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[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | "Well don't we all get bored sometimes?"
Well that one sent them for a loop, the human was slack jawed, the elf was working her mouth in some way that was between starting to form words and chewing cotton candy, the orc was watching me like a cornered animal waiting for the other shoe to drop... Sharp that one, not as smart as the others maybe, but insightful, cunning. On the other hand the dwarf looked stone faced for a second before bursting into laughter and draining his mug.
"More tea, wine, ale or spirits?" I broke the silence myself, offering them each a refill. The dwarf accepted.
It was the orc that finally broke the silence. "Let me get this straight, you burnt the world... Because you were bored?"
"Carry on, there's more, it's been more than eight centuries since then."
She seemed to mull it over, proferred her empty mug to me which I dutifully filled with ale with a simple wave of my staff, taking a swig before she broke it again. "... And you haven't cast a blasted thing since... Because now you're not bored."
"Got it!" I exclaimed, a verbal pat on the back for the orc, didn't seem to fill her with pride, I could tell she was measuring me, her eyes darting between mine, looking for something to tell her there was more to it, she sighed and stared down at her glass. Simple reasoning, good problem solving, sadly lacking the deductive tools to go further with it, the rest would be up to the other youngsters I think.
It was now about eight hours ago that I'd opened my door to these four, representatives of their respective kingdoms, united these days under one banner, they'd quit their squabbling... About one hundred and fifty years ago they said. They came carrying conditional declarations of war to make things official if I didn't play ball, they wanted to discuss terms, and they were ready to fight if they needed, well made, well enchanted, well practiced equipment, armour and weapons on and around their persons and their mounts. None of it a threat to me of course, they could come with all their armies and the second I cast my magic they'd be left without an option beyond dying where they stood. I'd been there though, I didn't fancy that route again.
Besides, something told me though they wanted to avoid that route if they could, very terse at first, they've loosened up a bit since, but there was still a semi-dangerous edge to the conversation. Fine by me, these sort of verbal games aren't things I get to play very often these days, I think the last time was when the dragons sent someone to discuss the details of the spell I'd cast with me about two centuries ago.
I'd invited them in, told them I'd answer any questions they had, sign their documents if I find them agreeable, and help them find a solution they can take back to their rulers and be rewarded for, but, in return, they had to join me for a drink and answer some questions of mine, I wanted to know what direction things were taking in the lands past my own sovereign domain of one.
Four great races, twelve minor ones, multitudes of wars in recent history but they'd all come to a head now, resulting in the unification treaty, and one of their more recent council meetings had brought me up, after all, if I did anything like I did eight centuries ago again, well that'd be that. If I had to guess it's a keep your enemies close and chummy, get to know you and then stab you in the back sort of deal they're aiming for, but these people here likely don't know that, even if some of them probably suspect it... Anyway.
The dwarf was the next who spoke, "Marin, this has been a grand old time, if you invited me back for drinks next week I'd accept with a hearty smile, but are you honestly expecting us to believe that you burnt the world all that long ago because you were bored?"
I simply nodded, his eyes practically dared me to continue, these dwarfs, his eyes were challenging, not a shred of fear in them, he held my gaze as his brow furrowed.
"I'm a good judge of character, Marin, I'm no child and neither are you. Burning the world because you've got nothing else to do is the product of a childs mind, and we'd be equal children to believe it." His eyes narrowed, clearly he was trying to work out if this whole affair of mine was some elaborate means of slighting them or if I was just insane.
A ceramic cup made a dull wet slap as it came down on the table. The human next? This one had been silent for a while, these humans, they've not really got the wiles or strength of the orcs, the maturity and stamina of the dwarves, or the intellect or agility of the elves. Really they were the odd ones out at first, but we humans have this sort of lateral thinking, outside of the box they say, something most other races seem to struggle with for whatever reason.
Then instead of opening his mouth he picked up his cup again and waved it at me, I refilled it. If he hadn't seemed so deep in thought I'd have taken it as a sign of disrespect. Not that I'd have cared, but interesting, something was ticking over loud enough in his head that he forgot his decorum, not something a diplomat should be doing. The elf leant forwards instead. gesturing with her cup for a refill also.
"If you don't mind, sir. Lovely wine by the way, we'll have to discuss export rights from your vineyards, but in seriousness... We elves are long lived, but we don't have any word of mouth stories, songs, or even melodies, dating back to before the wave of fire you unleashed..." She gestured in the direction of the dwarf, almost, but not quite, spilling a drop of wine in the process, "And the dwarves, with their immaculate record keeping and pride in its accuracy, longevity, and detail... What drove you to make the devastation so... Supreme?"
She sat back, unlike the others she seemed the most relaxed, I suppose living for so long does a job to diminish your fear, she probably feels at home here as she does sitting down with her family for a meal. Something about what she said there has the human interested, his cup slams to the table and he stands up, leaning towards me, staring me straight in the face.
"Forget all that, wizard, was this the first spell you cast?"
Has he got it? He throws his hands up when he sees the question in my eyes, stifling any answer I was going to give, let those cogs tick for a second, the human has the room now, the other three looking at him in a mix of confusion and understanding.
"Wizard... How long was it between your first spell and this one?"
I hadn't expected them to actually get it, and I hadn't expected it to hurt when they did.
"You got it faster than I thought you would. It was about 10 millenia. after certain events before that spell, I burnt the world to a crisp. Then, 10 thousand years later, I was bored being the only person left, so I cast my second spell, a spell to reseed the world, since then I have not been bored, and have not needed to cast anything on that scale again, besides, I learnt my lesson the first time, it won't happen again."
They were dumbfounded, I don't blame them, so I continued.
"That's why there are no records, or any history or even ruins from beforehand, the land was clear of life besides my own for 10,000 years. The time since has taught me that things can be better... I regret what I did, but I couldn't change it, bringing the dead back is beyond what we tied to death can do. So I cast a spell to restore the land, and seed new life. The wave of fire was not extending from here, it was receding from here, undoing what my first spell did."
Shutting up I glanced around, silently pleading for someone to speak as I looked from one to the next, but they all just stared back at me, they knew I wasn't finished. Looking back, I might not have answered the door if I'd seen this coming, but it's something I'd just avoided for centuries now. I stared at the floor as if it might bail me out if I begged it hard enough, and for the first time in millenia, I felt tears on my cheeks, I'd buried it for so long.
"With your races unified... The sort of thing that caused me to lose sight of things in the first place shouldn't happen again... If I can, I'd like to work with you all to make sure things stay peaceful. It's the least I can do now given what I did then, even if taking my head is the only way to move past this."
I was done, they had the floor. | “I promised to never use it again.”
Ject stared at the shot glass on the table, its contents half full of a thick burnt sienna liquor. He dipped his pinkie in it, licked it clean and pushed the drink away.
“I don’t drink. I don’t do magick. And I DON’T cast spells. You’re wasting your time.”
The five head mages of the five continents stared at him with exactly the same expression: one of marked disgust.
Ject inwardly laughed. Their hatred and fear of him was probably the only thing they agreed on.
“Listen here,” one round and silky robes wizard shouted, stuffing his fat finger into Ject’s face, “we lived with the results of your fatal mistake, so you owe us. Now get out of this hovel and get to the Quarter!”
Ject sighed as the four other wizards held back the flailing fop of a spell-caster. Sir Wiggins was only assigned as North Outland leader due to his connections and aptitude for collecting favors. He wasn’t a particularly skilled wizard, but he was one with a lot of connections. Ject couldn’t really afford to piss him off, but this was one rule he couldn’t break.
“You’re right,” Ject spoke, his long tousled black hair falling past his shoulders and onto the table as he leaned forward, “I do owe you. I can help you in any other way. Whatever resources you need from the Inlands, I can get. But I won’t risk the Blemish again.”
“But Ject, “ a spindly dark skinned wizard from south Outland stuttered,“ the B..Blemish is returning. We thought the land was finally healing, but now c..cases are cropping up across the land.”
A beautiful blonde wizard from the Outskirts raised her hand. Her voice was gentle, yet authoritative as she spoke.
“It’s even reached into my chief village, Ephesian. My people have had to flee. Our mana is not strong enough to stop its spread.”
Ject paused, eyeing the woman he had once called his wife. Her long blonde hair and dark makeup were as alluring now as they had once been, but the sting of words past spoken besmirched her enticing appearance.
“I owe no allegiance to your lands, Sevena. My ties with the Outskirts died with the rest of the continents many centuries ago.”
“You’re a fool!” Severa yelled, slapping Ject across the face, “the Blemish will come for us all! And that includes you.”
Ject said nothing, his hand feeling the heat rise on his right cheek.
Twins brothers with hair red as blood, the holders of the remaining two continents, stepped forward.
“I find seeking you both troublesome and necessary,” the one bearing the crest of Paradise murmured, “but necessity trumps comfort. We need your help.”
“And we are willing to risk everything,” the one bearing the crest of Ministration projected, his thoughts beaming into their brains simultaneously.
“Okay, then,” Ject said, slamming down an empty glass, “just to get some peace and quiet, I’ll do it.” | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | “I truly don’t quite understand what we’re expecting to get from this man.”
“Perhaps peace of mind, sir?”
“If they really wanted peace of mind, they would leave him alone. For all we know, interrupting his… whatever he does, will make him unleash a disaster upon us just for—“ the pointy-eared diplomat was cut off by a rough bump of the wood underneath them, making them bite their tongue hard. “AH!”
“Are you okay, m’lord?” their guard asked as they began to stand up.
“No, no, I’m fine,” they said with a lisp, raising their hand to brush off the guard. “I justh… don’th understhand…”
“HALT!” a loud, commanding voice shouted from outside. In an instant, the horses all stopped, and the harsh cessation of movement jerked the passengers around slightly as the wheels of their carriages rolled to a stop. “We’ve… arrived,” the head called out, though they almost sounded unsure.
Moving to the side, the soldier opened the door, allowing the diplomat to step outside before following suit. With their boots on the ground, they looked around to see the other four diplomats and their security detail out of their rides as well. Every single one of them, though, were looking towards the front of the caravan.
The manor of the man in question stood multiple stories above the ground ahead of them all; a monument not just to his power, but prowess over the ways of the world.
Or, at least it used to be.
What once stood out and tall seemed now to sag under the weight of the world. Windows across the entrance, as well as large portions of the walls, were blown out or charred. What wasn’t touched by the devastation and maintained its original shape was overgrown with a greenish-blue moss.
“What in the world happened here?” one of the other diplomats called out.
“It wasn’t like this the last time…” the soldier’s diplomat trailed off as they stared at the old mansion in horrified awe.
“Bahira!” the human diplomat called out, grabbing their attention as they approached. “You’re the last one who could’ve possibly seen him before the Skirmishes began, any ideas?”
Bahira froze for a moment. “What? I’ve no better idea of what is happening here than the rest of you!”
“Even if that’s true, you’re the only one here who’s already seen him in person,” the human continued, before looking around to the rest of their party. “Am I correct with that?”
The rest of the group replied with a unanimous response of nods and grunts of affirmation.
“So,” the human turned back to Bahira. “You’re the most well equipped to know how to handle this situation. Anyone else agree?”
The crowd grunted and nodded in agreement again.
“So, what should we do next?”
Bahira looked to the group in disbelief, before quickly adorning a scowl as they turned away. “Pin it on me, will you….” they grumbled as they looked to the building before the group once more. They brought their hand to their chin for a moment, squinting their eyes, before turning back to the group. “He despised large groups, so if we want to avoid immediate catastrophe, we should send in a select few. Security detail is a necessity to fend off any possible dangers, but we should also send in one of us to instigate peaceful commerce. And for that, I nominate Calba.” as they finished, they gestured their hands towards the human diplomat, who widened their eyes. “Any objections?”
Their proposal was met with silence, save for the human. “Wait a minute—“
“It would appear we’ve spoken, Calba! Don’t worry, just don’t mess up and we’ll all be fine!” Bahira said with a sickly-sweet smile. “For your security detail, I figure you’d like to keep your own guard, and I’ll allow my guard to patrol as well, just for extra safety.” As they finished, they gestured for their guard to move over to the side of Calba, which they did. “Good luck with your endeavor!”
Calba shot a glare back to Bahira before turning and stomping off towards the house with a humph, followed closely behind by his expanded security detail.
\------
Began to write itself past a certain point, so I couldn't get to the good stuff. Ah well, maybe tomorrow.
Thanks for the prompt, OP!
r/IUniven | “I promised to never use it again.”
Ject stared at the shot glass on the table, its contents half full of a thick burnt sienna liquor. He dipped his pinkie in it, licked it clean and pushed the drink away.
“I don’t drink. I don’t do magick. And I DON’T cast spells. You’re wasting your time.”
The five head mages of the five continents stared at him with exactly the same expression: one of marked disgust.
Ject inwardly laughed. Their hatred and fear of him was probably the only thing they agreed on.
“Listen here,” one round and silky robes wizard shouted, stuffing his fat finger into Ject’s face, “we lived with the results of your fatal mistake, so you owe us. Now get out of this hovel and get to the Quarter!”
Ject sighed as the four other wizards held back the flailing fop of a spell-caster. Sir Wiggins was only assigned as North Outland leader due to his connections and aptitude for collecting favors. He wasn’t a particularly skilled wizard, but he was one with a lot of connections. Ject couldn’t really afford to piss him off, but this was one rule he couldn’t break.
“You’re right,” Ject spoke, his long tousled black hair falling past his shoulders and onto the table as he leaned forward, “I do owe you. I can help you in any other way. Whatever resources you need from the Inlands, I can get. But I won’t risk the Blemish again.”
“But Ject, “ a spindly dark skinned wizard from south Outland stuttered,“ the B..Blemish is returning. We thought the land was finally healing, but now c..cases are cropping up across the land.”
A beautiful blonde wizard from the Outskirts raised her hand. Her voice was gentle, yet authoritative as she spoke.
“It’s even reached into my chief village, Ephesian. My people have had to flee. Our mana is not strong enough to stop its spread.”
Ject paused, eyeing the woman he had once called his wife. Her long blonde hair and dark makeup were as alluring now as they had once been, but the sting of words past spoken besmirched her enticing appearance.
“I owe no allegiance to your lands, Sevena. My ties with the Outskirts died with the rest of the continents many centuries ago.”
“You’re a fool!” Severa yelled, slapping Ject across the face, “the Blemish will come for us all! And that includes you.”
Ject said nothing, his hand feeling the heat rise on his right cheek.
Twins brothers with hair red as blood, the holders of the remaining two continents, stepped forward.
“I find seeking you both troublesome and necessary,” the one bearing the crest of Paradise murmured, “but necessity trumps comfort. We need your help.”
“And we are willing to risk everything,” the one bearing the crest of Ministration projected, his thoughts beaming into their brains simultaneously.
“Okay, then,” Ject said, slamming down an empty glass, “just to get some peace and quiet, I’ll do it.” | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | Azilyn rubbed at his temples wearily as his noble visitors droned on and on, introducing themselves with all the grandeur and pomp they could muster. He was fortunate to have forbade the inclusion of any attendants, servants, soldiers, or otherwise, lest this formal meeting descend into hours of introductions.
He raised a hand, stopping the elvish Queen mid title, “If it pleases the lords and ladies gathered, I’d much prefer a simple introduction with your name and where you hail from. None of us need your full life’s history, nor all of your titles and accolades. I’m sure you are all busy people with things to do, we need not waste time on lengthy lip service.”
The elvish Queen Thalia frowned slightly. He’d known her since they were children and as was common with elves, especially royalty, she seemed to have reached the point where she no longer aged. She gave a quick curtsy, her voice full of formality as though they’ed never once met, “As you wish, I’m known as Queen Thalia of the Digalla Empire.”
The other’s followed suit, sixteen kingdoms, and four species, all represented here, on the top floor of the pearly white Warlend Tower. Even the dragon’s had sent a representative, in human form, to attend these talks. Something serious must be afoot for this sort of entourage to come here of all places.
“We’ve requested an audience with you,” King Guerin started, following the completion of introductions, “To...well, to see what you’ve been doing.”
Azilyn almost spat his tea across the long marble table, “Really? That’s the question you wish to present to me?”
The King winced, lowering his head, taking a breath to say something more before Azilyn cut him off, “You wish me to believe you mustered your armies, marched across the Mordrid Wastelands, dispelled the wandering magics around my tower, and then petitioned me for this very meeting simply to ask the equivalent of ‘how are you’? Have you all collectively forgotten any one of the various mage academies could have reached me with a simple sending spell?”
Queen Thalia cleared her throat, “Great Mage of Warlend, old friend, we don’t desire to deceive or threaten you. We wish to discuss your magic and it’s potential impacts on the world.”
Azilyn narrowed his eyes, “Old friend. Huh. Last we spoke, Thalia, some fifteen hundred years ago, you’d promised to be in contact every so often.”
“Well, I would have. I meant to. I just...time got away from me,” she stammered.
“And what’s with this Mage of Warlend thing?”
“I’m sorry?” Thalia said, “Do you not prefer your title?”
“No, I’d prefer you use my name, as if you were actually still my friend instead of some cold and stiff title. The same goes for the rest of you. My name is Azilyn and I’d be pleased if you’d call me as such. Standing on titles has always felt pretentious.”
Which, if he was honest, was not entirely true. He didn’t want to use his title purely because he didn’t like it. Certainly the history books didn’t refer to him kindly. Though much of his reputation wasn’t incorrect or unearned.
Thalia glanced at the others and took a deep breath, “Alright Azilyn, forgive me. I’ll be frank, and save us all the word games. We are here to enter into a treaty with you.”
“Treaty?”
“Certainly,” Vothian SkyKing of the dragons chimed in, “We’ve a small issue with demons appearing in the Obsidian Badlands, and despite our collective efforts, we’ve been unable to hold the lines, let alone drive any of the demon forces back. And since the mages haven’t sensed your magic in centuries, we thought you may have enough built up to make quick work of our common enemy.“
Azilyn set his tea cup down, rested his arms on the table and laced his fingers together. The Obsidian Badlands was a newer name for an old place. Based on information shared with him by one of the academies, the badlands were north of his tower and had earned their name for the scars of obsidian glass which laced the landscape, and the numerous residual spells that twisted the local flora and fauna in strange ways. At one point, it was home to a thriving kingdom which was reduced to ash as part of the War of Glass.
They were one of many places better thought of as a monument to the colossal amount mana he could wield and the complete destruction he could command.
“Supposing I’ve been accumulating mana for these many past centuries, why would some demons justify allowing me out of the tower?”
“Because we need your power” King Guerin said, “None of our mages, nor our militaries have been able to even slow the demons as they spread. The rag tag collection of soldiers gathered at your door is nearly all that remains.”
So, he was their last hope. He glanced from one hopeful face to the next. Of all those gathered here, only two remembered the scope of the power he controlled. It wasn’t just that he didn’t have a maximum amount of mana, he also collected mana at exponential rates. Despite all the time he’d spent here alone, he still didn’t know for sure where it all came from.
Originally, he’d willing agreed to enter this tower, to have his very being bound to the unfeeling stone walls. He’d seen the disasters he could cause, how even the smallest miscalculation could lead to untold catastrophe. It was the best option.
“Thalia, Vothain, you understand the scope of what you are asking? Please tell me you remember the entire purpose of this tower.”
Thalia nodded.
Vothain rubbed his chin but there was no indication he remembered.
Azilyn sighed, picked up his tea, and got to his feet to look out one of the floor to ceiling windows which overlooked the flat plains of golden grass surrounding the tower almost as far as he could see. This tower has two purposes. First, it’s isolated and difficult to reach to reduce the chances of any single nation attempting to capitalize on my power. Second, and originally more important, the tower was designed to help enforce an artificial limit on my mana reserves so that I couldn’t break free of the tower and do as I saw fit.
“I’m afraid that as the years have worn on, the enforcement of the artificial limit has evaporated. For nearly the past five hundred years the tower has been nothing more than an especially fancy marble pillar binding me in one place. Most likely, the last time anyone actually felt my magic register was when I moved the tower into a separate plane of existence out of pure boredom.”
There was, understandably, numerous gasps behind him. “I’ll spare the details of how this all works since I doubt any of you actually care, but it became necessary once the enchantments on the tower failed. As per the treaty I signed before entering this tower, I’ve continued to expend all of my mana daily, however, I can no longer use mana faster than I recover it.”
“You have to be joking,” Thalia said, “Even the greatest mages from before the War of Burning Seas couldn’t reliably move things between planes.”
Azilyn took a sip of his tea, “If you’d have bothered to check in on me even once in the last thousand years, I’d have told you all of this. You’d have known I moved the tower. You'd know that this is not the first time I've moved it. But you didn’t.”
He snapped his fingers, and the panoramic view of the fields beyond the windows vanished to be replaced with a deep inky blackness spattered with pinpoints of white light. To the untrained eye, the lights would seem as starts, but he’d spend enough time here to know they were usually lures of giant monsters hoping to attract unsuspecting prey. A silvery white translucent substance swirled around the tower, made visible only by the light drifting out past the windows. “Ladies and gentleman, I present to you the Void Plane. Since I hope you have a better sense for what I’m capable of now, let’s consider what you are asking of me. You have a problem with demons and you want me, a being who by all rights, is no longer mortal in any sense of the word, to destroy them on your behalf.”
“That is what we are asking,” Vothain stammered.
-Part 1 of 2- | “I promised to never use it again.”
Ject stared at the shot glass on the table, its contents half full of a thick burnt sienna liquor. He dipped his pinkie in it, licked it clean and pushed the drink away.
“I don’t drink. I don’t do magick. And I DON’T cast spells. You’re wasting your time.”
The five head mages of the five continents stared at him with exactly the same expression: one of marked disgust.
Ject inwardly laughed. Their hatred and fear of him was probably the only thing they agreed on.
“Listen here,” one round and silky robes wizard shouted, stuffing his fat finger into Ject’s face, “we lived with the results of your fatal mistake, so you owe us. Now get out of this hovel and get to the Quarter!”
Ject sighed as the four other wizards held back the flailing fop of a spell-caster. Sir Wiggins was only assigned as North Outland leader due to his connections and aptitude for collecting favors. He wasn’t a particularly skilled wizard, but he was one with a lot of connections. Ject couldn’t really afford to piss him off, but this was one rule he couldn’t break.
“You’re right,” Ject spoke, his long tousled black hair falling past his shoulders and onto the table as he leaned forward, “I do owe you. I can help you in any other way. Whatever resources you need from the Inlands, I can get. But I won’t risk the Blemish again.”
“But Ject, “ a spindly dark skinned wizard from south Outland stuttered,“ the B..Blemish is returning. We thought the land was finally healing, but now c..cases are cropping up across the land.”
A beautiful blonde wizard from the Outskirts raised her hand. Her voice was gentle, yet authoritative as she spoke.
“It’s even reached into my chief village, Ephesian. My people have had to flee. Our mana is not strong enough to stop its spread.”
Ject paused, eyeing the woman he had once called his wife. Her long blonde hair and dark makeup were as alluring now as they had once been, but the sting of words past spoken besmirched her enticing appearance.
“I owe no allegiance to your lands, Sevena. My ties with the Outskirts died with the rest of the continents many centuries ago.”
“You’re a fool!” Severa yelled, slapping Ject across the face, “the Blemish will come for us all! And that includes you.”
Ject said nothing, his hand feeling the heat rise on his right cheek.
Twins brothers with hair red as blood, the holders of the remaining two continents, stepped forward.
“I find seeking you both troublesome and necessary,” the one bearing the crest of Paradise murmured, “but necessity trumps comfort. We need your help.”
“And we are willing to risk everything,” the one bearing the crest of Ministration projected, his thoughts beaming into their brains simultaneously.
“Okay, then,” Ject said, slamming down an empty glass, “just to get some peace and quiet, I’ll do it.” | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | Azilyn rubbed at his temples wearily as his noble visitors droned on and on, introducing themselves with all the grandeur and pomp they could muster. He was fortunate to have forbade the inclusion of any attendants, servants, soldiers, or otherwise, lest this formal meeting descend into hours of introductions.
He raised a hand, stopping the elvish Queen mid title, “If it pleases the lords and ladies gathered, I’d much prefer a simple introduction with your name and where you hail from. None of us need your full life’s history, nor all of your titles and accolades. I’m sure you are all busy people with things to do, we need not waste time on lengthy lip service.”
The elvish Queen Thalia frowned slightly. He’d known her since they were children and as was common with elves, especially royalty, she seemed to have reached the point where she no longer aged. She gave a quick curtsy, her voice full of formality as though they’ed never once met, “As you wish, I’m known as Queen Thalia of the Digalla Empire.”
The other’s followed suit, sixteen kingdoms, and four species, all represented here, on the top floor of the pearly white Warlend Tower. Even the dragon’s had sent a representative, in human form, to attend these talks. Something serious must be afoot for this sort of entourage to come here of all places.
“We’ve requested an audience with you,” King Guerin started, following the completion of introductions, “To...well, to see what you’ve been doing.”
Azilyn almost spat his tea across the long marble table, “Really? That’s the question you wish to present to me?”
The King winced, lowering his head, taking a breath to say something more before Azilyn cut him off, “You wish me to believe you mustered your armies, marched across the Mordrid Wastelands, dispelled the wandering magics around my tower, and then petitioned me for this very meeting simply to ask the equivalent of ‘how are you’? Have you all collectively forgotten any one of the various mage academies could have reached me with a simple sending spell?”
Queen Thalia cleared her throat, “Great Mage of Warlend, old friend, we don’t desire to deceive or threaten you. We wish to discuss your magic and it’s potential impacts on the world.”
Azilyn narrowed his eyes, “Old friend. Huh. Last we spoke, Thalia, some fifteen hundred years ago, you’d promised to be in contact every so often.”
“Well, I would have. I meant to. I just...time got away from me,” she stammered.
“And what’s with this Mage of Warlend thing?”
“I’m sorry?” Thalia said, “Do you not prefer your title?”
“No, I’d prefer you use my name, as if you were actually still my friend instead of some cold and stiff title. The same goes for the rest of you. My name is Azilyn and I’d be pleased if you’d call me as such. Standing on titles has always felt pretentious.”
Which, if he was honest, was not entirely true. He didn’t want to use his title purely because he didn’t like it. Certainly the history books didn’t refer to him kindly. Though much of his reputation wasn’t incorrect or unearned.
Thalia glanced at the others and took a deep breath, “Alright Azilyn, forgive me. I’ll be frank, and save us all the word games. We are here to enter into a treaty with you.”
“Treaty?”
“Certainly,” Vothian SkyKing of the dragons chimed in, “We’ve a small issue with demons appearing in the Obsidian Badlands, and despite our collective efforts, we’ve been unable to hold the lines, let alone drive any of the demon forces back. And since the mages haven’t sensed your magic in centuries, we thought you may have enough built up to make quick work of our common enemy.“
Azilyn set his tea cup down, rested his arms on the table and laced his fingers together. The Obsidian Badlands was a newer name for an old place. Based on information shared with him by one of the academies, the badlands were north of his tower and had earned their name for the scars of obsidian glass which laced the landscape, and the numerous residual spells that twisted the local flora and fauna in strange ways. At one point, it was home to a thriving kingdom which was reduced to ash as part of the War of Glass.
They were one of many places better thought of as a monument to the colossal amount mana he could wield and the complete destruction he could command.
“Supposing I’ve been accumulating mana for these many past centuries, why would some demons justify allowing me out of the tower?”
“Because we need your power” King Guerin said, “None of our mages, nor our militaries have been able to even slow the demons as they spread. The rag tag collection of soldiers gathered at your door is nearly all that remains.”
So, he was their last hope. He glanced from one hopeful face to the next. Of all those gathered here, only two remembered the scope of the power he controlled. It wasn’t just that he didn’t have a maximum amount of mana, he also collected mana at exponential rates. Despite all the time he’d spent here alone, he still didn’t know for sure where it all came from.
Originally, he’d willing agreed to enter this tower, to have his very being bound to the unfeeling stone walls. He’d seen the disasters he could cause, how even the smallest miscalculation could lead to untold catastrophe. It was the best option.
“Thalia, Vothain, you understand the scope of what you are asking? Please tell me you remember the entire purpose of this tower.”
Thalia nodded.
Vothain rubbed his chin but there was no indication he remembered.
Azilyn sighed, picked up his tea, and got to his feet to look out one of the floor to ceiling windows which overlooked the flat plains of golden grass surrounding the tower almost as far as he could see. This tower has two purposes. First, it’s isolated and difficult to reach to reduce the chances of any single nation attempting to capitalize on my power. Second, and originally more important, the tower was designed to help enforce an artificial limit on my mana reserves so that I couldn’t break free of the tower and do as I saw fit.
“I’m afraid that as the years have worn on, the enforcement of the artificial limit has evaporated. For nearly the past five hundred years the tower has been nothing more than an especially fancy marble pillar binding me in one place. Most likely, the last time anyone actually felt my magic register was when I moved the tower into a separate plane of existence out of pure boredom.”
There was, understandably, numerous gasps behind him. “I’ll spare the details of how this all works since I doubt any of you actually care, but it became necessary once the enchantments on the tower failed. As per the treaty I signed before entering this tower, I’ve continued to expend all of my mana daily, however, I can no longer use mana faster than I recover it.”
“You have to be joking,” Thalia said, “Even the greatest mages from before the War of Burning Seas couldn’t reliably move things between planes.”
Azilyn took a sip of his tea, “If you’d have bothered to check in on me even once in the last thousand years, I’d have told you all of this. You’d have known I moved the tower. You'd know that this is not the first time I've moved it. But you didn’t.”
He snapped his fingers, and the panoramic view of the fields beyond the windows vanished to be replaced with a deep inky blackness spattered with pinpoints of white light. To the untrained eye, the lights would seem as starts, but he’d spend enough time here to know they were usually lures of giant monsters hoping to attract unsuspecting prey. A silvery white translucent substance swirled around the tower, made visible only by the light drifting out past the windows. “Ladies and gentleman, I present to you the Void Plane. Since I hope you have a better sense for what I’m capable of now, let’s consider what you are asking of me. You have a problem with demons and you want me, a being who by all rights, is no longer mortal in any sense of the word, to destroy them on your behalf.”
“That is what we are asking,” Vothain stammered.
-Part 1 of 2- | “I truly don’t quite understand what we’re expecting to get from this man.”
“Perhaps peace of mind, sir?”
“If they really wanted peace of mind, they would leave him alone. For all we know, interrupting his… whatever he does, will make him unleash a disaster upon us just for—“ the pointy-eared diplomat was cut off by a rough bump of the wood underneath them, making them bite their tongue hard. “AH!”
“Are you okay, m’lord?” their guard asked as they began to stand up.
“No, no, I’m fine,” they said with a lisp, raising their hand to brush off the guard. “I justh… don’th understhand…”
“HALT!” a loud, commanding voice shouted from outside. In an instant, the horses all stopped, and the harsh cessation of movement jerked the passengers around slightly as the wheels of their carriages rolled to a stop. “We’ve… arrived,” the head called out, though they almost sounded unsure.
Moving to the side, the soldier opened the door, allowing the diplomat to step outside before following suit. With their boots on the ground, they looked around to see the other four diplomats and their security detail out of their rides as well. Every single one of them, though, were looking towards the front of the caravan.
The manor of the man in question stood multiple stories above the ground ahead of them all; a monument not just to his power, but prowess over the ways of the world.
Or, at least it used to be.
What once stood out and tall seemed now to sag under the weight of the world. Windows across the entrance, as well as large portions of the walls, were blown out or charred. What wasn’t touched by the devastation and maintained its original shape was overgrown with a greenish-blue moss.
“What in the world happened here?” one of the other diplomats called out.
“It wasn’t like this the last time…” the soldier’s diplomat trailed off as they stared at the old mansion in horrified awe.
“Bahira!” the human diplomat called out, grabbing their attention as they approached. “You’re the last one who could’ve possibly seen him before the Skirmishes began, any ideas?”
Bahira froze for a moment. “What? I’ve no better idea of what is happening here than the rest of you!”
“Even if that’s true, you’re the only one here who’s already seen him in person,” the human continued, before looking around to the rest of their party. “Am I correct with that?”
The rest of the group replied with a unanimous response of nods and grunts of affirmation.
“So,” the human turned back to Bahira. “You’re the most well equipped to know how to handle this situation. Anyone else agree?”
The crowd grunted and nodded in agreement again.
“So, what should we do next?”
Bahira looked to the group in disbelief, before quickly adorning a scowl as they turned away. “Pin it on me, will you….” they grumbled as they looked to the building before the group once more. They brought their hand to their chin for a moment, squinting their eyes, before turning back to the group. “He despised large groups, so if we want to avoid immediate catastrophe, we should send in a select few. Security detail is a necessity to fend off any possible dangers, but we should also send in one of us to instigate peaceful commerce. And for that, I nominate Calba.” as they finished, they gestured their hands towards the human diplomat, who widened their eyes. “Any objections?”
Their proposal was met with silence, save for the human. “Wait a minute—“
“It would appear we’ve spoken, Calba! Don’t worry, just don’t mess up and we’ll all be fine!” Bahira said with a sickly-sweet smile. “For your security detail, I figure you’d like to keep your own guard, and I’ll allow my guard to patrol as well, just for extra safety.” As they finished, they gestured for their guard to move over to the side of Calba, which they did. “Good luck with your endeavor!”
Calba shot a glare back to Bahira before turning and stomping off towards the house with a humph, followed closely behind by his expanded security detail.
\------
Began to write itself past a certain point, so I couldn't get to the good stuff. Ah well, maybe tomorrow.
Thanks for the prompt, OP!
r/IUniven | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | -Please, don't you start your puny conflicts on my backyard!
The ancient mage, whose name was forgotten even by himself at this point, watched from the balcony of his tower as a dubious coalition gathered below, Judging by the ornamental armory, bejeweled weapons and carriages, big enough to fit a dozen people, these were kings and queens of mortal races. And as soon as those gathered in one place, it could only mean one thing - War.
-We don't come here to fight, oh Wise one.
Mage couldn't help but twitch, as he heard a human queen speak, addressing him this way.
-Hooman spik tru, zog. Us here to spik peas with ya.
For a moment, mage almost let the handles of the balcony go, shocked by the image of a huge ogre in a spiky armor, speaking of peace, in a broken humantongue?
-That has to be a joke, right? - mage rubbed his temples, thinking out loud, -You ogres wage wars with humans like twice a month, what are you talking about?
-Actually, Humans and Ogres have joined the United Confederation of Races two years ago and there have been no major incidents so far, - a tall, pointy-eared elf spoke, probably a king or something.
-Yeah, right.
He could have entertained the possibility, sure, it wasn't the first time that mage heard about unlikely alliances, but this? No, this has to be some kind of farce.
-You don't expect me to believe that, do you? And what's next? You gonna tell me that Elves and Dwarves are allied now?
-For about two centuries now, yeah, - dwarven king spoke, almost unnoticeable next to a tall elven monarch, -I'm just heading from the banquet we had too, these wooden blokes cook some of the best lamb in the land now.
Elves. Raising lambs and cooking meet. Mage grabbed his head, confused. What's going on with the world? Is he out of his mind now? Is that an illusion?
-So, basically, all the races came to agreement about peace now, - once again, the human queen spoke out, trying to ignore an old mage pulling on his cheek with all his might, -That's why we came to broker peace with the last remaining force on the continent, the great mage, whose magic traverses millennia and has the strength to reduce this world to nothingness. Would you accept?
-Yeah, about that...
Mage exhaled, raising his eyes to the skies. How could he have imagined something like that happened? All world, in peace, without his involvement? Not a chance, right? And still, it happened, but...
-You see, there's this small issue... Remember how you guys had a huge battle right near my tower about seven or eight hundred years ago? - mage spoke, sounding like he's carefully choosing his words.
Below the balcony, dozens of world leaders exchanged confused glances. Eventually, elven king spoke out.
-My father spoke of a battle that transpired in those lands during his reign, indeed. But what of it?
-Well, that's embarrassing... You kind of pissed me off back then, so I've cast a spell in retaliation, which would wipe out you all. You know, to stop the wars and all that. For peace!
A dreadful silence filled the air as mage observed the most powerful people amongst mortals turn pale. Even the green-skinned lizardmen, whose queen dropped her tail in realization.
Moments later, the coalition broke into chaos, some leaders jumping on their carriages to run away, others breaking down into hysteria, and some falling onto the ground, their hearts probably stopped in shock.
-W-when would that spell come in effect!? - human queen screamed, as everybody turned their gazes to her, -How much time do we have?!
-Well, about that...
Mage averted his gaze, but he couldn't finish his line. A white flash sparked, for barely a second, and as soon as light dispersed, nothing, not even a speck of dust remained in front of his tower. Somewhere far away, civilizations evaporated in an instance, living behind not a trace of sentient life. Just peaceful nature remained.
-Yeaaah, that was awkward.
Mage retreated into his tower, contemplating if he should reverse the spell.
"Nah", he thought almost instantly, turning to enjoy the somber peace of the new world.
>Note: sorry for my broken English, I'm pretty sure I missed a thousand of "a", "an" and "the" :D | 'There is it,' the Dwarves Representative announces, their gloved finger pointing towards a huge lump of green in the middle of a forest clearing.
The Ogre King hums and pulls out his map, 'According to map, we arrived.'
The Elf Queen frowns, 'Are you certain? That do not look like human dwelling, let alone the legendary mage's cottage.'
But it is. As they get closer, carving a path of broken grass under their feet, the trio of leaders of the New Kingdom see that the lump is indeed an cottage. An extremely overgrown one, covered brick-to-brick with weed and over spilled with vines, but a cottage nonetheless if the single round window at the top is anything to go by.
For a moment, the air is filled by ruffling noises and coughs as the leaders clear their throats and readjust their garments. Talking to a legendary mage with unlimited mana is a honor, even if that mage had not casted a spell in thousands of years.
The Elf Queen starts first by bellowing their introduction, 'Mage! We are the High Order of-' , only to be cut off by a strong gust of wind.
Suddenly, a door springs open from between the weed. It too is covered so densely in vegetation, they could not see it before.
The Elf Queen is irritated at being cut off but before she can repeat her words, the Ogre King holds out a silencing arm. His relaxed expression from before has turned serious, 'We come in.'
'That looks dodgy,' the Dwarf Representative squints at the inviting darkness. Just to be sure, they call out, 'Mage, may we come in?'
There is no answer. However, the door flaps a little in another gust of wind, as if to wave them inside.
'They want enter,' the Ogre King growls quietly.
The Elf Queen and the Dwarf Representative stare at him in puzzlement, as ogres are the most hypervigilant of all races. This looks clearly like a trap of some kind.
The King immediately notices their hesitance. He softens his expression and explains in a reassuring tone, 'I do not smell metal or aggression. But I smell something sad, so perhaps the mage lonely.'
Ogre's assessment of danger is always accurate, so the elf and the dwarf relax a little. Still, as the three of them enter the door one by one, their postures are stiff with tension. Each of them expects the door to spring shut as soon as the last get in.
It does not. Instead, it hangs there in perfect stillness, offering an escape of light between the box of darkness.
​
Inside, everything is bathed in a thin veil of light. Other than the round window they just saw and the opened door, there is no other light source. From where they stand, the trio can see a plush living room leading straight to a cozy kitchen. In between the two spaces, a simple cot hangs next to a stack of old tomes acting as a side table. There is no stairs. Even in limited lighting, the place looks homely, so much so that one can almost skim through the mess of parchments on the floor.
The Elf Queen can feel the the hair at the back of her neck standing on end. 'Ogre, Dwarf, once again, are you certain we are at the right place? This place is desolate.'
'There might have been a mistake,' the Ogre King hisses and draws his axe, his eyes darting around rapidly.
Still, his eyesight cannot rival a dwarf, who immediately notices the lone tea bag on the kitchen counter, next to a chipped mug.
'They were making tea? They must be out to get some water. We barely miss them then,' the dwarf says cheerily.
The heavy tension in the air slides off in sheets at their words. His companions sigh, before dropping their weapons. If the mage is nearby, they only have to wait for them.
To be polite, the three leaders settle uncomfortably on the only sofa in the cottage, which is clearly not designed to sit more than one and a half person. As a result, the tall elf and the wide ogre sit on two opposite end, leaving the small dwarf squished between them.
After a long period of hot, sweaty silence, the Elf Queen finally breaks, 'It is getting warm here, don't you think?'.
"Warm" is of course an underestimation. She can feel every crevice of heat in her armor, accompanied by the gross accumulating moisture, and hopes desperately for something to fan herself with.
The Ogre King pants in agreement, 'I agree, Queen. I am certain the Mage will not mind if we open the windows.'
'I will get us drinks!' The Dwarf Representative chips in.
'And I will go find something we can fan with,' the Elf Queen announces before all three of them get up.
​
The Ogre King yanks open the nearest window. A shower of dusk greets him, making him coughs, before revealing crudely hammered planks woods. He frowns minutely and moves on to the next window. Same thing, boarded up with planks.
Nearby, the Elf Queen searches the sprawling parchments on the ground for something hard enough to fan with. As she touches each parchment, she feels the faint imprint of quill. Curious, she turns them over. She can read fragments, the rest blocked by bad lighting. Still, it is enough to turns her face ashen.
"Dear Doctor, my vision keeps blurring..."
"My dear friend, do...when I drank the..."
"...might be poison...pain..."
"...diary, today...grow scales...black blood...hungry..."
"...soon...soon...deformed...hated...hopeless"
"...Doctor,...my mind...recognize in mirror..."
...
​
Outside, as the dwarf pulls up the bucket of fresh water, he spots something jutting out of the sloshing reflective surface. Feeling dread rolling off his stomach, the dwarf pull faster and faster until the content of the bucket is in full daylight. Only then, does he scream. | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | The heroes walked through the dreaded castle. An elf advanced first, scouting for foes and dangers for his fellowship. Twenty meters behind him, a human knight walked, her heavy steel-coated feed marking each step. A halfling wizard followed her, his magic scanning every corner for magical traps or hidden creatures.
Them three were the best. Heroes whose tales were spoken around the world, whose feats were sung by bards in every tabern, a team whose adventures inspired young adventurers in each guild of every city in every nation.
And they had been summoned... by the Witch Queen herself.
It had to be a trap. They were certain. There were legends about the Witch Queen, some so horrifying that one would desire they were just made-up tales. Legends about how a single spell from her created the great deser of Karrak. Tales about how her magic killed entire armies with a single thought. Religious books talking about her ire wrathing against the gods themselves. Volcanoes, earthquakes, floods, plagues, fire rains, and the list of horrors summoned by her vile tongue continued for pages and pages of stories told. She was the witch who had the world at her grasp, the witch who controlled the shadow gods, the monster whose stories mommies tell their children to make them eat the soup.
The Witch Queen.
And the heroes arrived to a huge door, thirty foot tall and twenty wide. Under it, they could see the orange glow of the flames. They looked at each other, readied their weapons, drank potions and prepared protections spells and, coordinated by decades of fighting the unknown together, they kicked the door opened...
...and the sight was astonishing.
The witch appeared to be a young woman. She was sitting in a huge padded throne, lying over hundreds of pillows, while immense flames roared behind her. At the same time, a rain of ice fell non stop from the ceiling, countering the heat and making the chamber quite... pleasant? The party of heroes stopped their attack, staring at the woman that slowly, whispering, greeted them. "Welcome, heroes", she said, "I have a huge problem".
They looked at each other, confused. "Wait, aren't you the Witch Queen, the bringer of chaos, destroyer of world, slaver of demons, slayer of kings, Burner of forests, Creator of Deserts, Bringer of the Plague...?"
"Yes, yes, yes, I am" she admitted, "but that's not why I called you. You see, my problem is that there is no theoretical limit on how much mana I can gather".
"I read about that", said the wizard. "Your mana pool is disconnected from the world's mana flow. This means that the more you accumulate mana, the more you will attract. In other words, you gather mana at an exponential rate".
"Yeah. That's it".
There was an awkward silence, until the scout dared to ask the question. "Why the fire and the ice?"
"That's me trying to burn my excess mana. But it just keeps growing".
"I don't get it", said the knight. "Why did you summon us, then? We thought you were challenging us!"
"It is quite funny. After the century long war, I was pretty much upset and couldn't sleep" she said. Her voice, while whispered, carried some remorse about her decissions. "So... I decided to enchant myself with a simple sleep spell. You know, to catch some eye-shut."
"The hundred years war? Wait, wasn't that...?"
They all looked at the halfling wizard, who had suddenly grown pale. He produced a book and a quill and starting making calculations, growing paler as the numbers filled page after page. Finally, he looked at the Witch Queen and realized how very slowly she was moving on her throne.
"Please, PLEASE tell me you haven't been asleep for the past five hundred years!".
"Sorry but yeah, I have", she said. "I might just end the world if I sneeze. I... no. WE have a problem".
The three heroes looked at each other, the fear growing in their faces and spirits. Finally, after several minutes of tense silence, someone mouthed what they were all thinking: "Fuck".
((Hoped you enjoyed it. If you have an idea on how to continue this tale, please be my guest!)) | 'There is it,' the Dwarves Representative announces, their gloved finger pointing towards a huge lump of green in the middle of a forest clearing.
The Ogre King hums and pulls out his map, 'According to map, we arrived.'
The Elf Queen frowns, 'Are you certain? That do not look like human dwelling, let alone the legendary mage's cottage.'
But it is. As they get closer, carving a path of broken grass under their feet, the trio of leaders of the New Kingdom see that the lump is indeed an cottage. An extremely overgrown one, covered brick-to-brick with weed and over spilled with vines, but a cottage nonetheless if the single round window at the top is anything to go by.
For a moment, the air is filled by ruffling noises and coughs as the leaders clear their throats and readjust their garments. Talking to a legendary mage with unlimited mana is a honor, even if that mage had not casted a spell in thousands of years.
The Elf Queen starts first by bellowing their introduction, 'Mage! We are the High Order of-' , only to be cut off by a strong gust of wind.
Suddenly, a door springs open from between the weed. It too is covered so densely in vegetation, they could not see it before.
The Elf Queen is irritated at being cut off but before she can repeat her words, the Ogre King holds out a silencing arm. His relaxed expression from before has turned serious, 'We come in.'
'That looks dodgy,' the Dwarf Representative squints at the inviting darkness. Just to be sure, they call out, 'Mage, may we come in?'
There is no answer. However, the door flaps a little in another gust of wind, as if to wave them inside.
'They want enter,' the Ogre King growls quietly.
The Elf Queen and the Dwarf Representative stare at him in puzzlement, as ogres are the most hypervigilant of all races. This looks clearly like a trap of some kind.
The King immediately notices their hesitance. He softens his expression and explains in a reassuring tone, 'I do not smell metal or aggression. But I smell something sad, so perhaps the mage lonely.'
Ogre's assessment of danger is always accurate, so the elf and the dwarf relax a little. Still, as the three of them enter the door one by one, their postures are stiff with tension. Each of them expects the door to spring shut as soon as the last get in.
It does not. Instead, it hangs there in perfect stillness, offering an escape of light between the box of darkness.
​
Inside, everything is bathed in a thin veil of light. Other than the round window they just saw and the opened door, there is no other light source. From where they stand, the trio can see a plush living room leading straight to a cozy kitchen. In between the two spaces, a simple cot hangs next to a stack of old tomes acting as a side table. There is no stairs. Even in limited lighting, the place looks homely, so much so that one can almost skim through the mess of parchments on the floor.
The Elf Queen can feel the the hair at the back of her neck standing on end. 'Ogre, Dwarf, once again, are you certain we are at the right place? This place is desolate.'
'There might have been a mistake,' the Ogre King hisses and draws his axe, his eyes darting around rapidly.
Still, his eyesight cannot rival a dwarf, who immediately notices the lone tea bag on the kitchen counter, next to a chipped mug.
'They were making tea? They must be out to get some water. We barely miss them then,' the dwarf says cheerily.
The heavy tension in the air slides off in sheets at their words. His companions sigh, before dropping their weapons. If the mage is nearby, they only have to wait for them.
To be polite, the three leaders settle uncomfortably on the only sofa in the cottage, which is clearly not designed to sit more than one and a half person. As a result, the tall elf and the wide ogre sit on two opposite end, leaving the small dwarf squished between them.
After a long period of hot, sweaty silence, the Elf Queen finally breaks, 'It is getting warm here, don't you think?'.
"Warm" is of course an underestimation. She can feel every crevice of heat in her armor, accompanied by the gross accumulating moisture, and hopes desperately for something to fan herself with.
The Ogre King pants in agreement, 'I agree, Queen. I am certain the Mage will not mind if we open the windows.'
'I will get us drinks!' The Dwarf Representative chips in.
'And I will go find something we can fan with,' the Elf Queen announces before all three of them get up.
​
The Ogre King yanks open the nearest window. A shower of dusk greets him, making him coughs, before revealing crudely hammered planks woods. He frowns minutely and moves on to the next window. Same thing, boarded up with planks.
Nearby, the Elf Queen searches the sprawling parchments on the ground for something hard enough to fan with. As she touches each parchment, she feels the faint imprint of quill. Curious, she turns them over. She can read fragments, the rest blocked by bad lighting. Still, it is enough to turns her face ashen.
"Dear Doctor, my vision keeps blurring..."
"My dear friend, do...when I drank the..."
"...might be poison...pain..."
"...diary, today...grow scales...black blood...hungry..."
"...soon...soon...deformed...hated...hopeless"
"...Doctor,...my mind...recognize in mirror..."
...
​
Outside, as the dwarf pulls up the bucket of fresh water, he spots something jutting out of the sloshing reflective surface. Feeling dread rolling off his stomach, the dwarf pull faster and faster until the content of the bucket is in full daylight. Only then, does he scream. | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | "Vraylar, Unrelenting Force, Fell Specter, Decimator of History" wow someone was going full titles outside my door, that hadn't happened in, hmm I think it's been about three centuries, hell I thought the world had forgotten me, clearly I didn't live up to that last one properly.
"We of the united world alliance beseech and audience with you."
I could always just ignore them, maybe they'd go away. I could check on them with some form of magic but that'd take time. Honestly it was hilarious no one ever figured out how weak I really was. Just because you can decimate an army it doesn't really mean much if it takes days of preparation, or it wouldn't if they weren't all so damned afraid of me. I honestly couldn't do many of the minor quick spells because they tended to be unreliable.
I looked at the door to my peaceful little home out in the country. I had specifically chosen to live way out here to avoid attention. A momentary bit of nostalgia for when I lived in a fortress that intimidated everyone and kept them from even approaching. Oh well nothing to be done about it now. I stepped outside and was surprised, six people, a vampire hiding under an umbrella, two humans, no upon closer inspection a human and one of the fair folk in human guise, a shifter in his mid form black fur bristling claws jutting from his hands and only standing partially upright as if ready to drop to all fours at a moment, a merfolk in their human guise, gills and scales still apparent but at least capable of walking on land, and one of my own kind a pureblood mage his veins glowing with the mana that infused his very being.
I gave a slight bow and a smile. "Now, what can I do for" a pause as I tried to recall what they'd said. "the united world alliance. I don't suppose you simply came to say hello, if you did it'd surely have been preferable to one of your party to wait until at least dusk."
The vampire stepped forward, his pale skin much more clearly visible, the umbrella twirling as he bared his fangs in what I assumed was a smile. "Vraylar, if I may call you that, you are correct this is not a simple meet and greet."
I shrugged "It is my name and titles stopped having meaning a few, was it decades ago that you united?"
That got a raised eyebrow and a chuckle from the fae who shifted for a moment revealing her wings as she whispered "You owe me."
I couldn't place which of them she was talking to but it wasn't particularly relevant. The mage stepped forward glaring at me and begginning to shift his fingers subtlely. Nope can't have that, I reached out and grabbed his hands in a death grip.
"If you want these unbroken you will keep them still." He glared at me but nodded his acquiesence. I could see the others muscles were tensed, they still feared me, good that'd keep things a bit more civil. I let go of his hands and looked around at the party assembled for a moment and stepped back from my doorway waving my hand towards the interior.
"Uncivilized of me to keep you all on my doorstep, I apologize please enter freely and know that the rules of hospitality are strictly adhered to in this household." A smirk from me and most were hesitant to enter but the vampire seemed to be more then pleased to be invited in and out of the sun. His unflinching entry apparently brought the rest of them tagging along.
I led them through the foyer to the living room and asked if any would like anything. I saw the merfolk glancing towards the kitchen and nodded before walking off into the kitchen, I decided I'd play it up a bit tonight as soon as I was out of sight I collected a glass of salt water, made a bloody mary with a couple drops of my blood for extra kick and flavor, some milk with just a touch of honey in it, a glass of wine that I'd been saving for a few well a while anyhow, I hadn't been able to peg the shifter so I poured a second glass of wine, and finally a vial of undiluted mana. Satisfied that each guest would have something worthy of a dignitary I brought all out and set each in front of them.
The vampire and shifter immediately grinned at their glasses, the merfolk was already downing his. The fae simply picked hers up and stirred it with a finger while the human and mage glared suspiciously. As I finished serving I realized I had brought nothing out to drink myself. Oh well, a good host prioritizes their guests. I sat in my favorite chair looking at the motley crew assembled before me allowing them time to decide on their words.
A sigh of contentment from the vampire. "A deliciously made drink, I'd swear you've entertained my kind before. Apologies I realize now none of us have properly introduced ourselves. I am Solemn Triad of the" I grinned and finished his sentence "of the court of vipers." He looked a bit shocked then nodded "Just so, I suppose you aren't as much a hermit as we thought if you know me."
I shrugged then "I keep apprised." pointed at each in turn "Mab of the Fae 3rd of her name." a slight gasp from the queen who was often thought eternal. "Ferrithir of Tribe Noctis." The shifter simply gave a stoic nod. "Sal" The human shrugged. "Apologies on my poor pronunciation, Qqurnr of the 4th Sea" The merfold gave a dismissive wave. "and unfortunately your sixth is actually unknown to me, perhaps his skills outstrip mine."
The mage nodded, he still hadn't touched the mana I'd offered. "I am Vraylar of the Arbitration Council." I had to choke back a laugh at that, unfortunately it quickly became a coughing fit that doubled me over. Normally I wouldn't comment on someones name but I couldn't help myself in this case.
"Ok is that your given or chosen name, I just have to know whether your parents were some random groupies or what the hell led to that?"
-Part One- | 'There is it,' the Dwarves Representative announces, their gloved finger pointing towards a huge lump of green in the middle of a forest clearing.
The Ogre King hums and pulls out his map, 'According to map, we arrived.'
The Elf Queen frowns, 'Are you certain? That do not look like human dwelling, let alone the legendary mage's cottage.'
But it is. As they get closer, carving a path of broken grass under their feet, the trio of leaders of the New Kingdom see that the lump is indeed an cottage. An extremely overgrown one, covered brick-to-brick with weed and over spilled with vines, but a cottage nonetheless if the single round window at the top is anything to go by.
For a moment, the air is filled by ruffling noises and coughs as the leaders clear their throats and readjust their garments. Talking to a legendary mage with unlimited mana is a honor, even if that mage had not casted a spell in thousands of years.
The Elf Queen starts first by bellowing their introduction, 'Mage! We are the High Order of-' , only to be cut off by a strong gust of wind.
Suddenly, a door springs open from between the weed. It too is covered so densely in vegetation, they could not see it before.
The Elf Queen is irritated at being cut off but before she can repeat her words, the Ogre King holds out a silencing arm. His relaxed expression from before has turned serious, 'We come in.'
'That looks dodgy,' the Dwarf Representative squints at the inviting darkness. Just to be sure, they call out, 'Mage, may we come in?'
There is no answer. However, the door flaps a little in another gust of wind, as if to wave them inside.
'They want enter,' the Ogre King growls quietly.
The Elf Queen and the Dwarf Representative stare at him in puzzlement, as ogres are the most hypervigilant of all races. This looks clearly like a trap of some kind.
The King immediately notices their hesitance. He softens his expression and explains in a reassuring tone, 'I do not smell metal or aggression. But I smell something sad, so perhaps the mage lonely.'
Ogre's assessment of danger is always accurate, so the elf and the dwarf relax a little. Still, as the three of them enter the door one by one, their postures are stiff with tension. Each of them expects the door to spring shut as soon as the last get in.
It does not. Instead, it hangs there in perfect stillness, offering an escape of light between the box of darkness.
​
Inside, everything is bathed in a thin veil of light. Other than the round window they just saw and the opened door, there is no other light source. From where they stand, the trio can see a plush living room leading straight to a cozy kitchen. In between the two spaces, a simple cot hangs next to a stack of old tomes acting as a side table. There is no stairs. Even in limited lighting, the place looks homely, so much so that one can almost skim through the mess of parchments on the floor.
The Elf Queen can feel the the hair at the back of her neck standing on end. 'Ogre, Dwarf, once again, are you certain we are at the right place? This place is desolate.'
'There might have been a mistake,' the Ogre King hisses and draws his axe, his eyes darting around rapidly.
Still, his eyesight cannot rival a dwarf, who immediately notices the lone tea bag on the kitchen counter, next to a chipped mug.
'They were making tea? They must be out to get some water. We barely miss them then,' the dwarf says cheerily.
The heavy tension in the air slides off in sheets at their words. His companions sigh, before dropping their weapons. If the mage is nearby, they only have to wait for them.
To be polite, the three leaders settle uncomfortably on the only sofa in the cottage, which is clearly not designed to sit more than one and a half person. As a result, the tall elf and the wide ogre sit on two opposite end, leaving the small dwarf squished between them.
After a long period of hot, sweaty silence, the Elf Queen finally breaks, 'It is getting warm here, don't you think?'.
"Warm" is of course an underestimation. She can feel every crevice of heat in her armor, accompanied by the gross accumulating moisture, and hopes desperately for something to fan herself with.
The Ogre King pants in agreement, 'I agree, Queen. I am certain the Mage will not mind if we open the windows.'
'I will get us drinks!' The Dwarf Representative chips in.
'And I will go find something we can fan with,' the Elf Queen announces before all three of them get up.
​
The Ogre King yanks open the nearest window. A shower of dusk greets him, making him coughs, before revealing crudely hammered planks woods. He frowns minutely and moves on to the next window. Same thing, boarded up with planks.
Nearby, the Elf Queen searches the sprawling parchments on the ground for something hard enough to fan with. As she touches each parchment, she feels the faint imprint of quill. Curious, she turns them over. She can read fragments, the rest blocked by bad lighting. Still, it is enough to turns her face ashen.
"Dear Doctor, my vision keeps blurring..."
"My dear friend, do...when I drank the..."
"...might be poison...pain..."
"...diary, today...grow scales...black blood...hungry..."
"...soon...soon...deformed...hated...hopeless"
"...Doctor,...my mind...recognize in mirror..."
...
​
Outside, as the dwarf pulls up the bucket of fresh water, he spots something jutting out of the sloshing reflective surface. Feeling dread rolling off his stomach, the dwarf pull faster and faster until the content of the bucket is in full daylight. Only then, does he scream. | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | The heroes walked through the dreaded castle. An elf advanced first, scouting for foes and dangers for his fellowship. Twenty meters behind him, a human knight walked, her heavy steel-coated feed marking each step. A halfling wizard followed her, his magic scanning every corner for magical traps or hidden creatures.
Them three were the best. Heroes whose tales were spoken around the world, whose feats were sung by bards in every tabern, a team whose adventures inspired young adventurers in each guild of every city in every nation.
And they had been summoned... by the Witch Queen herself.
It had to be a trap. They were certain. There were legends about the Witch Queen, some so horrifying that one would desire they were just made-up tales. Legends about how a single spell from her created the great deser of Karrak. Tales about how her magic killed entire armies with a single thought. Religious books talking about her ire wrathing against the gods themselves. Volcanoes, earthquakes, floods, plagues, fire rains, and the list of horrors summoned by her vile tongue continued for pages and pages of stories told. She was the witch who had the world at her grasp, the witch who controlled the shadow gods, the monster whose stories mommies tell their children to make them eat the soup.
