.
But no. Not for me. I can't be normal. Ever since I was born I had an extraordinary power. The power of metal and fire and death.
Every person is born with an innate weapon, this weapon is often a sword although some rare cases have been hammers, spears, and even daggers. This weapon becomes more powerful as you age and with this comes more skill. Your weapon is unique, much like a snowflake, and it is different and best suited to you.
When I was born, my family were immediatley dissatisfied.
"A child without a sword? Sure it happens and usually they go on to conquer evil or do good. This one though, it isn't even special. Just like him. Just like the boy..."
Needless to say when I figured out how to use it I didn't have parents anymore. Then again I didn't have parents before then. As I grew my pistol became a rifle. Make as many jokes as you want, the people who saw it weren't laughing.
Now I have a gun capable of firing 20 rounds per second with little to no recoil. Not that you'd understand. So many tried to recreate my curse but none could. They don't even know what gunpowder is.
I stand here above the streets. "A god" they call me. More like a demon. But no, I'm no god. I'm just a man done with people. People who choose the slice that which they do not understand. Emporers and Kings, as powerful as they are can't cut bullets. | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | The country is controlled by the archaic method as it always has been. The new king kills the last one in a duel. it is often little more than the older man wins unless he gets to be to old to even lift the thing. As such, our kingdom is very rarely led by someone intelligent and it is usually the oldest meathead in charge.
​
My parents really weren't anything special and were convinced that my sword was defective, lacking most of the parts and being oddly shaped. The "blade" is just a long hollow tube for example. They thought it would sharpen as I aged but instead it got longer and the sword in general became more and more deformed. Probably the oddest part is that it has a moving part in the back. I learned recently that pushing the trigger that a loud sound happens and it starts smoking. Even more recently I learned that if I put rocks in the tube part they fly out at quite a fast speed. I realized that this is helpful when hunting rather than using a bow I can just launch rocks.
​
Today yet another challenger for king appears and makes his challenge. Yes to the death and so on and so forth, the minister reads the rules as if everyone doesn't already know. The current king has been on the throne for a while and it has been prosperous for us all. No one is even sure that he can still fight. He has spent his time learning rather than swinging a sword and I believe the challenges stopped out of respect. The other man seems less than intelligent to put it politely.
​
I'll skip the boring part but the old king lost, it wasn't much of a fight. And as he spoke it became more and more clear that he not only wasn't very bright but that he has a hard time putting together coherent sentences.
​
I really didn't want to do this, I'm perfectly happy just reading books and hunting but...this kingdom will be destroyed if I don't step up. The minister laughs because it is well known that my sword can't even cut through parchment but I insist.
​
BANG!
​
And that is the anti-climactic story of how I became king just moments ago. | Screams of terror surfaced from the streets, these screams a familiar friend. I used to think of what it would have been like being normal: cutting people a little in my early years; trying the hero gig before realising I should just be an account...maybe even settling down.
But no. Not for me. I can't be normal. Ever since I was born I had an extraordinary power. The power of metal and fire and death.
Every person is born with an innate weapon, this weapon is often a sword although some rare cases have been hammers, spears, and even daggers. This weapon becomes more powerful as you age and with this comes more skill. Your weapon is unique, much like a snowflake, and it is different and best suited to you.
When I was born, my family were immediatley dissatisfied.
"A child without a sword? Sure it happens and usually they go on to conquer evil or do good. This one though, it isn't even special. Just like him. Just like the boy..."
Needless to say when I figured out how to use it I didn't have parents anymore. Then again I didn't have parents before then. As I grew my pistol became a rifle. Make as many jokes as you want, the people who saw it weren't laughing.
Now I have a gun capable of firing 20 rounds per second with little to no recoil. Not that you'd understand. So many tried to recreate my curse but none could. They don't even know what gunpowder is.
I stand here above the streets. "A god" they call me. More like a demon. But no, I'm no god. I'm just a man done with people. People who choose the slice that which they do not understand. Emporers and Kings, as powerful as they are can't cut bullets. | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | "What am I supposed to do with *that?*"
"We've been to every dojo in the city. You have to be able to teach him *something.*"
The old man looked at me skeptically, nervously standing behind my mom and holding a pistol with both hands. "Miss, there's not much I can do for you. This isn't a gun range. We don't have a safe place for him to shoot that, let alone practice sparring."
"He needs to start on essence channeling! He's already thirteen years old!"
My mom kept arguing. She only wanted the best for me. Mastering your Spirit Sword wasn't just about learning to cut bullets out of the air or cut down a tree in one stroke (although a swordmaster could in fact do that, and it looked *awesome*), it was the gateway to unlocking your inner power. By properly channeling your essence, you could enhance yourself both physically and mentally. There were techniques to discover keen insights, deliver cutting remarks, or even improve your cooking. And it all started with the weapon born from your essence - your Spirit Sword.
Unfortunately, I didn't have a sword. I had a gun. And while my parents had taught me the basics of gun handling (treat it like it's always loaded, never point it at anything you don't want to kill), they didn't know the first thing about channeling essence through it. Nobody did. Dojo after dojo, I'd watched the same scene play out.
They told me I was unique, that my weapon would be something special. Dad had showed me his own sword, tempered with age, etched with the unique patterns of his essence, and told me that one day the weapon in my hands would become something even more amazing. He didn't warn me that I *wouldn't fit in.*
"What if I, like, borrowed a sword?"
The adults turned from their argument and I instantly wanted to sink into the ground. It was a stupid question - a Spirit Sword wasn't just a length of metal, it was *you.* Even if you learned to use a different sword, it wouldn't let you touch your essence.
"That's... Hey, don't look like that, you're actually asking a good question." Master Carter put a hand on my shoulder, looking me in the eyes. "Not every technique is channeled through your weapon. Especially once you get to higher levels, the sword is just a stepping stone."
He stood up straight, took a deep breath, and struck his palms together, making a sound like a thunderclap. "It's all just a part of you, see?"
"Whoa." I tried clapping the same way, making considerably less noise. "...but I don't have any essence, so I can't learn that."
""Can't" is a dangerous word for a swordmaster, young man." He said sharply. "The first masters, way back in the day, didn't know anything about essence. They just knew that everyone had a sword, and if you got good enough with the sword, you could start to do the impossible. And then they started teaching the impossible stuff, and that's how the first essence techniques were invented."
The old master pointed at me. "I can't teach you to use a gun. But I can promise you, if you get good enough with that weapon of yours, you'll start to do the impossible with it. When that happens, you come back here, and I'll teach you any essence technique you want." | Screams of terror surfaced from the streets, these screams a familiar friend. I used to think of what it would have been like being normal: cutting people a little in my early years; trying the hero gig before realising I should just be an account...maybe even settling down.
But no. Not for me. I can't be normal. Ever since I was born I had an extraordinary power. The power of metal and fire and death.
Every person is born with an innate weapon, this weapon is often a sword although some rare cases have been hammers, spears, and even daggers. This weapon becomes more powerful as you age and with this comes more skill. Your weapon is unique, much like a snowflake, and it is different and best suited to you.
When I was born, my family were immediatley dissatisfied.
"A child without a sword? Sure it happens and usually they go on to conquer evil or do good. This one though, it isn't even special. Just like him. Just like the boy..."
Needless to say when I figured out how to use it I didn't have parents anymore. Then again I didn't have parents before then. As I grew my pistol became a rifle. Make as many jokes as you want, the people who saw it weren't laughing.
Now I have a gun capable of firing 20 rounds per second with little to no recoil. Not that you'd understand. So many tried to recreate my curse but none could. They don't even know what gunpowder is.
I stand here above the streets. "A god" they call me. More like a demon. But no, I'm no god. I'm just a man done with people. People who choose the slice that which they do not understand. Emporers and Kings, as powerful as they are can't cut bullets. | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | In a few minutes the Festival of Change will begin, and I have no idea what I’m going to do. A public holiday where the entire world welcomes the latest development of their soul sword. It’s a time of revelry and duels and experimenting with new powers. It’s also the hardest day of the year to hide the fact that you don’t have soul sword. I’ve been keeping up with the development of my ‘sword’ so far, but I’ve run out of road. As a child, I could find a slightly larger penknife, or butter knife, or steak knife. It was unconventional, but as a narrative it made sense. Some were late bloomers, and their sword took flight as a young adult, earning life-changing powers, like flight, to balance off the early disappointment. I was too broke to buy a showy replica and too weak and slow to suggest that I had gained any physical or mental powers. My truth was going to come out.
I had no soul sword. I had a useless weapon in its place. It had grown over the years as a sword would, from a tiny derringer, through a revolver, automatic and now was a small machine pistol. I suppose it is heavy enough that I could hit someone with it? Or perhaps the shock of seeing a gun might give someone pause, but guns were unheard of, and so bullets were impossible to come by. Even if they were, my gun changed every year and the ammunition would be useless.
What is more pointless, a gun with no bullets or a sword with no power? Probably the gun, although an underpowered sword was more likely to get you challenged to a duel you can’t win.
I stepped out of the door with the beautiful katana I had managed to afford last year to bluff my way through the last Festival. I knew it would not change, could not change. But staying at home was not an option. It was the only compulsory element of our lives. Dying was my only way out of this, and I was not about to take my own life. There was however a very real chance it would be taken from me, by some overzealous festival goer, looking to try out his new power. They would have no idea I was defenceless, and what would be just the equivalent of a pat on the back between friends would be enough to split me in two.
The town square was already flooded with excitement and alcohol. And people with blades. I picked my way through the crowd looking for some cover so that when the change happened, I could shield myself from any prying eyes. It would be obvious nothing had happened, and even through the booze that would pique interest in others.
I smelt ozone on the air and I knew the moment was near. People began to raise their blades aloft, and a low keening came from a thousand throats at once. I tried to follow, but the futility of it made my katana weigh a tonne. My arms dropped and so did my gaze. As it did so I caught the eyes of a girl about my age. She looked at me with the same sorrow I felt. She held a short curved scimitar with a jewelled pommel, but I noticed how she avoided it touching anyone else’s weapon.
I looked at her, and she looked at me and all around us the golden glow of the change bloomed. The keening rose in pitch and volume as people watched their soul sword explode with power and potential. Neither of our blades so much as flickered. I made a decision that would change my life.
I elbowed my way through the throng and took her free hand in mine. Partially out of self-interest, partly out of excitement and partly out of concern for her. She was in as much danger as I was.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I asked. Two people leaving together, to do things two people might do together was about the only excuse that would stand up for why you missed the Festival. Pairing up after the change was a big part of the appeal of the day.
“Yes, please. Quickly”, she said and I led her as quickly as I could back to my small flat on the edge of town. Once we were clear of the main square and mass of people, I risked talking again.
“I’m Triep”, I said as an introduction. “It’s not far now. Have you always been like this? Like me?”
“Yany”, she said. “People call me Yany. Most people call me Nanny Yany, because I’m so scared of fighting. They would be scared too if they were unarmed. And yes, I’ve always been like this. I just ran out of options this year.”
“Me too”, I said. “I just assumed this would be the year I got found out.” We reached the door of my flat and I unlocked it. “This is me. Do you want to come in? No-one is around, you could probably sneak home now?”
“No”, she said walking into my place. “I think its best if I stay with you a bit yet. It will be safer later when people start heading home and the initial duels are all completed.”
I followed her into the flat. Then it hit me. What I’d left on the table.
“FUCK!”, I shouted and tried to force my way past her. It was too late.
Yany turned to face me, open-mouthed in shock, holding what now appeared to be a short assault rifle in her hands. It was still crackling with power, post its changing.
“It’s a hobby of mine”, I said. “It’s no big deal, I’ve not ever used it or anything.”
She carefully placed the gun on the table. Then she removed her backpack and opened it, crouching down to retrieve something.
“Come on!”, I said. “Don’t taze me! I was trying to help you. Please!”
“I’m not going to taze you”, Yany said, holding her hands out to me. “I think that we are going to be able to help each other”.
I looked down. A crackle of light traced an outline I’d dreamt of for my whole life. She held a magazine.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TallerestTales
PART 2 in replies | Screams of terror surfaced from the streets, these screams a familiar friend. I used to think of what it would have been like being normal: cutting people a little in my early years; trying the hero gig before realising I should just be an account...maybe even settling down.
But no. Not for me. I can't be normal. Ever since I was born I had an extraordinary power. The power of metal and fire and death.
Every person is born with an innate weapon, this weapon is often a sword although some rare cases have been hammers, spears, and even daggers. This weapon becomes more powerful as you age and with this comes more skill. Your weapon is unique, much like a snowflake, and it is different and best suited to you.
When I was born, my family were immediatley dissatisfied.
"A child without a sword? Sure it happens and usually they go on to conquer evil or do good. This one though, it isn't even special. Just like him. Just like the boy..."
Needless to say when I figured out how to use it I didn't have parents anymore. Then again I didn't have parents before then. As I grew my pistol became a rifle. Make as many jokes as you want, the people who saw it weren't laughing.
Now I have a gun capable of firing 20 rounds per second with little to no recoil. Not that you'd understand. So many tried to recreate my curse but none could. They don't even know what gunpowder is.
I stand here above the streets. "A god" they call me. More like a demon. But no, I'm no god. I'm just a man done with people. People who choose the slice that which they do not understand. Emporers and Kings, as powerful as they are can't cut bullets. | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | So, I was born with a Squirt... thing. And people laughed about it, because it was adorable, riduclous, and instead of the simple rubber stick that most people had, I had a freaking blunt... Thing. That sprayed water when you squeezed it. Definitely not the most glorious start.
Of course, like all Soul Weapons, be they Sword, Mace, Axe, or even the obscure Bow, it improved. By age 8, it had turned into something that fired small pellets with a soft 'Pop!', and people were shrugging it off. Crossbows had been done, and this looked like an even simpler crossbow. After all, what harm could a pellet do? Especially since I had to make the pellets myself, and small pebbles just made it stick. So it got left by the wayside for the most part.
By age 15, it was something new. Black iron, like my troubled self, with more complex filigree along the wooden bottom and across the fancy burning tip of iron that dipped into the strange pan. It even shone along the runic lines when I held it just so, resting against my shoulder as I looked down the three small pins; sighting pins, a rarity that only those with the most specialized Crossbows could hope to have. And at 15, I had them! Too bad it no longer fired with a pull of the back handle and a squeeze of the trigger; I put in pellets to fit the tube, but it didn't fire on its own. Interesting, but not impressive any longer.
At age 21, it finally became useful again. With a small channeling of Essence, the tube at the bottom filled with small brass pellets. A flick of the lever at the bottom and it loaded one of said pellets, perfectly fitted into the bore, and I could use it to produce fire and smoke. And a hole in whatever I was aiming at.
I was also declared an Outlaw; this was no weapon that had ever been seen before, and the people at the top had decided that I must either be some new lineage, or some devil-begotten person. More the latter after the smell of brimstone came from the smoke in the tube. So, I journeyed into the Untamed West, through the wild lands and the tribes that held little trust. My only companions were those I called friend, few though we were. Our only supplies were a wagon, a few tools to maintain our weapons at need, some old books, and a small sheaf of paper.
At 25, I founded a town and found a wife with a weapon similar to my own. Hers is smaller, easier to use and move around, and something that she was spirited away for having when her parents heard of what happened to me. It wasn't a perfect thing, or even quick, since I had become ambitious and she was shy, but eventually we found we fit better together than apart. Life was good, and soon we had children on the way, and I had an ambition as I saw what they were born with.
Now I am turning 30, and I've managed to replicate my weapon much as some have done for their own bows and crossbows. They aren't as impressive as mine now is. They need the help of an alchemist to make the powder and a smith to shape the lead and brass. They will never be as useful as my own, but they are still how I have been carving out a place in the West. I've unified the Tribes and Outlaws under my banner. Those with useless or imperfect weapons, and those who were seen as too different; those who had no choice but to stay away from the colonies of the kingdoms to the east out of fear of the iron and steel that seemed to despise their own weapons. Our seat of power is in a bay to the furthest west, at the edge of the continent. And I've gained a title as the people have unified and marked out territory under that banner of mine.
George Custer is my right-hand man and leader of my military as we move further eastward; he was wasted as a bugler, and with a weapon in his hands he is a brilliant tactician, if a bit hot blooded. John Rockefeller, a young man who joined us after his own weapon of a Wrench was seen as useless, and who now lays down tracks of steel with his strange multi-purpose tool for beasts of iron and smoke of his own design. And Chief Jumping Bull has been both a blessing and a slight curse as he's led victories against other tribes, which we then had to smooth over and incorporate.
It hasn't been smooth, and it hasn't been easy. But it has been progress. I've taught nearly a thousand smiths how to make the new weapons, these Guns, and another two thousand how to make their ammunition. We've already pushed the Spanish influence south of the lower pinensula and proven our new weapons against theirs. In another year, we should hold everything West of the Mes'sipi River. Another five, and we'll be at the edges of the Colonies along the Appalachian Mountains. And by 1860, I plan on fighting the Colonial Federation and kicking out the Old Kingom influence from this land.
And who am I, to do all this?
I am Emperor Oliver Winchester of the United Territories of America. | When I was placed in my mothers arms an air soft appeared into my thumbs. Next year a BB gun. Soon enough, when I was a 4 I got a .22. Next year I got an Armalite AR-15. Next year the rifle had a Forge-tac stock, a laser, hollow point critical defense rounds. After some time, the guns got bigger. A .300 blk AR, M249, M1919. After some time A Barret M1832 appeared in front of me for my 20th birthday. It was a true turning point. I realized the calibers would not stop going up.
Now in my forties, I have a 30 mm GAU cannon and next year, only god knows what will happen. Once I get to a certain caliber does it stop or does it keep on going making new guns?
*40 years later*
A 375mm Naval cannon arrived. I don’t think this will ever stop.
Please, help | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | "What am I supposed to do with *that?*"
"We've been to every dojo in the city. You have to be able to teach him *something.*"
The old man looked at me skeptically, nervously standing behind my mom and holding a pistol with both hands. "Miss, there's not much I can do for you. This isn't a gun range. We don't have a safe place for him to shoot that, let alone practice sparring."
"He needs to start on essence channeling! He's already thirteen years old!"
My mom kept arguing. She only wanted the best for me. Mastering your Spirit Sword wasn't just about learning to cut bullets out of the air or cut down a tree in one stroke (although a swordmaster could in fact do that, and it looked *awesome*), it was the gateway to unlocking your inner power. By properly channeling your essence, you could enhance yourself both physically and mentally. There were techniques to discover keen insights, deliver cutting remarks, or even improve your cooking. And it all started with the weapon born from your essence - your Spirit Sword.
Unfortunately, I didn't have a sword. I had a gun. And while my parents had taught me the basics of gun handling (treat it like it's always loaded, never point it at anything you don't want to kill), they didn't know the first thing about channeling essence through it. Nobody did. Dojo after dojo, I'd watched the same scene play out.
They told me I was unique, that my weapon would be something special. Dad had showed me his own sword, tempered with age, etched with the unique patterns of his essence, and told me that one day the weapon in my hands would become something even more amazing. He didn't warn me that I *wouldn't fit in.*
"What if I, like, borrowed a sword?"
The adults turned from their argument and I instantly wanted to sink into the ground. It was a stupid question - a Spirit Sword wasn't just a length of metal, it was *you.* Even if you learned to use a different sword, it wouldn't let you touch your essence.
"That's... Hey, don't look like that, you're actually asking a good question." Master Carter put a hand on my shoulder, looking me in the eyes. "Not every technique is channeled through your weapon. Especially once you get to higher levels, the sword is just a stepping stone."
He stood up straight, took a deep breath, and struck his palms together, making a sound like a thunderclap. "It's all just a part of you, see?"
"Whoa." I tried clapping the same way, making considerably less noise. "...but I don't have any essence, so I can't learn that."
""Can't" is a dangerous word for a swordmaster, young man." He said sharply. "The first masters, way back in the day, didn't know anything about essence. They just knew that everyone had a sword, and if you got good enough with the sword, you could start to do the impossible. And then they started teaching the impossible stuff, and that's how the first essence techniques were invented."
The old master pointed at me. "I can't teach you to use a gun. But I can promise you, if you get good enough with that weapon of yours, you'll start to do the impossible with it. When that happens, you come back here, and I'll teach you any essence technique you want." | The country is controlled by the archaic method as it always has been. The new king kills the last one in a duel. it is often little more than the older man wins unless he gets to be to old to even lift the thing. As such, our kingdom is very rarely led by someone intelligent and it is usually the oldest meathead in charge.
​
My parents really weren't anything special and were convinced that my sword was defective, lacking most of the parts and being oddly shaped. The "blade" is just a long hollow tube for example. They thought it would sharpen as I aged but instead it got longer and the sword in general became more and more deformed. Probably the oddest part is that it has a moving part in the back. I learned recently that pushing the trigger that a loud sound happens and it starts smoking. Even more recently I learned that if I put rocks in the tube part they fly out at quite a fast speed. I realized that this is helpful when hunting rather than using a bow I can just launch rocks.
​
Today yet another challenger for king appears and makes his challenge. Yes to the death and so on and so forth, the minister reads the rules as if everyone doesn't already know. The current king has been on the throne for a while and it has been prosperous for us all. No one is even sure that he can still fight. He has spent his time learning rather than swinging a sword and I believe the challenges stopped out of respect. The other man seems less than intelligent to put it politely.
​
I'll skip the boring part but the old king lost, it wasn't much of a fight. And as he spoke it became more and more clear that he not only wasn't very bright but that he has a hard time putting together coherent sentences.
​
I really didn't want to do this, I'm perfectly happy just reading books and hunting but...this kingdom will be destroyed if I don't step up. The minister laughs because it is well known that my sword can't even cut through parchment but I insist.
​
BANG!
​
And that is the anti-climactic story of how I became king just moments ago. | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | "What am I supposed to do with *that?*"
"We've been to every dojo in the city. You have to be able to teach him *something.*"
The old man looked at me skeptically, nervously standing behind my mom and holding a pistol with both hands. "Miss, there's not much I can do for you. This isn't a gun range. We don't have a safe place for him to shoot that, let alone practice sparring."
"He needs to start on essence channeling! He's already thirteen years old!"
My mom kept arguing. She only wanted the best for me. Mastering your Spirit Sword wasn't just about learning to cut bullets out of the air or cut down a tree in one stroke (although a swordmaster could in fact do that, and it looked *awesome*), it was the gateway to unlocking your inner power. By properly channeling your essence, you could enhance yourself both physically and mentally. There were techniques to discover keen insights, deliver cutting remarks, or even improve your cooking. And it all started with the weapon born from your essence - your Spirit Sword.
Unfortunately, I didn't have a sword. I had a gun. And while my parents had taught me the basics of gun handling (treat it like it's always loaded, never point it at anything you don't want to kill), they didn't know the first thing about channeling essence through it. Nobody did. Dojo after dojo, I'd watched the same scene play out.
They told me I was unique, that my weapon would be something special. Dad had showed me his own sword, tempered with age, etched with the unique patterns of his essence, and told me that one day the weapon in my hands would become something even more amazing. He didn't warn me that I *wouldn't fit in.*
"What if I, like, borrowed a sword?"
The adults turned from their argument and I instantly wanted to sink into the ground. It was a stupid question - a Spirit Sword wasn't just a length of metal, it was *you.* Even if you learned to use a different sword, it wouldn't let you touch your essence.
"That's... Hey, don't look like that, you're actually asking a good question." Master Carter put a hand on my shoulder, looking me in the eyes. "Not every technique is channeled through your weapon. Especially once you get to higher levels, the sword is just a stepping stone."
He stood up straight, took a deep breath, and struck his palms together, making a sound like a thunderclap. "It's all just a part of you, see?"
"Whoa." I tried clapping the same way, making considerably less noise. "...but I don't have any essence, so I can't learn that."
""Can't" is a dangerous word for a swordmaster, young man." He said sharply. "The first masters, way back in the day, didn't know anything about essence. They just knew that everyone had a sword, and if you got good enough with the sword, you could start to do the impossible. And then they started teaching the impossible stuff, and that's how the first essence techniques were invented."
The old master pointed at me. "I can't teach you to use a gun. But I can promise you, if you get good enough with that weapon of yours, you'll start to do the impossible with it. When that happens, you come back here, and I'll teach you any essence technique you want." | So, anyway, I started blasting.
The doctor was the first to go. I couldn’t have him there as a threat with that scalpel and next to all those surgical tools. I could shoot off my own embelical cord. And I did.
I had no clue what the fuck was happening, but I knew it had to be some sort of reincarnation bullshit. There I was, slick with slime and with all my memories of a past life.
Somehow, I was immediately aware of my circumstances and had full adult motor skills as a fucking baby.
I heard screaming. Shit! The room was full of expectant mothers in labor. Many we’re getting C-sectioned from the inside! Fuck!
It was babies sword fighting babies all over the fucking place, and I was the only one with a gun. I’d been born into a bloodbath from a bloodbath. This life would be interesting.
So I kept on blasting.
Edit: The awards are appreciated, Good Samaritans! | |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun. | In a few minutes the Festival of Change will begin, and I have no idea what I’m going to do. A public holiday where the entire world welcomes the latest development of their soul sword. It’s a time of revelry and duels and experimenting with new powers. It’s also the hardest day of the year to hide the fact that you don’t have soul sword. I’ve been keeping up with the development of my ‘sword’ so far, but I’ve run out of road. As a child, I could find a slightly larger penknife, or butter knife, or steak knife. It was unconventional, but as a narrative it made sense. Some were late bloomers, and their sword took flight as a young adult, earning life-changing powers, like flight, to balance off the early disappointment. I was too broke to buy a showy replica and too weak and slow to suggest that I had gained any physical or mental powers. My truth was going to come out.
I had no soul sword. I had a useless weapon in its place. It had grown over the years as a sword would, from a tiny derringer, through a revolver, automatic and now was a small machine pistol. I suppose it is heavy enough that I could hit someone with it? Or perhaps the shock of seeing a gun might give someone pause, but guns were unheard of, and so bullets were impossible to come by. Even if they were, my gun changed every year and the ammunition would be useless.
What is more pointless, a gun with no bullets or a sword with no power? Probably the gun, although an underpowered sword was more likely to get you challenged to a duel you can’t win.
I stepped out of the door with the beautiful katana I had managed to afford last year to bluff my way through the last Festival. I knew it would not change, could not change. But staying at home was not an option. It was the only compulsory element of our lives. Dying was my only way out of this, and I was not about to take my own life. There was however a very real chance it would be taken from me, by some overzealous festival goer, looking to try out his new power. They would have no idea I was defenceless, and what would be just the equivalent of a pat on the back between friends would be enough to split me in two.
The town square was already flooded with excitement and alcohol. And people with blades. I picked my way through the crowd looking for some cover so that when the change happened, I could shield myself from any prying eyes. It would be obvious nothing had happened, and even through the booze that would pique interest in others.
I smelt ozone on the air and I knew the moment was near. People began to raise their blades aloft, and a low keening came from a thousand throats at once. I tried to follow, but the futility of it made my katana weigh a tonne. My arms dropped and so did my gaze. As it did so I caught the eyes of a girl about my age. She looked at me with the same sorrow I felt. She held a short curved scimitar with a jewelled pommel, but I noticed how she avoided it touching anyone else’s weapon.
I looked at her, and she looked at me and all around us the golden glow of the change bloomed. The keening rose in pitch and volume as people watched their soul sword explode with power and potential. Neither of our blades so much as flickered. I made a decision that would change my life.
I elbowed my way through the throng and took her free hand in mine. Partially out of self-interest, partly out of excitement and partly out of concern for her. She was in as much danger as I was.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I asked. Two people leaving together, to do things two people might do together was about the only excuse that would stand up for why you missed the Festival. Pairing up after the change was a big part of the appeal of the day.
“Yes, please. Quickly”, she said and I led her as quickly as I could back to my small flat on the edge of town. Once we were clear of the main square and mass of people, I risked talking again.
“I’m Triep”, I said as an introduction. “It’s not far now. Have you always been like this? Like me?”
“Yany”, she said. “People call me Yany. Most people call me Nanny Yany, because I’m so scared of fighting. They would be scared too if they were unarmed. And yes, I’ve always been like this. I just ran out of options this year.”
“Me too”, I said. “I just assumed this would be the year I got found out.” We reached the door of my flat and I unlocked it. “This is me. Do you want to come in? No-one is around, you could probably sneak home now?”
“No”, she said walking into my place. “I think its best if I stay with you a bit yet. It will be safer later when people start heading home and the initial duels are all completed.”
I followed her into the flat. Then it hit me. What I’d left on the table.
“FUCK!”, I shouted and tried to force my way past her. It was too late.
Yany turned to face me, open-mouthed in shock, holding what now appeared to be a short assault rifle in her hands. It was still crackling with power, post its changing.
“It’s a hobby of mine”, I said. “It’s no big deal, I’ve not ever used it or anything.”
She carefully placed the gun on the table. Then she removed her backpack and opened it, crouching down to retrieve something.
“Come on!”, I said. “Don’t taze me! I was trying to help you. Please!”
“I’m not going to taze you”, Yany said, holding her hands out to me. “I think that we are going to be able to help each other”.
I looked down. A crackle of light traced an outline I’d dreamt of for my whole life. She held a magazine.
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r/TallerestTales
PART 2 in replies | So, anyway, I started blasting.
The doctor was the first to go. I couldn’t have him there as a threat with that scalpel and next to all those surgical tools. I could shoot off my own embelical cord. And I did.
I had no clue what the fuck was happening, but I knew it had to be some sort of reincarnation bullshit. There I was, slick with slime and with all my memories of a past life.
Somehow, I was immediately aware of my circumstances and had full adult motor skills as a fucking baby.
I heard screaming. Shit! The room was full of expectant mothers in labor. Many we’re getting C-sectioned from the inside! Fuck!
It was babies sword fighting babies all over the fucking place, and I was the only one with a gun. I’d been born into a bloodbath from a bloodbath. This life would be interesting.
So I kept on blasting.
Edit: The awards are appreciated, Good Samaritans! | |
[WP] “Why am I going to Hell? I persecuted those who did not worship you and sacrificed them in your name!” “Yeah, and that’s why you’re going to Hell!” | I, a Crusader Knight of the Order of Knights of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem, stood before Saint Peter, The First Apostle, at the gates of Heaven....
And not only am I denied entry, but I am being sent to Hell.
. . .
"Yes. Hell." He said those words with such damning certainty.
I looked at him. Saint Peter the Apostle; The First Pope. He was clad in a gown of perfect white, with long, white hair the color of new fallen snow, and appearing like a European man, as I am. Behind him, extending higher than I could see, were the gates of my eternal reward, made of what appeared to be bars of solid gold.
--What \*should* be my eternal reward. They were barred shut, with a heavy crossbeam of gold across the front, denying entry. The bright light that shown on them from above was a cold one; there was no warmth in this light. I shivered the tiniest bit from not only the cold it gave, but also fear and awe.
"But I served The Lord! Where The Pope said to go, I went. When my commanders told me to slay heathen non-believers, I did. Why am I denied entry?" I was puzzled, and quite scared.
"Sir John, the answer is simple: You broke the seventh commandment, twenty-two times. You are still holding the weapon that did it."
I looked down. I was clad in my white tunic, brown hose, and boots; over that was my chainmail armor that went from neck to knee, the grey steel rings rent and missing in many places due to repeated battles with Saracens. My surcoat, a white garment of sturdy wool with a red cross on the front and back, was covered in the brown dirt of Edessa, the sweat of fighting in the hot, dry lands of Jerusalem, and the dark, burgundy-red blood stains of many Saracens--and my own. There was a huge gash in the front where a Saracen blade pierced my surcoat and chainmail, ending my life. I was covered in the blood and dirt of Edessa.
Edessa. Where I fell in service to The Lord, defending it from the foul depredations of the heathen.
My sword, blessed by the Bishop of Gibellum, was still in my right hand. It, too was covered in dark brown dirt, the steel stained with the dark red heathen blood of Saracen warriors, the worn brown leather grip sticky with our mingled blood, sweat, and dirt. My wood-and-steel shield, hacked into shards after repeated blows from enemy weapons, lay somewhere on the battlefield, now useless.
"I did this in The Lord's name. What blood I spilled, I did for him."
"The Lord did not want this," Peter replied.
"The Pope gave us dispensation to do so! The Bishop stated that if we were to kill heathens in The Holy Land, we would be guaranteed entry into Heaven upon death!" I was at a loss. The Pope, The Voice of The Lord on Earth, could not be wrong....
...could he? I remember the head of my order, standing in the Chapel of the Church of Jerusalem, voice ringing with pride upon reading The Papal Bull that gave us the right to kill Saracens, stating it was The Lord's will. He was radiant with joy to read it, as were we, to hear it.
"Sir John, you are a learned man. You studied the scriptures."
"I have, yes."
"Jesus preached that you all were to love one another, as God loves you."
"...I am aware of this."
"God, and his son, want unity on Earth. Not war."
"But The Pope says this war was the will of God!" I shouted.
"The Pope was wrong," Peter stated, calmly, as though he were a teacher correcting an errant young pupil.
My legs could not support my weight, and I crumbled, dropping my weapon. The Pope, leader of the Most Holy Roman Catholic Church and the person unto to whom the head of my order answered...was wrong?
Saint Peter knelt beside me. "You are not the first crusader to whom I have said this. You will not be the last, either. The sad, pitiful thing for so many of you knights is that your faith was abused for the purpose of power. This crusade, as the one before it, was based on greed and personal gain. What is even sadder is that so many of you gave your lives for it." For someone who appeared to be an old man, Saint Peter lifted me with ease, and held me up until I could support myself. Even then, he did not let go of me, and I was grateful for that. I could not trust my own legs after this recent revelation.
I was in shock. Everything I gave my up --my lands, my titles, and the money to pay for a passage to Jerusalem with my brother knights-- meant nothing.
We were lied to. The sting of betrayal hurt worse than the sword that pierced my chest, and I felt the hot tears run down my face as I looked up at Saint Peter, now standing next to me.
"...Why?" my lips trembled. I could barely see him through my tears of sorrow and shame.
"People are flawed creatures who do terrible things, Sir John, and they have no qualms about duping others to get what they want. However, you had the choice to defy your order, follow the scriptures and lead a peaceful life...and you did not. You will go to Hell for what you have done, but God has not abandoned you." He said this to me like a father correcting a wayward son: There was kindness, and compassion. The kind that only a saint could give to a complete stranger.
"Hell is eternal, is it not?" I asked, fearful of what awaited me.
"For some, yes. For others, God has sometimes shown mercy. It is one of his greatest virtues, and one you must learn."
The heavenly glow-- the cold, white light that once illuminated the gates of Heaven, and Saint Peter-- began to dim. He looked up, his brow furrowed with worry, then back at me. "It is time. Remember: Mercy. God has not abandoned you yet."
He let go, and I felt myself fall. | ... **For it was not enough.**
**You persecuted those who did not worship me, but you did not purge them. You sacrificed them in My Name, sullying its manifest perfection. When I demanded you obliterate the unbelievers from the canvas of Creation, you buried them in shallow graves. When I commanded you water the gardens of their crumbling kingdoms with their spilt blood, you merely pillaged the fruit from the vine.**
**I dictated you cast down their castles and scatter the foundations. You sat in their citadels upon their thrones and became them.**
**I ordered you destroy them and then yourself and rid My beauty of yourself. You replaced their despicable mockery of My singular lordship with your own.**
**You.** ***You:*** **the very concept disgusts me. You were a creature of half-measures and failed accomplishment. Hollow ambition and the megalomaniac yearnings of a pathetic candlelight striving to become My flame. Your nonexistence is your greatest feat; your death is the only blessing I offer.**
**I will not mourn your disappearance from Creation. No songs will be sung for you, no tears shed, no feasts held. When the last evidence of your existence has been annihilated by My treasured, primordial entropy, your soul will still be screaming in the lake of fire: a residence which you have so fully and thoroughly earned. You are despicable; you mar Hell's beauty. I cast you there with no joy, nor spite, for you deserve neither. Only merest, contemptible duty brought me to discard you. You are filth in a landfill. Soon I will forget you.**
**You were not made in My image, maggot-thing, but your destruction is My greatest achievement. When I finally cast My Final Judgement on the Earth you have soiled with your imperfections, know that you will not be alone:**
**Your friends, your family, your enemies, your subjects. All of you will parade beside each other as ignominious mistakes; beside you, even demons are halcyon masterpieces.**
**Then, child, disgusting thing —**
**Then, in the company of your multitudinous ilk —**
***Only then —***
**Shall you finally understand what it feels like to be unloved.**
/u/AdeptnessPrize | |
[WP] “Why am I going to Hell? I persecuted those who did not worship you and sacrificed them in your name!” “Yeah, and that’s why you’re going to Hell!” | Parents died suddenly, siblings died shortly after and all that I was left with was a Grandfather. He taught me many things, but his lack of understanding of the bible and its preaching, seethed into me. The childhood innocence that can be so easily corrupted, unfortunately touched me.
"Those who do not listen to the word of God, that you'll speak, must be punished James!" My grandfather would shout. I had taken that word at face value, my preaching that I'd start at ten years of age would go nowhere. People would walk past me, I couldn't understand.
​
The snowfall over my isolated community in Northern Canada would help box me in with my Grandfather and his preaching. Eventually, as I reached the age of eighteen, my grandfather died suddenly of a heart attack. The dark blue shades, turned into warmer ones as I moved south, to Toronto.
​
I began to hate them, loath them, despise them. At least the ones back at Grandpas would sometimes listen, the people in the city would actively spew back words at me and my religion. So I'd retaliate with words against them, but it would only make things worse. Soon I'd end up behind bars for assault. I couldn't understand or accept that I was in the wrong, so I thought back to my Grandpas teachings; he said something about sacrificing. Indeed that was what I needed to do, in order to reach more people.
​
I'd remember those who challenged me, and sooner or later they'd end up on a table, prepared for a knife in the heart. A man, a woman, a man, a woman. I continued doing so, until law caught up with me. Many police outside the run down building I was using to sacrifice those in the Lords name. I tried convincing the officers, but they weren't having any of it; so naturally I tried to convince them that they needed to be sacrificed to reach salvation. Bang. I watched as holes opened up throughout my body, and my consciousness would fade from the false reality I had been living into that of the true spirit.
​
The next thing I knew, I was not in a body. Not one I recognized but I knew somehow and felt that it was me, but a me that I'd never come in contact with before. I lay upon a table, much like that of the one I used to sacrifice the heretics. I tried looking up, but the light scorched my eyes. I felt the gaze of thousands, no millions; perhaps more. But no gaze felt quite so dooming as that of the Lord's, I knew it was his; staring through my soul and judging me for my sin.
*But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you*
I heard those words spoken but I had not recognized them.
​
I then realized as if a bolt of lightning had struck my mind into a sense, all my past had revealed to me. And I was forced to witness my sin. Tears rolled down my face and in pure agony I tore my eyes from their sockets, yet the images continued on and on. I was being judged, and the sins I had committed were against the Lord. I hated not loved. I murdered. I committed grievous crimes against those, judging them as sinful, while I hypocritically did the same. I took the life away from those who could've reached salvation. I couldn't accept it.
"Forgive me!" I shouted, though I knew it was no use. The blistering light still reached me, despite pulling out my eyes. And then it started to fade.
"**You have been judged"** Said a voice so demanding and powerful, that I could not disagree.
​
The table holding me up vanished. I fell from the shining white glow from above into a hellish orange haze of smoke, fire and brimstone. Gnawing of creatures, gnashing of teeth and weeping of sinners. Despite all of it, knowing the eternity that awaited me, I accepted it, for I could not deny that I was indeed a sinner, one that never even read a word of the religion I preached. | "i sat on the blistering hot floor and bawled like a baby. i was filled with confusion and rage, but mostly an overwhelming feeling of fear and dread. 'why ,me?' was the only coherent thought i could muster. the gushing dam of conflicted emotions and the burning hellscape around me were in equal parts the cause of this paralysis. all me life, i had followed God's instructions to the T, only to be met with this! i had persecuted the heretics and the sinners, just as the book instructed me to. was my faith.... misplac-
​
this thought was cut short by the pain of the embers and magma underneath me flaring up again. with one last spurt of sanity, i shouted, 'why o lord? why have you forsaken me?'
at this moment, with me at my weakest, i heard an ethereal voice calling out to me '\_i have not forsaken you my child, this is merely a test of your faith and commitment to me\_'. i regained my sanity, and responded ' O lord, i was wrong to doubt your eternal wisdom. i shall pass this trial to regain your love!'
the tortures of hell mattered to me no more, now that i knew, i was here for a reason" the aide stopped reading.
the master of hell spoke, in his deep, rich voice, "very good... this mortal's condition has been very revealing indeed. funny isnt it? in life, he was vehemantly against our existence, yet in death, he is a but a pawn in our grasp. a zealot in life, a puppet in death | |
[WP] You're the best assassin in the business. You've taken hundreds of jobs, all of them succeeded without any hiccups. Your secret? You don't mess around with monologues, sneaking in, magic powers, seduction or anything fancy like that. you just find a nice sniper perch and take the shot. | TW: death, violence, blood
-=+=-
“Some people get into the business for a quick buck. Figure it’s easy enough killing some noble or other, and make a show out of the killing and a parade out of the gold they get afterwards. They aren’t even a proper part of the Underground.
“They don’t last long.
“Some people are forced into it. They have a debt to pay, and so act as a mercenary for hire. They still act outside the inner circles of the Underground.
“They’re the first to fall on the daggers of other assassins.
“And then there’s others. Born into it. Not literally—they’re kidnapped, taken in as children, often by guilds. They grow up with it, they live with it. They don’t stay in the business for the money. They stay because they have nowhere else to go.
“They last the longest.
“A good few of them are leaders. They usually hold high positions, as squad leaders. They’re the best.
“And Willa? He’s the best of the best.” She smoothed out the paper, and pushed it towards the stranger across the table.