The Witch Queen.
And the heroes arrived to a huge door, thirty foot tall and twenty wide. Under it, they could see the orange glow of the flames. They looked at each other, readied their weapons, drank potions and prepared protections spells and, coordinated by decades of fighting the unknown together, they kicked the door opened...
...and the sight was astonishing.
The witch appeared to be a young woman. She was sitting in a huge padded throne, lying over hundreds of pillows, while immense flames roared behind her. At the same time, a rain of ice fell non stop from the ceiling, countering the heat and making the chamber quite... pleasant? The party of heroes stopped their attack, staring at the woman that slowly, whispering, greeted them. "Welcome, heroes", she said, "I have a huge problem".
They looked at each other, confused. "Wait, aren't you the Witch Queen, the bringer of chaos, destroyer of world, slaver of demons, slayer of kings, Burner of forests, Creator of Deserts, Bringer of the Plague...?"
"Yes, yes, yes, I am" she admitted, "but that's not why I called you. You see, my problem is that there is no theoretical limit on how much mana I can gather".
"I read about that", said the wizard. "Your mana pool is disconnected from the world's mana flow. This means that the more you accumulate mana, the more you will attract. In other words, you gather mana at an exponential rate".
"Yeah. That's it".
There was an awkward silence, until the scout dared to ask the question. "Why the fire and the ice?"
"That's me trying to burn my excess mana. But it just keeps growing".
"I don't get it", said the knight. "Why did you summon us, then? We thought you were challenging us!"
"It is quite funny. After the century long war, I was pretty much upset and couldn't sleep" she said. Her voice, while whispered, carried some remorse about her decissions. "So... I decided to enchant myself with a simple sleep spell. You know, to catch some eye-shut."
"The hundred years war? Wait, wasn't that...?"
They all looked at the halfling wizard, who had suddenly grown pale. He produced a book and a quill and starting making calculations, growing paler as the numbers filled page after page. Finally, he looked at the Witch Queen and realized how very slowly she was moving on her throne.
"Please, PLEASE tell me you haven't been asleep for the past five hundred years!".
"Sorry but yeah, I have", she said. "I might just end the world if I sneeze. I... no. WE have a problem".
The three heroes looked at each other, the fear growing in their faces and spirits. Finally, after several minutes of tense silence, someone mouthed what they were all thinking: "Fuck".
((Hoped you enjoyed it. If you have an idea on how to continue this tale, please be my guest!)) | -Please, don't you start your puny conflicts on my backyard!
The ancient mage, whose name was forgotten even by himself at this point, watched from the balcony of his tower as a dubious coalition gathered below, Judging by the ornamental armory, bejeweled weapons and carriages, big enough to fit a dozen people, these were kings and queens of mortal races. And as soon as those gathered in one place, it could only mean one thing - War.
-We don't come here to fight, oh Wise one.
Mage couldn't help but twitch, as he heard a human queen speak, addressing him this way.
-Hooman spik tru, zog. Us here to spik peas with ya.
For a moment, mage almost let the handles of the balcony go, shocked by the image of a huge ogre in a spiky armor, speaking of peace, in a broken humantongue?
-That has to be a joke, right? - mage rubbed his temples, thinking out loud, -You ogres wage wars with humans like twice a month, what are you talking about?
-Actually, Humans and Ogres have joined the United Confederation of Races two years ago and there have been no major incidents so far, - a tall, pointy-eared elf spoke, probably a king or something.
-Yeah, right.
He could have entertained the possibility, sure, it wasn't the first time that mage heard about unlikely alliances, but this? No, this has to be some kind of farce.
-You don't expect me to believe that, do you? And what's next? You gonna tell me that Elves and Dwarves are allied now?
-For about two centuries now, yeah, - dwarven king spoke, almost unnoticeable next to a tall elven monarch, -I'm just heading from the banquet we had too, these wooden blokes cook some of the best lamb in the land now.
Elves. Raising lambs and cooking meet. Mage grabbed his head, confused. What's going on with the world? Is he out of his mind now? Is that an illusion?
-So, basically, all the races came to agreement about peace now, - once again, the human queen spoke out, trying to ignore an old mage pulling on his cheek with all his might, -That's why we came to broker peace with the last remaining force on the continent, the great mage, whose magic traverses millennia and has the strength to reduce this world to nothingness. Would you accept?
-Yeah, about that...
Mage exhaled, raising his eyes to the skies. How could he have imagined something like that happened? All world, in peace, without his involvement? Not a chance, right? And still, it happened, but...
-You see, there's this small issue... Remember how you guys had a huge battle right near my tower about seven or eight hundred years ago? - mage spoke, sounding like he's carefully choosing his words.
Below the balcony, dozens of world leaders exchanged confused glances. Eventually, elven king spoke out.
-My father spoke of a battle that transpired in those lands during his reign, indeed. But what of it?
-Well, that's embarrassing... You kind of pissed me off back then, so I've cast a spell in retaliation, which would wipe out you all. You know, to stop the wars and all that. For peace!
A dreadful silence filled the air as mage observed the most powerful people amongst mortals turn pale. Even the green-skinned lizardmen, whose queen dropped her tail in realization.
Moments later, the coalition broke into chaos, some leaders jumping on their carriages to run away, others breaking down into hysteria, and some falling onto the ground, their hearts probably stopped in shock.
-W-when would that spell come in effect!? - human queen screamed, as everybody turned their gazes to her, -How much time do we have?!
-Well, about that...
Mage averted his gaze, but he couldn't finish his line. A white flash sparked, for barely a second, and as soon as light dispersed, nothing, not even a speck of dust remained in front of his tower. Somewhere far away, civilizations evaporated in an instance, living behind not a trace of sentient life. Just peaceful nature remained.
-Yeaaah, that was awkward.
Mage retreated into his tower, contemplating if he should reverse the spell.
"Nah", he thought almost instantly, turning to enjoy the somber peace of the new world.
>Note: sorry for my broken English, I'm pretty sure I missed a thousand of "a", "an" and "the" :D | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | "Vraylar, Unrelenting Force, Fell Specter, Decimator of History" wow someone was going full titles outside my door, that hadn't happened in, hmm I think it's been about three centuries, hell I thought the world had forgotten me, clearly I didn't live up to that last one properly.
"We of the united world alliance beseech and audience with you."
I could always just ignore them, maybe they'd go away. I could check on them with some form of magic but that'd take time. Honestly it was hilarious no one ever figured out how weak I really was. Just because you can decimate an army it doesn't really mean much if it takes days of preparation, or it wouldn't if they weren't all so damned afraid of me. I honestly couldn't do many of the minor quick spells because they tended to be unreliable.
I looked at the door to my peaceful little home out in the country. I had specifically chosen to live way out here to avoid attention. A momentary bit of nostalgia for when I lived in a fortress that intimidated everyone and kept them from even approaching. Oh well nothing to be done about it now. I stepped outside and was surprised, six people, a vampire hiding under an umbrella, two humans, no upon closer inspection a human and one of the fair folk in human guise, a shifter in his mid form black fur bristling claws jutting from his hands and only standing partially upright as if ready to drop to all fours at a moment, a merfolk in their human guise, gills and scales still apparent but at least capable of walking on land, and one of my own kind a pureblood mage his veins glowing with the mana that infused his very being.
I gave a slight bow and a smile. "Now, what can I do for" a pause as I tried to recall what they'd said. "the united world alliance. I don't suppose you simply came to say hello, if you did it'd surely have been preferable to one of your party to wait until at least dusk."
The vampire stepped forward, his pale skin much more clearly visible, the umbrella twirling as he bared his fangs in what I assumed was a smile. "Vraylar, if I may call you that, you are correct this is not a simple meet and greet."
I shrugged "It is my name and titles stopped having meaning a few, was it decades ago that you united?"
That got a raised eyebrow and a chuckle from the fae who shifted for a moment revealing her wings as she whispered "You owe me."
I couldn't place which of them she was talking to but it wasn't particularly relevant. The mage stepped forward glaring at me and begginning to shift his fingers subtlely. Nope can't have that, I reached out and grabbed his hands in a death grip.
"If you want these unbroken you will keep them still." He glared at me but nodded his acquiesence. I could see the others muscles were tensed, they still feared me, good that'd keep things a bit more civil. I let go of his hands and looked around at the party assembled for a moment and stepped back from my doorway waving my hand towards the interior.
"Uncivilized of me to keep you all on my doorstep, I apologize please enter freely and know that the rules of hospitality are strictly adhered to in this household." A smirk from me and most were hesitant to enter but the vampire seemed to be more then pleased to be invited in and out of the sun. His unflinching entry apparently brought the rest of them tagging along.
I led them through the foyer to the living room and asked if any would like anything. I saw the merfolk glancing towards the kitchen and nodded before walking off into the kitchen, I decided I'd play it up a bit tonight as soon as I was out of sight I collected a glass of salt water, made a bloody mary with a couple drops of my blood for extra kick and flavor, some milk with just a touch of honey in it, a glass of wine that I'd been saving for a few well a while anyhow, I hadn't been able to peg the shifter so I poured a second glass of wine, and finally a vial of undiluted mana. Satisfied that each guest would have something worthy of a dignitary I brought all out and set each in front of them.
The vampire and shifter immediately grinned at their glasses, the merfolk was already downing his. The fae simply picked hers up and stirred it with a finger while the human and mage glared suspiciously. As I finished serving I realized I had brought nothing out to drink myself. Oh well, a good host prioritizes their guests. I sat in my favorite chair looking at the motley crew assembled before me allowing them time to decide on their words.
A sigh of contentment from the vampire. "A deliciously made drink, I'd swear you've entertained my kind before. Apologies I realize now none of us have properly introduced ourselves. I am Solemn Triad of the" I grinned and finished his sentence "of the court of vipers." He looked a bit shocked then nodded "Just so, I suppose you aren't as much a hermit as we thought if you know me."
I shrugged then "I keep apprised." pointed at each in turn "Mab of the Fae 3rd of her name." a slight gasp from the queen who was often thought eternal. "Ferrithir of Tribe Noctis." The shifter simply gave a stoic nod. "Sal" The human shrugged. "Apologies on my poor pronunciation, Qqurnr of the 4th Sea" The merfold gave a dismissive wave. "and unfortunately your sixth is actually unknown to me, perhaps his skills outstrip mine."
The mage nodded, he still hadn't touched the mana I'd offered. "I am Vraylar of the Arbitration Council." I had to choke back a laugh at that, unfortunately it quickly became a coughing fit that doubled me over. Normally I wouldn't comment on someones name but I couldn't help myself in this case.
"Ok is that your given or chosen name, I just have to know whether your parents were some random groupies or what the hell led to that?"
-Part One- | -Please, don't you start your puny conflicts on my backyard!
The ancient mage, whose name was forgotten even by himself at this point, watched from the balcony of his tower as a dubious coalition gathered below, Judging by the ornamental armory, bejeweled weapons and carriages, big enough to fit a dozen people, these were kings and queens of mortal races. And as soon as those gathered in one place, it could only mean one thing - War.
-We don't come here to fight, oh Wise one.
Mage couldn't help but twitch, as he heard a human queen speak, addressing him this way.
-Hooman spik tru, zog. Us here to spik peas with ya.
For a moment, mage almost let the handles of the balcony go, shocked by the image of a huge ogre in a spiky armor, speaking of peace, in a broken humantongue?
-That has to be a joke, right? - mage rubbed his temples, thinking out loud, -You ogres wage wars with humans like twice a month, what are you talking about?
-Actually, Humans and Ogres have joined the United Confederation of Races two years ago and there have been no major incidents so far, - a tall, pointy-eared elf spoke, probably a king or something.
-Yeah, right.
He could have entertained the possibility, sure, it wasn't the first time that mage heard about unlikely alliances, but this? No, this has to be some kind of farce.
-You don't expect me to believe that, do you? And what's next? You gonna tell me that Elves and Dwarves are allied now?
-For about two centuries now, yeah, - dwarven king spoke, almost unnoticeable next to a tall elven monarch, -I'm just heading from the banquet we had too, these wooden blokes cook some of the best lamb in the land now.
Elves. Raising lambs and cooking meet. Mage grabbed his head, confused. What's going on with the world? Is he out of his mind now? Is that an illusion?
-So, basically, all the races came to agreement about peace now, - once again, the human queen spoke out, trying to ignore an old mage pulling on his cheek with all his might, -That's why we came to broker peace with the last remaining force on the continent, the great mage, whose magic traverses millennia and has the strength to reduce this world to nothingness. Would you accept?
-Yeah, about that...
Mage exhaled, raising his eyes to the skies. How could he have imagined something like that happened? All world, in peace, without his involvement? Not a chance, right? And still, it happened, but...
-You see, there's this small issue... Remember how you guys had a huge battle right near my tower about seven or eight hundred years ago? - mage spoke, sounding like he's carefully choosing his words.
Below the balcony, dozens of world leaders exchanged confused glances. Eventually, elven king spoke out.
-My father spoke of a battle that transpired in those lands during his reign, indeed. But what of it?
-Well, that's embarrassing... You kind of pissed me off back then, so I've cast a spell in retaliation, which would wipe out you all. You know, to stop the wars and all that. For peace!
A dreadful silence filled the air as mage observed the most powerful people amongst mortals turn pale. Even the green-skinned lizardmen, whose queen dropped her tail in realization.
Moments later, the coalition broke into chaos, some leaders jumping on their carriages to run away, others breaking down into hysteria, and some falling onto the ground, their hearts probably stopped in shock.
-W-when would that spell come in effect!? - human queen screamed, as everybody turned their gazes to her, -How much time do we have?!
-Well, about that...
Mage averted his gaze, but he couldn't finish his line. A white flash sparked, for barely a second, and as soon as light dispersed, nothing, not even a speck of dust remained in front of his tower. Somewhere far away, civilizations evaporated in an instance, living behind not a trace of sentient life. Just peaceful nature remained.
-Yeaaah, that was awkward.
Mage retreated into his tower, contemplating if he should reverse the spell.
"Nah", he thought almost instantly, turning to enjoy the somber peace of the new world.
>Note: sorry for my broken English, I'm pretty sure I missed a thousand of "a", "an" and "the" :D | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | "Vraylar, Unrelenting Force, Fell Specter, Decimator of History" wow someone was going full titles outside my door, that hadn't happened in, hmm I think it's been about three centuries, hell I thought the world had forgotten me, clearly I didn't live up to that last one properly.
"We of the united world alliance beseech and audience with you."
I could always just ignore them, maybe they'd go away. I could check on them with some form of magic but that'd take time. Honestly it was hilarious no one ever figured out how weak I really was. Just because you can decimate an army it doesn't really mean much if it takes days of preparation, or it wouldn't if they weren't all so damned afraid of me. I honestly couldn't do many of the minor quick spells because they tended to be unreliable.
I looked at the door to my peaceful little home out in the country. I had specifically chosen to live way out here to avoid attention. A momentary bit of nostalgia for when I lived in a fortress that intimidated everyone and kept them from even approaching. Oh well nothing to be done about it now. I stepped outside and was surprised, six people, a vampire hiding under an umbrella, two humans, no upon closer inspection a human and one of the fair folk in human guise, a shifter in his mid form black fur bristling claws jutting from his hands and only standing partially upright as if ready to drop to all fours at a moment, a merfolk in their human guise, gills and scales still apparent but at least capable of walking on land, and one of my own kind a pureblood mage his veins glowing with the mana that infused his very being.
I gave a slight bow and a smile. "Now, what can I do for" a pause as I tried to recall what they'd said. "the united world alliance. I don't suppose you simply came to say hello, if you did it'd surely have been preferable to one of your party to wait until at least dusk."
The vampire stepped forward, his pale skin much more clearly visible, the umbrella twirling as he bared his fangs in what I assumed was a smile. "Vraylar, if I may call you that, you are correct this is not a simple meet and greet."
I shrugged "It is my name and titles stopped having meaning a few, was it decades ago that you united?"
That got a raised eyebrow and a chuckle from the fae who shifted for a moment revealing her wings as she whispered "You owe me."
I couldn't place which of them she was talking to but it wasn't particularly relevant. The mage stepped forward glaring at me and begginning to shift his fingers subtlely. Nope can't have that, I reached out and grabbed his hands in a death grip.
"If you want these unbroken you will keep them still." He glared at me but nodded his acquiesence. I could see the others muscles were tensed, they still feared me, good that'd keep things a bit more civil. I let go of his hands and looked around at the party assembled for a moment and stepped back from my doorway waving my hand towards the interior.
"Uncivilized of me to keep you all on my doorstep, I apologize please enter freely and know that the rules of hospitality are strictly adhered to in this household." A smirk from me and most were hesitant to enter but the vampire seemed to be more then pleased to be invited in and out of the sun. His unflinching entry apparently brought the rest of them tagging along.
I led them through the foyer to the living room and asked if any would like anything. I saw the merfolk glancing towards the kitchen and nodded before walking off into the kitchen, I decided I'd play it up a bit tonight as soon as I was out of sight I collected a glass of salt water, made a bloody mary with a couple drops of my blood for extra kick and flavor, some milk with just a touch of honey in it, a glass of wine that I'd been saving for a few well a while anyhow, I hadn't been able to peg the shifter so I poured a second glass of wine, and finally a vial of undiluted mana. Satisfied that each guest would have something worthy of a dignitary I brought all out and set each in front of them.
The vampire and shifter immediately grinned at their glasses, the merfolk was already downing his. The fae simply picked hers up and stirred it with a finger while the human and mage glared suspiciously. As I finished serving I realized I had brought nothing out to drink myself. Oh well, a good host prioritizes their guests. I sat in my favorite chair looking at the motley crew assembled before me allowing them time to decide on their words.
A sigh of contentment from the vampire. "A deliciously made drink, I'd swear you've entertained my kind before. Apologies I realize now none of us have properly introduced ourselves. I am Solemn Triad of the" I grinned and finished his sentence "of the court of vipers." He looked a bit shocked then nodded "Just so, I suppose you aren't as much a hermit as we thought if you know me."
I shrugged then "I keep apprised." pointed at each in turn "Mab of the Fae 3rd of her name." a slight gasp from the queen who was often thought eternal. "Ferrithir of Tribe Noctis." The shifter simply gave a stoic nod. "Sal" The human shrugged. "Apologies on my poor pronunciation, Qqurnr of the 4th Sea" The merfold gave a dismissive wave. "and unfortunately your sixth is actually unknown to me, perhaps his skills outstrip mine."
The mage nodded, he still hadn't touched the mana I'd offered. "I am Vraylar of the Arbitration Council." I had to choke back a laugh at that, unfortunately it quickly became a coughing fit that doubled me over. Normally I wouldn't comment on someones name but I couldn't help myself in this case.
"Ok is that your given or chosen name, I just have to know whether your parents were some random groupies or what the hell led to that?"
-Part One- | The heroes walked through the dreaded castle. An elf advanced first, scouting for foes and dangers for his fellowship. Twenty meters behind him, a human knight walked, her heavy steel-coated feed marking each step. A halfling wizard followed her, his magic scanning every corner for magical traps or hidden creatures.
Them three were the best. Heroes whose tales were spoken around the world, whose feats were sung by bards in every tabern, a team whose adventures inspired young adventurers in each guild of every city in every nation.
And they had been summoned... by the Witch Queen herself.
It had to be a trap. They were certain. There were legends about the Witch Queen, some so horrifying that one would desire they were just made-up tales. Legends about how a single spell from her created the great deser of Karrak. Tales about how her magic killed entire armies with a single thought. Religious books talking about her ire wrathing against the gods themselves. Volcanoes, earthquakes, floods, plagues, fire rains, and the list of horrors summoned by her vile tongue continued for pages and pages of stories told. She was the witch who had the world at her grasp, the witch who controlled the shadow gods, the monster whose stories mommies tell their children to make them eat the soup.
The Witch Queen.
And the heroes arrived to a huge door, thirty foot tall and twenty wide. Under it, they could see the orange glow of the flames. They looked at each other, readied their weapons, drank potions and prepared protections spells and, coordinated by decades of fighting the unknown together, they kicked the door opened...
...and the sight was astonishing.
The witch appeared to be a young woman. She was sitting in a huge padded throne, lying over hundreds of pillows, while immense flames roared behind her. At the same time, a rain of ice fell non stop from the ceiling, countering the heat and making the chamber quite... pleasant? The party of heroes stopped their attack, staring at the woman that slowly, whispering, greeted them. "Welcome, heroes", she said, "I have a huge problem".
They looked at each other, confused. "Wait, aren't you the Witch Queen, the bringer of chaos, destroyer of world, slaver of demons, slayer of kings, Burner of forests, Creator of Deserts, Bringer of the Plague...?"
"Yes, yes, yes, I am" she admitted, "but that's not why I called you. You see, my problem is that there is no theoretical limit on how much mana I can gather".
"I read about that", said the wizard. "Your mana pool is disconnected from the world's mana flow. This means that the more you accumulate mana, the more you will attract. In other words, you gather mana at an exponential rate".
"Yeah. That's it".
There was an awkward silence, until the scout dared to ask the question. "Why the fire and the ice?"
"That's me trying to burn my excess mana. But it just keeps growing".
"I don't get it", said the knight. "Why did you summon us, then? We thought you were challenging us!"
"It is quite funny. After the century long war, I was pretty much upset and couldn't sleep" she said. Her voice, while whispered, carried some remorse about her decissions. "So... I decided to enchant myself with a simple sleep spell. You know, to catch some eye-shut."
"The hundred years war? Wait, wasn't that...?"
They all looked at the halfling wizard, who had suddenly grown pale. He produced a book and a quill and starting making calculations, growing paler as the numbers filled page after page. Finally, he looked at the Witch Queen and realized how very slowly she was moving on her throne.
"Please, PLEASE tell me you haven't been asleep for the past five hundred years!".
"Sorry but yeah, I have", she said. "I might just end the world if I sneeze. I... no. WE have a problem".
The three heroes looked at each other, the fear growing in their faces and spirits. Finally, after several minutes of tense silence, someone mouthed what they were all thinking: "Fuck".
((Hoped you enjoyed it. If you have an idea on how to continue this tale, please be my guest!)) | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | There was a time, long ago, when I truly knew happiness.
It was a simple time. I had yet to join the Arcanium. I was a simple farmer in Karan, the capital of the Andelian Empire. I had a wife and a child, another on the way in but a few months.
That all changed when... well suffice to say it changed. Distraught at my loss, I sought out the Arcanium and the potential to do what I could to bring... pain... to those who wronged me.
The initial testing was quick and easy, my proctors proclaimed I had a magnificent talent for magic. However that waned quickly as my studies commenced. It took months of frustration and further testing to determine that, while I have a limitless capacity for mana storage, my capacity for mana regeneration was the slowest they had ever seen among the magically inclined. I guess 34 years of farm life allowed me to build up quite a stockpile of mana, which I then quickly burned through in my classes.
Quite the conundrum. What to do with the slowest filling metaphorically bottomless bucket in history? You teach him theory. You limit practical applications. And in so doing you fail to teach him control.
I had no delusions of grandeur, I simply had my goal. To destroy the Bresonian raiders for taking everything from me. Then... maybe I could finally die.
After gaining my title I left the Arcanium. Moderately proficient in magical theory, but lacking practical experience and control. I joined Karan as a Blue Coat, explaining my particular situation to my commander I was assigned to desk duty, only to be pulled out in infrequent situations of drastic need. Allow me to regenerate a truly monstrous amount of mana then point me at a target before sending me back to desk duty to recharge, like some sort of cataclysmic cannon.
The first time I used magic since my teachers discovered my particular situation I burned an entire city of forty thousand people to ash. I remember the magic flowing through me, coalescing in a burning orb that outshone the sun. The next thing I remember is walking through the flattened glassed hilltop where forty thousand men, women, and children just lived. I felt nothing. I should have felt... something... right?
The next time I used magic was three months later. I sank an entire naval fleet, three hundred cavaliers and trading vessels in the port city of Kath, cutting off supplies and killing thousands of sailors and hundreds of civilians. I can still feel the wind on my face as the storm formed.
I have dozens of memories stored away, filled with uncountable numbers of people I killed.
Eventually the Bresonian raiders were wiped out. I was given a medal and a seat on the council of advisors directly to the king. More as a constant reminder to the other advisors of the power the king had at his fingertips than to actually advise anyone. But advise I did. I found that I had quite a head for political maneuvering. I pitted one noble family against another, ruining reputations and making allies when and where they were needed. Eventually I managed to convince the council to vote for war against the Elendian Empire to the south. For I had long ago learned the Bresonian raiders were funded and trained by the Elendian elves in guerilla tactics as a form of proxy war to weaken the Andelian empire.
My drive to bring pain to those who had wronged me plunged the entire continent into a war spanning hundreds of years. Elendian elves, Andelian humans, orcish nomads of the Hanebrian plains, dwarves from the Burstan mountain settlements, centaurs from the Arboreal Ocean, and even the merfolk of the Risen Reef were killed in the tens of thousands for in a war for my pain. And still I felt nothing.
It was in the midst of the 8th year of the war when I found it, what finally broke me. It was such a simple thing, finding the tattered doll clutched in the arms of a child, their eyes distant and vacant of any emotion, trying desperately to wake from the nightmare that was their existence. The doll was of cheap make, burlap clothing and rough spun wool filling. But, on the collar of the doll stitched in dull red thread, the name Elia. My daughters name. I remember looking at the child and truly comprehending that this, all of this pain and horror, was because of me. And so, a decade of emptiness was replaced with pain and horror at what I had done.
I left the war and went into seclusion. I transmuted a cabin deep in the Spine of the World and began a life as a hermit, slowly accumulating the mana I would need to cast the spell that would finally, finally stop the pain and emptiness, total and complete obliteration of myself and all of those who had been affected by my war and pain.
And here I sit, three hundred and forty seven years later, a mere four days and three hours away from accumulating enough mana to cast the spell that would destroy me... that would save me, and I am approached by Sorathen the elf queen of Elendia, King Rask of Andel, The Stonelord Malik, King and Queen of the Tides Deria and Shelind, Lord of the Herd Nelindor, and Hoard King Brelnask.
They have made peace, I've known this for some time, I'm not completely detached from the events of the world around me. I've also known they've been looking to find me, for they all know the longer I go without using my mana the more I have and the more dangerous I am.
I sit back in the rocking chair I made twenty years ago to replace the one I had made twenty years before that, the lines of time creasing on my face as I smile and wave them forward, transmuting on a whim the chairs needed for those who I knew would take them. A slight grimace passes my face as I readjust my internal clock, five days and seven hours now.
"Please, take a seat." I croak out, my voice hoarse with age and lack of use.
Hesitantly they approach, their eyes filled with suspicion and tightly controlled fear. I wonder who will speak first, humans are always more proud than they have any right to be, but the orcs of Hanebria are always so impatient.
"Good evening Khor Khalis." The elf queen intones in a respectful voice. Not my name... not anymore, I left that title behind when I left Andel, though when you are only known by a title meant to instill terror in others it's understandable that your real name will be lost to time.
"Please, call me by my real name, Morren. I haven't been the world breaker since I left Andel."
"Very well, Morren... " a slight pause, as if testing such a mundane name for one such as I, "... we have sought you out to.."
"To see if I still pose a threat. To see if you need worry one of your cities, or really at this point one of your countries, need fear it will be burned from existence?"
An uncomfortable silence, I've forgotten how delicate diplomats like to treat discussions such as these. Closing my eyes and waving a hand dismissively I'm shocked to hear the sound of gasps, weapons drawing, and wood striking dirt. Opening my eyes I see that my offhand gesture has startled them, each is standing in a defensive or aggressive stance, weapons or arcane might drawn forth waiting for the slightest provocation. I really have forgotten how to deal with diplomats.
"My apologies, though you should know that I need not make silly hand gestures should I want to remove you from my presence. Four hours. That's how much longer I would have to wait, should I decide to burn you all to ash on the spot. Conjuring the chairs already cost me a day and five hours, funny isn't it how much easier it is to destroy than create. But I digress, no I will not harm you and have no plans to harm anyone, at least not anyone here or now."
An unease silence fills the clearing where my cabin sits, the wood under my palms worn smooth from years of contemplation.
"You think we'll believe a simple statement like that?" A gruff voice barks, looking up I see The Ironlord, his axe hefted in both hands in an aggressive stance.
"No, but you will have to trust me. I will make no bindings to hold me to those words, bindings are complex and would set me back three more days and that is not a price I am willing to pay to satisfy your paranoia."
"I told you we couldn't trust him, we should have just killed him before he knew we were here." King Rask chimes in, his voice hot with aggression and impotent belief in his own abilities.
"I knew you were coming from the moment you set foot in my valley, you think I would live in seclusion for so long without wards and animi? No, Excellency, I have no desire to kill any of you, I have done enough killing in my life. My plans are simple, I will do what I can to pay for the horror I perpetrated in my youth. Those lives I stole cannot be brought back, trust me I have delved deep in lore from before even the Andelian empire existed and found naught but disappointment. But I have found a way to save them none-the-less."
**Part 1/2** | Gods die as men do, kicking and screaming.
Cin had seen it happen. Deities, countless aeons old, being confronted with a reality that they could never think to accept until thought left them entirely. That they were mortal. Breakable.
*Godsruin*, they had called him. Even in fear, they found the ego to preface his title with their own.
"Have you nothing to say for yourself, *Godsruin*?" Veil, envoy of the Hypogean Blackwoods, questioned. The dark, spindly figure was implacable, but its voice betrayed anger.
And there it was. That accursed nickname.
Cin smiled, and there was something genuine to it. "Please. Use my name."
He cast his glance across the assortment of leaders gathered in his hovel. Representatives from the radiant Sunbearers, to the ever-frowning Glumfolk, and the contorting, incoherent forms of the Fragrant Ones.
"Cin," said the High Fragrance, its voice a unity of thousands, resonating infinitely across the room. "Ruiner. Answer for the Gods. Answer for our broken lands."
Its words, as hard to comprehend as its form, evoked a distinct silence throughout the room, which its next word promptly shattered.
"*Why*?"
Cin leaned back in his chair. The room quaked from his power, reality unfolding in his presence. He clenched his fist, concentrating on preventing everything from unravelling.
"Everything hurts," he finally said.
"My power - like droplets, falling forever into a well. I overflow, constantly. It threatens to destroy me. It *has* destroyed all I love. Indeed, I have broken, the well has cracked. Forever in shame I remain."
"But you cannot kill me. I cannot end myself." He chuckled bitterly. "The droplets continue to flow."
Humanity's leader, eloquent as always, spoke quickly. "Bullshit. You are not a victim. You are a destroyer. Your actions, your *lies*, everything you've done -," his voice cracked with emotion," It warrants nothing but death."
The light of humanity's deceased Sun God enveloped the room as he unsheathed a sunsword soundlessly.
"I agree," said Cin. "Try it."
No leader reached to stop humanity as its representative surged forward, bringing the sword down in a wild arc. It collided with Cin's flesh, cut through skin, bone, and muscle all at once, and severed his head from his body.
The head of the Godsruin fell onto the floor with a thump.
And then reality cracked. The room seemed to freeze over, its temperature dropping to frost. The sound of a ticking tock could be heard in the minds of all present, as Cin's head appeared to float up, blood pouring back into his body, and affix itself to his neck with a sickening snap.
Humanity's leader found himself standing ten paces back from before, his sword hung in midair, preparing to strike downward once more.
Everyone stood in stunned silence. Cin tenderly traced his neck, a flicker of overflowed power zapping him. He winced, still able to feel pain.
"*Heh*, a low chuckle came from the back of Cin's room. "*Hahahaha. HAHAHA*."
It crescendoed into a full-bellied cackle and the crowd parted to reveal a small creature in a jester's garb, doubled over, clutching its chest. The furry thing eventually stopped, wiped a trace of a tear from its eye, and righted itself, but stayed resting on the floor.
"I get it. You're cursed. You're a sad little shit."
Cin smiled again. "Indeed."
"I get it, I get it. Do I believe you? Maybe. Speak up; dontcha owe us that much?"
"You wish to hear me?"
"Sure," it snickered. "I'd love to see you justify this mess. Assuming you have an excuse that isn't dung. Heh."
He inclined his head. "I do." Casting his hand across the crowd, he spoke, his voice powerful, "I am the vessel of all your deities. Each and everyone of them, upon my birth, flocked to my cradle. Decided I was their's to use. They made my power spiral, their arrogance and hatred of one-another. My failure is I could not control it."
"I was a prodigy. Powerful enough for godhood. Where they hated me, my mother loved me for it. Reminded me of it every day. That I'd be a grand wizard, with a large hat and a spell-book unrivalled. She called me her little mage." His voice turned plaintive, betraying a slip of emotion.
"She held me even as it made her unravel. I'm sure you all know what it's like to see a loved one die before our eyes. I will spare you the tale. But I want to apologise. I *failed*. I could not bear the power of all the gods, but, for all their wisdom and power, they could not see this either. They chose not to."
"My curse is not my own. The destruction not my own. The only thing I confess guilty to - the *one* thing - is this. I killed your gods. I am the Godsruin. I loathe to say it. But it is what I am."
Every day, he wished he could go back to being that little mage, wide-eyed and naive.
He missed his mum.
He knew that he would never see her again.
The leader of humanity regarded Cin, and his face twisted into a sickening grin. "So what? Suffer. Fuck you, and all you've done. Fuck your life, fuck the Gods. I do not care. I did not come to pity you, I came for vengeance. I did not delude myself into thinking this was for some higher purpose. Higher purpose is dead. At least I've found there is joy to be had in letting you live. Vengance comes in the strangest of ways, wouldn't you say?"
Humanity's leader sheathed his blade and stormed out of the room, the thunk of his armour drawing quiet in the distance.
"He is right. I suffer in life. My mind and body constantly unmake itself. My flesh sears with all the torments I've inflicted upon you. Tenfold. You all have nothing to find here. My life is a curse. Death a blessing unattainable."
"*Good*," whispered the High Fragrance; a thousand voices finally unified in satisfaction.
Cin fell to his knees. For some reason, he found himself crying. He was a human. The gods could never rob him of emotion. Perhaps that had been intentional, he now realised.
Even in death, they won against him.
The remnants of every species the gods had made regarded the Godsruin. And they found him pathetic.
One by one, they basked in the moment, content with what they had found out. And they left. None found closure, only grim satisfaction.
None except the little jester, which cautiously approached Cin once the ordeal was over. It did not have to lower itself to reach the gaze of Cin's sagged form.
Looking into its black eyes, Cin felt empty.
And then, it laughed, once again. "*Little mage*. Ha." it taunted, and disappeared, leaving Cin alone.
Alone to suffer, eternal. | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | There was a time, long ago, when I truly knew happiness.
It was a simple time. I had yet to join the Arcanium. I was a simple farmer in Karan, the capital of the Andelian Empire. I had a wife and a child, another on the way in but a few months.
That all changed when... well suffice to say it changed. Distraught at my loss, I sought out the Arcanium and the potential to do what I could to bring... pain... to those who wronged me.
The initial testing was quick and easy, my proctors proclaimed I had a magnificent talent for magic. However that waned quickly as my studies commenced. It took months of frustration and further testing to determine that, while I have a limitless capacity for mana storage, my capacity for mana regeneration was the slowest they had ever seen among the magically inclined. I guess 34 years of farm life allowed me to build up quite a stockpile of mana, which I then quickly burned through in my classes.
Quite the conundrum. What to do with the slowest filling metaphorically bottomless bucket in history? You teach him theory. You limit practical applications. And in so doing you fail to teach him control.
I had no delusions of grandeur, I simply had my goal. To destroy the Bresonian raiders for taking everything from me. Then... maybe I could finally die.
After gaining my title I left the Arcanium. Moderately proficient in magical theory, but lacking practical experience and control. I joined Karan as a Blue Coat, explaining my particular situation to my commander I was assigned to desk duty, only to be pulled out in infrequent situations of drastic need. Allow me to regenerate a truly monstrous amount of mana then point me at a target before sending me back to desk duty to recharge, like some sort of cataclysmic cannon.
The first time I used magic since my teachers discovered my particular situation I burned an entire city of forty thousand people to ash. I remember the magic flowing through me, coalescing in a burning orb that outshone the sun. The next thing I remember is walking through the flattened glassed hilltop where forty thousand men, women, and children just lived. I felt nothing. I should have felt... something... right?
The next time I used magic was three months later. I sank an entire naval fleet, three hundred cavaliers and trading vessels in the port city of Kath, cutting off supplies and killing thousands of sailors and hundreds of civilians. I can still feel the wind on my face as the storm formed.
I have dozens of memories stored away, filled with uncountable numbers of people I killed.
Eventually the Bresonian raiders were wiped out. I was given a medal and a seat on the council of advisors directly to the king. More as a constant reminder to the other advisors of the power the king had at his fingertips than to actually advise anyone. But advise I did. I found that I had quite a head for political maneuvering. I pitted one noble family against another, ruining reputations and making allies when and where they were needed. Eventually I managed to convince the council to vote for war against the Elendian Empire to the south. For I had long ago learned the Bresonian raiders were funded and trained by the Elendian elves in guerilla tactics as a form of proxy war to weaken the Andelian empire.
My drive to bring pain to those who had wronged me plunged the entire continent into a war spanning hundreds of years. Elendian elves, Andelian humans, orcish nomads of the Hanebrian plains, dwarves from the Burstan mountain settlements, centaurs from the Arboreal Ocean, and even the merfolk of the Risen Reef were killed in the tens of thousands for in a war for my pain. And still I felt nothing.
It was in the midst of the 8th year of the war when I found it, what finally broke me. It was such a simple thing, finding the tattered doll clutched in the arms of a child, their eyes distant and vacant of any emotion, trying desperately to wake from the nightmare that was their existence. The doll was of cheap make, burlap clothing and rough spun wool filling. But, on the collar of the doll stitched in dull red thread, the name Elia. My daughters name. I remember looking at the child and truly comprehending that this, all of this pain and horror, was because of me. And so, a decade of emptiness was replaced with pain and horror at what I had done.
I left the war and went into seclusion. I transmuted a cabin deep in the Spine of the World and began a life as a hermit, slowly accumulating the mana I would need to cast the spell that would finally, finally stop the pain and emptiness, total and complete obliteration of myself and all of those who had been affected by my war and pain.
And here I sit, three hundred and forty seven years later, a mere four days and three hours away from accumulating enough mana to cast the spell that would destroy me... that would save me, and I am approached by Sorathen the elf queen of Elendia, King Rask of Andel, The Stonelord Malik, King and Queen of the Tides Deria and Shelind, Lord of the Herd Nelindor, and Hoard King Brelnask.
They have made peace, I've known this for some time, I'm not completely detached from the events of the world around me. I've also known they've been looking to find me, for they all know the longer I go without using my mana the more I have and the more dangerous I am.
I sit back in the rocking chair I made twenty years ago to replace the one I had made twenty years before that, the lines of time creasing on my face as I smile and wave them forward, transmuting on a whim the chairs needed for those who I knew would take them. A slight grimace passes my face as I readjust my internal clock, five days and seven hours now.
"Please, take a seat." I croak out, my voice hoarse with age and lack of use.
Hesitantly they approach, their eyes filled with suspicion and tightly controlled fear. I wonder who will speak first, humans are always more proud than they have any right to be, but the orcs of Hanebria are always so impatient.
"Good evening Khor Khalis." The elf queen intones in a respectful voice. Not my name... not anymore, I left that title behind when I left Andel, though when you are only known by a title meant to instill terror in others it's understandable that your real name will be lost to time.
"Please, call me by my real name, Morren. I haven't been the world breaker since I left Andel."
"Very well, Morren... " a slight pause, as if testing such a mundane name for one such as I, "... we have sought you out to.."
"To see if I still pose a threat. To see if you need worry one of your cities, or really at this point one of your countries, need fear it will be burned from existence?"
An uncomfortable silence, I've forgotten how delicate diplomats like to treat discussions such as these. Closing my eyes and waving a hand dismissively I'm shocked to hear the sound of gasps, weapons drawing, and wood striking dirt. Opening my eyes I see that my offhand gesture has startled them, each is standing in a defensive or aggressive stance, weapons or arcane might drawn forth waiting for the slightest provocation. I really have forgotten how to deal with diplomats.
"My apologies, though you should know that I need not make silly hand gestures should I want to remove you from my presence. Four hours. That's how much longer I would have to wait, should I decide to burn you all to ash on the spot. Conjuring the chairs already cost me a day and five hours, funny isn't it how much easier it is to destroy than create. But I digress, no I will not harm you and have no plans to harm anyone, at least not anyone here or now."
An unease silence fills the clearing where my cabin sits, the wood under my palms worn smooth from years of contemplation.
"You think we'll believe a simple statement like that?" A gruff voice barks, looking up I see The Ironlord, his axe hefted in both hands in an aggressive stance.
"No, but you will have to trust me. I will make no bindings to hold me to those words, bindings are complex and would set me back three more days and that is not a price I am willing to pay to satisfy your paranoia."
"I told you we couldn't trust him, we should have just killed him before he knew we were here." King Rask chimes in, his voice hot with aggression and impotent belief in his own abilities.
"I knew you were coming from the moment you set foot in my valley, you think I would live in seclusion for so long without wards and animi? No, Excellency, I have no desire to kill any of you, I have done enough killing in my life. My plans are simple, I will do what I can to pay for the horror I perpetrated in my youth. Those lives I stole cannot be brought back, trust me I have delved deep in lore from before even the Andelian empire existed and found naught but disappointment. But I have found a way to save them none-the-less."
**Part 1/2** | It is amazing what mortals can do when they have a common goal. In my youth I spent countless lives trying to save the word by making people between people, removing corrupt leaders, destroying evil cults, etc. . . but the world never moved from the precipice of disaster and there was always another evil to fight or another war bringing about its atrocities.
One day it struck me how odd it was to see groups that had been bitter enemies become stalwart allies in the face of a greater threat and how once that threat was gone they would often remain friends until something in either side manipulated them back towards being enemies.
I thought what if I was going about trying to save the world the wrong way, what if what was needed wasn't a removal of all threats but the introduction of a new threat that wasn't so easily removed.
So I set about making my great spell, it needed to not only touch every intelligent race but also be understood by all regardless of language or intelligence. It had to be understood on an instinctual level, it had to be absolute, and it had to be eternal. All spells fade with time unless they are maintained in some form, the two easiest methods are to tie the speel to your magic direcltly in which case it will constantly draw magic from you or to tie it to your lifeforce in which case it will burn years off your life to power itself. Any mage can disrupt and end a spell tied to magic with a simple magic suppression spell put between the source and spell but a spell powered by life-force requires the death of the caster to end. I had unknowingly solved this problem for myself when I made an immortality spell in part of my research.
As it turns out immortality isn't all that complicated of a spell and takes almost nothing to maintain, the hard part is the initial casting takes so much magic that no single being could cast it without burning out their magic in the process and thus killing themselves (I have a theory that this is actually the true origin of many a litch) but for whatever reason I am different. Instead of tapping into my own soul for magic as the normal mage does, I instead tap into the Astral wear souls form from the subconscious conglomerate of all living beings before they are bound into a newborn.
With this spell in place I developed a terrible spell that killed 10% of each of the races and forced the remaining ones to witness their deaths and share in their loved ones grief. The spell chose randomly giving no preference to age, wealth, health, social standing, or character and it repeated every year. The spell also made sure that every living creature knew who it was that cast the spell, that the spell could only be removed by my death, and that I wouldn't die due to old age or illness.
I then built a mighty fortress and shielded it from all forms of siege. In my fortress I made a grand hall lined with doors that are keyed to various races and will only open once all of the recognized leaders of the races attempts to open their door within a 24 hour time frame. They would all need to fight me if they were to have any hope of even getting to me and no one was spared nor did I negotiate | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | They stood before me, their expressions mixed. The human looked at me with suspicion, his hand by his belt; I was sure he was hiding at least several knives. The dwarf, stoic as always, seemed prepared for the worst disappointment. Wise. The elf mustered enough manners to fake a smile. Nice of her.
"Cut to the chase," I started suddenly. "I don't have all day."
"Alright then," the human replied. Of course he'd be the cocky one. "Your reputation precedes you. We know what you can *do*. But we know that you haven't *done* anything in a *very* long time and we're..." he opened his mouth but failed to finish the sentence.
"Worried," the dwarf said. Efficient use of words - I liked that about dwarves.
"Ah," I said with a faint smile and tilted my head to the side. "You're worried about me making some sort of cataclysmic spell, aren't you? Something to turn the skies blood-red and upturn the earth itself?"
The three emissaries looked at one another nervously.
"Well," I said with a fiendish whisper, "you got one thing right. I have been saving my mana this entire time. An amount..." I slowed down and reflected, "you'd not believe."
"Look, the Three Kingdoms are unified," the elf pleaded. "We have peace. Actual, proper peace. "Surely even you know what peace feels like? Surely you cherish it as much as we do?"
"There was a time I did not peace, no. And-"
**\*Crash\***
The door to the hall opened suddenly with a loud bang - the diplomats all jumped. The human, as if by miracle, produced two daggers in his hands and stood ready for a fight. The elf took a water-stance, prepared to cast disabling magic. The dwarf stood perfectly still. He only turned his head.
"Daddy!"
The diplomats stared with awe as a little girl in a frilly dress ran to me, paying no attention to the three weirdos in my hall, and hugged my legs tightly. I bent over and hugged her back. The sound of footsteps drew out combined attention to the door just as a beautiful woman, ashen hair and emanating elegance, walked in.
"I told you to wait for me Es," she said cheerfully. The little girl only giggled.
"Look what I found!" Es said proudly as showed me her newest treasure - her smile so wide you could see the gap in her teeth where her tooth fell out.
"Oh wow!" I said with amazement as I took the precious items from her tiny hands. "An acorn!"
"Isn't it pretty daddy?"
"It sure is pumpkin. What a pretty... wow..." I trailed off, eyes fixed on the beautiful acorn.
"Listen, Mel," I turned to the ashen haired woman, "I've got a bit of business to finish up here. Why don't you go wash up? I'll summon us some pasta."
She only smiled and kissed me on the cheek before grabbing the girl's hand and leaving.
The diplomats kept staring at them, as if expecting them to turn into monsters. The elf, ever vigilant and hawk-eyed, noticed the scar on the woman's chest. It was large, deep. A javelin.
And right above her heart.
The girl and the woman left the hall and I was once again alone with the trio.
"Really?" the human said with a mixture of condescension and surprise.
"Really," I said softly. "Centuries worth of mana. I needed it. Needed it to bring..." I couldn't bear to finish the words. "Well," I only said and smiled gently.
"Your kingdoms are safe," I said with renewed vigour. Though their looks remained uneasy, there was a palpable air of relief in the room.
I took my cloak off and laid it carefully on the dusty throne. Deep breath, in... and out. I stepped down from the throne and walked in the direction of my wife and daughter.
"There was a time I did not know peace," I said softly as I walked away from the emissaries.
"But now I do." | It is amazing what mortals can do when they have a common goal. In my youth I spent countless lives trying to save the word by making people between people, removing corrupt leaders, destroying evil cults, etc. . . but the world never moved from the precipice of disaster and there was always another evil to fight or another war bringing about its atrocities.
One day it struck me how odd it was to see groups that had been bitter enemies become stalwart allies in the face of a greater threat and how once that threat was gone they would often remain friends until something in either side manipulated them back towards being enemies.
I thought what if I was going about trying to save the world the wrong way, what if what was needed wasn't a removal of all threats but the introduction of a new threat that wasn't so easily removed.
So I set about making my great spell, it needed to not only touch every intelligent race but also be understood by all regardless of language or intelligence. It had to be understood on an instinctual level, it had to be absolute, and it had to be eternal. All spells fade with time unless they are maintained in some form, the two easiest methods are to tie the speel to your magic direcltly in which case it will constantly draw magic from you or to tie it to your lifeforce in which case it will burn years off your life to power itself. Any mage can disrupt and end a spell tied to magic with a simple magic suppression spell put between the source and spell but a spell powered by life-force requires the death of the caster to end. I had unknowingly solved this problem for myself when I made an immortality spell in part of my research.
As it turns out immortality isn't all that complicated of a spell and takes almost nothing to maintain, the hard part is the initial casting takes so much magic that no single being could cast it without burning out their magic in the process and thus killing themselves (I have a theory that this is actually the true origin of many a litch) but for whatever reason I am different. Instead of tapping into my own soul for magic as the normal mage does, I instead tap into the Astral wear souls form from the subconscious conglomerate of all living beings before they are bound into a newborn.
With this spell in place I developed a terrible spell that killed 10% of each of the races and forced the remaining ones to witness their deaths and share in their loved ones grief. The spell chose randomly giving no preference to age, wealth, health, social standing, or character and it repeated every year. The spell also made sure that every living creature knew who it was that cast the spell, that the spell could only be removed by my death, and that I wouldn't die due to old age or illness.
I then built a mighty fortress and shielded it from all forms of siege. In my fortress I made a grand hall lined with doors that are keyed to various races and will only open once all of the recognized leaders of the races attempts to open their door within a 24 hour time frame. They would all need to fight me if they were to have any hope of even getting to me and no one was spared nor did I negotiate | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | There was a time, long ago, when I truly knew happiness.
It was a simple time. I had yet to join the Arcanium. I was a simple farmer in Karan, the capital of the Andelian Empire. I had a wife and a child, another on the way in but a few months.
That all changed when... well suffice to say it changed. Distraught at my loss, I sought out the Arcanium and the potential to do what I could to bring... pain... to those who wronged me.
The initial testing was quick and easy, my proctors proclaimed I had a magnificent talent for magic. However that waned quickly as my studies commenced. It took months of frustration and further testing to determine that, while I have a limitless capacity for mana storage, my capacity for mana regeneration was the slowest they had ever seen among the magically inclined. I guess 34 years of farm life allowed me to build up quite a stockpile of mana, which I then quickly burned through in my classes.
Quite the conundrum. What to do with the slowest filling metaphorically bottomless bucket in history? You teach him theory. You limit practical applications. And in so doing you fail to teach him control.
I had no delusions of grandeur, I simply had my goal. To destroy the Bresonian raiders for taking everything from me. Then... maybe I could finally die.
After gaining my title I left the Arcanium. Moderately proficient in magical theory, but lacking practical experience and control. I joined Karan as a Blue Coat, explaining my particular situation to my commander I was assigned to desk duty, only to be pulled out in infrequent situations of drastic need. Allow me to regenerate a truly monstrous amount of mana then point me at a target before sending me back to desk duty to recharge, like some sort of cataclysmic cannon.
The first time I used magic since my teachers discovered my particular situation I burned an entire city of forty thousand people to ash. I remember the magic flowing through me, coalescing in a burning orb that outshone the sun. The next thing I remember is walking through the flattened glassed hilltop where forty thousand men, women, and children just lived. I felt nothing. I should have felt... something... right?
The next time I used magic was three months later. I sank an entire naval fleet, three hundred cavaliers and trading vessels in the port city of Kath, cutting off supplies and killing thousands of sailors and hundreds of civilians. I can still feel the wind on my face as the storm formed.
I have dozens of memories stored away, filled with uncountable numbers of people I killed.
Eventually the Bresonian raiders were wiped out. I was given a medal and a seat on the council of advisors directly to the king. More as a constant reminder to the other advisors of the power the king had at his fingertips than to actually advise anyone. But advise I did. I found that I had quite a head for political maneuvering. I pitted one noble family against another, ruining reputations and making allies when and where they were needed. Eventually I managed to convince the council to vote for war against the Elendian Empire to the south. For I had long ago learned the Bresonian raiders were funded and trained by the Elendian elves in guerilla tactics as a form of proxy war to weaken the Andelian empire.
My drive to bring pain to those who had wronged me plunged the entire continent into a war spanning hundreds of years. Elendian elves, Andelian humans, orcish nomads of the Hanebrian plains, dwarves from the Burstan mountain settlements, centaurs from the Arboreal Ocean, and even the merfolk of the Risen Reef were killed in the tens of thousands for in a war for my pain. And still I felt nothing.
It was in the midst of the 8th year of the war when I found it, what finally broke me. It was such a simple thing, finding the tattered doll clutched in the arms of a child, their eyes distant and vacant of any emotion, trying desperately to wake from the nightmare that was their existence. The doll was of cheap make, burlap clothing and rough spun wool filling. But, on the collar of the doll stitched in dull red thread, the name Elia. My daughters name. I remember looking at the child and truly comprehending that this, all of this pain and horror, was because of me. And so, a decade of emptiness was replaced with pain and horror at what I had done.
I left the war and went into seclusion. I transmuted a cabin deep in the Spine of the World and began a life as a hermit, slowly accumulating the mana I would need to cast the spell that would finally, finally stop the pain and emptiness, total and complete obliteration of myself and all of those who had been affected by my war and pain.
And here I sit, three hundred and forty seven years later, a mere four days and three hours away from accumulating enough mana to cast the spell that would destroy me... that would save me, and I am approached by Sorathen the elf queen of Elendia, King Rask of Andel, The Stonelord Malik, King and Queen of the Tides Deria and Shelind, Lord of the Herd Nelindor, and Hoard King Brelnask.
They have made peace, I've known this for some time, I'm not completely detached from the events of the world around me. I've also known they've been looking to find me, for they all know the longer I go without using my mana the more I have and the more dangerous I am.
I sit back in the rocking chair I made twenty years ago to replace the one I had made twenty years before that, the lines of time creasing on my face as I smile and wave them forward, transmuting on a whim the chairs needed for those who I knew would take them. A slight grimace passes my face as I readjust my internal clock, five days and seven hours now.
"Please, take a seat." I croak out, my voice hoarse with age and lack of use.
Hesitantly they approach, their eyes filled with suspicion and tightly controlled fear. I wonder who will speak first, humans are always more proud than they have any right to be, but the orcs of Hanebria are always so impatient.
"Good evening Khor Khalis." The elf queen intones in a respectful voice. Not my name... not anymore, I left that title behind when I left Andel, though when you are only known by a title meant to instill terror in others it's understandable that your real name will be lost to time.
"Please, call me by my real name, Morren. I haven't been the world breaker since I left Andel."
"Very well, Morren... " a slight pause, as if testing such a mundane name for one such as I, "... we have sought you out to.."
"To see if I still pose a threat. To see if you need worry one of your cities, or really at this point one of your countries, need fear it will be burned from existence?"
An uncomfortable silence, I've forgotten how delicate diplomats like to treat discussions such as these. Closing my eyes and waving a hand dismissively I'm shocked to hear the sound of gasps, weapons drawing, and wood striking dirt. Opening my eyes I see that my offhand gesture has startled them, each is standing in a defensive or aggressive stance, weapons or arcane might drawn forth waiting for the slightest provocation. I really have forgotten how to deal with diplomats.
"My apologies, though you should know that I need not make silly hand gestures should I want to remove you from my presence. Four hours. That's how much longer I would have to wait, should I decide to burn you all to ash on the spot. Conjuring the chairs already cost me a day and five hours, funny isn't it how much easier it is to destroy than create. But I digress, no I will not harm you and have no plans to harm anyone, at least not anyone here or now."
An unease silence fills the clearing where my cabin sits, the wood under my palms worn smooth from years of contemplation.
"You think we'll believe a simple statement like that?" A gruff voice barks, looking up I see The Ironlord, his axe hefted in both hands in an aggressive stance.
"No, but you will have to trust me. I will make no bindings to hold me to those words, bindings are complex and would set me back three more days and that is not a price I am willing to pay to satisfy your paranoia."
"I told you we couldn't trust him, we should have just killed him before he knew we were here." King Rask chimes in, his voice hot with aggression and impotent belief in his own abilities.
"I knew you were coming from the moment you set foot in my valley, you think I would live in seclusion for so long without wards and animi? No, Excellency, I have no desire to kill any of you, I have done enough killing in my life. My plans are simple, I will do what I can to pay for the horror I perpetrated in my youth. Those lives I stole cannot be brought back, trust me I have delved deep in lore from before even the Andelian empire existed and found naught but disappointment. But I have found a way to save them none-the-less."
**Part 1/2** | “So. You want me, of all people, to give up magic? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”
The one nicknamed The Immortal Mage was not amused. He had seen many silly things over his life- including the unification of all races. The man could not fathom why they thought that was a good idea, nor why they thought asking him to give up his livelihood was acceptable. He hasn’t even cast a spell in a couple thousand years!
“Now- we know it’s a tall order. But-” The harpy tried to negotiate.
“No buts! Tell me why.” He growled, glaring at the 5 other members in the council. The mage could detect their armies outside. The harpy cowered. Pitiful.
“You know why. Cursing entire races is cruel. We know you might be stuck in your old ways, mage, but we’re prepared to fight.” This time it was the wolverine that spoke. He remembers when their ancestors fell from the heavens. Now the Mage was wishing he had never done that because their species was annoying.
“Well this peace you’ve conjured is ridiculous! It won’t last very long- I’m only speeding up the process!”
The wolverine scowled at him, prepared to speak when the fae interjected. “It might last without your interference! Come on, man, accept the offer! We’ll give you anything you desire!”
“What I desire is the fall of kingdoms! A great tragedy for generations to come, to tell! I want a story.” They were all at their breaking point, he could tell. As the Mage was standing, the siren commanded him to stay. Damn fish. The Naga slithered around the rock they were using as a table and coiled around him, speaking.
“We can give you a story. Not a tragedy. Not a tragedy. The story of how we united. Yes. We can give you that. Yes we can.”
The Immortal Mage considered it, but when he tried to recall a story of peace, his mind came up blank. Only tragedies survived through history. He shook his head. The wolverine smirked.
“Fine. Not even a Mage as legendary as you can handle the wrath of all 5 races fighting for their lives.” The wolf started whistling- howling! What an ugly noise. Before the Mage could complain, though, he heard the stomping of a million feet and the beating of a thousand tiny wings. He sighed.
“Have it your way.” He cast the curse. Contrary to what many believed his spells weren’t grand nor were they big. He had no mana cap, sure, but he was not a flashy guy. In an instant, everyone stopped. The harpy gasped as its wings fell off and its talons melted into skin. The wolverine became nothing more than a beast in clothes, ripping into the fae beside it. The fae tried to fly away but found it couldn’t, for it had no wings. The siren tried to sing. The siren suffocated. The naga wanted to shift into its snake form and slither away but found it was cut off, stuck between the two forms.
And the Mage laughed, as kingdoms fell. This would surely be remembered for millennia. | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | They stood before me, their expressions mixed. The human looked at me with suspicion, his hand by his belt; I was sure he was hiding at least several knives. The dwarf, stoic as always, seemed prepared for the worst disappointment. Wise. The elf mustered enough manners to fake a smile. Nice of her.
"Cut to the chase," I started suddenly. "I don't have all day."
"Alright then," the human replied. Of course he'd be the cocky one. "Your reputation precedes you. We know what you can *do*. But we know that you haven't *done* anything in a *very* long time and we're..." he opened his mouth but failed to finish the sentence.
"Worried," the dwarf said. Efficient use of words - I liked that about dwarves.
"Ah," I said with a faint smile and tilted my head to the side. "You're worried about me making some sort of cataclysmic spell, aren't you? Something to turn the skies blood-red and upturn the earth itself?"
The three emissaries looked at one another nervously.
"Well," I said with a fiendish whisper, "you got one thing right. I have been saving my mana this entire time. An amount..." I slowed down and reflected, "you'd not believe."
"Look, the Three Kingdoms are unified," the elf pleaded. "We have peace. Actual, proper peace. "Surely even you know what peace feels like? Surely you cherish it as much as we do?"
"There was a time I did not peace, no. And-"
**\*Crash\***
The door to the hall opened suddenly with a loud bang - the diplomats all jumped. The human, as if by miracle, produced two daggers in his hands and stood ready for a fight. The elf took a water-stance, prepared to cast disabling magic. The dwarf stood perfectly still. He only turned his head.