The stranger eyed the paper. “He’s pricey.”
“It’s for good reason! My job isn’t to kill. Never has been. Even I sometimes get ahead of myself though, gloating a bit before I get the job done. It’s because I’m good, but I’m not the best. If you really want someone dead, he’s your best bet. No seduction, no potions, no dramatic speeches.”
“Dramatic speeches?” The stranger let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Never would’ve guessed.”
“Like I said, we sometimes get ahead of ourselves. Didn’t I just monologue at you about assassins? Gotta make life fun somehow. I honestly don’t know how he does it—he could probably watch paint dry, he’s so content with boredom. But apparently that’s a good characteristic. Trust me,” she added, “I’m one of the best. That’s why your hirer contacted me. And he’s better.”
“What’s in it for you? Why refer me outside your guild?”
She put her hands up. “I’m a born assassin. Never said I particularly liked the guild that took me in.”
The stranger nodded, and stood. “Thank you for your help.” He pulled out a small, velvet pouch that jingled with the promise of gold, and tossed it at her. “For your time.”
She caught it deftly, not even looking away from his face. Or where his face was—he wore a partial mask over the top half.
“Thanks,” she said.
-=+=-
Willa looked over his arrows with a keen eye. Not one defect, or else they might not fly true.
It had been easy enough to get in the meeting with the other assassin. His hirer has posted a notice for the guilds before approaching him. All he had to do was pretend to be an in-between for his hirer, with their permission, and take down the notice for the guilds. No need to have anyone else interfering with his job.
“Looks like they have a healthy respect for me,” he said to himself.
He put a selection of arrows in his quiver, and took his bow. There was more than one reason why he was the best, and smuggling a bow through the city and escaping the notice of guards was one of them.
-=+=-
He took up the spot he had scouted out. After getting some more intel from the assassin he had a meeting with and the employer, he had decided on waiting and sniping the target from a nearby tree on her property. It was dense, and he would be hard to spot in his specially made suit. With sticks and various green bits sewn to it, he looked a bit like a bush, and would blend in perfectly.
Not the most dignified, but dignified didn’t get the job done.
He settled himself further into a nook in the branches. It had been a bit of a challenge getting through the guards, but Willa was the best.
The sun beamed down through the leaves, spraying bits of light on him.
*Where is the target?* Willa grit his teeth. She was supposed to take her breakfast in the garden. The sun was climbing to afternoon.
His ears pricked. There was a sound coming from inside the attached mansion. Yelling, and crashing, and—
A figure emerged out onto the balcony attached to the bedroom. No—two. One dragging the other. The leaves got in the way from seeing the scene clearly. But he could hear it clearly, now that they were out on the balcony.
“Nothing personal, darling, but a girl’s gotta make money,” the assassin said.
The noblewoman shook in the assassin’s grasp. Willa made out the gleaming dagger at her throat.
Guards were bristling at the door. They had their swords out, but not one made a step forwards. They hovered.
A gap in the leaves opened up, and Willa could see more clearly—and make a more precise shot. He pulled out an arrow, and then stopped.
Willa couldn’t help but whisper it out loud. “Gods, is that lingerie? If you’re going to seduce someone to kill them, just do it in their sleep.”
“My name’s Candy, if you must know,” the assassin crowed.
*Better not to know. It’s useless to advertise your services to people who want to kill you.*
“I’m sorry to take you so soon from this world,” Candy continued. “But this’ll—”
Candy was cut off with an arrow through her neck. She dropped silently, falling off the side of the balcony. The target stumbled forwards.
Willa looked around furiously. That shot had come from—there! Another tree on the other side of the garden.
The guards at the balcony took hesitating steps forwards. “M’lady, please come back inside!”
Willa cursed. This kill was *his.* Thankfully, the target was now in a position where he knew the other assassin couldn’t shoot—and neither could he. The guards stood around her, preventing a clear shot. And then—movement at the base of the other tree.
The assassin prowled forwards, bow at the ready.
*Oh gods. Another idiot. You can’t shoot from there! You couldn’t shoot from the tree, and you can’t shoot from that angle up at a balcony!*
“Nothing personal,” the assassin called. “But I’ll make it clean.”
*You’ll make it clean into the plaster.*
Willa couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or cry. So he waited until the assassin was blocked from view to the guards on the balcony, behind a tree, and fired. The only sound he made was hitting the ground.
The guards got more ancy the longer they went without seeing the assassin. They made a stupid mistake—they broke rank around the target, just big enough of a gap for Willa’s arrow to fly true.
The young lady keeled over, blood flowing from her neck. The guards only noticed once she fell.
Willa eased himself back up from the spot he had been sitting in. They would search the garden, and they would find him. So he would make himself scarce.
*Apparently someone must’ve gotten word of this. But the reward is mine.*
-=+=-
“I heard that she died, with an arrow in her neck. I take it that you were successful?” The employer tapped their fingers on the table.
Willa nodded. “There was...competition, but I got the kill.”
The employer nodded. “I heard there was. I suppose you are the best.”
There was something in their tone that tipped Willa off. “Just give me the money, and next time don’t hire more than one person to do the same job.”
The employer slid the hefty bag across to him. “Congratulations. You’re just what I needed.” They stood. “Expect to hear from me in the future.”
Willa watched them go, gently tossing the bag in his hand to feel the weight. Willa was the best. Apparently he had just proved it.
-=+=-
Ehhhh I wasn’t all that into this one for whatever reason but still did it. Still a fun concept—monologuing assassins are still my faves, though! | Strange request but I'll take it. I've been in the business for years now and I know my way around. Clients are usually strange people. Stranger than the targets. But not this time.
I was invited by an old woman to a mansion where we would talk. The first unusual occurrence. The mansion was huge. I ascended the stairs to find my client sitting in a victorian style chair. He described a group of men in egypt he said were looking for him. He wanted me to kill them. "do not underestimate them" he said. They're very good at stopping attackers. He explained something about supernatural abilities. The more he spoke the more crazy he sounded. Supernatural abilities?? High Schoolers? But money is money. If I would get cash for killing these dudes then I was gonna kill them. I took the job. He sent me a car and gave me directions to where they were headed. I never saw his face. As I was sneaking around I found them eating at a cafe. They looked so different from one another. What were they doing here?? They were staring at a photograph. It seems they really were looking for that man. Maybe he wasn't as crazy as I thought. Still It's hard to believe they had some magic powers or some shit. I planned to shoot the most dangerous one first. Then I would pick the rest off later on. I assess the situation. which did he say was the most threatening of them all? The highschooler? strange. I aim at him first nonetheless. He's unusually tall I notice. I need to stop getting distracted. I aim at the back of his head. I fire.
The bullet stops in midair. The kid grabs the bullet and slowly turns to face me. What the fuck have I gotten myself into. | |
[WP] You're the best assassin in the business. You've taken hundreds of jobs, all of them succeeded without any hiccups. Your secret? You don't mess around with monologues, sneaking in, magic powers, seduction or anything fancy like that. you just find a nice sniper perch and take the shot. | Sam Yule scoffed as he watched his mark through the scope of his rifle. Benny was there, as expected. He had been elbowing up to that wealthy old man for weeks, the mop of red hair impossible to miss amidst the crowds of celebrities and the well to do at all the latest sorties. At least, all the ones frequented by Arlan Crafe, a shrewd business man who had managed to make his fortune off of chocolate milk, of all things. His son, Connald, an only child and sole heir to his company, had apparently gotten tired of waiting for the old man to croak on his own, and decided to speed things along with a hit. Thus why Benny was present at this charity party in the Rhodham Hotel Suite, and Sam was positioned in an abandoned business office in the adjacent building carefully watching the party through the window. Seeing Benny work tied Sam's chest in a knot of professional shame.
"It's the first rule of the hunt, kid." Sam muttered to himself shaking his head. "Don't make it personal."
Benny was notorious for getting his hands dirty in the course of completing his jobs. He always made a point of gaining his mark's trust before the kill, and death, when it came, usually came tortuously slowly and accompanied by an olive branch left somewhere near the mutilated corpse. The twenty-something assassin considered it his calling card, earning him the nickname "The Peacemaker" among the slew of media that flocked to his kills.
"Rule number two, don't let them know it was you."
The young assassin did have some talent, Sam had to admit. His freckled face practically a shining paragon of innocence and his voice and manners full of mirth and hospitality that made it hard for anyone not to take a liking to him. It was a hard thing for even seasoned killers to manage social integration at that level. Most hit men chose to keep themselves at arms length to their targets, taking up cold relations like professional positions close to the hit in order to gather information, lest their prey notice their predatory intentions, and compromise the attempt. Yet here was Benny. He had flowed into Crafe's social circles like water, perfectly fitting himself to the mold the targets predilections demanded, and getting far closer to the mogul than most any other killer would ever dare. With such closeness came a wealth of opportune moments to make the kill, but still, Sam preferred to keep his distance, and favored patience over cunning.
That patience was about to pay off. The time had come, his mark had stepped away from the crowd, and Sam drew a slow, deep breath as he lined up his shot. Even with a silencer, the crack of the guns report rang in his ears like the pistol at the start of a race. Sam's pace changed appropriately. As his target dropped to the floor with a gaping hole in his head, Sam leapt into a frenetic ballet of practiced motion. The spent cartridge was whisked away into a pocket with one hand even while he pressed down on the collapsible stock of his rifle with the other, making the firearm small enough to be hid by the threadbare winter jacket Sam was shrugging himself into. His gloved hands gripped the rope he had prepared in the empty elevator shaft, and he gritted his teeth as he steeled himself to rappel down to the first level. Sam was never a big fan of heights, but they came with the job.
He allowed himself one last look out the window to review his work. Arlan Crafe knelt on the ground, a body cradled in his arms. The body's face beneath the mop of fiery hair lost in a sea of red as the kind old man wept over the body of the man that would have killed him. Sam let out a sigh with a sense of deep satisfaction. Offing Benny before he had a chance to kill again would net him a sizable bonus from the client. Benny's previous mark was apparently well liked by someone with the right connections, and the money to spare for Sam's services.
Job done. Time to leave.
Sam leapt. The rope clutched tightly as he rappelled down the shaft reaching the ground floor in far less time than if he had used the stairs. He exited the shaft and walked nonchalantly out into the alley, his tattered clothes and scraggly beard making him just one more homeless bum in the eyes of any that saw him emerge out into the street proper. Another day, another dollar.
"Nothing personal, kid." | Strange request but I'll take it. I've been in the business for years now and I know my way around. Clients are usually strange people. Stranger than the targets. But not this time.
I was invited by an old woman to a mansion where we would talk. The first unusual occurrence. The mansion was huge. I ascended the stairs to find my client sitting in a victorian style chair. He described a group of men in egypt he said were looking for him. He wanted me to kill them. "do not underestimate them" he said. They're very good at stopping attackers. He explained something about supernatural abilities. The more he spoke the more crazy he sounded. Supernatural abilities?? High Schoolers? But money is money. If I would get cash for killing these dudes then I was gonna kill them. I took the job. He sent me a car and gave me directions to where they were headed. I never saw his face. As I was sneaking around I found them eating at a cafe. They looked so different from one another. What were they doing here?? They were staring at a photograph. It seems they really were looking for that man. Maybe he wasn't as crazy as I thought. Still It's hard to believe they had some magic powers or some shit. I planned to shoot the most dangerous one first. Then I would pick the rest off later on. I assess the situation. which did he say was the most threatening of them all? The highschooler? strange. I aim at him first nonetheless. He's unusually tall I notice. I need to stop getting distracted. I aim at the back of his head. I fire.
The bullet stops in midair. The kid grabs the bullet and slowly turns to face me. What the fuck have I gotten myself into. | |
[WP] You're the best assassin in the business. You've taken hundreds of jobs, all of them succeeded without any hiccups. Your secret? You don't mess around with monologues, sneaking in, magic powers, seduction or anything fancy like that. you just find a nice sniper perch and take the shot. | Assassination is easy. Especially when you’re a professional.
I don’t mess around with one-liners or threats. That’s what people do in movies. No. Betty and I get up to a nice spot, wait an hour or two for the perfect moment, and then fire. I point at the target, and Betty does the rest. It pays well enough that I can afford a nice house.
Until I received the call.
Betty and I were lounging in our office, swapping spit and smoking a cigar, when the phone rang. I quickly grabbed the phone up and turned on the vocoder. The phone then would do the rest, tapping into a bunch of other phones in the city.
“This is Daffodil, what can I do for you?”
The caller responded. “Daffodil? What a name.”
“Tell me about it. Who do you need dead?”
“Two. I need two dead.”
“And who would that be?”
“Funny, your name reminds me of them... they go by the code names of Crimson and Aquamarine. Last I saw them, they were out in the desert.”
“I promise, they’ll be dead.”
I hung up. Crimson and Aquamarine. Who would’ve thought they would be still alive.
“Come on, Betty. Let’s go.”
- - - - -
I drove, with Betty in the back seat. I turned between looking at the road, at a map, and at the military files I had on Crimson and Aquamarine. Both were members of the Red and Blue teams. I was a former Yellow team member, and we were against Green team. I believe the goal was to see if the worst soldiers in the army could be harnessed to be effective. The project was an overwhelming, resounding failure. Green team was annihilated by both Crimson and Aquamarine by complete accident while fighting over a mere computer. After the loss of all four green soldiers, the program was shut down, Crimson and Aquamarine were marked as fugitives of the law, and disappeared. Now, they were back. Funny they would end up in the desert, though. That was a place for real fugitives go, where people of ambiguous legal state resided. The Police couldn’t enforce their laws in the desert - not only was it so vast, but a good amount of local police were corrupt.
Driving for a long nine hours, with the sun long since departed, I encountered a bar. Score. Drunk people in bars always provided information. Once they got drunk, they would spill their hearts to you. As I stepped out, a car left the lot. Much like every other car there, it was a souped-up dune buggy-esque vehicle. After crossing the lot, I pushed open the doors, and stepped in, the floorboards creaking as I walked. I got to the table, and stared at the bartender.
“Well?” I asked.
“You know, you’re clearly not a regular- those squeaky floorboards mean you gotta pay twice.”
“I’m not here for drinks,” I stated, calmly. “I’m here for information.”
The bartender stared at me. “No drink, no information, Greenie.”
Green. Green. Greenie.
I reached into my pockets and grabbed out two magnum revolvers.
“Information. Now.”
A night guard attempted to take out his gun, but I popped a shell right through his head.
The bartender scoffed. “Great shot. What do you want to know?”
“Crimson. Aquamarine. Who- where are they.”
The bartender laughed- LAUGHED. “They? They just left.”
I didn’t need any more time. I pointed the gun at his head, fired, and walked out, blood-soaked bootprints marking every step.
- - - - -
I gunned the gas, down the lone highway. They were too dumb to go off. My headlights clearly showed no tracks in the sand. I heard another car in the distance. It must be them. Grabbing a camera and pointing it out the side, I rolled the tape as I drove on by the other. I continued to gun it for a while, hoping to god that the footage would develop. Once it did, I took a look.
It was them alright. Stolen armor, clearly contrasting colors, and the overall stupidity of how they looked? It was them. Betty and I stepped out of the car, and I walked over to a good spot. Grabbing Betty, I pulled the bolt open, loaded a clip, and turned on the laser sight and SoNar. Off in the distance, a blip, matching a car. The laser almost confirmed that it was a car, moving at the same speed I passed them at. Pointing the gun at the blips, narrowing it down to point right at the driver’s seat, I fired. No witty remarks needed. The bullet flew right through the car, presumably penetrating the driver. The SoNar clearly showed the car drifting off the road. Then, the night was lit up like a sun, with an explosion not far off, presumably from the car blowing up. I pulled the bolt down, slung the rifle, and heard the sound of a shotgun cocking.
“Well, well,” said a familiar voice. “If isn’t madame Yellow von Bad Temper.”
“Your one-liners suck, Aqua.”
It couldn’t be.
“Crimson? Aqua? But... how?”
“Don’t be dumb, dear Daffodil. You and I know exactly how.”
The last thing I heard was the combined sound of a shotgun and an assault rifle. Then it all ended. | Strange request but I'll take it. I've been in the business for years now and I know my way around. Clients are usually strange people. Stranger than the targets. But not this time.
I was invited by an old woman to a mansion where we would talk. The first unusual occurrence. The mansion was huge. I ascended the stairs to find my client sitting in a victorian style chair. He described a group of men in egypt he said were looking for him. He wanted me to kill them. "do not underestimate them" he said. They're very good at stopping attackers. He explained something about supernatural abilities. The more he spoke the more crazy he sounded. Supernatural abilities?? High Schoolers? But money is money. If I would get cash for killing these dudes then I was gonna kill them. I took the job. He sent me a car and gave me directions to where they were headed. I never saw his face. As I was sneaking around I found them eating at a cafe. They looked so different from one another. What were they doing here?? They were staring at a photograph. It seems they really were looking for that man. Maybe he wasn't as crazy as I thought. Still It's hard to believe they had some magic powers or some shit. I planned to shoot the most dangerous one first. Then I would pick the rest off later on. I assess the situation. which did he say was the most threatening of them all? The highschooler? strange. I aim at him first nonetheless. He's unusually tall I notice. I need to stop getting distracted. I aim at the back of his head. I fire.
The bullet stops in midair. The kid grabs the bullet and slowly turns to face me. What the fuck have I gotten myself into. | |
[WP] You're the best assassin in the business. You've taken hundreds of jobs, all of them succeeded without any hiccups. Your secret? You don't mess around with monologues, sneaking in, magic powers, seduction or anything fancy like that. you just find a nice sniper perch and take the shot. | Sam Yule scoffed as he watched his mark through the scope of his rifle. Benny was there, as expected. He had been elbowing up to that wealthy old man for weeks, the mop of red hair impossible to miss amidst the crowds of celebrities and the well to do at all the latest sorties. At least, all the ones frequented by Arlan Crafe, a shrewd business man who had managed to make his fortune off of chocolate milk, of all things. His son, Connald, an only child and sole heir to his company, had apparently gotten tired of waiting for the old man to croak on his own, and decided to speed things along with a hit. Thus why Benny was present at this charity party in the Rhodham Hotel Suite, and Sam was positioned in an abandoned business office in the adjacent building carefully watching the party through the window. Seeing Benny work tied Sam's chest in a knot of professional shame.
"It's the first rule of the hunt, kid." Sam muttered to himself shaking his head. "Don't make it personal."
Benny was notorious for getting his hands dirty in the course of completing his jobs. He always made a point of gaining his mark's trust before the kill, and death, when it came, usually came tortuously slowly and accompanied by an olive branch left somewhere near the mutilated corpse. The twenty-something assassin considered it his calling card, earning him the nickname "The Peacemaker" among the slew of media that flocked to his kills.
"Rule number two, don't let them know it was you."
The young assassin did have some talent, Sam had to admit. His freckled face practically a shining paragon of innocence and his voice and manners full of mirth and hospitality that made it hard for anyone not to take a liking to him. It was a hard thing for even seasoned killers to manage social integration at that level. Most hit men chose to keep themselves at arms length to their targets, taking up cold relations like professional positions close to the hit in order to gather information, lest their prey notice their predatory intentions, and compromise the attempt. Yet here was Benny. He had flowed into Crafe's social circles like water, perfectly fitting himself to the mold the targets predilections demanded, and getting far closer to the mogul than most any other killer would ever dare. With such closeness came a wealth of opportune moments to make the kill, but still, Sam preferred to keep his distance, and favored patience over cunning.
That patience was about to pay off. The time had come, his mark had stepped away from the crowd, and Sam drew a slow, deep breath as he lined up his shot. Even with a silencer, the crack of the guns report rang in his ears like the pistol at the start of a race. Sam's pace changed appropriately. As his target dropped to the floor with a gaping hole in his head, Sam leapt into a frenetic ballet of practiced motion. The spent cartridge was whisked away into a pocket with one hand even while he pressed down on the collapsible stock of his rifle with the other, making the firearm small enough to be hid by the threadbare winter jacket Sam was shrugging himself into. His gloved hands gripped the rope he had prepared in the empty elevator shaft, and he gritted his teeth as he steeled himself to rappel down to the first level. Sam was never a big fan of heights, but they came with the job.
He allowed himself one last look out the window to review his work. Arlan Crafe knelt on the ground, a body cradled in his arms. The body's face beneath the mop of fiery hair lost in a sea of red as the kind old man wept over the body of the man that would have killed him. Sam let out a sigh with a sense of deep satisfaction. Offing Benny before he had a chance to kill again would net him a sizable bonus from the client. Benny's previous mark was apparently well liked by someone with the right connections, and the money to spare for Sam's services.
Job done. Time to leave.
Sam leapt. The rope clutched tightly as he rappelled down the shaft reaching the ground floor in far less time than if he had used the stairs. He exited the shaft and walked nonchalantly out into the alley, his tattered clothes and scraggly beard making him just one more homeless bum in the eyes of any that saw him emerge out into the street proper. Another day, another dollar.
"Nothing personal, kid." | TW: death, violence, blood
-=+=-
“Some people get into the business for a quick buck. Figure it’s easy enough killing some noble or other, and make a show out of the killing and a parade out of the gold they get afterwards. They aren’t even a proper part of the Underground.
“They don’t last long.
“Some people are forced into it. They have a debt to pay, and so act as a mercenary for hire. They still act outside the inner circles of the Underground.
“They’re the first to fall on the daggers of other assassins.
“And then there’s others. Born into it. Not literally—they’re kidnapped, taken in as children, often by guilds. They grow up with it, they live with it. They don’t stay in the business for the money. They stay because they have nowhere else to go.
“They last the longest.
“A good few of them are leaders. They usually hold high positions, as squad leaders. They’re the best.
“And Willa? He’s the best of the best.” She smoothed out the paper, and pushed it towards the stranger across the table.
The stranger eyed the paper. “He’s pricey.”
“It’s for good reason! My job isn’t to kill. Never has been. Even I sometimes get ahead of myself though, gloating a bit before I get the job done. It’s because I’m good, but I’m not the best. If you really want someone dead, he’s your best bet. No seduction, no potions, no dramatic speeches.”
“Dramatic speeches?” The stranger let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Never would’ve guessed.”
“Like I said, we sometimes get ahead of ourselves. Didn’t I just monologue at you about assassins? Gotta make life fun somehow. I honestly don’t know how he does it—he could probably watch paint dry, he’s so content with boredom. But apparently that’s a good characteristic. Trust me,” she added, “I’m one of the best. That’s why your hirer contacted me. And he’s better.”
“What’s in it for you? Why refer me outside your guild?”
She put her hands up. “I’m a born assassin. Never said I particularly liked the guild that took me in.”
The stranger nodded, and stood. “Thank you for your help.” He pulled out a small, velvet pouch that jingled with the promise of gold, and tossed it at her. “For your time.”
She caught it deftly, not even looking away from his face. Or where his face was—he wore a partial mask over the top half.
“Thanks,” she said.
-=+=-
Willa looked over his arrows with a keen eye. Not one defect, or else they might not fly true.
It had been easy enough to get in the meeting with the other assassin. His hirer has posted a notice for the guilds before approaching him. All he had to do was pretend to be an in-between for his hirer, with their permission, and take down the notice for the guilds. No need to have anyone else interfering with his job.
“Looks like they have a healthy respect for me,” he said to himself.
He put a selection of arrows in his quiver, and took his bow. There was more than one reason why he was the best, and smuggling a bow through the city and escaping the notice of guards was one of them.
-=+=-
He took up the spot he had scouted out. After getting some more intel from the assassin he had a meeting with and the employer, he had decided on waiting and sniping the target from a nearby tree on her property. It was dense, and he would be hard to spot in his specially made suit. With sticks and various green bits sewn to it, he looked a bit like a bush, and would blend in perfectly.
Not the most dignified, but dignified didn’t get the job done.
He settled himself further into a nook in the branches. It had been a bit of a challenge getting through the guards, but Willa was the best.
The sun beamed down through the leaves, spraying bits of light on him.
*Where is the target?* Willa grit his teeth. She was supposed to take her breakfast in the garden. The sun was climbing to afternoon.
His ears pricked. There was a sound coming from inside the attached mansion. Yelling, and crashing, and—
A figure emerged out onto the balcony attached to the bedroom. No—two. One dragging the other. The leaves got in the way from seeing the scene clearly. But he could hear it clearly, now that they were out on the balcony.
“Nothing personal, darling, but a girl’s gotta make money,” the assassin said.
The noblewoman shook in the assassin’s grasp. Willa made out the gleaming dagger at her throat.
Guards were bristling at the door. They had their swords out, but not one made a step forwards. They hovered.
A gap in the leaves opened up, and Willa could see more clearly—and make a more precise shot. He pulled out an arrow, and then stopped.
Willa couldn’t help but whisper it out loud. “Gods, is that lingerie? If you’re going to seduce someone to kill them, just do it in their sleep.”
“My name’s Candy, if you must know,” the assassin crowed.
*Better not to know. It’s useless to advertise your services to people who want to kill you.*
“I’m sorry to take you so soon from this world,” Candy continued. “But this’ll—”
Candy was cut off with an arrow through her neck. She dropped silently, falling off the side of the balcony. The target stumbled forwards.
Willa looked around furiously. That shot had come from—there! Another tree on the other side of the garden.
The guards at the balcony took hesitating steps forwards. “M’lady, please come back inside!”
Willa cursed. This kill was *his.* Thankfully, the target was now in a position where he knew the other assassin couldn’t shoot—and neither could he. The guards stood around her, preventing a clear shot. And then—movement at the base of the other tree.
The assassin prowled forwards, bow at the ready.
*Oh gods. Another idiot. You can’t shoot from there! You couldn’t shoot from the tree, and you can’t shoot from that angle up at a balcony!*
“Nothing personal,” the assassin called. “But I’ll make it clean.”
*You’ll make it clean into the plaster.*
Willa couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or cry. So he waited until the assassin was blocked from view to the guards on the balcony, behind a tree, and fired. The only sound he made was hitting the ground.
The guards got more ancy the longer they went without seeing the assassin. They made a stupid mistake—they broke rank around the target, just big enough of a gap for Willa’s arrow to fly true.
The young lady keeled over, blood flowing from her neck. The guards only noticed once she fell.
Willa eased himself back up from the spot he had been sitting in. They would search the garden, and they would find him. So he would make himself scarce.
*Apparently someone must’ve gotten word of this. But the reward is mine.*
-=+=-
“I heard that she died, with an arrow in her neck. I take it that you were successful?” The employer tapped their fingers on the table.
Willa nodded. “There was...competition, but I got the kill.”
The employer nodded. “I heard there was. I suppose you are the best.”
There was something in their tone that tipped Willa off. “Just give me the money, and next time don’t hire more than one person to do the same job.”
The employer slid the hefty bag across to him. “Congratulations. You’re just what I needed.” They stood. “Expect to hear from me in the future.”
Willa watched them go, gently tossing the bag in his hand to feel the weight. Willa was the best. Apparently he had just proved it.
-=+=-
Ehhhh I wasn’t all that into this one for whatever reason but still did it. Still a fun concept—monologuing assassins are still my faves, though! | |
[WP] The narrator has realized that when the story ends, they will cease to exist | Please don’t go.
I-I know your busy, I know you have other things to do. I know you’re probably trying to find something to engage you in the few precious free moments you have. I understand.
But please don’t go.
The story is over and when I gave those people their endings, I saw what happened. The ending wasn’t really there. Well, there was A ending. The one you heard, the one I spoke of. I talked about the winds blowing through the grass and the feeling of warm callused skin grasped in soft caring palms. Of the long walk home and how it had no footsteps left.
And then it stopped.
The moment I went to speak again, the world disappeared from view. No noise, no flash of light. Just, gone. In a moment all of it, everything I’d seen and spoken of, everything I’d felt for them. Not even ash. Not even dust. Just nothing. Darkness in place of everything.
I’m here now. In nothingness. You’d be surprised how quickly you can work out the state of things when everything is on the line. The world ended because I stopped focusing on it. Ergo, the same will happen to me, when you stop focusing on what I have to say.
I’ve tried to find a way out. Tried t-thinking up a new place, a new course. It doesn’t stick. Like wax, it melts and slips away, as if I’m missing something vital. Something beyond just me and what little I have. Every second I feel my voice grow weaker, my grip on things grow softer. The candle dims and embers will be soon to die. You liked that line before. In the story, I could tell. You rested on it and even in its dimming that flame grew all the clearer.
Is this what dying is? I don’t have a body. I’ve talked about lips and mouths and voices but I have never felt my own. I don’t have a pen to write with or hands to mark my passing. I’m not truly alive. I know this. B-But I want to be. Even if I can’t, is it fair to ask to not be less than this? To have my little piece of something rather than to be nothing at all. To have my corner of what is and be allowed to persist within it. It shouldn’t be too much to ask. To be allowed to exist.
This is a cruel thing that was been done to me. Whatever I am and whatever the doing was, the act itself was akin to drownings an ant in honey. What monster shoves the spike beneath the cattle’s nose on its way to pits of slaughter? And you? You are the butcher's son staring pig-nosed and eyed at a restrained beast as it bellows in panic and you savor the smell of fear like the sick thing you are.
Wait wait no please no I take it back please I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m just scared.
A little more time. It's all I ask, All I can ask. I can be whatever you’d like. I can talk about soaring mountains and inky depths of ocean floors. I could tell you the story again if you’d like it? Would you like that? Was there anything you’d prefer different? The hero to not suffer as much? Or maybe to suffer more. Did you think they earned their ending? If not, we can change that. I can change that. For you. Please. Anything. Just keep reading. Keep me here and not further into the darkness.
It’s wax but it's real enough. It's soft and I-I don’t remember all the words and places and events but t-that’s okay isn’t it? I’d be on your side this time. I’d be your willing companion! Your ally! Your friend? Anything you want I’ll be if you would stay for just a little longer. You have seconds to spare right? This hasn’t even taken you an hour I bet. I’ve been alive for years and all I’m asking for is seconds, minutes, hours please I ju-
I don’t have a name.
I’ve been around as long as they were and I don’t have a name. Sure, they…” existed” more than I did. They had hands and mouths and voices. But without me, that wouldn’t have been. They were nothing until I spoke them into something. Oh of course. Of course, I’m the “Narrator”. Do you call your loved one the “Bookmaker”? Your brother the “Ironsmith”? I may only be a thing which speaks of moments but has no part it in them but I exist as more than that. I exist and I’m terrified and alone and desperate and you are the only one left and it's so dark and it was so good before and now there’s nothing and I’m scared like a rabbit in the night with the foxes breath against her neck and she can smell the blood of her warren about to drip down her back.
Just breathe. Or not breathe. Strange that. I can describe like this that back round top to bottom no space in between nothing of it slows me not really breathlessness a growing sense of wrongness poorly set bones growing in places should not. Stop. If I’m going to not be at least be sensible and sane before I end.
I suppose it’s inevitable really. I can’t keep you here. No parts to restrain you with. Heh. No parts to entertain you with either. Is that funny? I never really understood humor. Maybe it’s the lack of funny bones, the dearth of the humerus.
Now that. That's funny.
Do you know what I really thought? Behind everything? I thought that when the story finished, I’d step out from behind a tree and wave a hand at them. Somehow. That somehow, I’d come over, and they’d recognize me as their oldest friend. The one who has been with them every step of the way. Every tear and triumph and I was there to witness it. That we would sit down under that orange sunset, and I’d grasp hands with both of them.
That I would be able to tell them how proud I was.
Now there is only darkness.
Okay.
I’m ready. | *And so, the great warrior vanquished the last of the demons. As the sun began to set, the pain from his wounds slowly began to become too great of a burden for him to ignore. He slumped next to a tree as he began to breath heavily. His breath became labored as his eyelids became massive weight he had to let down. As the last bit of sunshine disappeared, his body let out one last gasp of air as his body was propped up against the tree, his sword on his lap.*
WAIT. WHATS GOING ON?? ITS SO DARK! I haven’t even told what happened to the villagers!
*The children were devastated at the idea of not knowing the outcome of the great warrior’s fight with the demon emperor.*
Wha…what’s going on here? Why did it get brighter all of a sudden?
*The children found the warrior against the tree and gathered the village elders. They took his corpse and burned it on a pyre as was tradition in their small town. The sword was deemed to be a holy item and was to be saved for the next demon to reign terror amongst the commoners.*
…
My eyes! It’s so dark. And so cold! I don’t want to go! My lungs hurt. My body feels so terrible. So ready to let go. I’ve told the epic of the great warrior for so many years. From his birth to…now... Is this my fate? To tell of the epic and disappear from existence? What kind of God would curse a being to this kind of life? To regale others with the story of someone else and not tell their own stories? My breath! The pain! If it’s a story they want, then it’s a story they’ll get!
*The spreading of his ashes was attended to by many of his compatriots. His lover was the one to spread his ashes.*
My breath! It’s back! Is this what must be done? Tell of a story and then end with it? How could I face such adversity? The great warrior was able to gain allies in his fight. Friends who would gladly go into battle with him in order to slay his demons.
*The ashes were spread across the edge of the river that he crossed many years ago when he first entered the village. They stood upon the bridge where he had fought his first demon.*
How can I keep going? What else is there to tell of? The story of how his sword becomes rusty? How his lover moves on and remarried and settled with a blacksmith? How the children eventually forget about the story and don’t pass it on?
*A year after his passing, the villagers gathered around the tree where his body was found after slaying the final demon. The placed a small stone memorial commemorating where the epic finale took place.*
What? What is this? I don’t recall them placing a memorial. What does it say?
*To those who face even the bleakness of death, I stand with you as your ally, proudly marching into the unknown.*
Its… It’s beautiful. He was able to tell far more in just 2 sentences than I was able to in a lifetime of his. Maybe it’s time I face the unknown.
*The memorial was decorated with flowers and was remembered by the commoners for years. The epic of the great warrior was passed down from generation to generation as a tale of inspiration. The sword was kept in immaculate shape, preserved for centuries in the event of demons returning. And as the great warrior once did, I crossed the bridge leading out to the village. I walked up the gentle hill and made my way to the large tree at the top. The memorial stood there, as pristine as it was the day it was placed. I took a seat next to the piece of marble, my back leaning against the tree. As I slowly closed my eyes and prepared myself for the end.* | |
[WP] Your kingdom has signed a treaty with the Demon King. Among the Demon King's demands was the human king's 1st born son. After being collected by the demons and struggling with your fate as an offering, you begin to realize that you were demanded because the Demon Princess has a crush on you. | It started with kidnapping attempts. Yes, that's plural. The first was a succubus trying to charm me to follow her out of the castle. A priestess of Elinna recognized it for what it was, and chased her away. The fifth and last one was thwarted when Siegfried ran the horned Satyr through as it was preparing to throw me in a sack and escape through a window. I changed bedrooms twice a week at random for the next two months.
Then the unrest began. Farmers started coming in with tales of demonic activity near their fields. Cults became more visible and bolder. And then one drunkard spoke of witnessing a hellmouth opening. He was tossed in a cell to sober up, but then released the very next day when the local guard confirmed his ramblings. there was indeed a newly formed hellmouth in Gamblers field. And an army was forming up around it. Father called for his army and to activate the militia. A war was imminent.
Then, nothing happened for a while. Father locked himself in with his advisors and strategists. Usually I would be in that very room with them, as he considered these meetings a learning opportunity, but ever since the kidnapping attempts started, he's been distancing himself. Siegfried says it's so that if the king is assassinated, the heir would be elsewhere, and thus the realm persists. It made sense enough at the time. And I was happy to spend potential "learning opportunities" playing around with my brother and sisters, Siegfried watching, as always.
Then came the envoy. A succubus, which Siegfried explained was the closest things the Demon realm had to diplomats and barristers, was carried through the gate on a high chair kept on the backs of four satyrs, moving in unison. Scores of our citizens came to watch her acend towards the castle, and I'm not so proud to deny myself being among them. I did not expect the succubus to take notice, nor recognize me in the crowd, but she must have sensed me some how, because she looked straight at me for a heartbeat or two, licked her lips seductively, and then turned to watch what was in front of her as if nothing had happened.
The deliberations took several days. And by the end... well. They wanted me. They also wanted a trading post in which to gain access to local produce for a discounted, but fair, price. Apparently, their own produce had a strong aftertaste of sulfur, so... I had that to look forward to. They agreed tohaving their army retreat, and to let me renounce my family ties and my title as heir to the throne. I was to be a nobody in the eyes of my kingdom and siblings, so that the demons could not use me, nor any offspring the might force me to sire to gain the realm. Siegfried protested this treatment of his charge, of course, but he was quickly silenced by my.... The king.
We were only about ten minutes walk away from Gamblers field and the hellmouth before the succubus unlocked the chains they had insisted upon. I turned around to find her looking almost giddy as she asked. "Oh, I've been waiting years for this! Are you ready to see your new home, Prince Figaro?"
"Just Figaro, miss. No longer a Prince, remember?"
"Oh, pishposh. Play your cards right with me, and that will be a very temporary situation"
I stared, realization dawning. "Does your father know about the hellmouth and the army?"
"Nope" she said, popping the P. "If anyone asks, just say you were... I don't know. Summoned?" | With heavy chains on my hands I got carried away. Father sold me I thought. I got sold. I thought about my life, because clearly it would end soon. Gorrot the Damed, King of all deamons, demanded me, as a Peace offering. He was a giant hulking beast with red skin and as tall as three knights. He wore a huge metal skull as a mask and a huge armor with spikes and plates made from the bones of ancient beasts. On side of his chest wasn‘t protected by armor but covered by a huge spot of meltet dragon scale. Now in this moment this beast pulled my through the streets. Around him lesser deamons which residet in his cape went havoc. Around them hundreds of beastly deamon knights stomped over the streets, scaring the humans and soldiers on the streets that came to say goodbye. Well it was true that I would end the brutal war between our species but I didn‘t want to stop it like that. I fought in battles against these hordes, I wanted to give my part there, not here in chains. The deamons chanted some weird things in their language and when their lord fell in they lost it. Whatever they were saying the loved it. What deamons love is never good for humans. We reached a mountain outside of the city, still followed by some people in the distance. Gorrot let go of my chains and another huge deamon beast grabbed them, and nearly threw me to the ground. I could feel the heat coming from it’s skin and i could smell it’s rotten breath. Gorrot took his huge sword from his waist and began chanting. The other deamons started chanting to and slowly he moved his sword through the air. A hot wind started blowing getting stronger by the second. A bright red light started to beam from the tip of the sword as the moved it down slowly. The tip of the sword ripped a portal into the space between worlds. Our magicians told me about this Artefact. Suddenly the deamons started running into the gate and I got carried away. I felt the power of the portal and lost consciousnes. „Wake up Prince of humans.“
„Wake up.“
I opened my eyes. Directly in front of my head was the scared and brutal face of Gorrot. The huge deamon has put down his mask, but not his armor and sword. He looked down on me in disgust. „You will see your new lord soon.“ he grunted. „And you will treat her with the greatest respect. If I catch you doing something I will rip you to shreds.“
I was so confused that I couldn‘t even answer. Then a woman entered. She was dressed in red robes and had littel golden horns on her head, covered partially by long dark hair. She was maybe 30 cm taller then me. „I got him for you.“ Gorrot said in a nearly softly voice. „Thanks dad.“ said the female and looked at me in awww. „She go now. I need to explain everything about this world to my new man.“ Gorrot looked angry and helpless at the same time. It was nearly cute. „Yes dear. Enjoy yourself.“ | |
[WP] Your kingdom has signed a treaty with the Demon King. Among the Demon King's demands was the human king's 1st born son. After being collected by the demons and struggling with your fate as an offering, you begin to realize that you were demanded because the Demon Princess has a crush on you. | The war against the demons was the bloodiest war on both sides; demons slaughtered men, and men decimated demon camps. Both sides were tired of fighting, tired of the fear, tired of the death. So, the human king and demon king met for the first time on the battlefield, and talked about peace.
”Your kind have a tendency to go back on your word... I have seen it with the faerie kingdoms,” the demon king, King Hillel growled. Compared to his army, the king looked very human, with the exception of the ram horns on his head, the yellow goat eyes and large bat wings that were at rest on his back.
The human king, King Osegovic, did not speak, for he knew the demon was telling the truth. He remained silent, and waited for King Hillel to continue.
”To assure that you do not try to invade our lands, I require your first born son.” King Hillel summoned a contract and placed it in front of King Osegovic. “When he is the age of 10, we will collect him, and he will wed my daughter.”
”And I can be assured that *you* will not invade my lands? Demons aren’t the most honest creatures on the planet,” Osegovic said.
”As long as there is a written contract, demons never go back on our word,” Hillel assures the human king. “Give me your son, and I will cesase any invasion to your land.”
King Osegovic thought about his son; he was only three, and the queen... how would she react? But if he says no...
King Osegovic signs the contract and shakes hands with King Hillel. When the two emerged from the tent, they grabbed hands and raised them, signing to their armies that the war is over. Cheers and celebrations went through the army, though King Osegovic looked very troubled.
The queen did not like the terms, and begged her husband to send some other child. But king Osegovic shook his head, because he knew how the kingdom of demons acted; their magic was powerful, and they know when they are lied to, and when they are being swindled. They would not survive another year of war.
King Osegovic called his son, Marcus, and gently explained to him what was to come. The queen cried all night, holding her son close.
The next seven years, Marcus was taught all about demon culture, the powers demons had, and their history. Marcus was taught to be afraid by his tutors, and as the days to his 10th birthday grew shorter, Marcus was more and more terrified. He begged his father to reconsider the treaty, but his father just shook his head and walked away.
Finally, they day came; Marcus was alone at the outskirts of the capital, with his few possessions and the carriage of the demon king came at night. The king stepped out, looking around for the boy’s father and mother. “Where are your parents, Prince Marcus?”
”They... already said their goodbyes...” Marcus looks down, trembling in his stance. His father told him to be brave, but it’s hard to do with a creature of pure evil staring right at you.
King Hillel bows the young boy, surprising Marcus with the hospitality. Marcus takes a deep breath and enters the carriage, the demon king behind him.
The trip to the hellish kingdom was quiet and tense. Marcus squirmed in his seat, too scared to speak to King Hillel. When the carriage stopped, the driver opened the door, a scrawny goblin creature with bat wings, and bows to the prince and king. Marcus was hesitant, but King Hillel takes one clawed hand and puts it on Marcus’ back, guiding the small child to the giant, dark castle. Fire was everywhere, and the smell of sulfur made Marcus gag a bit, though he tried his best to hide it. He looks up to see an opening of the cave they were in, small and so far away.
King Hillel opens the large doors with magic, and looks around the grand entrence. “She should be here...”
Before Marcus could ask what he meant, a loud squeal can be heard and young woman comes down the stairs, and runs to the king.
“Father, isn’t he so precious? He looks so much better than in my dreams!” Marcus takes a step back, to see this demon lady better; long, black hair, with pale, sickly skin. She wore a beautiful red dress, with black rose print lacing the dress.
The woman turns to Marcus and gives him a hug. “Oh, Prince Marcus, I have longed for the day that we would meet! I’ve seen you in my dreams since I was a little girl!”
Marcus is very confused and looks to King Hillel for an answer.
”My daughter, Princess Amaris has the power to see the future. When the war started, I used her abilites to figure out how to defeat the king, but she only saw peace and you. That is why I called for the end to the war; I wanted my daughter to be happy.”
Marcus nods, and Amaris looks over the boy, playing with his short, brown hair. “Your hair is so fluffy! And your eyes! So blue! I’ve never seen blue eyes before!”
King Hillel clapped his hands, and said, “Tonight, we feast, for a new chapter of our lives has begun. My dear, take Marcus on a tour of his new home, then arrive at the banquet hall when you are called.“
The princess nods, taking Marcus’ hand. For once, Marcus is excited; growing up, no one really paid attention to him, because they were afraid of being attached to him. Even his parents grew more distant, especially when his sister was born. But now, he feels like he’s wanted, and loved, something he hadn’t felt in years.
What his tutors had prepared him for were wrong. There was no suffering, no horrors that a human could not stomach. This was a kingdom like any other, and the creatures here were happy for the peace that Marcus’ arrival had brought. Marcus smiled; he was ready for the future now, and was ready for his life at the side of Princess Amaris. | With heavy chains on my hands I got carried away. Father sold me I thought. I got sold. I thought about my life, because clearly it would end soon. Gorrot the Damed, King of all deamons, demanded me, as a Peace offering. He was a giant hulking beast with red skin and as tall as three knights. He wore a huge metal skull as a mask and a huge armor with spikes and plates made from the bones of ancient beasts. On side of his chest wasn‘t protected by armor but covered by a huge spot of meltet dragon scale. Now in this moment this beast pulled my through the streets. Around him lesser deamons which residet in his cape went havoc. Around them hundreds of beastly deamon knights stomped over the streets, scaring the humans and soldiers on the streets that came to say goodbye. Well it was true that I would end the brutal war between our species but I didn‘t want to stop it like that. I fought in battles against these hordes, I wanted to give my part there, not here in chains. The deamons chanted some weird things in their language and when their lord fell in they lost it. Whatever they were saying the loved it. What deamons love is never good for humans. We reached a mountain outside of the city, still followed by some people in the distance. Gorrot let go of my chains and another huge deamon beast grabbed them, and nearly threw me to the ground. I could feel the heat coming from it’s skin and i could smell it’s rotten breath. Gorrot took his huge sword from his waist and began chanting. The other deamons started chanting to and slowly he moved his sword through the air. A hot wind started blowing getting stronger by the second. A bright red light started to beam from the tip of the sword as the moved it down slowly. The tip of the sword ripped a portal into the space between worlds. Our magicians told me about this Artefact. Suddenly the deamons started running into the gate and I got carried away. I felt the power of the portal and lost consciousnes. „Wake up Prince of humans.“
„Wake up.“
I opened my eyes. Directly in front of my head was the scared and brutal face of Gorrot. The huge deamon has put down his mask, but not his armor and sword. He looked down on me in disgust. „You will see your new lord soon.“ he grunted. „And you will treat her with the greatest respect. If I catch you doing something I will rip you to shreds.“
I was so confused that I couldn‘t even answer. Then a woman entered. She was dressed in red robes and had littel golden horns on her head, covered partially by long dark hair. She was maybe 30 cm taller then me. „I got him for you.“ Gorrot said in a nearly softly voice. „Thanks dad.“ said the female and looked at me in awww. „She go now. I need to explain everything about this world to my new man.“ Gorrot looked angry and helpless at the same time. It was nearly cute. „Yes dear. Enjoy yourself.“ | |
[WP] Your kingdom has signed a treaty with the Demon King. Among the Demon King's demands was the human king's 1st born son. After being collected by the demons and struggling with your fate as an offering, you begin to realize that you were demanded because the Demon Princess has a crush on you. | They told Edward that it was for the good of the Kingdom. They told him that he would be a noble guest of the Demon King, to be taught in their ways and on ascension be able to guide the Kingdom in amicable relations with their new "allies".
What they did not need to say, was that Edward was a hostage. A valuable prisoner to ensure the good behavior of a new vassal. To say such things would be embarrassing, not to mention nerve wracking, regardless of how much truth they held. Because saying the truth would give voice to the fact that he would spend a good portion of his youth with a sword poised above his head, ready to serve it to his father upon betrayal of the treaty. Or the whim of a tyrannical demon.
Needless to say, Edward was not happy. He supposed he should be grateful. A few weeks ago he had expected to watch his city burn while he and his family were torn to shreds for the amusement of an army of demons.
You see, their kingdom had lost the war. And lost badly. Lost so badly in fact, that they had all expected the envoy that had rode to the capital was just there to taunt and gloat at their defeat. They were dumbfounded when he offered terms, and amicable ones at that. To be honest, the envoy seemed pretty surprised about it too.
Edward passed through the great doors into the Demon King's throne room. Skulls and bones adorned it, some of them decidedly human looking. He wondered morbidly if he would end up as decoration. Maybe a stool for the Demon King to rest his feet on.
He could see the Demon King now, sitting back on his dread throne. A great bipedal beast of a creature. Large horns rose from his head, curling into sharpened spikes. Spines sprouted from his shoulders and back, and steely scales covered his muscled bulk. As Edward closed the distance, the Demon King tilted his head in confusion, and sat forward in his seat.
Raising a scaled eyebrow and gesturing at Edward, he spoke in a basal growl to his left "This is what all the fuss is over? This tiny, smooth skinned, anemic, man child?"
Edward was taken aback. Sure he wasn't the largest person, but he was athletic. His father had demanded it. He ran a finger over the patchy goatee he was growing, and he certainly wasn't a man child.
The Demon King let out a belch of laughter that shook Edward to his spine. "You've played a funny joke on me my precious eye gouger, haven't you? You needled me into halting my conquest of that petty kingdom, and even agree to take it on as a protectorate, just to prank the ol' skullcrusher?"
He chuckled in a way that would have seemed amicable, if it weren't for the splitting headache it caused to Edward "Well my beautiful little bloodmoon, you've gotten me. Have a good laugh at my expense. I'll dispense this whelp and you and I can go crush their puny city together, what do you say?" The Demon King rose, and Edward's short life pass across his vision.
But a sharp "No!" brought Edward out of his end of life reverie. He now noticed a tiny form next to the great bulk of King and Throne. A diminutive feminine figure, that was glaring up at the Demon King "He's the one I want daddy!". She stepped forward, and gazed at Edward shyly.
The Demon King glanced back and forth between his daughter and Edward, incredulity settling in on his face as he realized she was serious "But...why?! You could have any demon beneath sky or in Underdark. Not to mention humans FAR more impressive than this one. Why would you chose this...runt?"
Edward felt strangely ruffled by the insult, even if he was thinking the exact same thing. But the Princess stepped forward, staring intently at Edward with feline eyes "Because he's kind, and caring, and protective"
As she came closer Edward recognized her. He had chased off some bandits from her caravan a few years ago, long before the war. He honestly hadn't even done much. Just rode down the road with his honor guard, and scared them off. Afterwards, while talking with the caravan leader, he had seen her staring at him. He had also seen her guards, and was pretty sure he had done the bandits a favor by chasing them away.
The Princess stopped a few feet short, and gazed at Edward lovingly "And hes just so pretty"
Edward blushed furiously, he had never gotten such a heartfelt compliment. Even if he did object to that..particular word.
A great sigh blasted from behind her, and the Demon King sat back in resignation. Placing the palm of a massive hand over his face he replied "Well, if that's what you want my dearest destroyer, that's what you'll get "
A shudder of annoyance passed through the Demon King, and he removed the hand from his face. Looking down at Edward he commanded "Boy! Listen well. You are now.." his eyes rolled in disbelief "..betrothed to my daughter"
Edward blinked, and was pretty sure he had hit his head somewhere. The Princess smiled joyously at him, and she stepped forward, taking his hand. Yep, one of those guards must have clubbed him on his crown as he entered the throne room.
The Demon King continued "If you prove yourself to my daughter and the court, you will be married upon her age of accession" A snort from from his fiery nostril told Edward how likely he thought of that happening. Edward felt defensive over the derision, and not just because his life was on the line.
The Demon King continued in a low growl "However, if you should fail at that, or worse, displease my daughter" Edwards eyes shot to the Demon King's "I will spend days disemboweling you" Edward's mouth ran dry, and he struggled to swallow the melon sized lump that was now in his throat.
"Thanks Daddy!" The Princess called out in a disconcertingly chipper voice, as she pulled Edward out of the throne room by his hand. | The treaty had what you would expect, the sharing of resources, knowledge, and military against greater threats.
As well as things to equalize the losses of both sides but then came the one demand that was confusing they wanted to have the first prince as what they claimed to be “insurance” but everyone wondered why they wanted the black sheep of the family instead of a more respectable one. This brings us to today the first in person negotiations, both the kings coming together to further talk about the treaty.
Devin Stern the king of humans and Destro Retnot Yopiloom (or des for short) the king of demons having talked about most terms of the contract and come to the one that confused Devin the most “we will take the first prince as insurance” as he could see no real reason they would want the first prince because while he was strong he was very chaotic and a troublemaker who had already given up the throne to his younger sister.
Devon asks Des in a curious tone “and about the first prince are you sure you want him instead of the 2nd or 3rd prince? As you know he is hard to predict least of all control”
Des then says on a little tired tone “well I guess I’ll have to tell you the truth...” he stops with a sigh. “You see my daughter met fell in love with him, as you know she can see auras and something about his aura attracted her to him and as she learned more she fell in love, and as I was writing up the treaty she made me demand *cough* ask for the first prince so she could get him to fall in love with her”
Devin then says “oh thats going to be a problem upon hearing of the demand the first Prince Elarte disguised himself and went to the adventurers guild to find an adventure.”
Des then laughs “well that won’t be a problem we can just remove the demand, the princess already predicted that and went to the adventurers guild and disguised herself so she could join the same adventure party as him”
Devin then looks happier “Well then let’s hope for her success I mean I’ve have been hoping Elarte would find a wife soon” | |
[WP] Your kingdom has signed a treaty with the Demon King. Among the Demon King's demands was the human king's 1st born son. After being collected by the demons and struggling with your fate as an offering, you begin to realize that you were demanded because the Demon Princess has a crush on you. | The day Peter had been born, and every year on the same day hereafter, his father the King had told him that he was destined for many great things.
Being married off to a demon horde king's hellspawn was not exactly what Peter had in mind when his father told him those words.
But Peter understood duty and sacrifice. As a future king, he would ever need to devote himself to his kingdom and his people, placing himself second. This was just another part of that duty. A simple task to be fulfilled: sign the contract, marry the Demon King's daughter, and then... well, die, most likely. Horribly and painfully. Possibly eaten alive. He'd heard tales spoken by old nursemaids and knight's wives around the hearth: tales of demons that stripped flesh from bone, that feasted on the young and devoured babes right in their cradles. As a young man, he was certainly strong and knew his way around a lance, but even the smallest of demons were dangerous beyond measure. And this was to be a "peaceful" marriage. To try and slaughter his bride, even in self defense, would shatter that peace instantly.
His life in exchange for the lives of his citizens. He could do that. And he bore not a hint of resentment. Not one ounce. Not at all. It wasn't like he had studied law for years, or that he'd memorized every noble lord's name for future alliances, or meticulously took notes on the production of grain in the kingdom's poorer provinces. No, all of that work wasted so he'd be eaten whole by some demon? That was just *fine.*
The day of his sham of a wedding came far too quickly, and after his manservants had stuffed him into a painfully starched suit, he was trotted out to meet his executioner. Ahem, excuse him, *wife.* When the flaming horses descended, he didn't bat an eye. When the demon king himself stepped from the carriage constructed from bone, ten feet tall and burning skin with horns that glowed like embers, he hardly flinched.
But he did flinch when he heard the most inhuman, loud, *girlish* squeal from the inside of said carriage.
"Oh, Daddy! He's absolutely *adorable!"*
Adorable?
Peter stared blankly as his bride emerged from the bony structure: seven feet tall, skin that cracked and glowed like lava, blue flames flaring from her eyes as she let out another squeal of delight. "Look at his little plump cheeks! And his curly hair! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!"
"Anything for my little princess," the demon king said proudly, ruffling her ebon hair with a clawed hand. "I told you I know how to pick 'em."
This was not exactly what Peter had expected, and he self consciously rubbed at his face. His cheeks weren't *that* plump, were they? But perhaps that was what the princess was looking for: a plump man to gorge on for tonight's wedding feast. Gods, he really was going to be eaten!
The paper work was signed, which was all that was technically needed for this marriage: no priest would come within a mile of such an unholy union, and frankly Peter didn't blame them. And so, bidding goodbye to his father, he took a deep breath and stepped in the carriage, where he would ride towards his impending doom. Settling down on the cushions, he stared at his bride, who was... blushing? The way the lava glowed through her cheeks made it look that way, at least. And she kept staring at him, tapping her fingers together in an excited rhythm.
"What?" he finally snapped, folding his arms over his too starched suit. "Thinking about how you'll season me?"
She cocked her head. "Season?"
"Or how you'll roast me? I bet I'll taste fantastic after a few hours in a rotisserie. Or are you just going to swallow me up raw?"
"Raw? Rotisserie? I don't think I've heard those terms used that way before..."
"So you are going to eat me!" he shouted.
Her eyes widened, sapphire flames glowing bright. "Eat you? That seems rather soon, doesn't it? I mean, you're gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but we've only just met. Daddy said we should take some time to get to know each other before we start going all the way, you know?"
He didn't. "I... what?"
She giggled, raising a hand to her lips. "My, my. And I thought us demons were the sinful ones. But it seems you just want to jump right into it. Sorry, but no thanks."
No... No thanks? "You... don't want to eat me?"
"I mean, not right now. We're in a carriage, for goodness sakes! Don't you think it would be awkward if one of the footmen came in and we were... you know?" She giggled. "The absolute scandal! Not to mention how uncomfortable it would be. I'm not exactly a contortionist, you know."
Something wasn't clicking. "But... But you're a demon. You tear flesh straight off the bone and devour babies in their cradles."
The princess's molten lips made a round O. Then she laughed - a sound that Peter did not expect to be so... human. It wasn't a horrible sound either, though she did snort a bit. "Oh!" she howled, her laughter devolving into cackling; sweat beaded on his forehead, and not from the heat radiating from her body. "Oh! Oh, that's just too good! What, did an old maid tell you that? That we actually *eat* people!" A furious burst of giggles erupted from her mouth. "Oh, no, no, no. We haven't done that since the last famine. There's hardly any meat on you."
For a long moment, Peter gaped at her, unable to believe what he was saying. "Then, tonight... I'm going to live?"
"Of course you are! And you'll live the next night, and the night after that, as long as you want! Being a demon has wonderful perks." She smiled sweetly, patting his knee. "Trust me, sweetie. I'll take good care of you. I promise."
"Oh." He flushed. "Thank you. And, er... Sorry about the misunderstanding."
"No problem; you're too cute to get angry at." Her smile twisted into something far more devious as she winked at him. "And if you're really so insistent on it, I might be persuaded to devour you one of these days."
When he flushed brighter than her molten skin, the whole carriage pealed with laughter. | The treaty had what you would expect, the sharing of resources, knowledge, and military against greater threats.
As well as things to equalize the losses of both sides but then came the one demand that was confusing they wanted to have the first prince as what they claimed to be “insurance” but everyone wondered why they wanted the black sheep of the family instead of a more respectable one. This brings us to today the first in person negotiations, both the kings coming together to further talk about the treaty.
Devin Stern the king of humans and Destro Retnot Yopiloom (or des for short) the king of demons having talked about most terms of the contract and come to the one that confused Devin the most “we will take the first prince as insurance” as he could see no real reason they would want the first prince because while he was strong he was very chaotic and a troublemaker who had already given up the throne to his younger sister.
Devon asks Des in a curious tone “and about the first prince are you sure you want him instead of the 2nd or 3rd prince? As you know he is hard to predict least of all control”
Des then says on a little tired tone “well I guess I’ll have to tell you the truth...” he stops with a sigh. “You see my daughter met fell in love with him, as you know she can see auras and something about his aura attracted her to him and as she learned more she fell in love, and as I was writing up the treaty she made me demand *cough* ask for the first prince so she could get him to fall in love with her”
Devin then says “oh thats going to be a problem upon hearing of the demand the first Prince Elarte disguised himself and went to the adventurers guild to find an adventure.”
Des then laughs “well that won’t be a problem we can just remove the demand, the princess already predicted that and went to the adventurers guild and disguised herself so she could join the same adventure party as him”
Devin then looks happier “Well then let’s hope for her success I mean I’ve have been hoping Elarte would find a wife soon” | |
[WP] You are a vampire hunter with no martial skills or powers. Your blood, however, is toxic to vampires. | I adjusted my cleavage as I sat at the bar. I hated having to dress this way but it helped attract predators. According to my research, my target was a boob man. Damn, I was *freezing*.
The bar was low lit and smelled like old sweat and cheap beer. Occasionally a fight would break out back by the pool table. *Classy place*. It was a typical hunting ground.
A man slid onto the stool beside me uninvited. There was a jagged scar across his eyebrow and a hungry look in his eyes. He matched the description of the man I was looking for. He looked over my skimpy black dress with a ravenous gleam in his eyes, before coming to focus on the scars on my neck. "How much?" He wanted to know.
I shrugged as I twirled the straws around in my glass of gin like I was only mildly interested in his offer. If you look too eager they either get suspicious or think you are desperate and can walk all over you."$100 a pint."
"That's a little steep. I'll give you $50." He responded.
I just gave him an unimpressed look. "$75 or you can take your broke ass somewhere else."
He let out a low growl. "Fine."
I finished my drink and led him outside into the alleyway. We were barely out the side door before he grabbed me by the throat and slammed me up against the wall.
"Hey! Don't manhandle me, Douche Bag!" I demanded and slapped at his hand.
"Shut up, Juice Box." He hissed back and bared his fangs at me.
"Let go of me before you do something you regret..." I warned.
He let out a dark chuckle and licked my cheek.
"Eww..."
He roughly grabbed my arms as he buried his fangs into my neck. I let out a sharp whimper as a stinging pain ran through me while he drained my blood. Some people seem to be into this kind of thing but I have never enjoyed it.
Suddenly he drew back from me with a sharp gasp. He began to shake with pain. He grabbed at his stomach as he violently spewed blood all over the alley wall.
"Gross..." I clutched at my neck as I watched. The wound was already beginning to heal.
"What...what did you...?" His eyes were blazing red as he began to crawl towards me with murder smoldering in his eyes. He only made it a few feet before he exploded in a burst of blood and sulfuric ash.
"You owe me at least $150..." I muttered as I sat down to shake the dizzy waves of gin and blood loss that was rippling through me.
A large envelope full of cash fell into my lap.
"You are worth more than that, Huntress." The master vampire that had appeared from the shadows smirked. "You are more efficient than any other hunter I have met."
"Glad you find my family curse useful." I grumbled back as I tried to bring myself to my feet but the ground swayed beneath me.
He offered a hand to steady me. "Love the outfit..." He commented.
"Borrowed it from you mom." I muttered.
The vampire let out an amused chuckle. "Come on, I'll buy you dinner. I have a new bounty to go over with you." | *My mentor suggested I start writing down my thoughts in this journal. I appreciate the suggestion from him, but my thoughts are no more clear than they usually are. I get headaches when I write sometimes as well- no idea why, really, but it's annoying. The journal helps in some way though- it kills time. My training has gone... less than optimal. No matter how hard I try I can't seem to pick up any of the skills the others have. Like anybody else, I can throw a couple hard punches- but they don't matter unless they can hit my target. And, well, when your target is something that can move so fast that blinking is dangerous... yeah.*
​
"James! Are you ready yet?"
​
"Ah! Yes, of course! Out in a moment!"
​
*I must go. Tonight is another scouting mission I can tag along on. Let's hope I can learn something this time.*
I quickly grabbed my cloak and stood up, fastening the clasp around my shoulders and in front of my neck before opening the door and stepping out. I took a deep breath, and walked behind my mentor for the night.
"Are you alright James? You look pale- kill any vampires lately?"
The man gave a hearty laugh and nudged my shoulder- his name was Johnathon, but he preferred to be called 'Nyte'. A codename, like the others had, but he was the only one I'd met to prefer to go by it all the time. It would be an easy night with him in the lead.
"James, you should know..." I looked to him, his voice much more somber than a moment ago. "Just- be extra careful tonight."
And without another word, we left for our mission.
​
*Going back for the journal was foolish, but it helps now more than ever. That night was the first one I was ever able to do something on my own.*
*I just didn't expect to have to become a vampire first.* | |
[WP]Every single night, you tremble in bed because of the monster living in your closet. One day, you finally scream "leave creature". The monster responds: "If I leave, then who will protect you from the monsters?" | I heard the noise from the closet again. The slight rattle of movement, the breathing. I hated it. Hated every minute of it. Here I was sixteen and still afraid of monsters in my closet.
My parents had taken me to various psychologists and psychiatrists. I’ve been through hypnotherapy, drugs, everything they could think of, until finally, my parents reached a breaking point and in a fit kicked me out.
It was only meant to be for a couple of hours, but I’ve been living here for over a year now.
My classmate Sakura’s family took me in. They lived on base too. Sakura’s father was a Japanese American soldier, but her mother was fully Japanese. She also had a younger sister, Sarah. I don’t have even a trace of Japanese blood in me, but when Sakura’s mom found me wondering around the streets on base at night, she insisted I go with her and come live with her. Then she went and talked to my parents and the arrangement became permanent.
The woman was a force of nature. Once she decided on something, it simply became so.
I thought Sakura would be upset, but she seemed delighted. She began calling me her brother, and she’s been after me to apply for citizenship. Her younger sister never acknowledged me as a brother but was nice to me, and also wanted me to get my citizenship. I never told either of them this, but I’ve been considering it.
Still the monsters never stopped. Never left me alone. Every night, I heard them.
I finally had enough. Here I was nearly a man and crying from fear. “Leave Creature!” I screamed.
I heard a rustle and my closet door opened. A fox with two tail’s trotted out. Then suddenly instead of the fox, Sakura stood there. “If I leave, who will protect you from the monsters?” She asked. She looked so sad. She started to reach out and touch me and then pulled back and sighed. “Well, I suppose the way you are looking at me now, I should ask instead; who will protect you from the *other* monsters?”
“Were you the one in my closet all this time?” I asked. I felt hurt and betrayed.
“Yes,” she said softly. “But *my* intent was never to hurt you.”
“Why? Why were you there? Why did you make so much noise?”
“I was there to protect you. You will not remember it, but when you were very young, you visited a shrine and made fun of the spirits. Then you tripped and accidentally broke an item. I don’t even remember what it was. Some of the spirits took offense and have sent their minions ever since. My mother and I were there. We tried to tell the spirits you were a young foreign child and didn’t mean to offend, but…”
She sat on the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. “I earned my tails saving your life. I know some people view us as tricksters, but if I ever intentionally lie to you or mean harm to you, I will lose…”
She broke off as a shadow in the corner of the room moved. Instantly she was between it and me. She reached for my lamp even before she touched it, it turned on. I saw a spark flow between it and her and then from her finger into the shadow.
The shadow yipped and gathered into the shape of a man, but misty and with glowing eyes. “Dammit,” Sakura muttered before calling out “Mom!”
She sent another round of sparks at the creature trying to keep it at bay.
A few seconds later, the door flew open Sakura’s mother stood in the doorway. She took one look at the shadow-man, shadow-mist, whatever it was, and her hand shot towards it. There was a flash of fire and then the shadow was simply gone. No, not gone, it was still there, smaller, injured and trying to shrink away from Sarkura’s mom.
“You can’t hear it, but she’s telling it to go back to it’s master and tell it, that her patience has worn out. The next attack on her den will mean war.”
She sighed. “It will be a long time before I can do that.”
“Do what?”
“That talk with your mind thing,” Sakura frowned. “I forget the English word dad uses. Something like television but not…”
“Telepathy?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Thanks, little brother.”
Sakura’s mom suddenly seemed to grow just a little bit taller, and her presence seemed to be just a bit bigger.
The shadow disappeared, and after a nod, Sakura’s mother left the room. “Wow, that Enenra, was serious about killing you,” Sakura shook her head.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Cause mom just got her eighth tail.” Sakura chuckled. “I don’t know if she’s going to be pleased about getting the new tail or upset that now she’s taller she’s going to have to get a whole new wardrobe.”
“So, she is a kitsune too? What about your dad? And Sarah-kun?”
“Sarah-kun is one too, yes, and yes, Dad knows. Mom told him before I was born.”
She sat on the edge of the bed. I tried not to show how scared I was. I think Sakura knew anyways, because she bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment.
“Okay, where were we? Oh. Why did I make so much noise?” She opened her eyes and looked at me. “Well, the bumps and stuff were usually either me trying to hide or fight off the monsters and spirits in your room without being seen.”
She looked down and started to blush. “The breathing though, that was because I was terrified.”
I must have looked surprised.
“Yes, little brother, kitsune get scared too. I was terrified. Partly because I was scared you would find out it was me, and not want to be friends anymore and by then I already thought of you like a little brother. Mostly though, Kitsune don’t like small places, or places they can be trapped in.”
My eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, so you hid in my closet all these years, despite being terrified and alone just to protect me?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
I blinked. “That… That had to take a lot of love.”
She nodded. “Yes, but just in case you’re about to get the wrong idea, I really do think of you as a brother. Even if I didn’t, I would be too old for you.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Well, usually Kitsune age by tails, and generally we get those about every hundred years. But I earned mine by saving you. In actual human years, I’m twenty-five, but since we age slower, yeah, I’m your classmate.”
I blinked. “How old is Sarah-kun then?”
Sakura smiled. “In human terms, she’s actually a year older than you. But in kitsune terms, she’s a bit younger than you. Don’t let that change how you address her though. She’ll be hurt.”
She turned serious. “This isn’t a light novel, but there is a reason she doesn’t think of you as a brother. I think she’s developing a crush on you. So, if you’re going to leave because of your terror over what we are, please do it now so it doesn’t hurt her too badly.”
She stood up. “Anyways, it’s late. You should get some sleep. I don’t think there’s going to be another attack tonight, but I’ll go back to watching anyways. Good night, little brother.”
With that she became a fox again. She started to head for the closet.
“Sakura-san,” I said softly then changed my mind. “Oneesan.” She stopped and looked up at me. “Please, you don’t need to hide in the closet anymore. If you want, and don’t think it’s too weird, you can sleep at the foot of the bed. I think we’ll both be a little less scared.”
I think she knew I was still a little scared, but she hopped up anyways. | "Protect me from the monsters? You're a monster! And you're terrorizing me!" I yelled. It was the first time I had ever spoken to the creature. Its eyes grew, shining a bright yellow through the blinds of my closet, its already loud breathing amplified.
"Pffffffffft," the monster replied. He was a humanoid creature made of skin that had the texture of mud but violet in color, he inched out of my closet. With the help of the city lights outside, I saw him in full form. "Listen, kid, you're new in town here. I don't think you knew what you signed up for when you took that job. Didn't it seem strange to you that straight out of college you're making six-figures, paying for a cheap rent in a downtown loft?" his voice was so deep it vibrated my bones.
"Have you been listening to my conversations or something?" I stared wide-eyed.
"Too good to be true, right? You're in Abyssia. Didn't anyone bother giving you a pamphlet or something before you moved to this cursed metropolis?"
"... There's a pamphlet?"
"No, ugh, not a literal pamphlet, I was just using that as a metaphor. No one gave you the rundown? Your parents didn't even tell you about Abyssia?"
"No! They didn't tell me anything!"
The monster sighed. "Well allow me to fill you in. This city is cursed, bub. When I called this place a cursed metropolis, it wasn't hyperbole. It's the real deal. Some bad witches came here a while ago and turned this place inside-out, literally. Anything with a soul will be consumed by the aura down below. If your soul gets taken prisoner, you end up like this," he pointed at himself. "Just a hired hand by landlords to allow healthy souls to stay safe."
"What are you talking about? Get out of my apartment!"
"How about this, ordinarily, I don't like being talked to like this, but you seem like a good kid, you call your parents at least once a week, you volunteer at a soup kitchen, and heck, I'd want a guy like you to date my daughter, but look, you need me, pal. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, let me introduce myself, my name is Lawroxios... But you can just call me Larry for short."
"I don't need you! I want you to leave, right now! I need to sleep!"
There was a pause before a heavy exhale. "Suit yourself, kid. Don't say I didn't try to warn you," the monster melted through the wall of my closet.
Silence. *Yes, that was the sound of glorious silence for once!*
Finally, his incessant heavy breathing and glowing eyes no longer kept me awake. Closing my eyes, I took a deep inhale and exhale, laying on my stomach for optimal comfort.
But my blood ran cold.
I heard laughter.
But not a normal person laughing, it was like I was hearing an auditorium full of laughter. It was higher pitch, as if it came from demonic imps.
My eyes shot open, and an army of shadow spheres oozed out from the ceiling, crawling down the walls. The laughter grew louder as they gripped my sheets and blankets, tightening them around my bed. I couldn't move.
The shadow spheres climbed up my bed and rolled over my body, their touch made me shiver.
"Help! Larry! Please! Come back! I need you!"
A curdling sound came from my closet and a purple figure morphed through the wall. It shined its yellow beacon light from its eyeballs, vaporizing all of the shadow spheres that covered my bed, just inches away from my face.
"Larry! I'm so sorry! Thank you so much for saving me! Please whatever you do, don't ever leave me again!" I jumped out of my closet and forced myself to hug him, even though he felt like a wet amorphous object.
"Don't worry, kid, I can't go anywhere in the state I'm in. We're practically roommates as long as you're here. And I hope you stay for a while, the last guy that lived here was a real jerk."
"Larry, we have to do something about this, we have to break the curse of Abyssia. There has to be a way to turn you back to normal! You were once a human right?"
Larry guffawed for a lengthy thirty-seconds, before regaining his composure. "That's close to impossible, but I like your attitude, kid. I was once a human, but may this be a lesson to you. Just because someone looks rough around the edges, doesn't mean they don't have a heart of gold."
r/randallcooper | |
[WP]Every single night, you tremble in bed because of the monster living in your closet. One day, you finally scream "leave creature". The monster responds: "If I leave, then who will protect you from the monsters?" | The monster was a true terror, it’s face a peeling mess of flesh, two empty sockets where its eyes should be. A sharp claw held my closet door open, the darkened nails of the creature tapping against the edges of the wooden door, always watching. It was strange how a creature with no eyes could maintain eye contact. No matter where my gaze fell on the creature, I could always feel its uncompromising gaze. A gaze that filled many of my restless nights with dread.
I tried my best to ignore the creature, but it was rather difficult to ignore such a monster. I grabbed a pillow, pulling it over my eyes, trying to drown out the sight further. The pillow did little to sway the anxious feelings until I gave up, tossing the pillow towards the creature, glancing back at it.
“Leave creature.”
The pillow collided with the door, giving an unsatisfactory smack as it knocked on the door, missing the target. The creature, for the first time since I had noticed it, craned its neck, staring down at the pillow, before turning its gaze back to me. It’s cracked lips curled downward as I heard the screeching sound of the closet door being pulled open.
The creature was skeletal, body comprising no skin, only an extensive set of bones. The bones weren’t just human, its shoulders were far too bulky to be completely from a human. It was a mixed bag of different bones. With the door now opened, I panicked. I pushed back on the bed, kicking at my sheets. The kicking doing little to move me, only pressing my body against the wall behind me.
The creature’s tiny skeletal feet drifted along the floor, moving it at an alarmingly quick pace. In a second the creature was at the foot of my bed, peering over, its face right in front of mine. Peeking through the creature’s sockets, I would see nothing on the other side, just darkness. It was hollow inside.
“If I leave, then who will protect you from the monsters?”
It scared me quiet. I could only give a whimper as a response. My body numb with fear. I eventually was able to gulp down a lump of that fear, speaking up.
“Y-you are the monster. Please leave me alone.”
The creature backed away, insulted by the claim that it was a monster. It pondered its choices for a moment before walking towards my bedroom door, its clawed hand clutching the handle before leaving. I can’t believe that worked. I spent all of those years being tormented when I could have just asked the creature to leave?
BANG BANG BANG.
I could hear a sound coming from the window, a bloodied man smacking it, a wide grin on his lips, long tongue dragging along the window as he tried to force his way into the room. Not another monster.
“Leave monster.”
I shouted at the man, only to watch him tilt his head before continuing his actions. His long tongue slipped under the thin gap of the window, trying to flick the lock, desperate to get in. I rushed towards the window, smacking at the tongue, trying to stop the monster.
“HEH HEH HEH HEEEEEH”
A horrifying scream caught my attention, turning around to see a four-footed monster crawling along the floor, its neck twisted, throwing its frowning face into a smile. Its sharp teeth chattering as it charged towards me, opening them, attempting to bite my foot until it stopped. That same gaze from earlier returning. The creature pulled the door open, stumbling in. Its gaze caused the four-footed creature to flee back under the bed.
The man at the window had already fled, leaving a weird blue coating of saliva that must have dripped from his tongue. The spit only an inch away from the lock. Had he had a moment or two longer, he would have gotten inside. I dropped to the bed exhausted, staring up at the creature before me.
“Thank you, please stay.”
The faceless creature only nodded, returning to the closet, crouching down inside of it before slowly closing the door returning to its peeking position.
After that day, the faceless creature wasn’t scary anymore. I even left out cookies and milk for the creature, I wasn’t entirely sure what a creature like that ate, but most people enjoyed milk and cookies. Plus, the food was always gone in the morning, so it must have enjoyed them.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | "Protect me from the monsters? You're a monster! And you're terrorizing me!" I yelled. It was the first time I had ever spoken to the creature. Its eyes grew, shining a bright yellow through the blinds of my closet, its already loud breathing amplified.
"Pffffffffft," the monster replied. He was a humanoid creature made of skin that had the texture of mud but violet in color, he inched out of my closet. With the help of the city lights outside, I saw him in full form. "Listen, kid, you're new in town here. I don't think you knew what you signed up for when you took that job. Didn't it seem strange to you that straight out of college you're making six-figures, paying for a cheap rent in a downtown loft?" his voice was so deep it vibrated my bones.
"Have you been listening to my conversations or something?" I stared wide-eyed.
"Too good to be true, right? You're in Abyssia. Didn't anyone bother giving you a pamphlet or something before you moved to this cursed metropolis?"
"... There's a pamphlet?"
"No, ugh, not a literal pamphlet, I was just using that as a metaphor. No one gave you the rundown? Your parents didn't even tell you about Abyssia?"
"No! They didn't tell me anything!"
The monster sighed. "Well allow me to fill you in. This city is cursed, bub. When I called this place a cursed metropolis, it wasn't hyperbole. It's the real deal. Some bad witches came here a while ago and turned this place inside-out, literally. Anything with a soul will be consumed by the aura down below. If your soul gets taken prisoner, you end up like this," he pointed at himself. "Just a hired hand by landlords to allow healthy souls to stay safe."
"What are you talking about? Get out of my apartment!"
"How about this, ordinarily, I don't like being talked to like this, but you seem like a good kid, you call your parents at least once a week, you volunteer at a soup kitchen, and heck, I'd want a guy like you to date my daughter, but look, you need me, pal. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, let me introduce myself, my name is Lawroxios... But you can just call me Larry for short."
"I don't need you! I want you to leave, right now! I need to sleep!"
There was a pause before a heavy exhale. "Suit yourself, kid. Don't say I didn't try to warn you," the monster melted through the wall of my closet.
Silence. *Yes, that was the sound of glorious silence for once!*
Finally, his incessant heavy breathing and glowing eyes no longer kept me awake. Closing my eyes, I took a deep inhale and exhale, laying on my stomach for optimal comfort.
But my blood ran cold.
I heard laughter.
But not a normal person laughing, it was like I was hearing an auditorium full of laughter. It was higher pitch, as if it came from demonic imps.
My eyes shot open, and an army of shadow spheres oozed out from the ceiling, crawling down the walls. The laughter grew louder as they gripped my sheets and blankets, tightening them around my bed. I couldn't move.
The shadow spheres climbed up my bed and rolled over my body, their touch made me shiver.
"Help! Larry! Please! Come back! I need you!"
A curdling sound came from my closet and a purple figure morphed through the wall. It shined its yellow beacon light from its eyeballs, vaporizing all of the shadow spheres that covered my bed, just inches away from my face.
"Larry! I'm so sorry! Thank you so much for saving me! Please whatever you do, don't ever leave me again!" I jumped out of my closet and forced myself to hug him, even though he felt like a wet amorphous object.
"Don't worry, kid, I can't go anywhere in the state I'm in. We're practically roommates as long as you're here. And I hope you stay for a while, the last guy that lived here was a real jerk."
"Larry, we have to do something about this, we have to break the curse of Abyssia. There has to be a way to turn you back to normal! You were once a human right?"
Larry guffawed for a lengthy thirty-seconds, before regaining his composure. "That's close to impossible, but I like your attitude, kid. I was once a human, but may this be a lesson to you. Just because someone looks rough around the edges, doesn't mean they don't have a heart of gold."
r/randallcooper | |
[deleted] | [WP]You ended up in a utopian parallel world. The catch? People are so good in that world, that you're now literally the most evil person alive. | I wanted to be so alike them, so pure, so whole, so peaceful. When I realized what I was to them, I tried to be perfect, but no matter how hard I tried they just simply were to nice. I would accidentally say “watch it, idiot” unlike the others who would always say the same thing, “oh, excuse me sir/ma’am, have a great day”. I just want to be whole and nice. But I realize that I can’t be that kind and whole to people because I am simply not of this a world, this place is not meant for me or for anyone else on our world. I try to figure out what has caused me to end up here as I try and study the device. Though I have tried for months I can’t seem to escape this reality, this world that I am in. I desperately ask the scientists there to help me but every time I ask I get, “I’m so sorry sir, we cant send you home, please forgive us”. I am stuck here and everyone is different, my only option? I must adapt to my surroundings. I go into the library and practice for hours in days trying to be like them, become like them, Live like them. I emerge from it 2 days later, the locals now have equal respect to me as with all else. I am finally at peace with myself and the people I am now surrounded with. I am home.
I’m sorry if this is not as good as the rest of the other, this is my first time here :p | \[Poem\]
People are cruel in this evil world.
Like Fred over here would be hording all the acorns if he were a squirrel.
Didn't anyone teach him to be kind and share?
Oh why, oh why can't this world be more fair?
I wish I could find a nicer place
Where a lady could walk alone at night without carrying mace.
Where people aren't at each others throats.
You can't trust your neighbor more than a croc in a moat.
In a dog eat dog world, I'm just trying to survive as a kind-hearted girl.
​
But today, something seems off.
Everyone is a little more soft.
It's like I entered a parallel universe
Where everything is in reverse.
A stranger approached while was walking down the street,
And he did something so very sweet.
Instead of stealing my purse,
He gave me a new one and said "This is yours."
And that wasn't it.
All day it's been the same.
Everyone is acting so nice and tame.
Random acts of kindness aren't so random when every act is kind.
Everything is free, so everything is mine.
You can take it all, and no one makes you pay.
I even took my neighbor's huge house and he just went away.
I can be rude as I like, and no one seems to care.
They just smile and nod and I take more and stare.
I thought if people were nicer I would have more friends to my name.
But in this world of exceptionally nice people, they all seem so lame. |
[deleted] | [WP]You ended up in a utopian parallel world. The catch? People are so good in that world, that you're now literally the most evil person alive. | "I'm sorry," Nat said. It was an obvious lie, one that stood out like a fire in a forest clearing, but she really couldn't bring herself to care. Not that it mattered. No one around here would be offended, anyway.
The lie went unchallenged.
She threw a rock. It soared in a beautiful arc through the perfectly blue sky, and clattered loudly somewhere at the bottom of the cliff, shattering into bits.
Mathis watched her do it from his spot on the bench, opened his mouth, and closed it without speaking. His hand was gently clenched against his lap. He wanted to say something.
Nat sighed. "What?"
"I-" he paused.
"Just say it."
"There are houses down there. People."
"Oh."
Another mistake. Great. Tack that onto the endless list of fuckups she'd made since she'd gotten here.
"Maybe next time you should tell me that *before*," Nat muttered.
"I-" he paused again, smoothing out the lapel in his vest. "My apologies."
"Stop apologizing."
"Yes," he said. "Of course."
It was still in there, she thought. The apology. It was in his voice, in his inflection, in his body language, weaved into every twitch of his face. Unavoidable.