"Daddy!"
The diplomats stared with awe as a little girl in a frilly dress ran to me, paying no attention to the three weirdos in my hall, and hugged my legs tightly. I bent over and hugged her back. The sound of footsteps drew out combined attention to the door just as a beautiful woman, ashen hair and emanating elegance, walked in.
"I told you to wait for me Es," she said cheerfully. The little girl only giggled.
"Look what I found!" Es said proudly as showed me her newest treasure - her smile so wide you could see the gap in her teeth where her tooth fell out.
"Oh wow!" I said with amazement as I took the precious items from her tiny hands. "An acorn!"
"Isn't it pretty daddy?"
"It sure is pumpkin. What a pretty... wow..." I trailed off, eyes fixed on the beautiful acorn.
"Listen, Mel," I turned to the ashen haired woman, "I've got a bit of business to finish up here. Why don't you go wash up? I'll summon us some pasta."
She only smiled and kissed me on the cheek before grabbing the girl's hand and leaving.
The diplomats kept staring at them, as if expecting them to turn into monsters. The elf, ever vigilant and hawk-eyed, noticed the scar on the woman's chest. It was large, deep. A javelin.
And right above her heart.
The girl and the woman left the hall and I was once again alone with the trio.
"Really?" the human said with a mixture of condescension and surprise.
"Really," I said softly. "Centuries worth of mana. I needed it. Needed it to bring..." I couldn't bear to finish the words. "Well," I only said and smiled gently.
"Your kingdoms are safe," I said with renewed vigour. Though their looks remained uneasy, there was a palpable air of relief in the room.
I took my cloak off and laid it carefully on the dusty throne. Deep breath, in... and out. I stepped down from the throne and walked in the direction of my wife and daughter.
"There was a time I did not know peace," I said softly as I walked away from the emissaries.
"But now I do." | “So. You want me, of all people, to give up magic? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”
The one nicknamed The Immortal Mage was not amused. He had seen many silly things over his life- including the unification of all races. The man could not fathom why they thought that was a good idea, nor why they thought asking him to give up his livelihood was acceptable. He hasn’t even cast a spell in a couple thousand years!
“Now- we know it’s a tall order. But-” The harpy tried to negotiate.
“No buts! Tell me why.” He growled, glaring at the 5 other members in the council. The mage could detect their armies outside. The harpy cowered. Pitiful.
“You know why. Cursing entire races is cruel. We know you might be stuck in your old ways, mage, but we’re prepared to fight.” This time it was the wolverine that spoke. He remembers when their ancestors fell from the heavens. Now the Mage was wishing he had never done that because their species was annoying.
“Well this peace you’ve conjured is ridiculous! It won’t last very long- I’m only speeding up the process!”
The wolverine scowled at him, prepared to speak when the fae interjected. “It might last without your interference! Come on, man, accept the offer! We’ll give you anything you desire!”
“What I desire is the fall of kingdoms! A great tragedy for generations to come, to tell! I want a story.” They were all at their breaking point, he could tell. As the Mage was standing, the siren commanded him to stay. Damn fish. The Naga slithered around the rock they were using as a table and coiled around him, speaking.
“We can give you a story. Not a tragedy. Not a tragedy. The story of how we united. Yes. We can give you that. Yes we can.”
The Immortal Mage considered it, but when he tried to recall a story of peace, his mind came up blank. Only tragedies survived through history. He shook his head. The wolverine smirked.
“Fine. Not even a Mage as legendary as you can handle the wrath of all 5 races fighting for their lives.” The wolf started whistling- howling! What an ugly noise. Before the Mage could complain, though, he heard the stomping of a million feet and the beating of a thousand tiny wings. He sighed.
“Have it your way.” He cast the curse. Contrary to what many believed his spells weren’t grand nor were they big. He had no mana cap, sure, but he was not a flashy guy. In an instant, everyone stopped. The harpy gasped as its wings fell off and its talons melted into skin. The wolverine became nothing more than a beast in clothes, ripping into the fae beside it. The fae tried to fly away but found it couldn’t, for it had no wings. The siren tried to sing. The siren suffocated. The naga wanted to shift into its snake form and slither away but found it was cut off, stuck between the two forms.
And the Mage laughed, as kingdoms fell. This would surely be remembered for millennia. | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | There was a time, long ago, when I truly knew happiness.
It was a simple time. I had yet to join the Arcanium. I was a simple farmer in Karan, the capital of the Andelian Empire. I had a wife and a child, another on the way in but a few months.
That all changed when... well suffice to say it changed. Distraught at my loss, I sought out the Arcanium and the potential to do what I could to bring... pain... to those who wronged me.
The initial testing was quick and easy, my proctors proclaimed I had a magnificent talent for magic. However that waned quickly as my studies commenced. It took months of frustration and further testing to determine that, while I have a limitless capacity for mana storage, my capacity for mana regeneration was the slowest they had ever seen among the magically inclined. I guess 34 years of farm life allowed me to build up quite a stockpile of mana, which I then quickly burned through in my classes.
Quite the conundrum. What to do with the slowest filling metaphorically bottomless bucket in history? You teach him theory. You limit practical applications. And in so doing you fail to teach him control.
I had no delusions of grandeur, I simply had my goal. To destroy the Bresonian raiders for taking everything from me. Then... maybe I could finally die.
After gaining my title I left the Arcanium. Moderately proficient in magical theory, but lacking practical experience and control. I joined Karan as a Blue Coat, explaining my particular situation to my commander I was assigned to desk duty, only to be pulled out in infrequent situations of drastic need. Allow me to regenerate a truly monstrous amount of mana then point me at a target before sending me back to desk duty to recharge, like some sort of cataclysmic cannon.
The first time I used magic since my teachers discovered my particular situation I burned an entire city of forty thousand people to ash. I remember the magic flowing through me, coalescing in a burning orb that outshone the sun. The next thing I remember is walking through the flattened glassed hilltop where forty thousand men, women, and children just lived. I felt nothing. I should have felt... something... right?
The next time I used magic was three months later. I sank an entire naval fleet, three hundred cavaliers and trading vessels in the port city of Kath, cutting off supplies and killing thousands of sailors and hundreds of civilians. I can still feel the wind on my face as the storm formed.
I have dozens of memories stored away, filled with uncountable numbers of people I killed.
Eventually the Bresonian raiders were wiped out. I was given a medal and a seat on the council of advisors directly to the king. More as a constant reminder to the other advisors of the power the king had at his fingertips than to actually advise anyone. But advise I did. I found that I had quite a head for political maneuvering. I pitted one noble family against another, ruining reputations and making allies when and where they were needed. Eventually I managed to convince the council to vote for war against the Elendian Empire to the south. For I had long ago learned the Bresonian raiders were funded and trained by the Elendian elves in guerilla tactics as a form of proxy war to weaken the Andelian empire.
My drive to bring pain to those who had wronged me plunged the entire continent into a war spanning hundreds of years. Elendian elves, Andelian humans, orcish nomads of the Hanebrian plains, dwarves from the Burstan mountain settlements, centaurs from the Arboreal Ocean, and even the merfolk of the Risen Reef were killed in the tens of thousands for in a war for my pain. And still I felt nothing.
It was in the midst of the 8th year of the war when I found it, what finally broke me. It was such a simple thing, finding the tattered doll clutched in the arms of a child, their eyes distant and vacant of any emotion, trying desperately to wake from the nightmare that was their existence. The doll was of cheap make, burlap clothing and rough spun wool filling. But, on the collar of the doll stitched in dull red thread, the name Elia. My daughters name. I remember looking at the child and truly comprehending that this, all of this pain and horror, was because of me. And so, a decade of emptiness was replaced with pain and horror at what I had done.
I left the war and went into seclusion. I transmuted a cabin deep in the Spine of the World and began a life as a hermit, slowly accumulating the mana I would need to cast the spell that would finally, finally stop the pain and emptiness, total and complete obliteration of myself and all of those who had been affected by my war and pain.
And here I sit, three hundred and forty seven years later, a mere four days and three hours away from accumulating enough mana to cast the spell that would destroy me... that would save me, and I am approached by Sorathen the elf queen of Elendia, King Rask of Andel, The Stonelord Malik, King and Queen of the Tides Deria and Shelind, Lord of the Herd Nelindor, and Hoard King Brelnask.
They have made peace, I've known this for some time, I'm not completely detached from the events of the world around me. I've also known they've been looking to find me, for they all know the longer I go without using my mana the more I have and the more dangerous I am.
I sit back in the rocking chair I made twenty years ago to replace the one I had made twenty years before that, the lines of time creasing on my face as I smile and wave them forward, transmuting on a whim the chairs needed for those who I knew would take them. A slight grimace passes my face as I readjust my internal clock, five days and seven hours now.
"Please, take a seat." I croak out, my voice hoarse with age and lack of use.
Hesitantly they approach, their eyes filled with suspicion and tightly controlled fear. I wonder who will speak first, humans are always more proud than they have any right to be, but the orcs of Hanebria are always so impatient.
"Good evening Khor Khalis." The elf queen intones in a respectful voice. Not my name... not anymore, I left that title behind when I left Andel, though when you are only known by a title meant to instill terror in others it's understandable that your real name will be lost to time.
"Please, call me by my real name, Morren. I haven't been the world breaker since I left Andel."
"Very well, Morren... " a slight pause, as if testing such a mundane name for one such as I, "... we have sought you out to.."
"To see if I still pose a threat. To see if you need worry one of your cities, or really at this point one of your countries, need fear it will be burned from existence?"
An uncomfortable silence, I've forgotten how delicate diplomats like to treat discussions such as these. Closing my eyes and waving a hand dismissively I'm shocked to hear the sound of gasps, weapons drawing, and wood striking dirt. Opening my eyes I see that my offhand gesture has startled them, each is standing in a defensive or aggressive stance, weapons or arcane might drawn forth waiting for the slightest provocation. I really have forgotten how to deal with diplomats.
"My apologies, though you should know that I need not make silly hand gestures should I want to remove you from my presence. Four hours. That's how much longer I would have to wait, should I decide to burn you all to ash on the spot. Conjuring the chairs already cost me a day and five hours, funny isn't it how much easier it is to destroy than create. But I digress, no I will not harm you and have no plans to harm anyone, at least not anyone here or now."
An unease silence fills the clearing where my cabin sits, the wood under my palms worn smooth from years of contemplation.
"You think we'll believe a simple statement like that?" A gruff voice barks, looking up I see The Ironlord, his axe hefted in both hands in an aggressive stance.
"No, but you will have to trust me. I will make no bindings to hold me to those words, bindings are complex and would set me back three more days and that is not a price I am willing to pay to satisfy your paranoia."
"I told you we couldn't trust him, we should have just killed him before he knew we were here." King Rask chimes in, his voice hot with aggression and impotent belief in his own abilities.
"I knew you were coming from the moment you set foot in my valley, you think I would live in seclusion for so long without wards and animi? No, Excellency, I have no desire to kill any of you, I have done enough killing in my life. My plans are simple, I will do what I can to pay for the horror I perpetrated in my youth. Those lives I stole cannot be brought back, trust me I have delved deep in lore from before even the Andelian empire existed and found naught but disappointment. But I have found a way to save them none-the-less."
**Part 1/2** | Tap. Tap. Tap.
My cane shook violently as it struggle to find purchase with each step I took. My breath ragged, for my lungs were too weak to keep my body filled with oxygen. My muscles aches and yearned for repose with each motion I made. I wheezed and gasped, coughing wickedly as I made my way to the grand hall. I struggled merely to draw a simple hand mirror from my pocket, my body hardly obeying my commands.
I despised the face which looked back at me in that simple reflection. I was but a pale shell of a man with desiccated features, sullen face, gaunt form, bloodshot eyes, and black veins.
My body cried out with tormented anguish in its hunger. I needed mana and soon. The Academy had taken away all my funding, I had no resources which to acquire a source.
The fools, this hearing would fix that, however. I would show them the use of my research and what they were discarding if they did not acknowledge the potential my plans offered.
I hobble into the grand council, shakily kneeling before the procession. All the council heads looked down upon me with scrutinizing eyes. Uniform were their outfits, except for the Archmagus. He was revered yet he had not used his magic in centuries, pitiful.
Magi Oliph spoke, “You are here today for your experiments at this Academy has been of the eccentric and dangerous manner. This council today will determine whether you are fit to continue research at the Academy or not. Mage, you may make your plea.”
I felt a strange sensation in the air. I couldn’t quite place it, but I yearned to learn what it was. Thoughts of mana filled my head, I desired it more by the second, I hungered. I struggled to compose myself, coughing up blood as I spoke, “Th..thank you, M-Magi,” cough “For so long mana has been a slow r-resource.” cough cough “It builds up over time before a release, but no longer. The Archmagus has waited centuries since he used his magic last. Such patience is not a virtue, it is waste.”
As I spoke I felt vitality begin to fill my lungs. Mana? How? I looked down and noticed color returning to my skin. My eyes widened in surprise, but I continued, “I offer a new solution, one where magic can be used freely, but it requires an external source of mana rather than an internal one. At present, that price is at times costly, though it is merely in its developmental stages, with time I assure you this can be corrected and-”
Magi Oliph cut me off, “It is much too costly, not to mention the variety of other side effects. You have drained dry many of the Academy’s precious artifacts in order to fuel this external need for mana. You are ruining your health and anyone else who attempts this same foolishness will not prosper, but suffer. You have gone too far. I admire your ambition, mage, but this project is simply too dangerous for you to continue.”
“No!” I yelled, my lungs filled with vigor. I could taste it now. The mana. It was all around me, it was a pulsing sensation, powerful. I thought it was consistent throughout the room but as I walked closer to the council I felt the magic growing more powerful. It had an epicenter: the Archmagus.
Oliph continued, “Perhaps you can regain your privileges once you have proven that your experiments will not harm, but for now, this is for the best.”
I eyed the Archmagus hungrily. All that mana stored for centuries. He wasn’t using it, might as well go towards some greater good. I bowed my head, echoing Oliph’s words, “For the best. It was an honor working with each of you.”
I shook each of their hands in turn, my hunger and anticipation building as I drew closer to the Archmagus. Finally, he offered his hand which I seized with an eager fervor. The moment my hand grasped his, I began siphoning his mana through my veins.
Yes! He had so much mana it was oozing out of every pore, so much life, so much vitality. My veins turned from black to a bright gold as mana glowed from within. My lungs repaired, my body no longer screaming in pain. My thoughts were clear, I felt whole again.
More and more I drew from him, siphoning deeper into that endless well of mana that his body had collected for so long. What had taken him ages to obtain, I would take within mere seconds.
The entire council procession was in complete shock, I expected little else. The future of magic was standing right before their very eyes. I looked into the Archmagus’ eyes, seeing my own reflection. I was beautiful.
My body was practically glowing from the mana I had obtained, my hair had a lustrous seen, my irises golden, misty blue wisps exhaled from my mouth as I breathed in vitality. But in their eyes, I not only saw my own reflection but the Archmagus’ expression. He merely smirked, and my body began to shake.
First, it was ecstasy, pure ecstasy as I drank more and more. What divine nectar mana is! The fools, I usher in a new era of magic! But in my ecstasy, I failed to notice at first how violently my body was shaking. I felt a convulsing in my lungs before I coughed out blood.
No! I looked at the Archmagus with utter horror. He shook his head, “Mages were not meant to draw so much mana at once. It is a practice that takes patience and discipline, developing the fortitude to contain the necessary mana which one acquires by waiting centuries. You have not that fortitude.”
I scowled at him. I must have it, perhaps I just needed more to repair my lungs. Cough! More blood. Gah! My body convulsed with increasing vigor. I gasped as I felt a sensation pushing from within. The mana wanted to escape my body. I strained to contain it, but it felt so foreign. I did not know how to appease it.
My hand could not let go of the Archmagus as I felt the building force within me. Growing and growing, bleeding and convulsing was all else my body felt. The pressure within me reached its zenith, and I knew I would not survive what happens next. I was so close…. | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | They stood before me, their expressions mixed. The human looked at me with suspicion, his hand by his belt; I was sure he was hiding at least several knives. The dwarf, stoic as always, seemed prepared for the worst disappointment. Wise. The elf mustered enough manners to fake a smile. Nice of her.
"Cut to the chase," I started suddenly. "I don't have all day."
"Alright then," the human replied. Of course he'd be the cocky one. "Your reputation precedes you. We know what you can *do*. But we know that you haven't *done* anything in a *very* long time and we're..." he opened his mouth but failed to finish the sentence.
"Worried," the dwarf said. Efficient use of words - I liked that about dwarves.
"Ah," I said with a faint smile and tilted my head to the side. "You're worried about me making some sort of cataclysmic spell, aren't you? Something to turn the skies blood-red and upturn the earth itself?"
The three emissaries looked at one another nervously.
"Well," I said with a fiendish whisper, "you got one thing right. I have been saving my mana this entire time. An amount..." I slowed down and reflected, "you'd not believe."
"Look, the Three Kingdoms are unified," the elf pleaded. "We have peace. Actual, proper peace. "Surely even you know what peace feels like? Surely you cherish it as much as we do?"
"There was a time I did not peace, no. And-"
**\*Crash\***
The door to the hall opened suddenly with a loud bang - the diplomats all jumped. The human, as if by miracle, produced two daggers in his hands and stood ready for a fight. The elf took a water-stance, prepared to cast disabling magic. The dwarf stood perfectly still. He only turned his head.
"Daddy!"
The diplomats stared with awe as a little girl in a frilly dress ran to me, paying no attention to the three weirdos in my hall, and hugged my legs tightly. I bent over and hugged her back. The sound of footsteps drew out combined attention to the door just as a beautiful woman, ashen hair and emanating elegance, walked in.
"I told you to wait for me Es," she said cheerfully. The little girl only giggled.
"Look what I found!" Es said proudly as showed me her newest treasure - her smile so wide you could see the gap in her teeth where her tooth fell out.
"Oh wow!" I said with amazement as I took the precious items from her tiny hands. "An acorn!"
"Isn't it pretty daddy?"
"It sure is pumpkin. What a pretty... wow..." I trailed off, eyes fixed on the beautiful acorn.
"Listen, Mel," I turned to the ashen haired woman, "I've got a bit of business to finish up here. Why don't you go wash up? I'll summon us some pasta."
She only smiled and kissed me on the cheek before grabbing the girl's hand and leaving.
The diplomats kept staring at them, as if expecting them to turn into monsters. The elf, ever vigilant and hawk-eyed, noticed the scar on the woman's chest. It was large, deep. A javelin.
And right above her heart.
The girl and the woman left the hall and I was once again alone with the trio.
"Really?" the human said with a mixture of condescension and surprise.
"Really," I said softly. "Centuries worth of mana. I needed it. Needed it to bring..." I couldn't bear to finish the words. "Well," I only said and smiled gently.
"Your kingdoms are safe," I said with renewed vigour. Though their looks remained uneasy, there was a palpable air of relief in the room.
I took my cloak off and laid it carefully on the dusty throne. Deep breath, in... and out. I stepped down from the throne and walked in the direction of my wife and daughter.
"There was a time I did not know peace," I said softly as I walked away from the emissaries.
"But now I do." | Tap. Tap. Tap.
My cane shook violently as it struggle to find purchase with each step I took. My breath ragged, for my lungs were too weak to keep my body filled with oxygen. My muscles aches and yearned for repose with each motion I made. I wheezed and gasped, coughing wickedly as I made my way to the grand hall. I struggled merely to draw a simple hand mirror from my pocket, my body hardly obeying my commands.
I despised the face which looked back at me in that simple reflection. I was but a pale shell of a man with desiccated features, sullen face, gaunt form, bloodshot eyes, and black veins.
My body cried out with tormented anguish in its hunger. I needed mana and soon. The Academy had taken away all my funding, I had no resources which to acquire a source.
The fools, this hearing would fix that, however. I would show them the use of my research and what they were discarding if they did not acknowledge the potential my plans offered.
I hobble into the grand council, shakily kneeling before the procession. All the council heads looked down upon me with scrutinizing eyes. Uniform were their outfits, except for the Archmagus. He was revered yet he had not used his magic in centuries, pitiful.
Magi Oliph spoke, “You are here today for your experiments at this Academy has been of the eccentric and dangerous manner. This council today will determine whether you are fit to continue research at the Academy or not. Mage, you may make your plea.”
I felt a strange sensation in the air. I couldn’t quite place it, but I yearned to learn what it was. Thoughts of mana filled my head, I desired it more by the second, I hungered. I struggled to compose myself, coughing up blood as I spoke, “Th..thank you, M-Magi,” cough “For so long mana has been a slow r-resource.” cough cough “It builds up over time before a release, but no longer. The Archmagus has waited centuries since he used his magic last. Such patience is not a virtue, it is waste.”
As I spoke I felt vitality begin to fill my lungs. Mana? How? I looked down and noticed color returning to my skin. My eyes widened in surprise, but I continued, “I offer a new solution, one where magic can be used freely, but it requires an external source of mana rather than an internal one. At present, that price is at times costly, though it is merely in its developmental stages, with time I assure you this can be corrected and-”
Magi Oliph cut me off, “It is much too costly, not to mention the variety of other side effects. You have drained dry many of the Academy’s precious artifacts in order to fuel this external need for mana. You are ruining your health and anyone else who attempts this same foolishness will not prosper, but suffer. You have gone too far. I admire your ambition, mage, but this project is simply too dangerous for you to continue.”
“No!” I yelled, my lungs filled with vigor. I could taste it now. The mana. It was all around me, it was a pulsing sensation, powerful. I thought it was consistent throughout the room but as I walked closer to the council I felt the magic growing more powerful. It had an epicenter: the Archmagus.
Oliph continued, “Perhaps you can regain your privileges once you have proven that your experiments will not harm, but for now, this is for the best.”
I eyed the Archmagus hungrily. All that mana stored for centuries. He wasn’t using it, might as well go towards some greater good. I bowed my head, echoing Oliph’s words, “For the best. It was an honor working with each of you.”
I shook each of their hands in turn, my hunger and anticipation building as I drew closer to the Archmagus. Finally, he offered his hand which I seized with an eager fervor. The moment my hand grasped his, I began siphoning his mana through my veins.
Yes! He had so much mana it was oozing out of every pore, so much life, so much vitality. My veins turned from black to a bright gold as mana glowed from within. My lungs repaired, my body no longer screaming in pain. My thoughts were clear, I felt whole again.
More and more I drew from him, siphoning deeper into that endless well of mana that his body had collected for so long. What had taken him ages to obtain, I would take within mere seconds.
The entire council procession was in complete shock, I expected little else. The future of magic was standing right before their very eyes. I looked into the Archmagus’ eyes, seeing my own reflection. I was beautiful.
My body was practically glowing from the mana I had obtained, my hair had a lustrous seen, my irises golden, misty blue wisps exhaled from my mouth as I breathed in vitality. But in their eyes, I not only saw my own reflection but the Archmagus’ expression. He merely smirked, and my body began to shake.
First, it was ecstasy, pure ecstasy as I drank more and more. What divine nectar mana is! The fools, I usher in a new era of magic! But in my ecstasy, I failed to notice at first how violently my body was shaking. I felt a convulsing in my lungs before I coughed out blood.
No! I looked at the Archmagus with utter horror. He shook his head, “Mages were not meant to draw so much mana at once. It is a practice that takes patience and discipline, developing the fortitude to contain the necessary mana which one acquires by waiting centuries. You have not that fortitude.”
I scowled at him. I must have it, perhaps I just needed more to repair my lungs. Cough! More blood. Gah! My body convulsed with increasing vigor. I gasped as I felt a sensation pushing from within. The mana wanted to escape my body. I strained to contain it, but it felt so foreign. I did not know how to appease it.
My hand could not let go of the Archmagus as I felt the building force within me. Growing and growing, bleeding and convulsing was all else my body felt. The pressure within me reached its zenith, and I knew I would not survive what happens next. I was so close…. | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | " To whom it may concern, we've noticed that it's been a very long time since we've heard from you, and up until a few years ago we had assumed you were dead. It seems we were wrong, as some of greatest wizards noticed a large collection of magic had accumulated on our far off coastlines."
"Knowing your reputation, which I'm sure you'll be glad to hear. Has been taught in our history books for centuries on end. People were taught to fear the name Korok, as you had wished. More importantly, we've grown rather fond of your absence, not to be upsetting, but you've caused this world much pain.
In your absence, the world has become a much different place, the Centaurs of the west have their own place in our government, the fairies of the east have become much less neurotic. Even the Orcs of the north have had their renaissance. We're all doing very well for ourselves, and we've been looking forward to speaking with you about peace talks." - Sincerely, The United Emissaries of Prul.
\*Looking over the gold leafed letter\*
" I thought by now they've noticed what I've done for them, I've made plentiful their land, I gave understanding to their less evolved races, I fixed what I had broken, surely they got my apologies, I sent their messenger back with details of my enlightenment, did they simply forget?"
As it turns out, the messenger in question, had stumbled upon a group of bandits, who were all too happy to kill the man, and take the gold and food Korok had sent with him, as penance for his crimes. Unfortunately none of them knew how to read the letter, which was thrown out.
" I guess I could stop by the capitol, it's been awhile since I've been selfish, and loneliness has befallen me. But how could they ever believe me? Do they have a choice? And what if my worse fears come true, and this bomb of energy I've been unable to use for the last century finally goes off? It's a risk I shouldn't take, but I long to see the fruits of my labor.
**That's all I've got for now, I know it's a big leadup with no payoff, but I haven't written in a long time. I was bored, and I'm sure I've littered this post with bad punctuation. I just have a really hard time focusing anymore. Maybe I'll try to expand on this at some point.** | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 5: Archmagus LeFey v.s. The Sunrise King)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The last time the Sunrise King had cast a spell, he had raised a second sun over his kingdom.** The immortal mage had seemed content enough to sit on his laurels for a century or three after that, ruling over the Sunrise Kingdom and rolling in riches, the ever-burning second sun a reminder of his immortality and power. And if that was all he had done, perhaps the citizens he ruled over would have let him be.
But the Sunrise King had ambitions greater than lording over a single kingdom. He drained the wealth of his citizens, raised great armies to expand his kingdom, and on the eve of the day he was to send them out, some people had enough.
On the day the Sunrise King was to dawn over the world, three people stood in his way.
The Sunrise King wore a robe of darkest crimson, the eternal dawn that he had wrought shining like a halo above his head. Opposite him, resolutely glaring at the red-burning light, stood an old man, a woman, and a child.
"I have business to attend to," the Sunrise King finally said. "Move or be moved."
"We have grievances," the old man countered. "Grievances with the nation that you have built. We will not allow you to spread that rule across the globe."
The Sunrise King began walking forwards, as inevitable as the coming of dawn. "Make your case. You have until I reach you."
"*You killed my daughter,*" the woman suddenly hissed.
The old man turned to her, startled. "Junko, we agreed—"
"Screw negotiation, LeFey." Junko stormed towards the Sunrise King. "*You killed my daughter,* you callous freak."
The Sunrise King never slowed. "The light of the sun has turned forests into deserts—yet without it, the world would go dark. Casualties are inevitable in any competent rule."
"Competent?" Junko leapt at the Sunrise King—
Fast as the break of dawn, the Sunrise King caught her arm and hurled her back.
Luckily for her, Archmagus LeFey was already casting. "*Inertia Null,*" he snapped, letting Junko halt in mid-air. The Sunrise King kept walking—right up until LeFey held out a hand.
The Sunrise King tilted his head. "Archmagus," he said, a note of respect in his voice. "You cast well, for your age. But you are no match for the rising sun. I would hate to extinguish your craft from the world. Step aside."
Archmagus LeFey simply closed his eyes, then opened them again. "You have gone too far, Ikani." The Sunrise King raised an eyebrow as LeFey invoked a name he hadn't heard in years. So the rebel had done his research, at the very least. "I am sorry that it had to come to this."
"For every sunset, there is a sunrise," the Sunrise King agreed.
Then the two archmages met in light and fury.
"*Time Stop,*" Archmagus LeFey snapped. "*Astero's Atmospheric Barrier. Bubblebreath. Thousandfold Thoughts. Limited True Omniscience. Searing Heat. Barrier of—*"
"Did you think to stop time?" The archmagus *flinched* as the Sunrise King, unaffected, stepped *forwards* through the frozen world, through air that by all rights should have been as immovable as mountains, his red-billowing cloak impossibly still trailing behind him. "I am the *Sunrise King*. I move at the speed of dawn. You cannot slow light itself." The Sunrise King narrowed his eyes, realizing that the archmage was *still casting*. "Now *Burn*."
The single word rang with power—a basic spell, a simple wish, but one turbocharged with centuries of carefully hoarded mana. But LeFey had seen the spell coming even as the Sunrise King was still speaking, and a thousand tiny calculations played out in an instant. Negate it? No, it was impossible to fight against the Sunrise King power-for-power. Dodge it? Junko and the kid were still in the area—they'd get obliterated if he fled. Move the bystanders? He could, but it'd spend the few precious *Greater Teleport* spells he had prepared.
Move the attack?
Ah. There it was.
"*Spell Modification: Infinitesimal Casting. Greater Teleport, Destination: Nowhere.*" LeFey cast the two spells in quick succession—his inhumanly quick mind, boosted by the greatest magic he could conjure, targeted the motes of superheated gas as they arced towards him and yanked them out of existence, particle by particle. The Sunrise King wasn't standing still while LeFey was negating his opening strike, however.
"*Shine.*" Once more, the spell was simple. Once more, the spell was deadly. Sheer, pure radiance, moving at the speed of light, obliterated the first two layers of defense LeFey had set up and hammered away at the third. Even as his magics burned, LeFey quested out with his mind to sense his companions—luckily, the Sunrise King had chosen a focused beam, and none of it had struck them.
It was clear that LeFey was not a match for the Sunrise King on his own.
Fortunately, LeFey didn't have to be alone.
"*Spell Modification: Infinite Iteration. Perfect Matter Duplication.*" LeFey cast, targeting himself, and a geyser of LeFeys burst outwards, soaring into the sky, taking bystanders to safety—and firing every spell in the book at the Sunrise King.
"*Tsunami Strike.*"
"*Gale-Force Hurricane.*"
"*Volcanic Eruption.*"
"*Meteor Swarm.*"
Elemental devastation lashed out at the Sunrise King—water, wind, fire, earth—but they rippled through the Sunrise King like they were pebbles in a lake. The Sunrise King laughed.
"You seek to use the wrath of Earth on me? *I AM THE SUN. I AM BEYOND YOUR MORTAL WEAPONS.*" The Sunrise King began to levitate, and impossibly, the sun rose *with* him.
LeFey scowled. Then it was time. The greatest, most terrible spell he had ever known. The end of everything in fire and light. He held up a hand and spoke five words.
"*Wrath of a Trillion Stars.*"
Even the Sunrise King flinched as beams of starlight, astral radiance, unearthly, heavenly, pure, struck him from every angle, hot enough to melt stone into air and air into nothing, and LeFey watched grimly as the devastation reached a crescendo—
—and then winked out, like the first stars before dawn.
LeFey took a step back, horrified, as the Sunrise King wrestled with the stars—and *outshone* them. Because of course he would. That was what the sun did every day.
And he was the rising sun.
Licking his lips as if he'd just swallowed a full meal, the Sunrise King gave LeFey a satisfied look.
"Thank you for the challenge, young mage." The clones of LeFey desperately hurled all the mana they had left at the Sunrise King, but to no effect. "It has been an age and a half since I have had to exert myself so."
He settled down, landing on the blistered, vaporized ground, and dusted himself off, ignoring the spells still slinging his way. "But every dawn has a dusk. And I am afraid that you, too, must *Sunset.*"
LeFey's eyes widened as the spell sank into him, and though he fought it with every fiber of his being, it was as futile as lifting the stars. As his mind went dark and he lost consciousness, one thought still glimmered in his mind.
At least he'd saved his companions.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | They stood before me, their expressions mixed. The human looked at me with suspicion, his hand by his belt; I was sure he was hiding at least several knives. The dwarf, stoic as always, seemed prepared for the worst disappointment. Wise. The elf mustered enough manners to fake a smile. Nice of her.
"Cut to the chase," I started suddenly. "I don't have all day."
"Alright then," the human replied. Of course he'd be the cocky one. "Your reputation precedes you. We know what you can *do*. But we know that you haven't *done* anything in a *very* long time and we're..." he opened his mouth but failed to finish the sentence.
"Worried," the dwarf said. Efficient use of words - I liked that about dwarves.
"Ah," I said with a faint smile and tilted my head to the side. "You're worried about me making some sort of cataclysmic spell, aren't you? Something to turn the skies blood-red and upturn the earth itself?"
The three emissaries looked at one another nervously.
"Well," I said with a fiendish whisper, "you got one thing right. I have been saving my mana this entire time. An amount..." I slowed down and reflected, "you'd not believe."
"Look, the Three Kingdoms are unified," the elf pleaded. "We have peace. Actual, proper peace. "Surely even you know what peace feels like? Surely you cherish it as much as we do?"
"There was a time I did not peace, no. And-"
**\*Crash\***
The door to the hall opened suddenly with a loud bang - the diplomats all jumped. The human, as if by miracle, produced two daggers in his hands and stood ready for a fight. The elf took a water-stance, prepared to cast disabling magic. The dwarf stood perfectly still. He only turned his head.
"Daddy!"
The diplomats stared with awe as a little girl in a frilly dress ran to me, paying no attention to the three weirdos in my hall, and hugged my legs tightly. I bent over and hugged her back. The sound of footsteps drew out combined attention to the door just as a beautiful woman, ashen hair and emanating elegance, walked in.
"I told you to wait for me Es," she said cheerfully. The little girl only giggled.
"Look what I found!" Es said proudly as showed me her newest treasure - her smile so wide you could see the gap in her teeth where her tooth fell out.
"Oh wow!" I said with amazement as I took the precious items from her tiny hands. "An acorn!"
"Isn't it pretty daddy?"
"It sure is pumpkin. What a pretty... wow..." I trailed off, eyes fixed on the beautiful acorn.
"Listen, Mel," I turned to the ashen haired woman, "I've got a bit of business to finish up here. Why don't you go wash up? I'll summon us some pasta."
She only smiled and kissed me on the cheek before grabbing the girl's hand and leaving.
The diplomats kept staring at them, as if expecting them to turn into monsters. The elf, ever vigilant and hawk-eyed, noticed the scar on the woman's chest. It was large, deep. A javelin.
And right above her heart.
The girl and the woman left the hall and I was once again alone with the trio.
"Really?" the human said with a mixture of condescension and surprise.
"Really," I said softly. "Centuries worth of mana. I needed it. Needed it to bring..." I couldn't bear to finish the words. "Well," I only said and smiled gently.
"Your kingdoms are safe," I said with renewed vigour. Though their looks remained uneasy, there was a palpable air of relief in the room.
I took my cloak off and laid it carefully on the dusty throne. Deep breath, in... and out. I stepped down from the throne and walked in the direction of my wife and daughter.
"There was a time I did not know peace," I said softly as I walked away from the emissaries.
"But now I do." | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 5: Archmagus LeFey v.s. The Sunrise King)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The last time the Sunrise King had cast a spell, he had raised a second sun over his kingdom.** The immortal mage had seemed content enough to sit on his laurels for a century or three after that, ruling over the Sunrise Kingdom and rolling in riches, the ever-burning second sun a reminder of his immortality and power. And if that was all he had done, perhaps the citizens he ruled over would have let him be.
But the Sunrise King had ambitions greater than lording over a single kingdom. He drained the wealth of his citizens, raised great armies to expand his kingdom, and on the eve of the day he was to send them out, some people had enough.
On the day the Sunrise King was to dawn over the world, three people stood in his way.
The Sunrise King wore a robe of darkest crimson, the eternal dawn that he had wrought shining like a halo above his head. Opposite him, resolutely glaring at the red-burning light, stood an old man, a woman, and a child.
"I have business to attend to," the Sunrise King finally said. "Move or be moved."
"We have grievances," the old man countered. "Grievances with the nation that you have built. We will not allow you to spread that rule across the globe."
The Sunrise King began walking forwards, as inevitable as the coming of dawn. "Make your case. You have until I reach you."
"*You killed my daughter,*" the woman suddenly hissed.
The old man turned to her, startled. "Junko, we agreed—"
"Screw negotiation, LeFey." Junko stormed towards the Sunrise King. "*You killed my daughter,* you callous freak."
The Sunrise King never slowed. "The light of the sun has turned forests into deserts—yet without it, the world would go dark. Casualties are inevitable in any competent rule."
"Competent?" Junko leapt at the Sunrise King—
Fast as the break of dawn, the Sunrise King caught her arm and hurled her back.
Luckily for her, Archmagus LeFey was already casting. "*Inertia Null,*" he snapped, letting Junko halt in mid-air. The Sunrise King kept walking—right up until LeFey held out a hand.
The Sunrise King tilted his head. "Archmagus," he said, a note of respect in his voice. "You cast well, for your age. But you are no match for the rising sun. I would hate to extinguish your craft from the world. Step aside."
Archmagus LeFey simply closed his eyes, then opened them again. "You have gone too far, Ikani." The Sunrise King raised an eyebrow as LeFey invoked a name he hadn't heard in years. So the rebel had done his research, at the very least. "I am sorry that it had to come to this."
"For every sunset, there is a sunrise," the Sunrise King agreed.
Then the two archmages met in light and fury.
"*Time Stop,*" Archmagus LeFey snapped. "*Astero's Atmospheric Barrier. Bubblebreath. Thousandfold Thoughts. Limited True Omniscience. Searing Heat. Barrier of—*"
"Did you think to stop time?" The archmagus *flinched* as the Sunrise King, unaffected, stepped *forwards* through the frozen world, through air that by all rights should have been as immovable as mountains, his red-billowing cloak impossibly still trailing behind him. "I am the *Sunrise King*. I move at the speed of dawn. You cannot slow light itself." The Sunrise King narrowed his eyes, realizing that the archmage was *still casting*. "Now *Burn*."
The single word rang with power—a basic spell, a simple wish, but one turbocharged with centuries of carefully hoarded mana. But LeFey had seen the spell coming even as the Sunrise King was still speaking, and a thousand tiny calculations played out in an instant. Negate it? No, it was impossible to fight against the Sunrise King power-for-power. Dodge it? Junko and the kid were still in the area—they'd get obliterated if he fled. Move the bystanders? He could, but it'd spend the few precious *Greater Teleport* spells he had prepared.
Move the attack?
Ah. There it was.
"*Spell Modification: Infinitesimal Casting. Greater Teleport, Destination: Nowhere.*" LeFey cast the two spells in quick succession—his inhumanly quick mind, boosted by the greatest magic he could conjure, targeted the motes of superheated gas as they arced towards him and yanked them out of existence, particle by particle. The Sunrise King wasn't standing still while LeFey was negating his opening strike, however.
"*Shine.*" Once more, the spell was simple. Once more, the spell was deadly. Sheer, pure radiance, moving at the speed of light, obliterated the first two layers of defense LeFey had set up and hammered away at the third. Even as his magics burned, LeFey quested out with his mind to sense his companions—luckily, the Sunrise King had chosen a focused beam, and none of it had struck them.
It was clear that LeFey was not a match for the Sunrise King on his own.
Fortunately, LeFey didn't have to be alone.
"*Spell Modification: Infinite Iteration. Perfect Matter Duplication.*" LeFey cast, targeting himself, and a geyser of LeFeys burst outwards, soaring into the sky, taking bystanders to safety—and firing every spell in the book at the Sunrise King.
"*Tsunami Strike.*"
"*Gale-Force Hurricane.*"
"*Volcanic Eruption.*"
"*Meteor Swarm.*"
Elemental devastation lashed out at the Sunrise King—water, wind, fire, earth—but they rippled through the Sunrise King like they were pebbles in a lake. The Sunrise King laughed.
"You seek to use the wrath of Earth on me? *I AM THE SUN. I AM BEYOND YOUR MORTAL WEAPONS.*" The Sunrise King began to levitate, and impossibly, the sun rose *with* him.
LeFey scowled. Then it was time. The greatest, most terrible spell he had ever known. The end of everything in fire and light. He held up a hand and spoke five words.
"*Wrath of a Trillion Stars.*"
Even the Sunrise King flinched as beams of starlight, astral radiance, unearthly, heavenly, pure, struck him from every angle, hot enough to melt stone into air and air into nothing, and LeFey watched grimly as the devastation reached a crescendo—
—and then winked out, like the first stars before dawn.
LeFey took a step back, horrified, as the Sunrise King wrestled with the stars—and *outshone* them. Because of course he would. That was what the sun did every day.
And he was the rising sun.
Licking his lips as if he'd just swallowed a full meal, the Sunrise King gave LeFey a satisfied look.
"Thank you for the challenge, young mage." The clones of LeFey desperately hurled all the mana they had left at the Sunrise King, but to no effect. "It has been an age and a half since I have had to exert myself so."
He settled down, landing on the blistered, vaporized ground, and dusted himself off, ignoring the spells still slinging his way. "But every dawn has a dusk. And I am afraid that you, too, must *Sunset.*"
LeFey's eyes widened as the spell sank into him, and though he fought it with every fiber of his being, it was as futile as lifting the stars. As his mind went dark and he lost consciousness, one thought still glimmered in his mind.
At least he'd saved his companions.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | I woke up and found an entire army at my doorstep.
That hadn't happened in millennia. It appeared to be a coalition of sorts, with thousands of humans, elves, dragons, and dwarves all setting a defensive perimeter around my tower. I couldn't help but chuckle. Did they do all this to intimidate me?
If that was the case, then it had been a complete failure on their part. Every soldier seemed terrified to be here. The only thing this coalition accomplished was communicate how weak their nations were.
Thousands of crossbows and ballistas were aimed at me as soon as I walked out of my tower. They couldn't really kill me, unless I let them, but I was still taken aback by their numbers. They were really serious about this. How cute.
I raised my hand to wave 'hello' and the entire army collectively winced. Some of them even ran away, screaming in terror. They thought I was about to cast a spell.
"Halt, demon-king!" commanded a female elf, riding towards me atop a white horse. She wore a golden crown and held herself with the composure of a snooty aristocrat. "The might of the entire world surrounds you!"
I rolled my eyes. Her self-important tone felt more annoying than the literal army behind her.
Other people galloped alongside her. A dragon, a dwarf, and a human. Each appeared to be the leader of their respective nations.
I made a graceful bow when they were within ear-shot and said:
"The entire world? How terrifying. Pray tell, what have I done to earn your ire?"
"You're a menace to our peace!" shouted the dwarvish king.
I arched an eyebrow.
The dwarf pursed his lips, cringing. "Respectfully, of course."
"Of course."
"Don't cower!" said the elvish queen, glaring at the dwarf. "We went over this!"
"He can incinerate everyone with a thought..."
"Y-yeah," said the human king. "We're here on a diplomatic mission. Let's not immediately antagonize him."
The elvish queen scoffed. "No, this man is a monster and deserves to be treated as such."
"Is this about the whole Demon King thing?" I asked, well aware of the answer.
"Yes," said the queen. "We can't tolerate your existence, knowing your past."
"Oh come on, that was over a thousand years ago. I was going through an edgelord phase. It happens, and I'm not exactly proud of it."
The queen scoffed.
"Our point is," said the dragon king, "that you've been allowed free reign in this land for far too long, playing our nations against each other to keep us busy. That won't happen anymore. We're finally unified. If you wish to keep living in peace, you'll have to pay tribute to us."
I laughed in their faces. "You want to tax me? That's it?"
"Yes!" they all said in unison.
"And what if I say no?"
"You'll be the enemy of the entire world" said the queen. "We shall siege your tower and wage war for as long as necessary. You were beaten once, and we shall do it again."
"An interesting proposition, yes. You're overlooking one detail, though."
"Which is?"
I narrowed my eyes. "That I'm stronger than before, by several magnitudes..."
All the rulers widened their eyes, growing stiff.
"...But war is annoying. I'm not interested in fighting all of you. How much gold do you want?"
The elvish queen squinted. "That's it? No catch?"
I shrugged. "I just want to drink my tea in peace. A siege at my doorstep would make it harder to acquire."
The rulers shared confused looks with each other. It appeared they weren't anticipating that answer.
"Well?" I asked. "Don't make me repeat myself. How much gold do you want?"
The rulers stayed quiet.
"Surely, you came with a figure in mind... right?"
The elvish queen drew her sword. "This is a trick! You won't fool us, monster!"
It didn't make any sense. I was giving into their demands and she was still looking for a fight. All of a sudden, everything fell into place. She wasn't looking for tribute. That was just the excuse. The real reason the elvish queen did all this was to legitimize her reign. With a common enemy, one that had been feared for a long time, she could justify building an army and order around the other rulers.
Refusing to play the role of a villain was something she wasn't expecting. She would lose her influence over the other nations if the forces she gathered weren't put to good use. It didn't look like the other rulers were aware of this, though. They were legitimately confused by her attitude.
"Okay," I started cracking my knuckles, "I see what's going on. If you want to go a few rounds, I'm more than willing to oblige."
"W-wait!" said the human king, stepping between me and the queen. "This isn't what we came here for!"
"Silence!" ordered the queen. "It's clear we have to wipe this threat off the face of the world. We can't rule absolutely with *him* lurking in the background."
"What if I give you all my blessing to rule the land?"
Everyone looked at me as if I had grown a tail.
"Think about it," I said, "I pay my taxes, you deliver my tea, and I bow before all of you to make everyone think you coerced me."
The elvish queen grit her teeth. "That's... not... good enough."
"Why?"
"Because..."
"You're still subservient to me? Yes, you are. If you wish to change that, instead of playing politics, pick up a book and learn to be a better mage than me."
The queen grew quiet.
"That's what I thought. I'm not about to turn into a scapegoat just because of your insecurities. Learn to be a better ruler. That should be more than enough."
The entire coalition left in a matter of hours. The elvish queen never seemed happy about the compromise, but the other rulers were just glad to be alive. She wasn't about to oppose them all for the sake of her ego.
And that's how I got a never-ending supply of my favorite tea without lifting a finger.
------
>If you enjoyed this, check out /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more. Thanks for reading! | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 5: Archmagus LeFey v.s. The Sunrise King)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The last time the Sunrise King had cast a spell, he had raised a second sun over his kingdom.** The immortal mage had seemed content enough to sit on his laurels for a century or three after that, ruling over the Sunrise Kingdom and rolling in riches, the ever-burning second sun a reminder of his immortality and power. And if that was all he had done, perhaps the citizens he ruled over would have let him be.
But the Sunrise King had ambitions greater than lording over a single kingdom. He drained the wealth of his citizens, raised great armies to expand his kingdom, and on the eve of the day he was to send them out, some people had enough.
On the day the Sunrise King was to dawn over the world, three people stood in his way.
The Sunrise King wore a robe of darkest crimson, the eternal dawn that he had wrought shining like a halo above his head. Opposite him, resolutely glaring at the red-burning light, stood an old man, a woman, and a child.
"I have business to attend to," the Sunrise King finally said. "Move or be moved."
"We have grievances," the old man countered. "Grievances with the nation that you have built. We will not allow you to spread that rule across the globe."
The Sunrise King began walking forwards, as inevitable as the coming of dawn. "Make your case. You have until I reach you."
"*You killed my daughter,*" the woman suddenly hissed.
The old man turned to her, startled. "Junko, we agreed—"
"Screw negotiation, LeFey." Junko stormed towards the Sunrise King. "*You killed my daughter,* you callous freak."
The Sunrise King never slowed. "The light of the sun has turned forests into deserts—yet without it, the world would go dark. Casualties are inevitable in any competent rule."
"Competent?" Junko leapt at the Sunrise King—
Fast as the break of dawn, the Sunrise King caught her arm and hurled her back.
Luckily for her, Archmagus LeFey was already casting. "*Inertia Null,*" he snapped, letting Junko halt in mid-air. The Sunrise King kept walking—right up until LeFey held out a hand.
The Sunrise King tilted his head. "Archmagus," he said, a note of respect in his voice. "You cast well, for your age. But you are no match for the rising sun. I would hate to extinguish your craft from the world. Step aside."
Archmagus LeFey simply closed his eyes, then opened them again. "You have gone too far, Ikani." The Sunrise King raised an eyebrow as LeFey invoked a name he hadn't heard in years. So the rebel had done his research, at the very least. "I am sorry that it had to come to this."
"For every sunset, there is a sunrise," the Sunrise King agreed.
Then the two archmages met in light and fury.
"*Time Stop,*" Archmagus LeFey snapped. "*Astero's Atmospheric Barrier. Bubblebreath. Thousandfold Thoughts. Limited True Omniscience. Searing Heat. Barrier of—*"
"Did you think to stop time?" The archmagus *flinched* as the Sunrise King, unaffected, stepped *forwards* through the frozen world, through air that by all rights should have been as immovable as mountains, his red-billowing cloak impossibly still trailing behind him. "I am the *Sunrise King*. I move at the speed of dawn. You cannot slow light itself." The Sunrise King narrowed his eyes, realizing that the archmage was *still casting*. "Now *Burn*."
The single word rang with power—a basic spell, a simple wish, but one turbocharged with centuries of carefully hoarded mana. But LeFey had seen the spell coming even as the Sunrise King was still speaking, and a thousand tiny calculations played out in an instant. Negate it? No, it was impossible to fight against the Sunrise King power-for-power. Dodge it? Junko and the kid were still in the area—they'd get obliterated if he fled. Move the bystanders? He could, but it'd spend the few precious *Greater Teleport* spells he had prepared.
Move the attack?
Ah. There it was.
"*Spell Modification: Infinitesimal Casting. Greater Teleport, Destination: Nowhere.*" LeFey cast the two spells in quick succession—his inhumanly quick mind, boosted by the greatest magic he could conjure, targeted the motes of superheated gas as they arced towards him and yanked them out of existence, particle by particle. The Sunrise King wasn't standing still while LeFey was negating his opening strike, however.
"*Shine.*" Once more, the spell was simple. Once more, the spell was deadly. Sheer, pure radiance, moving at the speed of light, obliterated the first two layers of defense LeFey had set up and hammered away at the third. Even as his magics burned, LeFey quested out with his mind to sense his companions—luckily, the Sunrise King had chosen a focused beam, and none of it had struck them.
It was clear that LeFey was not a match for the Sunrise King on his own.
Fortunately, LeFey didn't have to be alone.
"*Spell Modification: Infinite Iteration. Perfect Matter Duplication.*" LeFey cast, targeting himself, and a geyser of LeFeys burst outwards, soaring into the sky, taking bystanders to safety—and firing every spell in the book at the Sunrise King.
"*Tsunami Strike.*"
"*Gale-Force Hurricane.*"
"*Volcanic Eruption.*"
"*Meteor Swarm.*"
Elemental devastation lashed out at the Sunrise King—water, wind, fire, earth—but they rippled through the Sunrise King like they were pebbles in a lake. The Sunrise King laughed.
"You seek to use the wrath of Earth on me? *I AM THE SUN. I AM BEYOND YOUR MORTAL WEAPONS.*" The Sunrise King began to levitate, and impossibly, the sun rose *with* him.
LeFey scowled. Then it was time. The greatest, most terrible spell he had ever known. The end of everything in fire and light. He held up a hand and spoke five words.
"*Wrath of a Trillion Stars.*"
Even the Sunrise King flinched as beams of starlight, astral radiance, unearthly, heavenly, pure, struck him from every angle, hot enough to melt stone into air and air into nothing, and LeFey watched grimly as the devastation reached a crescendo—
—and then winked out, like the first stars before dawn.
LeFey took a step back, horrified, as the Sunrise King wrestled with the stars—and *outshone* them. Because of course he would. That was what the sun did every day.
And he was the rising sun.
Licking his lips as if he'd just swallowed a full meal, the Sunrise King gave LeFey a satisfied look.
"Thank you for the challenge, young mage." The clones of LeFey desperately hurled all the mana they had left at the Sunrise King, but to no effect. "It has been an age and a half since I have had to exert myself so."
He settled down, landing on the blistered, vaporized ground, and dusted himself off, ignoring the spells still slinging his way. "But every dawn has a dusk. And I am afraid that you, too, must *Sunset.*"
LeFey's eyes widened as the spell sank into him, and though he fought it with every fiber of his being, it was as futile as lifting the stars. As his mind went dark and he lost consciousness, one thought still glimmered in his mind.
At least he'd saved his companions.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | “Do you usually bring assassins to your negotiations? No wonder it took everyone so long to unify. Don’t worry, I have killed none of the ones you sent. It would be a waste of my energy.” Baldin slouched in his chair, the powerful mage retiring to the countryside for a few centuries, deciding to hide in a small, unassuming cottage. He had known his hiding spot wouldn’t last forever, but even he was shocked to learn that he had remained hidden for centuries. Far longer than he expected.
“Bah, negotiations are for the weak. We know of your power and are sick of living in fear. Why wait for you to strike us when we can get the first hit?” The orc woman raised her war hammer. The wooden pole of the weapon covered in a variety of monster teeth; each sharp tooth intended to intimidate her foe.
The mage didn’t seem intimidated. He only shifted forward in his seat, glancing the weapon over before shaking his head. Baldin expected a magical charm or two, but on closer inspection found that the weapon was entirely normal. After he had confirmed that, he went back to his slouched position.
“You intend to kill me with a piece of metal on a stick? I’m not like the boars you hunt. I won’t squeal and charge you at the first sight of danger. No, I’ll carefully set the ground on fire before enveloping you in a ball of flames, faster than you can even get out an orcish curse. Put the weapon down, child.”
“Child? Oh, that does it. I’ll show you the hell that our assassins couldn’t.”
“Easy now, Jali. We came to talk, remember?” Paul said, the human leader gripping the handle of her war hammer, letting out a small grunt when he felt the back of an embedded tooth pushing against his palm.
“You humans are too soft. I tried talking, and it didn’t work. Now I’ll use force.”
“Enough, Jali. Paul is right. We have tried to use violence and yet the problem remains. We would be foolish to jump into a fight without exhausting all our other options. So, mage. Would you be willing to speak with us?” Lady Ellyia said, the elven leader keeping her gaze on the man, trying to read his blank face.
“I was always willing to speak to you. I haven’t moved from this chair since you three got here. Forgive me if I mistook you running me out of your city all those centuries ago as a sign that you didn’t wish to try the negotiation tactic any longer. To think you would send your guards after me when I was at my weakest. Did you tell the humans the truth about your one hundred years of war with them? That the magic blast that turned the battle in your favor was something you requested of me.”
“I was a young queen back then. I didn’t see any other option for my people. But yes, I told them the truth. It seemed only fair that I should acknowledge my mistakes if we wanted peace. What’s your excuse for going along with my orders? Surely, a legendary mage should have had more common sense?”
“If I’m allowed, I would like to use the same excuse as you. I was young and enchanted by elven beauty. I believed you were right. I knew the awful things that humans could do and wanted peace. That peace you promised me.”
“You got that peace, eventually.”
“After you dragged the war out for another fifty years. It wasn’t until the humans pushed back again that you screamed for peace. Had the humans never shown a backbone, you would have crushed them. I know it, you know it, and the poor man next to you knows it.”
“If you intend to make us doubt one another, you will need to try harder. War is a dirty thing and Ellyia is responsible for the death of a lot of my ancestors, but that is war. Had I been in her shoes, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. What I find hard to swallow is the fact that a human would kill his own kind in a war.” Paul said, removing his hand from Jali’s weapon.
“My kind? That’s funny. I see none of you as my kind. I’m above anyone here. You could send armies after me and you would still lose. Each of you know that and yet you persist in agitating me. The aggressive dragon you hate has found a cave to lie in and yet you come and poke him. How many more pokes do you think it will take to get the reaction you want?”
The three looked among themselves, watching as the mage stood up from the chair. He still wore the same robes as he had during the war, their once regal blue now tattered and dirt covered. He made his way over to a small pot of tea, still relying on fire to warm the pot rather than just using his own abilities. Once he had the tea, he set out four cups, pouring one for himself and then filling the others.
“What do you really want? Is it just fear that has brought you here? Or do you think I will just roll over after all your attempts on my life? That I would simply just give up and go along with whatever you want to ensure my safety. I’m not threatened, nor am I interested in changing my ways.” Baldin said before raising his cup. “Would you like some tea?”
“Like I would drink anything you would give me. It’s probably poisoned.” Jali said.
“Poisoned? I wouldn’t resort to such offhanded tricks. If I wanted you dead, I would have done it by now. I’m doing this as a show of good faith. I may like none of you, but I, at the very least, respect that you came here without bringing an army.”
“The army would come next if this went badly.” Paul said.
“Heh, I still haven’t gotten my answer. What do you really want?”
The three didn’t reach for the tea, each looking at another in the group, expecting them to make the first move. After a long silence, it fell on Lady Ellyia to speak for the group. She took the tea, giving the mixture a quick look over before taking a small sip of it. The mage looked at her expectingly, waiting for her reaction.
“Its nice.” She finally said, before continuing. “We want assurance that you won’t try to kill us all. The longer you gather your power, the more at risk we are of being unable to stop you. What we seek is a treaty.”
“And she speaks for you all?”
“Personally, I want your head displayed on my throne room wall, but a treaty will do.” Jali added, leaning against her weapon. The conversation was already boring her. Humans and elves talked far too much for her liking.
“We all want peace. Just tell us how to get it.” Paul said, the human doing his best to dull Jali’s comments. Hoping to slide them unnoticed past the mage.
“I see. Then let me make it clear.” He sipped his tea, downing more of the warm mixture before setting the empty cup down. “I won’t be a problem as long as the world maintains order. If at some point, I sense your actions will bring about the death of the world, whether that be through war or some other destructive means. I will come out and kill everything before you can bring about that destruction. I’ll give everyone a quick and peaceful death to ensure that no one suffers.”
Silence filled the room. The three leaders considering their next words. They had been given the assurance they wanted, but perhaps not in the way that they wanted to hear.
“So, as long as we don’t kill the world, you will stay in hiding? Sounds like a good deal to me.” Jali said, turning to head for the door. The answer satisfying the orc.
“I will. Do you think you can keep the peace for that long? You have gotten close before. I don’t just mean for a few centuries. This will span thousands of years. I’ll always be waiting for that moment.”
“We have created peace already. What’s there to worry about? Look, all three of us were enemies at some point and now I’m happily tagging along with the humans and elves. Well, not happily, but you get what I mean.”
“Mmm. May I ask why there are only three of you if there is peace? What about the dwarves? Or even something like a harpy. Sure, they may be minor voices compared to you three, but they are still voices.”
“The dwarves come under the humans. Harpies and other monsters go under the leadership of Jali. We have thought these things through.” Paul said.
“I see. How long do you think those minor voices will be happy being represented by you three? Eventually, they are going to want that sort of power too. I suggest you carefully think about that. If I were in your shoes, I would give them their own slice of this peace, or else you may be at risk of another tragedy.”
“You really think we are at risk of rebellion? So soon after we gathered peace? That is a lot to think about. Very well, I will think about what you have said.” Lady Ellyia said, offering a bow before turning to the door, leaving with Jali.
Paul went to leave, only to feel a hand grab his wrist. He swung around to see the mage staring at him. Their face pressed close to Paul’s. “You humans are the real ones that they need to worry about. I predict you will be a handful in the future. Remember to tell your children about me. I would hate for our deal to be forgotten in the future.”
“I assure you; I won’t let anyone forget.” Paul tugged his hand free as the mage did not try to hold him any longer. Paul gave the man a quick nod before leaving to meet with the others. When the three had left, the mage returned to his seat, curious to see what the future would hold.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 5: Archmagus LeFey v.s. The Sunrise King)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The last time the Sunrise King had cast a spell, he had raised a second sun over his kingdom.** The immortal mage had seemed content enough to sit on his laurels for a century or three after that, ruling over the Sunrise Kingdom and rolling in riches, the ever-burning second sun a reminder of his immortality and power. And if that was all he had done, perhaps the citizens he ruled over would have let him be.