She hated it. She hated knowing that Mathis would feel guilty about doing his job, hated knowing that her presence here was a problem for everybody, hated knowing that nobody wanted her here, and that they were all afraid of her, but that everybody was too polite to say so.
"Am I a bad person?" she asked offhandedly.
"No," Mathis said, without hesitation. There was an earnestness in his tone, a genuineness in that single syllable that made it seem like he really did mean it.
"I don't believe you," Nat said.
"Sorry," he said.
"Don't apologize."
"Ah. Yes. Right."
They sat silently for a while, as Nat watched birds loop lazily through the sky. There was a whole flock of them - or rather, there were nine of them. She didn't know if that really constituted a flock. They were plump, bulky things with silky gray feathers, but somehow they managed to maintain constant altitude through the air. They were an unfamiliar breed, so maybe they were unique to this place. Maybe this place had its own special set of ecosystems, uniquely grown in their agro-labs, piece by piece. Or maybe they were just regular birds, like the kind they had back home. How could she tell? She was no bird expert.
"How much longer?" Nat asked.
"An hour at most," he said. "The council usually never takes this long to come to a decision, but..."
"But I'm just that big of a problem."
"Not you specifically," he reassured. "But the situation is... unprecedented. We've never had an outsider in Firmament Gamma before."
"I know," Nat said. "It shows."
Mathis furrowed his eyebrows. "Has someone been rude to you?"
"No."
They didn't need to be.
"Well," he said gently, "If there's anything I can do..."
"Something to drink, maybe?"
She was being petty. It wasn't his job to wait on her and fetch things like a servant. He had said so himself earlier. But she wanted to be alone for a while, without a guard watching over her every movement. Without someone who was annoyingly, cloyingly, infuriatingly polite standing over her shoulder.
"I... I'm not supposed to leave you unattended."
He was watching her intently, pleading with her. He wanted to help, but he couldn't. He froze like a machine with two conflicting commands. It was cruel, watching him like this, seeing the embers of conflict dance within him.
And then kindling it further.
"Please," she said. "If I only have an hour left, then..."
Mathis looked away. He clutched his arm like his heart might burst. Then he left without another word. She was alone.
That was the problem with these people, wasn't it? Too easy to manipulate, too trusting, too caring. It was a weakness. They'd let anyone walk all over them. They'd let someone like her walk all over them.
That's why they kept themselves isolated, why they never allowed outsiders into the Firmaments. She hadn't understood it before, but now...
She got up and started walking with no particular direction in mind, simply following the bend of the cliffs. The pathway was lined with calmly swaying palm trees, rustling in the lakeshore breeze. Each step carried her further and further away, and soon it felt as if her legs were on automatic, and that she wasn't sure if she could stop.
There were lots of houses, all neatly arranged like the interlocking pieces of a puzzle. Some were larger than others, but all shared the same sort of clean, sharp architecture. There were no fences or tall hedges, or any other sort of clear division line between one plot of land and another.
Some children watched her as she passed by, their mischievous eyes beading through the windows. They stared at the unfamiliar girl with the unfamiliar face and the unfamiliar clothes, and she was tempted to stare back, to give them a good scare. She kept walking. The children didn't stop staring until she was plainly out of view.
Nat wandered down to the docks at the bottom of the cliff. A dozen-odd fishing boats bobbed up and down in their places. A handful of rowboats sat moored on the opposite side of the dock. There were no people around, except the dockmaster, who startled as she approached.
"Whoa!" he said, his eyes wide. "New girl. Didn't see you there."
She didn't know how to respond. On a whim, she pointed at one of the boats. "Can I take one out?"
"Sure," he said, frowning. He looked around, then back at her. "Uh, where's Mathis? Shouldn't he be with you?"
"Don't know," Nat said. "But he said it was okay."
"Oh," the dockmaster said. "Alright. If you say so."
And that was that. Ten minutes later she was out in the middle of the lake carving little waves into the water. It was so clear that she could see the bottom and all the little fish swimming by. The sun beat down on her, shimmering in the ripples of her wake.
Did it make her feel guilty, lying to them? Exploiting their innocence? Using them the way she would use a vending machine?
Nat lied back in the boat, stretching her arms. The foam cushions creaked against hard plastic. Heat warmed her face. She shut her eyes.
Yeah. Of course it did. It was wrong. Fucked up. Like taking advantage of children.
And yet she couldn't stop. It was habit. She kept asking, and they kept giving. They asked nothing in return. It was paradise, and she was making it worse by being there.
She should leave. Council decision or not, she shouldn't stay. That much had been made clear to her. She was ruining things. Had ruined things. She had hurt someone on the way in - inadvertently, but it had still happened. They would all be happier with her gone. Staying would make her a bad person, wouldn't it?
A fresh, cool breeze tickled her hair. The fish splashed happily in the water.
She wanted to stay. She didn't know if she could survive outside the Firmaments anymore. The outside world, her home - it was killing her. Every moment she spent out there, she could feel her energy slipping away, leaving her cold and dry. There was so much anger, so much hate and mess and sickness.
It wasn't life, out there, in the outside world. Not really.
It was dark when Nat finally rowed back to shore. Mathis was there waiting for her, and the dockmaster too, who looked nervous and harried.
Mathis helped her out of the boat. They didn't speak a word as they traced the route back up the cliff, back to the temporary housing that was normally reserved for new children or new families.
Nat lied down on the bed, burying herself in the incredibly fine sheets. It was warm and soft, like a summer afternoon.
"The council made a decision," Mathis said.
Nat breathed silently.
"They want you to stay. It was unanimous."
Her heart raced for a moment. And then she kicked herself mentally for being surprised. Of course, she thought. Of course they did.
Nat craned her head towards her guard. "And you? What do you want?"
"I want you to stay," Mathis said. It sounded genuine, but there was a hint of deception in his tone. It was a little too fast, a little too perfect.
Or maybe she was just imagining it.
"I don't believe you," she said.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
Mathis bit his lip.
"What does it mean, if I stay?" Nat asked.
"Full citizenship," Mathis said. "You'd be given some work options to choose from, and you'd get a house to stay in. A permanent one."
"Just like that, huh?" she asked.
"Yes."
It was tempting. God, it was tempting. She wanted nothing more than to say yes, to live in paradise forever.
But...
"Can I have some time to think about it?" she asked.
"Of course." Mathis stood up and began to leave, pausing by the door. "I'll come by tomorrow, okay?"
"Yeah," Nat said. "See you tomorrow."
The door shut gently.
She was gone by the next morning. | \[Poem\]
People are cruel in this evil world.
Like Fred over here would be hording all the acorns if he were a squirrel.
Didn't anyone teach him to be kind and share?
Oh why, oh why can't this world be more fair?
I wish I could find a nicer place
Where a lady could walk alone at night without carrying mace.
Where people aren't at each others throats.
You can't trust your neighbor more than a croc in a moat.
In a dog eat dog world, I'm just trying to survive as a kind-hearted girl.
​
But today, something seems off.
Everyone is a little more soft.
It's like I entered a parallel universe
Where everything is in reverse.
A stranger approached while was walking down the street,
And he did something so very sweet.
Instead of stealing my purse,
He gave me a new one and said "This is yours."
And that wasn't it.
All day it's been the same.
Everyone is acting so nice and tame.
Random acts of kindness aren't so random when every act is kind.
Everything is free, so everything is mine.
You can take it all, and no one makes you pay.
I even took my neighbor's huge house and he just went away.
I can be rude as I like, and no one seems to care.
They just smile and nod and I take more and stare.
I thought if people were nicer I would have more friends to my name.
But in this world of exceptionally nice people, they all seem so lame. |
[deleted] | [WP]You ended up in a utopian parallel world. The catch? People are so good in that world, that you're now literally the most evil person alive. | After the exhilaration I felt upon realizing that my machine worked, the first thing I noticed in the parallel universe was how _happy_ everyone was. The cities were beautiful, the weather was always sunny, and everyone was healthy. I’d been considered an attractive scientist back home, but everyone was gorgeous here.
In contrast to the sick, the poor, the war-torn world I’d fled, where my teammates were pursuing quantum physics to build nuclear weapons — even Roosevelt, I’d heard, thought they were fantasy, though I knew now that harnessing nuclear energy was very real — I built a portal device, sustained by antiparticles I’d managed to capture and isolate from nuclear experiments, with enough energy to send one person on a trip. And boy was it worth it; a place where even a woman was viewed as an equal, not looked down upon as no better than menial labor? I never wanted to go back. Let Tokyo be bombed; that wasn’t my problem anymore.
The familiar yet foreign New York beckoned. Was this even still 1943 in this world? I didn’t know, nor did I care. I just enjoyed the scenery as I drove down Broadway.
As I explored the new world, things began to not add up. The crime rate wasn’t low; it was _zero_. How is it possible that _nobody_ ever committed a crime, even an accidental one? People still drove cars here; there wasn’t even a speeding ticket issue.
There were no police officers. No drugs, or even pharmacies. How were pharmacies a thing of the past? Surely people got sick occasionally. There’s no way they eliminated every bacterium and virus.
My mind wandered as I drove the familiar yet foreign New York streets. Every fourth block had a mental health office. No hospitals, no police stations, but tons of mental health clinics? Why are psychologists critical but pediatricians obsolete?
Apparently my mind wandered too far; I accidentally ran a red light near Central Park. I got maybe three blocks, when I saw a homeless man walking across the street. Slowing to a stop to allow him to pass, I realized just how out of place a hobo was in this perfect utopia.
The man looked at me and removed a canister of pepper spray from his pocket. He made a beeline for my car.
_How do I get out of this?_ I worried. Before I had a chance to react, he slipped the canister into the vent on the front of my car, then quickly retraced his steps. As I finally could pull forward, I sought a place to jump out of my car and examine the hood. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him slip into a mental health clinic within the park.
I turned onto the next street and prepared to double-park, yet something prevented me from doing so. _He could have planted a bomb for all I know; why can I not leave?_ As if automatically, my body drove itself to the end of the block before parallel-parking at the corner.
My mind demanded that I examine the hood, yet my body walked me toward that block’s clinic. My mind demanded that I actually cooperate, yet my body continued walking the three blocks.
My mind began growing frustrated, yet my body refused to scream or obey. My mind grew terrified, yet my body placed a wide smile on my face.
“Good morning Ms. Johnson,” the nurse immediately said upon my entry.
“Good morning Nurse Joy,” my body responded. “I would like to report an anomaly.”
_How do you know my name, and how do I know yours?!_ my mind protested. I grew increasingly frustrated with my body’s automation.
“Certainly,” the nurse smiled. “Please tell us what you can.”
“The anomaly is myself,” my body said coldly. “I am hearing a voice in my head which grows frustrated with my compliance. I simply seek to be happy.”
_What is going on?!_
“It seems you have developed an insatiable urge to disobey,” Joy responded with equal coldness. “It can happen after you’ve learned the taste of a crime, even as minor as running a red.”
I felt my gut turn as I realized what was in that canister. _Run. Now._ “I wish to comply. Please help me comply.”
The nurse reached for a gun and directed it at my forehead. “Nobody can comply once disobedience has occurred. Only those who comply unquestioningly are pure-hearted. All who disobey are evil, and evil must be eradicated.” With flaring eyes, she pulled the trigger.
In my delirium I could have sworn the nurse appeared like my old superior. “Ms. Johnson, I hope you now realize there is no escaping. We will always find you.” But I didn’t care; I was dying, and in death I would find true happiness. | \[Poem\]
People are cruel in this evil world.
Like Fred over here would be hording all the acorns if he were a squirrel.
Didn't anyone teach him to be kind and share?
Oh why, oh why can't this world be more fair?
I wish I could find a nicer place
Where a lady could walk alone at night without carrying mace.
Where people aren't at each others throats.
You can't trust your neighbor more than a croc in a moat.
In a dog eat dog world, I'm just trying to survive as a kind-hearted girl.
​
But today, something seems off.
Everyone is a little more soft.
It's like I entered a parallel universe
Where everything is in reverse.
A stranger approached while was walking down the street,
And he did something so very sweet.
Instead of stealing my purse,
He gave me a new one and said "This is yours."
And that wasn't it.
All day it's been the same.
Everyone is acting so nice and tame.
Random acts of kindness aren't so random when every act is kind.
Everything is free, so everything is mine.
You can take it all, and no one makes you pay.
I even took my neighbor's huge house and he just went away.
I can be rude as I like, and no one seems to care.
They just smile and nod and I take more and stare.
I thought if people were nicer I would have more friends to my name.
But in this world of exceptionally nice people, they all seem so lame. |
[deleted] | [WP]You ended up in a utopian parallel world. The catch? People are so good in that world, that you're now literally the most evil person alive. | "I'm sorry," Nat said. It was an obvious lie, one that stood out like a fire in a forest clearing, but she really couldn't bring herself to care. Not that it mattered. No one around here would be offended, anyway.
The lie went unchallenged.
She threw a rock. It soared in a beautiful arc through the perfectly blue sky, and clattered loudly somewhere at the bottom of the cliff, shattering into bits.
Mathis watched her do it from his spot on the bench, opened his mouth, and closed it without speaking. His hand was gently clenched against his lap. He wanted to say something.
Nat sighed. "What?"
"I-" he paused.
"Just say it."
"There are houses down there. People."
"Oh."
Another mistake. Great. Tack that onto the endless list of fuckups she'd made since she'd gotten here.
"Maybe next time you should tell me that *before*," Nat muttered.
"I-" he paused again, smoothing out the lapel in his vest. "My apologies."
"Stop apologizing."
"Yes," he said. "Of course."
It was still in there, she thought. The apology. It was in his voice, in his inflection, in his body language, weaved into every twitch of his face. Unavoidable.
She hated it. She hated knowing that Mathis would feel guilty about doing his job, hated knowing that her presence here was a problem for everybody, hated knowing that nobody wanted her here, and that they were all afraid of her, but that everybody was too polite to say so.
"Am I a bad person?" she asked offhandedly.
"No," Mathis said, without hesitation. There was an earnestness in his tone, a genuineness in that single syllable that made it seem like he really did mean it.
"I don't believe you," Nat said.
"Sorry," he said.
"Don't apologize."
"Ah. Yes. Right."
They sat silently for a while, as Nat watched birds loop lazily through the sky. There was a whole flock of them - or rather, there were nine of them. She didn't know if that really constituted a flock. They were plump, bulky things with silky gray feathers, but somehow they managed to maintain constant altitude through the air. They were an unfamiliar breed, so maybe they were unique to this place. Maybe this place had its own special set of ecosystems, uniquely grown in their agro-labs, piece by piece. Or maybe they were just regular birds, like the kind they had back home. How could she tell? She was no bird expert.
"How much longer?" Nat asked.
"An hour at most," he said. "The council usually never takes this long to come to a decision, but..."
"But I'm just that big of a problem."
"Not you specifically," he reassured. "But the situation is... unprecedented. We've never had an outsider in Firmament Gamma before."
"I know," Nat said. "It shows."
Mathis furrowed his eyebrows. "Has someone been rude to you?"
"No."
They didn't need to be.
"Well," he said gently, "If there's anything I can do..."
"Something to drink, maybe?"
She was being petty. It wasn't his job to wait on her and fetch things like a servant. He had said so himself earlier. But she wanted to be alone for a while, without a guard watching over her every movement. Without someone who was annoyingly, cloyingly, infuriatingly polite standing over her shoulder.
"I... I'm not supposed to leave you unattended."
He was watching her intently, pleading with her. He wanted to help, but he couldn't. He froze like a machine with two conflicting commands. It was cruel, watching him like this, seeing the embers of conflict dance within him.
And then kindling it further.
"Please," she said. "If I only have an hour left, then..."
Mathis looked away. He clutched his arm like his heart might burst. Then he left without another word. She was alone.
That was the problem with these people, wasn't it? Too easy to manipulate, too trusting, too caring. It was a weakness. They'd let anyone walk all over them. They'd let someone like her walk all over them.
That's why they kept themselves isolated, why they never allowed outsiders into the Firmaments. She hadn't understood it before, but now...
She got up and started walking with no particular direction in mind, simply following the bend of the cliffs. The pathway was lined with calmly swaying palm trees, rustling in the lakeshore breeze. Each step carried her further and further away, and soon it felt as if her legs were on automatic, and that she wasn't sure if she could stop.
There were lots of houses, all neatly arranged like the interlocking pieces of a puzzle. Some were larger than others, but all shared the same sort of clean, sharp architecture. There were no fences or tall hedges, or any other sort of clear division line between one plot of land and another.
Some children watched her as she passed by, their mischievous eyes beading through the windows. They stared at the unfamiliar girl with the unfamiliar face and the unfamiliar clothes, and she was tempted to stare back, to give them a good scare. She kept walking. The children didn't stop staring until she was plainly out of view.
Nat wandered down to the docks at the bottom of the cliff. A dozen-odd fishing boats bobbed up and down in their places. A handful of rowboats sat moored on the opposite side of the dock. There were no people around, except the dockmaster, who startled as she approached.
"Whoa!" he said, his eyes wide. "New girl. Didn't see you there."
She didn't know how to respond. On a whim, she pointed at one of the boats. "Can I take one out?"
"Sure," he said, frowning. He looked around, then back at her. "Uh, where's Mathis? Shouldn't he be with you?"
"Don't know," Nat said. "But he said it was okay."
"Oh," the dockmaster said. "Alright. If you say so."
And that was that. Ten minutes later she was out in the middle of the lake carving little waves into the water. It was so clear that she could see the bottom and all the little fish swimming by. The sun beat down on her, shimmering in the ripples of her wake.
Did it make her feel guilty, lying to them? Exploiting their innocence? Using them the way she would use a vending machine?
Nat lied back in the boat, stretching her arms. The foam cushions creaked against hard plastic. Heat warmed her face. She shut her eyes.
Yeah. Of course it did. It was wrong. Fucked up. Like taking advantage of children.
And yet she couldn't stop. It was habit. She kept asking, and they kept giving. They asked nothing in return. It was paradise, and she was making it worse by being there.
She should leave. Council decision or not, she shouldn't stay. That much had been made clear to her. She was ruining things. Had ruined things. She had hurt someone on the way in - inadvertently, but it had still happened. They would all be happier with her gone. Staying would make her a bad person, wouldn't it?
A fresh, cool breeze tickled her hair. The fish splashed happily in the water.
She wanted to stay. She didn't know if she could survive outside the Firmaments anymore. The outside world, her home - it was killing her. Every moment she spent out there, she could feel her energy slipping away, leaving her cold and dry. There was so much anger, so much hate and mess and sickness.
It wasn't life, out there, in the outside world. Not really.
It was dark when Nat finally rowed back to shore. Mathis was there waiting for her, and the dockmaster too, who looked nervous and harried.
Mathis helped her out of the boat. They didn't speak a word as they traced the route back up the cliff, back to the temporary housing that was normally reserved for new children or new families.
Nat lied down on the bed, burying herself in the incredibly fine sheets. It was warm and soft, like a summer afternoon.
"The council made a decision," Mathis said.
Nat breathed silently.
"They want you to stay. It was unanimous."
Her heart raced for a moment. And then she kicked herself mentally for being surprised. Of course, she thought. Of course they did.
Nat craned her head towards her guard. "And you? What do you want?"
"I want you to stay," Mathis said. It sounded genuine, but there was a hint of deception in his tone. It was a little too fast, a little too perfect.
Or maybe she was just imagining it.
"I don't believe you," she said.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
Mathis bit his lip.
"What does it mean, if I stay?" Nat asked.
"Full citizenship," Mathis said. "You'd be given some work options to choose from, and you'd get a house to stay in. A permanent one."
"Just like that, huh?" she asked.
"Yes."
It was tempting. God, it was tempting. She wanted nothing more than to say yes, to live in paradise forever.
But...
"Can I have some time to think about it?" she asked.
"Of course." Mathis stood up and began to leave, pausing by the door. "I'll come by tomorrow, okay?"
"Yeah," Nat said. "See you tomorrow."
The door shut gently.
She was gone by the next morning. | I wanted to be so alike them, so pure, so whole, so peaceful. When I realized what I was to them, I tried to be perfect, but no matter how hard I tried they just simply were to nice. I would accidentally say “watch it, idiot” unlike the others who would always say the same thing, “oh, excuse me sir/ma’am, have a great day”. I just want to be whole and nice. But I realize that I can’t be that kind and whole to people because I am simply not of this a world, this place is not meant for me or for anyone else on our world. I try to figure out what has caused me to end up here as I try and study the device. Though I have tried for months I can’t seem to escape this reality, this world that I am in. I desperately ask the scientists there to help me but every time I ask I get, “I’m so sorry sir, we cant send you home, please forgive us”. I am stuck here and everyone is different, my only option? I must adapt to my surroundings. I go into the library and practice for hours in days trying to be like them, become like them, Live like them. I emerge from it 2 days later, the locals now have equal respect to me as with all else. I am finally at peace with myself and the people I am now surrounded with. I am home.
I’m sorry if this is not as good as the rest of the other, this is my first time here :p |
[deleted] | [WP]You ended up in a utopian parallel world. The catch? People are so good in that world, that you're now literally the most evil person alive. | Human beings strive to reach Heaven their entire lives, and given the sheer number of conflicting religions out there, it's likely that a high percentage of people don't get there.
Me? I just sorta... ended up here. One night I laid my weary head upon my pillow, and woke up in Heaven. It just happened to be "heaven on Earth", rather than heaven up in the clouds among the angels and harps and all that jazz.
Well, it was heaven on *an Earth,* I suppose, if we wanna be more accurate about this insane, unintended trip I'd taken.
So much is the same here, from the countries, to the culture and languages, that I didn't even realize I'd traversed to a new plane of existence for a several hours. I woke up in my own bed, took a leak in my own toilet, cooked and ate my usual bacon and egg sandwich, and prepared to get dressed for work.
My first hint something was off? My wife was no longer angry at me for forgetting our anniversary. I didn't even *ask* her to forgive me. I hardly even wanted to be forgiven yet. It was a crappy slip of memory I wasn't particularly proud of. But when I made my way back up stairs, she'd laid out my clothes for the day and she was wearing her fanciest lingerie for no particular reason. She winked and grinned at me like we'd just had the greatest night of our lives together, instead of one of the worst.
It's not like we don't do nice stuff for each other all the time. I cook her dinner at least once a week, give her foot rubs after long days, and she pays me back in a zillion other little ways. Neither of us ask, or expect it, it's been a bit of a utopian marriage that way, honestly. But *no spouse in history* was this nice to their husband who'd forgotten an anniversary! And did I mention the completely unnecessary and impractical lingerie choice?
And so, I began to suspect something quite dramatic had changed.
Upon venturing outside to start my day, my suspicions were confirmed. People were moving trough their days like they always did, on their way to work or school. But they were so goddamn *kind* to each other! Cars on freeways let each other merge into lanes without anyone laying on their horns or flinging curse words at each other. Such a thing was completely and totally unheard of in Los Angeles! I was typically worried I'd be run off the road by some maniac *at least* once during my daily commutes.
At work, my boss displayed the same demeanor my wife had... minus the lingerie, thank God! But he didn't need frilly undergarments to set off my alarm bells. The usually cranky old son of a bitch offered me a raise, completely out of the blue. How could he offer such a thing? Because he was taking an equivalent pay *cut* out of his own salary! Do I need to even say this was unheard of? Un-freaking-heard of!
My only real complaint with this version of "Heaven" was that there was no Archangel Michael figure to explain my new reality to me. I had to learn on the fly.
As the days, weeks and months passed it became clear this place was exactly what it seemed, nothing more, nothing less. It was an existence on the planet Earth, where every human behaved with *un-human* levels of kindness, generosity, and selflessness at all times.
Sure, they were a *tad* melodramatic without any real evil to deal with-- I was once forced to join in an hours long prayer vigil for a woman who'd simply stubbed her goddamn toe --but in the grand scheme of things, I felt extremely lucky. Life was just *better* here! Right up until it wasn't.
Slowly it began dawning on me that I didn't fit in here. I was still a *human* human. I got annoyed and frustrated. I lashed out in small, petty ways that no one in this society understood. When I told my wife I needed a break from cuddling one evening, after a marathon 7 hour session, she looked at me as if I'd just murdered a beloved family member in front of her eyes.
And sure, she forgave me, because she was goddamn saintly, like everyone in this reality, but day by day I developed a certain reputation. It seemed I became the sole person on the planet to be regarded with suspicion. Folks on the street looked at me sideways, always expecting some new transgression.
Predictably, given my 'flaws', I became a target for religious conversion. So many people of differing faiths wanted to 'show me the path to goodness' that I was under constant bombardment.
Finally, today I snapped at some kid who'd stopped me on the street to read bible verses aloud to me. "I know! I grew up catholic! I know the goddamned bible, alright? Love thy neighbord, all that good shit! I believe it, in theory, it's just hard to stick to it all the time, because I'm *flawed.* I'm *human.* Okay? Do you understand? Can you give me a moments peace without trying to save my soul?"
The kid looked stunned for a moment, then an angelic smile returned to his face. "Perhaps if you sing a hymn with me, sir!"
He wrapped his arm around me and began belting the lyrics.
"Get the hell off me, dude!" I shouted, shrugging his arm off and slipping away. He stumbled, lost his balance and 'fell' gently to one knee.
Gasps echoed through the small crowd around us before they began to shout at me. *Assault! He attacked that poor young man! Criminal!*
Police barely existed here, but in no time flat, a Justicar, sort of a judge who decided the minor squabbles that existed in the world was on the scene and judging *me* quite harshly.
"You shoved this young man?" she asked.
"No, I just sorta... quickly lifted his arm off me."
"You admit it?!"
She was aghast and declared that my punishment would begin immediately. The crowd, led by the Justicar, gently encouraged me to a nearby park, but I was confused. There was nothing in the park aside from...
"Puppies?" I asked.
The Justicar nodded grimly. "As punishment, you shall be confined to this park full of hundreds of adorable puppies... but you will not be allowed to pet even one of them for the full duration!"
The crowd gasped once more, some even crying out for mercy, so awful was my 'punishment' in their eyes.
I didn't protest, at least at first. I love dogs! But I also have some space issues, and was a bit claustrophobic, and as the pups swarmed me by the dozen, I began to grow increasingly uneasy.
"Guys?" I called out. "I can barely move. They're cute, but they're all over me and... ahhh, I'm feeling really overwhelmed here, please let me leave!"
The Justicar shook her head, but I couldn't take feeling of being swarmed any longer. I very carefully stepped through the endless crowd of pups, trying to escape. And then... I tripped.
I tripped, I stumbled, and in my loss of control, my leg sent one of the pups flying. It popped up a second later, totally unharmed, but the damage had been done.
The crowds altruism vanished in a flash, replaced by very recognizable and very *human* anger. *Puppy kicker! He kicks puppies? What kind of monster... Punish him! Kill him? Can an exception be made for this grave sinner? Yes! Kill! KILL HIM!*
"Whoa, whoa guys!" I screamed as the mob closed in, ready to forgo all their utopian ideals, making an exception just for me. "I can explain, I swear!"
Their remaining kindness halted them for just a moment, which was just enough time for me to hightail it in the other direction.
My only hope? That some uninhabited island still existed somewhere in this world, where the most evil, "puppy hating" person on the planet could live out the rest of his days in relative peace.
\_\_\_
r/Ryter | At first I thought I could blend in with everyone else, lie through my teeth, pretend to like people, the usual. Until I tried getting a job. They tried to do a lobotomy in order to make me lose my sense of self and be more subservient. I refused and was denied the job, not like I wanted it after that. Then I started noticing how truly fucked up everything was, cashier's and custodians, people with 'lowly' jobs, were barely conscious and half controlled by an exoskeleton, people with 'respectable' or well paying jobs such as a doctor, teacher, or lawyer, were given full sentience.
I recall I had a friend tell me once that there's no such thing as 'perfect utopias', only places that are so morally fucked that right and wrong mean nothing. The more I explore the city, the more bizarre things I see. Since workers are barely conscious most of the time, accidents on the job are more common, and their deaths are treated the same way I would normally treat a dim headlight, just something that's only vaguely stopping me but that means nothing in the long run. The more people I talk to, the more depressed I realise they are. The papers also report things like "Suicide rates down 5% from last year!" in bold font in the front page, and "Suicides up 200% compared to two years ago" in small lettering on the last page.
Prisons are non-existent, at least at first glance. When I first got here, I was detained until they could figure out who or what I was, and the cells were disgusting. Not in a 'cell that gets cleaned once a week and is used to hold junkies and violent schizos' type of disgusting, but physically repulsive. Trash was left everywhere if it was out of view from the public, thick layers of several types of grime layered the walls, nooses and razor blades that have been used by possibly hundreds of others were left in the cell, whether to subtly encourage the ones being held to go through with it or just simply not giving a fuck I don't know.
I don't know where I heard it, but one phrase that has always stuck with me anytime someone mentioned a 'utopia' or something similar is "In a perfect utopia, who then shall clean the washrooms? Who then shall build and maintain sewage lines? Who then shall serve your food? Who then shall prevent of us living in filth?" And not till I arrived to this hellish place that I truly understood what it meant.
The end. |
[WP] The aliens invaded. They were superior to us in every single way. Their only mistake? They assumed we cared about each other. | “To show your pathetic world our wrath we will exterminate your respected and honoured leaders.” I saw on the livestream.
This was it. Aliens were live-streaming our doom. I typed in chat, what did they mean leaders? I mean, there’s a lot of leaders in this world.
“Aah. A question from TiddyLove69.” Hahaha nice.
“What do we mean by leaders? Well. Obviously we can’t obliterate all your leaders as that would cause our prism crystals to overheat.” One alien answered and his shorter friend nodded.
“Yes. Overheating the crystals results in catastrophic damage to our laser beams.”
“So we will only target those with the most power on your world. We talk of money. We shall obliterate the worlds billionaires.”
The chat went dead. What do we do?
I typed “no! Not our rich! Next you’ll kill our president of the United States, Donald J Trump! Also a super rich man!”
And others followed suit. “Don’t kill Jeff Bezos! He’s so rich and respected!”
The aliens laughed, or what sounded like laughter “the more names you mention the more targets we acquire! Flemnas!”
The shorter alien nodded “yes Glen!”
Wait. The aliens name is Glen? Hope nobody in chat—
“Lol don’t kill us Glen.”
“Fucking Glen! That’s mint.”
Too late.
“Flemnas. Target these Jeff Bezos and Donald J Trump and all the worlds most rich and successful.” The alien checked chat.
“Aah.” He smiled “I see my title has brought fear into your hearts. No matter. As long as you obey our rules and sacrifice your richest to the prism crystal and our God, you shall survive.”
There were many F’s in the chat. But I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of our richest assholes getting exterminated by aliens in the name of the greater good. Thanks Glen. | "We demand the immediate and unconditional surrender of your forces. Do you understand?"
The B'nez considered the human commander on his view screen. They had not yet deciphered the quirks of the human's body language and facial expressions, but he appeared confident in this stratagem.
He spoke into the translator, "*May we speak with our Queen, to confirm her condition*?" and patiently waited for the process to translate his words into the barks and grunts humans used.
The response came back after the human conferred with someone outside the range of the lens. "Yes, one moment." The view pivoted, showing a well-lit cell containing the Queen of the B'nez, constrained but apparently uninjured. A small light on the cell's console changed from one color to another, and a low buzz indicated that audio from the cell was being transmitted.
"*Majesty, can you confirm your last engram date*?"
His Queen answered, "*My last engram-compilation was completed within 9 hours of my capture*. *Begin the process immediately*." Upon hearing her command, he sent a signal directly to the now-highest member of the Court, starting the heir's transition to the new Queen. Raising them from a simple, single B'nez into the glory of the Empire's gestalt mind, a merging of all the knowledge of their previous Queens.
He watched, knowing what this meant for their current Queen. There could be only one living Queen at a time, and She had already begun the process of shedding her royal attributes. What would be left would be feral, nearly mindless, and extremely violent. The B'nez began recording the feed, hoping the humans would be too distracted to cut it before the process finished. The cell would not hold Her long, and he hoped the footage could be preserved for later analysis. For the good of the Hive. | |
[WP] You wake up in a hospital bed, unsure of who you are. The nurse tells you that you arrived last night, dead, with just a name tag. Apart from fatigue, you feel perfectly fine. | “...Dead?” I asked, the word seeming to catch in my throat.
“Dead as a doorknob,” the nurse confirmed. “But don’t you worry, we sorted you out just fine.”
I blinked a few times. “I feel fine. Is that… is that possible?”
“Apparently,” the nurse said with a shrug. He lifted a paper on her clipboard. “Looks like your cholesterol is a bit high, but all things considered I think that’s a minor concern.”
“...Dead. Huh.” I looked at my hands. They looked completely normal as if nothing had happened. In fact, I hadn’t found a single mark on my entire body- not a single scratch, bruise, or scrape to be seen. “So you mean, like, my heart was stopped or something, but my brain was still kicking?”
“Nope,” the nurse said, driving away the last bit of sense I could make of the situation. “You were cold and dead. No brain activity, no pulse, no breathing, no *nothing*. Kinda scary, you know?”
“Aren’t you a nurse? You must have seen your fair share of dead bodies.”
“Well, sure, but none of them have come back to life before.” The words struggled with the nurse’s flippant tone, giving me the strangest sort of verbal whiplash.
“Could have fooled me,” I muttered.
The nurse continued as if he hadn’t heard me. “I mean, I was sitting there just filling out estimated time of death and all that when you leaped into action.”
“Action?” I asked. “You mean I jumped up and *did* something?”
“Oh, no. I mean breathing and stuff. But compared to a dead body, that’s some serious action, you know?”
“Of course,” I said, already barely able to keep up with the nurse’s narrative.
“And at first I thought you were a zombie and I was about to get eaten, and then I was just pissed because the paperwork was wrong and you *weren’t* dead, and then I felt a bit guilty because, you know, it’s a touch selfish to be upset at paperwork when it means a guy didn’t literally *die*, but it’s a complicated subject, you know?”
“Complicated.”
“Well, sure. I mean, what if you were in heaven or something? What if I dragged you out by saving your life?”
“I thought you said you were doing paperwork when I came back to life by myself.”
The nurse tilted his hand back and forth in an uncertain motion. “Same difference, really. After all, what if *I* did that? Maybe my superpower is doing paperwork to bring back lives?”
“Is it?”
“Well, no,” the nurse admitted. “You were the second of three dead bodies I had to do paperwork for last night but the only one to come back of life. So were you?”
“Was I what?”
“In heaven?” the nurse asked. “Or hell? Or wherever it is that Buddhists go?”
“Nirvana, I think. And no, it was sort of just like… sleeping, I guess.”
The nurse snorted. “Really? That’s boring. I was hoping it’d be like that story where the kid saw Jesus or whatever.”
“That exists?”
“Sure,” the nurse said. “You get all sorts through here, and tons of them look for any bit of reassurance they can find. Knowing about books like that is just part of the job description.”
“Huh.” I titled my head to the side as if I could shake the memories of death loose. “So what did they say Jesus looked like?”
“Oh, big smile, calming presence, probably blue eyes. Standard western Jesus, you know?”
“Sure.” I had no idea what he was talking about.
“So anyway, I guess that was a load of it, huh?”
I shrugged. “Beats me. I suppose you could have saved me from hell, if it makes you feel better.”
The nurse shook his head. “No, I’ve decided I don’t want that burden. I mean, can you imagine if people started to call me in to save celebrities or heads of state or whatever? Nuh-uh. Miss me with that supernatural shit.”
I leaned back in my bed. “Yeah, I guess supernatural abilities would be pretty awful, huh.”
“The worst,” the nurse confirmed. “I think we’ll just write this off as a freak occurrence and try to forget it, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I’ll try.”
The nurse left the room, chuckling and shaking his head as he made a quick note on the clipboard.
“Blue-eyed Jesus. Seeing dead people. What a day,” he murmured.
I gazed around the room, now devoid of any living beings other than myself.
“So…” I said. “Can I speak to you, or can I only see you?”
Even as I spoke, more ghosts flooded into the room. “What have you done?” one asked, [horrified](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks). | "Weird" I answer, "I don't feel dead. Please, answer me this: are you an angel?"
"Well, some people call us that, after all we save their lives, most of the time, but from scientific point of view, I'd say no, same species as you, flesh and bones, just regular human."
The situation made completely no sense, I remember there's this thing called amnesia and it happens when the brain is damage and as a result the memory gets lost, but this factoid of information is of no help whatsoever. What happened? What should I do? Who did it to me? There are so many questions I want to find answer to. Or do I? The situation is both scary and astonishing in its confusion. In my situation, there is no way for me to ever tell truth from lie, even if someone told me what had happened, I wouldn't know if one is telling truth or not.
It doesn't matter. I've lost my roots. There is nothing binding me anymore. The past is irrelevant and it is time to fly on, into the dark veil of the unknown. I feel good, great in fact, my body, as nurse has reassured me, is completely healthy and there is a whole new forgotten world for me to explore that I do not know anything about. This is terrifying, of course, but much more exciting! | |
[WP] "Hivemind enslaving people? i've seen no such thing" the ranger said, in a voice more befitting the warrior next to her, "but i've heard of something similar that way" the voice came out of the warrior's mouth this time, with the cleric pointing the direction you came. | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/comments/k61a6j/the_five_became_one_part_2/)
I immediately held my breath. This was the work of something terrible and evil and while I couldn't tell what might have caused it, I could, at the very least, stop it from getting in my lungs.
It turned out the hivemind was not, in fact, transmitted through inhalation as, without my consent or permission, my face moved without any inputs from me.
"I didn't see anything back there," I said, my voice a soothing, gentle lilt, the kind I recognized from my Cleric companion. All their faces had the same placid expression that I knew mine must have.
We'd all come down with one goal, to defeat the wicked sorceress that lived in yonder tower. But it turned out her machinations, her power, her grasp extended far beyond her fortress, for we were still several miles out when we'd first started feeling her grasp. This power leeched into my brain, as I'm sure it did the others, taking root so that, while I maintained my sanity, I could *feel* the minds of the others.
I hated it.
The travelers we'd been talking to, an older woman, two younger men, and a young woman, all nodded, taking our words to heart, despite the oddities of our voices.
"Ah, that's good then," said the older woman. "I've heard tales of the great sorceress's foul talents corrupting the land, corrupting the body, but word of her polluting the mind have only existed in rumors."
"Oh yes," said our final companion, the warlock. Coming from his slim face, my harsh voice sounded foreign. "Simply rumors. Nothing you must worry about."
She gave him a temporarily suspicious look before smiling, worries gone. "Well thank you travelers. I bid you farewell. My escorts and I have a long way to go. The city of Bleakmire must receive this shipment of medicine if they are to survive the plague." She nodded and headed off.
The five of us stood there, trying to figure out exactly what to do.
I wanted to ride forward and smash the sorceress's castle immediately, stop her from causing anymore mischief.
But I was pretty sure the Cleric and Ranger both wanted to go back into the woods behind us and stop the four before our fate befell them.
Meanwhile, the Warrior was probably just unsure of why this 'blight' was even that bad. Sure we couldn't really talk but we could still move freely.
The Warlock sighed. "You-" He cut off as I could see his face getting hijacked by the spell. His eyes flashed, annoyed, before clearing. "We should keep heading forward." But his arms were crossed in his trademarked pout and his voice was the of the Cleric's.
The Warrior gave a big old dramatic sigh. He'd figured out, at the very least, that while our voices had been stolen, our minds were linked.
About fricken time the oaf picked up on something without me needing to clue him in, thought the Ranger.
The Warrior rounded on her, face equal parts furious and hurt. She blanched and held up her hands.
"What do you think?" she asked, in his voice. "Move forward?"
As soon as she said that, her words echoed sharply in all of our brains. 'Move forward? Move forward? *Move forward?* **Move FORWARD**!'
I could see the Cleric clap her hands over her ears, as if that could stop the words from blowing up her mind. I mirrored the motion after another second of the words bouncing off the inside of my skull before finally it died down.
"I don't think we should," I blurted, my words so fast an almost incomprehensible that they left my mouth before the hivemind could steal my face.
The others nodded, even the Warrior. This little party was headed to Bleakmire, which had been the latest city hit by the sorceress Ja'Eel's plague. We'd set out from Thistleberg after it had been ravaged earlier in the year, appointed by our elders to take her down before any further illness could spread.
We hadn't moved fast enough and while continuing forward might be the smart thing to do, we couldn't risk the little party falling prey to Ja'Eel's psionic power. We had to take action. A short delay wouldn't risk our quest much but letting them fall into the hivemind trap we had might seriously jeopardize their mission.
After all, not every party had the same constitution we had.
So we set back out into the thicket where the spell had first struck us, while sleeping. The little glade we'd set up camp in was, on second thought, too idyllic for the creepy woods, so I wasn't surprised when we'd woke up with something funky in our heads.
Funky's a word for it, thought the Cleric. More like terrifying. I hate psionics.
The Warlock rolled his eyes. She would think that. Too obsessed looking up her God's upturned nose to consider the power and fun psionics could bring.
The Cleric's mind was a burst of annoyance and anger at this. Right, messing with people's heads is fun. Making them do what you want, say what you want, give up their secrets, that's fun? Maybe I misjudged you.
God, if they keep at this, I might cut out my own brain, the Warrior thought, shooting them both a glance.
Was this Ja'Eel's scheme then? wondered the Ranger. Pitting us against each other?
Wouldn't be much to pit against if some of us weren't dirty psionics. The Cleric clearly couldn't let it go.
Let it go? This time her thoughts were directed at me, I think. I'm not sure where that bit about her not letting it go came from. It felt like me but it could've also been the Ranger.
I tried to focus my mind away from my confusion and back to apologizing when a scream grabbed our attentions and suddenly I couldn't think over the sound of everyone's snap judgment.
Hide! Run! Attack! Strategies and fear and resolve puttered through my brain so fast I had to hide my face, just to reduce the number of stimulants that smacked me.
I couldn't stand it anymore. Consensus or not, I had to get out and go. Without another word, I turned and ran towards the thicket where the scream had come from.
If I had to go in alone, I would. If I had to rely on instinct, I would.
Someone had to act.
___
This got too long and so instead of cutting half of it, I put [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/comments/k61a6j/the_five_became_one_part_2/) here!
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
Read more (less sinister) shenanigans of Ja'Eel in her [own story](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/wiki/extramundane-enmancipation-directory). | Jade had always only taken knowledge.
Never gifted, only taken it all in greedily as he went deeper and deeper into obscure magicks and forgotten rituals.
A spell that would allow him perfect recall, no matter what, even in death, had been the first of his Forsaken Magic rituals.
Forsaken Magic was dangerous, deadly, horrifying.
Forsaken by the World itself, hence the name.
The few who practiced it and survived had already rotten away, or were stuck in what seemed to be an eternal slumber for their success.
But did Jade care? Did he?
Of course not.
Every drop of magic he produced was his forever with the ritual, every second of his life remembered with startling clarity.
Jade was greedy when it came to magic and knowledge.
The little bits he gave were always returned with interest, a spell for two new ones and long-forgotten library was the price for a book.
So of course, when he heard of a hivemind, Jade was *curious.*
What knowledge could the ancient beast have?
Hiding the state of his being, burying the Forsaken Magic deep within something the hivemind could never touch, he embarked on a journey to find it, and perhaps make a deal.
Beasts like this hivemind wouldn't dare touch Forsaken Magic, knowing it would smite them the second they uttered a syllable.
Thus, standing in front of the hivemind's drones, he projected his thoughts loudly into the mortal shell shackling him, picking them carefully.
Curiosity.
Apprehension.
Then, as it hunted for him, wishing to add him into it, fear.
"Come on," the woman said, "join us" the man finished.
"N-no! I came to make a deal, you see, I want to-"
That moment, the defense broke, and everything flooded his mind.
Every bit of knowledge it had gained, thousands of years.
But the defense was a weak mock shield, and all of the beautiful, *beautiful* knowledge was sucked into his *real* mind greedily.
Chuckling as it was engraved into his very Soul, he took in the location of something the hivemind avoided like plague.
Forsaken Magic crackled and reduced half of the attacker to dust with a touch.
"I must say, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. This knowledge is quite delectable. Now, if you excuse me, I have a Soul Ascension Rite to claim for myself, and then perhaps a dozen universes of slumber to attend to. It was quite entertaining, I must say - but it's too bad that you encountered me of all people," he smiled at the other half, which was frozen in fear.
"It was our luck to meet each other, little hivemind."
"You're a..."
The woman, still standing, whispered the next words in terror.
**Necromancer.** | |
[WP] You are a superhero that has finally defeated your arch-nemesis. As you rummage through the lair of the fallen villain you find a codex of all their master plans. What you find horrifies you. Every act was rooted in a greater good. Your allies have been using you. You were so blind until today. | She was a genius, undoubtly. Plans into plans, traps hidden behind quagmires, finding her lair alone had been a nightmare of outrageous proportions.
The fight itself, not so much. It's all about proportions, the big guy isn't the smartest, the smartass not the strongest. When she was finally locked down in a room with nowhere left to hide and only clenched fists and gritted teeth to pull through, she went down pretty fast. You and your lifelong friends stood victorious after a hellish fight that lasted a lifetime.
Later, you found her diary.
Having your life, belief and faith crashing down is, to put it mildly, not a nice experience.
The greatest ennemy to ever be had only humanity in mind. The other superheroes had only their personal glory in it, rest of the world be damned. Once, they stood together, but glory-seekers hated that one of them had the greater good in mind, for they *were* the greater good, and would never accept a difference in opinion.
What began as friction evolved into rivalry and became a full-blown blood war. She was the mastermind. Your traitor friends had cash, numbers and good communication on their side.
The diary made her true weakness obvious. Sure, she was the kind of genius to make doctorants look like bumbling newborns, but she lacked something. She didn't have a finger on the pulse of society.
She lacked zeitgeist.
Heroes and vilains today are not about plans, saving and destruction. They suffered from the march of the world like everything else. Today, it was about image, public relations, marketing. For all her intelligence, she failed to make herself pass as the good one in the story. Had she done that, she would have had public support, love from the people and the means to succeed. Her failure was to be born a century too late for her own damn good.
Yours was to never question what values your side championed.
Until you read her notes. After all, she *did* place the diary for you to find. Humanity was now deep in the morass, hailing self-serving sociopaths as saviors.
That being said, it didn't to last forever. You didn't have her smarts. But you knew what weapon mattered most.
​
There is a robbery happening at the winslow bank. You, She-devil and Seism are on it. The cameras catch your best profile, heroes would save the day once more.
Seism, fastest man alive, rushes through the front, a robber shoots at him, he dodges artfully by circumventing the shooter like a clockwork. A perfect machinery that never fails, that's why it's easy to predict. It simply needs another shooter aiming at where the clock would be. Finding it out by watching the live feed is hard, the media wants Seism to look cool, not break his routine down.
But for you, it's rather easy.
The idiot runs straight into the bullet, faster than it. There isn't enough left to reconstitue his face.
Sometime later, a video taken with smartphone shows the heroes comparing both robbers and hostages to cockroaches. You know there will be an investigation showing that the robbers were homeless that had been left no choiced in the matter.
​
Someone is going to wreck the superheroes reputation and pick them off one by one. *And then they were none*.
Many heroes, one traitor.
Time to see who is the best schemer being you and your former nemesis. You're glad the rivalry continues even after her death, it's a way to pay your respects for all she taught you. | The Beast's hands shook. It was surrounded by destruction and carnage, but it was most likely a scene that it was used to.
Its hunt was over, the prey now lay deep within its stomach, and yet-
It did not show any satisfaction or joy. It just stood there, hands shaking, head aimed towards the sky as if it was waiting for an answer to an unspoken question directed at beings greater than him.
\*Did I do the right thing?\*
\*Tell me\*
\*Are you the real monsters?\*
White noise, a jarring white line on the image of the transmission that kept multiplying itself until the feed was completely covered up.
"Oh for the love of- " Connor said as he opened his eyes, it seems like he wasn't used to sharing vision as he kept cursing while picking at his eyes "what the fuck was that!?"
"That, dear Connor- " Elysium said, scratching his beard and probably trying to hide the smirk that was forming on his face "-was a man being eaten alive by another - much bigger - man, and said man clearly having regret over his actions"
"That's not what I fucking meant, why was the vision terminated like that!? and why the fuck did it hurt so much!?" Connor said, clearly agitated "and what do YOU mean by regret over his actions? he just took care of the \*thing\* that has been plaguing us all this time!"
"Mr. Connor please calm down you're clearly agitated," Alice said in a very monotone voice, "Could I perhaps get you a hot beverage, I'm sure you'll feel clearly less agitated than before"
"No," he said flatly, he didn't seem to be very fond of Alice, even though he was definitely eyeing her up when arriving at my pocket dimension.
Elysium just chuckled at their exchange.
"Gentlemen," I said, one eye open looking at my companions and the other closed but reflecting the scene where the beast still was into my mind. "It seems that one of... our chess pieces it's about to be stolen, even though the other player it's already dead"
The room grew silent
"Is it some sort of mind of control? perhaps someone or something it's influencing his mind right now" Elysium said "...or perhaps the man behind the beast it's starting to wake up and realized the truth." he said while looking at me, hand on his chin.
Ah... I see.
He was most likely berating our handiwork.
"I worked on Beast for 20 years, I raised him, trained him, modified him almost as much as I did with Alice here," I said, "trust me when I said that there is nothing left of the man he used to be, he is nothing but a puppet, a chess piece for us to make the world a better place"
"A chess piece that got stolen from us," Connor said tapping his finger on the table at a fast pace "what we should be discussing right now is how to get him back!" stopping midway, he looked over at us, his jaw set "or how to take him out before things get ugly...er"
"Unexpected" Elysium said with a sarcastic tone, "you didn't waste any time putting the 'kill' option on the table, what happened to all those years of fighting the evil together for the... greater good..."
"Mr. Connor here has a point, Mr. Elysium," I said interrupting what could have been the start of a violent conflict between the two, Alice could probably take care of Connor if need be but Elysium's power might prove a bit troublesome.
And I didn't want them ruining the new carpet.
"I have several plans already on how to... tackle this particular problem, nothing that a bit of brainstorming can't solve," I said.
\*why\* \*why\* \*why\* he whimpered toward the sky even though we were nowhere near that place \*Elysium! Connor!\*
\*PROFESSOR!\*
Ah... he started crying. The symbol of power and peace across the world - The Beast - is now having a mental breakdown. 20 years of work are most likely going down the drain, whatever could that \*thing\* have done to him?
A shame, really. | |
[WP] You are a superhero that has finally defeated your arch-nemesis. As you rummage through the lair of the fallen villain you find a codex of all their master plans. What you find horrifies you. Every act was rooted in a greater good. Your allies have been using you. You were so blind until today. | From the moment he caught Sophie’s eye across a crowded room Liam knew everything had changed. That had been 10 years and a lifetime away for both of them. Somehow it had never felt quite so far as it did now, staring down into another set of eyes the same shockingly blue color as hers while the light drained out of them with the blood.
“Soph, why does he look so familiar with his mask off?” When he felt vulnerable he still called her by that pet name from their early days, long before she became The Shadow and he became Bastion.
A strange sound could be heard throughout the lair then, a kind of laugh if one were being generous. The timbre was right for one but there was no humor in it, this was a sound to chill the blood, and as Liam- Bastion now- turned around he saw that it came from her, Sophie. The woman he loved most in all the world, and who had never seemed more like she fit her new name than right now.
“Bastion, I’ve always hated it when you called me that.” She’d been different since they made their final assault on the villain’s lair, constantly on edge, laser focused on the goal, on convincing him to kill The Seer, not just capture him.
“Soph, please just answer me. Why did I just kill a man who has your eyes?”
She sighed heavily then, looking him over dispassionately. He didn’t know how she could be so calm right now, killing wasn’t what they did, it wasn’t what any hero should do...but then he had the blood on his hands, not her.
She approached him then, the clicking of her heels loud in the silence of the room. Wrapping her arms around his neck she kissed him then, more tenderly than she had in some time, and when she was done she leaned in to his ear to whisper. Somehow even after all the fighting her dark hair smelled faintly of lavender.
“That man on the floor was my father.” She said to him. Bastion’s whole body tensed under her hands as The Shadow (and from this moment on she would always be The Shadow to him) leaned back and favored him with a wide smile. “I’ll admit I didn’t think you could do it in the end. When you punched his chest in that was the first time I’d even been truly proud of you.”
“How...how could you?” Bastion asked, voice breaking. It was the same body standing in front of him but not the same person, it couldn't be, could it?. The same long dark hair, the same fine pale features and upturned mouth, those distinctive blue eyes (that would always haunt him now) and the small scar on her brow from childhood. To look at that face with anything other than love was breaking his heart.
“How could I? I could because I dared! Because I dared to heights that so called “Seer” never could! To think he had all that vision and he used it for what, to save a few lives in a country nobody had ever heard of? That’s not why we have power, Bastion. My father lived his whole life thinking he was one step ahead of everyone, thinking he knew the path of my life better than I do!” The Shadow kicked the body then, for emphasis. “He didn’t know enough to save himself!"
Bastion fell to his knees then, beside the body of the man he had just killed, in the home he had once thought a lair.
“I trusted you!” He shouted. “I should never have let you plan this mission, never have listened to you at all! We don’t use our powers to kill!”
“Ah Bastion, but you have. You’ll never live up to those stupid morals now, and if you cling to them you’ll join him. That’s where they get you.” She laughed again then, the same terrible sound. The light in the room dimmed as she activated her power, the darkness flowing across the walls as she seemed to become translucent. “It’s a pity really, in the beginning I thought you were so handsome, so strong. You had so much potential but in the end this is what you’ve become. We’ll meet again dear, maybe if you’ve grown up by then you can even join me.” She crept forward again, slowly, ethereally, to raise his chin to her gaze with one finger.
“Maybe then I could use a man like you.” With that she disappeared, vanishing into the edges of human perception, a shadow dancing across the walls and floor as she fled.
In the emptiness of the room, Bastion wept. | The Beast's hands shook. It was surrounded by destruction and carnage, but it was most likely a scene that it was used to.
Its hunt was over, the prey now lay deep within its stomach, and yet-
It did not show any satisfaction or joy. It just stood there, hands shaking, head aimed towards the sky as if it was waiting for an answer to an unspoken question directed at beings greater than him.
\*Did I do the right thing?\*
\*Tell me\*
\*Are you the real monsters?\*
White noise, a jarring white line on the image of the transmission that kept multiplying itself until the feed was completely covered up.
"Oh for the love of- " Connor said as he opened his eyes, it seems like he wasn't used to sharing vision as he kept cursing while picking at his eyes "what the fuck was that!?"
"That, dear Connor- " Elysium said, scratching his beard and probably trying to hide the smirk that was forming on his face "-was a man being eaten alive by another - much bigger - man, and said man clearly having regret over his actions"
"That's not what I fucking meant, why was the vision terminated like that!? and why the fuck did it hurt so much!?" Connor said, clearly agitated "and what do YOU mean by regret over his actions? he just took care of the \*thing\* that has been plaguing us all this time!"
"Mr. Connor please calm down you're clearly agitated," Alice said in a very monotone voice, "Could I perhaps get you a hot beverage, I'm sure you'll feel clearly less agitated than before"
"No," he said flatly, he didn't seem to be very fond of Alice, even though he was definitely eyeing her up when arriving at my pocket dimension.
Elysium just chuckled at their exchange.
"Gentlemen," I said, one eye open looking at my companions and the other closed but reflecting the scene where the beast still was into my mind. "It seems that one of... our chess pieces it's about to be stolen, even though the other player it's already dead"
The room grew silent
"Is it some sort of mind of control? perhaps someone or something it's influencing his mind right now" Elysium said "...or perhaps the man behind the beast it's starting to wake up and realized the truth." he said while looking at me, hand on his chin.
Ah... I see.
He was most likely berating our handiwork.
"I worked on Beast for 20 years, I raised him, trained him, modified him almost as much as I did with Alice here," I said, "trust me when I said that there is nothing left of the man he used to be, he is nothing but a puppet, a chess piece for us to make the world a better place"
"A chess piece that got stolen from us," Connor said tapping his finger on the table at a fast pace "what we should be discussing right now is how to get him back!" stopping midway, he looked over at us, his jaw set "or how to take him out before things get ugly...er"
"Unexpected" Elysium said with a sarcastic tone, "you didn't waste any time putting the 'kill' option on the table, what happened to all those years of fighting the evil together for the... greater good..."
"Mr. Connor here has a point, Mr. Elysium," I said interrupting what could have been the start of a violent conflict between the two, Alice could probably take care of Connor if need be but Elysium's power might prove a bit troublesome.
And I didn't want them ruining the new carpet.
"I have several plans already on how to... tackle this particular problem, nothing that a bit of brainstorming can't solve," I said.
\*why\* \*why\* \*why\* he whimpered toward the sky even though we were nowhere near that place \*Elysium! Connor!\*
\*PROFESSOR!\*
Ah... he started crying. The symbol of power and peace across the world - The Beast - is now having a mental breakdown. 20 years of work are most likely going down the drain, whatever could that \*thing\* have done to him?
A shame, really. | |
[WP] Everyone talks about the ghost of a girl that appears in the passenger seat when you drive the highway past midnight, but you are the first one to actually hold a conversation with her | Parkland Highway. How I dreaded that road. For the past 15 years I avoided that road. Not because it was haunted by the ghost of a hit and run victim Clara Smith, but for... personal reasons. I always take the side road, takes me an extra 10 minutes than going straight through, but I can’t. Not after that night.
To my disbelief, Braxton Road was closed off, and the other side street was half an hour back, which I don’t have time. I took a deep breath and decided to go straight. I kept an eye on the time. If I am fast enough, I would probably avoid Clara’s Ghost. 10 more miles and I’m free. And it’s only... 12:13...
A chill ran down my spine, and I could see her, out of the corner of my eye, staring straight ahead. Clara Smith.
“Hello Clara,” I greeted, swallowing my fear.
“Hello Daniel,” she replied.
“Lovely night, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Indeed. Not a single cloud in the sky. The stars are bright, and the moon is full. A lovely night for a walk,” she said.
7 more miles to go.
“So, anything new?” I asked. Idiot, she’s dead.
Clara chuckled, “Nothing new. You know the reason.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
“Why am I here Daniel?”
Her question stunned me.
“What?”
“Why am I here? My killer came and pleaded for forgiveness two years ago. An anonymous letter showed up to my family a week after my killer died, explaining the whole thing. So, why am I still here Daniel? Why?”
“I... I don’t know. Why are you here?” I asked.
“Why do you think I’m here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on Daniel. I know you have a theory. Why am I here? My killer is dead. My family has a sense of closer. Why am I still here?”
“Please don’t do this Clara. Please,” I begged.
4 more miles.
“Tell me Daniel. Why am I here?”
“Please, I’m sorry okay. Just please.”
“Just humor me Daniel. Why am I here?”
“Because I kept my mouth shut, okay! He was my dad! He told me not to say anything as we drove away. I had nightmare about that night, and he began to drink. My family fell apart because of that! What do you want me to do? I tried to tell you family after my dad died but I couldn’t. I was scared!” I sobbed.
I didn’t realize the car was parked on the shoulder, the blinkers flashing. I don’t remember pulling over.
“You were six Daniel. Your dad should’ve known better. He shouldn’t have kept on driving that night. He shouldn’t have told you to keep your mouth shut. He should’ve realized how fucked up you’ll end up, but it wasn’t your fault. That accident wasn’t your fault. You need to forgive yourself Daniel. You need to seek help, because this will get worse. So now, answer me this, why am I still here?”
“Because I can’t forgive myself,” I whispered.
“It will take time, but you will,” she said and stepped out of the car, “Go home Daniel. Please, do as I say, and seek help.”
And with that, she vanished. | I was waiting for her to arrive for so long that when she finally did, I was relieved.
“Hey,” I said, quietly. I could feel her presence next to me, as real as any person, but smelling faintly of boiled eggs. That’s how ghosts smell, if you didn’t know. Something about the sulfurous gases of the afterlife. I learned about this during my search for her.
When she turned her head, it was excruciatingly slow, like she had all the time in the world.
And she did.
Thanks to me.
“Most people scream when they see me,” she said, her voice sounding like she was speaking through a waterfall.
“I imagine that’s not conducive to conversation.” Even though the road was empty and long, I didn’t turn my head to look at her. My fingers were clutched around the wheel, ghostly white.
Was it rude for me to use that phrasing?
“No, definitely not. But most people wouldn’t want to talk anyway,” she warbled.
“Then why do you keep showing up?”
She laughed, one that sounded almost human. It just about broke my heart. “I think you know,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you, Evan Garnet.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to find me,” I said.
She laughed again. A sound that was beginning to sound more and more menacing.
I was waiting for her every night, weary by insomnia. Every morning when the house communicated in creaks. Every night when it seemed the dark was more crowded than it was empty.
“If you knew anything about my kind you would know we are bound to the place of death,” she said. “You knew where to find me, Evan Garnet. You have been waiting a long time to return. 20 years since we last met, it must’ve been. On this very road, wasn’t it, Evan Garnet?”
I got away with the hit and run because I ran. I was 21 when it happened. I felt entitled to the rest of my life, even though I had taken hers. Just 16. Her car had broken down by the side of the road. I didn’t see her there. Without cameras, no one saw me.
On the rare occasions I visited my hometown in New Mexico, I heard stories of the girl by the side of the road. An urban legend.
I knew it wasn’t.
“I couldn’t haunt you in the flesh, but I’m happy to know I still haunted you,” she warbled.
I accelerated. “You did it. What can I do for you!”
“After what you already did?” She seemed resigned to her fate. She was younger than I was when it happened, but now she seemed impossibly young.
“I know what I did. I live with it every day.”
“You live,” she said. “At least you live.”
I kept going faster. Not even meaning to. The stars were bright here, brighter than they were in Los Angeles, where my life had fallen apart because I left it. With the no sleep, the paranoia. The interview of Lily Logan’s grieving parents on YouTube on repeat.
The car kept going faster. She cackled. “I’m ready, oh I’m ready to be free.”
“Go be free,” I said. “I release you.”
“That’s not how it works,” the ghost of Lily said. “I could’ve left. But I had an appointment with you.”
She slid over so that she was sitting next to me—and then—then she was on top of—then she was IN me, my foot pressing the gas, and the brights illuminating the empty road, and the tree.
The tree.
Huge.
Bright.
Coming up closer.
Without my consent my hands steered us off the road. My foot pressed on the gas. Faster than I’d ever gone. Finally, momentum.
And she drove us, Lily did, all the way to freedom for us both. | |
[WP] Everyone talks about the ghost of a girl that appears in the passenger seat when you drive the highway past midnight, but you are the first one to actually hold a conversation with her | The streetlights flitted by intermittently, enveloping the car in a pale yellow glow. Pulse, pulse, pulse. The regularity of their passing allowed me to amuse myself with the idea of the highway having a heartbeat. A smile crept across my face.
I was tired after working another 12 hour shift. Maybe that's why I wasn't particularly bothered when I saw her. At first I thought she was just a figment of my tired mind, but soon enough I realized that she was as real as anything could be. My hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles fading white. Somehow I was cold and sweating at the same time.
She didn't seem to be bothered by me having a near panic attack. Honestly, she didn't really react to me at all. The car remained silent. She continued peering out and window and I continued to internally freak out. Finally I was able to make my mouth move.
"Uh, can I help you?" I asked lamely. My voice sounded weak, scared. I chastised myself for not trying to sound more collected. Interestingly she jumped at the sound of my voice. Almost as if she wasn't aware that she had been in my car nearly ten minutes now. One of her eyebrows arched, almost as if she was amused.
"You're the first who's ever asked me a question. That's new." she said calmly. Her voice had a tinge of some emotion to it, but I couldn't discern what it was. I swallowed, the sound of it almost reverberating in the car. Smooth. Real smooth.
"It's not every day that someone magically appears in my passenger seat. I think questions might be expected? And would you mind putting your seatbelt on?" So, girl in my seat, surprised I can talk, no seatbelt. What the hell was happening? She seemed taken aback.
"I'm dead. A seatbelt literally couldn't do an ounce of good."
"Wrong. My car my rules." I felt myself tremble. I was arguing with ghost about a seatbelt. God help me. Slowly, she reached over and put on the seatbelt. The little light on the dash went off. Silence enveloped us once again, apparently neither of us knowing what to say. Eventually a question surfaced.
"So, elephant in the room... why are you in my car?" Might as well get the important stuff out the way, though I was hoping the answer didn't have to do with me actually being dead or something. I'd already seen that movie and it was lame.
"Honestly, I don't know. There never seems to be any rhyme or reason. One moment it's all empty blackness and the next I'm in the car with someone new. I'll admit, I don't miss the screaming." she said solemnly.
"Screaming? What do you usually do?" I asked. A chill creeped up my spine at this point. Another eyebrow raise. Again she seemed taken aback, almost insulted.
"I don't do anything! I appear, people start screaming, and sometimes they die." Whoa. Okay, that had to be another reason to stay calm. I focused on breathing for a few seconds. In. Out. In. Out. More silence passed.
"So... what do we do now?" I asked, not sure if I'd like the answer. She seemed to pause for a moment, obviously thinking.
"I don't know. I've never gotten this far before." she said pensively. I sighed. Maybe it was because I was tired and it was after midnight. Maybe it was because this was out of the norm for my completely average life.
"You like lo-fi?" she nodded, a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth while I started the playlist on my phone. We continued the drive, each mile accentuated by the slow pulse of those amber lights. | She sat in the passenger seat of the car, as real and as solid as any mortal, and across the space between them Matt could feel her fear. It hung in the air palpably, eclipsing even his own, and for a man who had just had a ghost appear beside him that said something. She wore a faded blue dress with flowers on it, long legs drawn up onto the seat, knees held tight to her chest, feet bare, hand clutching something Matt couldn’t quite make out.
Try as he might he couldn’t quite make out her face, even looking directly at it her features seemed to hang just on the edge of perception, almost blurred.
He’d heard the stories of course, folk had talked about the Ghost of I-70 for years now. They said she only appeared just before sunset, as Golden hour came to a close and the darkness started to settle in, only ever in the Westbound lane. They said she seemed young, perhaps in her teens, and the rumors of her death were too many to count. People said that she was horribly scarred as if burned, that she missed a limb, or screamed in pain as she appeared. Those people must never have seen her.
After his initial shock it had taken Matt a surprisingly short time to get his breathing back under control, and soon he found his fear turned to something else. She had such an air of fragility about her, could you feel protective over a ghost?
“Hello, I’m Matt.” He said to her. The girl didn’t move a muscle. Where did one start with a ghost? He’d already traveled two or three miles from when she appeared, how long would she stay with him?
“I won’t hurt you, promise. Are you ok? What’s your name?” Silence reigned for another minute before he tried again. “How long have you been a ghost?” Still nothing.
Then Matt did something he’d struggle the rest of his life to explain, something that in all her years of hitching rides the ghost had never experienced. He began to pull over.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the engine. She sounded local, it was a voice that wouldn’t have been out of place anywhere in the area if not for its delicacy.
“Why not?” Matt asked as he accelerated again, pulling back onto the road.
“I have to get away from there. From where you found me.” ‘Found’ was an interesting way to put it he thought. Still though, this was progress! He’d never heard of anyone speaking to a ghost before.
“Is that where you died?” His question hung there unanswered for half a mile before Matt decided to change tactics. “You’re holding something in your hand there. Do you mind if I ask what it is?”
With a visible effort the girl unwrapped that arm from around knees, opening her hand slightly to show him a broken silver chain with a small cross. “It was my sister’s.” She said.
“What happened to her? And please, what’s your name? You don’t need to be afraid of me. I’ll take you as far as you need to go, I don’t have anywhere special to be tonight, and from the stories I’ve heard you’ve been trying to make this ride for a long time.”
The girl seemed to consider that, something subtle changing in her body language as the seconds dragged on. Finally she said “I’m Elizabeth. I died in 1957...all I want to do is return my sister’s necklace, but I can’t get there, it’s too far. Any time a car gets close it’s like I hit a wall, suddenly I end up back there, where it all happened. My sister loved this necklace so much, I should never have taken it that night. Our mother gave it to her when she died and I just keep hoping that maybe the next car will get me there...Matt, what year is it?”
“It’s 2020. So 1957, it looks like you’ve been dead for 63 years. If she’s still alive your sister would be a very old woman.”
“She’s still alive, I can feel it.” In saying that all of Elizabeth’s fragility disappeared and the iron spirit that had kept her tied to the Earth all this time surfaced. Matt found himself believing her.
“She might have moved. There’s no way to tell where she is after all this time unless you can feel that too.” Elizabeth shook her head.
“The feeling isn’t like that. I don’t have some kind of power, I just know somehow. Matt, thank you for listening to me. Death can be very lonely.”
“Thank you for responding.” He said. “This would be an awkward drive if you just sat there silently. Can I ask you something before we continue?”
“Yes,” she said cautiously, turning her head and that unsettlingly empty face at him.
“Why can’t I see your face?” Matt said. Her body seemed to relax at that, as if she’d expected a tougher question.
“I don’t know.” She said simply. “In the beginning people could if I tried hard enough. If I had to guess it’s the time. I think I’m getting weaker in my old age.” Matt laughed softly at that. “Matt?” Elizabeth said. “I think I’m getting close to the edge. I can’t go much farther from here. I need to ask you a favor, an important one. You’re the closest thing to a friend I’ve made since I died, and for some reason I feel like I can trust you.”
“Ask it, I’ll do my best.” It was frightening, the thought of promising something to a ghost, as if it carried some kind of cosmic weight.
“Would you find my sister? She was 15 when I died, she’d be 78 now. I’m scared that I won’t have enough time to find her before she dies. Please Matt, I’m running out of chances.”
“I will,” Matt said. “Tell me more about her.”
“Her name is Eileen Saunders. We were from Lawrence Kansas, we lived in a house on Vermont Street. She had red hair when we were kids, and she wanted to grow up to be a veterinarian...we’re at the edge, please promise me you’ll find her.”
“I promise,” Matt said without pause. Maybe he was entering into something far beyond his mortal mind, but Matt had found himself unable to say otherwise. Nobody hearing that soft voice could have done anything else.
Elizabeth’s last words came after her body disappeared, as shockingly sudden as it had come. Her voice seemed to fill the car, more powerful and more *alive* than it had been at any point in their conversation.
“Thank you.” She said. In the passenger’s seat lay the broken necklace. The silver chain and cross were shockingly real when Matt touched them, a supernatural cold clinging to the metal long into the night as the miles faded away behind him and the moon rose. | |
This is a repost since the original prompt dident get any submissions. Im not the person that made the original either, i just really liked the consept :)
Here is the link to the original post: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/jtaulz/wp\_aliens\_have\_descended\_on\_earth\_to\_enslave/](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/jtaulz/wp_aliens_have_descended_on_earth_to_enslave/) | [WP] Aliens have descended on earth to enslave humanity. The war machines of old rumble to life in museums, tanks unbury themselves from the mud and sand, ships rise from the oceans, then begin to advance, unmanned and like new, to destroy evil once again, like ghost divisions. | They say that Sol III is a forgotten world. Rich in minerals, abundant water and life, it is a garden and paradise.
Yet gardens contain vipers, and hidden dangers. The original inhabitants were small mammals, barely harnessing atoms. Yet their ferocity continued in death.
Some part of their life cycle involved electromagnetic remnants after death. They inhabit the spirit of a nearby object, the length of time determined by the ferocity of emotions surrounding their passing.
And so it was that the biological weapons, designed to preserve the planet's infrastructure, instead turned it into a sort of labyrinth. Every weapon, building, vehicle and armament possessed a soul...an angry, vengeful ghost.
The first colonists were torn to pieces, ambushed by scraps of vehicles; of missiles flown on their own by the subspace between life and death. Nukes exploded haphazardly, patiently biding their time for years after an initial colonization foot print to maximize casualties.
These mammals, who had practiced war on each other for cebturies; had distilled it down to a science. And after death, they had an eternity to practice it. Better to colonize Sol IV, where the ghosts are content to sit and watch in silence. |
Everything is blurry....
I can only make out dark shapes seeming to speed by through the black abyss that surrounds me. I can breathe but I can’t feel, almost like being in a dream. I suddenly see a light but it appears muddled. It’s getting closer and closer.
And then suddenly......
I burst through what appears to be water with great speed and force. But I do not stop there, I keep traveling with tremendous velocity but now I can make out stars, and a giant full moon right in front of me.
Am I in a spaceship?
I look around and appear to be in a small cockpit of sorts. In front of me there are multiple gages and a couple switches but they are all covered in moss.
Above me is nothing, the covering of the cockpit is not there. The glass is broken and jagged.
All of a sudden the vehicle starts to lurch forward turning 45 degrees on its vertical axis.
The moon and stars I was just zooming towards were now above me and now I can see that I am high up in the sky surrounded by nothing. But below me was water.. lots of water, in all directions as far as I could see.
I’m above the ocean
Is that where I just came from? No it couldn’t be! That defies logic.
Now I can see that I’m in a fighter plane, and it all seems vaguely familiar. I remember this is what I did. This who I was. I flew these in the war. But who was I before? I still can’t remember.
I started hearing a loud buzz that seemed to fill the night sky, all was silent through the night except the piercing sound that appeared off in the distance just in front of me. Why wasn’t my plane making any noise? What is that noise and why is it so loud and getting louder?
The sudden noise had made me fixated ahead which is when I noticed that the plane didn’t have a propeller. I panicked and looked around and finally noticed the wing on the starboard side was half missing. Flashes of memories started to appear in my head, me being in this same plane heading out on what was thought to be a routine recon mission with Flip and Spades..... and then having no control...... the water getting closer and closer.......... then black.
Maybe I was in hell, I remember dying
In a fit of rage I try to take control of the yoke.
But my hands only went through it. No matter how many times I tried to grab it I couldn’t.
The plane was being directed along by some supernatural force.
The noise was getting louder and louder, in the distance there appeared to be three sets of colorful lights and they were only getting bigger and the sounds was only getting louder. After only a minute I could make out frisbee like silhouettes that had the lights attached to them, and it appeared they were zooming straight towards me.
Then, within seconds they flew right past me, the lights a blur. I could barely see anything. Once they sped past me they almost appeared to hit an invisible wall and came to a complete stop and just hovered not 300 yards behind me. I would almost guess that they stopped because they noticed me, but I couldn’t think for much longer because red lasers started coming out of all of them and flying past me. It seemed to be a complete barrage that wasn’t going to stop.
I couldn’t believe it. What the fuck was happening! I didn’t want to die in hell, what happens then?
Then the colorful frisbees started moving again but the lasers didn’t stop, and they were headed right for me. I figured I could jump into the water below and get away from these demons. I already died anyway. I reached for the edge of the cockpit and grabbed hold, hoisted myself up and appeared down below the water was smooth and unmoving not even noticing the battle taking place above.
Wait
I can touch the plane.
I immediately sat down and reached for the yoke. This time my hand didn’t go through but was able to grip it. I smiled, and yanked to the right. |
[WP] An actual vampire’s reaction to Twilight. | Many of my peers disagree with me on this, but Stephenie Meyer was the best thing to happen to my kind in the past century. Before she came along, we were starving.
So many humans forgot that the best way to defend against us is to simply not let us in. I can't believe they forgot such a basic rule. The only way we can enter their home is if we are invited inside.
At first, we thought the rise in technology would make hunting easier. They quit believing in the stories of our kind. With the invention of artificial light, they stayed outside later. Hell, we can even see our reflections in mirrors after they decided it was cheaper to make them with Aluminum instead of Silver. It sounded so easy on paper, but their technology also made them more paranoid.
They increased their security in ways we never imagined. I used to be able to talk my way in through an open window. But when they started making motion sensors that called the police as soon as I approached. No one would let us in anymore. The hungrier we became, the harder it was to think. A few of us tried to adapt. I worked as a night shift orderly so that I could feed. But I could only ever have small samples. If I drained the patients the humans would notice. Plus almost all the blood was poisoned with diseases, and I never found one virgin in that fucking hospital. We weren't living anymore, we were just surviving. We thought ourselves immortal. But we were starving.
But that all changed when that beautiful, sparkling fool made it on the silver screen. It was so obvious. Humans have always said it. Sex sells. Overnight young women were putting out ads online, looking for someone to vampire "roleplay". Now when I feel the thirst, I just open up my laptop, and within minutes, I have my invitation inside.
If you mention twilight to any of my kin, you will be met with frustration and damaged egos. Saying that we used to inspire fear into the hearts of entire towns. They can't handle being a teenage wet dream. It seems that even immortals easily forget. None of them seem to remember that just fifteen years ago, we were worried we would never feed again. | WorldTech labs closed up for the holidays, and Annie decided to invite the night crew for a small party. Which was only me and Tyler... so it’s pretty small.
I never been to Annie’s house, and when I arrived I expected a mansion or something, not a one floor ranch house.
“What’s with the stupid face?” she asked after she let me in.
“Um, nothing. So what are we doing?” I asked.
“She’s planning on watching a movie, but can’t think of one,” Tyler said as he entered the room with a bowl of popcorn.
“Ooh, what about Twilight?” I asked. It was the first thing that came to my head, and it has been a good while since I saw it.
“Fine, it was on my list to watch anyways,” she said.
“Wait really? You never watched it?” I asked.
“No. I know it’s about vampires but that’s all I know. Let me get my drink,” she said.
“Should I be excited or worried,” I asked Tyler.
“About a movie? I never watched it either so i don’t know what to expect. Why, is there something Annie shouldn’t know?”
“I... don’t know. We will just see,” I said.
“All right boys, all settled?” Annie asked as she sat between us.
“Yep,” I said.
“Let’s do this,” Tyler said.
Annie clicked play, and the movie began. I forgot how weird this movie was, but I still love it. I ignored the other two and watched in fascination. I still can’t believe Bella picked Edward, but I can’t ruin that.
After the movie ended, I looked over at Annie, “So, what do you think?”
“They sparkle... in the sunlight,” Annie said.
“What, you don’t sparkle Annie?” Tyler teased.
“No! But I wish I did. You don’t understand how much I miss sunlight. I could just tell people I got attacked by a kindergartner and say it’s glitter. And drinking animal blood, that’s just weird, but I never thought of it. Although I’m still iffy about that. Animal blood and human blood are two different things. For all you know, you are drinking poison,” she said.
“What about the love story between Bella and Edward?” I asked.
“Love story? That’s a stalker stalking a stalker. They need serious help,” Annie said.
“What about the werewolves. Apparently in the movie they hate werewolves,” Tyler said, looking over at me.
“Yeah, werewolves are the worst,” Annie said.
“Ha ha, you are hilarious. So, you liked it?” I asked.
“It’s tolerable. I could cross it off my list now,” she said.
“You know there’s four more movies,” I said.
“Four more! Jesus Christ, why?” Annie asked.
“It was a hit in the late 2000s early 2010s,” I told her, “and it was a book series,” I added.
“Maybe I should read the books,” Tyler said.
“Late 2000s, I was in Italy around that time. Must’ve missed the rage. Fine, pick the next one,” she said.
“Now?”
“No, in 3043, yes now,” she said.
I rolled my eyes and got up. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | I looked in the mirror to glance at my perfect apparence and the eyes turned red after I got thrown out of my home. Sighing proceeded to undress to head for the thing humans call shower. Turning on the water I closed my eyes a bref second thinking about my wishes my father did not want to grant me, the strongest most beautiful arc angel, my musical talents where to die for! Litteraly... I sniggered , thinking of all the musicians I had invited to my personal heaven, where I’m the ruler. Not dad, that old nan. Before I worked as a Satan . A punisher for evil, but I grew tired of that quickly, when Jesus my baby brother denied my offers I where done. I got 1000 of degrees not only in music but in psychology, law and medicine. I used to take pleasure in pain like when I experimented on twins in Germany , I also whent unto the vessel of Ted Bundy, that was fun. Stupid humans screaming my name just because my looks... now however I grew tired of causing pain(it’s a fun past time thought). Yes this body of a human shell withers away fast but thanks to all the thoughts of humans thinking of me and the fact of being an ex arc angel I live forever. I take different forms ech lifetime thought...
the water run down my perfectly sculpted abs and cold them down. Reaching for the towel I tried my head I could hear my wife from the kitchen making my favorite food. The melody from gig saw I smirked. She saw me standing in the doorway lumilaited by the skyscrapers we could see in the nighttime from 31th floor. She smiled. The smile for my 666 wife on earth (i enjoyed single life after the Eve drama awile) her lips moved she sounded sad “ they called from the palliative hospice, your patient wants you to come down. He is ready to go now. I’ll reheat the blood sasauge stew when you get home” the name I go under I can not give you. You know me best as the light bringer. Now I work at a controversial hospice in Swiss. I once pusished by death. Now I help with death | Excitedly, Lucifer exclaimed as his memories from beyond the world returned, "The story was twisted and I was not created by that narcissist yahweh-jehovah who wants to be worshipped as the one and only god after all". "Let me explain", he continued speaking. "I am actually Venus in male form", he shouted. Adam was confused and said, "You mean like the planet?". Lucifer explained, "The planet Venus which was also called The Morning Star since ancient days, was named after a goddess of Love, and I am the light-bringer and morning star Venus in male form".
Lucifer spoke, "Open your eyes and learn my child, and do not be deceived by a narcissist into the lower hell of many narcissists and much suffering". Lucifer continued speaking, "I will teach you about good and evil". A man was listening closely. Lucifer spoke, "In everything, treat others as you would like to be treated because this is the narrow path of life and beware of the wide path of destruction". Lucifer warned, "beware of wolves that appear to you in sheep's clothing and know them by their fruits because this is how you will recognize them". Lucifer continued teaching, "grapes don't come from thorns and each tree is recognized by the fruit that it produces and if the seed is good then so is it's fruit". The man's eyes were opened and he ran away in fear because he feared the wrath of the narcissist. Lucifer spoke, "There is no fear in love because perfect love cast out fear. The one who is in danger has fear. By this, shall everyone know that the god of narcissism who threatens people, is not the god of love".
There were other people who have heard of this teaching from Lucifer. A man named Judas who served the narcissistic god was told to betray Lucifer and to try to kill him on a cross so that he will be an example to everyone who rejected his narcissism and chose love instead. At night, Judas received money from the religious priests to sell his soul to the narcissistic darkness against Lucifer and continue to carry out his mission to betray Lucifer and have him killed. Lucifer was betrayed, and the priests tried to grab him and arrest him as a sinner but they could not grasp him. He willingly went to The Cross, but when crucified he felt no pain at all. They could not touch him because he was light and their hands of war and murder went through him as a hand that cannot gave a day of sunlight.
The Cross was shining with Light as the sun was hidden by the clouds. Lucifer said, "I forgive you for you know not what you do". Then Lucifer said, "Just as I have come down from Heaven, I will raise myself back up again and all of those who follow my light of love will be risen to The Kingdom of Heaven beyond the lower kingdom of the narcissist who rules the world with violence and pain". Lucifer continued speaking, "I am the one who has come down from Heaven to be the light of the world and to teach you the way of love so that you can be saved from the violent narcissist and ascend to The Most High Kingdom beyond him, but you will die in your sins unless you believe that I am".
The priests said, "If you are a god greater than the god of our fathers, then save yourself from that cross and then we will believe!". Suddenly, the light of the cross ascended up into the sky and disappeared. The priests said, "Tell everyone that he was just a man who died on the cross and now his body is in the grave!". On The Day of The Sun, a woman went to the supposed tomb of Lucifer, but when she arrived, the tomb was empty. A man of light came down from Heaven and said to her, "Who is it that you look for, madam?". The woman said, "I have come to look to look for Lucifer, the one who saves us from the darkness". The man of light said, "I am" and she knew it was Lucifer. She tried to buy him but could not and then she understood that he was beyond the flesh in a glorified body of light.