But the Sunrise King had ambitions greater than lording over a single kingdom. He drained the wealth of his citizens, raised great armies to expand his kingdom, and on the eve of the day he was to send them out, some people had enough.
On the day the Sunrise King was to dawn over the world, three people stood in his way.
The Sunrise King wore a robe of darkest crimson, the eternal dawn that he had wrought shining like a halo above his head. Opposite him, resolutely glaring at the red-burning light, stood an old man, a woman, and a child.
"I have business to attend to," the Sunrise King finally said. "Move or be moved."
"We have grievances," the old man countered. "Grievances with the nation that you have built. We will not allow you to spread that rule across the globe."
The Sunrise King began walking forwards, as inevitable as the coming of dawn. "Make your case. You have until I reach you."
"*You killed my daughter,*" the woman suddenly hissed.
The old man turned to her, startled. "Junko, we agreed—"
"Screw negotiation, LeFey." Junko stormed towards the Sunrise King. "*You killed my daughter,* you callous freak."
The Sunrise King never slowed. "The light of the sun has turned forests into deserts—yet without it, the world would go dark. Casualties are inevitable in any competent rule."
"Competent?" Junko leapt at the Sunrise King—
Fast as the break of dawn, the Sunrise King caught her arm and hurled her back.
Luckily for her, Archmagus LeFey was already casting. "*Inertia Null,*" he snapped, letting Junko halt in mid-air. The Sunrise King kept walking—right up until LeFey held out a hand.
The Sunrise King tilted his head. "Archmagus," he said, a note of respect in his voice. "You cast well, for your age. But you are no match for the rising sun. I would hate to extinguish your craft from the world. Step aside."
Archmagus LeFey simply closed his eyes, then opened them again. "You have gone too far, Ikani." The Sunrise King raised an eyebrow as LeFey invoked a name he hadn't heard in years. So the rebel had done his research, at the very least. "I am sorry that it had to come to this."
"For every sunset, there is a sunrise," the Sunrise King agreed.
Then the two archmages met in light and fury.
"*Time Stop,*" Archmagus LeFey snapped. "*Astero's Atmospheric Barrier. Bubblebreath. Thousandfold Thoughts. Limited True Omniscience. Searing Heat. Barrier of—*"
"Did you think to stop time?" The archmagus *flinched* as the Sunrise King, unaffected, stepped *forwards* through the frozen world, through air that by all rights should have been as immovable as mountains, his red-billowing cloak impossibly still trailing behind him. "I am the *Sunrise King*. I move at the speed of dawn. You cannot slow light itself." The Sunrise King narrowed his eyes, realizing that the archmage was *still casting*. "Now *Burn*."
The single word rang with power—a basic spell, a simple wish, but one turbocharged with centuries of carefully hoarded mana. But LeFey had seen the spell coming even as the Sunrise King was still speaking, and a thousand tiny calculations played out in an instant. Negate it? No, it was impossible to fight against the Sunrise King power-for-power. Dodge it? Junko and the kid were still in the area—they'd get obliterated if he fled. Move the bystanders? He could, but it'd spend the few precious *Greater Teleport* spells he had prepared.
Move the attack?
Ah. There it was.
"*Spell Modification: Infinitesimal Casting. Greater Teleport, Destination: Nowhere.*" LeFey cast the two spells in quick succession—his inhumanly quick mind, boosted by the greatest magic he could conjure, targeted the motes of superheated gas as they arced towards him and yanked them out of existence, particle by particle. The Sunrise King wasn't standing still while LeFey was negating his opening strike, however.
"*Shine.*" Once more, the spell was simple. Once more, the spell was deadly. Sheer, pure radiance, moving at the speed of light, obliterated the first two layers of defense LeFey had set up and hammered away at the third. Even as his magics burned, LeFey quested out with his mind to sense his companions—luckily, the Sunrise King had chosen a focused beam, and none of it had struck them.
It was clear that LeFey was not a match for the Sunrise King on his own.
Fortunately, LeFey didn't have to be alone.
"*Spell Modification: Infinite Iteration. Perfect Matter Duplication.*" LeFey cast, targeting himself, and a geyser of LeFeys burst outwards, soaring into the sky, taking bystanders to safety—and firing every spell in the book at the Sunrise King.
"*Tsunami Strike.*"
"*Gale-Force Hurricane.*"
"*Volcanic Eruption.*"
"*Meteor Swarm.*"
Elemental devastation lashed out at the Sunrise King—water, wind, fire, earth—but they rippled through the Sunrise King like they were pebbles in a lake. The Sunrise King laughed.
"You seek to use the wrath of Earth on me? *I AM THE SUN. I AM BEYOND YOUR MORTAL WEAPONS.*" The Sunrise King began to levitate, and impossibly, the sun rose *with* him.
LeFey scowled. Then it was time. The greatest, most terrible spell he had ever known. The end of everything in fire and light. He held up a hand and spoke five words.
"*Wrath of a Trillion Stars.*"
Even the Sunrise King flinched as beams of starlight, astral radiance, unearthly, heavenly, pure, struck him from every angle, hot enough to melt stone into air and air into nothing, and LeFey watched grimly as the devastation reached a crescendo—
—and then winked out, like the first stars before dawn.
LeFey took a step back, horrified, as the Sunrise King wrestled with the stars—and *outshone* them. Because of course he would. That was what the sun did every day.
And he was the rising sun.
Licking his lips as if he'd just swallowed a full meal, the Sunrise King gave LeFey a satisfied look.
"Thank you for the challenge, young mage." The clones of LeFey desperately hurled all the mana they had left at the Sunrise King, but to no effect. "It has been an age and a half since I have had to exert myself so."
He settled down, landing on the blistered, vaporized ground, and dusted himself off, ignoring the spells still slinging his way. "But every dawn has a dusk. And I am afraid that you, too, must *Sunset.*"
LeFey's eyes widened as the spell sank into him, and though he fought it with every fiber of his being, it was as futile as lifting the stars. As his mind went dark and he lost consciousness, one thought still glimmered in his mind.
At least he'd saved his companions.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | They stood before me, their expressions mixed. The human looked at me with suspicion, his hand by his belt; I was sure he was hiding at least several knives. The dwarf, stoic as always, seemed prepared for the worst disappointment. Wise. The elf mustered enough manners to fake a smile. Nice of her.
"Cut to the chase," I started suddenly. "I don't have all day."
"Alright then," the human replied. Of course he'd be the cocky one. "Your reputation precedes you. We know what you can *do*. But we know that you haven't *done* anything in a *very* long time and we're..." he opened his mouth but failed to finish the sentence.
"Worried," the dwarf said. Efficient use of words - I liked that about dwarves.
"Ah," I said with a faint smile and tilted my head to the side. "You're worried about me making some sort of cataclysmic spell, aren't you? Something to turn the skies blood-red and upturn the earth itself?"
The three emissaries looked at one another nervously.
"Well," I said with a fiendish whisper, "you got one thing right. I have been saving my mana this entire time. An amount..." I slowed down and reflected, "you'd not believe."
"Look, the Three Kingdoms are unified," the elf pleaded. "We have peace. Actual, proper peace. "Surely even you know what peace feels like? Surely you cherish it as much as we do?"
"There was a time I did not peace, no. And-"
**\*Crash\***
The door to the hall opened suddenly with a loud bang - the diplomats all jumped. The human, as if by miracle, produced two daggers in his hands and stood ready for a fight. The elf took a water-stance, prepared to cast disabling magic. The dwarf stood perfectly still. He only turned his head.
"Daddy!"
The diplomats stared with awe as a little girl in a frilly dress ran to me, paying no attention to the three weirdos in my hall, and hugged my legs tightly. I bent over and hugged her back. The sound of footsteps drew out combined attention to the door just as a beautiful woman, ashen hair and emanating elegance, walked in.
"I told you to wait for me Es," she said cheerfully. The little girl only giggled.
"Look what I found!" Es said proudly as showed me her newest treasure - her smile so wide you could see the gap in her teeth where her tooth fell out.
"Oh wow!" I said with amazement as I took the precious items from her tiny hands. "An acorn!"
"Isn't it pretty daddy?"
"It sure is pumpkin. What a pretty... wow..." I trailed off, eyes fixed on the beautiful acorn.
"Listen, Mel," I turned to the ashen haired woman, "I've got a bit of business to finish up here. Why don't you go wash up? I'll summon us some pasta."
She only smiled and kissed me on the cheek before grabbing the girl's hand and leaving.
The diplomats kept staring at them, as if expecting them to turn into monsters. The elf, ever vigilant and hawk-eyed, noticed the scar on the woman's chest. It was large, deep. A javelin.
And right above her heart.
The girl and the woman left the hall and I was once again alone with the trio.
"Really?" the human said with a mixture of condescension and surprise.
"Really," I said softly. "Centuries worth of mana. I needed it. Needed it to bring..." I couldn't bear to finish the words. "Well," I only said and smiled gently.
"Your kingdoms are safe," I said with renewed vigour. Though their looks remained uneasy, there was a palpable air of relief in the room.
I took my cloak off and laid it carefully on the dusty throne. Deep breath, in... and out. I stepped down from the throne and walked in the direction of my wife and daughter.
"There was a time I did not know peace," I said softly as I walked away from the emissaries.
"But now I do." | " To whom it may concern, we've noticed that it's been a very long time since we've heard from you, and up until a few years ago we had assumed you were dead. It seems we were wrong, as some of greatest wizards noticed a large collection of magic had accumulated on our far off coastlines."
"Knowing your reputation, which I'm sure you'll be glad to hear. Has been taught in our history books for centuries on end. People were taught to fear the name Korok, as you had wished. More importantly, we've grown rather fond of your absence, not to be upsetting, but you've caused this world much pain.
In your absence, the world has become a much different place, the Centaurs of the west have their own place in our government, the fairies of the east have become much less neurotic. Even the Orcs of the north have had their renaissance. We're all doing very well for ourselves, and we've been looking forward to speaking with you about peace talks." - Sincerely, The United Emissaries of Prul.
\*Looking over the gold leafed letter\*
" I thought by now they've noticed what I've done for them, I've made plentiful their land, I gave understanding to their less evolved races, I fixed what I had broken, surely they got my apologies, I sent their messenger back with details of my enlightenment, did they simply forget?"
As it turns out, the messenger in question, had stumbled upon a group of bandits, who were all too happy to kill the man, and take the gold and food Korok had sent with him, as penance for his crimes. Unfortunately none of them knew how to read the letter, which was thrown out.
" I guess I could stop by the capitol, it's been awhile since I've been selfish, and loneliness has befallen me. But how could they ever believe me? Do they have a choice? And what if my worse fears come true, and this bomb of energy I've been unable to use for the last century finally goes off? It's a risk I shouldn't take, but I long to see the fruits of my labor.
**That's all I've got for now, I know it's a big leadup with no payoff, but I haven't written in a long time. I was bored, and I'm sure I've littered this post with bad punctuation. I just have a really hard time focusing anymore. Maybe I'll try to expand on this at some point.** | |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | I woke up and found an entire army at my doorstep.
That hadn't happened in millennia. It appeared to be a coalition of sorts, with thousands of humans, elves, dragons, and dwarves all setting a defensive perimeter around my tower. I couldn't help but chuckle. Did they do all this to intimidate me?
If that was the case, then it had been a complete failure on their part. Every soldier seemed terrified to be here. The only thing this coalition accomplished was communicate how weak their nations were.
Thousands of crossbows and ballistas were aimed at me as soon as I walked out of my tower. They couldn't really kill me, unless I let them, but I was still taken aback by their numbers. They were really serious about this. How cute.
I raised my hand to wave 'hello' and the entire army collectively winced. Some of them even ran away, screaming in terror. They thought I was about to cast a spell.
"Halt, demon-king!" commanded a female elf, riding towards me atop a white horse. She wore a golden crown and held herself with the composure of a snooty aristocrat. "The might of the entire world surrounds you!"
I rolled my eyes. Her self-important tone felt more annoying than the literal army behind her.
Other people galloped alongside her. A dragon, a dwarf, and a human. Each appeared to be the leader of their respective nations.
I made a graceful bow when they were within ear-shot and said:
"The entire world? How terrifying. Pray tell, what have I done to earn your ire?"
"You're a menace to our peace!" shouted the dwarvish king.
I arched an eyebrow.
The dwarf pursed his lips, cringing. "Respectfully, of course."
"Of course."
"Don't cower!" said the elvish queen, glaring at the dwarf. "We went over this!"
"He can incinerate everyone with a thought..."
"Y-yeah," said the human king. "We're here on a diplomatic mission. Let's not immediately antagonize him."
The elvish queen scoffed. "No, this man is a monster and deserves to be treated as such."
"Is this about the whole Demon King thing?" I asked, well aware of the answer.
"Yes," said the queen. "We can't tolerate your existence, knowing your past."
"Oh come on, that was over a thousand years ago. I was going through an edgelord phase. It happens, and I'm not exactly proud of it."
The queen scoffed.
"Our point is," said the dragon king, "that you've been allowed free reign in this land for far too long, playing our nations against each other to keep us busy. That won't happen anymore. We're finally unified. If you wish to keep living in peace, you'll have to pay tribute to us."
I laughed in their faces. "You want to tax me? That's it?"
"Yes!" they all said in unison.
"And what if I say no?"
"You'll be the enemy of the entire world" said the queen. "We shall siege your tower and wage war for as long as necessary. You were beaten once, and we shall do it again."
"An interesting proposition, yes. You're overlooking one detail, though."
"Which is?"
I narrowed my eyes. "That I'm stronger than before, by several magnitudes..."
All the rulers widened their eyes, growing stiff.
"...But war is annoying. I'm not interested in fighting all of you. How much gold do you want?"
The elvish queen squinted. "That's it? No catch?"
I shrugged. "I just want to drink my tea in peace. A siege at my doorstep would make it harder to acquire."
The rulers shared confused looks with each other. It appeared they weren't anticipating that answer.
"Well?" I asked. "Don't make me repeat myself. How much gold do you want?"
The rulers stayed quiet.
"Surely, you came with a figure in mind... right?"
The elvish queen drew her sword. "This is a trick! You won't fool us, monster!"
It didn't make any sense. I was giving into their demands and she was still looking for a fight. All of a sudden, everything fell into place. She wasn't looking for tribute. That was just the excuse. The real reason the elvish queen did all this was to legitimize her reign. With a common enemy, one that had been feared for a long time, she could justify building an army and order around the other rulers.
Refusing to play the role of a villain was something she wasn't expecting. She would lose her influence over the other nations if the forces she gathered weren't put to good use. It didn't look like the other rulers were aware of this, though. They were legitimately confused by her attitude.
"Okay," I started cracking my knuckles, "I see what's going on. If you want to go a few rounds, I'm more than willing to oblige."
"W-wait!" said the human king, stepping between me and the queen. "This isn't what we came here for!"
"Silence!" ordered the queen. "It's clear we have to wipe this threat off the face of the world. We can't rule absolutely with *him* lurking in the background."
"What if I give you all my blessing to rule the land?"
Everyone looked at me as if I had grown a tail.
"Think about it," I said, "I pay my taxes, you deliver my tea, and I bow before all of you to make everyone think you coerced me."
The elvish queen grit her teeth. "That's... not... good enough."
"Why?"
"Because..."
"You're still subservient to me? Yes, you are. If you wish to change that, instead of playing politics, pick up a book and learn to be a better mage than me."
The queen grew quiet.
"That's what I thought. I'm not about to turn into a scapegoat just because of your insecurities. Learn to be a better ruler. That should be more than enough."
The entire coalition left in a matter of hours. The elvish queen never seemed happy about the compromise, but the other rulers were just glad to be alive. She wasn't about to oppose them all for the sake of her ego.
And that's how I got a never-ending supply of my favorite tea without lifting a finger.
------
>If you enjoyed this, check out /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more. Thanks for reading! | " To whom it may concern, we've noticed that it's been a very long time since we've heard from you, and up until a few years ago we had assumed you were dead. It seems we were wrong, as some of greatest wizards noticed a large collection of magic had accumulated on our far off coastlines."
"Knowing your reputation, which I'm sure you'll be glad to hear. Has been taught in our history books for centuries on end. People were taught to fear the name Korok, as you had wished. More importantly, we've grown rather fond of your absence, not to be upsetting, but you've caused this world much pain.
In your absence, the world has become a much different place, the Centaurs of the west have their own place in our government, the fairies of the east have become much less neurotic. Even the Orcs of the north have had their renaissance. We're all doing very well for ourselves, and we've been looking forward to speaking with you about peace talks." - Sincerely, The United Emissaries of Prul.
\*Looking over the gold leafed letter\*
" I thought by now they've noticed what I've done for them, I've made plentiful their land, I gave understanding to their less evolved races, I fixed what I had broken, surely they got my apologies, I sent their messenger back with details of my enlightenment, did they simply forget?"
As it turns out, the messenger in question, had stumbled upon a group of bandits, who were all too happy to kill the man, and take the gold and food Korok had sent with him, as penance for his crimes. Unfortunately none of them knew how to read the letter, which was thrown out.
" I guess I could stop by the capitol, it's been awhile since I've been selfish, and loneliness has befallen me. But how could they ever believe me? Do they have a choice? And what if my worse fears come true, and this bomb of energy I've been unable to use for the last century finally goes off? It's a risk I shouldn't take, but I long to see the fruits of my labor.
**That's all I've got for now, I know it's a big leadup with no payoff, but I haven't written in a long time. I was bored, and I'm sure I've littered this post with bad punctuation. I just have a really hard time focusing anymore. Maybe I'll try to expand on this at some point.** | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | You could say I wasn’t exactly expecting to make it this far. I put my hand to my forehead, and it came down covered in blood. My blood. I got what I wanted, I won the jackpot in Russian roulette, but somehow, it wasn’t enough. I take another swig of whiskey. Why? The universe just hates me doesn’t it. I chuckle, what are the chances that I have to survive through this horrible, worthless life as the horrible, worthless piece of garbage that I am? What are the chances that God, or whoever is in charge of this dumb existence chose me to survive? Why not some kid with cancer and a life that is worth something? I pick up the revolver, load it fully, and shoot at my temple. Again, and again, and again until it clicks. Nothing happened, somehow, I’m alive. Why me? | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | How long has it been you wondered, how long have you been hanging for
As your consciousness starts to haze over once more it's zapped awake by the tremendous pain through your body
As you swing there, barely coherent on the that thick rope; as it digs itself into your skin like iron needles every moment. you see your surroundings, an empty cell, made with the cruel prisoners to hang themselves. As you look around at the bleak empty celll it all comes flooding back
At that moment all the pain and despair of the last year tears its way through your body shocking it harder than when your neck snapped moments ago.
At first it was beautiful, a dream you thought you'd never hold. But one that quickly turned into the most horrifying nightmare ever. They told you that you were playing with fire, that they were special. They warned you that people would always desire them, but at the time in your naivety you thought it was naught but for their beauty. Never did you think that they'd be special beyond compare so special that their blood could overturn countries in their greed. That their blood was the very elixir of immortality that most every person sought.
And yet here you hang confused wondering why you would still be alive; agonizingly.
The exhaustion of the last months overtake you.
All that running just for them to find her. The thought of it brings pained tears to your eyes, but you've cried so much already you wonder if it's blood or tears.
As a few more years skip out you here footsteps down the hallway. You wonder what's going to happen to you now but as you wonder you consciousness starts to skip once more as your oxygen again runs out.
How many times is this you wonder. The tenth you think hardly being able to think through the haze. If only you wouldn't have snapped your spinal cord then maybe you'd be able to untie yourself. As that thought passes your mind you remember that you shouldn't even be alive in the first place and the darkness takes your mind with it once more. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | Well, shit.
I usually only ever tell this story to the dead, but I guess since you're about to die, it's not too much of an issue.
I used to be a waitress at a small diner off of I75. Well, it was more of a truck stop, really. Jonathan had walked in looking for a cup of joe and a quick nap before he was on the road again. I was in the kitchen, beating Bart, the cook, with a cast-iron skillet for sleeping with that pretty waitress, Janet, in the freezer.
Too bad really, he had been a good lover.
Anyway, I was still in the middle of beating the cook senseless, when that little bell above the front door jingled. Damnit, now really wasn't the time.
I had blood splattered all over my face, neck, and chest. My legs were coated in blood but I wasn't too concerned. Really I just needed to serve this guy so I can get back to this casual murder.
It only took a few minutes to wipe the blood from my face and neck and then throw on my coat. The garment was a long leather coat with fur lining the neck that I picked up from some whore who had been fucking my previous husband.
I guess the coat did its job of hiding my blood-splattered clothes, cause when I stuck my head out of the kitchen doors and claimed we were closing Jonathan tiredly asked if we had any extra coffee
I think we did have coffee, but it currently had some skull fragments and brain matter floating to the top.
"Sorry," I mumbled, really just wanting to get back to beating Bart, "We just cleaned out the pot,".
Jonathan sighed and looked down at himself, when he looked back up, I knew. I'd missed something, cause his eyes grew the size of dinner plates.
"Oh! I ha-have to get back on the roads anyway so..." He casually pointed behind him and went to dart from the counter, but I'd already grabbed the back of his neck and began jerking him behind the counter.
That murder hadn't been as easy as all the others, Janet was tiny, so she was easy to overpower. Bart was larger of course, but I got him with surprise and the flat side of the cast-iron skillet.
Jonathan's murder hadn't been easy. The bastard had struggled the whole time, even when he flopped over the counter and slapped onto the linoleum floor. It was a struggle to keep him down, his flailing caused the containers of extra silverware and condiments to be scattered all over the linoleum floor.
Really I should have stabbed him in the neck with a fork, that would have been the easy thing. It apparently, had been his plan though.
The moment I lunged onto his chest a fork speared itself into my neck. The action, of course, hurt like hell, there was currently a fork in my jugular. There was blood falling from the wound like a waterfall. I didn't start to feel weak though, I didn't stutter or whimper, merely pulled the bit of silverware from my throat and trusted it into Jonathan's own.
Jonathan whimpered, yelled even before he bled out surprisingly quickly.
By the time Jonathan bled out, I was still standing and trying to figure out why I wasn't on the floor with him. The hole in my neck was still there, and I was still bleeding. I was still bleeding when I dragged Janets body from the freezer and tossed her in the dumpster with Jonathan.
I loaded Bart up in the back of Jonathan's truck, Jonathan's wallet included, and tossed him down the side of a nearby quarry.
Of course, the hole has healed since then, and I've stopped bleeding. Haven't stopped killing though, I got remarried and my husband recently has started fucking his secretary. You know, that old story. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sounds of the life support equipment in my bed in the ICU have been my companion for so long I don't know what I'd do if they stopped for good.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Oh, of course they stop every once in a while. Occasionally the inoperable tumor does manage to get the upper hand and I just ... shut down for a little while. But it never wins for good. I always come back, whether I want to or not.
Beep. Beep. Bee-whine. Whine.
Is it that time again? Go ahead, Doctor. Pronounce the time of death. I'll see you in a couple minutes.
Whine. Whine. Whi-beep. Beep. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I opened my eyes and noticed two things, one, my girlfriend was dead and two, the demon who'd likely taken her life was staring at me with an amused smirk.
"I'm going to assume you hadn't gotten to the I'm-an-immortal stage of your relationship." She stated flatly.
I shook my head, "Clare wasn't super interested in anything but clothes, make-up and other superficial stuff." I explained, "I'm mildly shocked she read a demon summoning well enough to understand it nevermind perform it."
"Annd you didn't think to tell her that her translation of the summoning was wrong?"
"She didn't stop to tell me she intended to sacrifice me," I sighed.
"You know Lilith is going to throw a fit when she hears about this." The demon chuckled.
"Grandma Lilly doesn't need to know about this." I pleaded
The Demon laughed at me, "Look kid, I like you but Queen Lilith has a standing policy when it comes to you and a habit of shredding the souls of anyone who so much as thinks about violating it"
She looked at the dried up corpse of my now ex girlfriend, "given the theme park of red delights she's headed for, I'd just as soon avoid sharing her fate."
I sighed and realized again that while there were definite advantages to being related to a primordial demon Queen. The fact she could occasionally be a bit of a helicopter parent was something of a downside. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “Let’s start with your index finger!”
“Nononono, please, I’ve done everything I-“
*RIP*
#”AAAAAAUUUUUUGH!!!“
Yep. That’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got into this situation.
Short answer. I fucked big time with a mafia, and now I *should* be dead within the hour, when they finish torturing me.
Long answer. I used to be an old associate with these guys, but I was arrested by police officers. They let me off on the condition that I became a confidential investigator, and by that, I mean I essentially had to rat out as much as possible about this criminal organization. I did pretty well, hidden for a while, but eventually, one of them got a little too suspicious of me. I managed to clear any charges thanks to the evidence I revealed to the police, so at that point, I decided to leave and never return, moving into the next city over. Happy ending right?
Unfortunately no. The very week after I moved, I got into a pretty severe car crash. I got hit in the back, lost control, and… well, this is a bit ugly, but…
My car ran over a woman and her child.
They were declared dead in the hospital.
This would already be a fucked up situation, since I’ve accidentally killed a mother and a child. Granted, it wasn’t my fault at all, I had the right of way, but the guilt was still very severe.
It was way worse when I learned that the woman and child was the grandfather Mafia’s wife and daughter.
You already know what happens next.
Anyways, let’s get back to me being tortured to absolute shit.
#”AUUGH!”
They’ve just ripped off my fingernail with pliers. Rusty pliers at that.
“That’s just for the parking expenses I had for going to the hospital!”
This was the Mafia grandfather, Aiden, basically the absolute most influential dude in the organization. Despite being 49 years old, this guy looked like he could crush a brick with his bare hands, and was probably thinking about doing the same with my skull.
“Don’t worry though, I’ve got plenty more! We’re gonna have lots of fun!”
“PLEASE STOP, I WOULD DO ANYTHING TO HELP THEM, I NEVER WANTED THIS…”
He smacks me in the jaw with the pliers, hard, and I’m pretty sure he knocked a tooth loose.
With almost no hesitation, he then proceeds to go for my middle finger nail.
#”UUUUUAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGH!!!!”
If I kept explaining everything so slowly, you’d probably get bored quick. Basically, once he was done, every single finger nail and toenail was ripped off. He poured alcohol and salt onto them to really make it burn. Then, Aiden crushed my nutsack. Slowly. To, and I quote, “prevent the world from suffering the plaque that is your blood.” Yeesh. He then punched and kicked me, and eventually, showed mercy in the form of spraying my face and body with an assault rifle. And then a shotgun. Now, anyone would be DEFINITELY dead by the time he started using guns. Doesn’t matter how hardy you may be, nothing really saves you from your brain being stuffed with lead and gunpowder.
Except immortality.
Good news: I was alive!
Bad news: I was alive. Which meant I still felt pain.
You might be confused as to how I could possibly feel pain, and that’s assuming you got past the immortality part. Well, turns out, if a part of my body, like, say, a leg, were to be disconnected from my brain, I can still feel the nerves inside. And even if they were absolutely destroyed, I still feel the pain.
It was basically hell. Death at that moment would have been greater than spending eternity in a perfect heaven. But it seemed that death was something I did not have the privilege of.
I couldn’t do anything but simply feel. Eventually, Aiden asked his goons to clean up the mess, and went to take a shower.
My remains were stuffed into a garbage bag, and thrown in a dumpster.
Shortly after, I felt my body slowly repair itself. Very slowly, but surely, repairing. Somehow. At the end of the day, my body parts were at least connected, though incredibly poorly and mutilated. In a weeks time, I finally gained the strength to escape from my prison, my body having constructed just enough to rip out. I was still bloodied as hell, but I was alive.
Everything still hurt. It hurt so bad for so long, I almost got used to it. But not really. Pain is something no one gets used to. Ever.
In a couple more days, I eventually recovered to the point where I finally wasn’t bleeding. And shortly after, it was like I never died. Not a single scar or scratch to be seen.
I didn’t have many options, but I did know one thing, and one thing only.
If I wanted to avoid having that event repeat itself, I’d have to run. Run, run, and run, until I can run no more.
And pray I never even hear the name Aiden ever again. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | After I tried for so long to find the joy in this life I’m finally deciding to make a decision I should have made long ago. No one will miss me. Everyone has already told me that the world would be better off with out me. So after thirty years of fighting this shitty life I’m finally going to take it. And I know just how I’ll do it. I’m having a strange feeling of peace but what I’m really looking forward to is flying of that building. I always dreamed of flying, even as a kid I would always jump from the highest sand piles even if it was for two seconds of air time. Now the building is down town so I could just leave everything behind, pick up a bottle of whiskey and float away into the after life. So two rights and a left. The lady in the store seems pretty chipper today we usually have conversations on a regular basis but I’m not in a chatty mood today. “Mr. Dennis so nice to see you today how are the kids” she asks with an irritating smile. Oh right, I have kids and a nagging wife who also has a nagging family, that on a regular basis, I have to see a therapist for. “Hello Ms. Ann, yes they are fine” I reply, quickly placing on the counter, now two bottles of whiskey. I just want to get out of this store, away from people, to enjoy my drink and die in peace. After Ms. Ann rings me up I quickly place down a hundred dollar bill and rush out the store. I wasn’t really bothered with the change. I cracked the top on one of the bottles and quickly placed the other in my laptop bag. Building is about three blocks away I should finish one bottle by the time I get there and I’ll drink the other on the roof. I haven’t drink this fast since those college frat parties. What a time I use to have. But I need to slow down my legs are definitely loosening up at this point. I step into the street to accomplish my last block and realize I’m the only one crossing, but before I knew it I looked to my right to see a bus coming head on. Great just my luck. I couldn’t move fast enough before I heard all of my bones crushing underneath the wheels. I couldn’t even scream. I just let the pain swallow me as I look up at the tall building wishing the spot I was laying in had come a little later. As everything starts to get darker I find a sense of peace as I accept that the mission has been accomplished regardless of how it happened. So is death just darkness? I feel no pain anymore. Something doesn’t feel right. Wait am I in a hospital? No way. I can hear the machines beeping in my ear, they are faint but I still hear them.
Two days later
Maybe it was all just a dream. As I start to wake up I see my wife standing over me. I don’t have to explain myself and I don’t have the energy either. Why didn’t I die? “Well Mr. Dennis you have an angel looking over you. It was a miracle you survived that accident. Though your alcohol levels were pretty high you managed to survive. It really is still a mystery that even your body is healing itself. Two collapsed lungs, broken spine, broken neck, crushed windpipe. I mean the list goes on.” The doctor is trying to laugh of his curiosity but I can tell everyone in the room has questions, especially me. Why didn’t I die? | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I had thought I'd be a nice way to put my life to some use.
It was a nice day, or at least most other people would have said so. Sun shining, birds singing, flowers blooming. All things I've been told have some aesthetic qualities. To me however they were simply a set of weather conditions, flora and fauna. I was walking to a supermarket to stock up on snacks and stuff for my room when that father and his two kids were right in the path of that about to collapse section of poorly construction wall.
I had always had some degree of moral resistance to killing myself. I had always thought that because there are those who love me and who would be hurt by my passing I couldn't morally justify ending my own life even if that would put an end to all my problems while also preventing me from both causing and having problems in the future.
I was in a country with government funded free medical care, had a family that could support me even if I was unemployed so I'd probably last a fair while regardless of what I do so I thought I'd either minimise my impact on their lives as much as I can without topping myself or find a way to go out that would grant them a semblance of peace and understanding.
Saving another family that appeared by all accounts to be content with life, Happy and smiling children that had just spent the bus ride home talking about their plans to do a cupcake fundraiser for one of those shoebox initiatives? That seemed like a good enough reason to me at the time.
And now I'm here. Bleeding out more then I should be able too. Rebar skewering me. Most if not all of the bones in my back shattered from the impact looking down at this family who are most likely gonna need years of therapy now and to top it all off I look like someone who just got mixed up in a modern retelling of the crucifixion that was taken way to literally.
I'd go to try and speak only to realise that my throat is clogged by a peace of rebar I couldn't feel. Hoping that's adrenaline. Maybe I can move a hand?
Just a bit... ok they got the message, no, kid fucking move! I don't know how long I can hold this up! Go!... Ok they moved and the dad is calling an ambulance.
Ok hopefully any second now blood loss should make me unconscious, surprised the impact didn't do that...
Wait why isn't everything fading to black? Come to think of it, the adrenaline should have died by now shouldn't it? I can't even feel my back or the rebar I can see sticking through it!?
My blood's still flowing but... I shouldn't that much it shouldn't be able to flow that long without stopping. That's got to be at least 5 maybe 10 litres! What the fuck is happening?
Ok calm down there has to be a logical explanation of this. Ok vision starting to fade out just like I planned good. Ok... Just embrace the void we're all done... we're all.. done...
​
​
​
​
*"Mister Brush? Are you with us?"* I groggily open my eyes. Wasn't I just dying? Guess that ambulance most of have gotten to me before I could fully go...
*"Mister Brush? I don't know how survived all that but your body by all exams is fine, you should be able to speak"*
"I'm here, in the room, mind filling me in on what happened? I thought I'd be dead for sure blocking that collapsing wall"
*"As did we, however your body appears to have some degree of healing factor, it's like nothing we've ever seen before!"*
No no no don't you dare say it
*"You might even be immortal!"*
GOD FUCKING DAMN IT | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “So let me get this straight.”
I sat up straight and looked the pizza guy in the eye as his kept flickering over me in confusion and apprehension.
“Eventually, everyone dies. Like…*everyone*. Sometimes by these things called ‘accidents,’ or ‘disease,’ or even ‘old age.’ Sometimes, people even kill other people. Am I getting that right?”
“Y-yeah man. Happens to everybody.”
I sat back and furrowed by brow. “I still don’t understand. All the things you talked about, I’m fine.”
“Sir…take the incident an hour ago. I delivered the pizza and we got jumped by a guy trying to rob us. He…he shot you. In the face. And you just…asked what his problem was.”
“Well, *yeah,* it hurt!” I rub the now faded bullet hole in the center of my forehead. “He was being totally unreasonable. Not to mention shooting people in the head doesn’t do anything.”
“T-that’s the thing sir…normal people can’t do that. They die. Like instantly.”
“That can’t be right. That’d be like dying from…I don’t know…getting your arms cut off my a crazy samurai!” I laughed until I saw the look of horror on the kid’s face.
“That…that would also kill you sir. How…?”
“Well…it hurt a little…but I just put them back on and the skin fused together, like normal.” I said defensively.
“Sir…when was the last time you’ve…gone outside?”
“I don’t know! After the samurai thing, I swam across the Pacific and settled in…well, we call it ‘America’ now, but I can’t remember what it was before. Anyway, settled down with a tribe of people and pretty much worked from home ever since. People come and go, jobs change, but I always managed to get someone to do errands for me. Internet? DoorDash? SUPER convenient, I should have thought of those.”
“You…you *swam* across the ocean?”
“Well, not entirely, I had a boat, but a giant squid dragged me down about a third of the way. Shark bit off my foot, but it grew back.” I looked at him. “I’m guessing that isn’t normal?”
“No sir…well it seems you’ve stayed current on politics and technology…but no other real news.” You’re…if everything you told me was true—“
“It is!” I said indignantly.
“Okay! Well, then it seems like you are immortal. And the only one.”
I sigh. “Well, now I get why I lost touch with FDR.” | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I always wondered how I would go out, but being the representative murder of sloth for some bootleg serial killer deadly sin type shit surely wasn't on the list of possibilities I considered before.
That was until a slimy man with a fleeing hairline and a leather coat broke into my apartment and made me play video games until I died off exhaustion.
On the third day it came to my mind that I might be in better shape that I thought. On the fifth, I got the feeling that something was off.
I hadn't slept in five days, the bootleg killer slapped me every time I fell asleep but I was as alive as ever.
On the 7th day he seemed to notice aswell, maybe he just got bored but it didn't take long until he stabbed me in the side. He sat back with an ugly smirk on his face, thinking he would watch me die slowly but I somehow didn't.
To this day I don't really know why I refuse to die but after he stabbed me multiple times over the following days, I just kept on healing and healing.
I though I might be in hell and this was just how I would spend eternity but on the 9th day I grabbed his knife, and just slit his throat, grabbed my shit, called the police and left a little note reading:
'you're welcome - sloth'
I left the country, obviously, and toured the world, working at every library, learning languages, reading every book humanity has available and talking to intellectuals from all around the globe. That took around 350.000 years and I can tell you, we came really far but fundamentally never really changed.
The next 50.000 years were filled with party's and drugs, I partied in every possible and impossible constellation, space travel had been a thing for quite a while now and I happened to be the roommate of a research chemist in the andromeda nebula and he understood drugs on the same level as I do and he had a list of substances that would be the best drugs ever, if they wouldn't immediately kill you. I do not remember most of these years but I can tell you I had a great time.
Memory is the only thing that starts to become a problem a little bit, you can now store memories on databases and download them at will but I was never the organized type so I kind of just put all the drives in a box and put it under my bed.
I do not know if my immortality is limited, but it has now been 1.8 million years. I think about space a lot, but at the end of the day, the ai can be as amazing as it wants to be, my monkey brain keeps being limited. I think I will just travel the universe and observe the inflation and maybe some day deflation of the universe, until some higher being decides it is my time to go, but until then, I will truly be forever blessed to getting the life that I got. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | The lantern cast flickering shadows over the walls of the cave. They danced, twisting into grotesque shapes like demons born out of some fevered mind. Joseph Ibrahim watched his son, the sweat shining on his swarthy skin, as the boy desperately tried to keep his breaths small and even, struggling to not give in to the panic that was rising to overwhelm them both. He glanced at the pile of rocks that was the cause of all this terror, this despair.
Joseph had been a miner for as long as he could remember. From his earliest days, he had followed his father down into the shafts of the coal mines, initially scrabbling down narrow passages that other miners could not for the scraps of bread and the occasional extra coin that they could earn for their starving families. Then gradually, as the nimbleness and waifishness of childhood disappeared and he grew broad and strong, he’d joined up as a regular at the very first opportunity. He had a host of sisters and cousins to feed and he couldn’t be too picky about his employment considering his lack of anything resembling an education.
But that wasn’t what he’d wanted for his only child. Grace, a girl’s name, yes, but he’d been God’s grace to them after so long without a child. The boy was different from him. His mind was sharp, and keen, almost as if God were trying to make up for all the years that he’d missed out by being late to the world. In the rudimentary school that the foreigners with their overbearing ideals of charity had set up, the teachers there, they praised young Grace. He was leaps and bounds ahead of the rest, they kept telling him. They’d told him that the boy would go places if he’d just stayed in school.
And he’d tried. He’d really tried. When his father had fallen down a mine shaft and broken his neck, the family’s income had been reduced by very much. But Joseph persisted. He’d somehow convinced the others to sacrifice just a bit more so that their children could go to school, could somehow escape this life that God had seen fit to punish them with.
But then Ayala’s husband had fallen sick with the wasting cough that so often took the miners and he’d been the only breadwinner for their family. Joseph wasn’t going to sit down and leave his sister’s family in the lurch. So like a good Christian, he’d stepped up and took the lot of them under his wing. But his meager earnings hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t enough for food. It wasn’t enough to pay for the shaman for Ayala’s husband.
And it wouldn’t be enough when they would have to marry off Ayala’s daughters who were growing up to be beautiful young women.
And so, he’d shamefacedly asked Grace to come to the mines with him. He would never forget that look on his face, as the boy realized that all his hopes and dreams would be buried in the coal alongside his forefathers. But that was the way of life and he hadn’t complained. There was family to think of, after all.
And now, on this fine sunny morning, when they had been deep in the mines, amid the dust and the stale air, talking about how maybe once Ayala’s husband got better, one could always dream, that then maybe Grace could go back to school. And one day, maybe he could become a doctor, and he could come back home in a jeep, along with some white men, and the villagers, they would cluster around his little boy, and then...and then, the ceiling shook and the rocks had rained down and the narrow passage that led out of this little cave in which had been hammering away closed with a sickening rumble.
They had frantically tried scrabbling away at the rocks until their nails had broken and their fingers had bled but to no avail. They were just too heavy and too tightly packed. And they had settled down to wait for their rescue if it ever came. But that had been a long time ago. And he realized that they soon they would run out of air. He remembered his son telling him about it one day when he’d come home from school. The boy’s face had been animated as he’d explained about oxygen and carbon dioxide and so many other things that he’d scarcely understood, but he’d nodded away with a big smile on his face.
He looked once more at his little boy’s face. He had brought him into this. He had brought him to his death. Joseph was not an old man; he had seen thirty-nine years, although the mines made him look a lot older than that. He still had a lot he wanted to see in life. But his son, he had much more. He was so much more than him. And if they were running out of air...Well, he could see to it that he gave Grace some more time, a better chance to be found.
“Grace” he called, his voice calm, steady. Reaching up, he snuffed the lantern, leaving them in total darkness. The boy scurried to his father’s side, invisible in the dark. Blindly groping, his hands found Grace’s face and he fondly ran his fingers over them.
"Grace, oh Grace...” he tried to search for the words, but they just wouldn’t come.
“Father?” the boy’s voice was confused.
“The air is running out” he stated.
Grace was silent.
“I...My son...” what could he say?
Grace was becoming uneasy.
“One man will last longer than two.” he finally settled on saying.
He could feel his son tense by his side. “Father...” the boy began, voice breaking.
But he shushed him.
“When...When you get out of here...take your mother, leave this place, boy. Your cousins will have to fend for themselves somehow. I don’t want you facing the same fate I do.”
He could hear Grace sobbing. The poor could not afford the rich man’s compassion, their principles, and morals. This was a lesson this harsh world had thought all of them well. And he knew his son would not stop him. He did not begrudge him for that.
With trembling hands, he slipped out a knife from its sheath. A family heirloom it was, passed down from father to son from the days when they had been free and wild, roaming the land like they were meant to be, instead of tunneling underground like some oversized mole.
There was no light for the blade to gleam, but he knew it to be sharp. With a supreme effort of will, he stilled the tremors and put the sharp edge to his throat. A silent plea to his God, to not reject him from Heaven for he was about to commit the sin of taking his own life. A powerful flexing of muscles hardened by labour. And the world truly darkened.
***
He came to, fire in his lungs, heaving for air that was not there. Beyond the wall, he could hear the scrabbling of men, the whine and rumble of machinery, as it chipped away at the barrier like a determined woodpecker. What... how?
He moaned, which itself was surprising considering that his throat should have been opened and his lifeblood spent. His mind failed to process anything significant, and as is a parent’s way, when they are confronted with the bewildering, his first instinct was to search for his son’s safety. He groped about blindly, and his hands touched a cooling body. Its chest did not heave, its heart did not beat. It made no sound when he forced a ragged voice past his burning throat. It did not move when he frantically shook it, screaming his son’s name over and over through a voice that was gradually gaining strength.
And then the wall finally broke, to let in a shaft of light that illuminated a soot-covered man hunched over a still body, hugging it as if nothing else mattered. And on his throat, there was a faint scar. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I gazed at the man sitting across from me, impressed at my own composure despite my breakfast muffin churning in my guts. He avoided my eyes and continued to rip his napkin into ever smaller pieces.
"Look," he said, "There was just no way I could take it at face value. Those 'consumer DNA tests' are riddled with mistakes and inaccuracies."
He put down his shredded napkin to use finger quotes around "consumer DNA test"
"I didn't believe that you could be my kid." He continued. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. I just had to be sure, I had to find out for myself."
He finally released the decimated napkin and met my eyes, tension etched on his face.
I huffed out a breath and leaned back in my chair. "Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out I'm immortal," I raised my fingers for air quotes, "Dad". | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I’m grateful to notice that I seem to be going insane. This is important for me, because it means change is still possible.
Space is cold, but you get used to it. I would rather be here than buried alive or something, back on earth. It could be worse. There’s always a silver lining; the view is quite good.
It’s probably been a thousand years, and I keep replaying that moment. The spacewalk, the slip, realizing I wasn’t tethered. The ultimate blooper. You would think the regret would fade a little, but things tended to persist out here.
So insanity would be nice, and I think it’s a real possibility. Let’s follow up in a bit. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I sit in my desk chair, slumped over with a bottle of whiskey in my hand, held by the neck. I lift it up to take another swig, tasting the bitter ambrosia as it passes through my lips. It tastes terrible, but day after day my mind seeks refuge in its nasty tang. The way it clouds my perception is sweeter than the liquid, and usually keeps me sane. Today it serves a different purpose.
Today isn't particularly special compared to others. I'm drunk. I'm depressed. I'm no stranger to how I feel, but so much so that I'm sore in the head. I'm drunk on alcohol and nothingness, with a cloudy future and a meaningless past. All I can comprehend is the present, in which I'm a vegetable of the man I'm supposed to be.
Today, however, is slightly different. I've grown too tired, and in my groggy despair I had set a 357 Magnum on my desk right in front of me. It's loaded. After sitting in the filth which is my sweat-stained work uniform and pondering with my poisoned mind, I've got little left to hesitate picking the firearm up sluggishly with my left hand.
I sit there for just a moment, glossing over the handle of the Magnum with my thumb. As I graze over the cold metal and wood, I breathe lightly and shakily as I contemplate. I'd expect that such heavy thoughts would affect me more, but at this point I'm drunk and I'm sick and I hate breathing. The world is a cruel, cruel mistress, and this place wasn't built for me. None of it. Not my house, not my job, not my life. I exist to please those who don't care for me. I feel invigorated by the all-curing pill I grasp. I can escape. My one final way to stick it to the man. I'll soon be off to the real land of the free.
I feel angry at those that have led me to this dead end, but I feel triumph knowing I'll slave to this world no longer. I lift the bottle in my right hand one final time, taking my last swig of the sweet anesthetic. I slowly put the bottle back down on my desk so as to not drop or spill it once the deed has been done, but it's not like that matters to me. Once the glass of the bottle clanks onto the desk, I take a deep breath.
I raise the revolver to my head, pressing the cold barrel to the center of my brow. I close my tired eyes, pulling the lever on the gun back with my thumb. My index finger grazes the trigger. Tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. Oddly, they aren't tears of sadness. I crave the freedom I'll have in a couple moments.
I take a deep breath, then squeeze the trigger. A bang louder than anything I've ever heard rings through my ears as a blunt searing pain fills my head. My slow, drunk thoughts are quickly stung with panic. I scream louder than I thought I ever could. I pull the lever again quickly and shoot again, something I thought wouldn't be necessary. I'm met with the same pain, now twofold. I unload bullet after bullet into my throbbing brain, which has blood and other fluids pouring out all over me, my clothes, and the floor.
Not a single bullet does the trick, but clearly they all went through my skull and eviscerated my cerebral tissue. I fall out of my chair, writhing on the floor. My guttural roars of agony echo throughout my room, combined with the sharp ringing in my ears. My previous struggles are now of no importance to me, replaced by crucifying pain. After screaming myself to exhaustion, I pass out as I'm pleading to the universe that still plagues me:
Why? Why am I alive? | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I awoke in a cold steel box.
At first, I thought I'd been buried alive. I panicked immediately, banging on the cool metal surfaces that surrounded me. That only intensified my panic, for three reasons: one, it revealed that my pitch-black prison was completely solid. Two, I couldn't move my legs properly. And three, my soundless blows against the steel walls revealed that I was completely *deaf.*
Abruptly, my prison filled with light. The slab I was on slid out into a room with tile floors and walls, lit by harsh fluorescent lights -- a morgue, I realized. I was looking up at a man in hospital scrubs, with wild dark hair, who was staring down at me, wide-eyed. He said something, but I couldn't hear him. I didn't *think* I'd always been deaf, but I found, to my even *further* alarm, that I couldn't remember for sure.
I struggled feebly on the slab, my limbs flopping uselessly, as the man left my field of vision. He returned moments later, still wide-eyed, with a small flashlight, which he shined in my eyes. I blinked painfully and tried to swear at him, but even deaf I could tell my words came out an unintelligible slur. He said something else, looking extremely disturbed. Yeah, imagine how *I* feel, guy.
He left my field of vision again, and then suddenly I felt him lift me into a half-sitting position, and then wrap his arms around my chest. I was increasingly terrified of where the man might be going with this, and my fears were justified as he drug me backwards off the slab, and my legs hit the ground painfully. He laid me down more gently, and then looked down, brow furrowed. Was he scared? Worried? I couldn't tell. I was having a hard time concentrating.
For a third time, he stepped out of my field of vision. When he returned, my eyes widened in terror. He stood over me with a *sledgehammer,* his eyes wild, speaking rapidly through gritted teeth. I tried to scream. I tried to *beg.* I don't know if I made any sound, I just know he didn't pay my cries any heed.
The sledgehammer came down on my head, and then I knew nothing.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Three days later -- it's always three days -- I awoke on my customary slab in the morgue. I yawned, knocked politely on the door to my chilled mortuary cabinet, and then I waited. After a few moments, Deacon , the medical examiner who'd become my best friend after discovering my *condition* last year, opened the door, and pulled my slab out of the cabinet.
He looked down at me, with a pained expression. Poor guy looked like he hadn't slept since the last time I came back.
"I am so sorry!" he said, frantically. "I...you were in really bad shape! Your face was partially paralyzed, you couldn't move properly, you had abnormal pupillary response, I--I didn't know what else to do, so--"
I smiled tiredly, and shook my head, reaching up to squeeze his forearm. "Deac, Deac! Relax," I interrupted. "It's okay! If I'd been *able* to think, I would have told you to do the same thing. I should be apologizing to you, if anything. I'm guessing that you had to pick through my smashed skull and brains, to get all of that asshole's shotgun pellets out of what was left of my head. That must have been a pain in the ass."
He nodded, a queasy expression on his face. "Yeah. I'm sure I got them all, though."
I rolled off the slab and onto my feet, and Deacon handed me my clothes. "Welp, at least now we know that if something's still *stuck* in me when I come back, my body doesn't just push it out, when it heals. Next time I get shot in the head you can crack open my skull and clean out the lead fragments *before* I resurrect."
"So, I take it you know who's been kidnapping those girls?" Deacon asked, hesitantly, as I got dressed.
I nodded, grimly. "Pretty sure. He was on to my snooping around his front operations, though. I suspect that's why he put a shotgun to my head and pulled the trigger."
*"And* dumped you in the river. You gotta be more careful, Jimmy!" Deacon said, pleadingly. "I know you're...well, you know, but what if he'd been smarter about disposing of your body, and weighted you down with bricks, or something?"
I didn't want to think about that. "I'll be better prepared when I go back, trust me."
"You're going *back?"* Deacon cried. "Why don't you just tip off the police?"
I shook my head. "I saw what I saw, but I don't have any *evidence,* Deac. Besides, it's been six days now, he'll have cleaned out the locations I comprised. I've got to do this myself."
Deacon groaned, flopping down in his chair. "Fine. I'll keep a slab open for you."
"Hey, try to be more positive. I've got one thing going for me."
"Yeah, I know. You can't die. Not permanently. Not *so far."* Deacon said, warningly.
"Well, that too." I amended.
"What else?"
I grinned. "He's not going to be *expecting* me, this time." | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I looked out upon the city that had eaten me up and spit me out. I tried to think of the good people in my life. The memories that had helped me through the tough times. Even just the good times. Nothing came. Well, just one thing. A dog I had when I was growing up. She was the only loyal thing I had ever known. The only thing that I had loved or had shown me any love. But that was 15 years ago. Maybe I’ll get to see her when this is over. Maybe.
I take one last breath. I whisper, “fuck it.” Then I fall forward. I see the buildings in the skyline fall up as many turns into one. The one across the street. I think I see a glimpse of myself in the windows that begin to rush by, but I can’t be sure. Then I see the street below and then white noise. The wind is so loud I can’t even hear my screams. If I was screaming. The cars get bigger. I can see more detail on people’s clothes. I see a hot dog vendor drop something, pick it up, and put it back on his cart. “Gross” I think. Then I close my eyes. I feel a pain that can only be described as being hit by a truck. The pain is like nothing I have ever felt. It felt like I was folded in a lawn chair then squeezed in a vice. But only for a split second. Then blackness.
I heard voices. Worried voices. Gasps. Then I heard movement. Feet shuffling. Horns. I smelled something. Hot dogs. And the faint scent of garbage. My eyes start to twitch and light starts to poke through. I open them, or rather, one since I seemed to be on my stomach with my face on pavement. I groan as I push myself up of the street. I stand and look at the crowd that is looking at me. I look up at the building that I had chosen as my last vantage point. I look back towards the source of the hot dog odor. “Well...fuck!” | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | It does not matter how many times it whispers to you, you are still afraid. Its hands are tucked into the stark white and egg cream of folded wings, as if this might alleviate some tension. It is impossible to perceive in whole, only in pieces. Shimmering gold tips and endless, brilliant, unblinking eyes, bordered by thick black ink and painted rogue. It is covered in soft colors and sharp lines, and your mind is doing something beyond fathom inside your head. You fall to your knees, desperate for absolution, face pressing into the searing skin of your folded forearms.
“Please rise. Do not prostrate yourself before me. I am but a messenger.”
It projects with a voice that rattles and soothes your head in tandem, and your body jerks upward in compliance. Thick clouds of cotton white cloud your vision. You briefly consider the modesty of angels. How does a formless being bow to their king?
“Listen carefully, young one. You will never grow old. You will live forever. You will see the approaching storm of Armageddon, and you will stand among the wreckage. You are a messenger, just as I am.”
You are rigid. Your trachea is a thick, solid piece of something. A rotted-out oak tree that no longer speaks, only echoes back what it is told in reverence. You finally manage a whimper, fingers sliding up to rest tentatively on the taut skin of your throat. It is okay to go slow. You have all the time in the world. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | Ofttimes I'd find myself wondering how many years it had been since I first met him. I was out with some friends for a night at Steeples, the only gay bar you'd be able to find in our tiny little shit town back in the seventies. I'd had more than a few, and had sparked a conversation with a stranger - he was tall, with a gorgeous body and a shyness that could be construed as off-putting. He had asked if I'd wanted to go home with him, insisting that he had better booze at home. My gut told me no - there was something in his eyes; some vacant deadness that made me feel as though I was sinking through an infinite abyss towards oblivion when I looked in to them. My friends pushed and pushed me to do it, and I finally agreed. I hope they're doing well these days. I don't hold anything against them.
It wasn't until we got into his house that he introduced himself to me as Jeff. In practically the same breath, he handed me a glass of amber liquid, and I was too stupid to ask questions. He had dissolved enough Valium in the whiskey to knock out God. It wasn't until nearly morning where I woke up in his bed, swaddled in blankets and gently lain to sleep. I had an absolutely crushing headache, and I tried to wiggle free of the blankets to no avail.
"Jeff?" I called out into the night.
He grunted, turned over in the bed, and screamed. He leaped out of bed and grabbed a nearby liquor bottle and repeatedly bashed it against my head. On the second swing, the bottle shattered and sent glass shards flying across the bed. He continued swinging as hard as he could, opening the flesh on my face with the jagged edges of the bottle with increasing depth and frequency. Blood oozed from the wounds on my face, shifting around the remnants of the bottle that had lodged themselves in my cheek, forehead, and nose.
I woke up in the morning feeling pain-free, though disoriented. I tried to reach for my face, but my arms were abruptly cut short before they could reach their target. The clank of rattling metal accompanied a jolt that went throughout my shoulder, as I came-to and continued trying to pull my arms free of the chain-link binds. I was in a corner of the bedroom I had slept in the night before, attached to the wall by stainless steel chain to thick eye bolts that had been drilled into the studs in the wall. There was no breaking free of these no matter how much I struggled.
Jeff walked into the room playing hot potato with a bowl of oatmeal that had just come out of the microwave. He set the bowl on his nightstand while sliding a wooden chair across the floor and ate his breakfast, silently staring at me the entire time.
"Jeff?" I once again asked, although in a tone that you might say was whiny, "what's going on?"
"I killed you," he said, "I suffocated you with that pillow, drilled a hole through your skull, and took a butcher's cleaver to your arms."
I clearly still had arms. They were bound to the walls. I assumed he must be crazy, but I was still on the fence about how dangerous he might truly be.
"Well, buddy, as you can see I'm still fully formed. How about we let bygones be by-" he interrupted me by getting up and walking out of the room. When he came back, he was holding a large Ziploc bag, which he threw at me.
"No. I killed you," he threw the Ziploc bag at me. "I cut these off and browned the rest in a red wine reduction sauce with a bit of olive oil. Right now they're sitting in a Crockpot with a bit of onion, carrot, and potatoes. Seasonings too, of course. Mostly aromatics - cumin, garlic, paprika, nothing too fancy."
I looked at the Ziploc bag and immediately felt the disorientation and nausea from the night before hit me like a Willie Stargell power hit. Those were *my* hands. I looked over at the shackles to confirm - the ring I wore on my right index finger was no longer there, but it was in the bag. I had a scar on my palm from a bike accident when I was a kid that was no longer there, but was plain as day on the dismembered limb in this bag.
Jeff grabbed a roll of translucent shipping tape and walked over towards me. Although I pleaded for him not to do anything more, that I wouldn't go to the police, that I just wanted to go home, none of it mattered. He wrapped my entire head in packing tape, leaving no room for air to get in or out. I saw him walk out the front door and heard the lock turn before everything went black.
The world didn't come flooding back until some indiscernible amount of time later, when he unceremoniously ripped the tape from my head. He told me how excited he was at what I might be and how I was everything he had been looking for. He showed me the skulls from his previous attempts, Polaroids of the acts he had committed on them, and the trophies he had kept of his favorites. I could not help crying; whether out of pain, confusion, or agony, I couldn't be sure.
He told me he had spent years looking for his personal love zombie. Someone he could cherish and hold and have them be forever his, forever under his full control. I was that person: I could go nowhere, do nothing, say nothing, as I could always come back to him no matter what act was performed on me. The last bit set the stage for the next decade or two of my life. The first night he came back from work, he had told me about an idea he had.
He took me out to his garage - the first time I'd seen the outside in nearly 24 hours. I was deep in the woods, in some podunk Appalachian backwater where the idea of neighbors was nearly as foreign as the concept of multivariable calculus. He kept me chained up, always disciplined in his actions to never allow me personal agency for even a second. He strapped me to a table and used a bandsaw to cut through my abdomen. I screamed as the heat of the saw made contact with the fat and threw the scent of bacon into the air. Next had been my colon, a decidedly less pleasant odor. Finally it was my small intestines, the saw shredding through them and sending blood and viscera flying across the dank garage. On Jeff's face, I swear I could see a smile mixed in with the determination he had for the task at hand.
The next morning, I woke up in absolute darkness. I was cramped - stuffed into a box too small for me as if I were a contortionist. I started to scream, but flaked bits of dust kept entering my mouth as I hyperventilated and jostled the floor of my confines. Finally, light found it's way in as Jeff opened the door of my prison. Outside was the kitchen, with Jeff's chair sitting at the dirty kitchen table. He was picking at a meal that I could hardly see, but he was still chewing.
"Want some?", he asked. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I was immortal.
Yes, you heard me right, I’m immortal. As in, don’t age, don’t die, look the same as I did two hundred years ago, basically, like _Edward Cullen_ from the horrible franchise that was _Twilight_.
Except I’m no disco ball, nor a vampire. Really, the only thing I have in common with him apart from the immortal thing is the fact that I was a freak of nature.
See, I don’t live in a fantasy world. No flying cars, super powers, gods or genetically engineered spiders here. It’s a simple world.
Born > grow > school > degree > job > retire > die.
Or so it goes, anyway, for most people. But see, I never really got the linking factor of all those things- _growing_.