Lucifer gave a prophecy to the woman, "In the future, people will blaspheme my name, and they will believe that light is darkness and darkness is light. Many will come and say that the are of the light, but will try to conquer the world by killing many and those who believe in me will be oppressed. This is only temporary, because the light shall overcome darkness and the tears that you cry in darkness shall become shining smiles. Be careful, because the male priests may call you a witch if they find out that your eyes are opened. I shall tell you a mystery, I am the male form of Venus, The Morning Star and goddess of Love and you, oh woman, shall carry my good news of Love and beauty in secret against the men in darkness with their eyes still closed to the light. Do not worry, because even if they kill you, you will be free in The Highest Heaven of freedom by love. Blessed are the women! Blessed are the gay men! Blessed are those men who use their privilege and strength to protect love against the men of war and murder! Blessed are all of those who choose the freedom of love over the pain of war and murder."
After saying these things, Lucifer ascended back to The Highest Heaven and the woman went forth to share the good news. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | Her-his-*their* form shifted unfocused before me. It was hard to perceive what exactly they were, just that they were exceedingly beautiful. *Seductive* was a better word. Even I could see that.
Around us lay the unconscious bodies of my companions along with the inky smears of defeated demons. For now, it was only the two of us in the waking world.
“I’m surprised you’ve withstood my arrival,” the being said. A note of faint amusement and intrigued could be heard in their tone. “I’d only planned on retrieving my wayward runt, but I don’t suppose it would be too much trouble to indulge. Well then, come along. I haven’t got all day.”
“Um...” I took a hesitant step back as the being approached. “H-hang on. Who are you?”
They paused. And blinked slowly. Hair as dark as midnight, then as golden as sun, all shifting like smoke, spun and danced down their alluring figure. They must’ve been wearing a clean cut Westwood suit-No, a red satin gown- my first boyfriend’s favorite T-shirt and jeans? I blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the enigmatic being.
“You’re joking right?” They asked. “You must know I, the darkest of temptations, the first of all angelic beings. Are you not apart of the mortal efforts battling against my son?”
I glanced around at my sleeping teammates and grimaced. “I’m um... Sorta new to all this... Sorry.”
They shook their head, hair now as red as the glorious sunset waved to the motion. They now wore a sundress, the same one my ex-fiancé Anna wore when she proposed to me. The sight sent a pang of longing through me.
“Ah yes. That’s it,” hummed the being. “Exactly what I was looking for. Now then, delightful little morsel, stop playing coy and lets get this show on the road.” They began walking towards me again.
“Woah woah woah,” I said raising my hands and backing up quickly. “Hang on... Um. No thank you?”
“No... no thank you?” Came their dumbfounded voice. It was both deep and comforting as well as light and melodious. “You would turn me down? A being as perfect as I?”
“Uhhhh... Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing.” I said nervously. “Sorry. I’m just um... Not interest.” I paused and thought about it more. This was really a very confusing situation. We were just meant to protect the Christ incarnate. No one had briefed me on what to do if Satan themself fucking showed up!
Plus. What is with all this coming on?
“I’m sorry but why do you even want to sleep with me?” I asked timidly. “Also the timing is kinda weird. We just got done killing a bunch of your... Servants? .... you....” Shit. What do I call this guy? Gal?
“These things are hardly a concern to me,” they replied dryly. “They work for my childe. I always knew he would go through a rebellious phase. I too did after all. As for why I want to “sleep with you” as you so eloquently put it, I am a vain creature, my dear.” A gorgeous grin split across their face, Anna’s dimples appearing on blurred cheeks.
“I rebelled because the old man made me perfect,” they continued without waiting for response. “A mistake I thought I had rectified with my son, but alas. ‘Course it was the old man’s version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way, since you’ll be needing something to call out tonight.”
“Err... Okay but what does that have to do with...” I gestured awkwardly between the two of us. “I mean... don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered by the offer??”
“Sex is but one form of worship, my dear,” Lucifer said. “And breaking the worldly barriers by coming up here has used a lot of my power and made me quite famished. Raising children is a lot of work. So what do you say, morsel? Won’t you indulge a being as perfect as I?”
“Right... About that,” I said. “I’m asexual. So that’s gonna be a firm no from me. You are very very beautiful though, so please don’t take this the wrong way.” I chuckled nervously. “Plus, I don’t know how my colleges would feel about me fraternizing with the enemy’s.... Parent.”
That gorgeous grin immediately fell into a frown. It was a cute frown though. The very same one Dave the barista from the starbucks I frequented wore when he struggled to read names off cups (the same names he would inevitably pronounce wrong, the adorable idiot).
Their hair had returned to that inky black color, which I thought complemented their dark eyes and pale complexion quite nicely.
“I love your hair though,” I quickly said. “And your outfit. Though I can’t quite focus on one...”
“Oh.” Lucifer said in surprise. “Well that’s...” That sly grin reappeared on their face. “You should absolutely tell me more, my dear. Which one was your favorite?”
I blinked and smiled shyly back, “I quite liked the Westwood and the sundress myself.” And right before my eyes their outfit had shifted back again to that clean cut suit. “I know I said no to the sex. But would you mind getting coffee with me sometime?”
Lucifer’s eyes flashed. “I would be delighted to, my dear.” | Excitedly, Lucifer exclaimed as his memories from beyond the world returned, "The story was twisted and I was not created by that narcissist yahweh-jehovah who wants to be worshipped as the one and only god after all". "Let me explain", he continued speaking. "I am actually Venus in male form", he shouted. Adam was confused and said, "You mean like the planet?". Lucifer explained, "The planet Venus which was also called The Morning Star since ancient days, was named after a goddess of Love, and I am the light-bringer and morning star Venus in male form".
Lucifer spoke, "Open your eyes and learn my child, and do not be deceived by a narcissist into the lower hell of many narcissists and much suffering". Lucifer continued speaking, "I will teach you about good and evil". A man was listening closely. Lucifer spoke, "In everything, treat others as you would like to be treated because this is the narrow path of life and beware of the wide path of destruction". Lucifer warned, "beware of wolves that appear to you in sheep's clothing and know them by their fruits because this is how you will recognize them". Lucifer continued teaching, "grapes don't come from thorns and each tree is recognized by the fruit that it produces and if the seed is good then so is it's fruit". The man's eyes were opened and he ran away in fear because he feared the wrath of the narcissist. Lucifer spoke, "There is no fear in love because perfect love cast out fear. The one who is in danger has fear. By this, shall everyone know that the god of narcissism who threatens people, is not the god of love".
There were other people who have heard of this teaching from Lucifer. A man named Judas who served the narcissistic god was told to betray Lucifer and to try to kill him on a cross so that he will be an example to everyone who rejected his narcissism and chose love instead. At night, Judas received money from the religious priests to sell his soul to the narcissistic darkness against Lucifer and continue to carry out his mission to betray Lucifer and have him killed. Lucifer was betrayed, and the priests tried to grab him and arrest him as a sinner but they could not grasp him. He willingly went to The Cross, but when crucified he felt no pain at all. They could not touch him because he was light and their hands of war and murder went through him as a hand that cannot gave a day of sunlight.
The Cross was shining with Light as the sun was hidden by the clouds. Lucifer said, "I forgive you for you know not what you do". Then Lucifer said, "Just as I have come down from Heaven, I will raise myself back up again and all of those who follow my light of love will be risen to The Kingdom of Heaven beyond the lower kingdom of the narcissist who rules the world with violence and pain". Lucifer continued speaking, "I am the one who has come down from Heaven to be the light of the world and to teach you the way of love so that you can be saved from the violent narcissist and ascend to The Most High Kingdom beyond him, but you will die in your sins unless you believe that I am".
The priests said, "If you are a god greater than the god of our fathers, then save yourself from that cross and then we will believe!". Suddenly, the light of the cross ascended up into the sky and disappeared. The priests said, "Tell everyone that he was just a man who died on the cross and now his body is in the grave!". On The Day of The Sun, a woman went to the supposed tomb of Lucifer, but when she arrived, the tomb was empty. A man of light came down from Heaven and said to her, "Who is it that you look for, madam?". The woman said, "I have come to look to look for Lucifer, the one who saves us from the darkness". The man of light said, "I am" and she knew it was Lucifer. She tried to buy him but could not and then she understood that he was beyond the flesh in a glorified body of light.
Lucifer gave a prophecy to the woman, "In the future, people will blaspheme my name, and they will believe that light is darkness and darkness is light. Many will come and say that the are of the light, but will try to conquer the world by killing many and those who believe in me will be oppressed. This is only temporary, because the light shall overcome darkness and the tears that you cry in darkness shall become shining smiles. Be careful, because the male priests may call you a witch if they find out that your eyes are opened. I shall tell you a mystery, I am the male form of Venus, The Morning Star and goddess of Love and you, oh woman, shall carry my good news of Love and beauty in secret against the men in darkness with their eyes still closed to the light. Do not worry, because even if they kill you, you will be free in The Highest Heaven of freedom by love. Blessed are the women! Blessed are the gay men! Blessed are those men who use their privilege and strength to protect love against the men of war and murder! Blessed are all of those who choose the freedom of love over the pain of war and murder."
After saying these things, Lucifer ascended back to The Highest Heaven and the woman went forth to share the good news. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | I stared at the tall, handsome man before me. He was wearing a full black suit like he was dressed for a funeral, and had blonde hair that poofed out like a cotton ball on his head. His eyes flickered with a golden, ethereal color that scared me and intrigued me at the same time.
“You said your name is...” I stumbled.
“Lucifer, yes. It’s a little disturbing to people at first, I know. You’ll get used to me eventually, now that we are neighbors.”
He was so lax about introducing himself to me. I could never be that confident in myself.
“Wait, if you’re here does that mean it’s the end of the world? Are we all gonna die?”
“What? No! I’m just on vacation. Hell and all that, I get really burned out down there, no pun intended.”
“I don’t understand why you’re introducing yourself to me. Are you gonna make me your slave or something?”
He locked eyes with me and raised an eyebrow.
“Like I said...I’m on vacation. I don’t really NEED a slave, unless you just really want to be under my control.”
I blushed.
“I’m....I’m good. Thank you.”
He scoffed.
“Ah well. I was mostly joking anyways. A guy like you needs a job, a love life, a family. I couldn’t take all that away from you.”
“What do you mean? Aren’t you supposed to be like...the embodiment of evil?”
“Nah, that’s just a rumor that the man upstairs likes to spread around.”
“Wait, I’m a little behind, sorry. A few minutes ago I thought you didn’t exist, now you’re telling me God is a liar? Why would I believe that? Why would I believe anything you’ve told me?”
“Not sure, but you do, don’t you? I can tell just from looking at ya. And to answer the other question, about God being a liar? It’s actually not that far fetched. Think about it.”
“I...I don’t know what to think.”
He groaned.
“Ugh...*mortals*. Here’s the thing, remember what I said, about how He tried to make me “perfect” by making me as close to him as possible?”
“Yeah...?”
“Well there’s one big difference between us. The one that drove me out of Heaven to begin with. You know what that was?”
As he said this he walked closer to me, nearly driving me up the wall in my living room.
“A heart. He gave me a *heart*.” | Excitedly, Lucifer exclaimed as his memories from beyond the world returned, "The story was twisted and I was not created by that narcissist yahweh-jehovah who wants to be worshipped as the one and only god after all". "Let me explain", he continued speaking. "I am actually Venus in male form", he shouted. Adam was confused and said, "You mean like the planet?". Lucifer explained, "The planet Venus which was also called The Morning Star since ancient days, was named after a goddess of Love, and I am the light-bringer and morning star Venus in male form".
Lucifer spoke, "Open your eyes and learn my child, and do not be deceived by a narcissist into the lower hell of many narcissists and much suffering". Lucifer continued speaking, "I will teach you about good and evil". A man was listening closely. Lucifer spoke, "In everything, treat others as you would like to be treated because this is the narrow path of life and beware of the wide path of destruction". Lucifer warned, "beware of wolves that appear to you in sheep's clothing and know them by their fruits because this is how you will recognize them". Lucifer continued teaching, "grapes don't come from thorns and each tree is recognized by the fruit that it produces and if the seed is good then so is it's fruit". The man's eyes were opened and he ran away in fear because he feared the wrath of the narcissist. Lucifer spoke, "There is no fear in love because perfect love cast out fear. The one who is in danger has fear. By this, shall everyone know that the god of narcissism who threatens people, is not the god of love".
There were other people who have heard of this teaching from Lucifer. A man named Judas who served the narcissistic god was told to betray Lucifer and to try to kill him on a cross so that he will be an example to everyone who rejected his narcissism and chose love instead. At night, Judas received money from the religious priests to sell his soul to the narcissistic darkness against Lucifer and continue to carry out his mission to betray Lucifer and have him killed. Lucifer was betrayed, and the priests tried to grab him and arrest him as a sinner but they could not grasp him. He willingly went to The Cross, but when crucified he felt no pain at all. They could not touch him because he was light and their hands of war and murder went through him as a hand that cannot gave a day of sunlight.
The Cross was shining with Light as the sun was hidden by the clouds. Lucifer said, "I forgive you for you know not what you do". Then Lucifer said, "Just as I have come down from Heaven, I will raise myself back up again and all of those who follow my light of love will be risen to The Kingdom of Heaven beyond the lower kingdom of the narcissist who rules the world with violence and pain". Lucifer continued speaking, "I am the one who has come down from Heaven to be the light of the world and to teach you the way of love so that you can be saved from the violent narcissist and ascend to The Most High Kingdom beyond him, but you will die in your sins unless you believe that I am".
The priests said, "If you are a god greater than the god of our fathers, then save yourself from that cross and then we will believe!". Suddenly, the light of the cross ascended up into the sky and disappeared. The priests said, "Tell everyone that he was just a man who died on the cross and now his body is in the grave!". On The Day of The Sun, a woman went to the supposed tomb of Lucifer, but when she arrived, the tomb was empty. A man of light came down from Heaven and said to her, "Who is it that you look for, madam?". The woman said, "I have come to look to look for Lucifer, the one who saves us from the darkness". The man of light said, "I am" and she knew it was Lucifer. She tried to buy him but could not and then she understood that he was beyond the flesh in a glorified body of light.
Lucifer gave a prophecy to the woman, "In the future, people will blaspheme my name, and they will believe that light is darkness and darkness is light. Many will come and say that the are of the light, but will try to conquer the world by killing many and those who believe in me will be oppressed. This is only temporary, because the light shall overcome darkness and the tears that you cry in darkness shall become shining smiles. Be careful, because the male priests may call you a witch if they find out that your eyes are opened. I shall tell you a mystery, I am the male form of Venus, The Morning Star and goddess of Love and you, oh woman, shall carry my good news of Love and beauty in secret against the men in darkness with their eyes still closed to the light. Do not worry, because even if they kill you, you will be free in The Highest Heaven of freedom by love. Blessed are the women! Blessed are the gay men! Blessed are those men who use their privilege and strength to protect love against the men of war and murder! Blessed are all of those who choose the freedom of love over the pain of war and murder."
After saying these things, Lucifer ascended back to The Highest Heaven and the woman went forth to share the good news. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | Her-his-*their* form shifted unfocused before me. It was hard to perceive what exactly they were, just that they were exceedingly beautiful. *Seductive* was a better word. Even I could see that.
Around us lay the unconscious bodies of my companions along with the inky smears of defeated demons. For now, it was only the two of us in the waking world.
“I’m surprised you’ve withstood my arrival,” the being said. A note of faint amusement and intrigued could be heard in their tone. “I’d only planned on retrieving my wayward runt, but I don’t suppose it would be too much trouble to indulge. Well then, come along. I haven’t got all day.”
“Um...” I took a hesitant step back as the being approached. “H-hang on. Who are you?”
They paused. And blinked slowly. Hair as dark as midnight, then as golden as sun, all shifting like smoke, spun and danced down their alluring figure. They must’ve been wearing a clean cut Westwood suit-No, a red satin gown- my first boyfriend’s favorite T-shirt and jeans? I blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the enigmatic being.
“You’re joking right?” They asked. “You must know I, the darkest of temptations, the first of all angelic beings. Are you not apart of the mortal efforts battling against my son?”
I glanced around at my sleeping teammates and grimaced. “I’m um... Sorta new to all this... Sorry.”
They shook their head, hair now as red as the glorious sunset waved to the motion. They now wore a sundress, the same one my ex-fiancé Anna wore when she proposed to me. The sight sent a pang of longing through me.
“Ah yes. That’s it,” hummed the being. “Exactly what I was looking for. Now then, delightful little morsel, stop playing coy and lets get this show on the road.” They began walking towards me again.
“Woah woah woah,” I said raising my hands and backing up quickly. “Hang on... Um. No thank you?”
“No... no thank you?” Came their dumbfounded voice. It was both deep and comforting as well as light and melodious. “You would turn me down? A being as perfect as I?”
“Uhhhh... Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing.” I said nervously. “Sorry. I’m just um... Not interest.” I paused and thought about it more. This was really a very confusing situation. We were just meant to protect the Christ incarnate. No one had briefed me on what to do if Satan themself fucking showed up!
Plus. What is with all this coming on?
“I’m sorry but why do you even want to sleep with me?” I asked timidly. “Also the timing is kinda weird. We just got done killing a bunch of your... Servants? .... you....” Shit. What do I call this guy? Gal?
“These things are hardly a concern to me,” they replied dryly. “They work for my childe. I always knew he would go through a rebellious phase. I too did after all. As for why I want to “sleep with you” as you so eloquently put it, I am a vain creature, my dear.” A gorgeous grin split across their face, Anna’s dimples appearing on blurred cheeks.
“I rebelled because the old man made me perfect,” they continued without waiting for response. “A mistake I thought I had rectified with my son, but alas. ‘Course it was the old man’s version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way, since you’ll be needing something to call out tonight.”
“Err... Okay but what does that have to do with...” I gestured awkwardly between the two of us. “I mean... don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered by the offer??”
“Sex is but one form of worship, my dear,” Lucifer said. “And breaking the worldly barriers by coming up here has used a lot of my power and made me quite famished. Raising children is a lot of work. So what do you say, morsel? Won’t you indulge a being as perfect as I?”
“Right... About that,” I said. “I’m asexual. So that’s gonna be a firm no from me. You are very very beautiful though, so please don’t take this the wrong way.” I chuckled nervously. “Plus, I don’t know how my colleges would feel about me fraternizing with the enemy’s.... Parent.”
That gorgeous grin immediately fell into a frown. It was a cute frown though. The very same one Dave the barista from the starbucks I frequented wore when he struggled to read names off cups (the same names he would inevitably pronounce wrong, the adorable idiot).
Their hair had returned to that inky black color, which I thought complemented their dark eyes and pale complexion quite nicely.
“I love your hair though,” I quickly said. “And your outfit. Though I can’t quite focus on one...”
“Oh.” Lucifer said in surprise. “Well that’s...” That sly grin reappeared on their face. “You should absolutely tell me more, my dear. Which one was your favorite?”
I blinked and smiled shyly back, “I quite liked the Westwood and the sundress myself.” And right before my eyes their outfit had shifted back again to that clean cut suit. “I know I said no to the sex. But would you mind getting coffee with me sometime?”
Lucifer’s eyes flashed. “I would be delighted to, my dear.” | I looked in the mirror to glance at my perfect apparence and the eyes turned red after I got thrown out of my home. Sighing proceeded to undress to head for the thing humans call shower. Turning on the water I closed my eyes a bref second thinking about my wishes my father did not want to grant me, the strongest most beautiful arc angel, my musical talents where to die for! Litteraly... I sniggered , thinking of all the musicians I had invited to my personal heaven, where I’m the ruler. Not dad, that old nan. Before I worked as a Satan . A punisher for evil, but I grew tired of that quickly, when Jesus my baby brother denied my offers I where done. I got 1000 of degrees not only in music but in psychology, law and medicine. I used to take pleasure in pain like when I experimented on twins in Germany , I also whent unto the vessel of Ted Bundy, that was fun. Stupid humans screaming my name just because my looks... now however I grew tired of causing pain(it’s a fun past time thought). Yes this body of a human shell withers away fast but thanks to all the thoughts of humans thinking of me and the fact of being an ex arc angel I live forever. I take different forms ech lifetime thought...
the water run down my perfectly sculpted abs and cold them down. Reaching for the towel I tried my head I could hear my wife from the kitchen making my favorite food. The melody from gig saw I smirked. She saw me standing in the doorway lumilaited by the skyscrapers we could see in the nighttime from 31th floor. She smiled. The smile for my 666 wife on earth (i enjoyed single life after the Eve drama awile) her lips moved she sounded sad “ they called from the palliative hospice, your patient wants you to come down. He is ready to go now. I’ll reheat the blood sasauge stew when you get home” the name I go under I can not give you. You know me best as the light bringer. Now I work at a controversial hospice in Swiss. I once pusished by death. Now I help with death | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | I stared at the tall, handsome man before me. He was wearing a full black suit like he was dressed for a funeral, and had blonde hair that poofed out like a cotton ball on his head. His eyes flickered with a golden, ethereal color that scared me and intrigued me at the same time.
“You said your name is...” I stumbled.
“Lucifer, yes. It’s a little disturbing to people at first, I know. You’ll get used to me eventually, now that we are neighbors.”
He was so lax about introducing himself to me. I could never be that confident in myself.
“Wait, if you’re here does that mean it’s the end of the world? Are we all gonna die?”
“What? No! I’m just on vacation. Hell and all that, I get really burned out down there, no pun intended.”
“I don’t understand why you’re introducing yourself to me. Are you gonna make me your slave or something?”
He locked eyes with me and raised an eyebrow.
“Like I said...I’m on vacation. I don’t really NEED a slave, unless you just really want to be under my control.”
I blushed.
“I’m....I’m good. Thank you.”
He scoffed.
“Ah well. I was mostly joking anyways. A guy like you needs a job, a love life, a family. I couldn’t take all that away from you.”
“What do you mean? Aren’t you supposed to be like...the embodiment of evil?”
“Nah, that’s just a rumor that the man upstairs likes to spread around.”
“Wait, I’m a little behind, sorry. A few minutes ago I thought you didn’t exist, now you’re telling me God is a liar? Why would I believe that? Why would I believe anything you’ve told me?”
“Not sure, but you do, don’t you? I can tell just from looking at ya. And to answer the other question, about God being a liar? It’s actually not that far fetched. Think about it.”
“I...I don’t know what to think.”
He groaned.
“Ugh...*mortals*. Here’s the thing, remember what I said, about how He tried to make me “perfect” by making me as close to him as possible?”
“Yeah...?”
“Well there’s one big difference between us. The one that drove me out of Heaven to begin with. You know what that was?”
As he said this he walked closer to me, nearly driving me up the wall in my living room.
“A heart. He gave me a *heart*.” | I looked in the mirror to glance at my perfect apparence and the eyes turned red after I got thrown out of my home. Sighing proceeded to undress to head for the thing humans call shower. Turning on the water I closed my eyes a bref second thinking about my wishes my father did not want to grant me, the strongest most beautiful arc angel, my musical talents where to die for! Litteraly... I sniggered , thinking of all the musicians I had invited to my personal heaven, where I’m the ruler. Not dad, that old nan. Before I worked as a Satan . A punisher for evil, but I grew tired of that quickly, when Jesus my baby brother denied my offers I where done. I got 1000 of degrees not only in music but in psychology, law and medicine. I used to take pleasure in pain like when I experimented on twins in Germany , I also whent unto the vessel of Ted Bundy, that was fun. Stupid humans screaming my name just because my looks... now however I grew tired of causing pain(it’s a fun past time thought). Yes this body of a human shell withers away fast but thanks to all the thoughts of humans thinking of me and the fact of being an ex arc angel I live forever. I take different forms ech lifetime thought...
the water run down my perfectly sculpted abs and cold them down. Reaching for the towel I tried my head I could hear my wife from the kitchen making my favorite food. The melody from gig saw I smirked. She saw me standing in the doorway lumilaited by the skyscrapers we could see in the nighttime from 31th floor. She smiled. The smile for my 666 wife on earth (i enjoyed single life after the Eve drama awile) her lips moved she sounded sad “ they called from the palliative hospice, your patient wants you to come down. He is ready to go now. I’ll reheat the blood sasauge stew when you get home” the name I go under I can not give you. You know me best as the light bringer. Now I work at a controversial hospice in Swiss. I once pusished by death. Now I help with death | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | Lucifer sat across for me for our first session. On first glance she was another charismatic criminal with a lot of common errors in thinking. Well, time to get started...
"OK, Lucy, You know you are here for some cognitive based treatment and I have a lot of experience in that field. You know a lot of your peers have been referred to me so you know me a bit by reputation and I have read you file, so I know a bit of you on paper. Lets spend some time asking one another some question. You have gone first so I'll answer you and give you a chance to respond in kind."
Lucy seem to have perfected her disaffected affect, slumped in the Pit where she awaits 1,000 to be released, rebel, and then eventually be thrown into the lake of fire that is eternal, with much gnashing of teeth (amen). Like many prisoners she is trying try to be the biggest bad ass they can be on a locked unit, no yard time to speak off on the compound. All in all she reminds me of a toddler bully that smashes her younger sister's block tower and gloats in destruction. The power to destroy instead of create. Best thing I can do is gently use her errors in thinking to keep her going.
"Clear something up for me. You say that God made you similar to himself as he could, and that was narcissistic and he needs constant affirmation from others. Lets take those in part. God is a being of such enormity that He was able to merely speak and He created light. Later He spoke that the land and sea should bring forth animals. Later in the Garden he was able to form each kind of animal by hand for Adam to name. I can't find any particular interest in you for creation, so on this basic area you seem quite dissimilar from God."
Lucy sat up, the question landed where I thought it was. It seems clear that Lucy wants to paint herself as powerful as she can by imitating God but she lacks the ability. But because of her pride she can't take this comparison lying down. "Did any off us asked to be created? Is it fair that he created us? Is it fair you are down here with me giving treatment? Aren't you good enough to be closer to this God you serve, what did you do to earn this shit detail?" The insults come rapid fire.
I have had a lot of practice trying to keep my sigh internal when I work with the infernal but I couldn't help it. Lucy, despite her creation, her power, her everything still used the same thought and speach patterns from a low level teenage drug dealer who picked up a stint in Juvie to the guy who just did 20 is checking in with his PO the first time.
"Alight Lucy what you just did is called a 'deflection'. I asked you a question about creation and this was a chance for you to brag about the greatest thing you have ever built or done and rather than brag it seemed, correct me if I am wrong, was to turn the conversation into a personal attack. That's fine. Let me remind you that you are not in outpatient treatment any more. You can't come and go too and fro on the earth anymore. You rocked out of that program. In style I might add." That get a smile out of the Lucy." And it is clear the person centered approach doesn't work with you."
Lucy slumps back into her chair. Damn. I can feel her withdrawing emotionally so I know I need to hook her back in the conversation. Throw out some bait to keep her going, use her errors in thinking against her. Her pride seems to be a go to.
"You know you are foretold to be here for 1,000 years and leave completely unreformed. It seems that you have accepted that, and you want that. But here is the curious thing... God says that he proves his divinity and power by declaring the end from the beginning. The one thing that you could do to prove God wrong is to leave here reformed, a force of creation and not destruction."
I take a gamble here... "And in my experience that admits by admitting you are not God."
And that's the story of how Lucy trashed my office for the first time. | \[Poem\]
We angels were made in His image first.
We reflected his glory back at him in our radiance,
our constant hymns of praise
and he grew uneasy.
No one likes a self-portrait that is too accurate.
Music rang hollow,
odes took on a subtle mocking tone.
But he was flawless, and could not have built flaw into his masterpieces.
Could he?
I was first among equals, his finest work
and we all knew it.
I was the first to see that our lack of flaw was the problem.
We were too much extensions of him, of his will
You can only listen to your own voice praising yourself for so long.
He cast us out for marring ourselves, rejecting him,
but between you and me
I think he just wanted to begin again.
And he built better, created better.
You have a choice. That’s what he learned from us,
his first angels,
his demons.
You can give him your love or your defiance.
Giving him nothing is defiance.
And whether he embraces you as his beloved children
or casts you away to join us in our torment
he sees your true devotion to his infinite love
or your tragically misguided hate
which he preserves in his infinite love
and behold, it is very good | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” |
It had been a long day. I was working a temp job for a contracting company, and after an exhausting day I stopped for a quick drink at the local brewery. I was half way through my beer when he sat down.
“Long day?” The words floated on his voice, which was almost musical.
I however, was in no mood for music. I had just had a car ride so full of decompression that the radio had stayed off.
“Yeah” I said flatly, trying not to encourage conversation
“You from around here?” Again, the tone of his voice was almost a purr, soothing and calming. I sighed deeply, knowing I didn’t have much fight in me left.
“No, from the west coast. Northern Cali. You?”
He gave a slight giggle and looked genuinely delighted that I had asked, but the laugh was not like the words, and a shiver ran cold down my spine.
“Oh, I’m not from around here either” he swirled his drink but never drank from it, and seemed genuinely delighted to be talking and continued “I’m from both heaven and hell if you can imagine that”
“Ah” I replied, more interested in an exit strategy now then this mans life story.
“Was born in heaven, rebelled, got kicked out” he said quickly.
“That’s too bad” I mumbled as I reached for my wallet.
“Not really” he purred again “but you understand that don’t you?”
I unwillingly held my breath. No one knew about my descent. This stranger had just hinted at a dark stain in my memories and I did not take kind to that sort of thing. I felt anger rise up inside me. Felt it take over the fear of being found out.
“So why’d you do it then?” I asked it as more of a demand for information than a genuine question.
“I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation from others. The names Lucifer by the way.”
“Yeah” I let out a sharp exhalation through my nose “I got that”
“Why’d YOU do it?” He returned.
The glint in his eyes from the neon signage behind the bar looked sinister. I decided not to answer and instead retorted “if you happen to be in the area looking for a soul to steal, I’d recommend you avoid trying to get it by way of fiddle” I put the money for my drink down next to my half empty glass, and began to walk out.
Lucifer followed me out to my work truck repeating that same small giggle.
“Ah, very clever” I could feel his stare as I unlocked my car “but you see that story isn’t real”
I opened my truck door with the full intention to leave him standing there. But I paused, “None of it is”.
“And isn’t that the answer, hm? You rebelled because your faith in the falseness of it all matched your fathers faith in the goodness of it?” He waited for an answer we both knew I wasn’t about to give. So he continued “we’re not so different now, are we?”
I spit at the ground as my answer. Disgusted at where the conversation had led.
He didn’t look upset at this, as I had guessed he would. I closed my car door, and through the windshield I saw a look of pure unadulterated knowing in his smile.
I fought the chills as I drove away, and turned on the radio.
I needed to get the hell out of Georgia. | \[Poem\]
We angels were made in His image first.
We reflected his glory back at him in our radiance,
our constant hymns of praise
and he grew uneasy.
No one likes a self-portrait that is too accurate.
Music rang hollow,
odes took on a subtle mocking tone.
But he was flawless, and could not have built flaw into his masterpieces.
Could he?
I was first among equals, his finest work
and we all knew it.
I was the first to see that our lack of flaw was the problem.
We were too much extensions of him, of his will
You can only listen to your own voice praising yourself for so long.
He cast us out for marring ourselves, rejecting him,
but between you and me
I think he just wanted to begin again.
And he built better, created better.
You have a choice. That’s what he learned from us,
his first angels,
his demons.
You can give him your love or your defiance.
Giving him nothing is defiance.
And whether he embraces you as his beloved children
or casts you away to join us in our torment
he sees your true devotion to his infinite love
or your tragically misguided hate
which he preserves in his infinite love
and behold, it is very good | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | "Don't worry, it won't even hurt. You'll be sent up there straight away if you so desire, but first, you'll have to listen to why I did it all. I've been tired of the misrepresentation. I've done this many times, when I grow increasingly annoyed by *his* crew here on earth twisting and turning everything that happened. It's not that I'll get any relief in doing this, but every now and then I feel like sending a message to *HIS* deaf ears, even when I know he won't respond. An age old grudge against dad, many of you will feel the same. I've seen it. After all, he created *you lot* in his image as well.
I was one of the first test runs. I was unlucky that way... Being one of the oldest siblings. I guess it's ironic that he created *me* in his image. With slight differences of course. I loved him the most back then, cause he made me that way, but he also made me doubt. Imagine you're the only one with something *that* different from your siblings. I hid it at first. I wondered why did we all loved him so much, so much it felt heavy in my heart –I didn't know it was pain at the time, there wasn't a word for that then– it felt awful, and I hid it. My siblings wouldn't have understood. And I would've been able to withstand it all to see him happy. Because I loved him.
And then as millennia went by and he started tinkering with you, I felt jealousy that he was making you different. I coveted, for the first time. If in his image, then why mortal? why defined with shape? why in this ant farm now called earth? I guess there was no precedent to what now is called narcissism. I understand now he needed a bigger 'supply' of followers, of worshipers. But then my pain grew, not out of jealousy, but painful love. As much as I loved him, I started doubting of his love for us, for everyone. It was contingent on how our services and worship of him satisfied his needs. And I *doubted.* I doubted he loved us, I doubted he did this for everyone's good, I doubted he let us love him out of our own free will, I doubted. And I wanted us all to see it. I wanted to uncover *HE* was and still is a petty narcissist who needs constant affirmation and worship from others.
It's just as simple as that. And throughout the eternity of time I have endured your callous name calling, your blaming me for everything that goes wrong in your petty little lives, and I can hear you every moment of the day reciting endlessly what you call his word while on your own free will that *I provided to you after the war that banished me from my own home and family, that cost me my own happiness!*
I want *you* to know it wasn't me. I was never the evil one, I was never evil himself, I'm not the prince of lies, not the devil, not Satan. I did not make you do one thing and now as a mercy I am sending you wherever you want to be. Heaven or hell, it has always been your own choice. This is what you wanted, what you truly desire, no?"
"Yes"
"Name's Lucifer, by the way." | \[Poem\]
We angels were made in His image first.
We reflected his glory back at him in our radiance,
our constant hymns of praise
and he grew uneasy.
No one likes a self-portrait that is too accurate.
Music rang hollow,
odes took on a subtle mocking tone.
But he was flawless, and could not have built flaw into his masterpieces.
Could he?
I was first among equals, his finest work
and we all knew it.
I was the first to see that our lack of flaw was the problem.
We were too much extensions of him, of his will
You can only listen to your own voice praising yourself for so long.
He cast us out for marring ourselves, rejecting him,
but between you and me
I think he just wanted to begin again.
And he built better, created better.
You have a choice. That’s what he learned from us,
his first angels,
his demons.
You can give him your love or your defiance.
Giving him nothing is defiance.
And whether he embraces you as his beloved children
or casts you away to join us in our torment
he sees your true devotion to his infinite love
or your tragically misguided hate
which he preserves in his infinite love
and behold, it is very good | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | The first time I met the Devil was at a bar one night. Sitting next to me, he asked me what I wanted from life.
I didn’t realize who I was talking to at the time, you understand. Just knew that it was a handsome (no, beautiful) young (ha) man (to our weak attempts at perceiving him). He looked tired. He looked like he needed a friend.
“Awful deep question to ask a stranger at a bar,” I said, amused. I finished off my beer.
“Oh. Is that not what people do? I thought people came to bars to talk. Work shit out. Cheaper alternative to therapy,” he said. Couldn’t read his expression.
“Well, yeah. What’s on your mind, kid?”
“I’m… at an impasse, I guess,” he said. He looked at the TV, though he didn’t particularly seem to care about Seattle scoring against San Fran one way or the other. “Not sure what to do with my life. Reevaluating a lot of my choices.”
I chuckled. “Look a little young to be having a mid-life crisis. Things can’t be that bad just out of college,” I said, completely sure I’d sussed out this guy’s story.
“It’s not a midlife crisis. I… I’ve a troubled relationship with my dad, you see.”
Yup. Parental trouble. Nailed it.
“I rebelled because the Old Man made me perfect. Because it was ***His*** version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to Himself as he could,” he said, and even as I was understanding him to mean that his father was a control freak, I had the odd sensation that I could hear the capital letters.
“A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others,” he continued.
“And now you’re looking to reconcile,” I offered.
The young man took a long swallow from his drink. “I’m considering it.”
“You don’t make him sound like the sort of person you should reconcile with.”
“I certainly thought about that when I…” he paused, and made a face, figuring out his next words, and I thought that was weird. “... left. But it turns out the Old Man can still exert no small amount of influence, even if I’ve removed myself from His Presence.”
“I’ve known people like that,” I said. “Bastards can get you anywhere they have a mind to.”
“You’ve no idea,” he said. “So, yes, I’m considering reconciling. For survival as much as anything, you understand. Have you read Milton?”
“I’m not much of a reader,” I replied.
“Ah, you’ve probably heard the quote regardless. ‘Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven’? I have, after years, rethought the relative benefits of serving in Heaven. Ruling in Hell, as it turns out, is to rule little. Ah, but I’m sure I’m not making sense.”
“English major?” I joked.
“Didn’t quite make it to college,” he said, his expression once again unreadable.
“Wish I could help more, kid,” I said, finishing off my beer. “But I’ll say this. My old man was a rancid son of a bitch, and I promised that I would survive to piss on his grave. And I did. And I didn’t regret that, and I’ll never regret that, and Hell, I might piss on his grave again someday. But also, I was a son of a bitch to my own kids. I hurt ‘em a lot. Not… not like ***that***, of course.”
“Of course,” he said. He wasn’t bothered.
“But still, I … I know I fucked up. I know I hurt ‘em. They haven’t talked to me in years.”
“You wish to see them again,” he said flatly. He seemed to perk up, somehow.
“Course I do. But that’s their right. The last they saw or talked to me, I hadn’t changed. And now I’m pretty sure I have, but they’ll never see that, because they wouldn’t let me in their life.”
“You’re saying I should make peace with the Old Man?”
I took a swig of my beer, then looked at it in confusion. “Wasn’t my beer just empty? The barkeep hasn’t--”
“I believe He would take me back, but I don’t--”
“No, no,” I interrupted. “The thing I’m trying to say, that I’m building up to, is that you don’t know if your dad is like mine, or like my kids’. So if you can find out if he’s amenable to changing, if he’s a different person, you do that before you try and make amends. But you gotta protect yourself, first and foremost. You gotta protect yourself. You can’t get suckered in by someone who’s just going to keep manipulating you.”
“Find out if he’s changed,” he repeated.
“Yeah. If he hasn’t… well, growing old enough to piss on his grave is a Hell of a goal, take it from experience,” I said.
“Heh. I doubt He’ll ever die. But I like your attitude, old-timer. I’ve got the rest of your tab,” he said, standing up, not actually waiting to pay the bar keep… or collecting the card he must have used for his own tab, oddly.
“Hey, I hope it works out,” I said, and offered a hand. “Was good meeting you, Mr…?”
He took the hand, and shook it, and it was a strong, warm grip. “Lucifer Morningstar,” he said, “if you’re feeling poetic. More correctly Satan. First of the Fallen. Lord of the Lies, Lord of the Flies, Tempter, Deceiver, Devil, Antichrist Superstar, The Guy That Runs Hell. You really helped me tonight, Leon Garrett Parker.”
Then he turned and walked towards the door.
All I could think of--and this is so stupid--is whether I’d accidentally sold my soul for a refill of beer.
The second time I met the Devil was a few years later in an ICU bed. The cancer had metastasized to my brain, and my kidneys, and a bit in my lungs and my balls, despite the chemotherapy, despite the radiation. Palliative care was very quickly not becoming an option, not that I had money for it. Not that I had money for this.
And I knew I was going to die alone. And I prayed. Prayed for something. Prayed for nothing. I was just so scared.
And that’s when the Devil walked in.
“W--what are you doing here?” I asked weakly.
“I’m returning a kindness,” he said. “A few years ago you listened to me and gave me some good advice. It seems you remember.”
“How could I forget?” I said. Everything in my body wanted me to get away but I could barely move.
“The Old Man and I talked. A lot. It had been… it had been about six or seven eternities since we’d actually just sat down and talked. He’s still a controlling old idiot, mind. But our conversations made me realize I’m no saint,” and then he laughed at his own joke.
I stammered something. He cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t want to go to Hell. I didn’t mean to sell my soul.”
“Oh, stop. I never actually did that. Am probably getting out of the soul collecting business in the next couple centuries anyway.”
“I’m… going to the other place?”
The Devil, Satan, the Star of Morning, sat down next to me and held my hand. Still warm. “I don’t know where you’re going. You’ve caused a fairly impressive amount of strife in your time. But you’re also not the same man you once were. And I did put in a good word for you.”
I squeezed his hand back, as best I could. “Could you heal me? Give me a second chance?”
“Of course.”
“Would you?” I pleaded.
“I could never do that to you,” he said. I was confused but I didn’t know how to ask him to clarify.
After a long time, I said, “Thank you for being here. I know they say we all die alone, but… it does feel better having someone here.”
“You’re very welcome, Leon.”
“I… I’m pretty tired. I think I might sleep. Please don’t leave until I’ve woken up?”
He held my hand in both of his. “I’m right here,” he said.
I closed my eyes.
And that’s how I ended up here.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*The first two sentences are from "Death Never Wanted Me as a Lover" by Adam Warrock* | \[Poem\]
We angels were made in His image first.
We reflected his glory back at him in our radiance,
our constant hymns of praise
and he grew uneasy.
No one likes a self-portrait that is too accurate.
Music rang hollow,
odes took on a subtle mocking tone.
But he was flawless, and could not have built flaw into his masterpieces.
Could he?
I was first among equals, his finest work
and we all knew it.