Well, I did, technically. I’m not a baby running around spitting out limericks and requiring a stool because I’m so small. I did age, to some degree. To about twenty three or twenty four. Then I stopped.
Now, we joked it was good genes. My parents looked fairly good for their age, and I didn’t seem abnormal. Still had my period, still ate and drank and slept, hell, I had kids.
I just never changed. Everybody else grew old. My parents turned to dust. My partner, bless his heart, aged gracefully, but even I could see the wrinkles forming on his face, the grey hairs adorning his beard. Wrinkles I never got, grey hairs I never got.
My kids grew up, from babies to teens to adults to elders, my partner died and it was just… devastating to watch. Contrary to movies, I never fled upon realising my unageing status. Questions were asked at first but.. well, it’s amazing what hair dye and makeup can do. Even then it was less I was ashamed and more the unexplainable questions were getting on my nerves.
I, my husband, and my kids, we all hoped it was just a visual thing. Some rare, undiscovered condition where I just _visually_ looked like I hadn’t aged, but my body did. And I was in denial for many many years.
It took my eldest child, Lucien, dying that I finally realised that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ageing. That I had to face the denial I’d been living in for years now. My family all dropped dead around me, their children had children, and so on so forth.
Everybody I ever loved died, to the point where I found myself becoming apathetic to their existence, because what was the point if they would just die in ninety years, _if I was lucky._
I wanted to be dead. I’d lived several life times. I was tired of watching people die, of loving only to lose in the end. But in the end, I was unwanted even by death, and I was stuck, unable to have my greatest wish.
I couldn’t live, couldn’t die, I was just tormented and hurt, in limbo. Tortured like I was the worst of the worst, hurt again and again and _agai-_
Who wants to live forever, they ask?
Not me. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | Chris and I have been friends our whole lives because our moms were friends. We were born thirteen hours apart. Never in my life have I felt such betrayal. I break through the surface of the water as he and my wife start the engine and drive away. The sound of the engine growing fainter as I struggle to swim up with anchor chained to me.
A 15pound anchor the look of surprise at how well I was able to swim holding it above my head. But they knew as soon as they started the engine it wasn't going to matter. We were 60miles offshore. No chance of me escaping the chains and swimming home. We were well off the continental shelf of North Carolina where just the blue abyss lay beneath me. My arms and legs grew tired. I screamed for them to come back.
Down I go. It's amazing how fast you sink chained to an anchor. I tried holding my breath, but I knew that was pointless. My ear drums were screaming with pain. The pressure on my chest was unbearable. I finally was prepared to die. I said my prayers for my family and friends to get over my passing quickly and that Alanna and Chris would get caught and go to jail. Then I inhaled. The cold seawater rushed into my mouth, lungs, and stomach.
Well I guess I'm dead at least I should be. My feet and anchor sink into the soft bottom. I get laid flat, face up on the sea floor. It's so dark the sun's light doesn't penetrate this far down. I try to sit up but the weight if the water is too much. Without the sun I don't know how long it took for the clean up crew to arrive, but I felt them. Little pinches here and there. Needle like prods and pokes then large pinches. It was the crabs. As fast as they would take a pinch and shove it into their mouth it would heal. After the first one grabbed a piece of my eyeball, I shut my eyes that was too weird. So they would pick an eyelid and it would regrow. The only thing that haunts me is those all you can eat crab leg buffets I enjoyed and here I am an all you can eat crab buffet. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | Immortal - I've been thinking about it the last few months. That must be it, I'm immortal. It's a curse. Why? Because it does not come with invulnerability nor fast healing. Maybe not with healing at all, but how could I tell? I've been here since the day when someone should have known, but nobody did. I'm wondering how many more …
So what happened? Just a happy little accident at work, touching a wire that should be dead, that somehow was missed when we double-checked them … usually I'd have just pulled away my hand, but somehow this time my fingers just would not let go until my heart had stopped. The other guys were at a different part of the building, making noise. Still my body held tension for just long enough to make sure that it stopped working. Then I sank down and lay there for what seemed to be hours, fully aware and seeing through my eyes. I wasn't breathing and soon my muscles did stop obeying my commands at all. What else should it do without energy? It should do that!
Finally they found me and called an ambulance, but even though I could see them do their job, they found me dead. They drove me off in a bag after closing my eyes and shutting my mouth (thanks for that), put me in a freezer and left me there for some time. I felt my body hurt from the temperature, then slowly it started going numb.
When they held my funeral I could barely feel being moved, but i heard them. Some light fell through my closed eyelids, and when they opened, I could only see as if through fog. Should my eyes be decomposing? My brain should be, my ears should be!
They unzipped the bag, cut away my work clothes from the limbs that must have been attached below my head, then put new clothes there. Some makeup for my probably pale face and a short drive to the funeral. Some people cried, my family most certainly among them. I could only lay there and hear, thinking about crying out, thinking about crying with tears, too.
Now I'm still somehow alive, hearing and thinking. I think my mouth fell open. I sometimes hear things move nearby, probably rats gnawing at my body. The body that betrayed me by dying before me. Oh please gnaw away that brain that does not die, or maybe at least gnaw away my ears.
​
Continued: https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/comments/ujw35d/wp\_you\_are\_an\_immortal\_in\_the\_year\_of\_our\_lord/
​
[https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/](https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert_writing/) | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “If everyone can find a chair, it’s time to get started.” The woman tapped the microphone once with a humble smile, watching as the assorted crowd gathered for the anticipated event.
After a moment of silence settled in the room, she spoke again. “I’m happy to welcome so many familiar faces to our 187th annual Immortality conference. As always, we have some newcomers as well. Since we will all be friends for a very long time, let’s start with introductions.”
She waved at a young man standing off to the side, swaying from foot to foot with his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he stepped forward and took the mic.
“Uh, hi. I’m Josh.”
“Hi Josh,” came the familiar chorus. His shoulders dropped a little and his smile widened.
“Hi. Uh, Camilla told me to introduce myself to you all. Where I’m from, my favorite color, and whatever I know about my, uh, my immortality.” He nearly choked on the word. Typical newbie.
“So, I’m Josh. Josh Callahan. I grew up in Sandy Shoals, Illinois. Never found the sand or the shoals, though,” he halfway chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, that’s a townie joke.”
His eyes roved around the room, looking at the odd assortment of people from every age, race, and gender. Wise stares looked back at him. “Yeah, so I like to travel. I really like pizza. And I’m planning to go to college to be an accountant.”
His brows furrowed. “Or I was. God, can you image an eternity as an accountant?”
“I’ve lived it!” called out a voice from somewhere in the back, nasally and sharp. The rest of the room bubbled with polite laughter.
“You all can probably tell this is new to me. I just found out a few weeks ago, and the suits investigating things slipped me a flyer about this event. So here I am.”
Josh looked toward Camilla, who smiled encouragingly. “Your story,” she mouthed, and his head bobbed.
“Right, how I got here. Well, you see, some friends and I have a youtube channel. I’d say you should check it out but I’m pretty sure they had to take it down. But we posted pranks, lifehacks, challenges, urban legends, you name it. Duncan was the mastermind, and so he pitched us an idea.”
Josh was smiling now, as if the memory were happy. But there was something hidden in his eyes that foretold the events to unfold. “So, Duncan came across the immortality spell, he said. Something online that was guaranteed to work. He said we’d try it out, then have the immortal person stand in front of a train. Some editing magic, and it’d look like everything worked.”
There was a collective groan from within the crowd. “I guess you folks know where this is going,” he said with a sigh.
“So, we did it. Duncan had me spend weeks sitting in the moonlight, drinking strange drinks, repeating words backwards in a mirror, and sleeping with crystals around my room. I filmed so many stupid things.”
Chairs creaked as everyone leaned in close to hear about the discovery. The internet meant so many young people were getting their hands on dangerous magic. Swelling attendance to the conference reinforced this point.
“When it came time to film the train thing, Duncan said we should go to the bridge outside of town. Said it’d look more dramatic. Besides, there wasn’t supposed to be a train that day. He said.”
Josh dropped his eyes, looking back up with a brief flash of anger. “I looked it up. Four trains go through there a day. Liar.”
Camilla stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. He smiled at her, and she nodded for him to continue.
“So, when the train showed up, I was in the middle of the bridge. Unfortunately, none of the spells we worked gave me super speed. I could hear Duncan whooping and hollering the whole time.”
Josh shook his head, eyes refocusing on the audience. “Anyways, you probably don’t need me to tell you what happens when a train hits a body, immortal or not. It wasn’t a pretty sight from the inside, either. But, I was lucky everything grew back. “ Josh stretched out his free hand and splayed his fingers. “Ten fingers and ten toes!”
The audience clapped, and Josh waited for the rumble of applause to subside. “So, when I met Duncan later at the hospital, he was all wide-eyed. I asked him how he knew it had worked. Figured he must have tested me or something before.”
The pained expression on Josh’s face said it well before the words could. “But he didn’t. Just thought it would be good for the views.”
There was a hiss from the audience of shared pain. Too many discovered immortality at the hands of treachery.
“But Camilla says you all can help me figure this out. So I’m looking forward to making some new friends. Real friends,” he added to the end.
Camilla took the microphone with her smile and pleasant voice. “Welcome, Josh. Friends, let’s give him an immortal welcome.”
The room erupted into applause and whistles as those nearest him reached out to pat his back or shake his hand. Josh smiled. It was nice to fit in. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | Sometimes I imagine you with me. Here, in the dark, it’s simple to trick one’s mind, so I hold my own hand and allow myself to think it’s yours.
Humans have always feared the darkness. The unknown has scared us as a species. The reason we explore, that we step inside the darkness, is so that we can tame that which terrifies us. So that we can take control over it.
It’s only here, in darkness, that you find the true unknown. You drown in darkness like this. As black and heavy as an ocean. You can not look out at the sky so you are forced to look inwards.
Do you remember when we first met on that autumn bench in the park? I was at the start of what seemed like an endless road to becoming a surgeon. You’d just become a primary school teacher, ready to inspire generations.
I would escape to that bench in front of the pond just to breathe, to soothe the stress that pinpricked my heart. You would come to feed the ducks at lunch. We never talked, just nodded and smiled politely. I’d watch the birds on the water and steal glances at you, slowly realising that just being near you eased my stress, and it was nothing to do with the park or birds.
In winter you stepped onto the thick slabs of ice that covered the pond and brought a branch down onto it, cracking open holes so the fish could breathe.
Then that sickening crack as the ice you stood on gave.
And me, the imagery hero, running to the ice, putting my hand out to pull you up. And instead, I ended up falling in next to you. You climbed out then helped heave me out.
We talked after that. We broke the ice, alright.
We married, only a year later. Had two children, almost as beautiful as you, but tinged unfortunately with my own slight off-kilter features.
And then the problem with your mind began. Your body tightning up as if you were made of iron and your joints, your bolts, were hurriedly rusting. Like a sea breeze constantly besieging you. Before long, walking slowed to an impossibility. You voice became slurred. My heart became cold.
You always kept your spirits high — how, I don’t know. And instead of admiring you, I became bitter, angered that you weren’t as angry as I was. For that I’m eternally sorry.
I never dug up bodies like they accused me of having done. I don’t think I would have had the nerve to visit a graveyard at night! But I was willing to pay for fresh corpses. You’d be surprised how many families will depart with a loved one’s body for a little money.
And so I began my work of dissecting brains. Of understanding where rot could occur that might influence a person’s motions. Of rewiring and reworking to move around the faults.
But these were corpses! I thought what I was doing might help you, but how would I know without testing on living creatures? On people. Would this truly interfere with their movements, and would the operation fix it again?
There was only one way to know.
People, it seems, are less likely to part with living relatives. Not all, mind. But many.
I was only able to procure six subjects before it all crumbled. Before I was reported and investigated and found out to have being committing ‘criminal’ actions.
They feared the unknown! And now when others are struck by your condition — perhaps their own loved ones, for God’s sake — they will turn away from the darkness. You and I, we were punished for staring into it. For trying to conquer it.
At any rate, what I’d found by that point would have been very little use to us. I could destroy movement, I could take it away. But I couldn’t bring it back.
But with more time…
​
I squeeze my hands tighter together. Imagine the scent of oranges, of your favourite perfume, whisking through the darkness.
How long did you live for after I was buried?
A month? Year? Decade?
The coffin itself has rotted, the wood all but gone, but the soil keeps its shape.
I still have a long way to go. The skin on my fingers is gone, the bones protrude like a set of white knives, like claws, like I’m an animal digging at the stoney soil.
They buried me deep below the surface. But I’ll be out before they’re all dead. And even if they are, they will have families for me to find.
You squeeze my hand reassuringly. I feel your lips breeze across my own.
It’s your way of saying yes. That it’s a fine plan. That they deserve it.
Yes, we’ll make them suffer for separating us. | [Poem]
Deep thump of sudden sound,
Tension that could not be defused.
Redhead's Paranoia.
Arcing overhead,
Parabolic invader.
Death, the end is nigh.
Up up and away,
Superman will save the day.
Bracing for impact.
Shining bright above,
I leave in all directions.
Hogarth would be proud.
Beacon softly beeps,
Calling martyred metal northward.
Superman lives on.
Don't know how to format on mobile to make the lines appear correctly. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I opened my eyes and noticed two things, one, my girlfriend was dead and two, the demon who'd likely taken her life was staring at me with an amused smirk.
"I'm going to assume you hadn't gotten to the I'm-an-immortal stage of your relationship." She stated flatly.
I shook my head, "Clare wasn't super interested in anything but clothes, make-up and other superficial stuff." I explained, "I'm mildly shocked she read a demon summoning well enough to understand it nevermind perform it."
"Annd you didn't think to tell her that her translation of the summoning was wrong?"
"She didn't stop to tell me she intended to sacrifice me," I sighed.
"You know Lilith is going to throw a fit when she hears about this." The demon chuckled.
"Grandma Lilly doesn't need to know about this." I pleaded
The Demon laughed at me, "Look kid, I like you but Queen Lilith has a standing policy when it comes to you and a habit of shredding the souls of anyone who so much as thinks about violating it"
She looked at the dried up corpse of my now ex girlfriend, "given the theme park of red delights she's headed for, I'd just as soon avoid sharing her fate."
I sighed and realized again that while there were definite advantages to being related to a primordial demon Queen. The fact she could occasionally be a bit of a helicopter parent was something of a downside. | “So this is how it ends, huh,” shin wonders. In truth, he was happy about his sudden end, not leaving anything or anyone he loved behind but it wasn't like he had a lot to love regardless he still was scared, of dying, of an afterlife, and if it exists, reincarnation, but overall he feels like a great pressure was being released. He felt like he was truly happy, with no more pressure, no more expectations, no more suffering, and he didn't even have to feel bad because it wasn't his fault. As the darkness grows, swallowing his sight he finally felt at peace taking in the stars in the night one last time before he rests forever.
The context is his best friend, which was the only reason he's still alive killed herself after he rejected her. I was too lazy to set it up but you finally gave me the idea of how I wanted to write this so I thought I should at least show you the prompt.
He opens his eyes to the same sky, the same hard ground, the same position laying on his back, ”No way” | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “Let’s start with your index finger!”
“Nononono, please, I’ve done everything I-“
*RIP*
#”AAAAAAUUUUUUGH!!!“
Yep. That’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got into this situation.
Short answer. I fucked big time with a mafia, and now I *should* be dead within the hour, when they finish torturing me.
Long answer. I used to be an old associate with these guys, but I was arrested by police officers. They let me off on the condition that I became a confidential investigator, and by that, I mean I essentially had to rat out as much as possible about this criminal organization. I did pretty well, hidden for a while, but eventually, one of them got a little too suspicious of me. I managed to clear any charges thanks to the evidence I revealed to the police, so at that point, I decided to leave and never return, moving into the next city over. Happy ending right?
Unfortunately no. The very week after I moved, I got into a pretty severe car crash. I got hit in the back, lost control, and… well, this is a bit ugly, but…
My car ran over a woman and her child.
They were declared dead in the hospital.
This would already be a fucked up situation, since I’ve accidentally killed a mother and a child. Granted, it wasn’t my fault at all, I had the right of way, but the guilt was still very severe.
It was way worse when I learned that the woman and child was the grandfather Mafia’s wife and daughter.
You already know what happens next.
Anyways, let’s get back to me being tortured to absolute shit.
#”AUUGH!”
They’ve just ripped off my fingernail with pliers. Rusty pliers at that.
“That’s just for the parking expenses I had for going to the hospital!”
This was the Mafia grandfather, Aiden, basically the absolute most influential dude in the organization. Despite being 49 years old, this guy looked like he could crush a brick with his bare hands, and was probably thinking about doing the same with my skull.
“Don’t worry though, I’ve got plenty more! We’re gonna have lots of fun!”
“PLEASE STOP, I WOULD DO ANYTHING TO HELP THEM, I NEVER WANTED THIS…”
He smacks me in the jaw with the pliers, hard, and I’m pretty sure he knocked a tooth loose.
With almost no hesitation, he then proceeds to go for my middle finger nail.
#”UUUUUAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGH!!!!”
If I kept explaining everything so slowly, you’d probably get bored quick. Basically, once he was done, every single finger nail and toenail was ripped off. He poured alcohol and salt onto them to really make it burn. Then, Aiden crushed my nutsack. Slowly. To, and I quote, “prevent the world from suffering the plaque that is your blood.” Yeesh. He then punched and kicked me, and eventually, showed mercy in the form of spraying my face and body with an assault rifle. And then a shotgun. Now, anyone would be DEFINITELY dead by the time he started using guns. Doesn’t matter how hardy you may be, nothing really saves you from your brain being stuffed with lead and gunpowder.
Except immortality.
Good news: I was alive!
Bad news: I was alive. Which meant I still felt pain.
You might be confused as to how I could possibly feel pain, and that’s assuming you got past the immortality part. Well, turns out, if a part of my body, like, say, a leg, were to be disconnected from my brain, I can still feel the nerves inside. And even if they were absolutely destroyed, I still feel the pain.
It was basically hell. Death at that moment would have been greater than spending eternity in a perfect heaven. But it seemed that death was something I did not have the privilege of.
I couldn’t do anything but simply feel. Eventually, Aiden asked his goons to clean up the mess, and went to take a shower.
My remains were stuffed into a garbage bag, and thrown in a dumpster.
Shortly after, I felt my body slowly repair itself. Very slowly, but surely, repairing. Somehow. At the end of the day, my body parts were at least connected, though incredibly poorly and mutilated. In a weeks time, I finally gained the strength to escape from my prison, my body having constructed just enough to rip out. I was still bloodied as hell, but I was alive.
Everything still hurt. It hurt so bad for so long, I almost got used to it. But not really. Pain is something no one gets used to. Ever.
In a couple more days, I eventually recovered to the point where I finally wasn’t bleeding. And shortly after, it was like I never died. Not a single scar or scratch to be seen.
I didn’t have many options, but I did know one thing, and one thing only.
If I wanted to avoid having that event repeat itself, I’d have to run. Run, run, and run, until I can run no more.
And pray I never even hear the name Aiden ever again. | “So this is how it ends, huh,” shin wonders. In truth, he was happy about his sudden end, not leaving anything or anyone he loved behind but it wasn't like he had a lot to love regardless he still was scared, of dying, of an afterlife, and if it exists, reincarnation, but overall he feels like a great pressure was being released. He felt like he was truly happy, with no more pressure, no more expectations, no more suffering, and he didn't even have to feel bad because it wasn't his fault. As the darkness grows, swallowing his sight he finally felt at peace taking in the stars in the night one last time before he rests forever.
The context is his best friend, which was the only reason he's still alive killed herself after he rejected her. I was too lazy to set it up but you finally gave me the idea of how I wanted to write this so I thought I should at least show you the prompt.
He opens his eyes to the same sky, the same hard ground, the same position laying on his back, ”No way” | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I opened my eyes and noticed two things, one, my girlfriend was dead and two, the demon who'd likely taken her life was staring at me with an amused smirk.
"I'm going to assume you hadn't gotten to the I'm-an-immortal stage of your relationship." She stated flatly.
I shook my head, "Clare wasn't super interested in anything but clothes, make-up and other superficial stuff." I explained, "I'm mildly shocked she read a demon summoning well enough to understand it nevermind perform it."
"Annd you didn't think to tell her that her translation of the summoning was wrong?"
"She didn't stop to tell me she intended to sacrifice me," I sighed.
"You know Lilith is going to throw a fit when she hears about this." The demon chuckled.
"Grandma Lilly doesn't need to know about this." I pleaded
The Demon laughed at me, "Look kid, I like you but Queen Lilith has a standing policy when it comes to you and a habit of shredding the souls of anyone who so much as thinks about violating it"
She looked at the dried up corpse of my now ex girlfriend, "given the theme park of red delights she's headed for, I'd just as soon avoid sharing her fate."
I sighed and realized again that while there were definite advantages to being related to a primordial demon Queen. The fact she could occasionally be a bit of a helicopter parent was something of a downside. | I started hearing voices. That was the first clue that something was horribly wrong. I heard the voices of my parents, calling me a pedophile. It was out of the blue, I was spelunking in a local cave, nothing but me and the silence. Silence broken by horrible insults from the people I love. Or at least, representations of them.
I was unnerved, but I continued through the cave. I could tell which voice was mine in my head, so I asked: "Mum, Dad, why would you say that about me?"
"Because it's the most evil thing one can do, son" they said in unison. It was in stereo now, each taking up one side. "We can see who you are in here, and you're a monster. We know as you know, dear."
Out loud I said "Go fuck yourselves". It was all that came to mind.
"You're free son. Be a killer. Be a monster. Rape and pillage. We know you want it."
Then, they stopped. I felt a wave of nausea and fell to my knees. The cave enveloped me. Suddenly, a rumbling. I got up, the nausea dissapated. I ran for the exit. The light smashed my eyes. I was free.
As I drove home, a voice similar to that of Randy from South Park urged me to drive my car into a tree. "Come on man, it's not like it's gonna kill ya". I ignored the voice, and began thinking about schizophrenia. Trey Parker (or his fascimile) said "You're not schizophrenic, I'm just as real as you man. Trust me, i'm trying to help. You crash this car, you'll be fine. I mean it". I considered the possibility of psychosis brought on by the years of drug abuse, to which I got a "Nope. Just in-between the living and the dead, Jamie."
I continued driving, trying not to have another thought in fear of a response. As I pulled into the driveway, David Bowie said "Nice place". I ignored him and stepped out of the car. As I opened the door, my german shepard Ziggy ran towards me. There is no joy like that of a dog's greeting. I moved to pet him, when I heard my friends Mike, John, and Elise yelling "SLIT ITS FUCKING THROAT". I pulled my hand away and Ziggy stared me down expectantly. For a moment, the voices took control of me. I wanted to grab Ziggy, my sweet, gorgeous Ziggy, and strangle the life of him. Only for a moment. But a moment was too long. The intrusion of the thought caused me to well up, before I yelled "STOP".
"That won't work" said an unfamiliar voice. "End it now, for both our sakes. You're holding up the queue."
"Who are you?" I sputtered out.
"Who do you think?". I didn't have an answer.
"What queue?"
"The big one, baby." The voice was foreign to me, neither male, nor female, nor trans, nor non-binary. It didn't seem human.
"What does that mean?"
"You know"
I put my torch and other gear in my room, then went to the shower. Despite a few voices urging me to slip and fall, it was rather uneventful. I finished, and went to bed. As I fell into slumber, I realised I had cut short my spelunking today. Thank God it's saturday. Tomorrow, i'll get back to it, voices or not, I told myself. At that moment a chorus of "He's back" started. It was like a million voices in one, all speaking disparately. It was tough to get to sleep. I think it was two when I fell asleep.
The next morning I awoke to "Useless" from Barack Obama. That was a weird one. I grabbed my gear and commenced the drive, leaving Ziggy some food and water. Petting him, I realised how badly I needed help. I resolved to book a psych once I got back. I entered the car, and began making my way to Dawson's Cave.
The voices were silent on the car trip. They began once I entered the cave. Trey Parker was back. He said, "Why do you never listen?"
I ignored him. "Your funeral, buddy". As I went deeper I noticed the beautiful nature of the rock formations around me. They were pristine in their cragginess. Free from guilt and shame, simply existing. It was a beautiful existence. Trey Parker interrupted my meditations. "You should have listened to me kid. It's coming for you"
"What is?"
"Fate."
The rumbling began. I began running, but it was too late. The entrance was collapsed, and the collapse stretched back far. I could die in here. "You won't. I told you, you're between the living and the dead. You're immortal."
I choked out a laugh, "Bullshit. Fuckin south park voice. Fuck you man"
"Suit yourself" all the voices said in unison. They vanished. I never heard another voice again after that. Days passed, weeks even. I grew hungry but I did not faint. I grew tired but did not sleep. I spent my days going down Dawson's cave. I had all the time in the world now. Yet I was trapped. I tried smashing my head against the rocks after what felt like months without water, food or likely oxygen at this point. I was bruised and bloody, but death wouldn't come. They were right. I hoped Ziggy was okay.
As I whiled away my days, visiting and revisiting rocks, a second collapse came. This time, it landed on me. Yet trapped under tonnes of rock, I survived. I thus, spent my days thinking, constantly, of violence, and free will, and the endless human propensity to fuck it all up. One moment, I heard a voice. My voice.
"STOP".
I then realised who that unfamiliar voice was, way back then. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “Let’s start with your index finger!”
“Nononono, please, I’ve done everything I-“
*RIP*
#”AAAAAAUUUUUUGH!!!“
Yep. That’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got into this situation.
Short answer. I fucked big time with a mafia, and now I *should* be dead within the hour, when they finish torturing me.
Long answer. I used to be an old associate with these guys, but I was arrested by police officers. They let me off on the condition that I became a confidential investigator, and by that, I mean I essentially had to rat out as much as possible about this criminal organization. I did pretty well, hidden for a while, but eventually, one of them got a little too suspicious of me. I managed to clear any charges thanks to the evidence I revealed to the police, so at that point, I decided to leave and never return, moving into the next city over. Happy ending right?
Unfortunately no. The very week after I moved, I got into a pretty severe car crash. I got hit in the back, lost control, and… well, this is a bit ugly, but…
My car ran over a woman and her child.
They were declared dead in the hospital.
This would already be a fucked up situation, since I’ve accidentally killed a mother and a child. Granted, it wasn’t my fault at all, I had the right of way, but the guilt was still very severe.
It was way worse when I learned that the woman and child was the grandfather Mafia’s wife and daughter.
You already know what happens next.
Anyways, let’s get back to me being tortured to absolute shit.
#”AUUGH!”
They’ve just ripped off my fingernail with pliers. Rusty pliers at that.
“That’s just for the parking expenses I had for going to the hospital!”
This was the Mafia grandfather, Aiden, basically the absolute most influential dude in the organization. Despite being 49 years old, this guy looked like he could crush a brick with his bare hands, and was probably thinking about doing the same with my skull.
“Don’t worry though, I’ve got plenty more! We’re gonna have lots of fun!”
“PLEASE STOP, I WOULD DO ANYTHING TO HELP THEM, I NEVER WANTED THIS…”
He smacks me in the jaw with the pliers, hard, and I’m pretty sure he knocked a tooth loose.
With almost no hesitation, he then proceeds to go for my middle finger nail.
#”UUUUUAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGH!!!!”
If I kept explaining everything so slowly, you’d probably get bored quick. Basically, once he was done, every single finger nail and toenail was ripped off. He poured alcohol and salt onto them to really make it burn. Then, Aiden crushed my nutsack. Slowly. To, and I quote, “prevent the world from suffering the plaque that is your blood.” Yeesh. He then punched and kicked me, and eventually, showed mercy in the form of spraying my face and body with an assault rifle. And then a shotgun. Now, anyone would be DEFINITELY dead by the time he started using guns. Doesn’t matter how hardy you may be, nothing really saves you from your brain being stuffed with lead and gunpowder.
Except immortality.
Good news: I was alive!
Bad news: I was alive. Which meant I still felt pain.
You might be confused as to how I could possibly feel pain, and that’s assuming you got past the immortality part. Well, turns out, if a part of my body, like, say, a leg, were to be disconnected from my brain, I can still feel the nerves inside. And even if they were absolutely destroyed, I still feel the pain.
It was basically hell. Death at that moment would have been greater than spending eternity in a perfect heaven. But it seemed that death was something I did not have the privilege of.
I couldn’t do anything but simply feel. Eventually, Aiden asked his goons to clean up the mess, and went to take a shower.
My remains were stuffed into a garbage bag, and thrown in a dumpster.
Shortly after, I felt my body slowly repair itself. Very slowly, but surely, repairing. Somehow. At the end of the day, my body parts were at least connected, though incredibly poorly and mutilated. In a weeks time, I finally gained the strength to escape from my prison, my body having constructed just enough to rip out. I was still bloodied as hell, but I was alive.
Everything still hurt. It hurt so bad for so long, I almost got used to it. But not really. Pain is something no one gets used to. Ever.
In a couple more days, I eventually recovered to the point where I finally wasn’t bleeding. And shortly after, it was like I never died. Not a single scar or scratch to be seen.
I didn’t have many options, but I did know one thing, and one thing only.
If I wanted to avoid having that event repeat itself, I’d have to run. Run, run, and run, until I can run no more.
And pray I never even hear the name Aiden ever again. | I started hearing voices. That was the first clue that something was horribly wrong. I heard the voices of my parents, calling me a pedophile. It was out of the blue, I was spelunking in a local cave, nothing but me and the silence. Silence broken by horrible insults from the people I love. Or at least, representations of them.
I was unnerved, but I continued through the cave. I could tell which voice was mine in my head, so I asked: "Mum, Dad, why would you say that about me?"
"Because it's the most evil thing one can do, son" they said in unison. It was in stereo now, each taking up one side. "We can see who you are in here, and you're a monster. We know as you know, dear."
Out loud I said "Go fuck yourselves". It was all that came to mind.
"You're free son. Be a killer. Be a monster. Rape and pillage. We know you want it."
Then, they stopped. I felt a wave of nausea and fell to my knees. The cave enveloped me. Suddenly, a rumbling. I got up, the nausea dissapated. I ran for the exit. The light smashed my eyes. I was free.
As I drove home, a voice similar to that of Randy from South Park urged me to drive my car into a tree. "Come on man, it's not like it's gonna kill ya". I ignored the voice, and began thinking about schizophrenia. Trey Parker (or his fascimile) said "You're not schizophrenic, I'm just as real as you man. Trust me, i'm trying to help. You crash this car, you'll be fine. I mean it". I considered the possibility of psychosis brought on by the years of drug abuse, to which I got a "Nope. Just in-between the living and the dead, Jamie."
I continued driving, trying not to have another thought in fear of a response. As I pulled into the driveway, David Bowie said "Nice place". I ignored him and stepped out of the car. As I opened the door, my german shepard Ziggy ran towards me. There is no joy like that of a dog's greeting. I moved to pet him, when I heard my friends Mike, John, and Elise yelling "SLIT ITS FUCKING THROAT". I pulled my hand away and Ziggy stared me down expectantly. For a moment, the voices took control of me. I wanted to grab Ziggy, my sweet, gorgeous Ziggy, and strangle the life of him. Only for a moment. But a moment was too long. The intrusion of the thought caused me to well up, before I yelled "STOP".
"That won't work" said an unfamiliar voice. "End it now, for both our sakes. You're holding up the queue."
"Who are you?" I sputtered out.
"Who do you think?". I didn't have an answer.
"What queue?"
"The big one, baby." The voice was foreign to me, neither male, nor female, nor trans, nor non-binary. It didn't seem human.
"What does that mean?"
"You know"
I put my torch and other gear in my room, then went to the shower. Despite a few voices urging me to slip and fall, it was rather uneventful. I finished, and went to bed. As I fell into slumber, I realised I had cut short my spelunking today. Thank God it's saturday. Tomorrow, i'll get back to it, voices or not, I told myself. At that moment a chorus of "He's back" started. It was like a million voices in one, all speaking disparately. It was tough to get to sleep. I think it was two when I fell asleep.
The next morning I awoke to "Useless" from Barack Obama. That was a weird one. I grabbed my gear and commenced the drive, leaving Ziggy some food and water. Petting him, I realised how badly I needed help. I resolved to book a psych once I got back. I entered the car, and began making my way to Dawson's Cave.
The voices were silent on the car trip. They began once I entered the cave. Trey Parker was back. He said, "Why do you never listen?"
I ignored him. "Your funeral, buddy". As I went deeper I noticed the beautiful nature of the rock formations around me. They were pristine in their cragginess. Free from guilt and shame, simply existing. It was a beautiful existence. Trey Parker interrupted my meditations. "You should have listened to me kid. It's coming for you"
"What is?"
"Fate."
The rumbling began. I began running, but it was too late. The entrance was collapsed, and the collapse stretched back far. I could die in here. "You won't. I told you, you're between the living and the dead. You're immortal."
I choked out a laugh, "Bullshit. Fuckin south park voice. Fuck you man"
"Suit yourself" all the voices said in unison. They vanished. I never heard another voice again after that. Days passed, weeks even. I grew hungry but I did not faint. I grew tired but did not sleep. I spent my days going down Dawson's cave. I had all the time in the world now. Yet I was trapped. I tried smashing my head against the rocks after what felt like months without water, food or likely oxygen at this point. I was bruised and bloody, but death wouldn't come. They were right. I hoped Ziggy was okay.
As I whiled away my days, visiting and revisiting rocks, a second collapse came. This time, it landed on me. Yet trapped under tonnes of rock, I survived. I thus, spent my days thinking, constantly, of violence, and free will, and the endless human propensity to fuck it all up. One moment, I heard a voice. My voice.
"STOP".
I then realised who that unfamiliar voice was, way back then. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “Let’s start with your index finger!”
“Nononono, please, I’ve done everything I-“
*RIP*
#”AAAAAAUUUUUUGH!!!“
Yep. That’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got into this situation.
Short answer. I fucked big time with a mafia, and now I *should* be dead within the hour, when they finish torturing me.
Long answer. I used to be an old associate with these guys, but I was arrested by police officers. They let me off on the condition that I became a confidential investigator, and by that, I mean I essentially had to rat out as much as possible about this criminal organization. I did pretty well, hidden for a while, but eventually, one of them got a little too suspicious of me. I managed to clear any charges thanks to the evidence I revealed to the police, so at that point, I decided to leave and never return, moving into the next city over. Happy ending right?
Unfortunately no. The very week after I moved, I got into a pretty severe car crash. I got hit in the back, lost control, and… well, this is a bit ugly, but…
My car ran over a woman and her child.
They were declared dead in the hospital.
This would already be a fucked up situation, since I’ve accidentally killed a mother and a child. Granted, it wasn’t my fault at all, I had the right of way, but the guilt was still very severe.
It was way worse when I learned that the woman and child was the grandfather Mafia’s wife and daughter.
You already know what happens next.
Anyways, let’s get back to me being tortured to absolute shit.
#”AUUGH!”
They’ve just ripped off my fingernail with pliers. Rusty pliers at that.
“That’s just for the parking expenses I had for going to the hospital!”
This was the Mafia grandfather, Aiden, basically the absolute most influential dude in the organization. Despite being 49 years old, this guy looked like he could crush a brick with his bare hands, and was probably thinking about doing the same with my skull.
“Don’t worry though, I’ve got plenty more! We’re gonna have lots of fun!”
“PLEASE STOP, I WOULD DO ANYTHING TO HELP THEM, I NEVER WANTED THIS…”
He smacks me in the jaw with the pliers, hard, and I’m pretty sure he knocked a tooth loose.
With almost no hesitation, he then proceeds to go for my middle finger nail.
#”UUUUUAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGH!!!!”
If I kept explaining everything so slowly, you’d probably get bored quick. Basically, once he was done, every single finger nail and toenail was ripped off. He poured alcohol and salt onto them to really make it burn. Then, Aiden crushed my nutsack. Slowly. To, and I quote, “prevent the world from suffering the plaque that is your blood.” Yeesh. He then punched and kicked me, and eventually, showed mercy in the form of spraying my face and body with an assault rifle. And then a shotgun. Now, anyone would be DEFINITELY dead by the time he started using guns. Doesn’t matter how hardy you may be, nothing really saves you from your brain being stuffed with lead and gunpowder.
Except immortality.
Good news: I was alive!
Bad news: I was alive. Which meant I still felt pain.
You might be confused as to how I could possibly feel pain, and that’s assuming you got past the immortality part. Well, turns out, if a part of my body, like, say, a leg, were to be disconnected from my brain, I can still feel the nerves inside. And even if they were absolutely destroyed, I still feel the pain.
It was basically hell. Death at that moment would have been greater than spending eternity in a perfect heaven. But it seemed that death was something I did not have the privilege of.
I couldn’t do anything but simply feel. Eventually, Aiden asked his goons to clean up the mess, and went to take a shower.
My remains were stuffed into a garbage bag, and thrown in a dumpster.
Shortly after, I felt my body slowly repair itself. Very slowly, but surely, repairing. Somehow. At the end of the day, my body parts were at least connected, though incredibly poorly and mutilated. In a weeks time, I finally gained the strength to escape from my prison, my body having constructed just enough to rip out. I was still bloodied as hell, but I was alive.
Everything still hurt. It hurt so bad for so long, I almost got used to it. But not really. Pain is something no one gets used to. Ever.
In a couple more days, I eventually recovered to the point where I finally wasn’t bleeding. And shortly after, it was like I never died. Not a single scar or scratch to be seen.
I didn’t have many options, but I did know one thing, and one thing only.
If I wanted to avoid having that event repeat itself, I’d have to run. Run, run, and run, until I can run no more.
And pray I never even hear the name Aiden ever again. | I remember every time its large body of untold weight jumped onto my now rotted mangled body… with what eyes was detached from my body I think I could see rocks shaking and tossing as the creature jumped… only then to be used as to weapon to crush me … but I never wilted I couldn’t… I always crawl out I could always feel the
P̵̡̡̡̧̢͖͎̪͙̭̤̪͓͎̠̝͚̳̟͙̬̃̏̂̐̊̾͗̅̃͐͗̌̐̓̓̋̅͝͝͝À̶̛̬̤̠̗͖̫̘͊͊̊͒̓͑̑̓̌̿́̌̈́͑͆̉͊́̔͌̕̕̕͝͠Í̷̥͍̪̀̌̓͑̄̅̃̃̍̏̀́̅̽̌̂́̓̚͘͝͝͝͠N̷̨̨̮͇̺̦̲͈͓̦͈̯͉̙̙̺̫̘̹̦͇̤̔́̌͒̚̕͝
P̵̡̡̡̧̢͖͎̪͙̭̤̪͓͎̠̝͚̳̟͙̬̃̏̂̐̊̾͗̅̃͐͗̌̐̓̓̋̅͝͝͝À̶̛̬̤̠̗͖̫̘͊͊̊͒̓͑̑̓̌̿́̌̈́͑͆̉͊́̔͌̕̕̕͝͠Í̷̥͍̪̀̌̓͑̄̅̃̃̍̏̀́̅̽̌̂́̓̚͘͝͝͝͠N̷̨̨̮͇̺̦̲͈͓̦͈̯͉̙̙̺̫̘̹̦͇̤̔́̌͒̚̕͝
Ş̵̨̡̡̧̪͈͎̖̯̬̱͎̜̻̦̳͇̝̭̳̭̲̮̤̫̤̮̱̘͕̼̳͓̠̠̺͔̲̳̯̯̔̍ͅͅA̴̧̛̛̳͈̦͈̻͓̠̗̒͛̀͊̔́̿̔̃̑̿̂̄͗̏͋͛̾̏̆͗̆͋͌͒́͒̅̏̐̔̏͘͘͝͝͝ͅV̷̧͉̳̺̠̱̤̙̯͈̻̹͙̦͔̼̻̝̟̠̝̖̙͚̠͍̩̣̖̱̠̞͓͇͖̥̞̬̗̘̮̰͒͐̃́̎̅̆̓̍̾̎͋̎̽́͊̎͑͛̎̿̐̄̆͋͋̄͜͠͠͝͝͝ͅͅE̴̢̛̥͎̠̻͕̳̲̮̹̖̋̇̐̇͑̉̐̚͜ͅͅ ̷̢̢̡̛̘̖͚̜̟̰̠̗͖̗̻̬̱͍͎̘͇̰̩̰̩̰̱͙͖̣̮̱̫̯̯̫̹̙̤̲͔̞͔̅̉͒͆̈́͊̀́̃͛̒̓͐͗̂͐͊̽̒̍̒̇͐͑́́̈́͐̿̅͜͝M̶̡̧̗͇̪͙̟̪̭̗̞͓̝̻̔̓̅͛̿͌̀̑̈́̆̈́̑̀͆̂̀̀͐͌̐̏̓̄̈́̅̈́͂̈́͘̕͝͝͠͝͝Ę̷͚̮̜̻̦̥͉̠̲͍͍̞̤̹̽͌͌͑͒͂͗̊͗̀̽̄͊́͐͛͗́̒̌̐̎͆̇̊̓̃̌̾́̾̍͐́̿͗̀͛͗͜͠͠͠ͅ ̷̡̧̨̛͔̘̰̰̖̯̞̞̝͈̪͈̤͊̆̃́̅͑͐͐̋̎̓̇̔͆̽͒̎̔̃͛̋͂͌̿̈́̒̀̋͊͗̔̈́̓̂̆̅͂́̍̕͘̕̚̚͘͝͠͝
I would say I remembered it vividly but my brains were crushed and buried in the sands crushed under rocks and eaten in I̴͈͊̂͐̋̀́̊̈̚ṱ̸̡̨͇̦̱͈̰̖̒͋̈́̉͜s̴̨̛͇͉̝̀̑̈̇̎̊͒̒͂̓̚ Hand… I would’ve screamed if my thoart wasn’t tore and shredded .. if my teeth hadn’t impaled whatever parts of my tongue left In my mouth whatever gums that hadn’t shriveled… and whatever gone forever regenerated slowly…
My friend looked at me, and then at the sun and said completely calm and full of confidence, he hadn’t even faulted hearing my story. “A day like this was it not? Ha ha…” He’d chuckle lightly Was it insanity? one couldn’t tell…
But then he had uttered the words that shook me to my core at that moment
“But that day was a shocker for me aswell, If I had known you were immortal I wouldn’t have beaten you that hard.”
My eyes widen as I pointed a shaker finger at my friend Gareth… “Y-you were the beast?’ I was barely able to muster up the words or courage to say that, my voice was shaky and my very soul was shaken* and his response? After shattering my reality? after shattering the one person I would call a savior?
“Ya…Though It was a really fucked up way to find out you were a immortal.” | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | After I tried for so long to find the joy in this life I’m finally deciding to make a decision I should have made long ago. No one will miss me. Everyone has already told me that the world would be better off with out me. So after thirty years of fighting this shitty life I’m finally going to take it. And I know just how I’ll do it. I’m having a strange feeling of peace but what I’m really looking forward to is flying of that building. I always dreamed of flying, even as a kid I would always jump from the highest sand piles even if it was for two seconds of air time. Now the building is down town so I could just leave everything behind, pick up a bottle of whiskey and float away into the after life. So two rights and a left. The lady in the store seems pretty chipper today we usually have conversations on a regular basis but I’m not in a chatty mood today. “Mr. Dennis so nice to see you today how are the kids” she asks with an irritating smile. Oh right, I have kids and a nagging wife who also has a nagging family, that on a regular basis, I have to see a therapist for. “Hello Ms. Ann, yes they are fine” I reply, quickly placing on the counter, now two bottles of whiskey. I just want to get out of this store, away from people, to enjoy my drink and die in peace. After Ms. Ann rings me up I quickly place down a hundred dollar bill and rush out the store. I wasn’t really bothered with the change. I cracked the top on one of the bottles and quickly placed the other in my laptop bag. Building is about three blocks away I should finish one bottle by the time I get there and I’ll drink the other on the roof. I haven’t drink this fast since those college frat parties. What a time I use to have. But I need to slow down my legs are definitely loosening up at this point. I step into the street to accomplish my last block and realize I’m the only one crossing, but before I knew it I looked to my right to see a bus coming head on. Great just my luck. I couldn’t move fast enough before I heard all of my bones crushing underneath the wheels. I couldn’t even scream. I just let the pain swallow me as I look up at the tall building wishing the spot I was laying in had come a little later. As everything starts to get darker I find a sense of peace as I accept that the mission has been accomplished regardless of how it happened. So is death just darkness? I feel no pain anymore. Something doesn’t feel right. Wait am I in a hospital? No way. I can hear the machines beeping in my ear, they are faint but I still hear them.
Two days later
Maybe it was all just a dream. As I start to wake up I see my wife standing over me. I don’t have to explain myself and I don’t have the energy either. Why didn’t I die? “Well Mr. Dennis you have an angel looking over you. It was a miracle you survived that accident. Though your alcohol levels were pretty high you managed to survive. It really is still a mystery that even your body is healing itself. Two collapsed lungs, broken spine, broken neck, crushed windpipe. I mean the list goes on.” The doctor is trying to laugh of his curiosity but I can tell everyone in the room has questions, especially me. Why didn’t I die? | You could say I wasn’t exactly expecting to make it this far. I put my hand to my forehead, and it came down covered in blood. My blood. I got what I wanted, I won the jackpot in Russian roulette, but somehow, it wasn’t enough. I take another swig of whiskey. Why? The universe just hates me doesn’t it. I chuckle, what are the chances that I have to survive through this horrible, worthless life as the horrible, worthless piece of garbage that I am? What are the chances that God, or whoever is in charge of this dumb existence chose me to survive? Why not some kid with cancer and a life that is worth something? I pick up the revolver, load it fully, and shoot at my temple. Again, and again, and again until it clicks. Nothing happened, somehow, I’m alive. Why me? | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I had thought I'd be a nice way to put my life to some use.
It was a nice day, or at least most other people would have said so. Sun shining, birds singing, flowers blooming. All things I've been told have some aesthetic qualities. To me however they were simply a set of weather conditions, flora and fauna. I was walking to a supermarket to stock up on snacks and stuff for my room when that father and his two kids were right in the path of that about to collapse section of poorly construction wall.
I had always had some degree of moral resistance to killing myself. I had always thought that because there are those who love me and who would be hurt by my passing I couldn't morally justify ending my own life even if that would put an end to all my problems while also preventing me from both causing and having problems in the future.
I was in a country with government funded free medical care, had a family that could support me even if I was unemployed so I'd probably last a fair while regardless of what I do so I thought I'd either minimise my impact on their lives as much as I can without topping myself or find a way to go out that would grant them a semblance of peace and understanding.
Saving another family that appeared by all accounts to be content with life, Happy and smiling children that had just spent the bus ride home talking about their plans to do a cupcake fundraiser for one of those shoebox initiatives? That seemed like a good enough reason to me at the time.
And now I'm here. Bleeding out more then I should be able too. Rebar skewering me. Most if not all of the bones in my back shattered from the impact looking down at this family who are most likely gonna need years of therapy now and to top it all off I look like someone who just got mixed up in a modern retelling of the crucifixion that was taken way to literally.
I'd go to try and speak only to realise that my throat is clogged by a peace of rebar I couldn't feel. Hoping that's adrenaline. Maybe I can move a hand?
Just a bit... ok they got the message, no, kid fucking move! I don't know how long I can hold this up! Go!... Ok they moved and the dad is calling an ambulance.
Ok hopefully any second now blood loss should make me unconscious, surprised the impact didn't do that...
Wait why isn't everything fading to black? Come to think of it, the adrenaline should have died by now shouldn't it? I can't even feel my back or the rebar I can see sticking through it!?
My blood's still flowing but... I shouldn't that much it shouldn't be able to flow that long without stopping. That's got to be at least 5 maybe 10 litres! What the fuck is happening?
Ok calm down there has to be a logical explanation of this. Ok vision starting to fade out just like I planned good. Ok... Just embrace the void we're all done... we're all.. done...
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*"Mister Brush? Are you with us?"* I groggily open my eyes. Wasn't I just dying? Guess that ambulance most of have gotten to me before I could fully go...
*"Mister Brush? I don't know how survived all that but your body by all exams is fine, you should be able to speak"*
"I'm here, in the room, mind filling me in on what happened? I thought I'd be dead for sure blocking that collapsing wall"
*"As did we, however your body appears to have some degree of healing factor, it's like nothing we've ever seen before!"*
No no no don't you dare say it
*"You might even be immortal!"*
GOD FUCKING DAMN IT | You could say I wasn’t exactly expecting to make it this far. I put my hand to my forehead, and it came down covered in blood. My blood. I got what I wanted, I won the jackpot in Russian roulette, but somehow, it wasn’t enough. I take another swig of whiskey. Why? The universe just hates me doesn’t it. I chuckle, what are the chances that I have to survive through this horrible, worthless life as the horrible, worthless piece of garbage that I am? What are the chances that God, or whoever is in charge of this dumb existence chose me to survive? Why not some kid with cancer and a life that is worth something? I pick up the revolver, load it fully, and shoot at my temple. Again, and again, and again until it clicks. Nothing happened, somehow, I’m alive. Why me? | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “So let me get this straight.”
I sat up straight and looked the pizza guy in the eye as his kept flickering over me in confusion and apprehension.
“Eventually, everyone dies. Like…*everyone*. Sometimes by these things called ‘accidents,’ or ‘disease,’ or even ‘old age.’ Sometimes, people even kill other people. Am I getting that right?”
“Y-yeah man. Happens to everybody.”
I sat back and furrowed by brow. “I still don’t understand. All the things you talked about, I’m fine.”
“Sir…take the incident an hour ago. I delivered the pizza and we got jumped by a guy trying to rob us. He…he shot you. In the face. And you just…asked what his problem was.”
“Well, *yeah,* it hurt!” I rub the now faded bullet hole in the center of my forehead. “He was being totally unreasonable. Not to mention shooting people in the head doesn’t do anything.”
“T-that’s the thing sir…normal people can’t do that. They die. Like instantly.”
“That can’t be right. That’d be like dying from…I don’t know…getting your arms cut off my a crazy samurai!” I laughed until I saw the look of horror on the kid’s face.
“That…that would also kill you sir. How…?”
“Well…it hurt a little…but I just put them back on and the skin fused together, like normal.” I said defensively.
“Sir…when was the last time you’ve…gone outside?”
“I don’t know! After the samurai thing, I swam across the Pacific and settled in…well, we call it ‘America’ now, but I can’t remember what it was before. Anyway, settled down with a tribe of people and pretty much worked from home ever since. People come and go, jobs change, but I always managed to get someone to do errands for me. Internet? DoorDash? SUPER convenient, I should have thought of those.”
“You…you *swam* across the ocean?”
“Well, not entirely, I had a boat, but a giant squid dragged me down about a third of the way. Shark bit off my foot, but it grew back.” I looked at him. “I’m guessing that isn’t normal?”
“No sir…well it seems you’ve stayed current on politics and technology…but no other real news.” You’re…if everything you told me was true—“
“It is!” I said indignantly.
“Okay! Well, then it seems like you are immortal. And the only one.”
I sigh. “Well, now I get why I lost touch with FDR.” | You could say I wasn’t exactly expecting to make it this far. I put my hand to my forehead, and it came down covered in blood. My blood. I got what I wanted, I won the jackpot in Russian roulette, but somehow, it wasn’t enough. I take another swig of whiskey. Why? The universe just hates me doesn’t it. I chuckle, what are the chances that I have to survive through this horrible, worthless life as the horrible, worthless piece of garbage that I am? What are the chances that God, or whoever is in charge of this dumb existence chose me to survive? Why not some kid with cancer and a life that is worth something? I pick up the revolver, load it fully, and shoot at my temple. Again, and again, and again until it clicks. Nothing happened, somehow, I’m alive. Why me? | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I always wondered how I would go out, but being the representative murder of sloth for some bootleg serial killer deadly sin type shit surely wasn't on the list of possibilities I considered before.
That was until a slimy man with a fleeing hairline and a leather coat broke into my apartment and made me play video games until I died off exhaustion.
On the third day it came to my mind that I might be in better shape that I thought. On the fifth, I got the feeling that something was off.
I hadn't slept in five days, the bootleg killer slapped me every time I fell asleep but I was as alive as ever.
On the 7th day he seemed to notice aswell, maybe he just got bored but it didn't take long until he stabbed me in the side. He sat back with an ugly smirk on his face, thinking he would watch me die slowly but I somehow didn't.
To this day I don't really know why I refuse to die but after he stabbed me multiple times over the following days, I just kept on healing and healing.
I though I might be in hell and this was just how I would spend eternity but on the 9th day I grabbed his knife, and just slit his throat, grabbed my shit, called the police and left a little note reading:
'you're welcome - sloth'
I left the country, obviously, and toured the world, working at every library, learning languages, reading every book humanity has available and talking to intellectuals from all around the globe. That took around 350.000 years and I can tell you, we came really far but fundamentally never really changed.
The next 50.000 years were filled with party's and drugs, I partied in every possible and impossible constellation, space travel had been a thing for quite a while now and I happened to be the roommate of a research chemist in the andromeda nebula and he understood drugs on the same level as I do and he had a list of substances that would be the best drugs ever, if they wouldn't immediately kill you. I do not remember most of these years but I can tell you I had a great time.
Memory is the only thing that starts to become a problem a little bit, you can now store memories on databases and download them at will but I was never the organized type so I kind of just put all the drives in a box and put it under my bed.
I do not know if my immortality is limited, but it has now been 1.8 million years. I think about space a lot, but at the end of the day, the ai can be as amazing as it wants to be, my monkey brain keeps being limited. I think I will just travel the universe and observe the inflation and maybe some day deflation of the universe, until some higher being decides it is my time to go, but until then, I will truly be forever blessed to getting the life that I got. | You could say I wasn’t exactly expecting to make it this far. I put my hand to my forehead, and it came down covered in blood. My blood. I got what I wanted, I won the jackpot in Russian roulette, but somehow, it wasn’t enough. I take another swig of whiskey. Why? The universe just hates me doesn’t it. I chuckle, what are the chances that I have to survive through this horrible, worthless life as the horrible, worthless piece of garbage that I am? What are the chances that God, or whoever is in charge of this dumb existence chose me to survive? Why not some kid with cancer and a life that is worth something? I pick up the revolver, load it fully, and shoot at my temple. Again, and again, and again until it clicks. Nothing happened, somehow, I’m alive. Why me? | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I gazed at the man sitting across from me, impressed at my own composure despite my breakfast muffin churning in my guts. He avoided my eyes and continued to rip his napkin into ever smaller pieces.
"Look," he said, "There was just no way I could take it at face value. Those 'consumer DNA tests' are riddled with mistakes and inaccuracies."
He put down his shredded napkin to use finger quotes around "consumer DNA test"
"I didn't believe that you could be my kid." He continued. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. I just had to be sure, I had to find out for myself."
He finally released the decimated napkin and met my eyes, tension etched on his face.
I huffed out a breath and leaned back in my chair. "Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out I'm immortal," I raised my fingers for air quotes, "Dad". | You could say I wasn’t exactly expecting to make it this far. I put my hand to my forehead, and it came down covered in blood. My blood. I got what I wanted, I won the jackpot in Russian roulette, but somehow, it wasn’t enough. I take another swig of whiskey. Why? The universe just hates me doesn’t it. I chuckle, what are the chances that I have to survive through this horrible, worthless life as the horrible, worthless piece of garbage that I am? What are the chances that God, or whoever is in charge of this dumb existence chose me to survive? Why not some kid with cancer and a life that is worth something? I pick up the revolver, load it fully, and shoot at my temple. Again, and again, and again until it clicks. Nothing happened, somehow, I’m alive. Why me? | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “So let me get this straight.”
I sat up straight and looked the pizza guy in the eye as his kept flickering over me in confusion and apprehension.
“Eventually, everyone dies. Like…*everyone*. Sometimes by these things called ‘accidents,’ or ‘disease,’ or even ‘old age.’ Sometimes, people even kill other people. Am I getting that right?”
“Y-yeah man. Happens to everybody.”
I sat back and furrowed by brow. “I still don’t understand. All the things you talked about, I’m fine.”
“Sir…take the incident an hour ago. I delivered the pizza and we got jumped by a guy trying to rob us. He…he shot you. In the face. And you just…asked what his problem was.”
“Well, *yeah,* it hurt!” I rub the now faded bullet hole in the center of my forehead. “He was being totally unreasonable. Not to mention shooting people in the head doesn’t do anything.”
“T-that’s the thing sir…normal people can’t do that. They die. Like instantly.”
“That can’t be right. That’d be like dying from…I don’t know…getting your arms cut off my a crazy samurai!” I laughed until I saw the look of horror on the kid’s face.
“That…that would also kill you sir. How…?”
“Well…it hurt a little…but I just put them back on and the skin fused together, like normal.” I said defensively.
“Sir…when was the last time you’ve…gone outside?”
“I don’t know! After the samurai thing, I swam across the Pacific and settled in…well, we call it ‘America’ now, but I can’t remember what it was before. Anyway, settled down with a tribe of people and pretty much worked from home ever since. People come and go, jobs change, but I always managed to get someone to do errands for me. Internet? DoorDash? SUPER convenient, I should have thought of those.”
“You…you *swam* across the ocean?”
“Well, not entirely, I had a boat, but a giant squid dragged me down about a third of the way. Shark bit off my foot, but it grew back.” I looked at him. “I’m guessing that isn’t normal?”
“No sir…well it seems you’ve stayed current on politics and technology…but no other real news.” You’re…if everything you told me was true—“
“It is!” I said indignantly.
“Okay! Well, then it seems like you are immortal. And the only one.”
I sigh. “Well, now I get why I lost touch with FDR.” | After I tried for so long to find the joy in this life I’m finally deciding to make a decision I should have made long ago. No one will miss me. Everyone has already told me that the world would be better off with out me. So after thirty years of fighting this shitty life I’m finally going to take it. And I know just how I’ll do it. I’m having a strange feeling of peace but what I’m really looking forward to is flying of that building. I always dreamed of flying, even as a kid I would always jump from the highest sand piles even if it was for two seconds of air time. Now the building is down town so I could just leave everything behind, pick up a bottle of whiskey and float away into the after life. So two rights and a left. The lady in the store seems pretty chipper today we usually have conversations on a regular basis but I’m not in a chatty mood today. “Mr. Dennis so nice to see you today how are the kids” she asks with an irritating smile. Oh right, I have kids and a nagging wife who also has a nagging family, that on a regular basis, I have to see a therapist for. “Hello Ms. Ann, yes they are fine” I reply, quickly placing on the counter, now two bottles of whiskey. I just want to get out of this store, away from people, to enjoy my drink and die in peace. After Ms. Ann rings me up I quickly place down a hundred dollar bill and rush out the store. I wasn’t really bothered with the change. I cracked the top on one of the bottles and quickly placed the other in my laptop bag. Building is about three blocks away I should finish one bottle by the time I get there and I’ll drink the other on the roof. I haven’t drink this fast since those college frat parties. What a time I use to have. But I need to slow down my legs are definitely loosening up at this point. I step into the street to accomplish my last block and realize I’m the only one crossing, but before I knew it I looked to my right to see a bus coming head on. Great just my luck. I couldn’t move fast enough before I heard all of my bones crushing underneath the wheels. I couldn’t even scream. I just let the pain swallow me as I look up at the tall building wishing the spot I was laying in had come a little later. As everything starts to get darker I find a sense of peace as I accept that the mission has been accomplished regardless of how it happened. So is death just darkness? I feel no pain anymore. Something doesn’t feel right. Wait am I in a hospital? No way. I can hear the machines beeping in my ear, they are faint but I still hear them.
Two days later
Maybe it was all just a dream. As I start to wake up I see my wife standing over me. I don’t have to explain myself and I don’t have the energy either. Why didn’t I die? “Well Mr. Dennis you have an angel looking over you. It was a miracle you survived that accident. Though your alcohol levels were pretty high you managed to survive. It really is still a mystery that even your body is healing itself. Two collapsed lungs, broken spine, broken neck, crushed windpipe. I mean the list goes on.” The doctor is trying to laugh of his curiosity but I can tell everyone in the room has questions, especially me. Why didn’t I die? | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I always wondered how I would go out, but being the representative murder of sloth for some bootleg serial killer deadly sin type shit surely wasn't on the list of possibilities I considered before.
That was until a slimy man with a fleeing hairline and a leather coat broke into my apartment and made me play video games until I died off exhaustion.
On the third day it came to my mind that I might be in better shape that I thought. On the fifth, I got the feeling that something was off.
I hadn't slept in five days, the bootleg killer slapped me every time I fell asleep but I was as alive as ever.
On the 7th day he seemed to notice aswell, maybe he just got bored but it didn't take long until he stabbed me in the side. He sat back with an ugly smirk on his face, thinking he would watch me die slowly but I somehow didn't.
To this day I don't really know why I refuse to die but after he stabbed me multiple times over the following days, I just kept on healing and healing.
I though I might be in hell and this was just how I would spend eternity but on the 9th day I grabbed his knife, and just slit his throat, grabbed my shit, called the police and left a little note reading:
'you're welcome - sloth'
I left the country, obviously, and toured the world, working at every library, learning languages, reading every book humanity has available and talking to intellectuals from all around the globe. That took around 350.000 years and I can tell you, we came really far but fundamentally never really changed.
The next 50.000 years were filled with party's and drugs, I partied in every possible and impossible constellation, space travel had been a thing for quite a while now and I happened to be the roommate of a research chemist in the andromeda nebula and he understood drugs on the same level as I do and he had a list of substances that would be the best drugs ever, if they wouldn't immediately kill you. I do not remember most of these years but I can tell you I had a great time.
Memory is the only thing that starts to become a problem a little bit, you can now store memories on databases and download them at will but I was never the organized type so I kind of just put all the drives in a box and put it under my bed.
I do not know if my immortality is limited, but it has now been 1.8 million years. I think about space a lot, but at the end of the day, the ai can be as amazing as it wants to be, my monkey brain keeps being limited. I think I will just travel the universe and observe the inflation and maybe some day deflation of the universe, until some higher being decides it is my time to go, but until then, I will truly be forever blessed to getting the life that I got. | After I tried for so long to find the joy in this life I’m finally deciding to make a decision I should have made long ago. No one will miss me. Everyone has already told me that the world would be better off with out me. So after thirty years of fighting this shitty life I’m finally going to take it. And I know just how I’ll do it. I’m having a strange feeling of peace but what I’m really looking forward to is flying of that building. I always dreamed of flying, even as a kid I would always jump from the highest sand piles even if it was for two seconds of air time. Now the building is down town so I could just leave everything behind, pick up a bottle of whiskey and float away into the after life. So two rights and a left. The lady in the store seems pretty chipper today we usually have conversations on a regular basis but I’m not in a chatty mood today. “Mr. Dennis so nice to see you today how are the kids” she asks with an irritating smile. Oh right, I have kids and a nagging wife who also has a nagging family, that on a regular basis, I have to see a therapist for. “Hello Ms. Ann, yes they are fine” I reply, quickly placing on the counter, now two bottles of whiskey. I just want to get out of this store, away from people, to enjoy my drink and die in peace. After Ms. Ann rings me up I quickly place down a hundred dollar bill and rush out the store. I wasn’t really bothered with the change. I cracked the top on one of the bottles and quickly placed the other in my laptop bag. Building is about three blocks away I should finish one bottle by the time I get there and I’ll drink the other on the roof. I haven’t drink this fast since those college frat parties. What a time I use to have. But I need to slow down my legs are definitely loosening up at this point. I step into the street to accomplish my last block and realize I’m the only one crossing, but before I knew it I looked to my right to see a bus coming head on. Great just my luck. I couldn’t move fast enough before I heard all of my bones crushing underneath the wheels. I couldn’t even scream. I just let the pain swallow me as I look up at the tall building wishing the spot I was laying in had come a little later. As everything starts to get darker I find a sense of peace as I accept that the mission has been accomplished regardless of how it happened. So is death just darkness? I feel no pain anymore. Something doesn’t feel right. Wait am I in a hospital? No way. I can hear the machines beeping in my ear, they are faint but I still hear them.
Two days later
Maybe it was all just a dream. As I start to wake up I see my wife standing over me. I don’t have to explain myself and I don’t have the energy either. Why didn’t I die? “Well Mr. Dennis you have an angel looking over you. It was a miracle you survived that accident. Though your alcohol levels were pretty high you managed to survive. It really is still a mystery that even your body is healing itself. Two collapsed lungs, broken spine, broken neck, crushed windpipe. I mean the list goes on.” The doctor is trying to laugh of his curiosity but I can tell everyone in the room has questions, especially me. Why didn’t I die? | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I gazed at the man sitting across from me, impressed at my own composure despite my breakfast muffin churning in my guts. He avoided my eyes and continued to rip his napkin into ever smaller pieces.
"Look," he said, "There was just no way I could take it at face value. Those 'consumer DNA tests' are riddled with mistakes and inaccuracies."
He put down his shredded napkin to use finger quotes around "consumer DNA test"
"I didn't believe that you could be my kid." He continued. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. I just had to be sure, I had to find out for myself."
He finally released the decimated napkin and met my eyes, tension etched on his face.
I huffed out a breath and leaned back in my chair. "Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out I'm immortal," I raised my fingers for air quotes, "Dad". | The lantern cast flickering shadows over the walls of the cave. They danced, twisting into grotesque shapes like demons born out of some fevered mind. Joseph Ibrahim watched his son, the sweat shining on his swarthy skin, as the boy desperately tried to keep his breaths small and even, struggling to not give in to the panic that was rising to overwhelm them both. He glanced at the pile of rocks that was the cause of all this terror, this despair.
Joseph had been a miner for as long as he could remember. From his earliest days, he had followed his father down into the shafts of the coal mines, initially scrabbling down narrow passages that other miners could not for the scraps of bread and the occasional extra coin that they could earn for their starving families. Then gradually, as the nimbleness and waifishness of childhood disappeared and he grew broad and strong, he’d joined up as a regular at the very first opportunity. He had a host of sisters and cousins to feed and he couldn’t be too picky about his employment considering his lack of anything resembling an education.
But that wasn’t what he’d wanted for his only child. Grace, a girl’s name, yes, but he’d been God’s grace to them after so long without a child. The boy was different from him. His mind was sharp, and keen, almost as if God were trying to make up for all the years that he’d missed out by being late to the world. In the rudimentary school that the foreigners with their overbearing ideals of charity had set up, the teachers there, they praised young Grace. He was leaps and bounds ahead of the rest, they kept telling him. They’d told him that the boy would go places if he’d just stayed in school.
And he’d tried. He’d really tried. When his father had fallen down a mine shaft and broken his neck, the family’s income had been reduced by very much. But Joseph persisted. He’d somehow convinced the others to sacrifice just a bit more so that their children could go to school, could somehow escape this life that God had seen fit to punish them with.
But then Ayala’s husband had fallen sick with the wasting cough that so often took the miners and he’d been the only breadwinner for their family. Joseph wasn’t going to sit down and leave his sister’s family in the lurch. So like a good Christian, he’d stepped up and took the lot of them under his wing. But his meager earnings hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t enough for food. It wasn’t enough to pay for the shaman for Ayala’s husband.
And it wouldn’t be enough when they would have to marry off Ayala’s daughters who were growing up to be beautiful young women.
And so, he’d shamefacedly asked Grace to come to the mines with him. He would never forget that look on his face, as the boy realized that all his hopes and dreams would be buried in the coal alongside his forefathers. But that was the way of life and he hadn’t complained. There was family to think of, after all.
And now, on this fine sunny morning, when they had been deep in the mines, amid the dust and the stale air, talking about how maybe once Ayala’s husband got better, one could always dream, that then maybe Grace could go back to school. And one day, maybe he could become a doctor, and he could come back home in a jeep, along with some white men, and the villagers, they would cluster around his little boy, and then...and then, the ceiling shook and the rocks had rained down and the narrow passage that led out of this little cave in which had been hammering away closed with a sickening rumble.
They had frantically tried scrabbling away at the rocks until their nails had broken and their fingers had bled but to no avail. They were just too heavy and too tightly packed. And they had settled down to wait for their rescue if it ever came. But that had been a long time ago. And he realized that they soon they would run out of air. He remembered his son telling him about it one day when he’d come home from school. The boy’s face had been animated as he’d explained about oxygen and carbon dioxide and so many other things that he’d scarcely understood, but he’d nodded away with a big smile on his face.
He looked once more at his little boy’s face. He had brought him into this. He had brought him to his death. Joseph was not an old man; he had seen thirty-nine years, although the mines made him look a lot older than that. He still had a lot he wanted to see in life. But his son, he had much more. He was so much more than him. And if they were running out of air...Well, he could see to it that he gave Grace some more time, a better chance to be found.
“Grace” he called, his voice calm, steady. Reaching up, he snuffed the lantern, leaving them in total darkness. The boy scurried to his father’s side, invisible in the dark. Blindly groping, his hands found Grace’s face and he fondly ran his fingers over them.
"Grace, oh Grace...” he tried to search for the words, but they just wouldn’t come.
“Father?” the boy’s voice was confused.
“The air is running out” he stated.
Grace was silent.
“I...My son...” what could he say?
Grace was becoming uneasy.
“One man will last longer than two.” he finally settled on saying.
He could feel his son tense by his side. “Father...” the boy began, voice breaking.
But he shushed him.
“When...When you get out of here...take your mother, leave this place, boy. Your cousins will have to fend for themselves somehow. I don’t want you facing the same fate I do.”
He could hear Grace sobbing. The poor could not afford the rich man’s compassion, their principles, and morals. This was a lesson this harsh world had thought all of them well. And he knew his son would not stop him. He did not begrudge him for that.
With trembling hands, he slipped out a knife from its sheath. A family heirloom it was, passed down from father to son from the days when they had been free and wild, roaming the land like they were meant to be, instead of tunneling underground like some oversized mole.
There was no light for the blade to gleam, but he knew it to be sharp. With a supreme effort of will, he stilled the tremors and put the sharp edge to his throat. A silent plea to his God, to not reject him from Heaven for he was about to commit the sin of taking his own life. A powerful flexing of muscles hardened by labour. And the world truly darkened.
***
He came to, fire in his lungs, heaving for air that was not there. Beyond the wall, he could hear the scrabbling of men, the whine and rumble of machinery, as it chipped away at the barrier like a determined woodpecker. What... how?
He moaned, which itself was surprising considering that his throat should have been opened and his lifeblood spent. His mind failed to process anything significant, and as is a parent’s way, when they are confronted with the bewildering, his first instinct was to search for his son’s safety. He groped about blindly, and his hands touched a cooling body. Its chest did not heave, its heart did not beat. It made no sound when he forced a ragged voice past his burning throat. It did not move when he frantically shook it, screaming his son’s name over and over through a voice that was gradually gaining strength.
And then the wall finally broke, to let in a shaft of light that illuminated a soot-covered man hunched over a still body, hugging it as if nothing else mattered. And on his throat, there was a faint scar. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I’m grateful to notice that I seem to be going insane. This is important for me, because it means change is still possible.
Space is cold, but you get used to it. I would rather be here than buried alive or something, back on earth. It could be worse. There’s always a silver lining; the view is quite good.
It’s probably been a thousand years, and I keep replaying that moment. The spacewalk, the slip, realizing I wasn’t tethered. The ultimate blooper. You would think the regret would fade a little, but things tended to persist out here.
So insanity would be nice, and I think it’s a real possibility. Let’s follow up in a bit. | The lantern cast flickering shadows over the walls of the cave. They danced, twisting into grotesque shapes like demons born out of some fevered mind. Joseph Ibrahim watched his son, the sweat shining on his swarthy skin, as the boy desperately tried to keep his breaths small and even, struggling to not give in to the panic that was rising to overwhelm them both. He glanced at the pile of rocks that was the cause of all this terror, this despair.
Joseph had been a miner for as long as he could remember. From his earliest days, he had followed his father down into the shafts of the coal mines, initially scrabbling down narrow passages that other miners could not for the scraps of bread and the occasional extra coin that they could earn for their starving families. Then gradually, as the nimbleness and waifishness of childhood disappeared and he grew broad and strong, he’d joined up as a regular at the very first opportunity. He had a host of sisters and cousins to feed and he couldn’t be too picky about his employment considering his lack of anything resembling an education.
But that wasn’t what he’d wanted for his only child. Grace, a girl’s name, yes, but he’d been God’s grace to them after so long without a child. The boy was different from him. His mind was sharp, and keen, almost as if God were trying to make up for all the years that he’d missed out by being late to the world. In the rudimentary school that the foreigners with their overbearing ideals of charity had set up, the teachers there, they praised young Grace. He was leaps and bounds ahead of the rest, they kept telling him. They’d told him that the boy would go places if he’d just stayed in school.
And he’d tried. He’d really tried. When his father had fallen down a mine shaft and broken his neck, the family’s income had been reduced by very much. But Joseph persisted. He’d somehow convinced the others to sacrifice just a bit more so that their children could go to school, could somehow escape this life that God had seen fit to punish them with.
But then Ayala’s husband had fallen sick with the wasting cough that so often took the miners and he’d been the only breadwinner for their family. Joseph wasn’t going to sit down and leave his sister’s family in the lurch. So like a good Christian, he’d stepped up and took the lot of them under his wing. But his meager earnings hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t enough for food. It wasn’t enough to pay for the shaman for Ayala’s husband.
And it wouldn’t be enough when they would have to marry off Ayala’s daughters who were growing up to be beautiful young women.
And so, he’d shamefacedly asked Grace to come to the mines with him. He would never forget that look on his face, as the boy realized that all his hopes and dreams would be buried in the coal alongside his forefathers. But that was the way of life and he hadn’t complained. There was family to think of, after all.
And now, on this fine sunny morning, when they had been deep in the mines, amid the dust and the stale air, talking about how maybe once Ayala’s husband got better, one could always dream, that then maybe Grace could go back to school. And one day, maybe he could become a doctor, and he could come back home in a jeep, along with some white men, and the villagers, they would cluster around his little boy, and then...and then, the ceiling shook and the rocks had rained down and the narrow passage that led out of this little cave in which had been hammering away closed with a sickening rumble.
They had frantically tried scrabbling away at the rocks until their nails had broken and their fingers had bled but to no avail. They were just too heavy and too tightly packed. And they had settled down to wait for their rescue if it ever came. But that had been a long time ago. And he realized that they soon they would run out of air. He remembered his son telling him about it one day when he’d come home from school. The boy’s face had been animated as he’d explained about oxygen and carbon dioxide and so many other things that he’d scarcely understood, but he’d nodded away with a big smile on his face.
He looked once more at his little boy’s face. He had brought him into this. He had brought him to his death. Joseph was not an old man; he had seen thirty-nine years, although the mines made him look a lot older than that. He still had a lot he wanted to see in life. But his son, he had much more. He was so much more than him. And if they were running out of air...Well, he could see to it that he gave Grace some more time, a better chance to be found.
“Grace” he called, his voice calm, steady. Reaching up, he snuffed the lantern, leaving them in total darkness. The boy scurried to his father’s side, invisible in the dark. Blindly groping, his hands found Grace’s face and he fondly ran his fingers over them.
"Grace, oh Grace...” he tried to search for the words, but they just wouldn’t come.
“Father?” the boy’s voice was confused.
“The air is running out” he stated.
Grace was silent.
“I...My son...” what could he say?
Grace was becoming uneasy.
“One man will last longer than two.” he finally settled on saying.
He could feel his son tense by his side. “Father...” the boy began, voice breaking.
But he shushed him.
“When...When you get out of here...take your mother, leave this place, boy. Your cousins will have to fend for themselves somehow. I don’t want you facing the same fate I do.”
He could hear Grace sobbing. The poor could not afford the rich man’s compassion, their principles, and morals. This was a lesson this harsh world had thought all of them well. And he knew his son would not stop him. He did not begrudge him for that.
With trembling hands, he slipped out a knife from its sheath. A family heirloom it was, passed down from father to son from the days when they had been free and wild, roaming the land like they were meant to be, instead of tunneling underground like some oversized mole.
There was no light for the blade to gleam, but he knew it to be sharp. With a supreme effort of will, he stilled the tremors and put the sharp edge to his throat. A silent plea to his God, to not reject him from Heaven for he was about to commit the sin of taking his own life. A powerful flexing of muscles hardened by labour. And the world truly darkened.
***
He came to, fire in his lungs, heaving for air that was not there. Beyond the wall, he could hear the scrabbling of men, the whine and rumble of machinery, as it chipped away at the barrier like a determined woodpecker. What... how?
He moaned, which itself was surprising considering that his throat should have been opened and his lifeblood spent. His mind failed to process anything significant, and as is a parent’s way, when they are confronted with the bewildering, his first instinct was to search for his son’s safety. He groped about blindly, and his hands touched a cooling body. Its chest did not heave, its heart did not beat. It made no sound when he forced a ragged voice past his burning throat. It did not move when he frantically shook it, screaming his son’s name over and over through a voice that was gradually gaining strength.
And then the wall finally broke, to let in a shaft of light that illuminated a soot-covered man hunched over a still body, hugging it as if nothing else mattered. And on his throat, there was a faint scar. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I looked out upon the city that had eaten me up and spit me out. I tried to think of the good people in my life. The memories that had helped me through the tough times. Even just the good times. Nothing came. Well, just one thing. A dog I had when I was growing up. She was the only loyal thing I had ever known. The only thing that I had loved or had shown me any love. But that was 15 years ago. Maybe I’ll get to see her when this is over. Maybe.
I take one last breath. I whisper, “fuck it.” Then I fall forward. I see the buildings in the skyline fall up as many turns into one. The one across the street. I think I see a glimpse of myself in the windows that begin to rush by, but I can’t be sure. Then I see the street below and then white noise. The wind is so loud I can’t even hear my screams. If I was screaming. The cars get bigger. I can see more detail on people’s clothes. I see a hot dog vendor drop something, pick it up, and put it back on his cart. “Gross” I think. Then I close my eyes. I feel a pain that can only be described as being hit by a truck. The pain is like nothing I have ever felt. It felt like I was folded in a lawn chair then squeezed in a vice. But only for a split second. Then blackness.
I heard voices. Worried voices. Gasps. Then I heard movement. Feet shuffling. Horns. I smelled something. Hot dogs. And the faint scent of garbage. My eyes start to twitch and light starts to poke through. I open them, or rather, one since I seemed to be on my stomach with my face on pavement. I groan as I push myself up of the street. I stand and look at the crowd that is looking at me. I look up at the building that I had chosen as my last vantage point. I look back towards the source of the hot dog odor. “Well...fuck!” | The lantern cast flickering shadows over the walls of the cave. They danced, twisting into grotesque shapes like demons born out of some fevered mind. Joseph Ibrahim watched his son, the sweat shining on his swarthy skin, as the boy desperately tried to keep his breaths small and even, struggling to not give in to the panic that was rising to overwhelm them both. He glanced at the pile of rocks that was the cause of all this terror, this despair.
Joseph had been a miner for as long as he could remember. From his earliest days, he had followed his father down into the shafts of the coal mines, initially scrabbling down narrow passages that other miners could not for the scraps of bread and the occasional extra coin that they could earn for their starving families. Then gradually, as the nimbleness and waifishness of childhood disappeared and he grew broad and strong, he’d joined up as a regular at the very first opportunity. He had a host of sisters and cousins to feed and he couldn’t be too picky about his employment considering his lack of anything resembling an education.
But that wasn’t what he’d wanted for his only child. Grace, a girl’s name, yes, but he’d been God’s grace to them after so long without a child. The boy was different from him. His mind was sharp, and keen, almost as if God were trying to make up for all the years that he’d missed out by being late to the world. In the rudimentary school that the foreigners with their overbearing ideals of charity had set up, the teachers there, they praised young Grace. He was leaps and bounds ahead of the rest, they kept telling him. They’d told him that the boy would go places if he’d just stayed in school.
And he’d tried. He’d really tried. When his father had fallen down a mine shaft and broken his neck, the family’s income had been reduced by very much. But Joseph persisted. He’d somehow convinced the others to sacrifice just a bit more so that their children could go to school, could somehow escape this life that God had seen fit to punish them with.
But then Ayala’s husband had fallen sick with the wasting cough that so often took the miners and he’d been the only breadwinner for their family. Joseph wasn’t going to sit down and leave his sister’s family in the lurch. So like a good Christian, he’d stepped up and took the lot of them under his wing. But his meager earnings hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t enough for food. It wasn’t enough to pay for the shaman for Ayala’s husband.
And it wouldn’t be enough when they would have to marry off Ayala’s daughters who were growing up to be beautiful young women.
And so, he’d shamefacedly asked Grace to come to the mines with him. He would never forget that look on his face, as the boy realized that all his hopes and dreams would be buried in the coal alongside his forefathers. But that was the way of life and he hadn’t complained. There was family to think of, after all.
And now, on this fine sunny morning, when they had been deep in the mines, amid the dust and the stale air, talking about how maybe once Ayala’s husband got better, one could always dream, that then maybe Grace could go back to school. And one day, maybe he could become a doctor, and he could come back home in a jeep, along with some white men, and the villagers, they would cluster around his little boy, and then...and then, the ceiling shook and the rocks had rained down and the narrow passage that led out of this little cave in which had been hammering away closed with a sickening rumble.
They had frantically tried scrabbling away at the rocks until their nails had broken and their fingers had bled but to no avail. They were just too heavy and too tightly packed. And they had settled down to wait for their rescue if it ever came. But that had been a long time ago. And he realized that they soon they would run out of air. He remembered his son telling him about it one day when he’d come home from school. The boy’s face had been animated as he’d explained about oxygen and carbon dioxide and so many other things that he’d scarcely understood, but he’d nodded away with a big smile on his face.
He looked once more at his little boy’s face. He had brought him into this. He had brought him to his death. Joseph was not an old man; he had seen thirty-nine years, although the mines made him look a lot older than that. He still had a lot he wanted to see in life. But his son, he had much more. He was so much more than him. And if they were running out of air...Well, he could see to it that he gave Grace some more time, a better chance to be found.
“Grace” he called, his voice calm, steady. Reaching up, he snuffed the lantern, leaving them in total darkness. The boy scurried to his father’s side, invisible in the dark. Blindly groping, his hands found Grace’s face and he fondly ran his fingers over them.
"Grace, oh Grace...” he tried to search for the words, but they just wouldn’t come.
“Father?” the boy’s voice was confused.
“The air is running out” he stated.
Grace was silent.
“I...My son...” what could he say?
Grace was becoming uneasy.
“One man will last longer than two.” he finally settled on saying.
He could feel his son tense by his side. “Father...” the boy began, voice breaking.
But he shushed him.
“When...When you get out of here...take your mother, leave this place, boy. Your cousins will have to fend for themselves somehow. I don’t want you facing the same fate I do.”
He could hear Grace sobbing. The poor could not afford the rich man’s compassion, their principles, and morals. This was a lesson this harsh world had thought all of them well. And he knew his son would not stop him. He did not begrudge him for that.
With trembling hands, he slipped out a knife from its sheath. A family heirloom it was, passed down from father to son from the days when they had been free and wild, roaming the land like they were meant to be, instead of tunneling underground like some oversized mole.
There was no light for the blade to gleam, but he knew it to be sharp. With a supreme effort of will, he stilled the tremors and put the sharp edge to his throat. A silent plea to his God, to not reject him from Heaven for he was about to commit the sin of taking his own life. A powerful flexing of muscles hardened by labour. And the world truly darkened.
***
He came to, fire in his lungs, heaving for air that was not there. Beyond the wall, he could hear the scrabbling of men, the whine and rumble of machinery, as it chipped away at the barrier like a determined woodpecker. What... how?
He moaned, which itself was surprising considering that his throat should have been opened and his lifeblood spent. His mind failed to process anything significant, and as is a parent’s way, when they are confronted with the bewildering, his first instinct was to search for his son’s safety. He groped about blindly, and his hands touched a cooling body. Its chest did not heave, its heart did not beat. It made no sound when he forced a ragged voice past his burning throat. It did not move when he frantically shook it, screaming his son’s name over and over through a voice that was gradually gaining strength.
And then the wall finally broke, to let in a shaft of light that illuminated a soot-covered man hunched over a still body, hugging it as if nothing else mattered. And on his throat, there was a faint scar. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I looked out upon the city that had eaten me up and spit me out. I tried to think of the good people in my life. The memories that had helped me through the tough times. Even just the good times. Nothing came. Well, just one thing. A dog I had when I was growing up. She was the only loyal thing I had ever known. The only thing that I had loved or had shown me any love. But that was 15 years ago. Maybe I’ll get to see her when this is over. Maybe.
I take one last breath. I whisper, “fuck it.” Then I fall forward. I see the buildings in the skyline fall up as many turns into one. The one across the street. I think I see a glimpse of myself in the windows that begin to rush by, but I can’t be sure. Then I see the street below and then white noise. The wind is so loud I can’t even hear my screams. If I was screaming. The cars get bigger. I can see more detail on people’s clothes. I see a hot dog vendor drop something, pick it up, and put it back on his cart. “Gross” I think. Then I close my eyes. I feel a pain that can only be described as being hit by a truck. The pain is like nothing I have ever felt. It felt like I was folded in a lawn chair then squeezed in a vice. But only for a split second. Then blackness.
I heard voices. Worried voices. Gasps. Then I heard movement. Feet shuffling. Horns. I smelled something. Hot dogs. And the faint scent of garbage. My eyes start to twitch and light starts to poke through. I open them, or rather, one since I seemed to be on my stomach with my face on pavement. I groan as I push myself up of the street. I stand and look at the crowd that is looking at me. I look up at the building that I had chosen as my last vantage point. I look back towards the source of the hot dog odor. “Well...fuck!” | I’m grateful to notice that I seem to be going insane. This is important for me, because it means change is still possible.
Space is cold, but you get used to it. I would rather be here than buried alive or something, back on earth. It could be worse. There’s always a silver lining; the view is quite good.
It’s probably been a thousand years, and I keep replaying that moment. The spacewalk, the slip, realizing I wasn’t tethered. The ultimate blooper. You would think the regret would fade a little, but things tended to persist out here.
So insanity would be nice, and I think it’s a real possibility. Let’s follow up in a bit. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I awoke in a cold steel box.
At first, I thought I'd been buried alive. I panicked immediately, banging on the cool metal surfaces that surrounded me. That only intensified my panic, for three reasons: one, it revealed that my pitch-black prison was completely solid. Two, I couldn't move my legs properly. And three, my soundless blows against the steel walls revealed that I was completely *deaf.*
Abruptly, my prison filled with light. The slab I was on slid out into a room with tile floors and walls, lit by harsh fluorescent lights -- a morgue, I realized. I was looking up at a man in hospital scrubs, with wild dark hair, who was staring down at me, wide-eyed. He said something, but I couldn't hear him. I didn't *think* I'd always been deaf, but I found, to my even *further* alarm, that I couldn't remember for sure.
I struggled feebly on the slab, my limbs flopping uselessly, as the man left my field of vision. He returned moments later, still wide-eyed, with a small flashlight, which he shined in my eyes. I blinked painfully and tried to swear at him, but even deaf I could tell my words came out an unintelligible slur. He said something else, looking extremely disturbed. Yeah, imagine how *I* feel, guy.
He left my field of vision again, and then suddenly I felt him lift me into a half-sitting position, and then wrap his arms around my chest. I was increasingly terrified of where the man might be going with this, and my fears were justified as he drug me backwards off the slab, and my legs hit the ground painfully. He laid me down more gently, and then looked down, brow furrowed. Was he scared? Worried? I couldn't tell. I was having a hard time concentrating.
For a third time, he stepped out of my field of vision. When he returned, my eyes widened in terror. He stood over me with a *sledgehammer,* his eyes wild, speaking rapidly through gritted teeth. I tried to scream. I tried to *beg.* I don't know if I made any sound, I just know he didn't pay my cries any heed.
The sledgehammer came down on my head, and then I knew nothing.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Three days later -- it's always three days -- I awoke on my customary slab in the morgue. I yawned, knocked politely on the door to my chilled mortuary cabinet, and then I waited. After a few moments, Deacon , the medical examiner who'd become my best friend after discovering my *condition* last year, opened the door, and pulled my slab out of the cabinet.
He looked down at me, with a pained expression. Poor guy looked like he hadn't slept since the last time I came back.
"I am so sorry!" he said, frantically. "I...you were in really bad shape! Your face was partially paralyzed, you couldn't move properly, you had abnormal pupillary response, I--I didn't know what else to do, so--"
I smiled tiredly, and shook my head, reaching up to squeeze his forearm. "Deac, Deac! Relax," I interrupted. "It's okay! If I'd been *able* to think, I would have told you to do the same thing. I should be apologizing to you, if anything. I'm guessing that you had to pick through my smashed skull and brains, to get all of that asshole's shotgun pellets out of what was left of my head. That must have been a pain in the ass."
He nodded, a queasy expression on his face. "Yeah. I'm sure I got them all, though."
I rolled off the slab and onto my feet, and Deacon handed me my clothes. "Welp, at least now we know that if something's still *stuck* in me when I come back, my body doesn't just push it out, when it heals. Next time I get shot in the head you can crack open my skull and clean out the lead fragments *before* I resurrect."
"So, I take it you know who's been kidnapping those girls?" Deacon asked, hesitantly, as I got dressed.
I nodded, grimly. "Pretty sure. He was on to my snooping around his front operations, though. I suspect that's why he put a shotgun to my head and pulled the trigger."
*"And* dumped you in the river. You gotta be more careful, Jimmy!" Deacon said, pleadingly. "I know you're...well, you know, but what if he'd been smarter about disposing of your body, and weighted you down with bricks, or something?"
I didn't want to think about that. "I'll be better prepared when I go back, trust me."
"You're going *back?"* Deacon cried. "Why don't you just tip off the police?"
I shook my head. "I saw what I saw, but I don't have any *evidence,* Deac. Besides, it's been six days now, he'll have cleaned out the locations I comprised. I've got to do this myself."
Deacon groaned, flopping down in his chair. "Fine. I'll keep a slab open for you."
"Hey, try to be more positive. I've got one thing going for me."
"Yeah, I know. You can't die. Not permanently. Not *so far."* Deacon said, warningly.
"Well, that too." I amended.
"What else?"
I grinned. "He's not going to be *expecting* me, this time." | I sit in my desk chair, slumped over with a bottle of whiskey in my hand, held by the neck. I lift it up to take another swig, tasting the bitter ambrosia as it passes through my lips. It tastes terrible, but day after day my mind seeks refuge in its nasty tang. The way it clouds my perception is sweeter than the liquid, and usually keeps me sane. Today it serves a different purpose.
Today isn't particularly special compared to others. I'm drunk. I'm depressed. I'm no stranger to how I feel, but so much so that I'm sore in the head. I'm drunk on alcohol and nothingness, with a cloudy future and a meaningless past. All I can comprehend is the present, in which I'm a vegetable of the man I'm supposed to be.
Today, however, is slightly different. I've grown too tired, and in my groggy despair I had set a 357 Magnum on my desk right in front of me. It's loaded. After sitting in the filth which is my sweat-stained work uniform and pondering with my poisoned mind, I've got little left to hesitate picking the firearm up sluggishly with my left hand.
I sit there for just a moment, glossing over the handle of the Magnum with my thumb. As I graze over the cold metal and wood, I breathe lightly and shakily as I contemplate. I'd expect that such heavy thoughts would affect me more, but at this point I'm drunk and I'm sick and I hate breathing. The world is a cruel, cruel mistress, and this place wasn't built for me. None of it. Not my house, not my job, not my life. I exist to please those who don't care for me. I feel invigorated by the all-curing pill I grasp. I can escape. My one final way to stick it to the man. I'll soon be off to the real land of the free.
I feel angry at those that have led me to this dead end, but I feel triumph knowing I'll slave to this world no longer. I lift the bottle in my right hand one final time, taking my last swig of the sweet anesthetic. I slowly put the bottle back down on my desk so as to not drop or spill it once the deed has been done, but it's not like that matters to me. Once the glass of the bottle clanks onto the desk, I take a deep breath.
I raise the revolver to my head, pressing the cold barrel to the center of my brow. I close my tired eyes, pulling the lever on the gun back with my thumb. My index finger grazes the trigger. Tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. Oddly, they aren't tears of sadness. I crave the freedom I'll have in a couple moments.
I take a deep breath, then squeeze the trigger. A bang louder than anything I've ever heard rings through my ears as a blunt searing pain fills my head. My slow, drunk thoughts are quickly stung with panic. I scream louder than I thought I ever could. I pull the lever again quickly and shoot again, something I thought wouldn't be necessary. I'm met with the same pain, now twofold. I unload bullet after bullet into my throbbing brain, which has blood and other fluids pouring out all over me, my clothes, and the floor.
Not a single bullet does the trick, but clearly they all went through my skull and eviscerated my cerebral tissue. I fall out of my chair, writhing on the floor. My guttural roars of agony echo throughout my room, combined with the sharp ringing in my ears. My previous struggles are now of no importance to me, replaced by crucifying pain. After screaming myself to exhaustion, I pass out as I'm pleading to the universe that still plagues me:
Why? Why am I alive? | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I looked out upon the city that had eaten me up and spit me out. I tried to think of the good people in my life. The memories that had helped me through the tough times. Even just the good times. Nothing came. Well, just one thing. A dog I had when I was growing up. She was the only loyal thing I had ever known. The only thing that I had loved or had shown me any love. But that was 15 years ago. Maybe I’ll get to see her when this is over. Maybe.
I take one last breath. I whisper, “fuck it.” Then I fall forward. I see the buildings in the skyline fall up as many turns into one. The one across the street. I think I see a glimpse of myself in the windows that begin to rush by, but I can’t be sure. Then I see the street below and then white noise. The wind is so loud I can’t even hear my screams. If I was screaming. The cars get bigger. I can see more detail on people’s clothes. I see a hot dog vendor drop something, pick it up, and put it back on his cart. “Gross” I think. Then I close my eyes. I feel a pain that can only be described as being hit by a truck. The pain is like nothing I have ever felt. It felt like I was folded in a lawn chair then squeezed in a vice. But only for a split second. Then blackness.
I heard voices. Worried voices. Gasps. Then I heard movement. Feet shuffling. Horns. I smelled something. Hot dogs. And the faint scent of garbage. My eyes start to twitch and light starts to poke through. I open them, or rather, one since I seemed to be on my stomach with my face on pavement. I groan as I push myself up of the street. I stand and look at the crowd that is looking at me. I look up at the building that I had chosen as my last vantage point. I look back towards the source of the hot dog odor. “Well...fuck!” | I sit in my desk chair, slumped over with a bottle of whiskey in my hand, held by the neck. I lift it up to take another swig, tasting the bitter ambrosia as it passes through my lips. It tastes terrible, but day after day my mind seeks refuge in its nasty tang. The way it clouds my perception is sweeter than the liquid, and usually keeps me sane. Today it serves a different purpose.
Today isn't particularly special compared to others. I'm drunk. I'm depressed. I'm no stranger to how I feel, but so much so that I'm sore in the head. I'm drunk on alcohol and nothingness, with a cloudy future and a meaningless past. All I can comprehend is the present, in which I'm a vegetable of the man I'm supposed to be.
Today, however, is slightly different. I've grown too tired, and in my groggy despair I had set a 357 Magnum on my desk right in front of me. It's loaded. After sitting in the filth which is my sweat-stained work uniform and pondering with my poisoned mind, I've got little left to hesitate picking the firearm up sluggishly with my left hand.
I sit there for just a moment, glossing over the handle of the Magnum with my thumb. As I graze over the cold metal and wood, I breathe lightly and shakily as I contemplate. I'd expect that such heavy thoughts would affect me more, but at this point I'm drunk and I'm sick and I hate breathing. The world is a cruel, cruel mistress, and this place wasn't built for me. None of it. Not my house, not my job, not my life. I exist to please those who don't care for me. I feel invigorated by the all-curing pill I grasp. I can escape. My one final way to stick it to the man. I'll soon be off to the real land of the free.
I feel angry at those that have led me to this dead end, but I feel triumph knowing I'll slave to this world no longer. I lift the bottle in my right hand one final time, taking my last swig of the sweet anesthetic. I slowly put the bottle back down on my desk so as to not drop or spill it once the deed has been done, but it's not like that matters to me. Once the glass of the bottle clanks onto the desk, I take a deep breath.
I raise the revolver to my head, pressing the cold barrel to the center of my brow. I close my tired eyes, pulling the lever on the gun back with my thumb. My index finger grazes the trigger. Tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. Oddly, they aren't tears of sadness. I crave the freedom I'll have in a couple moments.
I take a deep breath, then squeeze the trigger. A bang louder than anything I've ever heard rings through my ears as a blunt searing pain fills my head. My slow, drunk thoughts are quickly stung with panic. I scream louder than I thought I ever could. I pull the lever again quickly and shoot again, something I thought wouldn't be necessary. I'm met with the same pain, now twofold. I unload bullet after bullet into my throbbing brain, which has blood and other fluids pouring out all over me, my clothes, and the floor.
Not a single bullet does the trick, but clearly they all went through my skull and eviscerated my cerebral tissue. I fall out of my chair, writhing on the floor. My guttural roars of agony echo throughout my room, combined with the sharp ringing in my ears. My previous struggles are now of no importance to me, replaced by crucifying pain. After screaming myself to exhaustion, I pass out as I'm pleading to the universe that still plagues me:
Why? Why am I alive? | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | It does not matter how many times it whispers to you, you are still afraid. Its hands are tucked into the stark white and egg cream of folded wings, as if this might alleviate some tension. It is impossible to perceive in whole, only in pieces. Shimmering gold tips and endless, brilliant, unblinking eyes, bordered by thick black ink and painted rogue. It is covered in soft colors and sharp lines, and your mind is doing something beyond fathom inside your head. You fall to your knees, desperate for absolution, face pressing into the searing skin of your folded forearms.
“Please rise. Do not prostrate yourself before me. I am but a messenger.”
It projects with a voice that rattles and soothes your head in tandem, and your body jerks upward in compliance. Thick clouds of cotton white cloud your vision. You briefly consider the modesty of angels. How does a formless being bow to their king?
“Listen carefully, young one. You will never grow old. You will live forever. You will see the approaching storm of Armageddon, and you will stand among the wreckage. You are a messenger, just as I am.”
You are rigid. Your trachea is a thick, solid piece of something. A rotted-out oak tree that no longer speaks, only echoes back what it is told in reverence. You finally manage a whimper, fingers sliding up to rest tentatively on the taut skin of your throat. It is okay to go slow. You have all the time in the world. | I sit in my desk chair, slumped over with a bottle of whiskey in my hand, held by the neck. I lift it up to take another swig, tasting the bitter ambrosia as it passes through my lips. It tastes terrible, but day after day my mind seeks refuge in its nasty tang. The way it clouds my perception is sweeter than the liquid, and usually keeps me sane. Today it serves a different purpose.
Today isn't particularly special compared to others. I'm drunk. I'm depressed. I'm no stranger to how I feel, but so much so that I'm sore in the head. I'm drunk on alcohol and nothingness, with a cloudy future and a meaningless past. All I can comprehend is the present, in which I'm a vegetable of the man I'm supposed to be.
Today, however, is slightly different. I've grown too tired, and in my groggy despair I had set a 357 Magnum on my desk right in front of me. It's loaded. After sitting in the filth which is my sweat-stained work uniform and pondering with my poisoned mind, I've got little left to hesitate picking the firearm up sluggishly with my left hand.
I sit there for just a moment, glossing over the handle of the Magnum with my thumb. As I graze over the cold metal and wood, I breathe lightly and shakily as I contemplate. I'd expect that such heavy thoughts would affect me more, but at this point I'm drunk and I'm sick and I hate breathing. The world is a cruel, cruel mistress, and this place wasn't built for me. None of it. Not my house, not my job, not my life. I exist to please those who don't care for me. I feel invigorated by the all-curing pill I grasp. I can escape. My one final way to stick it to the man. I'll soon be off to the real land of the free.
I feel angry at those that have led me to this dead end, but I feel triumph knowing I'll slave to this world no longer. I lift the bottle in my right hand one final time, taking my last swig of the sweet anesthetic. I slowly put the bottle back down on my desk so as to not drop or spill it once the deed has been done, but it's not like that matters to me. Once the glass of the bottle clanks onto the desk, I take a deep breath.
I raise the revolver to my head, pressing the cold barrel to the center of my brow. I close my tired eyes, pulling the lever on the gun back with my thumb. My index finger grazes the trigger. Tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. Oddly, they aren't tears of sadness. I crave the freedom I'll have in a couple moments.
I take a deep breath, then squeeze the trigger. A bang louder than anything I've ever heard rings through my ears as a blunt searing pain fills my head. My slow, drunk thoughts are quickly stung with panic. I scream louder than I thought I ever could. I pull the lever again quickly and shoot again, something I thought wouldn't be necessary. I'm met with the same pain, now twofold. I unload bullet after bullet into my throbbing brain, which has blood and other fluids pouring out all over me, my clothes, and the floor.
Not a single bullet does the trick, but clearly they all went through my skull and eviscerated my cerebral tissue. I fall out of my chair, writhing on the floor. My guttural roars of agony echo throughout my room, combined with the sharp ringing in my ears. My previous struggles are now of no importance to me, replaced by crucifying pain. After screaming myself to exhaustion, I pass out as I'm pleading to the universe that still plagues me:
Why? Why am I alive? | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I was immortal.
Yes, you heard me right, I’m immortal. As in, don’t age, don’t die, look the same as I did two hundred years ago, basically, like _Edward Cullen_ from the horrible franchise that was _Twilight_.
Except I’m no disco ball, nor a vampire. Really, the only thing I have in common with him apart from the immortal thing is the fact that I was a freak of nature.
See, I don’t live in a fantasy world. No flying cars, super powers, gods or genetically engineered spiders here. It’s a simple world.
Born > grow > school > degree > job > retire > die.
Or so it goes, anyway, for most people. But see, I never really got the linking factor of all those things- _growing_.
Well, I did, technically. I’m not a baby running around spitting out limericks and requiring a stool because I’m so small. I did age, to some degree. To about twenty three or twenty four. Then I stopped.
Now, we joked it was good genes. My parents looked fairly good for their age, and I didn’t seem abnormal. Still had my period, still ate and drank and slept, hell, I had kids.
I just never changed. Everybody else grew old. My parents turned to dust. My partner, bless his heart, aged gracefully, but even I could see the wrinkles forming on his face, the grey hairs adorning his beard. Wrinkles I never got, grey hairs I never got.
My kids grew up, from babies to teens to adults to elders, my partner died and it was just… devastating to watch. Contrary to movies, I never fled upon realising my unageing status. Questions were asked at first but.. well, it’s amazing what hair dye and makeup can do. Even then it was less I was ashamed and more the unexplainable questions were getting on my nerves.
I, my husband, and my kids, we all hoped it was just a visual thing. Some rare, undiscovered condition where I just _visually_ looked like I hadn’t aged, but my body did. And I was in denial for many many years.
It took my eldest child, Lucien, dying that I finally realised that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ageing. That I had to face the denial I’d been living in for years now. My family all dropped dead around me, their children had children, and so on so forth.
Everybody I ever loved died, to the point where I found myself becoming apathetic to their existence, because what was the point if they would just die in ninety years, _if I was lucky._
I wanted to be dead. I’d lived several life times. I was tired of watching people die, of loving only to lose in the end. But in the end, I was unwanted even by death, and I was stuck, unable to have my greatest wish.
I couldn’t live, couldn’t die, I was just tormented and hurt, in limbo. Tortured like I was the worst of the worst, hurt again and again and _agai-_
Who wants to live forever, they ask?
Not me. | I sit in my desk chair, slumped over with a bottle of whiskey in my hand, held by the neck. I lift it up to take another swig, tasting the bitter ambrosia as it passes through my lips. It tastes terrible, but day after day my mind seeks refuge in its nasty tang. The way it clouds my perception is sweeter than the liquid, and usually keeps me sane. Today it serves a different purpose.
Today isn't particularly special compared to others. I'm drunk. I'm depressed. I'm no stranger to how I feel, but so much so that I'm sore in the head. I'm drunk on alcohol and nothingness, with a cloudy future and a meaningless past. All I can comprehend is the present, in which I'm a vegetable of the man I'm supposed to be.
Today, however, is slightly different. I've grown too tired, and in my groggy despair I had set a 357 Magnum on my desk right in front of me. It's loaded. After sitting in the filth which is my sweat-stained work uniform and pondering with my poisoned mind, I've got little left to hesitate picking the firearm up sluggishly with my left hand.
I sit there for just a moment, glossing over the handle of the Magnum with my thumb. As I graze over the cold metal and wood, I breathe lightly and shakily as I contemplate. I'd expect that such heavy thoughts would affect me more, but at this point I'm drunk and I'm sick and I hate breathing. The world is a cruel, cruel mistress, and this place wasn't built for me. None of it. Not my house, not my job, not my life. I exist to please those who don't care for me. I feel invigorated by the all-curing pill I grasp. I can escape. My one final way to stick it to the man. I'll soon be off to the real land of the free.
I feel angry at those that have led me to this dead end, but I feel triumph knowing I'll slave to this world no longer. I lift the bottle in my right hand one final time, taking my last swig of the sweet anesthetic. I slowly put the bottle back down on my desk so as to not drop or spill it once the deed has been done, but it's not like that matters to me. Once the glass of the bottle clanks onto the desk, I take a deep breath.
I raise the revolver to my head, pressing the cold barrel to the center of my brow. I close my tired eyes, pulling the lever on the gun back with my thumb. My index finger grazes the trigger. Tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. Oddly, they aren't tears of sadness. I crave the freedom I'll have in a couple moments.
I take a deep breath, then squeeze the trigger. A bang louder than anything I've ever heard rings through my ears as a blunt searing pain fills my head. My slow, drunk thoughts are quickly stung with panic. I scream louder than I thought I ever could. I pull the lever again quickly and shoot again, something I thought wouldn't be necessary. I'm met with the same pain, now twofold. I unload bullet after bullet into my throbbing brain, which has blood and other fluids pouring out all over me, my clothes, and the floor.
Not a single bullet does the trick, but clearly they all went through my skull and eviscerated my cerebral tissue. I fall out of my chair, writhing on the floor. My guttural roars of agony echo throughout my room, combined with the sharp ringing in my ears. My previous struggles are now of no importance to me, replaced by crucifying pain. After screaming myself to exhaustion, I pass out as I'm pleading to the universe that still plagues me:
Why? Why am I alive? | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “If everyone can find a chair, it’s time to get started.” The woman tapped the microphone once with a humble smile, watching as the assorted crowd gathered for the anticipated event.
After a moment of silence settled in the room, she spoke again. “I’m happy to welcome so many familiar faces to our 187th annual Immortality conference. As always, we have some newcomers as well. Since we will all be friends for a very long time, let’s start with introductions.”
She waved at a young man standing off to the side, swaying from foot to foot with his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he stepped forward and took the mic.
“Uh, hi. I’m Josh.”
“Hi Josh,” came the familiar chorus. His shoulders dropped a little and his smile widened.
“Hi. Uh, Camilla told me to introduce myself to you all. Where I’m from, my favorite color, and whatever I know about my, uh, my immortality.” He nearly choked on the word. Typical newbie.
“So, I’m Josh. Josh Callahan. I grew up in Sandy Shoals, Illinois. Never found the sand or the shoals, though,” he halfway chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, that’s a townie joke.”
His eyes roved around the room, looking at the odd assortment of people from every age, race, and gender. Wise stares looked back at him. “Yeah, so I like to travel. I really like pizza. And I’m planning to go to college to be an accountant.”
His brows furrowed. “Or I was. God, can you image an eternity as an accountant?”
“I’ve lived it!” called out a voice from somewhere in the back, nasally and sharp. The rest of the room bubbled with polite laughter.
“You all can probably tell this is new to me. I just found out a few weeks ago, and the suits investigating things slipped me a flyer about this event. So here I am.”
Josh looked toward Camilla, who smiled encouragingly. “Your story,” she mouthed, and his head bobbed.
“Right, how I got here. Well, you see, some friends and I have a youtube channel. I’d say you should check it out but I’m pretty sure they had to take it down. But we posted pranks, lifehacks, challenges, urban legends, you name it. Duncan was the mastermind, and so he pitched us an idea.”
Josh was smiling now, as if the memory were happy. But there was something hidden in his eyes that foretold the events to unfold. “So, Duncan came across the immortality spell, he said. Something online that was guaranteed to work. He said we’d try it out, then have the immortal person stand in front of a train. Some editing magic, and it’d look like everything worked.”
There was a collective groan from within the crowd. “I guess you folks know where this is going,” he said with a sigh.
“So, we did it. Duncan had me spend weeks sitting in the moonlight, drinking strange drinks, repeating words backwards in a mirror, and sleeping with crystals around my room. I filmed so many stupid things.”
Chairs creaked as everyone leaned in close to hear about the discovery. The internet meant so many young people were getting their hands on dangerous magic. Swelling attendance to the conference reinforced this point.
“When it came time to film the train thing, Duncan said we should go to the bridge outside of town. Said it’d look more dramatic. Besides, there wasn’t supposed to be a train that day. He said.”
Josh dropped his eyes, looking back up with a brief flash of anger. “I looked it up. Four trains go through there a day. Liar.”
Camilla stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. He smiled at her, and she nodded for him to continue.
“So, when the train showed up, I was in the middle of the bridge. Unfortunately, none of the spells we worked gave me super speed. I could hear Duncan whooping and hollering the whole time.”
Josh shook his head, eyes refocusing on the audience. “Anyways, you probably don’t need me to tell you what happens when a train hits a body, immortal or not. It wasn’t a pretty sight from the inside, either. But, I was lucky everything grew back. “ Josh stretched out his free hand and splayed his fingers. “Ten fingers and ten toes!”
The audience clapped, and Josh waited for the rumble of applause to subside. “So, when I met Duncan later at the hospital, he was all wide-eyed. I asked him how he knew it had worked. Figured he must have tested me or something before.”
The pained expression on Josh’s face said it well before the words could. “But he didn’t. Just thought it would be good for the views.”
There was a hiss from the audience of shared pain. Too many discovered immortality at the hands of treachery.
“But Camilla says you all can help me figure this out. So I’m looking forward to making some new friends. Real friends,” he added to the end.
Camilla took the microphone with her smile and pleasant voice. “Welcome, Josh. Friends, let’s give him an immortal welcome.”
The room erupted into applause and whistles as those nearest him reached out to pat his back or shake his hand. Josh smiled. It was nice to fit in. | I sit in my desk chair, slumped over with a bottle of whiskey in my hand, held by the neck. I lift it up to take another swig, tasting the bitter ambrosia as it passes through my lips. It tastes terrible, but day after day my mind seeks refuge in its nasty tang. The way it clouds my perception is sweeter than the liquid, and usually keeps me sane. Today it serves a different purpose.
Today isn't particularly special compared to others. I'm drunk. I'm depressed. I'm no stranger to how I feel, but so much so that I'm sore in the head. I'm drunk on alcohol and nothingness, with a cloudy future and a meaningless past. All I can comprehend is the present, in which I'm a vegetable of the man I'm supposed to be.
Today, however, is slightly different. I've grown too tired, and in my groggy despair I had set a 357 Magnum on my desk right in front of me. It's loaded. After sitting in the filth which is my sweat-stained work uniform and pondering with my poisoned mind, I've got little left to hesitate picking the firearm up sluggishly with my left hand.
I sit there for just a moment, glossing over the handle of the Magnum with my thumb. As I graze over the cold metal and wood, I breathe lightly and shakily as I contemplate. I'd expect that such heavy thoughts would affect me more, but at this point I'm drunk and I'm sick and I hate breathing. The world is a cruel, cruel mistress, and this place wasn't built for me. None of it. Not my house, not my job, not my life. I exist to please those who don't care for me. I feel invigorated by the all-curing pill I grasp. I can escape. My one final way to stick it to the man. I'll soon be off to the real land of the free.
I feel angry at those that have led me to this dead end, but I feel triumph knowing I'll slave to this world no longer. I lift the bottle in my right hand one final time, taking my last swig of the sweet anesthetic. I slowly put the bottle back down on my desk so as to not drop or spill it once the deed has been done, but it's not like that matters to me. Once the glass of the bottle clanks onto the desk, I take a deep breath.
I raise the revolver to my head, pressing the cold barrel to the center of my brow. I close my tired eyes, pulling the lever on the gun back with my thumb. My index finger grazes the trigger. Tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. Oddly, they aren't tears of sadness. I crave the freedom I'll have in a couple moments.
I take a deep breath, then squeeze the trigger. A bang louder than anything I've ever heard rings through my ears as a blunt searing pain fills my head. My slow, drunk thoughts are quickly stung with panic. I scream louder than I thought I ever could. I pull the lever again quickly and shoot again, something I thought wouldn't be necessary. I'm met with the same pain, now twofold. I unload bullet after bullet into my throbbing brain, which has blood and other fluids pouring out all over me, my clothes, and the floor.
Not a single bullet does the trick, but clearly they all went through my skull and eviscerated my cerebral tissue. I fall out of my chair, writhing on the floor. My guttural roars of agony echo throughout my room, combined with the sharp ringing in my ears. My previous struggles are now of no importance to me, replaced by crucifying pain. After screaming myself to exhaustion, I pass out as I'm pleading to the universe that still plagues me:
Why? Why am I alive? | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I looked out upon the city that had eaten me up and spit me out. I tried to think of the good people in my life. The memories that had helped me through the tough times. Even just the good times. Nothing came. Well, just one thing. A dog I had when I was growing up. She was the only loyal thing I had ever known. The only thing that I had loved or had shown me any love. But that was 15 years ago. Maybe I’ll get to see her when this is over. Maybe.
I take one last breath. I whisper, “fuck it.” Then I fall forward. I see the buildings in the skyline fall up as many turns into one. The one across the street. I think I see a glimpse of myself in the windows that begin to rush by, but I can’t be sure. Then I see the street below and then white noise. The wind is so loud I can’t even hear my screams. If I was screaming. The cars get bigger. I can see more detail on people’s clothes. I see a hot dog vendor drop something, pick it up, and put it back on his cart. “Gross” I think. Then I close my eyes. I feel a pain that can only be described as being hit by a truck. The pain is like nothing I have ever felt. It felt like I was folded in a lawn chair then squeezed in a vice. But only for a split second. Then blackness.
I heard voices. Worried voices. Gasps. Then I heard movement. Feet shuffling. Horns. I smelled something. Hot dogs. And the faint scent of garbage. My eyes start to twitch and light starts to poke through. I open them, or rather, one since I seemed to be on my stomach with my face on pavement. I groan as I push myself up of the street. I stand and look at the crowd that is looking at me. I look up at the building that I had chosen as my last vantage point. I look back towards the source of the hot dog odor. “Well...fuck!” | I awoke in a cold steel box.
At first, I thought I'd been buried alive. I panicked immediately, banging on the cool metal surfaces that surrounded me. That only intensified my panic, for three reasons: one, it revealed that my pitch-black prison was completely solid. Two, I couldn't move my legs properly. And three, my soundless blows against the steel walls revealed that I was completely *deaf.*
Abruptly, my prison filled with light. The slab I was on slid out into a room with tile floors and walls, lit by harsh fluorescent lights -- a morgue, I realized. I was looking up at a man in hospital scrubs, with wild dark hair, who was staring down at me, wide-eyed. He said something, but I couldn't hear him. I didn't *think* I'd always been deaf, but I found, to my even *further* alarm, that I couldn't remember for sure.
I struggled feebly on the slab, my limbs flopping uselessly, as the man left my field of vision. He returned moments later, still wide-eyed, with a small flashlight, which he shined in my eyes. I blinked painfully and tried to swear at him, but even deaf I could tell my words came out an unintelligible slur. He said something else, looking extremely disturbed. Yeah, imagine how *I* feel, guy.
He left my field of vision again, and then suddenly I felt him lift me into a half-sitting position, and then wrap his arms around my chest. I was increasingly terrified of where the man might be going with this, and my fears were justified as he drug me backwards off the slab, and my legs hit the ground painfully. He laid me down more gently, and then looked down, brow furrowed. Was he scared? Worried? I couldn't tell. I was having a hard time concentrating.
For a third time, he stepped out of my field of vision. When he returned, my eyes widened in terror. He stood over me with a *sledgehammer,* his eyes wild, speaking rapidly through gritted teeth. I tried to scream. I tried to *beg.* I don't know if I made any sound, I just know he didn't pay my cries any heed.
The sledgehammer came down on my head, and then I knew nothing.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Three days later -- it's always three days -- I awoke on my customary slab in the morgue. I yawned, knocked politely on the door to my chilled mortuary cabinet, and then I waited. After a few moments, Deacon , the medical examiner who'd become my best friend after discovering my *condition* last year, opened the door, and pulled my slab out of the cabinet.
He looked down at me, with a pained expression. Poor guy looked like he hadn't slept since the last time I came back.
"I am so sorry!" he said, frantically. "I...you were in really bad shape! Your face was partially paralyzed, you couldn't move properly, you had abnormal pupillary response, I--I didn't know what else to do, so--"
I smiled tiredly, and shook my head, reaching up to squeeze his forearm. "Deac, Deac! Relax," I interrupted. "It's okay! If I'd been *able* to think, I would have told you to do the same thing. I should be apologizing to you, if anything. I'm guessing that you had to pick through my smashed skull and brains, to get all of that asshole's shotgun pellets out of what was left of my head. That must have been a pain in the ass."
He nodded, a queasy expression on his face. "Yeah. I'm sure I got them all, though."
I rolled off the slab and onto my feet, and Deacon handed me my clothes. "Welp, at least now we know that if something's still *stuck* in me when I come back, my body doesn't just push it out, when it heals. Next time I get shot in the head you can crack open my skull and clean out the lead fragments *before* I resurrect."
"So, I take it you know who's been kidnapping those girls?" Deacon asked, hesitantly, as I got dressed.
I nodded, grimly. "Pretty sure. He was on to my snooping around his front operations, though. I suspect that's why he put a shotgun to my head and pulled the trigger."
*"And* dumped you in the river. You gotta be more careful, Jimmy!" Deacon said, pleadingly. "I know you're...well, you know, but what if he'd been smarter about disposing of your body, and weighted you down with bricks, or something?"
I didn't want to think about that. "I'll be better prepared when I go back, trust me."
"You're going *back?"* Deacon cried. "Why don't you just tip off the police?"
I shook my head. "I saw what I saw, but I don't have any *evidence,* Deac. Besides, it's been six days now, he'll have cleaned out the locations I comprised. I've got to do this myself."
Deacon groaned, flopping down in his chair. "Fine. I'll keep a slab open for you."
"Hey, try to be more positive. I've got one thing going for me."
"Yeah, I know. You can't die. Not permanently. Not *so far."* Deacon said, warningly.
"Well, that too." I amended.
"What else?"
I grinned. "He's not going to be *expecting* me, this time." | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I was immortal.
Yes, you heard me right, I’m immortal. As in, don’t age, don’t die, look the same as I did two hundred years ago, basically, like _Edward Cullen_ from the horrible franchise that was _Twilight_.
Except I’m no disco ball, nor a vampire. Really, the only thing I have in common with him apart from the immortal thing is the fact that I was a freak of nature.
See, I don’t live in a fantasy world. No flying cars, super powers, gods or genetically engineered spiders here. It’s a simple world.
Born > grow > school > degree > job > retire > die.
Or so it goes, anyway, for most people. But see, I never really got the linking factor of all those things- _growing_.