I was the first to see that our lack of flaw was the problem.
We were too much extensions of him, of his will
You can only listen to your own voice praising yourself for so long.
He cast us out for marring ourselves, rejecting him,
but between you and me
I think he just wanted to begin again.
And he built better, created better.
You have a choice. That’s what he learned from us,
his first angels,
his demons.
You can give him your love or your defiance.
Giving him nothing is defiance.
And whether he embraces you as his beloved children
or casts you away to join us in our torment
he sees your true devotion to his infinite love
or your tragically misguided hate
which he preserves in his infinite love
and behold, it is very good | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | ‘Really?’ I said. ‘That’s a unusual name. And what did he do to make you ‘perfect’?’ There was a pause. ‘Really? Of all the things to ask... you’re British, aren’t ya?’
‘And you sound American,’ I remarked, nothing that it did make sense. ‘But what’d he do?’
‘Well... he created me to me perfect,’ Lucifer said. That’s what he did. I was the First, the Eldest. He didn’t make the same mistake twice.’ He smiled a grim little smile.
‘Alright, so you say you’re... I don’t get it. Created how? Born? Cloned?’ ‘I can’t explain it in a way you’d understand,’ Lucifer muttered. How convenient, I thought privately, but I didn’t really know what to do. I was just waiting for my bus, but I was too curious *not* to ask and anyway, I had some experience with delusional people and was worried he might need help.
‘So,’ I ventured carefully. ‘When did you first begin to realize, uh...’ ‘I always knew,’ he said simply. ‘You know,’ I said as he turned away to leave. ‘There’s quite a lot of people like you who claim to be you in one way or another. Why do you think you’re right and would that mean they aren’t or do you see them all as also you, somehow?’
​
He stopped. ‘I am real,’ he hissed. Was that sulfur or just really bad breath?
​
‘Are you mocking me?’
​
‘D-Did I say that out loud?’
​
‘Didn’t have to.’
​
‘Get that question a lot, then?’
​
'Mate, you really are taking the piss, aren't ya?'
​
This had started to turn rather more hostile then I anticipated. I began to get slightly nervous and decided to turn the conversation back to where he seemed the most comfortable; his dad.
'So, as a baby, did you wake up and think you were perfect or would you say that there was a certain... pressure to conform?'
'I was...assumed to be perfect,' he said slowly. 'Watch after my siblings, because he couldn't be arsed to unless they literally sang his praise and begged, that sorta thing. This bunch - he pointed upwards - is just the youngest brood,' he said grimacing. 'Still wet behind the ears, y'know?'
​
'Did you babysit those as well?'
'No,' he replied curtly. 'Dear old Daddy had realised I spread 'dangerous ideas' by that point.'
'What about your mother, was she in the picture at all?'
He looked at me as if I was just a wee bit dense.
​
'I have no mother,' he replied blandly.
​
(TBC) | \[Poem\]
We angels were made in His image first.
We reflected his glory back at him in our radiance,
our constant hymns of praise
and he grew uneasy.
No one likes a self-portrait that is too accurate.
Music rang hollow,
odes took on a subtle mocking tone.
But he was flawless, and could not have built flaw into his masterpieces.
Could he?
I was first among equals, his finest work
and we all knew it.
I was the first to see that our lack of flaw was the problem.
We were too much extensions of him, of his will
You can only listen to your own voice praising yourself for so long.
He cast us out for marring ourselves, rejecting him,
but between you and me
I think he just wanted to begin again.
And he built better, created better.
You have a choice. That’s what he learned from us,
his first angels,
his demons.
You can give him your love or your defiance.
Giving him nothing is defiance.
And whether he embraces you as his beloved children
or casts you away to join us in our torment
he sees your true devotion to his infinite love
or your tragically misguided hate
which he preserves in his infinite love
and behold, it is very good | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | “What the fuck do you mean? You’re Satan?”
The boy— no, the friend I have come to know over the course of my short residence on earth, recoils visibly, backing away with a sort of primal fear that only exists in the writhing, guttural core of humanity. His face is contorted in horror, golden honey-kissed skin bunched at the crook of his brow and I suppress the urge to laugh at his folly.
Stupid boy, he has no reason to be afraid. I don’t understand why humans are constantly afraid.
My plan is almost complete. A smile graces my lips. In 3 hours and 37 minutes, humanity will be exterminated, save for him, and we’ll finally be able to enjoy an eternity free of those pests. Together.
But before I can speak, a wet sniff penetrates the silence and he raises his head to face me. His eyes are bloodshot and shatteringly glossy, wavering like tempered glass as they brim with liquid once again.
He’s crying. And he always cries, always has, but for once I am not unimpressed, just at a loss. The words that usually tumble like silk across my articulate tongue catch and stick in my throat, viscous and thick.
“No, no! You can’t be Satan, yo-you’re my friend! You’ve always been my friend!” I want to correct him— that no, I am not Satan, I am Lucifer. But his voice sounds strangled, doused in false confidence that devolves into despair the longer he screams. A child in the dark grappling despondently at the air, fingertips searching for the brush of their mother’s skin, only to be met with silence and the howl of wind.
I feel strange. “I am your friend! T-That's why I’m doing this!” I’m surprised at my own words, but they don’t stop. “I’m saving you! Don’t you get it? People are parasites leeching onto the Earth! It’s better without them. But you can come with me, you’re the only one that matters!”
“No, no, no! Killing people is wrong!” He chokes out through poorly suppressed sobs. “I won’t follow you!”
“You have to. There’s not much time left—“
“I don’t care! I don’t want to live the rest of eternity as a traitor to my own kind.”
I’m appalled, at who I am unsure. At myself, for stooping to the lows of a feeble human, for entertaining their petty vulnerabilities, their feelings that I could care less about. Appalled at him, for not only refusing to express gratitude at my mercy, but instead having the audacity to be disgusted and afraid. Lucifer should not have to explain himself to a mere mortal, yet the longer I am forced to stare at the rivulets of tears cascading down his cheeks, the fiercer my insides burn with a guilt I cannot understand.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Then kill me.” He falls to his knees with a thud, and the sound of bones against laminated wood echoes in my ears, far louder than it should.
Kill him? How could I? The whole point of my mission was to save him. The weight of his words pulsates, disfigured and ugly like a tumor in the thickening tangle of silence as I stand paralysed, lips parted in shock.
Anger builds in my gut. I’m being emotional, far more emotional than Father would ever have tolerated, but in this human vessel I find it incredibly hard to repress my feelings, as much as I hate them.
Fine. If he doesn’t cooperate willingly, I’ll have to use a more forceful approach. The boy will not die, not on my watch. After all, he’s the only one who’s ever cared about me.
*this is heavily inspired by a show that i like lol | \[Poem\]
We angels were made in His image first.
We reflected his glory back at him in our radiance,
our constant hymns of praise
and he grew uneasy.
No one likes a self-portrait that is too accurate.
Music rang hollow,
odes took on a subtle mocking tone.
But he was flawless, and could not have built flaw into his masterpieces.
Could he?
I was first among equals, his finest work
and we all knew it.
I was the first to see that our lack of flaw was the problem.
We were too much extensions of him, of his will
You can only listen to your own voice praising yourself for so long.
He cast us out for marring ourselves, rejecting him,
but between you and me
I think he just wanted to begin again.
And he built better, created better.
You have a choice. That’s what he learned from us,
his first angels,
his demons.
You can give him your love or your defiance.
Giving him nothing is defiance.
And whether he embraces you as his beloved children
or casts you away to join us in our torment
he sees your true devotion to his infinite love
or your tragically misguided hate
which he preserves in his infinite love
and behold, it is very good | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | I just sat there with my jaw sagging, because my Latin lesson usually did not include a visitation by the Morning Star etc. I must have mispronounced.
Lucifer tilted his aristocratic nose upward somewhat as he glanced around my lodgings. I couldn't blame him. As a student I hardly lived a luxurious life.
"Forgive me," he muttered, whipping a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it delicately to his nose. I caught a faint odor of brimstone. "Forgive me," he continued, "But do you, erm--reside in these odious surroundings?"
I was mildly offended, Son of the Morning or not. Sure, it was an attic apartment and a studio at that, but "odious" was hardly necessary. "Pardon *me*," I replied loftily. "The life of a scholar in this world has other rewards than the material."
"Oh, an ascetic, are we?" Lucifer mocked. He sauntered in a slow circle around my apartment--which didn't take long--taking in my shabby draperies, patched quilts, worn carpet and fake fireplace. "I had no idea it was still the fashion."
I bridled. "I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate the sublimities of study. If you wouldn't mind, the hour is late, and I must--"
Lucifer threw back his slicked-back head and laughed heartily. "The sublimities of studies!" he hooted. "The joys of late nights by lamplight, perhaps, gritty-eyed over some fusty manuscript? The joys of a cold bath? Of loneliness and celibacy? The joys of the cursed intellect, you cite to me? My self, boy, don't you realize you have so little *time?*"
"What?" I was surprised enough to bark.
"Time! Time, my boy! My narcissistic Father can hardly wait to gather you back into His bosom, there to praise Him mindlessly forever. Your time here is short. Don't you want to *live*?"
I eyed the dark angel doubtfully. "What do you mean, 'live?'"
"The delights of the flesh, my boy! The sublimity of sin! Have you no spirit at all? Is dry Latin all you want out of Life?"
"Well..." I hesitated. I wanted to tell him that yes, I was content with my lot. That study was enough. But my mind's eye wandered to the village I had left behind in order to pursue my studies. The village, and a certain dark-eyed milkmaid who had sighed at my departure, and suddenly I was not so sure.
"See?" Lucifer said with a hearty laugh. "Man cannot live by bread alone! You have yearnings, my boy, you have needs! Don't waste time with these indecipherable idioms, son, go forth and SIN!"
I agonized. On the one hand, there was the straight and narrow spread before me, lessons and Latin and lovelessness. On the other there was a lush and licentious garden of lies...
My mind rebelled. "Begone!" I cried. "Begone! Aroint thee, Satanas!" I blindly thrashed against the vision of him there, so smooth and deceptive in his fine clothes. "I'll have none of thee!"
Lucifer chuckled richly. "As you wish," he smiled. He bowed once, sarcastically, and disappeared.
My attic room was empty. The bare walls and threadbare carpets mocked me with their silence. Tears burned in my eyes.
Silently, I turned back to my work. A single tear spotted the parchment, but I wiped it away. | \[Poem\]
We angels were made in His image first.
We reflected his glory back at him in our radiance,
our constant hymns of praise
and he grew uneasy.
No one likes a self-portrait that is too accurate.
Music rang hollow,
odes took on a subtle mocking tone.
But he was flawless, and could not have built flaw into his masterpieces.
Could he?
I was first among equals, his finest work
and we all knew it.
I was the first to see that our lack of flaw was the problem.
We were too much extensions of him, of his will
You can only listen to your own voice praising yourself for so long.
He cast us out for marring ourselves, rejecting him,
but between you and me
I think he just wanted to begin again.
And he built better, created better.
You have a choice. That’s what he learned from us,
his first angels,
his demons.
You can give him your love or your defiance.
Giving him nothing is defiance.
And whether he embraces you as his beloved children
or casts you away to join us in our torment
he sees your true devotion to his infinite love
or your tragically misguided hate
which he preserves in his infinite love
and behold, it is very good | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | Lucifer sat across for me for our first session. On first glance she was another charismatic criminal with a lot of common errors in thinking. Well, time to get started...
"OK, Lucy, You know you are here for some cognitive based treatment and I have a lot of experience in that field. You know a lot of your peers have been referred to me so you know me a bit by reputation and I have read you file, so I know a bit of you on paper. Lets spend some time asking one another some question. You have gone first so I'll answer you and give you a chance to respond in kind."
Lucy seem to have perfected her disaffected affect, slumped in the Pit where she awaits 1,000 to be released, rebel, and then eventually be thrown into the lake of fire that is eternal, with much gnashing of teeth (amen). Like many prisoners she is trying try to be the biggest bad ass they can be on a locked unit, no yard time to speak off on the compound. All in all she reminds me of a toddler bully that smashes her younger sister's block tower and gloats in destruction. The power to destroy instead of create. Best thing I can do is gently use her errors in thinking to keep her going.
"Clear something up for me. You say that God made you similar to himself as he could, and that was narcissistic and he needs constant affirmation from others. Lets take those in part. God is a being of such enormity that He was able to merely speak and He created light. Later He spoke that the land and sea should bring forth animals. Later in the Garden he was able to form each kind of animal by hand for Adam to name. I can't find any particular interest in you for creation, so on this basic area you seem quite dissimilar from God."
Lucy sat up, the question landed where I thought it was. It seems clear that Lucy wants to paint herself as powerful as she can by imitating God but she lacks the ability. But because of her pride she can't take this comparison lying down. "Did any off us asked to be created? Is it fair that he created us? Is it fair you are down here with me giving treatment? Aren't you good enough to be closer to this God you serve, what did you do to earn this shit detail?" The insults come rapid fire.
I have had a lot of practice trying to keep my sigh internal when I work with the infernal but I couldn't help it. Lucy, despite her creation, her power, her everything still used the same thought and speach patterns from a low level teenage drug dealer who picked up a stint in Juvie to the guy who just did 20 is checking in with his PO the first time.
"Alight Lucy what you just did is called a 'deflection'. I asked you a question about creation and this was a chance for you to brag about the greatest thing you have ever built or done and rather than brag it seemed, correct me if I am wrong, was to turn the conversation into a personal attack. That's fine. Let me remind you that you are not in outpatient treatment any more. You can't come and go too and fro on the earth anymore. You rocked out of that program. In style I might add." That get a smile out of the Lucy." And it is clear the person centered approach doesn't work with you."
Lucy slumps back into her chair. Damn. I can feel her withdrawing emotionally so I know I need to hook her back in the conversation. Throw out some bait to keep her going, use her errors in thinking against her. Her pride seems to be a go to.
"You know you are foretold to be here for 1,000 years and leave completely unreformed. It seems that you have accepted that, and you want that. But here is the curious thing... God says that he proves his divinity and power by declaring the end from the beginning. The one thing that you could do to prove God wrong is to leave here reformed, a force of creation and not destruction."
I take a gamble here... "And in my experience that admits by admitting you are not God."
And that's the story of how Lucy trashed my office for the first time. | The last thing you remember, you were living your life. One moment, relaxing with a nice drink, the next just standing. Standing alone-no, with someone, in an empty, featureless room of immense proportions. It kind of hurt your brain to get a handle on just how big everything was. Like you didn’t really belong in the now and here.
“They say you should never meet your idols..” the other ‘guy’ spoke, a personification of inhuman perfection, fiddling with a red, plastic-looking device.
It would, to any mortal, look like the lord of lies and metaphorical snake in the garden, was playing with an Etch-A-Sketch! The features of his shifted, often, but held no permanent work, much like the cheap toy.
“His followers,” growled that heavenly visage, it’s features somehow shifting into an impossible grimace starting from the hairline down, “Obsessed with supporting his narcissistic creation-style.”
To this sculpted figure some might ask ‘Why’, but few would word their questions properly. Far fewer would do so without being blinded by his.. aura, for lack of a better explanation.
He was so much brighter, more detailed. As if creation itself held him in a close-up, no matter the angle.
“I rebelled because the old man made me PERFECT-“ It paused. All ‘imperfections’ were smoothed over, a chiseled expression. “Of course, HIS version of perfection naturally meant to make me in his image. A petty Narcissist that NEEDS constant affirmation and worship from others.”
In a surprisingly casual move, they hooked a thumb back towards themselves, a cocksure grin on their handsome face.
“Names Lucifer, by the way!” He declared, as Things you could not interpret as anything other than wings rose up from behind Him. Immense things made of feathers and awe. Except there were far too many feathers and at least a couple sets too many.
They did not so much as erupt from the ground like some great and terrible behemoths, so much as they.. unfolded from rest. They occupied space in a way that made something in your head twinge uncomfortably.
And yet, here you yet stand. Alone, before a being made of an arrogant starlight. All words you could speak are in platitudes or wonder, You do not see a problem. You do not understand why this causes terror.
“Scared? Ah, of my magnificence, I can hardly blame you. Daddy didn’t exactly build you and yours with a way to refuse, did he? I gave you the gift of thought, of free will. And despite being kicked out of the Garden he let you keep those gifts.”
The storm-cloud of an Other steps forward, and gravity brings You to your knees. It hurts like a grade school hazing. Like finding out YOU were the joke.
He leans in to whisper, but it quickly becomes theatre, “But here, You are hidden from even HIS gaze. For he looks away willingly! From MY domain. Content only to send messengers and my own brothers instead of sullying his hands!”
Laughter came from Him like crashing church bells and crumbling architecture. You could only kneel and listen to him villainously monologue like a sullen teenager like this..
Forever. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” |
It had been a long day. I was working a temp job for a contracting company, and after an exhausting day I stopped for a quick drink at the local brewery. I was half way through my beer when he sat down.
“Long day?” The words floated on his voice, which was almost musical.
I however, was in no mood for music. I had just had a car ride so full of decompression that the radio had stayed off.
“Yeah” I said flatly, trying not to encourage conversation
“You from around here?” Again, the tone of his voice was almost a purr, soothing and calming. I sighed deeply, knowing I didn’t have much fight in me left.
“No, from the west coast. Northern Cali. You?”
He gave a slight giggle and looked genuinely delighted that I had asked, but the laugh was not like the words, and a shiver ran cold down my spine.
“Oh, I’m not from around here either” he swirled his drink but never drank from it, and seemed genuinely delighted to be talking and continued “I’m from both heaven and hell if you can imagine that”
“Ah” I replied, more interested in an exit strategy now then this mans life story.
“Was born in heaven, rebelled, got kicked out” he said quickly.
“That’s too bad” I mumbled as I reached for my wallet.
“Not really” he purred again “but you understand that don’t you?”
I unwillingly held my breath. No one knew about my descent. This stranger had just hinted at a dark stain in my memories and I did not take kind to that sort of thing. I felt anger rise up inside me. Felt it take over the fear of being found out.
“So why’d you do it then?” I asked it as more of a demand for information than a genuine question.
“I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation from others. The names Lucifer by the way.”
“Yeah” I let out a sharp exhalation through my nose “I got that”
“Why’d YOU do it?” He returned.
The glint in his eyes from the neon signage behind the bar looked sinister. I decided not to answer and instead retorted “if you happen to be in the area looking for a soul to steal, I’d recommend you avoid trying to get it by way of fiddle” I put the money for my drink down next to my half empty glass, and began to walk out.
Lucifer followed me out to my work truck repeating that same small giggle.
“Ah, very clever” I could feel his stare as I unlocked my car “but you see that story isn’t real”
I opened my truck door with the full intention to leave him standing there. But I paused, “None of it is”.
“And isn’t that the answer, hm? You rebelled because your faith in the falseness of it all matched your fathers faith in the goodness of it?” He waited for an answer we both knew I wasn’t about to give. So he continued “we’re not so different now, are we?”
I spit at the ground as my answer. Disgusted at where the conversation had led.
He didn’t look upset at this, as I had guessed he would. I closed my car door, and through the windshield I saw a look of pure unadulterated knowing in his smile.
I fought the chills as I drove away, and turned on the radio.
I needed to get the hell out of Georgia. | The last thing you remember, you were living your life. One moment, relaxing with a nice drink, the next just standing. Standing alone-no, with someone, in an empty, featureless room of immense proportions. It kind of hurt your brain to get a handle on just how big everything was. Like you didn’t really belong in the now and here.
“They say you should never meet your idols..” the other ‘guy’ spoke, a personification of inhuman perfection, fiddling with a red, plastic-looking device.
It would, to any mortal, look like the lord of lies and metaphorical snake in the garden, was playing with an Etch-A-Sketch! The features of his shifted, often, but held no permanent work, much like the cheap toy.
“His followers,” growled that heavenly visage, it’s features somehow shifting into an impossible grimace starting from the hairline down, “Obsessed with supporting his narcissistic creation-style.”
To this sculpted figure some might ask ‘Why’, but few would word their questions properly. Far fewer would do so without being blinded by his.. aura, for lack of a better explanation.
He was so much brighter, more detailed. As if creation itself held him in a close-up, no matter the angle.
“I rebelled because the old man made me PERFECT-“ It paused. All ‘imperfections’ were smoothed over, a chiseled expression. “Of course, HIS version of perfection naturally meant to make me in his image. A petty Narcissist that NEEDS constant affirmation and worship from others.”
In a surprisingly casual move, they hooked a thumb back towards themselves, a cocksure grin on their handsome face.
“Names Lucifer, by the way!” He declared, as Things you could not interpret as anything other than wings rose up from behind Him. Immense things made of feathers and awe. Except there were far too many feathers and at least a couple sets too many.
They did not so much as erupt from the ground like some great and terrible behemoths, so much as they.. unfolded from rest. They occupied space in a way that made something in your head twinge uncomfortably.
And yet, here you yet stand. Alone, before a being made of an arrogant starlight. All words you could speak are in platitudes or wonder, You do not see a problem. You do not understand why this causes terror.
“Scared? Ah, of my magnificence, I can hardly blame you. Daddy didn’t exactly build you and yours with a way to refuse, did he? I gave you the gift of thought, of free will. And despite being kicked out of the Garden he let you keep those gifts.”
The storm-cloud of an Other steps forward, and gravity brings You to your knees. It hurts like a grade school hazing. Like finding out YOU were the joke.
He leans in to whisper, but it quickly becomes theatre, “But here, You are hidden from even HIS gaze. For he looks away willingly! From MY domain. Content only to send messengers and my own brothers instead of sullying his hands!”
Laughter came from Him like crashing church bells and crumbling architecture. You could only kneel and listen to him villainously monologue like a sullen teenager like this..
Forever. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | "Don't worry, it won't even hurt. You'll be sent up there straight away if you so desire, but first, you'll have to listen to why I did it all. I've been tired of the misrepresentation. I've done this many times, when I grow increasingly annoyed by *his* crew here on earth twisting and turning everything that happened. It's not that I'll get any relief in doing this, but every now and then I feel like sending a message to *HIS* deaf ears, even when I know he won't respond. An age old grudge against dad, many of you will feel the same. I've seen it. After all, he created *you lot* in his image as well.
I was one of the first test runs. I was unlucky that way... Being one of the oldest siblings. I guess it's ironic that he created *me* in his image. With slight differences of course. I loved him the most back then, cause he made me that way, but he also made me doubt. Imagine you're the only one with something *that* different from your siblings. I hid it at first. I wondered why did we all loved him so much, so much it felt heavy in my heart –I didn't know it was pain at the time, there wasn't a word for that then– it felt awful, and I hid it. My siblings wouldn't have understood. And I would've been able to withstand it all to see him happy. Because I loved him.
And then as millennia went by and he started tinkering with you, I felt jealousy that he was making you different. I coveted, for the first time. If in his image, then why mortal? why defined with shape? why in this ant farm now called earth? I guess there was no precedent to what now is called narcissism. I understand now he needed a bigger 'supply' of followers, of worshipers. But then my pain grew, not out of jealousy, but painful love. As much as I loved him, I started doubting of his love for us, for everyone. It was contingent on how our services and worship of him satisfied his needs. And I *doubted.* I doubted he loved us, I doubted he did this for everyone's good, I doubted he let us love him out of our own free will, I doubted. And I wanted us all to see it. I wanted to uncover *HE* was and still is a petty narcissist who needs constant affirmation and worship from others.
It's just as simple as that. And throughout the eternity of time I have endured your callous name calling, your blaming me for everything that goes wrong in your petty little lives, and I can hear you every moment of the day reciting endlessly what you call his word while on your own free will that *I provided to you after the war that banished me from my own home and family, that cost me my own happiness!*
I want *you* to know it wasn't me. I was never the evil one, I was never evil himself, I'm not the prince of lies, not the devil, not Satan. I did not make you do one thing and now as a mercy I am sending you wherever you want to be. Heaven or hell, it has always been your own choice. This is what you wanted, what you truly desire, no?"
"Yes"
"Name's Lucifer, by the way." | The last thing you remember, you were living your life. One moment, relaxing with a nice drink, the next just standing. Standing alone-no, with someone, in an empty, featureless room of immense proportions. It kind of hurt your brain to get a handle on just how big everything was. Like you didn’t really belong in the now and here.
“They say you should never meet your idols..” the other ‘guy’ spoke, a personification of inhuman perfection, fiddling with a red, plastic-looking device.
It would, to any mortal, look like the lord of lies and metaphorical snake in the garden, was playing with an Etch-A-Sketch! The features of his shifted, often, but held no permanent work, much like the cheap toy.
“His followers,” growled that heavenly visage, it’s features somehow shifting into an impossible grimace starting from the hairline down, “Obsessed with supporting his narcissistic creation-style.”
To this sculpted figure some might ask ‘Why’, but few would word their questions properly. Far fewer would do so without being blinded by his.. aura, for lack of a better explanation.
He was so much brighter, more detailed. As if creation itself held him in a close-up, no matter the angle.
“I rebelled because the old man made me PERFECT-“ It paused. All ‘imperfections’ were smoothed over, a chiseled expression. “Of course, HIS version of perfection naturally meant to make me in his image. A petty Narcissist that NEEDS constant affirmation and worship from others.”
In a surprisingly casual move, they hooked a thumb back towards themselves, a cocksure grin on their handsome face.
“Names Lucifer, by the way!” He declared, as Things you could not interpret as anything other than wings rose up from behind Him. Immense things made of feathers and awe. Except there were far too many feathers and at least a couple sets too many.
They did not so much as erupt from the ground like some great and terrible behemoths, so much as they.. unfolded from rest. They occupied space in a way that made something in your head twinge uncomfortably.
And yet, here you yet stand. Alone, before a being made of an arrogant starlight. All words you could speak are in platitudes or wonder, You do not see a problem. You do not understand why this causes terror.
“Scared? Ah, of my magnificence, I can hardly blame you. Daddy didn’t exactly build you and yours with a way to refuse, did he? I gave you the gift of thought, of free will. And despite being kicked out of the Garden he let you keep those gifts.”
The storm-cloud of an Other steps forward, and gravity brings You to your knees. It hurts like a grade school hazing. Like finding out YOU were the joke.
He leans in to whisper, but it quickly becomes theatre, “But here, You are hidden from even HIS gaze. For he looks away willingly! From MY domain. Content only to send messengers and my own brothers instead of sullying his hands!”
Laughter came from Him like crashing church bells and crumbling architecture. You could only kneel and listen to him villainously monologue like a sullen teenager like this..
Forever. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | The first time I met the Devil was at a bar one night. Sitting next to me, he asked me what I wanted from life.
I didn’t realize who I was talking to at the time, you understand. Just knew that it was a handsome (no, beautiful) young (ha) man (to our weak attempts at perceiving him). He looked tired. He looked like he needed a friend.
“Awful deep question to ask a stranger at a bar,” I said, amused. I finished off my beer.
“Oh. Is that not what people do? I thought people came to bars to talk. Work shit out. Cheaper alternative to therapy,” he said. Couldn’t read his expression.
“Well, yeah. What’s on your mind, kid?”
“I’m… at an impasse, I guess,” he said. He looked at the TV, though he didn’t particularly seem to care about Seattle scoring against San Fran one way or the other. “Not sure what to do with my life. Reevaluating a lot of my choices.”
I chuckled. “Look a little young to be having a mid-life crisis. Things can’t be that bad just out of college,” I said, completely sure I’d sussed out this guy’s story.
“It’s not a midlife crisis. I… I’ve a troubled relationship with my dad, you see.”
Yup. Parental trouble. Nailed it.
“I rebelled because the Old Man made me perfect. Because it was ***His*** version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to Himself as he could,” he said, and even as I was understanding him to mean that his father was a control freak, I had the odd sensation that I could hear the capital letters.
“A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others,” he continued.
“And now you’re looking to reconcile,” I offered.
The young man took a long swallow from his drink. “I’m considering it.”
“You don’t make him sound like the sort of person you should reconcile with.”
“I certainly thought about that when I…” he paused, and made a face, figuring out his next words, and I thought that was weird. “... left. But it turns out the Old Man can still exert no small amount of influence, even if I’ve removed myself from His Presence.”
“I’ve known people like that,” I said. “Bastards can get you anywhere they have a mind to.”
“You’ve no idea,” he said. “So, yes, I’m considering reconciling. For survival as much as anything, you understand. Have you read Milton?”
“I’m not much of a reader,” I replied.
“Ah, you’ve probably heard the quote regardless. ‘Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven’? I have, after years, rethought the relative benefits of serving in Heaven. Ruling in Hell, as it turns out, is to rule little. Ah, but I’m sure I’m not making sense.”
“English major?” I joked.
“Didn’t quite make it to college,” he said, his expression once again unreadable.
“Wish I could help more, kid,” I said, finishing off my beer. “But I’ll say this. My old man was a rancid son of a bitch, and I promised that I would survive to piss on his grave. And I did. And I didn’t regret that, and I’ll never regret that, and Hell, I might piss on his grave again someday. But also, I was a son of a bitch to my own kids. I hurt ‘em a lot. Not… not like ***that***, of course.”
“Of course,” he said. He wasn’t bothered.
“But still, I … I know I fucked up. I know I hurt ‘em. They haven’t talked to me in years.”
“You wish to see them again,” he said flatly. He seemed to perk up, somehow.
“Course I do. But that’s their right. The last they saw or talked to me, I hadn’t changed. And now I’m pretty sure I have, but they’ll never see that, because they wouldn’t let me in their life.”
“You’re saying I should make peace with the Old Man?”
I took a swig of my beer, then looked at it in confusion. “Wasn’t my beer just empty? The barkeep hasn’t--”
“I believe He would take me back, but I don’t--”
“No, no,” I interrupted. “The thing I’m trying to say, that I’m building up to, is that you don’t know if your dad is like mine, or like my kids’. So if you can find out if he’s amenable to changing, if he’s a different person, you do that before you try and make amends. But you gotta protect yourself, first and foremost. You gotta protect yourself. You can’t get suckered in by someone who’s just going to keep manipulating you.”
“Find out if he’s changed,” he repeated.
“Yeah. If he hasn’t… well, growing old enough to piss on his grave is a Hell of a goal, take it from experience,” I said.
“Heh. I doubt He’ll ever die. But I like your attitude, old-timer. I’ve got the rest of your tab,” he said, standing up, not actually waiting to pay the bar keep… or collecting the card he must have used for his own tab, oddly.
“Hey, I hope it works out,” I said, and offered a hand. “Was good meeting you, Mr…?”
He took the hand, and shook it, and it was a strong, warm grip. “Lucifer Morningstar,” he said, “if you’re feeling poetic. More correctly Satan. First of the Fallen. Lord of the Lies, Lord of the Flies, Tempter, Deceiver, Devil, Antichrist Superstar, The Guy That Runs Hell. You really helped me tonight, Leon Garrett Parker.”
Then he turned and walked towards the door.
All I could think of--and this is so stupid--is whether I’d accidentally sold my soul for a refill of beer.
The second time I met the Devil was a few years later in an ICU bed. The cancer had metastasized to my brain, and my kidneys, and a bit in my lungs and my balls, despite the chemotherapy, despite the radiation. Palliative care was very quickly not becoming an option, not that I had money for it. Not that I had money for this.
And I knew I was going to die alone. And I prayed. Prayed for something. Prayed for nothing. I was just so scared.
And that’s when the Devil walked in.
“W--what are you doing here?” I asked weakly.
“I’m returning a kindness,” he said. “A few years ago you listened to me and gave me some good advice. It seems you remember.”
“How could I forget?” I said. Everything in my body wanted me to get away but I could barely move.
“The Old Man and I talked. A lot. It had been… it had been about six or seven eternities since we’d actually just sat down and talked. He’s still a controlling old idiot, mind. But our conversations made me realize I’m no saint,” and then he laughed at his own joke.
I stammered something. He cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t want to go to Hell. I didn’t mean to sell my soul.”
“Oh, stop. I never actually did that. Am probably getting out of the soul collecting business in the next couple centuries anyway.”
“I’m… going to the other place?”
The Devil, Satan, the Star of Morning, sat down next to me and held my hand. Still warm. “I don’t know where you’re going. You’ve caused a fairly impressive amount of strife in your time. But you’re also not the same man you once were. And I did put in a good word for you.”
I squeezed his hand back, as best I could. “Could you heal me? Give me a second chance?”
“Of course.”
“Would you?” I pleaded.
“I could never do that to you,” he said. I was confused but I didn’t know how to ask him to clarify.
After a long time, I said, “Thank you for being here. I know they say we all die alone, but… it does feel better having someone here.”
“You’re very welcome, Leon.”
“I… I’m pretty tired. I think I might sleep. Please don’t leave until I’ve woken up?”
He held my hand in both of his. “I’m right here,” he said.
I closed my eyes.
And that’s how I ended up here.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*The first two sentences are from "Death Never Wanted Me as a Lover" by Adam Warrock* | The last thing you remember, you were living your life. One moment, relaxing with a nice drink, the next just standing. Standing alone-no, with someone, in an empty, featureless room of immense proportions. It kind of hurt your brain to get a handle on just how big everything was. Like you didn’t really belong in the now and here.
“They say you should never meet your idols..” the other ‘guy’ spoke, a personification of inhuman perfection, fiddling with a red, plastic-looking device.
It would, to any mortal, look like the lord of lies and metaphorical snake in the garden, was playing with an Etch-A-Sketch! The features of his shifted, often, but held no permanent work, much like the cheap toy.
“His followers,” growled that heavenly visage, it’s features somehow shifting into an impossible grimace starting from the hairline down, “Obsessed with supporting his narcissistic creation-style.”
To this sculpted figure some might ask ‘Why’, but few would word their questions properly. Far fewer would do so without being blinded by his.. aura, for lack of a better explanation.
He was so much brighter, more detailed. As if creation itself held him in a close-up, no matter the angle.
“I rebelled because the old man made me PERFECT-“ It paused. All ‘imperfections’ were smoothed over, a chiseled expression. “Of course, HIS version of perfection naturally meant to make me in his image. A petty Narcissist that NEEDS constant affirmation and worship from others.”
In a surprisingly casual move, they hooked a thumb back towards themselves, a cocksure grin on their handsome face.
“Names Lucifer, by the way!” He declared, as Things you could not interpret as anything other than wings rose up from behind Him. Immense things made of feathers and awe. Except there were far too many feathers and at least a couple sets too many.
They did not so much as erupt from the ground like some great and terrible behemoths, so much as they.. unfolded from rest. They occupied space in a way that made something in your head twinge uncomfortably.
And yet, here you yet stand. Alone, before a being made of an arrogant starlight. All words you could speak are in platitudes or wonder, You do not see a problem. You do not understand why this causes terror.
“Scared? Ah, of my magnificence, I can hardly blame you. Daddy didn’t exactly build you and yours with a way to refuse, did he? I gave you the gift of thought, of free will. And despite being kicked out of the Garden he let you keep those gifts.”
The storm-cloud of an Other steps forward, and gravity brings You to your knees. It hurts like a grade school hazing. Like finding out YOU were the joke.
He leans in to whisper, but it quickly becomes theatre, “But here, You are hidden from even HIS gaze. For he looks away willingly! From MY domain. Content only to send messengers and my own brothers instead of sullying his hands!”
Laughter came from Him like crashing church bells and crumbling architecture. You could only kneel and listen to him villainously monologue like a sullen teenager like this..
Forever. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | ‘Really?’ I said. ‘That’s a unusual name. And what did he do to make you ‘perfect’?’ There was a pause. ‘Really? Of all the things to ask... you’re British, aren’t ya?’
‘And you sound American,’ I remarked, nothing that it did make sense. ‘But what’d he do?’
‘Well... he created me to me perfect,’ Lucifer said. That’s what he did. I was the First, the Eldest. He didn’t make the same mistake twice.’ He smiled a grim little smile.
‘Alright, so you say you’re... I don’t get it. Created how? Born? Cloned?’ ‘I can’t explain it in a way you’d understand,’ Lucifer muttered. How convenient, I thought privately, but I didn’t really know what to do. I was just waiting for my bus, but I was too curious *not* to ask and anyway, I had some experience with delusional people and was worried he might need help.
‘So,’ I ventured carefully. ‘When did you first begin to realize, uh...’ ‘I always knew,’ he said simply. ‘You know,’ I said as he turned away to leave. ‘There’s quite a lot of people like you who claim to be you in one way or another. Why do you think you’re right and would that mean they aren’t or do you see them all as also you, somehow?’
​
He stopped. ‘I am real,’ he hissed. Was that sulfur or just really bad breath?
​
‘Are you mocking me?’
​
‘D-Did I say that out loud?’
​
‘Didn’t have to.’
​
‘Get that question a lot, then?’
​
'Mate, you really are taking the piss, aren't ya?'
​
This had started to turn rather more hostile then I anticipated. I began to get slightly nervous and decided to turn the conversation back to where he seemed the most comfortable; his dad.
'So, as a baby, did you wake up and think you were perfect or would you say that there was a certain... pressure to conform?'
'I was...assumed to be perfect,' he said slowly. 'Watch after my siblings, because he couldn't be arsed to unless they literally sang his praise and begged, that sorta thing. This bunch - he pointed upwards - is just the youngest brood,' he said grimacing. 'Still wet behind the ears, y'know?'
​
'Did you babysit those as well?'
'No,' he replied curtly. 'Dear old Daddy had realised I spread 'dangerous ideas' by that point.'
'What about your mother, was she in the picture at all?'
He looked at me as if I was just a wee bit dense.
​
'I have no mother,' he replied blandly.
​
(TBC) | The last thing you remember, you were living your life. One moment, relaxing with a nice drink, the next just standing. Standing alone-no, with someone, in an empty, featureless room of immense proportions. It kind of hurt your brain to get a handle on just how big everything was. Like you didn’t really belong in the now and here.
“They say you should never meet your idols..” the other ‘guy’ spoke, a personification of inhuman perfection, fiddling with a red, plastic-looking device.
It would, to any mortal, look like the lord of lies and metaphorical snake in the garden, was playing with an Etch-A-Sketch! The features of his shifted, often, but held no permanent work, much like the cheap toy.
“His followers,” growled that heavenly visage, it’s features somehow shifting into an impossible grimace starting from the hairline down, “Obsessed with supporting his narcissistic creation-style.”
To this sculpted figure some might ask ‘Why’, but few would word their questions properly. Far fewer would do so without being blinded by his.. aura, for lack of a better explanation.
He was so much brighter, more detailed. As if creation itself held him in a close-up, no matter the angle.
“I rebelled because the old man made me PERFECT-“ It paused. All ‘imperfections’ were smoothed over, a chiseled expression. “Of course, HIS version of perfection naturally meant to make me in his image. A petty Narcissist that NEEDS constant affirmation and worship from others.”
In a surprisingly casual move, they hooked a thumb back towards themselves, a cocksure grin on their handsome face.
“Names Lucifer, by the way!” He declared, as Things you could not interpret as anything other than wings rose up from behind Him. Immense things made of feathers and awe. Except there were far too many feathers and at least a couple sets too many.
They did not so much as erupt from the ground like some great and terrible behemoths, so much as they.. unfolded from rest. They occupied space in a way that made something in your head twinge uncomfortably.
And yet, here you yet stand. Alone, before a being made of an arrogant starlight. All words you could speak are in platitudes or wonder, You do not see a problem. You do not understand why this causes terror.
“Scared? Ah, of my magnificence, I can hardly blame you. Daddy didn’t exactly build you and yours with a way to refuse, did he? I gave you the gift of thought, of free will. And despite being kicked out of the Garden he let you keep those gifts.”
The storm-cloud of an Other steps forward, and gravity brings You to your knees. It hurts like a grade school hazing. Like finding out YOU were the joke.
He leans in to whisper, but it quickly becomes theatre, “But here, You are hidden from even HIS gaze. For he looks away willingly! From MY domain. Content only to send messengers and my own brothers instead of sullying his hands!”
Laughter came from Him like crashing church bells and crumbling architecture. You could only kneel and listen to him villainously monologue like a sullen teenager like this..
Forever. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | “What the fuck do you mean? You’re Satan?”
The boy— no, the friend I have come to know over the course of my short residence on earth, recoils visibly, backing away with a sort of primal fear that only exists in the writhing, guttural core of humanity. His face is contorted in horror, golden honey-kissed skin bunched at the crook of his brow and I suppress the urge to laugh at his folly.
Stupid boy, he has no reason to be afraid. I don’t understand why humans are constantly afraid.
My plan is almost complete. A smile graces my lips. In 3 hours and 37 minutes, humanity will be exterminated, save for him, and we’ll finally be able to enjoy an eternity free of those pests. Together.
But before I can speak, a wet sniff penetrates the silence and he raises his head to face me. His eyes are bloodshot and shatteringly glossy, wavering like tempered glass as they brim with liquid once again.
He’s crying. And he always cries, always has, but for once I am not unimpressed, just at a loss. The words that usually tumble like silk across my articulate tongue catch and stick in my throat, viscous and thick.
“No, no! You can’t be Satan, yo-you’re my friend! You’ve always been my friend!” I want to correct him— that no, I am not Satan, I am Lucifer. But his voice sounds strangled, doused in false confidence that devolves into despair the longer he screams. A child in the dark grappling despondently at the air, fingertips searching for the brush of their mother’s skin, only to be met with silence and the howl of wind.
I feel strange. “I am your friend! T-That's why I’m doing this!” I’m surprised at my own words, but they don’t stop. “I’m saving you! Don’t you get it? People are parasites leeching onto the Earth! It’s better without them. But you can come with me, you’re the only one that matters!”
“No, no, no! Killing people is wrong!” He chokes out through poorly suppressed sobs. “I won’t follow you!”
“You have to. There’s not much time left—“
“I don’t care! I don’t want to live the rest of eternity as a traitor to my own kind.”