Well, I did, technically. I’m not a baby running around spitting out limericks and requiring a stool because I’m so small. I did age, to some degree. To about twenty three or twenty four. Then I stopped.
Now, we joked it was good genes. My parents looked fairly good for their age, and I didn’t seem abnormal. Still had my period, still ate and drank and slept, hell, I had kids.
I just never changed. Everybody else grew old. My parents turned to dust. My partner, bless his heart, aged gracefully, but even I could see the wrinkles forming on his face, the grey hairs adorning his beard. Wrinkles I never got, grey hairs I never got.
My kids grew up, from babies to teens to adults to elders, my partner died and it was just… devastating to watch. Contrary to movies, I never fled upon realising my unageing status. Questions were asked at first but.. well, it’s amazing what hair dye and makeup can do. Even then it was less I was ashamed and more the unexplainable questions were getting on my nerves.
I, my husband, and my kids, we all hoped it was just a visual thing. Some rare, undiscovered condition where I just _visually_ looked like I hadn’t aged, but my body did. And I was in denial for many many years.
It took my eldest child, Lucien, dying that I finally realised that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ageing. That I had to face the denial I’d been living in for years now. My family all dropped dead around me, their children had children, and so on so forth.
Everybody I ever loved died, to the point where I found myself becoming apathetic to their existence, because what was the point if they would just die in ninety years, _if I was lucky._
I wanted to be dead. I’d lived several life times. I was tired of watching people die, of loving only to lose in the end. But in the end, I was unwanted even by death, and I was stuck, unable to have my greatest wish.
I couldn’t live, couldn’t die, I was just tormented and hurt, in limbo. Tortured like I was the worst of the worst, hurt again and again and _agai-_
Who wants to live forever, they ask?
Not me. | I awoke in a cold steel box.
At first, I thought I'd been buried alive. I panicked immediately, banging on the cool metal surfaces that surrounded me. That only intensified my panic, for three reasons: one, it revealed that my pitch-black prison was completely solid. Two, I couldn't move my legs properly. And three, my soundless blows against the steel walls revealed that I was completely *deaf.*
Abruptly, my prison filled with light. The slab I was on slid out into a room with tile floors and walls, lit by harsh fluorescent lights -- a morgue, I realized. I was looking up at a man in hospital scrubs, with wild dark hair, who was staring down at me, wide-eyed. He said something, but I couldn't hear him. I didn't *think* I'd always been deaf, but I found, to my even *further* alarm, that I couldn't remember for sure.
I struggled feebly on the slab, my limbs flopping uselessly, as the man left my field of vision. He returned moments later, still wide-eyed, with a small flashlight, which he shined in my eyes. I blinked painfully and tried to swear at him, but even deaf I could tell my words came out an unintelligible slur. He said something else, looking extremely disturbed. Yeah, imagine how *I* feel, guy.
He left my field of vision again, and then suddenly I felt him lift me into a half-sitting position, and then wrap his arms around my chest. I was increasingly terrified of where the man might be going with this, and my fears were justified as he drug me backwards off the slab, and my legs hit the ground painfully. He laid me down more gently, and then looked down, brow furrowed. Was he scared? Worried? I couldn't tell. I was having a hard time concentrating.
For a third time, he stepped out of my field of vision. When he returned, my eyes widened in terror. He stood over me with a *sledgehammer,* his eyes wild, speaking rapidly through gritted teeth. I tried to scream. I tried to *beg.* I don't know if I made any sound, I just know he didn't pay my cries any heed.
The sledgehammer came down on my head, and then I knew nothing.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Three days later -- it's always three days -- I awoke on my customary slab in the morgue. I yawned, knocked politely on the door to my chilled mortuary cabinet, and then I waited. After a few moments, Deacon , the medical examiner who'd become my best friend after discovering my *condition* last year, opened the door, and pulled my slab out of the cabinet.
He looked down at me, with a pained expression. Poor guy looked like he hadn't slept since the last time I came back.
"I am so sorry!" he said, frantically. "I...you were in really bad shape! Your face was partially paralyzed, you couldn't move properly, you had abnormal pupillary response, I--I didn't know what else to do, so--"
I smiled tiredly, and shook my head, reaching up to squeeze his forearm. "Deac, Deac! Relax," I interrupted. "It's okay! If I'd been *able* to think, I would have told you to do the same thing. I should be apologizing to you, if anything. I'm guessing that you had to pick through my smashed skull and brains, to get all of that asshole's shotgun pellets out of what was left of my head. That must have been a pain in the ass."
He nodded, a queasy expression on his face. "Yeah. I'm sure I got them all, though."
I rolled off the slab and onto my feet, and Deacon handed me my clothes. "Welp, at least now we know that if something's still *stuck* in me when I come back, my body doesn't just push it out, when it heals. Next time I get shot in the head you can crack open my skull and clean out the lead fragments *before* I resurrect."
"So, I take it you know who's been kidnapping those girls?" Deacon asked, hesitantly, as I got dressed.
I nodded, grimly. "Pretty sure. He was on to my snooping around his front operations, though. I suspect that's why he put a shotgun to my head and pulled the trigger."
*"And* dumped you in the river. You gotta be more careful, Jimmy!" Deacon said, pleadingly. "I know you're...well, you know, but what if he'd been smarter about disposing of your body, and weighted you down with bricks, or something?"
I didn't want to think about that. "I'll be better prepared when I go back, trust me."
"You're going *back?"* Deacon cried. "Why don't you just tip off the police?"
I shook my head. "I saw what I saw, but I don't have any *evidence,* Deac. Besides, it's been six days now, he'll have cleaned out the locations I comprised. I've got to do this myself."
Deacon groaned, flopping down in his chair. "Fine. I'll keep a slab open for you."
"Hey, try to be more positive. I've got one thing going for me."
"Yeah, I know. You can't die. Not permanently. Not *so far."* Deacon said, warningly.
"Well, that too." I amended.
"What else?"
I grinned. "He's not going to be *expecting* me, this time." | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I was immortal.
Yes, you heard me right, I’m immortal. As in, don’t age, don’t die, look the same as I did two hundred years ago, basically, like _Edward Cullen_ from the horrible franchise that was _Twilight_.
Except I’m no disco ball, nor a vampire. Really, the only thing I have in common with him apart from the immortal thing is the fact that I was a freak of nature.
See, I don’t live in a fantasy world. No flying cars, super powers, gods or genetically engineered spiders here. It’s a simple world.
Born > grow > school > degree > job > retire > die.
Or so it goes, anyway, for most people. But see, I never really got the linking factor of all those things- _growing_.
Well, I did, technically. I’m not a baby running around spitting out limericks and requiring a stool because I’m so small. I did age, to some degree. To about twenty three or twenty four. Then I stopped.
Now, we joked it was good genes. My parents looked fairly good for their age, and I didn’t seem abnormal. Still had my period, still ate and drank and slept, hell, I had kids.
I just never changed. Everybody else grew old. My parents turned to dust. My partner, bless his heart, aged gracefully, but even I could see the wrinkles forming on his face, the grey hairs adorning his beard. Wrinkles I never got, grey hairs I never got.
My kids grew up, from babies to teens to adults to elders, my partner died and it was just… devastating to watch. Contrary to movies, I never fled upon realising my unageing status. Questions were asked at first but.. well, it’s amazing what hair dye and makeup can do. Even then it was less I was ashamed and more the unexplainable questions were getting on my nerves.
I, my husband, and my kids, we all hoped it was just a visual thing. Some rare, undiscovered condition where I just _visually_ looked like I hadn’t aged, but my body did. And I was in denial for many many years.
It took my eldest child, Lucien, dying that I finally realised that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ageing. That I had to face the denial I’d been living in for years now. My family all dropped dead around me, their children had children, and so on so forth.
Everybody I ever loved died, to the point where I found myself becoming apathetic to their existence, because what was the point if they would just die in ninety years, _if I was lucky._
I wanted to be dead. I’d lived several life times. I was tired of watching people die, of loving only to lose in the end. But in the end, I was unwanted even by death, and I was stuck, unable to have my greatest wish.
I couldn’t live, couldn’t die, I was just tormented and hurt, in limbo. Tortured like I was the worst of the worst, hurt again and again and _agai-_
Who wants to live forever, they ask?
Not me. | It does not matter how many times it whispers to you, you are still afraid. Its hands are tucked into the stark white and egg cream of folded wings, as if this might alleviate some tension. It is impossible to perceive in whole, only in pieces. Shimmering gold tips and endless, brilliant, unblinking eyes, bordered by thick black ink and painted rogue. It is covered in soft colors and sharp lines, and your mind is doing something beyond fathom inside your head. You fall to your knees, desperate for absolution, face pressing into the searing skin of your folded forearms.
“Please rise. Do not prostrate yourself before me. I am but a messenger.”
It projects with a voice that rattles and soothes your head in tandem, and your body jerks upward in compliance. Thick clouds of cotton white cloud your vision. You briefly consider the modesty of angels. How does a formless being bow to their king?
“Listen carefully, young one. You will never grow old. You will live forever. You will see the approaching storm of Armageddon, and you will stand among the wreckage. You are a messenger, just as I am.”
You are rigid. Your trachea is a thick, solid piece of something. A rotted-out oak tree that no longer speaks, only echoes back what it is told in reverence. You finally manage a whimper, fingers sliding up to rest tentatively on the taut skin of your throat. It is okay to go slow. You have all the time in the world. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I was immortal.
Yes, you heard me right, I’m immortal. As in, don’t age, don’t die, look the same as I did two hundred years ago, basically, like _Edward Cullen_ from the horrible franchise that was _Twilight_.
Except I’m no disco ball, nor a vampire. Really, the only thing I have in common with him apart from the immortal thing is the fact that I was a freak of nature.
See, I don’t live in a fantasy world. No flying cars, super powers, gods or genetically engineered spiders here. It’s a simple world.
Born > grow > school > degree > job > retire > die.
Or so it goes, anyway, for most people. But see, I never really got the linking factor of all those things- _growing_.
Well, I did, technically. I’m not a baby running around spitting out limericks and requiring a stool because I’m so small. I did age, to some degree. To about twenty three or twenty four. Then I stopped.
Now, we joked it was good genes. My parents looked fairly good for their age, and I didn’t seem abnormal. Still had my period, still ate and drank and slept, hell, I had kids.
I just never changed. Everybody else grew old. My parents turned to dust. My partner, bless his heart, aged gracefully, but even I could see the wrinkles forming on his face, the grey hairs adorning his beard. Wrinkles I never got, grey hairs I never got.
My kids grew up, from babies to teens to adults to elders, my partner died and it was just… devastating to watch. Contrary to movies, I never fled upon realising my unageing status. Questions were asked at first but.. well, it’s amazing what hair dye and makeup can do. Even then it was less I was ashamed and more the unexplainable questions were getting on my nerves.
I, my husband, and my kids, we all hoped it was just a visual thing. Some rare, undiscovered condition where I just _visually_ looked like I hadn’t aged, but my body did. And I was in denial for many many years.
It took my eldest child, Lucien, dying that I finally realised that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ageing. That I had to face the denial I’d been living in for years now. My family all dropped dead around me, their children had children, and so on so forth.
Everybody I ever loved died, to the point where I found myself becoming apathetic to their existence, because what was the point if they would just die in ninety years, _if I was lucky._
I wanted to be dead. I’d lived several life times. I was tired of watching people die, of loving only to lose in the end. But in the end, I was unwanted even by death, and I was stuck, unable to have my greatest wish.
I couldn’t live, couldn’t die, I was just tormented and hurt, in limbo. Tortured like I was the worst of the worst, hurt again and again and _agai-_
Who wants to live forever, they ask?
Not me. | Ofttimes I'd find myself wondering how many years it had been since I first met him. I was out with some friends for a night at Steeples, the only gay bar you'd be able to find in our tiny little shit town back in the seventies. I'd had more than a few, and had sparked a conversation with a stranger - he was tall, with a gorgeous body and a shyness that could be construed as off-putting. He had asked if I'd wanted to go home with him, insisting that he had better booze at home. My gut told me no - there was something in his eyes; some vacant deadness that made me feel as though I was sinking through an infinite abyss towards oblivion when I looked in to them. My friends pushed and pushed me to do it, and I finally agreed. I hope they're doing well these days. I don't hold anything against them.
It wasn't until we got into his house that he introduced himself to me as Jeff. In practically the same breath, he handed me a glass of amber liquid, and I was too stupid to ask questions. He had dissolved enough Valium in the whiskey to knock out God. It wasn't until nearly morning where I woke up in his bed, swaddled in blankets and gently lain to sleep. I had an absolutely crushing headache, and I tried to wiggle free of the blankets to no avail.
"Jeff?" I called out into the night.
He grunted, turned over in the bed, and screamed. He leaped out of bed and grabbed a nearby liquor bottle and repeatedly bashed it against my head. On the second swing, the bottle shattered and sent glass shards flying across the bed. He continued swinging as hard as he could, opening the flesh on my face with the jagged edges of the bottle with increasing depth and frequency. Blood oozed from the wounds on my face, shifting around the remnants of the bottle that had lodged themselves in my cheek, forehead, and nose.
I woke up in the morning feeling pain-free, though disoriented. I tried to reach for my face, but my arms were abruptly cut short before they could reach their target. The clank of rattling metal accompanied a jolt that went throughout my shoulder, as I came-to and continued trying to pull my arms free of the chain-link binds. I was in a corner of the bedroom I had slept in the night before, attached to the wall by stainless steel chain to thick eye bolts that had been drilled into the studs in the wall. There was no breaking free of these no matter how much I struggled.
Jeff walked into the room playing hot potato with a bowl of oatmeal that had just come out of the microwave. He set the bowl on his nightstand while sliding a wooden chair across the floor and ate his breakfast, silently staring at me the entire time.
"Jeff?" I once again asked, although in a tone that you might say was whiny, "what's going on?"
"I killed you," he said, "I suffocated you with that pillow, drilled a hole through your skull, and took a butcher's cleaver to your arms."
I clearly still had arms. They were bound to the walls. I assumed he must be crazy, but I was still on the fence about how dangerous he might truly be.
"Well, buddy, as you can see I'm still fully formed. How about we let bygones be by-" he interrupted me by getting up and walking out of the room. When he came back, he was holding a large Ziploc bag, which he threw at me.
"No. I killed you," he threw the Ziploc bag at me. "I cut these off and browned the rest in a red wine reduction sauce with a bit of olive oil. Right now they're sitting in a Crockpot with a bit of onion, carrot, and potatoes. Seasonings too, of course. Mostly aromatics - cumin, garlic, paprika, nothing too fancy."
I looked at the Ziploc bag and immediately felt the disorientation and nausea from the night before hit me like a Willie Stargell power hit. Those were *my* hands. I looked over at the shackles to confirm - the ring I wore on my right index finger was no longer there, but it was in the bag. I had a scar on my palm from a bike accident when I was a kid that was no longer there, but was plain as day on the dismembered limb in this bag.
Jeff grabbed a roll of translucent shipping tape and walked over towards me. Although I pleaded for him not to do anything more, that I wouldn't go to the police, that I just wanted to go home, none of it mattered. He wrapped my entire head in packing tape, leaving no room for air to get in or out. I saw him walk out the front door and heard the lock turn before everything went black.
The world didn't come flooding back until some indiscernible amount of time later, when he unceremoniously ripped the tape from my head. He told me how excited he was at what I might be and how I was everything he had been looking for. He showed me the skulls from his previous attempts, Polaroids of the acts he had committed on them, and the trophies he had kept of his favorites. I could not help crying; whether out of pain, confusion, or agony, I couldn't be sure.
He told me he had spent years looking for his personal love zombie. Someone he could cherish and hold and have them be forever his, forever under his full control. I was that person: I could go nowhere, do nothing, say nothing, as I could always come back to him no matter what act was performed on me. The last bit set the stage for the next decade or two of my life. The first night he came back from work, he had told me about an idea he had.
He took me out to his garage - the first time I'd seen the outside in nearly 24 hours. I was deep in the woods, in some podunk Appalachian backwater where the idea of neighbors was nearly as foreign as the concept of multivariable calculus. He kept me chained up, always disciplined in his actions to never allow me personal agency for even a second. He strapped me to a table and used a bandsaw to cut through my abdomen. I screamed as the heat of the saw made contact with the fat and threw the scent of bacon into the air. Next had been my colon, a decidedly less pleasant odor. Finally it was my small intestines, the saw shredding through them and sending blood and viscera flying across the dank garage. On Jeff's face, I swear I could see a smile mixed in with the determination he had for the task at hand.
The next morning, I woke up in absolute darkness. I was cramped - stuffed into a box too small for me as if I were a contortionist. I started to scream, but flaked bits of dust kept entering my mouth as I hyperventilated and jostled the floor of my confines. Finally, light found it's way in as Jeff opened the door of my prison. Outside was the kitchen, with Jeff's chair sitting at the dirty kitchen table. He was picking at a meal that I could hardly see, but he was still chewing.
"Want some?", he asked. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | Chris and I have been friends our whole lives because our moms were friends. We were born thirteen hours apart. Never in my life have I felt such betrayal. I break through the surface of the water as he and my wife start the engine and drive away. The sound of the engine growing fainter as I struggle to swim up with anchor chained to me.
A 15pound anchor the look of surprise at how well I was able to swim holding it above my head. But they knew as soon as they started the engine it wasn't going to matter. We were 60miles offshore. No chance of me escaping the chains and swimming home. We were well off the continental shelf of North Carolina where just the blue abyss lay beneath me. My arms and legs grew tired. I screamed for them to come back.
Down I go. It's amazing how fast you sink chained to an anchor. I tried holding my breath, but I knew that was pointless. My ear drums were screaming with pain. The pressure on my chest was unbearable. I finally was prepared to die. I said my prayers for my family and friends to get over my passing quickly and that Alanna and Chris would get caught and go to jail. Then I inhaled. The cold seawater rushed into my mouth, lungs, and stomach.
Well I guess I'm dead at least I should be. My feet and anchor sink into the soft bottom. I get laid flat, face up on the sea floor. It's so dark the sun's light doesn't penetrate this far down. I try to sit up but the weight if the water is too much. Without the sun I don't know how long it took for the clean up crew to arrive, but I felt them. Little pinches here and there. Needle like prods and pokes then large pinches. It was the crabs. As fast as they would take a pinch and shove it into their mouth it would heal. After the first one grabbed a piece of my eyeball, I shut my eyes that was too weird. So they would pick an eyelid and it would regrow. The only thing that haunts me is those all you can eat crab leg buffets I enjoyed and here I am an all you can eat crab buffet. | Ofttimes I'd find myself wondering how many years it had been since I first met him. I was out with some friends for a night at Steeples, the only gay bar you'd be able to find in our tiny little shit town back in the seventies. I'd had more than a few, and had sparked a conversation with a stranger - he was tall, with a gorgeous body and a shyness that could be construed as off-putting. He had asked if I'd wanted to go home with him, insisting that he had better booze at home. My gut told me no - there was something in his eyes; some vacant deadness that made me feel as though I was sinking through an infinite abyss towards oblivion when I looked in to them. My friends pushed and pushed me to do it, and I finally agreed. I hope they're doing well these days. I don't hold anything against them.
It wasn't until we got into his house that he introduced himself to me as Jeff. In practically the same breath, he handed me a glass of amber liquid, and I was too stupid to ask questions. He had dissolved enough Valium in the whiskey to knock out God. It wasn't until nearly morning where I woke up in his bed, swaddled in blankets and gently lain to sleep. I had an absolutely crushing headache, and I tried to wiggle free of the blankets to no avail.
"Jeff?" I called out into the night.
He grunted, turned over in the bed, and screamed. He leaped out of bed and grabbed a nearby liquor bottle and repeatedly bashed it against my head. On the second swing, the bottle shattered and sent glass shards flying across the bed. He continued swinging as hard as he could, opening the flesh on my face with the jagged edges of the bottle with increasing depth and frequency. Blood oozed from the wounds on my face, shifting around the remnants of the bottle that had lodged themselves in my cheek, forehead, and nose.
I woke up in the morning feeling pain-free, though disoriented. I tried to reach for my face, but my arms were abruptly cut short before they could reach their target. The clank of rattling metal accompanied a jolt that went throughout my shoulder, as I came-to and continued trying to pull my arms free of the chain-link binds. I was in a corner of the bedroom I had slept in the night before, attached to the wall by stainless steel chain to thick eye bolts that had been drilled into the studs in the wall. There was no breaking free of these no matter how much I struggled.
Jeff walked into the room playing hot potato with a bowl of oatmeal that had just come out of the microwave. He set the bowl on his nightstand while sliding a wooden chair across the floor and ate his breakfast, silently staring at me the entire time.
"Jeff?" I once again asked, although in a tone that you might say was whiny, "what's going on?"
"I killed you," he said, "I suffocated you with that pillow, drilled a hole through your skull, and took a butcher's cleaver to your arms."
I clearly still had arms. They were bound to the walls. I assumed he must be crazy, but I was still on the fence about how dangerous he might truly be.
"Well, buddy, as you can see I'm still fully formed. How about we let bygones be by-" he interrupted me by getting up and walking out of the room. When he came back, he was holding a large Ziploc bag, which he threw at me.
"No. I killed you," he threw the Ziploc bag at me. "I cut these off and browned the rest in a red wine reduction sauce with a bit of olive oil. Right now they're sitting in a Crockpot with a bit of onion, carrot, and potatoes. Seasonings too, of course. Mostly aromatics - cumin, garlic, paprika, nothing too fancy."
I looked at the Ziploc bag and immediately felt the disorientation and nausea from the night before hit me like a Willie Stargell power hit. Those were *my* hands. I looked over at the shackles to confirm - the ring I wore on my right index finger was no longer there, but it was in the bag. I had a scar on my palm from a bike accident when I was a kid that was no longer there, but was plain as day on the dismembered limb in this bag.
Jeff grabbed a roll of translucent shipping tape and walked over towards me. Although I pleaded for him not to do anything more, that I wouldn't go to the police, that I just wanted to go home, none of it mattered. He wrapped my entire head in packing tape, leaving no room for air to get in or out. I saw him walk out the front door and heard the lock turn before everything went black.
The world didn't come flooding back until some indiscernible amount of time later, when he unceremoniously ripped the tape from my head. He told me how excited he was at what I might be and how I was everything he had been looking for. He showed me the skulls from his previous attempts, Polaroids of the acts he had committed on them, and the trophies he had kept of his favorites. I could not help crying; whether out of pain, confusion, or agony, I couldn't be sure.
He told me he had spent years looking for his personal love zombie. Someone he could cherish and hold and have them be forever his, forever under his full control. I was that person: I could go nowhere, do nothing, say nothing, as I could always come back to him no matter what act was performed on me. The last bit set the stage for the next decade or two of my life. The first night he came back from work, he had told me about an idea he had.
He took me out to his garage - the first time I'd seen the outside in nearly 24 hours. I was deep in the woods, in some podunk Appalachian backwater where the idea of neighbors was nearly as foreign as the concept of multivariable calculus. He kept me chained up, always disciplined in his actions to never allow me personal agency for even a second. He strapped me to a table and used a bandsaw to cut through my abdomen. I screamed as the heat of the saw made contact with the fat and threw the scent of bacon into the air. Next had been my colon, a decidedly less pleasant odor. Finally it was my small intestines, the saw shredding through them and sending blood and viscera flying across the dank garage. On Jeff's face, I swear I could see a smile mixed in with the determination he had for the task at hand.
The next morning, I woke up in absolute darkness. I was cramped - stuffed into a box too small for me as if I were a contortionist. I started to scream, but flaked bits of dust kept entering my mouth as I hyperventilated and jostled the floor of my confines. Finally, light found it's way in as Jeff opened the door of my prison. Outside was the kitchen, with Jeff's chair sitting at the dirty kitchen table. He was picking at a meal that I could hardly see, but he was still chewing.
"Want some?", he asked. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | Immortal - I've been thinking about it the last few months. That must be it, I'm immortal. It's a curse. Why? Because it does not come with invulnerability nor fast healing. Maybe not with healing at all, but how could I tell? I've been here since the day when someone should have known, but nobody did. I'm wondering how many more …
So what happened? Just a happy little accident at work, touching a wire that should be dead, that somehow was missed when we double-checked them … usually I'd have just pulled away my hand, but somehow this time my fingers just would not let go until my heart had stopped. The other guys were at a different part of the building, making noise. Still my body held tension for just long enough to make sure that it stopped working. Then I sank down and lay there for what seemed to be hours, fully aware and seeing through my eyes. I wasn't breathing and soon my muscles did stop obeying my commands at all. What else should it do without energy? It should do that!
Finally they found me and called an ambulance, but even though I could see them do their job, they found me dead. They drove me off in a bag after closing my eyes and shutting my mouth (thanks for that), put me in a freezer and left me there for some time. I felt my body hurt from the temperature, then slowly it started going numb.
When they held my funeral I could barely feel being moved, but i heard them. Some light fell through my closed eyelids, and when they opened, I could only see as if through fog. Should my eyes be decomposing? My brain should be, my ears should be!
They unzipped the bag, cut away my work clothes from the limbs that must have been attached below my head, then put new clothes there. Some makeup for my probably pale face and a short drive to the funeral. Some people cried, my family most certainly among them. I could only lay there and hear, thinking about crying out, thinking about crying with tears, too.
Now I'm still somehow alive, hearing and thinking. I think my mouth fell open. I sometimes hear things move nearby, probably rats gnawing at my body. The body that betrayed me by dying before me. Oh please gnaw away that brain that does not die, or maybe at least gnaw away my ears.
​
Continued: https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/comments/ujw35d/wp\_you\_are\_an\_immortal\_in\_the\_year\_of\_our\_lord/
​
[https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/](https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert_writing/) | Ofttimes I'd find myself wondering how many years it had been since I first met him. I was out with some friends for a night at Steeples, the only gay bar you'd be able to find in our tiny little shit town back in the seventies. I'd had more than a few, and had sparked a conversation with a stranger - he was tall, with a gorgeous body and a shyness that could be construed as off-putting. He had asked if I'd wanted to go home with him, insisting that he had better booze at home. My gut told me no - there was something in his eyes; some vacant deadness that made me feel as though I was sinking through an infinite abyss towards oblivion when I looked in to them. My friends pushed and pushed me to do it, and I finally agreed. I hope they're doing well these days. I don't hold anything against them.
It wasn't until we got into his house that he introduced himself to me as Jeff. In practically the same breath, he handed me a glass of amber liquid, and I was too stupid to ask questions. He had dissolved enough Valium in the whiskey to knock out God. It wasn't until nearly morning where I woke up in his bed, swaddled in blankets and gently lain to sleep. I had an absolutely crushing headache, and I tried to wiggle free of the blankets to no avail.
"Jeff?" I called out into the night.
He grunted, turned over in the bed, and screamed. He leaped out of bed and grabbed a nearby liquor bottle and repeatedly bashed it against my head. On the second swing, the bottle shattered and sent glass shards flying across the bed. He continued swinging as hard as he could, opening the flesh on my face with the jagged edges of the bottle with increasing depth and frequency. Blood oozed from the wounds on my face, shifting around the remnants of the bottle that had lodged themselves in my cheek, forehead, and nose.
I woke up in the morning feeling pain-free, though disoriented. I tried to reach for my face, but my arms were abruptly cut short before they could reach their target. The clank of rattling metal accompanied a jolt that went throughout my shoulder, as I came-to and continued trying to pull my arms free of the chain-link binds. I was in a corner of the bedroom I had slept in the night before, attached to the wall by stainless steel chain to thick eye bolts that had been drilled into the studs in the wall. There was no breaking free of these no matter how much I struggled.
Jeff walked into the room playing hot potato with a bowl of oatmeal that had just come out of the microwave. He set the bowl on his nightstand while sliding a wooden chair across the floor and ate his breakfast, silently staring at me the entire time.
"Jeff?" I once again asked, although in a tone that you might say was whiny, "what's going on?"
"I killed you," he said, "I suffocated you with that pillow, drilled a hole through your skull, and took a butcher's cleaver to your arms."
I clearly still had arms. They were bound to the walls. I assumed he must be crazy, but I was still on the fence about how dangerous he might truly be.
"Well, buddy, as you can see I'm still fully formed. How about we let bygones be by-" he interrupted me by getting up and walking out of the room. When he came back, he was holding a large Ziploc bag, which he threw at me.
"No. I killed you," he threw the Ziploc bag at me. "I cut these off and browned the rest in a red wine reduction sauce with a bit of olive oil. Right now they're sitting in a Crockpot with a bit of onion, carrot, and potatoes. Seasonings too, of course. Mostly aromatics - cumin, garlic, paprika, nothing too fancy."
I looked at the Ziploc bag and immediately felt the disorientation and nausea from the night before hit me like a Willie Stargell power hit. Those were *my* hands. I looked over at the shackles to confirm - the ring I wore on my right index finger was no longer there, but it was in the bag. I had a scar on my palm from a bike accident when I was a kid that was no longer there, but was plain as day on the dismembered limb in this bag.
Jeff grabbed a roll of translucent shipping tape and walked over towards me. Although I pleaded for him not to do anything more, that I wouldn't go to the police, that I just wanted to go home, none of it mattered. He wrapped my entire head in packing tape, leaving no room for air to get in or out. I saw him walk out the front door and heard the lock turn before everything went black.
The world didn't come flooding back until some indiscernible amount of time later, when he unceremoniously ripped the tape from my head. He told me how excited he was at what I might be and how I was everything he had been looking for. He showed me the skulls from his previous attempts, Polaroids of the acts he had committed on them, and the trophies he had kept of his favorites. I could not help crying; whether out of pain, confusion, or agony, I couldn't be sure.
He told me he had spent years looking for his personal love zombie. Someone he could cherish and hold and have them be forever his, forever under his full control. I was that person: I could go nowhere, do nothing, say nothing, as I could always come back to him no matter what act was performed on me. The last bit set the stage for the next decade or two of my life. The first night he came back from work, he had told me about an idea he had.
He took me out to his garage - the first time I'd seen the outside in nearly 24 hours. I was deep in the woods, in some podunk Appalachian backwater where the idea of neighbors was nearly as foreign as the concept of multivariable calculus. He kept me chained up, always disciplined in his actions to never allow me personal agency for even a second. He strapped me to a table and used a bandsaw to cut through my abdomen. I screamed as the heat of the saw made contact with the fat and threw the scent of bacon into the air. Next had been my colon, a decidedly less pleasant odor. Finally it was my small intestines, the saw shredding through them and sending blood and viscera flying across the dank garage. On Jeff's face, I swear I could see a smile mixed in with the determination he had for the task at hand.
The next morning, I woke up in absolute darkness. I was cramped - stuffed into a box too small for me as if I were a contortionist. I started to scream, but flaked bits of dust kept entering my mouth as I hyperventilated and jostled the floor of my confines. Finally, light found it's way in as Jeff opened the door of my prison. Outside was the kitchen, with Jeff's chair sitting at the dirty kitchen table. He was picking at a meal that I could hardly see, but he was still chewing.
"Want some?", he asked. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “If everyone can find a chair, it’s time to get started.” The woman tapped the microphone once with a humble smile, watching as the assorted crowd gathered for the anticipated event.
After a moment of silence settled in the room, she spoke again. “I’m happy to welcome so many familiar faces to our 187th annual Immortality conference. As always, we have some newcomers as well. Since we will all be friends for a very long time, let’s start with introductions.”
She waved at a young man standing off to the side, swaying from foot to foot with his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he stepped forward and took the mic.
“Uh, hi. I’m Josh.”
“Hi Josh,” came the familiar chorus. His shoulders dropped a little and his smile widened.
“Hi. Uh, Camilla told me to introduce myself to you all. Where I’m from, my favorite color, and whatever I know about my, uh, my immortality.” He nearly choked on the word. Typical newbie.
“So, I’m Josh. Josh Callahan. I grew up in Sandy Shoals, Illinois. Never found the sand or the shoals, though,” he halfway chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, that’s a townie joke.”
His eyes roved around the room, looking at the odd assortment of people from every age, race, and gender. Wise stares looked back at him. “Yeah, so I like to travel. I really like pizza. And I’m planning to go to college to be an accountant.”
His brows furrowed. “Or I was. God, can you image an eternity as an accountant?”
“I’ve lived it!” called out a voice from somewhere in the back, nasally and sharp. The rest of the room bubbled with polite laughter.
“You all can probably tell this is new to me. I just found out a few weeks ago, and the suits investigating things slipped me a flyer about this event. So here I am.”
Josh looked toward Camilla, who smiled encouragingly. “Your story,” she mouthed, and his head bobbed.
“Right, how I got here. Well, you see, some friends and I have a youtube channel. I’d say you should check it out but I’m pretty sure they had to take it down. But we posted pranks, lifehacks, challenges, urban legends, you name it. Duncan was the mastermind, and so he pitched us an idea.”
Josh was smiling now, as if the memory were happy. But there was something hidden in his eyes that foretold the events to unfold. “So, Duncan came across the immortality spell, he said. Something online that was guaranteed to work. He said we’d try it out, then have the immortal person stand in front of a train. Some editing magic, and it’d look like everything worked.”
There was a collective groan from within the crowd. “I guess you folks know where this is going,” he said with a sigh.
“So, we did it. Duncan had me spend weeks sitting in the moonlight, drinking strange drinks, repeating words backwards in a mirror, and sleeping with crystals around my room. I filmed so many stupid things.”
Chairs creaked as everyone leaned in close to hear about the discovery. The internet meant so many young people were getting their hands on dangerous magic. Swelling attendance to the conference reinforced this point.
“When it came time to film the train thing, Duncan said we should go to the bridge outside of town. Said it’d look more dramatic. Besides, there wasn’t supposed to be a train that day. He said.”
Josh dropped his eyes, looking back up with a brief flash of anger. “I looked it up. Four trains go through there a day. Liar.”
Camilla stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. He smiled at her, and she nodded for him to continue.
“So, when the train showed up, I was in the middle of the bridge. Unfortunately, none of the spells we worked gave me super speed. I could hear Duncan whooping and hollering the whole time.”
Josh shook his head, eyes refocusing on the audience. “Anyways, you probably don’t need me to tell you what happens when a train hits a body, immortal or not. It wasn’t a pretty sight from the inside, either. But, I was lucky everything grew back. “ Josh stretched out his free hand and splayed his fingers. “Ten fingers and ten toes!”
The audience clapped, and Josh waited for the rumble of applause to subside. “So, when I met Duncan later at the hospital, he was all wide-eyed. I asked him how he knew it had worked. Figured he must have tested me or something before.”
The pained expression on Josh’s face said it well before the words could. “But he didn’t. Just thought it would be good for the views.”
There was a hiss from the audience of shared pain. Too many discovered immortality at the hands of treachery.
“But Camilla says you all can help me figure this out. So I’m looking forward to making some new friends. Real friends,” he added to the end.
Camilla took the microphone with her smile and pleasant voice. “Welcome, Josh. Friends, let’s give him an immortal welcome.”
The room erupted into applause and whistles as those nearest him reached out to pat his back or shake his hand. Josh smiled. It was nice to fit in. | Ofttimes I'd find myself wondering how many years it had been since I first met him. I was out with some friends for a night at Steeples, the only gay bar you'd be able to find in our tiny little shit town back in the seventies. I'd had more than a few, and had sparked a conversation with a stranger - he was tall, with a gorgeous body and a shyness that could be construed as off-putting. He had asked if I'd wanted to go home with him, insisting that he had better booze at home. My gut told me no - there was something in his eyes; some vacant deadness that made me feel as though I was sinking through an infinite abyss towards oblivion when I looked in to them. My friends pushed and pushed me to do it, and I finally agreed. I hope they're doing well these days. I don't hold anything against them.
It wasn't until we got into his house that he introduced himself to me as Jeff. In practically the same breath, he handed me a glass of amber liquid, and I was too stupid to ask questions. He had dissolved enough Valium in the whiskey to knock out God. It wasn't until nearly morning where I woke up in his bed, swaddled in blankets and gently lain to sleep. I had an absolutely crushing headache, and I tried to wiggle free of the blankets to no avail.
"Jeff?" I called out into the night.
He grunted, turned over in the bed, and screamed. He leaped out of bed and grabbed a nearby liquor bottle and repeatedly bashed it against my head. On the second swing, the bottle shattered and sent glass shards flying across the bed. He continued swinging as hard as he could, opening the flesh on my face with the jagged edges of the bottle with increasing depth and frequency. Blood oozed from the wounds on my face, shifting around the remnants of the bottle that had lodged themselves in my cheek, forehead, and nose.
I woke up in the morning feeling pain-free, though disoriented. I tried to reach for my face, but my arms were abruptly cut short before they could reach their target. The clank of rattling metal accompanied a jolt that went throughout my shoulder, as I came-to and continued trying to pull my arms free of the chain-link binds. I was in a corner of the bedroom I had slept in the night before, attached to the wall by stainless steel chain to thick eye bolts that had been drilled into the studs in the wall. There was no breaking free of these no matter how much I struggled.
Jeff walked into the room playing hot potato with a bowl of oatmeal that had just come out of the microwave. He set the bowl on his nightstand while sliding a wooden chair across the floor and ate his breakfast, silently staring at me the entire time.
"Jeff?" I once again asked, although in a tone that you might say was whiny, "what's going on?"
"I killed you," he said, "I suffocated you with that pillow, drilled a hole through your skull, and took a butcher's cleaver to your arms."
I clearly still had arms. They were bound to the walls. I assumed he must be crazy, but I was still on the fence about how dangerous he might truly be.
"Well, buddy, as you can see I'm still fully formed. How about we let bygones be by-" he interrupted me by getting up and walking out of the room. When he came back, he was holding a large Ziploc bag, which he threw at me.
"No. I killed you," he threw the Ziploc bag at me. "I cut these off and browned the rest in a red wine reduction sauce with a bit of olive oil. Right now they're sitting in a Crockpot with a bit of onion, carrot, and potatoes. Seasonings too, of course. Mostly aromatics - cumin, garlic, paprika, nothing too fancy."
I looked at the Ziploc bag and immediately felt the disorientation and nausea from the night before hit me like a Willie Stargell power hit. Those were *my* hands. I looked over at the shackles to confirm - the ring I wore on my right index finger was no longer there, but it was in the bag. I had a scar on my palm from a bike accident when I was a kid that was no longer there, but was plain as day on the dismembered limb in this bag.
Jeff grabbed a roll of translucent shipping tape and walked over towards me. Although I pleaded for him not to do anything more, that I wouldn't go to the police, that I just wanted to go home, none of it mattered. He wrapped my entire head in packing tape, leaving no room for air to get in or out. I saw him walk out the front door and heard the lock turn before everything went black.
The world didn't come flooding back until some indiscernible amount of time later, when he unceremoniously ripped the tape from my head. He told me how excited he was at what I might be and how I was everything he had been looking for. He showed me the skulls from his previous attempts, Polaroids of the acts he had committed on them, and the trophies he had kept of his favorites. I could not help crying; whether out of pain, confusion, or agony, I couldn't be sure.
He told me he had spent years looking for his personal love zombie. Someone he could cherish and hold and have them be forever his, forever under his full control. I was that person: I could go nowhere, do nothing, say nothing, as I could always come back to him no matter what act was performed on me. The last bit set the stage for the next decade or two of my life. The first night he came back from work, he had told me about an idea he had.
He took me out to his garage - the first time I'd seen the outside in nearly 24 hours. I was deep in the woods, in some podunk Appalachian backwater where the idea of neighbors was nearly as foreign as the concept of multivariable calculus. He kept me chained up, always disciplined in his actions to never allow me personal agency for even a second. He strapped me to a table and used a bandsaw to cut through my abdomen. I screamed as the heat of the saw made contact with the fat and threw the scent of bacon into the air. Next had been my colon, a decidedly less pleasant odor. Finally it was my small intestines, the saw shredding through them and sending blood and viscera flying across the dank garage. On Jeff's face, I swear I could see a smile mixed in with the determination he had for the task at hand.
The next morning, I woke up in absolute darkness. I was cramped - stuffed into a box too small for me as if I were a contortionist. I started to scream, but flaked bits of dust kept entering my mouth as I hyperventilated and jostled the floor of my confines. Finally, light found it's way in as Jeff opened the door of my prison. Outside was the kitchen, with Jeff's chair sitting at the dirty kitchen table. He was picking at a meal that I could hardly see, but he was still chewing.
"Want some?", he asked. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | Chris and I have been friends our whole lives because our moms were friends. We were born thirteen hours apart. Never in my life have I felt such betrayal. I break through the surface of the water as he and my wife start the engine and drive away. The sound of the engine growing fainter as I struggle to swim up with anchor chained to me.
A 15pound anchor the look of surprise at how well I was able to swim holding it above my head. But they knew as soon as they started the engine it wasn't going to matter. We were 60miles offshore. No chance of me escaping the chains and swimming home. We were well off the continental shelf of North Carolina where just the blue abyss lay beneath me. My arms and legs grew tired. I screamed for them to come back.
Down I go. It's amazing how fast you sink chained to an anchor. I tried holding my breath, but I knew that was pointless. My ear drums were screaming with pain. The pressure on my chest was unbearable. I finally was prepared to die. I said my prayers for my family and friends to get over my passing quickly and that Alanna and Chris would get caught and go to jail. Then I inhaled. The cold seawater rushed into my mouth, lungs, and stomach.
Well I guess I'm dead at least I should be. My feet and anchor sink into the soft bottom. I get laid flat, face up on the sea floor. It's so dark the sun's light doesn't penetrate this far down. I try to sit up but the weight if the water is too much. Without the sun I don't know how long it took for the clean up crew to arrive, but I felt them. Little pinches here and there. Needle like prods and pokes then large pinches. It was the crabs. As fast as they would take a pinch and shove it into their mouth it would heal. After the first one grabbed a piece of my eyeball, I shut my eyes that was too weird. So they would pick an eyelid and it would regrow. The only thing that haunts me is those all you can eat crab leg buffets I enjoyed and here I am an all you can eat crab buffet. | Holy ouch. So, uhh, you might be wondering, dear Diary, why I ache. Maybe. I don't know. Maybe I'm just concussed as all Hell and holding a narrative conversation with some people on a social media website. BUUUUUUUUT...
I was walking home from work when I passed by a construction site. I wasn't TOO worried, quiet day, sunny skies, not a care in the world, even as I passed by a steam roller that was parked. After all, no time-stop capable vampires where in my life.
But I wasn't paying attention. And as I walked, humming to myself a jaunty, jazzy tune, I didn't see the manhole that was open. Well, I didn't see it until I ended up falling into it. At least I can swim, I thought, as I floated through the flow, only to end up in a water treatment plant.
That was fun, got the crap boiled out of ALL of me. Still stings a little. Then the flourine hit. Ouch. Especially when the neurons in my pretty little brain started lighting up in all kinds of nasty ways. Wait, no, that's not the flouride, that's just my brain realizing I just got run through a water treatment plant a little later than the rest of my body noticed. So, I swim to shore, only to be swarmed by what has to be the angriest smack of jellyfish in existence. At this point, the skin is sloughing off of me, but I manage to get onto the shore and away from the cnasty cnidarians.
Then I feel it, a horrid itch, as my skin regenerates. At this point I'm sobbing as my flesh sews itself back together, the process at least being nice enough to push sand and other nasty, nasty particulates away so I don't have to deal with it being rough and coarse and getting everywhere.
At this point, I'm in agony, I'm kinda hungry, and I'm thankful I left my wallet here at the house. So, I start sneaking my way home, passing a couple skinny dipping in the tides. I snag a pair of shorts that fit me, and put them on, and walk home. I arrive on my block, only to hear a thwip.
I look down and see a crossbow quarrel embed itself in my leg. I look to the source and flip dude the bird, remove the quarrel and snap it in half, not breaking eye contact or making a sound other than that. I grab my spare key from the under the plant, unlock my door, and go inside, my leg stitching itself back together as I do so, and lock the door behind me. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | Immortal - I've been thinking about it the last few months. That must be it, I'm immortal. It's a curse. Why? Because it does not come with invulnerability nor fast healing. Maybe not with healing at all, but how could I tell? I've been here since the day when someone should have known, but nobody did. I'm wondering how many more …
So what happened? Just a happy little accident at work, touching a wire that should be dead, that somehow was missed when we double-checked them … usually I'd have just pulled away my hand, but somehow this time my fingers just would not let go until my heart had stopped. The other guys were at a different part of the building, making noise. Still my body held tension for just long enough to make sure that it stopped working. Then I sank down and lay there for what seemed to be hours, fully aware and seeing through my eyes. I wasn't breathing and soon my muscles did stop obeying my commands at all. What else should it do without energy? It should do that!
Finally they found me and called an ambulance, but even though I could see them do their job, they found me dead. They drove me off in a bag after closing my eyes and shutting my mouth (thanks for that), put me in a freezer and left me there for some time. I felt my body hurt from the temperature, then slowly it started going numb.
When they held my funeral I could barely feel being moved, but i heard them. Some light fell through my closed eyelids, and when they opened, I could only see as if through fog. Should my eyes be decomposing? My brain should be, my ears should be!
They unzipped the bag, cut away my work clothes from the limbs that must have been attached below my head, then put new clothes there. Some makeup for my probably pale face and a short drive to the funeral. Some people cried, my family most certainly among them. I could only lay there and hear, thinking about crying out, thinking about crying with tears, too.
Now I'm still somehow alive, hearing and thinking. I think my mouth fell open. I sometimes hear things move nearby, probably rats gnawing at my body. The body that betrayed me by dying before me. Oh please gnaw away that brain that does not die, or maybe at least gnaw away my ears.
​
Continued: https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/comments/ujw35d/wp\_you\_are\_an\_immortal\_in\_the\_year\_of\_our\_lord/
​
[https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/](https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert_writing/) | Holy ouch. So, uhh, you might be wondering, dear Diary, why I ache. Maybe. I don't know. Maybe I'm just concussed as all Hell and holding a narrative conversation with some people on a social media website. BUUUUUUUUT...
I was walking home from work when I passed by a construction site. I wasn't TOO worried, quiet day, sunny skies, not a care in the world, even as I passed by a steam roller that was parked. After all, no time-stop capable vampires where in my life.
But I wasn't paying attention. And as I walked, humming to myself a jaunty, jazzy tune, I didn't see the manhole that was open. Well, I didn't see it until I ended up falling into it. At least I can swim, I thought, as I floated through the flow, only to end up in a water treatment plant.
That was fun, got the crap boiled out of ALL of me. Still stings a little. Then the flourine hit. Ouch. Especially when the neurons in my pretty little brain started lighting up in all kinds of nasty ways. Wait, no, that's not the flouride, that's just my brain realizing I just got run through a water treatment plant a little later than the rest of my body noticed. So, I swim to shore, only to be swarmed by what has to be the angriest smack of jellyfish in existence. At this point, the skin is sloughing off of me, but I manage to get onto the shore and away from the cnasty cnidarians.
Then I feel it, a horrid itch, as my skin regenerates. At this point I'm sobbing as my flesh sews itself back together, the process at least being nice enough to push sand and other nasty, nasty particulates away so I don't have to deal with it being rough and coarse and getting everywhere.
At this point, I'm in agony, I'm kinda hungry, and I'm thankful I left my wallet here at the house. So, I start sneaking my way home, passing a couple skinny dipping in the tides. I snag a pair of shorts that fit me, and put them on, and walk home. I arrive on my block, only to hear a thwip.
I look down and see a crossbow quarrel embed itself in my leg. I look to the source and flip dude the bird, remove the quarrel and snap it in half, not breaking eye contact or making a sound other than that. I grab my spare key from the under the plant, unlock my door, and go inside, my leg stitching itself back together as I do so, and lock the door behind me. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “If everyone can find a chair, it’s time to get started.” The woman tapped the microphone once with a humble smile, watching as the assorted crowd gathered for the anticipated event.
After a moment of silence settled in the room, she spoke again. “I’m happy to welcome so many familiar faces to our 187th annual Immortality conference. As always, we have some newcomers as well. Since we will all be friends for a very long time, let’s start with introductions.”
She waved at a young man standing off to the side, swaying from foot to foot with his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he stepped forward and took the mic.
“Uh, hi. I’m Josh.”
“Hi Josh,” came the familiar chorus. His shoulders dropped a little and his smile widened.
“Hi. Uh, Camilla told me to introduce myself to you all. Where I’m from, my favorite color, and whatever I know about my, uh, my immortality.” He nearly choked on the word. Typical newbie.
“So, I’m Josh. Josh Callahan. I grew up in Sandy Shoals, Illinois. Never found the sand or the shoals, though,” he halfway chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, that’s a townie joke.”
His eyes roved around the room, looking at the odd assortment of people from every age, race, and gender. Wise stares looked back at him. “Yeah, so I like to travel. I really like pizza. And I’m planning to go to college to be an accountant.”
His brows furrowed. “Or I was. God, can you image an eternity as an accountant?”
“I’ve lived it!” called out a voice from somewhere in the back, nasally and sharp. The rest of the room bubbled with polite laughter.
“You all can probably tell this is new to me. I just found out a few weeks ago, and the suits investigating things slipped me a flyer about this event. So here I am.”
Josh looked toward Camilla, who smiled encouragingly. “Your story,” she mouthed, and his head bobbed.
“Right, how I got here. Well, you see, some friends and I have a youtube channel. I’d say you should check it out but I’m pretty sure they had to take it down. But we posted pranks, lifehacks, challenges, urban legends, you name it. Duncan was the mastermind, and so he pitched us an idea.”
Josh was smiling now, as if the memory were happy. But there was something hidden in his eyes that foretold the events to unfold. “So, Duncan came across the immortality spell, he said. Something online that was guaranteed to work. He said we’d try it out, then have the immortal person stand in front of a train. Some editing magic, and it’d look like everything worked.”
There was a collective groan from within the crowd. “I guess you folks know where this is going,” he said with a sigh.
“So, we did it. Duncan had me spend weeks sitting in the moonlight, drinking strange drinks, repeating words backwards in a mirror, and sleeping with crystals around my room. I filmed so many stupid things.”
Chairs creaked as everyone leaned in close to hear about the discovery. The internet meant so many young people were getting their hands on dangerous magic. Swelling attendance to the conference reinforced this point.
“When it came time to film the train thing, Duncan said we should go to the bridge outside of town. Said it’d look more dramatic. Besides, there wasn’t supposed to be a train that day. He said.”
Josh dropped his eyes, looking back up with a brief flash of anger. “I looked it up. Four trains go through there a day. Liar.”
Camilla stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. He smiled at her, and she nodded for him to continue.
“So, when the train showed up, I was in the middle of the bridge. Unfortunately, none of the spells we worked gave me super speed. I could hear Duncan whooping and hollering the whole time.”
Josh shook his head, eyes refocusing on the audience. “Anyways, you probably don’t need me to tell you what happens when a train hits a body, immortal or not. It wasn’t a pretty sight from the inside, either. But, I was lucky everything grew back. “ Josh stretched out his free hand and splayed his fingers. “Ten fingers and ten toes!”
The audience clapped, and Josh waited for the rumble of applause to subside. “So, when I met Duncan later at the hospital, he was all wide-eyed. I asked him how he knew it had worked. Figured he must have tested me or something before.”
The pained expression on Josh’s face said it well before the words could. “But he didn’t. Just thought it would be good for the views.”
There was a hiss from the audience of shared pain. Too many discovered immortality at the hands of treachery.
“But Camilla says you all can help me figure this out. So I’m looking forward to making some new friends. Real friends,” he added to the end.
Camilla took the microphone with her smile and pleasant voice. “Welcome, Josh. Friends, let’s give him an immortal welcome.”
The room erupted into applause and whistles as those nearest him reached out to pat his back or shake his hand. Josh smiled. It was nice to fit in. | Holy ouch. So, uhh, you might be wondering, dear Diary, why I ache. Maybe. I don't know. Maybe I'm just concussed as all Hell and holding a narrative conversation with some people on a social media website. BUUUUUUUUT...
I was walking home from work when I passed by a construction site. I wasn't TOO worried, quiet day, sunny skies, not a care in the world, even as I passed by a steam roller that was parked. After all, no time-stop capable vampires where in my life.
But I wasn't paying attention. And as I walked, humming to myself a jaunty, jazzy tune, I didn't see the manhole that was open. Well, I didn't see it until I ended up falling into it. At least I can swim, I thought, as I floated through the flow, only to end up in a water treatment plant.
That was fun, got the crap boiled out of ALL of me. Still stings a little. Then the flourine hit. Ouch. Especially when the neurons in my pretty little brain started lighting up in all kinds of nasty ways. Wait, no, that's not the flouride, that's just my brain realizing I just got run through a water treatment plant a little later than the rest of my body noticed. So, I swim to shore, only to be swarmed by what has to be the angriest smack of jellyfish in existence. At this point, the skin is sloughing off of me, but I manage to get onto the shore and away from the cnasty cnidarians.
Then I feel it, a horrid itch, as my skin regenerates. At this point I'm sobbing as my flesh sews itself back together, the process at least being nice enough to push sand and other nasty, nasty particulates away so I don't have to deal with it being rough and coarse and getting everywhere.
At this point, I'm in agony, I'm kinda hungry, and I'm thankful I left my wallet here at the house. So, I start sneaking my way home, passing a couple skinny dipping in the tides. I snag a pair of shorts that fit me, and put them on, and walk home. I arrive on my block, only to hear a thwip.
I look down and see a crossbow quarrel embed itself in my leg. I look to the source and flip dude the bird, remove the quarrel and snap it in half, not breaking eye contact or making a sound other than that. I grab my spare key from the under the plant, unlock my door, and go inside, my leg stitching itself back together as I do so, and lock the door behind me. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | Sometimes I imagine you with me. Here, in the dark, it’s simple to trick one’s mind, so I hold my own hand and allow myself to think it’s yours.
Humans have always feared the darkness. The unknown has scared us as a species. The reason we explore, that we step inside the darkness, is so that we can tame that which terrifies us. So that we can take control over it.
It’s only here, in darkness, that you find the true unknown. You drown in darkness like this. As black and heavy as an ocean. You can not look out at the sky so you are forced to look inwards.
Do you remember when we first met on that autumn bench in the park? I was at the start of what seemed like an endless road to becoming a surgeon. You’d just become a primary school teacher, ready to inspire generations.
I would escape to that bench in front of the pond just to breathe, to soothe the stress that pinpricked my heart. You would come to feed the ducks at lunch. We never talked, just nodded and smiled politely. I’d watch the birds on the water and steal glances at you, slowly realising that just being near you eased my stress, and it was nothing to do with the park or birds.
In winter you stepped onto the thick slabs of ice that covered the pond and brought a branch down onto it, cracking open holes so the fish could breathe.
Then that sickening crack as the ice you stood on gave.
And me, the imagery hero, running to the ice, putting my hand out to pull you up. And instead, I ended up falling in next to you. You climbed out then helped heave me out.
We talked after that. We broke the ice, alright.
We married, only a year later. Had two children, almost as beautiful as you, but tinged unfortunately with my own slight off-kilter features.
And then the problem with your mind began. Your body tightning up as if you were made of iron and your joints, your bolts, were hurriedly rusting. Like a sea breeze constantly besieging you. Before long, walking slowed to an impossibility. You voice became slurred. My heart became cold.
You always kept your spirits high — how, I don’t know. And instead of admiring you, I became bitter, angered that you weren’t as angry as I was. For that I’m eternally sorry.
I never dug up bodies like they accused me of having done. I don’t think I would have had the nerve to visit a graveyard at night! But I was willing to pay for fresh corpses. You’d be surprised how many families will depart with a loved one’s body for a little money.
And so I began my work of dissecting brains. Of understanding where rot could occur that might influence a person’s motions. Of rewiring and reworking to move around the faults.
But these were corpses! I thought what I was doing might help you, but how would I know without testing on living creatures? On people. Would this truly interfere with their movements, and would the operation fix it again?
There was only one way to know.
People, it seems, are less likely to part with living relatives. Not all, mind. But many.
I was only able to procure six subjects before it all crumbled. Before I was reported and investigated and found out to have being committing ‘criminal’ actions.
They feared the unknown! And now when others are struck by your condition — perhaps their own loved ones, for God’s sake — they will turn away from the darkness. You and I, we were punished for staring into it. For trying to conquer it.
At any rate, what I’d found by that point would have been very little use to us. I could destroy movement, I could take it away. But I couldn’t bring it back.
But with more time…
​
I squeeze my hands tighter together. Imagine the scent of oranges, of your favourite perfume, whisking through the darkness.
How long did you live for after I was buried?
A month? Year? Decade?
The coffin itself has rotted, the wood all but gone, but the soil keeps its shape.
I still have a long way to go. The skin on my fingers is gone, the bones protrude like a set of white knives, like claws, like I’m an animal digging at the stoney soil.
They buried me deep below the surface. But I’ll be out before they’re all dead. And even if they are, they will have families for me to find.
You squeeze my hand reassuringly. I feel your lips breeze across my own.
It’s your way of saying yes. That it’s a fine plan. That they deserve it.
Yes, we’ll make them suffer for separating us. | Holy ouch. So, uhh, you might be wondering, dear Diary, why I ache. Maybe. I don't know. Maybe I'm just concussed as all Hell and holding a narrative conversation with some people on a social media website. BUUUUUUUUT...
I was walking home from work when I passed by a construction site. I wasn't TOO worried, quiet day, sunny skies, not a care in the world, even as I passed by a steam roller that was parked. After all, no time-stop capable vampires where in my life.
But I wasn't paying attention. And as I walked, humming to myself a jaunty, jazzy tune, I didn't see the manhole that was open. Well, I didn't see it until I ended up falling into it. At least I can swim, I thought, as I floated through the flow, only to end up in a water treatment plant.
That was fun, got the crap boiled out of ALL of me. Still stings a little. Then the flourine hit. Ouch. Especially when the neurons in my pretty little brain started lighting up in all kinds of nasty ways. Wait, no, that's not the flouride, that's just my brain realizing I just got run through a water treatment plant a little later than the rest of my body noticed. So, I swim to shore, only to be swarmed by what has to be the angriest smack of jellyfish in existence. At this point, the skin is sloughing off of me, but I manage to get onto the shore and away from the cnasty cnidarians.
Then I feel it, a horrid itch, as my skin regenerates. At this point I'm sobbing as my flesh sews itself back together, the process at least being nice enough to push sand and other nasty, nasty particulates away so I don't have to deal with it being rough and coarse and getting everywhere.
At this point, I'm in agony, I'm kinda hungry, and I'm thankful I left my wallet here at the house. So, I start sneaking my way home, passing a couple skinny dipping in the tides. I snag a pair of shorts that fit me, and put them on, and walk home. I arrive on my block, only to hear a thwip.
I look down and see a crossbow quarrel embed itself in my leg. I look to the source and flip dude the bird, remove the quarrel and snap it in half, not breaking eye contact or making a sound other than that. I grab my spare key from the under the plant, unlock my door, and go inside, my leg stitching itself back together as I do so, and lock the door behind me. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | The mob was not the forgiving type, I knew I had to hide.
There were at least 3 in the parking garage with me. The one with the trench coat had been downstairs by the fire escape, and the two who had been pretending to smoke by the elevators were swinging in behind me as I walked towards my parked car.
As I approached the rear bumper of my worn out Toyota I made a choice.
I broke into a sprint, and behind I could hear the cursing of the mobsters trailing me, calling out to others.
From the second story awning the building connected to a neighbouring garage under renovations by a amalgam of scaffolding and metal catwalks. I hurdled the waist high wall of the garage and began to climb down the scaffolding ladders into the labyrinthine worksite.
I made it to the ground floor and immediately regretted it. The construction site was a mishmash of exposed rebar, loose debris and broken pallets. I began to pick my way through the poorly lit maze, and several time I paused and held my breath, as I heard other people pass close in the gloom.