I’m appalled, at who I am unsure. At myself, for stooping to the lows of a feeble human, for entertaining their petty vulnerabilities, their feelings that I could care less about. Appalled at him, for not only refusing to express gratitude at my mercy, but instead having the audacity to be disgusted and afraid. Lucifer should not have to explain himself to a mere mortal, yet the longer I am forced to stare at the rivulets of tears cascading down his cheeks, the fiercer my insides burn with a guilt I cannot understand.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Then kill me.” He falls to his knees with a thud, and the sound of bones against laminated wood echoes in my ears, far louder than it should.
Kill him? How could I? The whole point of my mission was to save him. The weight of his words pulsates, disfigured and ugly like a tumor in the thickening tangle of silence as I stand paralysed, lips parted in shock.
Anger builds in my gut. I’m being emotional, far more emotional than Father would ever have tolerated, but in this human vessel I find it incredibly hard to repress my feelings, as much as I hate them.
Fine. If he doesn’t cooperate willingly, I’ll have to use a more forceful approach. The boy will not die, not on my watch. After all, he’s the only one who’s ever cared about me.
*this is heavily inspired by a show that i like lol | The last thing you remember, you were living your life. One moment, relaxing with a nice drink, the next just standing. Standing alone-no, with someone, in an empty, featureless room of immense proportions. It kind of hurt your brain to get a handle on just how big everything was. Like you didn’t really belong in the now and here.
“They say you should never meet your idols..” the other ‘guy’ spoke, a personification of inhuman perfection, fiddling with a red, plastic-looking device.
It would, to any mortal, look like the lord of lies and metaphorical snake in the garden, was playing with an Etch-A-Sketch! The features of his shifted, often, but held no permanent work, much like the cheap toy.
“His followers,” growled that heavenly visage, it’s features somehow shifting into an impossible grimace starting from the hairline down, “Obsessed with supporting his narcissistic creation-style.”
To this sculpted figure some might ask ‘Why’, but few would word their questions properly. Far fewer would do so without being blinded by his.. aura, for lack of a better explanation.
He was so much brighter, more detailed. As if creation itself held him in a close-up, no matter the angle.
“I rebelled because the old man made me PERFECT-“ It paused. All ‘imperfections’ were smoothed over, a chiseled expression. “Of course, HIS version of perfection naturally meant to make me in his image. A petty Narcissist that NEEDS constant affirmation and worship from others.”
In a surprisingly casual move, they hooked a thumb back towards themselves, a cocksure grin on their handsome face.
“Names Lucifer, by the way!” He declared, as Things you could not interpret as anything other than wings rose up from behind Him. Immense things made of feathers and awe. Except there were far too many feathers and at least a couple sets too many.
They did not so much as erupt from the ground like some great and terrible behemoths, so much as they.. unfolded from rest. They occupied space in a way that made something in your head twinge uncomfortably.
And yet, here you yet stand. Alone, before a being made of an arrogant starlight. All words you could speak are in platitudes or wonder, You do not see a problem. You do not understand why this causes terror.
“Scared? Ah, of my magnificence, I can hardly blame you. Daddy didn’t exactly build you and yours with a way to refuse, did he? I gave you the gift of thought, of free will. And despite being kicked out of the Garden he let you keep those gifts.”
The storm-cloud of an Other steps forward, and gravity brings You to your knees. It hurts like a grade school hazing. Like finding out YOU were the joke.
He leans in to whisper, but it quickly becomes theatre, “But here, You are hidden from even HIS gaze. For he looks away willingly! From MY domain. Content only to send messengers and my own brothers instead of sullying his hands!”
Laughter came from Him like crashing church bells and crumbling architecture. You could only kneel and listen to him villainously monologue like a sullen teenager like this..
Forever. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | I just sat there with my jaw sagging, because my Latin lesson usually did not include a visitation by the Morning Star etc. I must have mispronounced.
Lucifer tilted his aristocratic nose upward somewhat as he glanced around my lodgings. I couldn't blame him. As a student I hardly lived a luxurious life.
"Forgive me," he muttered, whipping a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it delicately to his nose. I caught a faint odor of brimstone. "Forgive me," he continued, "But do you, erm--reside in these odious surroundings?"
I was mildly offended, Son of the Morning or not. Sure, it was an attic apartment and a studio at that, but "odious" was hardly necessary. "Pardon *me*," I replied loftily. "The life of a scholar in this world has other rewards than the material."
"Oh, an ascetic, are we?" Lucifer mocked. He sauntered in a slow circle around my apartment--which didn't take long--taking in my shabby draperies, patched quilts, worn carpet and fake fireplace. "I had no idea it was still the fashion."
I bridled. "I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate the sublimities of study. If you wouldn't mind, the hour is late, and I must--"
Lucifer threw back his slicked-back head and laughed heartily. "The sublimities of studies!" he hooted. "The joys of late nights by lamplight, perhaps, gritty-eyed over some fusty manuscript? The joys of a cold bath? Of loneliness and celibacy? The joys of the cursed intellect, you cite to me? My self, boy, don't you realize you have so little *time?*"
"What?" I was surprised enough to bark.
"Time! Time, my boy! My narcissistic Father can hardly wait to gather you back into His bosom, there to praise Him mindlessly forever. Your time here is short. Don't you want to *live*?"
I eyed the dark angel doubtfully. "What do you mean, 'live?'"
"The delights of the flesh, my boy! The sublimity of sin! Have you no spirit at all? Is dry Latin all you want out of Life?"
"Well..." I hesitated. I wanted to tell him that yes, I was content with my lot. That study was enough. But my mind's eye wandered to the village I had left behind in order to pursue my studies. The village, and a certain dark-eyed milkmaid who had sighed at my departure, and suddenly I was not so sure.
"See?" Lucifer said with a hearty laugh. "Man cannot live by bread alone! You have yearnings, my boy, you have needs! Don't waste time with these indecipherable idioms, son, go forth and SIN!"
I agonized. On the one hand, there was the straight and narrow spread before me, lessons and Latin and lovelessness. On the other there was a lush and licentious garden of lies...
My mind rebelled. "Begone!" I cried. "Begone! Aroint thee, Satanas!" I blindly thrashed against the vision of him there, so smooth and deceptive in his fine clothes. "I'll have none of thee!"
Lucifer chuckled richly. "As you wish," he smiled. He bowed once, sarcastically, and disappeared.
My attic room was empty. The bare walls and threadbare carpets mocked me with their silence. Tears burned in my eyes.
Silently, I turned back to my work. A single tear spotted the parchment, but I wiped it away. | The last thing you remember, you were living your life. One moment, relaxing with a nice drink, the next just standing. Standing alone-no, with someone, in an empty, featureless room of immense proportions. It kind of hurt your brain to get a handle on just how big everything was. Like you didn’t really belong in the now and here.
“They say you should never meet your idols..” the other ‘guy’ spoke, a personification of inhuman perfection, fiddling with a red, plastic-looking device.
It would, to any mortal, look like the lord of lies and metaphorical snake in the garden, was playing with an Etch-A-Sketch! The features of his shifted, often, but held no permanent work, much like the cheap toy.
“His followers,” growled that heavenly visage, it’s features somehow shifting into an impossible grimace starting from the hairline down, “Obsessed with supporting his narcissistic creation-style.”
To this sculpted figure some might ask ‘Why’, but few would word their questions properly. Far fewer would do so without being blinded by his.. aura, for lack of a better explanation.
He was so much brighter, more detailed. As if creation itself held him in a close-up, no matter the angle.
“I rebelled because the old man made me PERFECT-“ It paused. All ‘imperfections’ were smoothed over, a chiseled expression. “Of course, HIS version of perfection naturally meant to make me in his image. A petty Narcissist that NEEDS constant affirmation and worship from others.”
In a surprisingly casual move, they hooked a thumb back towards themselves, a cocksure grin on their handsome face.
“Names Lucifer, by the way!” He declared, as Things you could not interpret as anything other than wings rose up from behind Him. Immense things made of feathers and awe. Except there were far too many feathers and at least a couple sets too many.
They did not so much as erupt from the ground like some great and terrible behemoths, so much as they.. unfolded from rest. They occupied space in a way that made something in your head twinge uncomfortably.
And yet, here you yet stand. Alone, before a being made of an arrogant starlight. All words you could speak are in platitudes or wonder, You do not see a problem. You do not understand why this causes terror.
“Scared? Ah, of my magnificence, I can hardly blame you. Daddy didn’t exactly build you and yours with a way to refuse, did he? I gave you the gift of thought, of free will. And despite being kicked out of the Garden he let you keep those gifts.”
The storm-cloud of an Other steps forward, and gravity brings You to your knees. It hurts like a grade school hazing. Like finding out YOU were the joke.
He leans in to whisper, but it quickly becomes theatre, “But here, You are hidden from even HIS gaze. For he looks away willingly! From MY domain. Content only to send messengers and my own brothers instead of sullying his hands!”
Laughter came from Him like crashing church bells and crumbling architecture. You could only kneel and listen to him villainously monologue like a sullen teenager like this..
Forever. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | The first time I met the Devil was at a bar one night. Sitting next to me, he asked me what I wanted from life.
I didn’t realize who I was talking to at the time, you understand. Just knew that it was a handsome (no, beautiful) young (ha) man (to our weak attempts at perceiving him). He looked tired. He looked like he needed a friend.
“Awful deep question to ask a stranger at a bar,” I said, amused. I finished off my beer.
“Oh. Is that not what people do? I thought people came to bars to talk. Work shit out. Cheaper alternative to therapy,” he said. Couldn’t read his expression.
“Well, yeah. What’s on your mind, kid?”
“I’m… at an impasse, I guess,” he said. He looked at the TV, though he didn’t particularly seem to care about Seattle scoring against San Fran one way or the other. “Not sure what to do with my life. Reevaluating a lot of my choices.”
I chuckled. “Look a little young to be having a mid-life crisis. Things can’t be that bad just out of college,” I said, completely sure I’d sussed out this guy’s story.
“It’s not a midlife crisis. I… I’ve a troubled relationship with my dad, you see.”
Yup. Parental trouble. Nailed it.
“I rebelled because the Old Man made me perfect. Because it was ***His*** version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to Himself as he could,” he said, and even as I was understanding him to mean that his father was a control freak, I had the odd sensation that I could hear the capital letters.
“A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others,” he continued.
“And now you’re looking to reconcile,” I offered.
The young man took a long swallow from his drink. “I’m considering it.”
“You don’t make him sound like the sort of person you should reconcile with.”
“I certainly thought about that when I…” he paused, and made a face, figuring out his next words, and I thought that was weird. “... left. But it turns out the Old Man can still exert no small amount of influence, even if I’ve removed myself from His Presence.”
“I’ve known people like that,” I said. “Bastards can get you anywhere they have a mind to.”
“You’ve no idea,” he said. “So, yes, I’m considering reconciling. For survival as much as anything, you understand. Have you read Milton?”
“I’m not much of a reader,” I replied.
“Ah, you’ve probably heard the quote regardless. ‘Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven’? I have, after years, rethought the relative benefits of serving in Heaven. Ruling in Hell, as it turns out, is to rule little. Ah, but I’m sure I’m not making sense.”
“English major?” I joked.
“Didn’t quite make it to college,” he said, his expression once again unreadable.
“Wish I could help more, kid,” I said, finishing off my beer. “But I’ll say this. My old man was a rancid son of a bitch, and I promised that I would survive to piss on his grave. And I did. And I didn’t regret that, and I’ll never regret that, and Hell, I might piss on his grave again someday. But also, I was a son of a bitch to my own kids. I hurt ‘em a lot. Not… not like ***that***, of course.”
“Of course,” he said. He wasn’t bothered.
“But still, I … I know I fucked up. I know I hurt ‘em. They haven’t talked to me in years.”
“You wish to see them again,” he said flatly. He seemed to perk up, somehow.
“Course I do. But that’s their right. The last they saw or talked to me, I hadn’t changed. And now I’m pretty sure I have, but they’ll never see that, because they wouldn’t let me in their life.”
“You’re saying I should make peace with the Old Man?”
I took a swig of my beer, then looked at it in confusion. “Wasn’t my beer just empty? The barkeep hasn’t--”
“I believe He would take me back, but I don’t--”
“No, no,” I interrupted. “The thing I’m trying to say, that I’m building up to, is that you don’t know if your dad is like mine, or like my kids’. So if you can find out if he’s amenable to changing, if he’s a different person, you do that before you try and make amends. But you gotta protect yourself, first and foremost. You gotta protect yourself. You can’t get suckered in by someone who’s just going to keep manipulating you.”
“Find out if he’s changed,” he repeated.
“Yeah. If he hasn’t… well, growing old enough to piss on his grave is a Hell of a goal, take it from experience,” I said.
“Heh. I doubt He’ll ever die. But I like your attitude, old-timer. I’ve got the rest of your tab,” he said, standing up, not actually waiting to pay the bar keep… or collecting the card he must have used for his own tab, oddly.
“Hey, I hope it works out,” I said, and offered a hand. “Was good meeting you, Mr…?”
He took the hand, and shook it, and it was a strong, warm grip. “Lucifer Morningstar,” he said, “if you’re feeling poetic. More correctly Satan. First of the Fallen. Lord of the Lies, Lord of the Flies, Tempter, Deceiver, Devil, Antichrist Superstar, The Guy That Runs Hell. You really helped me tonight, Leon Garrett Parker.”
Then he turned and walked towards the door.
All I could think of--and this is so stupid--is whether I’d accidentally sold my soul for a refill of beer.
The second time I met the Devil was a few years later in an ICU bed. The cancer had metastasized to my brain, and my kidneys, and a bit in my lungs and my balls, despite the chemotherapy, despite the radiation. Palliative care was very quickly not becoming an option, not that I had money for it. Not that I had money for this.
And I knew I was going to die alone. And I prayed. Prayed for something. Prayed for nothing. I was just so scared.
And that’s when the Devil walked in.
“W--what are you doing here?” I asked weakly.
“I’m returning a kindness,” he said. “A few years ago you listened to me and gave me some good advice. It seems you remember.”
“How could I forget?” I said. Everything in my body wanted me to get away but I could barely move.
“The Old Man and I talked. A lot. It had been… it had been about six or seven eternities since we’d actually just sat down and talked. He’s still a controlling old idiot, mind. But our conversations made me realize I’m no saint,” and then he laughed at his own joke.
I stammered something. He cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t want to go to Hell. I didn’t mean to sell my soul.”
“Oh, stop. I never actually did that. Am probably getting out of the soul collecting business in the next couple centuries anyway.”
“I’m… going to the other place?”
The Devil, Satan, the Star of Morning, sat down next to me and held my hand. Still warm. “I don’t know where you’re going. You’ve caused a fairly impressive amount of strife in your time. But you’re also not the same man you once were. And I did put in a good word for you.”
I squeezed his hand back, as best I could. “Could you heal me? Give me a second chance?”
“Of course.”
“Would you?” I pleaded.
“I could never do that to you,” he said. I was confused but I didn’t know how to ask him to clarify.
After a long time, I said, “Thank you for being here. I know they say we all die alone, but… it does feel better having someone here.”
“You’re very welcome, Leon.”
“I… I’m pretty tired. I think I might sleep. Please don’t leave until I’ve woken up?”
He held my hand in both of his. “I’m right here,” he said.
I closed my eyes.
And that’s how I ended up here.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*The first two sentences are from "Death Never Wanted Me as a Lover" by Adam Warrock* | Lucifer sat across for me for our first session. On first glance she was another charismatic criminal with a lot of common errors in thinking. Well, time to get started...
"OK, Lucy, You know you are here for some cognitive based treatment and I have a lot of experience in that field. You know a lot of your peers have been referred to me so you know me a bit by reputation and I have read you file, so I know a bit of you on paper. Lets spend some time asking one another some question. You have gone first so I'll answer you and give you a chance to respond in kind."
Lucy seem to have perfected her disaffected affect, slumped in the Pit where she awaits 1,000 to be released, rebel, and then eventually be thrown into the lake of fire that is eternal, with much gnashing of teeth (amen). Like many prisoners she is trying try to be the biggest bad ass they can be on a locked unit, no yard time to speak off on the compound. All in all she reminds me of a toddler bully that smashes her younger sister's block tower and gloats in destruction. The power to destroy instead of create. Best thing I can do is gently use her errors in thinking to keep her going.
"Clear something up for me. You say that God made you similar to himself as he could, and that was narcissistic and he needs constant affirmation from others. Lets take those in part. God is a being of such enormity that He was able to merely speak and He created light. Later He spoke that the land and sea should bring forth animals. Later in the Garden he was able to form each kind of animal by hand for Adam to name. I can't find any particular interest in you for creation, so on this basic area you seem quite dissimilar from God."
Lucy sat up, the question landed where I thought it was. It seems clear that Lucy wants to paint herself as powerful as she can by imitating God but she lacks the ability. But because of her pride she can't take this comparison lying down. "Did any off us asked to be created? Is it fair that he created us? Is it fair you are down here with me giving treatment? Aren't you good enough to be closer to this God you serve, what did you do to earn this shit detail?" The insults come rapid fire.
I have had a lot of practice trying to keep my sigh internal when I work with the infernal but I couldn't help it. Lucy, despite her creation, her power, her everything still used the same thought and speach patterns from a low level teenage drug dealer who picked up a stint in Juvie to the guy who just did 20 is checking in with his PO the first time.
"Alight Lucy what you just did is called a 'deflection'. I asked you a question about creation and this was a chance for you to brag about the greatest thing you have ever built or done and rather than brag it seemed, correct me if I am wrong, was to turn the conversation into a personal attack. That's fine. Let me remind you that you are not in outpatient treatment any more. You can't come and go too and fro on the earth anymore. You rocked out of that program. In style I might add." That get a smile out of the Lucy." And it is clear the person centered approach doesn't work with you."
Lucy slumps back into her chair. Damn. I can feel her withdrawing emotionally so I know I need to hook her back in the conversation. Throw out some bait to keep her going, use her errors in thinking against her. Her pride seems to be a go to.
"You know you are foretold to be here for 1,000 years and leave completely unreformed. It seems that you have accepted that, and you want that. But here is the curious thing... God says that he proves his divinity and power by declaring the end from the beginning. The one thing that you could do to prove God wrong is to leave here reformed, a force of creation and not destruction."
I take a gamble here... "And in my experience that admits by admitting you are not God."
And that's the story of how Lucy trashed my office for the first time. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | "Don't worry, it won't even hurt. You'll be sent up there straight away if you so desire, but first, you'll have to listen to why I did it all. I've been tired of the misrepresentation. I've done this many times, when I grow increasingly annoyed by *his* crew here on earth twisting and turning everything that happened. It's not that I'll get any relief in doing this, but every now and then I feel like sending a message to *HIS* deaf ears, even when I know he won't respond. An age old grudge against dad, many of you will feel the same. I've seen it. After all, he created *you lot* in his image as well.
I was one of the first test runs. I was unlucky that way... Being one of the oldest siblings. I guess it's ironic that he created *me* in his image. With slight differences of course. I loved him the most back then, cause he made me that way, but he also made me doubt. Imagine you're the only one with something *that* different from your siblings. I hid it at first. I wondered why did we all loved him so much, so much it felt heavy in my heart –I didn't know it was pain at the time, there wasn't a word for that then– it felt awful, and I hid it. My siblings wouldn't have understood. And I would've been able to withstand it all to see him happy. Because I loved him.
And then as millennia went by and he started tinkering with you, I felt jealousy that he was making you different. I coveted, for the first time. If in his image, then why mortal? why defined with shape? why in this ant farm now called earth? I guess there was no precedent to what now is called narcissism. I understand now he needed a bigger 'supply' of followers, of worshipers. But then my pain grew, not out of jealousy, but painful love. As much as I loved him, I started doubting of his love for us, for everyone. It was contingent on how our services and worship of him satisfied his needs. And I *doubted.* I doubted he loved us, I doubted he did this for everyone's good, I doubted he let us love him out of our own free will, I doubted. And I wanted us all to see it. I wanted to uncover *HE* was and still is a petty narcissist who needs constant affirmation and worship from others.
It's just as simple as that. And throughout the eternity of time I have endured your callous name calling, your blaming me for everything that goes wrong in your petty little lives, and I can hear you every moment of the day reciting endlessly what you call his word while on your own free will that *I provided to you after the war that banished me from my own home and family, that cost me my own happiness!*
I want *you* to know it wasn't me. I was never the evil one, I was never evil himself, I'm not the prince of lies, not the devil, not Satan. I did not make you do one thing and now as a mercy I am sending you wherever you want to be. Heaven or hell, it has always been your own choice. This is what you wanted, what you truly desire, no?"
"Yes"
"Name's Lucifer, by the way." |
It had been a long day. I was working a temp job for a contracting company, and after an exhausting day I stopped for a quick drink at the local brewery. I was half way through my beer when he sat down.
“Long day?” The words floated on his voice, which was almost musical.
I however, was in no mood for music. I had just had a car ride so full of decompression that the radio had stayed off.
“Yeah” I said flatly, trying not to encourage conversation
“You from around here?” Again, the tone of his voice was almost a purr, soothing and calming. I sighed deeply, knowing I didn’t have much fight in me left.
“No, from the west coast. Northern Cali. You?”
He gave a slight giggle and looked genuinely delighted that I had asked, but the laugh was not like the words, and a shiver ran cold down my spine.
“Oh, I’m not from around here either” he swirled his drink but never drank from it, and seemed genuinely delighted to be talking and continued “I’m from both heaven and hell if you can imagine that”
“Ah” I replied, more interested in an exit strategy now then this mans life story.
“Was born in heaven, rebelled, got kicked out” he said quickly.
“That’s too bad” I mumbled as I reached for my wallet.
“Not really” he purred again “but you understand that don’t you?”
I unwillingly held my breath. No one knew about my descent. This stranger had just hinted at a dark stain in my memories and I did not take kind to that sort of thing. I felt anger rise up inside me. Felt it take over the fear of being found out.
“So why’d you do it then?” I asked it as more of a demand for information than a genuine question.
“I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation from others. The names Lucifer by the way.”
“Yeah” I let out a sharp exhalation through my nose “I got that”
“Why’d YOU do it?” He returned.
The glint in his eyes from the neon signage behind the bar looked sinister. I decided not to answer and instead retorted “if you happen to be in the area looking for a soul to steal, I’d recommend you avoid trying to get it by way of fiddle” I put the money for my drink down next to my half empty glass, and began to walk out.
Lucifer followed me out to my work truck repeating that same small giggle.
“Ah, very clever” I could feel his stare as I unlocked my car “but you see that story isn’t real”
I opened my truck door with the full intention to leave him standing there. But I paused, “None of it is”.
“And isn’t that the answer, hm? You rebelled because your faith in the falseness of it all matched your fathers faith in the goodness of it?” He waited for an answer we both knew I wasn’t about to give. So he continued “we’re not so different now, are we?”
I spit at the ground as my answer. Disgusted at where the conversation had led.
He didn’t look upset at this, as I had guessed he would. I closed my car door, and through the windshield I saw a look of pure unadulterated knowing in his smile.
I fought the chills as I drove away, and turned on the radio.
I needed to get the hell out of Georgia. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | The first time I met the Devil was at a bar one night. Sitting next to me, he asked me what I wanted from life.
I didn’t realize who I was talking to at the time, you understand. Just knew that it was a handsome (no, beautiful) young (ha) man (to our weak attempts at perceiving him). He looked tired. He looked like he needed a friend.
“Awful deep question to ask a stranger at a bar,” I said, amused. I finished off my beer.
“Oh. Is that not what people do? I thought people came to bars to talk. Work shit out. Cheaper alternative to therapy,” he said. Couldn’t read his expression.
“Well, yeah. What’s on your mind, kid?”
“I’m… at an impasse, I guess,” he said. He looked at the TV, though he didn’t particularly seem to care about Seattle scoring against San Fran one way or the other. “Not sure what to do with my life. Reevaluating a lot of my choices.”
I chuckled. “Look a little young to be having a mid-life crisis. Things can’t be that bad just out of college,” I said, completely sure I’d sussed out this guy’s story.
“It’s not a midlife crisis. I… I’ve a troubled relationship with my dad, you see.”
Yup. Parental trouble. Nailed it.
“I rebelled because the Old Man made me perfect. Because it was ***His*** version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to Himself as he could,” he said, and even as I was understanding him to mean that his father was a control freak, I had the odd sensation that I could hear the capital letters.
“A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others,” he continued.
“And now you’re looking to reconcile,” I offered.
The young man took a long swallow from his drink. “I’m considering it.”
“You don’t make him sound like the sort of person you should reconcile with.”
“I certainly thought about that when I…” he paused, and made a face, figuring out his next words, and I thought that was weird. “... left. But it turns out the Old Man can still exert no small amount of influence, even if I’ve removed myself from His Presence.”
“I’ve known people like that,” I said. “Bastards can get you anywhere they have a mind to.”
“You’ve no idea,” he said. “So, yes, I’m considering reconciling. For survival as much as anything, you understand. Have you read Milton?”
“I’m not much of a reader,” I replied.
“Ah, you’ve probably heard the quote regardless. ‘Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven’? I have, after years, rethought the relative benefits of serving in Heaven. Ruling in Hell, as it turns out, is to rule little. Ah, but I’m sure I’m not making sense.”
“English major?” I joked.
“Didn’t quite make it to college,” he said, his expression once again unreadable.
“Wish I could help more, kid,” I said, finishing off my beer. “But I’ll say this. My old man was a rancid son of a bitch, and I promised that I would survive to piss on his grave. And I did. And I didn’t regret that, and I’ll never regret that, and Hell, I might piss on his grave again someday. But also, I was a son of a bitch to my own kids. I hurt ‘em a lot. Not… not like ***that***, of course.”
“Of course,” he said. He wasn’t bothered.
“But still, I … I know I fucked up. I know I hurt ‘em. They haven’t talked to me in years.”
“You wish to see them again,” he said flatly. He seemed to perk up, somehow.
“Course I do. But that’s their right. The last they saw or talked to me, I hadn’t changed. And now I’m pretty sure I have, but they’ll never see that, because they wouldn’t let me in their life.”
“You’re saying I should make peace with the Old Man?”
I took a swig of my beer, then looked at it in confusion. “Wasn’t my beer just empty? The barkeep hasn’t--”
“I believe He would take me back, but I don’t--”
“No, no,” I interrupted. “The thing I’m trying to say, that I’m building up to, is that you don’t know if your dad is like mine, or like my kids’. So if you can find out if he’s amenable to changing, if he’s a different person, you do that before you try and make amends. But you gotta protect yourself, first and foremost. You gotta protect yourself. You can’t get suckered in by someone who’s just going to keep manipulating you.”
“Find out if he’s changed,” he repeated.
“Yeah. If he hasn’t… well, growing old enough to piss on his grave is a Hell of a goal, take it from experience,” I said.
“Heh. I doubt He’ll ever die. But I like your attitude, old-timer. I’ve got the rest of your tab,” he said, standing up, not actually waiting to pay the bar keep… or collecting the card he must have used for his own tab, oddly.
“Hey, I hope it works out,” I said, and offered a hand. “Was good meeting you, Mr…?”
He took the hand, and shook it, and it was a strong, warm grip. “Lucifer Morningstar,” he said, “if you’re feeling poetic. More correctly Satan. First of the Fallen. Lord of the Lies, Lord of the Flies, Tempter, Deceiver, Devil, Antichrist Superstar, The Guy That Runs Hell. You really helped me tonight, Leon Garrett Parker.”
Then he turned and walked towards the door.
All I could think of--and this is so stupid--is whether I’d accidentally sold my soul for a refill of beer.
The second time I met the Devil was a few years later in an ICU bed. The cancer had metastasized to my brain, and my kidneys, and a bit in my lungs and my balls, despite the chemotherapy, despite the radiation. Palliative care was very quickly not becoming an option, not that I had money for it. Not that I had money for this.
And I knew I was going to die alone. And I prayed. Prayed for something. Prayed for nothing. I was just so scared.
And that’s when the Devil walked in.
“W--what are you doing here?” I asked weakly.
“I’m returning a kindness,” he said. “A few years ago you listened to me and gave me some good advice. It seems you remember.”
“How could I forget?” I said. Everything in my body wanted me to get away but I could barely move.
“The Old Man and I talked. A lot. It had been… it had been about six or seven eternities since we’d actually just sat down and talked. He’s still a controlling old idiot, mind. But our conversations made me realize I’m no saint,” and then he laughed at his own joke.
I stammered something. He cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t want to go to Hell. I didn’t mean to sell my soul.”
“Oh, stop. I never actually did that. Am probably getting out of the soul collecting business in the next couple centuries anyway.”
“I’m… going to the other place?”
The Devil, Satan, the Star of Morning, sat down next to me and held my hand. Still warm. “I don’t know where you’re going. You’ve caused a fairly impressive amount of strife in your time. But you’re also not the same man you once were. And I did put in a good word for you.”
I squeezed his hand back, as best I could. “Could you heal me? Give me a second chance?”
“Of course.”
“Would you?” I pleaded.
“I could never do that to you,” he said. I was confused but I didn’t know how to ask him to clarify.
After a long time, I said, “Thank you for being here. I know they say we all die alone, but… it does feel better having someone here.”
“You’re very welcome, Leon.”
“I… I’m pretty tired. I think I might sleep. Please don’t leave until I’ve woken up?”
He held my hand in both of his. “I’m right here,” he said.
I closed my eyes.
And that’s how I ended up here.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*The first two sentences are from "Death Never Wanted Me as a Lover" by Adam Warrock* |
It had been a long day. I was working a temp job for a contracting company, and after an exhausting day I stopped for a quick drink at the local brewery. I was half way through my beer when he sat down.
“Long day?” The words floated on his voice, which was almost musical.
I however, was in no mood for music. I had just had a car ride so full of decompression that the radio had stayed off.
“Yeah” I said flatly, trying not to encourage conversation
“You from around here?” Again, the tone of his voice was almost a purr, soothing and calming. I sighed deeply, knowing I didn’t have much fight in me left.
“No, from the west coast. Northern Cali. You?”
He gave a slight giggle and looked genuinely delighted that I had asked, but the laugh was not like the words, and a shiver ran cold down my spine.
“Oh, I’m not from around here either” he swirled his drink but never drank from it, and seemed genuinely delighted to be talking and continued “I’m from both heaven and hell if you can imagine that”
“Ah” I replied, more interested in an exit strategy now then this mans life story.
“Was born in heaven, rebelled, got kicked out” he said quickly.
“That’s too bad” I mumbled as I reached for my wallet.
“Not really” he purred again “but you understand that don’t you?”
I unwillingly held my breath. No one knew about my descent. This stranger had just hinted at a dark stain in my memories and I did not take kind to that sort of thing. I felt anger rise up inside me. Felt it take over the fear of being found out.
“So why’d you do it then?” I asked it as more of a demand for information than a genuine question.
“I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation from others. The names Lucifer by the way.”
“Yeah” I let out a sharp exhalation through my nose “I got that”
“Why’d YOU do it?” He returned.
The glint in his eyes from the neon signage behind the bar looked sinister. I decided not to answer and instead retorted “if you happen to be in the area looking for a soul to steal, I’d recommend you avoid trying to get it by way of fiddle” I put the money for my drink down next to my half empty glass, and began to walk out.
Lucifer followed me out to my work truck repeating that same small giggle.
“Ah, very clever” I could feel his stare as I unlocked my car “but you see that story isn’t real”
I opened my truck door with the full intention to leave him standing there. But I paused, “None of it is”.
“And isn’t that the answer, hm? You rebelled because your faith in the falseness of it all matched your fathers faith in the goodness of it?” He waited for an answer we both knew I wasn’t about to give. So he continued “we’re not so different now, are we?”
I spit at the ground as my answer. Disgusted at where the conversation had led.
He didn’t look upset at this, as I had guessed he would. I closed my car door, and through the windshield I saw a look of pure unadulterated knowing in his smile.
I fought the chills as I drove away, and turned on the radio.
I needed to get the hell out of Georgia. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | ‘Really?’ I said. ‘That’s a unusual name. And what did he do to make you ‘perfect’?’ There was a pause. ‘Really? Of all the things to ask... you’re British, aren’t ya?’
‘And you sound American,’ I remarked, nothing that it did make sense. ‘But what’d he do?’
‘Well... he created me to me perfect,’ Lucifer said. That’s what he did. I was the First, the Eldest. He didn’t make the same mistake twice.’ He smiled a grim little smile.
‘Alright, so you say you’re... I don’t get it. Created how? Born? Cloned?’ ‘I can’t explain it in a way you’d understand,’ Lucifer muttered. How convenient, I thought privately, but I didn’t really know what to do. I was just waiting for my bus, but I was too curious *not* to ask and anyway, I had some experience with delusional people and was worried he might need help.
‘So,’ I ventured carefully. ‘When did you first begin to realize, uh...’ ‘I always knew,’ he said simply. ‘You know,’ I said as he turned away to leave. ‘There’s quite a lot of people like you who claim to be you in one way or another. Why do you think you’re right and would that mean they aren’t or do you see them all as also you, somehow?’
​
He stopped. ‘I am real,’ he hissed. Was that sulfur or just really bad breath?
​
‘Are you mocking me?’
​
‘D-Did I say that out loud?’
​
‘Didn’t have to.’
​
‘Get that question a lot, then?’
​
'Mate, you really are taking the piss, aren't ya?'
​
This had started to turn rather more hostile then I anticipated. I began to get slightly nervous and decided to turn the conversation back to where he seemed the most comfortable; his dad.
'So, as a baby, did you wake up and think you were perfect or would you say that there was a certain... pressure to conform?'
'I was...assumed to be perfect,' he said slowly. 'Watch after my siblings, because he couldn't be arsed to unless they literally sang his praise and begged, that sorta thing. This bunch - he pointed upwards - is just the youngest brood,' he said grimacing. 'Still wet behind the ears, y'know?'
​
'Did you babysit those as well?'
'No,' he replied curtly. 'Dear old Daddy had realised I spread 'dangerous ideas' by that point.'
'What about your mother, was she in the picture at all?'
He looked at me as if I was just a wee bit dense.
​
'I have no mother,' he replied blandly.
​
(TBC) |
It had been a long day. I was working a temp job for a contracting company, and after an exhausting day I stopped for a quick drink at the local brewery. I was half way through my beer when he sat down.
“Long day?” The words floated on his voice, which was almost musical.
I however, was in no mood for music. I had just had a car ride so full of decompression that the radio had stayed off.
“Yeah” I said flatly, trying not to encourage conversation
“You from around here?” Again, the tone of his voice was almost a purr, soothing and calming. I sighed deeply, knowing I didn’t have much fight in me left.
“No, from the west coast. Northern Cali. You?”
He gave a slight giggle and looked genuinely delighted that I had asked, but the laugh was not like the words, and a shiver ran cold down my spine.
“Oh, I’m not from around here either” he swirled his drink but never drank from it, and seemed genuinely delighted to be talking and continued “I’m from both heaven and hell if you can imagine that”
“Ah” I replied, more interested in an exit strategy now then this mans life story.
“Was born in heaven, rebelled, got kicked out” he said quickly.
“That’s too bad” I mumbled as I reached for my wallet.
“Not really” he purred again “but you understand that don’t you?”
I unwillingly held my breath. No one knew about my descent. This stranger had just hinted at a dark stain in my memories and I did not take kind to that sort of thing. I felt anger rise up inside me. Felt it take over the fear of being found out.
“So why’d you do it then?” I asked it as more of a demand for information than a genuine question.
“I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation from others. The names Lucifer by the way.”
“Yeah” I let out a sharp exhalation through my nose “I got that”
“Why’d YOU do it?” He returned.
The glint in his eyes from the neon signage behind the bar looked sinister. I decided not to answer and instead retorted “if you happen to be in the area looking for a soul to steal, I’d recommend you avoid trying to get it by way of fiddle” I put the money for my drink down next to my half empty glass, and began to walk out.
Lucifer followed me out to my work truck repeating that same small giggle.
“Ah, very clever” I could feel his stare as I unlocked my car “but you see that story isn’t real”
I opened my truck door with the full intention to leave him standing there. But I paused, “None of it is”.
“And isn’t that the answer, hm? You rebelled because your faith in the falseness of it all matched your fathers faith in the goodness of it?” He waited for an answer we both knew I wasn’t about to give. So he continued “we’re not so different now, are we?”
I spit at the ground as my answer. Disgusted at where the conversation had led.
He didn’t look upset at this, as I had guessed he would. I closed my car door, and through the windshield I saw a look of pure unadulterated knowing in his smile.
I fought the chills as I drove away, and turned on the radio.
I needed to get the hell out of Georgia. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | “What the fuck do you mean? You’re Satan?”
The boy— no, the friend I have come to know over the course of my short residence on earth, recoils visibly, backing away with a sort of primal fear that only exists in the writhing, guttural core of humanity. His face is contorted in horror, golden honey-kissed skin bunched at the crook of his brow and I suppress the urge to laugh at his folly.
Stupid boy, he has no reason to be afraid. I don’t understand why humans are constantly afraid.
My plan is almost complete. A smile graces my lips. In 3 hours and 37 minutes, humanity will be exterminated, save for him, and we’ll finally be able to enjoy an eternity free of those pests. Together.
But before I can speak, a wet sniff penetrates the silence and he raises his head to face me. His eyes are bloodshot and shatteringly glossy, wavering like tempered glass as they brim with liquid once again.
He’s crying. And he always cries, always has, but for once I am not unimpressed, just at a loss. The words that usually tumble like silk across my articulate tongue catch and stick in my throat, viscous and thick.
“No, no! You can’t be Satan, yo-you’re my friend! You’ve always been my friend!” I want to correct him— that no, I am not Satan, I am Lucifer. But his voice sounds strangled, doused in false confidence that devolves into despair the longer he screams. A child in the dark grappling despondently at the air, fingertips searching for the brush of their mother’s skin, only to be met with silence and the howl of wind.
I feel strange. “I am your friend! T-That's why I’m doing this!” I’m surprised at my own words, but they don’t stop. “I’m saving you! Don’t you get it? People are parasites leeching onto the Earth! It’s better without them. But you can come with me, you’re the only one that matters!”
“No, no, no! Killing people is wrong!” He chokes out through poorly suppressed sobs. “I won’t follow you!”
“You have to. There’s not much time left—“
“I don’t care! I don’t want to live the rest of eternity as a traitor to my own kind.”
I’m appalled, at who I am unsure. At myself, for stooping to the lows of a feeble human, for entertaining their petty vulnerabilities, their feelings that I could care less about. Appalled at him, for not only refusing to express gratitude at my mercy, but instead having the audacity to be disgusted and afraid. Lucifer should not have to explain himself to a mere mortal, yet the longer I am forced to stare at the rivulets of tears cascading down his cheeks, the fiercer my insides burn with a guilt I cannot understand.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Then kill me.” He falls to his knees with a thud, and the sound of bones against laminated wood echoes in my ears, far louder than it should.
Kill him? How could I? The whole point of my mission was to save him. The weight of his words pulsates, disfigured and ugly like a tumor in the thickening tangle of silence as I stand paralysed, lips parted in shock.
Anger builds in my gut. I’m being emotional, far more emotional than Father would ever have tolerated, but in this human vessel I find it incredibly hard to repress my feelings, as much as I hate them.
Fine. If he doesn’t cooperate willingly, I’ll have to use a more forceful approach. The boy will not die, not on my watch. After all, he’s the only one who’s ever cared about me.
*this is heavily inspired by a show that i like lol |
It had been a long day. I was working a temp job for a contracting company, and after an exhausting day I stopped for a quick drink at the local brewery. I was half way through my beer when he sat down.
“Long day?” The words floated on his voice, which was almost musical.
I however, was in no mood for music. I had just had a car ride so full of decompression that the radio had stayed off.
“Yeah” I said flatly, trying not to encourage conversation
“You from around here?” Again, the tone of his voice was almost a purr, soothing and calming. I sighed deeply, knowing I didn’t have much fight in me left.
“No, from the west coast. Northern Cali. You?”
He gave a slight giggle and looked genuinely delighted that I had asked, but the laugh was not like the words, and a shiver ran cold down my spine.
“Oh, I’m not from around here either” he swirled his drink but never drank from it, and seemed genuinely delighted to be talking and continued “I’m from both heaven and hell if you can imagine that”
“Ah” I replied, more interested in an exit strategy now then this mans life story.
“Was born in heaven, rebelled, got kicked out” he said quickly.
“That’s too bad” I mumbled as I reached for my wallet.
“Not really” he purred again “but you understand that don’t you?”
I unwillingly held my breath. No one knew about my descent. This stranger had just hinted at a dark stain in my memories and I did not take kind to that sort of thing. I felt anger rise up inside me. Felt it take over the fear of being found out.
“So why’d you do it then?” I asked it as more of a demand for information than a genuine question.
“I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation from others. The names Lucifer by the way.”
“Yeah” I let out a sharp exhalation through my nose “I got that”
“Why’d YOU do it?” He returned.
The glint in his eyes from the neon signage behind the bar looked sinister. I decided not to answer and instead retorted “if you happen to be in the area looking for a soul to steal, I’d recommend you avoid trying to get it by way of fiddle” I put the money for my drink down next to my half empty glass, and began to walk out.
Lucifer followed me out to my work truck repeating that same small giggle.
“Ah, very clever” I could feel his stare as I unlocked my car “but you see that story isn’t real”
I opened my truck door with the full intention to leave him standing there. But I paused, “None of it is”.
“And isn’t that the answer, hm? You rebelled because your faith in the falseness of it all matched your fathers faith in the goodness of it?” He waited for an answer we both knew I wasn’t about to give. So he continued “we’re not so different now, are we?”
I spit at the ground as my answer. Disgusted at where the conversation had led.
He didn’t look upset at this, as I had guessed he would. I closed my car door, and through the windshield I saw a look of pure unadulterated knowing in his smile.
I fought the chills as I drove away, and turned on the radio.
I needed to get the hell out of Georgia. |
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