As I approached what I supposed was the exit, I brushed something with my left hand, a table or desk, and a a resounding clatter rang out as metal tools struck the ground, dislodged.
I broke into a sprint, but as I neared the exit. Someone struck me from behind and world went black.
When I awoke I was strapped to a chair in the bottom of a pit. From the dim lighting I recognized I was still in the construction site.
In the gloom above me a solitary cigarette flared with it's owners breath.
The last shreds of my composure were long gone, "Please I'll pay back the money!", I begged. "I'm good for it you know I am!"
The cigarette flared once more and was released to fall down to my level. Around me I recognised the rising rebar of a foundation yet to be poured and pump hoses connected to a cement pump.
In the darkness above me, I heard the pump spring into life.
I began to sob and wail as the pit filled, up to my ankles first, then my calves. It constrained my chest as it grew, and as it rose over my mouth and nose I uttered a feeble prayer for my soul, and for a quick death.
And then it was above my head, and in my lungs. Light was taken away and as the cement began to settle and harden the oddest thing happened.
I didn't die. I couldn't.
Then I tried to scream.
And couldn't. | Holy ouch. So, uhh, you might be wondering, dear Diary, why I ache. Maybe. I don't know. Maybe I'm just concussed as all Hell and holding a narrative conversation with some people on a social media website. BUUUUUUUUT...
I was walking home from work when I passed by a construction site. I wasn't TOO worried, quiet day, sunny skies, not a care in the world, even as I passed by a steam roller that was parked. After all, no time-stop capable vampires where in my life.
But I wasn't paying attention. And as I walked, humming to myself a jaunty, jazzy tune, I didn't see the manhole that was open. Well, I didn't see it until I ended up falling into it. At least I can swim, I thought, as I floated through the flow, only to end up in a water treatment plant.
That was fun, got the crap boiled out of ALL of me. Still stings a little. Then the flourine hit. Ouch. Especially when the neurons in my pretty little brain started lighting up in all kinds of nasty ways. Wait, no, that's not the flouride, that's just my brain realizing I just got run through a water treatment plant a little later than the rest of my body noticed. So, I swim to shore, only to be swarmed by what has to be the angriest smack of jellyfish in existence. At this point, the skin is sloughing off of me, but I manage to get onto the shore and away from the cnasty cnidarians.
Then I feel it, a horrid itch, as my skin regenerates. At this point I'm sobbing as my flesh sews itself back together, the process at least being nice enough to push sand and other nasty, nasty particulates away so I don't have to deal with it being rough and coarse and getting everywhere.
At this point, I'm in agony, I'm kinda hungry, and I'm thankful I left my wallet here at the house. So, I start sneaking my way home, passing a couple skinny dipping in the tides. I snag a pair of shorts that fit me, and put them on, and walk home. I arrive on my block, only to hear a thwip.
I look down and see a crossbow quarrel embed itself in my leg. I look to the source and flip dude the bird, remove the quarrel and snap it in half, not breaking eye contact or making a sound other than that. I grab my spare key from the under the plant, unlock my door, and go inside, my leg stitching itself back together as I do so, and lock the door behind me. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | Immortal - I've been thinking about it the last few months. That must be it, I'm immortal. It's a curse. Why? Because it does not come with invulnerability nor fast healing. Maybe not with healing at all, but how could I tell? I've been here since the day when someone should have known, but nobody did. I'm wondering how many more …
So what happened? Just a happy little accident at work, touching a wire that should be dead, that somehow was missed when we double-checked them … usually I'd have just pulled away my hand, but somehow this time my fingers just would not let go until my heart had stopped. The other guys were at a different part of the building, making noise. Still my body held tension for just long enough to make sure that it stopped working. Then I sank down and lay there for what seemed to be hours, fully aware and seeing through my eyes. I wasn't breathing and soon my muscles did stop obeying my commands at all. What else should it do without energy? It should do that!
Finally they found me and called an ambulance, but even though I could see them do their job, they found me dead. They drove me off in a bag after closing my eyes and shutting my mouth (thanks for that), put me in a freezer and left me there for some time. I felt my body hurt from the temperature, then slowly it started going numb.
When they held my funeral I could barely feel being moved, but i heard them. Some light fell through my closed eyelids, and when they opened, I could only see as if through fog. Should my eyes be decomposing? My brain should be, my ears should be!
They unzipped the bag, cut away my work clothes from the limbs that must have been attached below my head, then put new clothes there. Some makeup for my probably pale face and a short drive to the funeral. Some people cried, my family most certainly among them. I could only lay there and hear, thinking about crying out, thinking about crying with tears, too.
Now I'm still somehow alive, hearing and thinking. I think my mouth fell open. I sometimes hear things move nearby, probably rats gnawing at my body. The body that betrayed me by dying before me. Oh please gnaw away that brain that does not die, or maybe at least gnaw away my ears.
​
Continued: https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/comments/ujw35d/wp\_you\_are\_an\_immortal\_in\_the\_year\_of\_our\_lord/
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[https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/](https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert_writing/) | Chris and I have been friends our whole lives because our moms were friends. We were born thirteen hours apart. Never in my life have I felt such betrayal. I break through the surface of the water as he and my wife start the engine and drive away. The sound of the engine growing fainter as I struggle to swim up with anchor chained to me.
A 15pound anchor the look of surprise at how well I was able to swim holding it above my head. But they knew as soon as they started the engine it wasn't going to matter. We were 60miles offshore. No chance of me escaping the chains and swimming home. We were well off the continental shelf of North Carolina where just the blue abyss lay beneath me. My arms and legs grew tired. I screamed for them to come back.
Down I go. It's amazing how fast you sink chained to an anchor. I tried holding my breath, but I knew that was pointless. My ear drums were screaming with pain. The pressure on my chest was unbearable. I finally was prepared to die. I said my prayers for my family and friends to get over my passing quickly and that Alanna and Chris would get caught and go to jail. Then I inhaled. The cold seawater rushed into my mouth, lungs, and stomach.
Well I guess I'm dead at least I should be. My feet and anchor sink into the soft bottom. I get laid flat, face up on the sea floor. It's so dark the sun's light doesn't penetrate this far down. I try to sit up but the weight if the water is too much. Without the sun I don't know how long it took for the clean up crew to arrive, but I felt them. Little pinches here and there. Needle like prods and pokes then large pinches. It was the crabs. As fast as they would take a pinch and shove it into their mouth it would heal. After the first one grabbed a piece of my eyeball, I shut my eyes that was too weird. So they would pick an eyelid and it would regrow. The only thing that haunts me is those all you can eat crab leg buffets I enjoyed and here I am an all you can eat crab buffet. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “If everyone can find a chair, it’s time to get started.” The woman tapped the microphone once with a humble smile, watching as the assorted crowd gathered for the anticipated event.
After a moment of silence settled in the room, she spoke again. “I’m happy to welcome so many familiar faces to our 187th annual Immortality conference. As always, we have some newcomers as well. Since we will all be friends for a very long time, let’s start with introductions.”
She waved at a young man standing off to the side, swaying from foot to foot with his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he stepped forward and took the mic.
“Uh, hi. I’m Josh.”
“Hi Josh,” came the familiar chorus. His shoulders dropped a little and his smile widened.
“Hi. Uh, Camilla told me to introduce myself to you all. Where I’m from, my favorite color, and whatever I know about my, uh, my immortality.” He nearly choked on the word. Typical newbie.
“So, I’m Josh. Josh Callahan. I grew up in Sandy Shoals, Illinois. Never found the sand or the shoals, though,” he halfway chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, that’s a townie joke.”
His eyes roved around the room, looking at the odd assortment of people from every age, race, and gender. Wise stares looked back at him. “Yeah, so I like to travel. I really like pizza. And I’m planning to go to college to be an accountant.”
His brows furrowed. “Or I was. God, can you image an eternity as an accountant?”
“I’ve lived it!” called out a voice from somewhere in the back, nasally and sharp. The rest of the room bubbled with polite laughter.
“You all can probably tell this is new to me. I just found out a few weeks ago, and the suits investigating things slipped me a flyer about this event. So here I am.”
Josh looked toward Camilla, who smiled encouragingly. “Your story,” she mouthed, and his head bobbed.
“Right, how I got here. Well, you see, some friends and I have a youtube channel. I’d say you should check it out but I’m pretty sure they had to take it down. But we posted pranks, lifehacks, challenges, urban legends, you name it. Duncan was the mastermind, and so he pitched us an idea.”
Josh was smiling now, as if the memory were happy. But there was something hidden in his eyes that foretold the events to unfold. “So, Duncan came across the immortality spell, he said. Something online that was guaranteed to work. He said we’d try it out, then have the immortal person stand in front of a train. Some editing magic, and it’d look like everything worked.”
There was a collective groan from within the crowd. “I guess you folks know where this is going,” he said with a sigh.
“So, we did it. Duncan had me spend weeks sitting in the moonlight, drinking strange drinks, repeating words backwards in a mirror, and sleeping with crystals around my room. I filmed so many stupid things.”
Chairs creaked as everyone leaned in close to hear about the discovery. The internet meant so many young people were getting their hands on dangerous magic. Swelling attendance to the conference reinforced this point.
“When it came time to film the train thing, Duncan said we should go to the bridge outside of town. Said it’d look more dramatic. Besides, there wasn’t supposed to be a train that day. He said.”
Josh dropped his eyes, looking back up with a brief flash of anger. “I looked it up. Four trains go through there a day. Liar.”
Camilla stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. He smiled at her, and she nodded for him to continue.
“So, when the train showed up, I was in the middle of the bridge. Unfortunately, none of the spells we worked gave me super speed. I could hear Duncan whooping and hollering the whole time.”
Josh shook his head, eyes refocusing on the audience. “Anyways, you probably don’t need me to tell you what happens when a train hits a body, immortal or not. It wasn’t a pretty sight from the inside, either. But, I was lucky everything grew back. “ Josh stretched out his free hand and splayed his fingers. “Ten fingers and ten toes!”
The audience clapped, and Josh waited for the rumble of applause to subside. “So, when I met Duncan later at the hospital, he was all wide-eyed. I asked him how he knew it had worked. Figured he must have tested me or something before.”
The pained expression on Josh’s face said it well before the words could. “But he didn’t. Just thought it would be good for the views.”
There was a hiss from the audience of shared pain. Too many discovered immortality at the hands of treachery.
“But Camilla says you all can help me figure this out. So I’m looking forward to making some new friends. Real friends,” he added to the end.
Camilla took the microphone with her smile and pleasant voice. “Welcome, Josh. Friends, let’s give him an immortal welcome.”
The room erupted into applause and whistles as those nearest him reached out to pat his back or shake his hand. Josh smiled. It was nice to fit in. | Chris and I have been friends our whole lives because our moms were friends. We were born thirteen hours apart. Never in my life have I felt such betrayal. I break through the surface of the water as he and my wife start the engine and drive away. The sound of the engine growing fainter as I struggle to swim up with anchor chained to me.
A 15pound anchor the look of surprise at how well I was able to swim holding it above my head. But they knew as soon as they started the engine it wasn't going to matter. We were 60miles offshore. No chance of me escaping the chains and swimming home. We were well off the continental shelf of North Carolina where just the blue abyss lay beneath me. My arms and legs grew tired. I screamed for them to come back.
Down I go. It's amazing how fast you sink chained to an anchor. I tried holding my breath, but I knew that was pointless. My ear drums were screaming with pain. The pressure on my chest was unbearable. I finally was prepared to die. I said my prayers for my family and friends to get over my passing quickly and that Alanna and Chris would get caught and go to jail. Then I inhaled. The cold seawater rushed into my mouth, lungs, and stomach.
Well I guess I'm dead at least I should be. My feet and anchor sink into the soft bottom. I get laid flat, face up on the sea floor. It's so dark the sun's light doesn't penetrate this far down. I try to sit up but the weight if the water is too much. Without the sun I don't know how long it took for the clean up crew to arrive, but I felt them. Little pinches here and there. Needle like prods and pokes then large pinches. It was the crabs. As fast as they would take a pinch and shove it into their mouth it would heal. After the first one grabbed a piece of my eyeball, I shut my eyes that was too weird. So they would pick an eyelid and it would regrow. The only thing that haunts me is those all you can eat crab leg buffets I enjoyed and here I am an all you can eat crab buffet. | |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “If everyone can find a chair, it’s time to get started.” The woman tapped the microphone once with a humble smile, watching as the assorted crowd gathered for the anticipated event.
After a moment of silence settled in the room, she spoke again. “I’m happy to welcome so many familiar faces to our 187th annual Immortality conference. As always, we have some newcomers as well. Since we will all be friends for a very long time, let’s start with introductions.”
She waved at a young man standing off to the side, swaying from foot to foot with his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he stepped forward and took the mic.
“Uh, hi. I’m Josh.”
“Hi Josh,” came the familiar chorus. His shoulders dropped a little and his smile widened.
“Hi. Uh, Camilla told me to introduce myself to you all. Where I’m from, my favorite color, and whatever I know about my, uh, my immortality.” He nearly choked on the word. Typical newbie.
“So, I’m Josh. Josh Callahan. I grew up in Sandy Shoals, Illinois. Never found the sand or the shoals, though,” he halfway chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, that’s a townie joke.”
His eyes roved around the room, looking at the odd assortment of people from every age, race, and gender. Wise stares looked back at him. “Yeah, so I like to travel. I really like pizza. And I’m planning to go to college to be an accountant.”
His brows furrowed. “Or I was. God, can you image an eternity as an accountant?”
“I’ve lived it!” called out a voice from somewhere in the back, nasally and sharp. The rest of the room bubbled with polite laughter.
“You all can probably tell this is new to me. I just found out a few weeks ago, and the suits investigating things slipped me a flyer about this event. So here I am.”
Josh looked toward Camilla, who smiled encouragingly. “Your story,” she mouthed, and his head bobbed.
“Right, how I got here. Well, you see, some friends and I have a youtube channel. I’d say you should check it out but I’m pretty sure they had to take it down. But we posted pranks, lifehacks, challenges, urban legends, you name it. Duncan was the mastermind, and so he pitched us an idea.”
Josh was smiling now, as if the memory were happy. But there was something hidden in his eyes that foretold the events to unfold. “So, Duncan came across the immortality spell, he said. Something online that was guaranteed to work. He said we’d try it out, then have the immortal person stand in front of a train. Some editing magic, and it’d look like everything worked.”
There was a collective groan from within the crowd. “I guess you folks know where this is going,” he said with a sigh.
“So, we did it. Duncan had me spend weeks sitting in the moonlight, drinking strange drinks, repeating words backwards in a mirror, and sleeping with crystals around my room. I filmed so many stupid things.”
Chairs creaked as everyone leaned in close to hear about the discovery. The internet meant so many young people were getting their hands on dangerous magic. Swelling attendance to the conference reinforced this point.
“When it came time to film the train thing, Duncan said we should go to the bridge outside of town. Said it’d look more dramatic. Besides, there wasn’t supposed to be a train that day. He said.”
Josh dropped his eyes, looking back up with a brief flash of anger. “I looked it up. Four trains go through there a day. Liar.”
Camilla stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. He smiled at her, and she nodded for him to continue.
“So, when the train showed up, I was in the middle of the bridge. Unfortunately, none of the spells we worked gave me super speed. I could hear Duncan whooping and hollering the whole time.”
Josh shook his head, eyes refocusing on the audience. “Anyways, you probably don’t need me to tell you what happens when a train hits a body, immortal or not. It wasn’t a pretty sight from the inside, either. But, I was lucky everything grew back. “ Josh stretched out his free hand and splayed his fingers. “Ten fingers and ten toes!”
The audience clapped, and Josh waited for the rumble of applause to subside. “So, when I met Duncan later at the hospital, he was all wide-eyed. I asked him how he knew it had worked. Figured he must have tested me or something before.”
The pained expression on Josh’s face said it well before the words could. “But he didn’t. Just thought it would be good for the views.”
There was a hiss from the audience of shared pain. Too many discovered immortality at the hands of treachery.
“But Camilla says you all can help me figure this out. So I’m looking forward to making some new friends. Real friends,” he added to the end.
Camilla took the microphone with her smile and pleasant voice. “Welcome, Josh. Friends, let’s give him an immortal welcome.”
The room erupted into applause and whistles as those nearest him reached out to pat his back or shake his hand. Josh smiled. It was nice to fit in. | Immortal - I've been thinking about it the last few months. That must be it, I'm immortal. It's a curse. Why? Because it does not come with invulnerability nor fast healing. Maybe not with healing at all, but how could I tell? I've been here since the day when someone should have known, but nobody did. I'm wondering how many more …
So what happened? Just a happy little accident at work, touching a wire that should be dead, that somehow was missed when we double-checked them … usually I'd have just pulled away my hand, but somehow this time my fingers just would not let go until my heart had stopped. The other guys were at a different part of the building, making noise. Still my body held tension for just long enough to make sure that it stopped working. Then I sank down and lay there for what seemed to be hours, fully aware and seeing through my eyes. I wasn't breathing and soon my muscles did stop obeying my commands at all. What else should it do without energy? It should do that!
Finally they found me and called an ambulance, but even though I could see them do their job, they found me dead. They drove me off in a bag after closing my eyes and shutting my mouth (thanks for that), put me in a freezer and left me there for some time. I felt my body hurt from the temperature, then slowly it started going numb.
When they held my funeral I could barely feel being moved, but i heard them. Some light fell through my closed eyelids, and when they opened, I could only see as if through fog. Should my eyes be decomposing? My brain should be, my ears should be!
They unzipped the bag, cut away my work clothes from the limbs that must have been attached below my head, then put new clothes there. Some makeup for my probably pale face and a short drive to the funeral. Some people cried, my family most certainly among them. I could only lay there and hear, thinking about crying out, thinking about crying with tears, too.
Now I'm still somehow alive, hearing and thinking. I think my mouth fell open. I sometimes hear things move nearby, probably rats gnawing at my body. The body that betrayed me by dying before me. Oh please gnaw away that brain that does not die, or maybe at least gnaw away my ears.
​
Continued: https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/comments/ujw35d/wp\_you\_are\_an\_immortal\_in\_the\_year\_of\_our\_lord/
​
[https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/](https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert_writing/) | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | The walls of the small house were illuminated by blazing fire. Red glew the stairway. A burst of flames reached towards me as I hurried downstairs. The smoke and stench of molten plastic burned in my eyes. I ignored it. I had to help.
The living room looked like a battlefield. Tables and chairs were laying around, some broken, but all burning. Flames spread to carpet and shelves. The flowers I had put on there before were already burnt to ashes, the plastic vase melting in the heat.
I reached the fire. Soon my clothes were set ablaze. Although the flames touched the bare skin under my burnt shirt I could only feel a slight itch. It was always a bit wierd. Like something should be happening but wasn't.
Above the roaring sounds of the fire a man was shouting. Panic filled his voice. Through smoke and flames I could see him stumble around. His hair and body was ablaze. Flames burst in out of his hands in irregular intervals. Where they fell to the ground they turned to a blazing blanket of fire. Desperately he tried to get away from them, but his panic only fueled his flames. More and more fire spread through the room. Soon it was turned into a fiery hell.
He had lost control.
"Sam!" I cried, throwing my arms around his broad shoulders. Immediately the flames engulfed me until all I could see were his wide eyes between bright flames. Fear, terror and guilt lay in them. I turned mine away and pressed my head against his chest. The flames couldn't hurt me, but his pain could.
Finally his frantic movements stopped. The flames calmed down and he melted into my arms.
The following silence was filled with sobs as we sat in the destroyed room. Hot tears fell from his eyes, drawing lines through the ash on his cheeks. I could feel his arms grabbing me a bit too tight, but I let it happen. Long he wept. Exhausted. Devastated by his uncontrollable gift.
I don't know for how long we sat there. I didn't speak as he wept and time didn't matter. What would have been there to say anyway? He had lost control. That was all.
It was a throwback. It had been a while since he last turned into an uncontrollable, fire-breathing dragon. So long, that I had started to bring a few flammable objects in. The flowers were one of them, although all that was left of them now were ashes and a molten piece of plastic still smoking on the shelf.
Still I could feel the tears dropping on my legs. His cries had softened and left only a deep, soul-crushing hopeless. He was breaking down the same way he had when I first met him. That had been in the city, in the hospital for power anomalies to be exact.
He had lost control. But back then it wasn't just a small house in a wide field that had been burning. No, it had been the city. Flames rising high, yet unable to be quenched by water. Hundreds of houses burning, thousands of belongings turned to ash and many more people lost forever in the flames.
Who had cared for him then? Who had sat with him in the charred ruins, holding him and listening to his silent cries that shook his body?
He had lost hope then. Alone in a fireproof room, with thousands blaming him for losses he did not mean to cause.
It had taken me many hours of patient work to spark a small light of hope in his charred heart. To see the slight beginning of a smile on his lips had been my biggest joy in these last months.
Months that had been filled with hard work, determination and fire. Oh, what a blessing to my tired eyes it had been to not see the red shine of fire for a little while. What hope it had sparked in Sam. Hope that he almost feeled betrayed by, now that he had lost control again.
Hope that I would have to give him back again. Through days that seemed darker than the darkest nights, even though they were filled with blazing fire. Days that seemed to stretch forever. Days where I had to talk myself into leaving bed, because I just didn't want to be hopeful anymore. Didn't want to be positive. Didn't want to have to put up with this hopelessness, this dragging depression anymore. Days where I seemed to have no energy left to carry on, not to mention for the both of us.
On those days I had to remind myself how he must feel. How many times worse it must be for him. If I couldn't drag myself out of bed, how could he? And so I carried on. Slowly. I was his only friend after all. The only one willing to believe in him and accept him as he was.
The silence was growing loud now. The smoke was leaving the house and clearing the air, although you'd be able to smell it for the next few weeks. A nasty background stench above everything we would be doing.
"Sam, you know what?"
He didn't answer. I didn't mind, I knew he was listening.
"It's ok. All this. It's ok. We can build it up again. Clean the furniture. Paint the walls. It'll be ok and the work will be something we can concentrate on."
I paused for a while, looking around the room. We both knew the work it would take to clean it. We had done it often enough to remember all the little steps. We even had worked out a system, by now we were the perfect cleaning team for charred rooms. We should open a shop.
"But that's not the point. This is ok. Your fire is ok. It's a step back, yes, but you know what? That's ok. Success isn't linear. You have to accept when it seems to decline or even to go backwards. It has been such a long time. You should be proud. You can't expect to go from no time to endless in a quick jump. Like this:"
I snapped with my fingers.
"See? It's ok. We haven't lost anything. Nothing we can't fix anyway."
I went quiet again. My words seemed to have helped. A little bit at least. Maybe it was just a teeny tiny bit, but hey, progress. | He ran down the alley. Bleeding, panting, and scared out of his mind.
"Dammit! Goddammit!! What the hell?!"
Blood ran down his arm, dripping from the wand in his hand. Any longer and he'd lose consciousness. He spun around, his eyes filled with tears, and his throat filling with bile. He had a risky idea. A forbidden idea. The strain might be leave him numb for a week, but it was better than dying.
He started weaving his incantations. He lucked out, the blood loss was a decent enough price to pay. The filth of the city mixed in would bring in something big enough to bring the bastard down. As the wind kicked up, he could feel his spell being answered and the dirt and grime took the form of a small bottle. The bottle gave an eerie glow from its cork as he approached it. With each step, he bled more and more. His arm was dead. Still better than nothing.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Right around the corner. It must know what he did. What he called. It didn't matter. He lunged for bottle. Bullets flew at him, but all they hit was an arm already spent. The cork was pulled and the wind whipped into a high powered vortex, ripping brick and steel as if they were paper.
A shape of an arm appeared out of thin air, then another. The limbs pulled the rest of its body into existence, leaving its grinning, drooling face for last. The man had found his chance.
"Genie of the Umbral Lamp! My first wish! Kill any creature hunting me!"
The newborn genie laughed and darted to the ground. It sniffed and licked the spilled blood like a hungry dog.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The footsteps were getting closer and the monster had its target. Roaring like the apex predator it claimed to be, a mighty tornado slammed down onto the enemies position, tearing into the earth like a drill, again and again. Ripping through the ground, the genie laughed at its good work.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The man and genie were frozen stiff.
"Gregory Ballard, the Court finds you guilty of the sale of daemonic elements, the murder of 12 students of magic, the summoning of a forbidden creature, and attempt to murder an agent of Court."
The genie screamed and lunged at the man like a cornered animal. Its fist wrapped with enough wind pressure to punch through a tank. That same fist passed through the agent's body as if its nothing.
Tap.
The enraged genie attacked again and again. Nothing.
Tap.
The agent slowly reloaded his gun. His eyes never lost his target once.
Tap.
Ballard crumpled to the ground. Maybe it was due to cost of the summoning, but he was too terrified to think.
*BLAM*
The target fell to ground, forever frozen in his shock. The genie shrieked as it faded from existence, having failed to fulfill its summoners wish.
The agent picked up the wand, pulled his phone from his pocket and calmly spoke.
"Agent Kane speaking. Target neutralized. Returning to HQ."
The agent turned and left as the police sirens got closer. | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | "I don't get it," said his nightly companion after a while.
"Surely someone like you, of all people, understand just how vain and perilous our little expedition is, and yet you seem quite happy to be here with us."
Barty didn't reply right away; instead he stretched his legs towards the fire, taking in the moment.
Nearby tents undulated to the rhythm of a light breeze. An owl flew over trees. A heavy beast wandered in the distance, snapping branches on the way.
"Someone like me?"
"You know, a man of your... capabilities."
Ah, so there it was. Barty adjusted his hat to have a better view of his interlocutor.
"My dear fellow," he began, "don't you suppose I could have an interest as well in the exploration of uncharted territories and in the discovery of ancient ruins?"
"Perhaps," conceded the companion while brushing his mustache, "but, as you know, danger is all around us. Magic isn't very potent here, and I fear our difficulties will only grow from now on."
"All the more reason I should accompany you. I've been studying and preparing for this years beforehand, you know - as anyone should. Perhaps my resourcefulness will prove itself to our little group in due time."
The mage shrugged his shoulders.
"I'll be honest. I've never encountered your kind except in the most rarest of circumstances, and the ones *I did see* were more than happy to be part of her Eminence's shield guard. It's a comfortable life. Why risk your life here, when you could sip some of the finest wine" - he pointed east - "over there?"
"I have my own aspirations in mind, as well as those of the Society's. Surely you know the first groups of explorers that were sent about half a century ago consisted almost entirely of unremarkables."
"But they never returned."
"Quite right, I'm afraid. It seems the fauna and flora, for all its variety, is especially hostile towards *us*, which could help explain how this ancient civilization came to an end."
"You don't mean-"
"Yes, I've been theorizing for a while that people from many eons ago could have, in fact, shared common traits with today's unremarkables, perhaps even be direct ancestors."
The companion could not help himself but laugh.
"But, my dear friend, what you suggest is impossible! Haven't you seen the derelict temples and hallways carved out from the smoothest stone? Haven't you seen the chiseled towers from the outer edges of the deep forest? How can you explain such structures without the aid of magical powers?"
"Machines," Barty answered simply.
And just like that, an uncomfortable silence fell between the two.
The mage knew he heard the term before, but his memories refused to cooperate and the effort of remembering only made him dizzy. He realized that he was very tired. The fire, born of magic, grew dim. Did he just hear something walking nearby? No, surely he would have sensed it.
Suddenly the unremarkable rose to its feet, also listening.
"You asked earlier about my motives, my dear friend. I think we're about to find out sooner than I anticipated if my suppositions were correct."
"There's only one element you didn't yet account for."
"And what would that be?," inquired the mage who was now growing nervous.
"To compensate the lack of magic, we unremarkables have heightened senses compared to your kind. For example, I have much better hearing than yours. We're currently encircled."
As if on cue, two men and one woman appeared between the trees and advanced in the fire glow with what seemed like rudimentary clubs and bows. The sounds of footsteps, no longer concealed, resonated all around the camp.
"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" shouted in horror the companion. There was no way his powers would let him fight this many people at once.
Barty, in contrast, was jubilant.
"Don't you see? These are the children and grandchildren of the first explorers, the ones who never went back. These are my people!" | He ran down the alley. Bleeding, panting, and scared out of his mind.
"Dammit! Goddammit!! What the hell?!"
Blood ran down his arm, dripping from the wand in his hand. Any longer and he'd lose consciousness. He spun around, his eyes filled with tears, and his throat filling with bile. He had a risky idea. A forbidden idea. The strain might be leave him numb for a week, but it was better than dying.
He started weaving his incantations. He lucked out, the blood loss was a decent enough price to pay. The filth of the city mixed in would bring in something big enough to bring the bastard down. As the wind kicked up, he could feel his spell being answered and the dirt and grime took the form of a small bottle. The bottle gave an eerie glow from its cork as he approached it. With each step, he bled more and more. His arm was dead. Still better than nothing.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Right around the corner. It must know what he did. What he called. It didn't matter. He lunged for bottle. Bullets flew at him, but all they hit was an arm already spent. The cork was pulled and the wind whipped into a high powered vortex, ripping brick and steel as if they were paper.
A shape of an arm appeared out of thin air, then another. The limbs pulled the rest of its body into existence, leaving its grinning, drooling face for last. The man had found his chance.
"Genie of the Umbral Lamp! My first wish! Kill any creature hunting me!"
The newborn genie laughed and darted to the ground. It sniffed and licked the spilled blood like a hungry dog.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The footsteps were getting closer and the monster had its target. Roaring like the apex predator it claimed to be, a mighty tornado slammed down onto the enemies position, tearing into the earth like a drill, again and again. Ripping through the ground, the genie laughed at its good work.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The man and genie were frozen stiff.
"Gregory Ballard, the Court finds you guilty of the sale of daemonic elements, the murder of 12 students of magic, the summoning of a forbidden creature, and attempt to murder an agent of Court."
The genie screamed and lunged at the man like a cornered animal. Its fist wrapped with enough wind pressure to punch through a tank. That same fist passed through the agent's body as if its nothing.
Tap.
The enraged genie attacked again and again. Nothing.
Tap.
The agent slowly reloaded his gun. His eyes never lost his target once.
Tap.
Ballard crumpled to the ground. Maybe it was due to cost of the summoning, but he was too terrified to think.
*BLAM*
The target fell to ground, forever frozen in his shock. The genie shrieked as it faded from existence, having failed to fulfill its summoners wish.
The agent picked up the wand, pulled his phone from his pocket and calmly spoke.
"Agent Kane speaking. Target neutralized. Returning to HQ."
The agent turned and left as the police sirens got closer. | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | "I don't get it," said his nightly companion after a while.
"Surely someone like you, of all people, understand just how vain and perilous our little expedition is, and yet you seem quite happy to be here with us."
Barty didn't reply right away; instead he stretched his legs towards the fire, taking in the moment.
Nearby tents undulated to the rhythm of a light breeze. An owl flew over trees. A heavy beast wandered in the distance, snapping branches on the way.
"Someone like me?"
"You know, a man of your... capabilities."
Ah, so there it was. Barty adjusted his hat to have a better view of his interlocutor.
"My dear fellow," he began, "don't you suppose I could have an interest as well in the exploration of uncharted territories and in the discovery of ancient ruins?"
"Perhaps," conceded the companion while brushing his mustache, "but, as you know, danger is all around us. Magic isn't very potent here, and I fear our difficulties will only grow from now on."
"All the more reason I should accompany you. I've been studying and preparing for this years beforehand, you know - as anyone should. Perhaps my resourcefulness will prove itself to our little group in due time."
The mage shrugged his shoulders.
"I'll be honest. I've never encountered your kind except in the most rarest of circumstances, and the ones *I did see* were more than happy to be part of her Eminence's shield guard. It's a comfortable life. Why risk your life here, when you could sip some of the finest wine" - he pointed east - "over there?"
"I have my own aspirations in mind, as well as those of the Society's. Surely you know the first groups of explorers that were sent about half a century ago consisted almost entirely of unremarkables."
"But they never returned."
"Quite right, I'm afraid. It seems the fauna and flora, for all its variety, is especially hostile towards *us*, which could help explain how this ancient civilization came to an end."
"You don't mean-"
"Yes, I've been theorizing for a while that people from many eons ago could have, in fact, shared common traits with today's unremarkables, perhaps even be direct ancestors."
The companion could not help himself but laugh.
"But, my dear friend, what you suggest is impossible! Haven't you seen the derelict temples and hallways carved out from the smoothest stone? Haven't you seen the chiseled towers from the outer edges of the deep forest? How can you explain such structures without the aid of magical powers?"
"Machines," Barty answered simply.
And just like that, an uncomfortable silence fell between the two.
The mage knew he heard the term before, but his memories refused to cooperate and the effort of remembering only made him dizzy. He realized that he was very tired. The fire, born of magic, grew dim. Did he just hear something walking nearby? No, surely he would have sensed it.
Suddenly the unremarkable rose to its feet, also listening.
"You asked earlier about my motives, my dear friend. I think we're about to find out sooner than I anticipated if my suppositions were correct."
"There's only one element you didn't yet account for."
"And what would that be?," inquired the mage who was now growing nervous.
"To compensate the lack of magic, we unremarkables have heightened senses compared to your kind. For example, I have much better hearing than yours. We're currently encircled."
As if on cue, two men and one woman appeared between the trees and advanced in the fire glow with what seemed like rudimentary clubs and bows. The sounds of footsteps, no longer concealed, resonated all around the camp.
"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" shouted in horror the companion. There was no way his powers would let him fight this many people at once.
Barty, in contrast, was jubilant.
"Don't you see? These are the children and grandchildren of the first explorers, the ones who never went back. These are my people!" | The stinking smell of alcohol, inaudible whispers and screams of electronic devices flooded my senses. A woman in medical mask and milk white uniform tapped several air bubbles out of a syringe. As she came close to me, giving me reassuring whispers like those across the room, I closed my glassy eyes and my mind wandered to several months before.
This time, all I could hear is clicking and typing sounds.
"Sun?"
I stopped my hands on the keyboards, and glanced swiftly beside my desk. It was Rey the Gnome, who was holding papers higher than her head and with a box of documents beside her. And...she was my superior officer.
"Well—" she massaged her temples and her gushy brows contracted into a terrible frown. "I know that you are hard-working and to be honest, you are one of the best salesmen in my department."
"Thank you."
"But you are, how can I smooth it out? Unremarkable. You see? We sell Brooms for people to travel safely and Cartas for quick messages, but you can't perform any of this. HR has already requested a transfer of YOU to the Unremarkable Department."
"Please madam, I am sure there's another way." I sprang up to my feet, feeling blood rushing to my temples. People often labelled me as Unremarkable, Incapable, Broken and Failure. I spent more than half of my life proving myself, shifting jobs to jobs, seeking promotions and finally, landed to a normal life.
This cannot be the end of my life.
"And what is a normal life?" She bitterly smiled.
Gnomes that were certified with Grade 9 could mind-read for a brief time, yet I didn't see that coming. My gaze descended to the ground, because deep in my heart I knew that day of falling down would always come. My fantasy of living, pretending to be a normal person would always burst into bubble. It was simply a matter of time. I packed my stuff in silence and briskly left the department.
"Welcome to Floor UG113." A small piece of blackboard with milk white handwriting stood quietly at the corner. The golden lift raise up and I was left inside a dark corridor.
"Hello?" My voice echoed and twisted into a deep voice.
Someone clicked a switch, and the light bulbs along the corridor began to blink. They radiated a warm, subtle glow and unveiled the identity of the lighter.
"Ames!" I couldn't believe my own eyes, as he was not only my best friend in college but also a missing ones. He went missing several years ago. His parents and I searched for him with no hope, the cops wouldn't cooperate and his company didn't answer. I thought...we lost him.
"I have been waiting for you here for many days. Well, what is today's date?" He whispered.
"7th of May. Why are you whispering? What happened to you? Your parents and I—"
He put a finger on his mouth, and I lowered my voice. His left arm was attached to a Vacutainer, which I shuddered with the sight of it as his arm was bruised because of it.
"Follow me."
As we walked along the corridor, I gazed with sharp nerves. Not long after, I began to realize that the walls were actually made with raven black plastic sheets, and outside the corridor laid more than thousands of hospital beds. He led me to an empty bed and we sat side by side, while being surrounded by an immeasurable amount of beds. Some with people, some without.
I glanced up and the ceiling was unseen as there was not enough illuminance provided by the light bulbs, which were fading away as the switch restored its original spot.
"This is where all the 'Unremarkables' come." He said.
"Oh shush."
"No, I'm not labelling us." Although the room was dimly lit, I could feel he clenched his eyes, as if withstanding an unbearable pain. "You know we can never fit in this society right?"
"I know." My voice cracked, head's down and heart ached.
"That's why I am here. This is a secret project associated with every guild, race...People gain freedom, privileges and happiness from magic, but many of them suffer as well. It could create the strongest nation, but it could also brew wars. Yet—" He coughed. "We, have the power to heal those who are innocent."
"But this isn't fair." I shook my head.
"The test can cultivate a serum that can save everyone."
"Saving everyone by costing your life???"
His faced darkened.
"I shouldn't even be here."
When I tousled my head, a woman in white clenched my neck and injected a steamy hot liquid in me. The syringe still glowed with the remaining liquid, dropped to the floor and bounced off, making a clinging sound. All I could grasp was the feeling of falling on the bed, handcuffs on both of my wrists attached to it and a Vacutainer was inserted into my left arm.
A feeling of purpose flooded my chest, the ache gone away like wind in the early Spring. The screams and beeping sounds of a medically machine woke me up.
"What is today's date?"
Note: Opening scene was inspired by the Matrix, the setting was less fantasized then I intended but I'm just too tired to change it back. Decided to end it as a psychological thriller, although I originally thought to make the "Unremarkable" into Spy, which could have been a happy ending. Again, a bit mentally exhausted after a day of work, so I'm just gonna leave it here. Enjoy writing and reading! | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | Even the mightiest of us must be humbled one day or another. Whether one lives at the top of a tower or the peak of a cloud, the ground calls for us.
And you can call me gravity.
The freezing desert night air was let out in a half snort when I finally came across the “oasis”. Peering through the light sandy breeze I could make out what was surely supposed to look like trees, a pond, and a rock face complete with some ferns resembling a hammock. Unfortunately for this guy all the traps, carnivorous plants, and wards that I imagine were meant to be hidden just looked a bit more sparkly than usual to me. My head shook as if annoyed all on its own as I wound through the poor excuse for a labyrinth. I mean, really, a watermelon full of razors and a bargain bin nymph illusion spell? Really?
It only took a couple minutes to find the door hidden at the bottom of the pond that had been oh so carefully rigged with a proximity trigger lighting bolt. Turns out the poor fish were real though. Odd choice but hey I’m not a wizard.
Dropping into the catacombs below I was delighted to find that catacombs were a bit of a strong word, more like an underground garage with some hippie beads hanging across the center to give the impression of two rooms. Wizard McDumbass stood over a table at the far side of the second “room” with his back turned.
“Yo, Thatamurgiasto, right?”
The frail man with wild green hair spun around in a panic and began babbling to himself and waving his arms around like an idiot.
“I’m gonna take that as a yes, okay look dude…”
“Malakoritayipa!!!” he howled as shadows rose from the abyss at my feet, ripping and tearing at my flesh as they began to drag me to hell. It was almost sad to see his face drop as I continued to stand there with an unimpressed expression.
“Cut it out T we have some business to tal…”
“EEEIIIIGGGNNNNIIIIIITTTTTEEEE!!!!” screeched the idiot while windmilling his arms about his head and a burst of flame brighter than the sun surged toward me with the power of the gods to lightly warm my jacket.
“T…” I growled with waning patience as I began to walk towards him “let’s just get this over with”
I won’t bore you with every futile syllable and frantic gesture that this idiot threw around while running away from me in circles like a child around a table, but suffice to say I learned a lot of new words and I’m pretty sure some of the four letter ones weren’t spells.
I finally got T by the scruff of the neck and peered into his broken, horrified eyes.
“What are you??? You, you monster!!!”
“I’m not a monster you Merlin fanboy, magic is just stupid and I don’t believe in it.”
He gulped as his new reality set in, his place in the universe realigned.
“Then who are you? Are you going to kill me?” he whimpered softly.
“No, but unfortunately you’re about to wish I was. My name is Frank and I’m with the IRS do you have any concept of how fucked you are right now?” | The stinking smell of alcohol, inaudible whispers and screams of electronic devices flooded my senses. A woman in medical mask and milk white uniform tapped several air bubbles out of a syringe. As she came close to me, giving me reassuring whispers like those across the room, I closed my glassy eyes and my mind wandered to several months before.
This time, all I could hear is clicking and typing sounds.
"Sun?"
I stopped my hands on the keyboards, and glanced swiftly beside my desk. It was Rey the Gnome, who was holding papers higher than her head and with a box of documents beside her. And...she was my superior officer.
"Well—" she massaged her temples and her gushy brows contracted into a terrible frown. "I know that you are hard-working and to be honest, you are one of the best salesmen in my department."
"Thank you."
"But you are, how can I smooth it out? Unremarkable. You see? We sell Brooms for people to travel safely and Cartas for quick messages, but you can't perform any of this. HR has already requested a transfer of YOU to the Unremarkable Department."
"Please madam, I am sure there's another way." I sprang up to my feet, feeling blood rushing to my temples. People often labelled me as Unremarkable, Incapable, Broken and Failure. I spent more than half of my life proving myself, shifting jobs to jobs, seeking promotions and finally, landed to a normal life.
This cannot be the end of my life.
"And what is a normal life?" She bitterly smiled.
Gnomes that were certified with Grade 9 could mind-read for a brief time, yet I didn't see that coming. My gaze descended to the ground, because deep in my heart I knew that day of falling down would always come. My fantasy of living, pretending to be a normal person would always burst into bubble. It was simply a matter of time. I packed my stuff in silence and briskly left the department.
"Welcome to Floor UG113." A small piece of blackboard with milk white handwriting stood quietly at the corner. The golden lift raise up and I was left inside a dark corridor.
"Hello?" My voice echoed and twisted into a deep voice.
Someone clicked a switch, and the light bulbs along the corridor began to blink. They radiated a warm, subtle glow and unveiled the identity of the lighter.
"Ames!" I couldn't believe my own eyes, as he was not only my best friend in college but also a missing ones. He went missing several years ago. His parents and I searched for him with no hope, the cops wouldn't cooperate and his company didn't answer. I thought...we lost him.
"I have been waiting for you here for many days. Well, what is today's date?" He whispered.
"7th of May. Why are you whispering? What happened to you? Your parents and I—"
He put a finger on his mouth, and I lowered my voice. His left arm was attached to a Vacutainer, which I shuddered with the sight of it as his arm was bruised because of it.
"Follow me."
As we walked along the corridor, I gazed with sharp nerves. Not long after, I began to realize that the walls were actually made with raven black plastic sheets, and outside the corridor laid more than thousands of hospital beds. He led me to an empty bed and we sat side by side, while being surrounded by an immeasurable amount of beds. Some with people, some without.
I glanced up and the ceiling was unseen as there was not enough illuminance provided by the light bulbs, which were fading away as the switch restored its original spot.
"This is where all the 'Unremarkables' come." He said.
"Oh shush."
"No, I'm not labelling us." Although the room was dimly lit, I could feel he clenched his eyes, as if withstanding an unbearable pain. "You know we can never fit in this society right?"
"I know." My voice cracked, head's down and heart ached.
"That's why I am here. This is a secret project associated with every guild, race...People gain freedom, privileges and happiness from magic, but many of them suffer as well. It could create the strongest nation, but it could also brew wars. Yet—" He coughed. "We, have the power to heal those who are innocent."
"But this isn't fair." I shook my head.
"The test can cultivate a serum that can save everyone."
"Saving everyone by costing your life???"
His faced darkened.
"I shouldn't even be here."
When I tousled my head, a woman in white clenched my neck and injected a steamy hot liquid in me. The syringe still glowed with the remaining liquid, dropped to the floor and bounced off, making a clinging sound. All I could grasp was the feeling of falling on the bed, handcuffs on both of my wrists attached to it and a Vacutainer was inserted into my left arm.
A feeling of purpose flooded my chest, the ache gone away like wind in the early Spring. The screams and beeping sounds of a medically machine woke me up.
"What is today's date?"
Note: Opening scene was inspired by the Matrix, the setting was less fantasized then I intended but I'm just too tired to change it back. Decided to end it as a psychological thriller, although I originally thought to make the "Unremarkable" into Spy, which could have been a happy ending. Again, a bit mentally exhausted after a day of work, so I'm just gonna leave it here. Enjoy writing and reading! | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | I broke down the door, my two partners entering behind me. "DROP YOUR WAND AND PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!" I yelled.
The wizard, towering over a strange mystical creature wasn't going for this. "DIE!" he responded, red lightning striking from its wand. Like a beam of light on a mirror, it ricocheted of my head, blowing a hole into the ceiling. I jumped to avoid falling debris from the floor above.
"DROP IT!" I repeated, making my way to the wizard, who suddenly seemed to be very frightened. He tried to fly out of the window but as I grabbed him, he fell to his feet again. Lightning struck again, this time blowing out three windows. One kick to the head, and the wizard fell to the ground. A knockout. I don't like to do this, but if you want trouble, you get it.
"Congratulations, you did it." My boss was very happy. "I knew only you could capture him. He was trying to create some sort of magical mind-controlling dragon. We have drained his mana and sent him to prison".
I didn't choose to become a police officer. In fact, I had more than enough trouble with law enforcement in my younger days, mostly because of weed. But when they figured out I was not only unable to cast magic but I was unharmed by it, I was pressured into the job. And I grew to like it.
Since there were a lot of powerful wizards, us 'Golems', as we were dubbed, were important to keep town secure and push back crime. Surely, you could try to counter magic with magic, but that often caused major destruction or harmed civilians. Whenever magic was involved, one of us was sent along to tank the spells and take them out melee if they didn't gave up.
I had been into boxing before, a skill that helped me a lot. Because nearly all powerful wizards have something in common, they don't do sports. They just teleport and levitate around, use telekinesis for lifting and make the house clean up itself. Which made them notoriously bad in a fight without wands. And that is why we are so successful. You can only fight us the classic way. | The stinking smell of alcohol, inaudible whispers and screams of electronic devices flooded my senses. A woman in medical mask and milk white uniform tapped several air bubbles out of a syringe. As she came close to me, giving me reassuring whispers like those across the room, I closed my glassy eyes and my mind wandered to several months before.
This time, all I could hear is clicking and typing sounds.
"Sun?"
I stopped my hands on the keyboards, and glanced swiftly beside my desk. It was Rey the Gnome, who was holding papers higher than her head and with a box of documents beside her. And...she was my superior officer.
"Well—" she massaged her temples and her gushy brows contracted into a terrible frown. "I know that you are hard-working and to be honest, you are one of the best salesmen in my department."
"Thank you."
"But you are, how can I smooth it out? Unremarkable. You see? We sell Brooms for people to travel safely and Cartas for quick messages, but you can't perform any of this. HR has already requested a transfer of YOU to the Unremarkable Department."
"Please madam, I am sure there's another way." I sprang up to my feet, feeling blood rushing to my temples. People often labelled me as Unremarkable, Incapable, Broken and Failure. I spent more than half of my life proving myself, shifting jobs to jobs, seeking promotions and finally, landed to a normal life.
This cannot be the end of my life.
"And what is a normal life?" She bitterly smiled.
Gnomes that were certified with Grade 9 could mind-read for a brief time, yet I didn't see that coming. My gaze descended to the ground, because deep in my heart I knew that day of falling down would always come. My fantasy of living, pretending to be a normal person would always burst into bubble. It was simply a matter of time. I packed my stuff in silence and briskly left the department.
"Welcome to Floor UG113." A small piece of blackboard with milk white handwriting stood quietly at the corner. The golden lift raise up and I was left inside a dark corridor.
"Hello?" My voice echoed and twisted into a deep voice.
Someone clicked a switch, and the light bulbs along the corridor began to blink. They radiated a warm, subtle glow and unveiled the identity of the lighter.
"Ames!" I couldn't believe my own eyes, as he was not only my best friend in college but also a missing ones. He went missing several years ago. His parents and I searched for him with no hope, the cops wouldn't cooperate and his company didn't answer. I thought...we lost him.
"I have been waiting for you here for many days. Well, what is today's date?" He whispered.
"7th of May. Why are you whispering? What happened to you? Your parents and I—"
He put a finger on his mouth, and I lowered my voice. His left arm was attached to a Vacutainer, which I shuddered with the sight of it as his arm was bruised because of it.
"Follow me."
As we walked along the corridor, I gazed with sharp nerves. Not long after, I began to realize that the walls were actually made with raven black plastic sheets, and outside the corridor laid more than thousands of hospital beds. He led me to an empty bed and we sat side by side, while being surrounded by an immeasurable amount of beds. Some with people, some without.
I glanced up and the ceiling was unseen as there was not enough illuminance provided by the light bulbs, which were fading away as the switch restored its original spot.
"This is where all the 'Unremarkables' come." He said.
"Oh shush."
"No, I'm not labelling us." Although the room was dimly lit, I could feel he clenched his eyes, as if withstanding an unbearable pain. "You know we can never fit in this society right?"
"I know." My voice cracked, head's down and heart ached.
"That's why I am here. This is a secret project associated with every guild, race...People gain freedom, privileges and happiness from magic, but many of them suffer as well. It could create the strongest nation, but it could also brew wars. Yet—" He coughed. "We, have the power to heal those who are innocent."
"But this isn't fair." I shook my head.
"The test can cultivate a serum that can save everyone."
"Saving everyone by costing your life???"
His faced darkened.
"I shouldn't even be here."
When I tousled my head, a woman in white clenched my neck and injected a steamy hot liquid in me. The syringe still glowed with the remaining liquid, dropped to the floor and bounced off, making a clinging sound. All I could grasp was the feeling of falling on the bed, handcuffs on both of my wrists attached to it and a Vacutainer was inserted into my left arm.
A feeling of purpose flooded my chest, the ache gone away like wind in the early Spring. The screams and beeping sounds of a medically machine woke me up.
"What is today's date?"
Note: Opening scene was inspired by the Matrix, the setting was less fantasized then I intended but I'm just too tired to change it back. Decided to end it as a psychological thriller, although I originally thought to make the "Unremarkable" into Spy, which could have been a happy ending. Again, a bit mentally exhausted after a day of work, so I'm just gonna leave it here. Enjoy writing and reading! | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | The Control is a slight, unprepossessing man with long hair the color of a muddy river bottom, and brown eyes like dark cherry wood. He blinks often. It has been remarked upon in some circles, and the trait is now considered to have been common among precursor humans; after all, without magic of your own, how remarkable must the progress of the world seem? People smile when he blinks, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, as his head swivels back and forth like an infant in a brand new room.
The Control is blinking now, the world swimming in and out of focus as he squints between the soft, fuzzy edges, searching for that telltale glint of light.
The gremlins stole his glasses again.
The Control has never seen the gremlins exactly, but he knows they’re there. He imagines them as a stage in childhood development, opted into by thirty to forty percent of the misbegotten bastards who scurry all around him. The gremlins are two to three feet tall with green skin and green eyes and little corkscrew tails like pigs had in the storybooks before got people got to changing them. Their only purpose is to break things or to steal them, and sometimes (every time, where the Control himself is considered) they combine their two great passions, and poof! No more glasses for a week.
He claps his hands. He whistles. The sigils on the dressing room walls glow balefully back at him, refusing, as they always do, any form of help. He says the magic word that Tabby taught him, and is it his imagination, or does the pendant that he wears grow half an iota hotter? The magical circuitry sparking fitfully beneath the polished garnet as it tries, and fails, to carry out his wishes.
“Everything okay in there?” Tabby says. Her voice is small and sympathetic through the thick, oaken door.
“No. No, it’s not.”
“The gremlins again?”
The Control flops down onto the couch. He whistles one more time, and is it his imagination, or does the sigil twist a little tighter? A horse whinnies outside, and now the sigil moves, uncoiling itself like a snake about to strike as it arcs across the wall towards the sound. A blue streak against the fading posters, then gone.
“I’m coming in,” Tabby says.
The door opens and sunlight stabs in behind her. The Control curses, raising a hand to block the sun. She closes the door hurriedly, looks around with an expression of polite concern. *Are you eating enough? Do you need another book to read? You should talk to the houndkeeper’s apprentice, I think you could be friends.*
The Control loves Tabby. She’s as fundamental to his world as the air he breathes. She’s pretty, and she’s young, and she gives a shit.
“You’re sure you didn’t put them on the windowsill again?”
“I’m sure.”
“Or what about the bookshelf? Behind the Yeats? Last time they were behind the Yeats.”
“Tabby, I—”
“And the pendant didn’t help? Damn. I could make another pair but it will take a while. I don’t have the proper glass. Maybe a—”
“—A week,” says the Control. “Don’t worry about it yet, they’ll turn up. I think I’ve finally got a lead on the gremlins.”
He doesn’t, of course, but Tabby’s face lights up and when she smiles it’s okay to lie. It makes her happy to think that he’s engaging with the world.
The horse outside whinnies again, and then the hounds start up, their ten-part chorus of howls, a song that’s still cacophonous but in any case, they’re singing and that’s enough for what this is. Tabby bustles through the room. She peeks under the piles of books and clothes and old circus posters, unnerved as ever by the Bearded Lady, and though she doesn’t find his glasses every stop sees another garment in her hands. A t-shirt here, a pair of blue jeans there.
Tabby wears a robe of midnight black cinched tight at the waist by a band of frozen starlight. Her hair is woven through with cloth of gold, and whenever she smiles the color twists to catch the light. A neat trick, if unusually reserved in these parts, these times.
The Control dresses behind a conjured screen, slipping Tabby’s pendant into his pocket. When he’s done she eyes him critically, smoothing a crease here, brushing stains off there. It takes a little longer every time, another thing that he appreciates.
The horse whinnies again. It stamps its foot, and the whole dressing room shakes. Tabby keeps him there another thirty seconds, and then it’s time and there’s nothing more that she can do.
“I’ll see you after?” she says.
“In the morning,” he says.
The Control can’t bear to see her, after.
He leaves Tabby at the door. She’ll try and fail to straighten his room, her magic barely leaving in a dent a place that’s become so thoroughly him. She’ll leave a note on his pillow though, just a little something, a snippet of a poem perhaps, and he’ll hold it for a while when he comes back. As the horse is locked into its traces, and they fly off into the sunset.
The Control steps out into the world. His dressing room is a carriage, mounted on heavy, bright painted wheels. The horse, Clyde, eyes him with steady, too-human annoyance. They both know he’s late.
The Control walks through a world transformed. It’s springtime, and the air is filled with pollen, dancing through the wind like crushed sapphires and emeralds, a thousand colors for a thousand different, construct species. A dizzying profusion that threatens to blot out the path without his glasses, but of course, the Control can’t forget the path. Wherever they go, the camp is always built the same.
“You’re late,” says Asher. The Control nods. He stares at the ground, refusing to look up, and Asher takes his arm, half dragging him the rest of the way. They climb another short set of stairs, a door squeaks, and the Control is shoved in. The workday begins, and all he has is a wooden chair and four glass walls, a t-shirt, and blue jeans, and himself.
The Control sits in his glass cage and waits.
Soon he hears the voices. Children and their parents. Gremlins. Couples out on bad first dates, thrill-seekers too jaded to ever find a thrill. They come too easy now, snap your fingers and watch the world change. | You had only heard rumours of the Circle of Keepers but it was always talked about as some kind of conspiracy theory. Stealing away unremarkables and using their brains to store secrets. Hiding them away in secret bunkers with knowledge stored in the only place truly safe from telepathic spies.
Before you could react, sipping your soda on the sidewalk outside your family home, a black van came screeching to a stop in front of you, startling you enough to drop your drink. A metal door burst open producing 4 huge human forms clad entirely in morphic black suits. As the bag slipped over your head it suddenly occurred to you that you had never met an adult unremarkable. | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | I broke down the door, my two partners entering behind me. "DROP YOUR WAND AND PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!" I yelled.
The wizard, towering over a strange mystical creature wasn't going for this. "DIE!" he responded, red lightning striking from its wand. Like a beam of light on a mirror, it ricocheted of my head, blowing a hole into the ceiling. I jumped to avoid falling debris from the floor above.
"DROP IT!" I repeated, making my way to the wizard, who suddenly seemed to be very frightened. He tried to fly out of the window but as I grabbed him, he fell to his feet again. Lightning struck again, this time blowing out three windows. One kick to the head, and the wizard fell to the ground. A knockout. I don't like to do this, but if you want trouble, you get it.
"Congratulations, you did it." My boss was very happy. "I knew only you could capture him. He was trying to create some sort of magical mind-controlling dragon. We have drained his mana and sent him to prison".
I didn't choose to become a police officer. In fact, I had more than enough trouble with law enforcement in my younger days, mostly because of weed. But when they figured out I was not only unable to cast magic but I was unharmed by it, I was pressured into the job. And I grew to like it.
Since there were a lot of powerful wizards, us 'Golems', as we were dubbed, were important to keep town secure and push back crime. Surely, you could try to counter magic with magic, but that often caused major destruction or harmed civilians. Whenever magic was involved, one of us was sent along to tank the spells and take them out melee if they didn't gave up.
I had been into boxing before, a skill that helped me a lot. Because nearly all powerful wizards have something in common, they don't do sports. They just teleport and levitate around, use telekinesis for lifting and make the house clean up itself. Which made them notoriously bad in a fight without wands. And that is why we are so successful. You can only fight us the classic way. | You had only heard rumours of the Circle of Keepers but it was always talked about as some kind of conspiracy theory. Stealing away unremarkables and using their brains to store secrets. Hiding them away in secret bunkers with knowledge stored in the only place truly safe from telepathic spies.
Before you could react, sipping your soda on the sidewalk outside your family home, a black van came screeching to a stop in front of you, startling you enough to drop your drink. A metal door burst open producing 4 huge human forms clad entirely in morphic black suits. As the bag slipped over your head it suddenly occurred to you that you had never met an adult unremarkable. | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | I broke down the door, my two partners entering behind me. "DROP YOUR WAND AND PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!" I yelled.
The wizard, towering over a strange mystical creature wasn't going for this. "DIE!" he responded, red lightning striking from its wand. Like a beam of light on a mirror, it ricocheted of my head, blowing a hole into the ceiling. I jumped to avoid falling debris from the floor above.
"DROP IT!" I repeated, making my way to the wizard, who suddenly seemed to be very frightened. He tried to fly out of the window but as I grabbed him, he fell to his feet again. Lightning struck again, this time blowing out three windows. One kick to the head, and the wizard fell to the ground. A knockout. I don't like to do this, but if you want trouble, you get it.
"Congratulations, you did it." My boss was very happy. "I knew only you could capture him. He was trying to create some sort of magical mind-controlling dragon. We have drained his mana and sent him to prison".
I didn't choose to become a police officer. In fact, I had more than enough trouble with law enforcement in my younger days, mostly because of weed. But when they figured out I was not only unable to cast magic but I was unharmed by it, I was pressured into the job. And I grew to like it.
Since there were a lot of powerful wizards, us 'Golems', as we were dubbed, were important to keep town secure and push back crime. Surely, you could try to counter magic with magic, but that often caused major destruction or harmed civilians. Whenever magic was involved, one of us was sent along to tank the spells and take them out melee if they didn't gave up.
I had been into boxing before, a skill that helped me a lot. Because nearly all powerful wizards have something in common, they don't do sports. They just teleport and levitate around, use telekinesis for lifting and make the house clean up itself. Which made them notoriously bad in a fight without wands. And that is why we are so successful. You can only fight us the classic way. | The Control is a slight, unprepossessing man with long hair the color of a muddy river bottom, and brown eyes like dark cherry wood. He blinks often. It has been remarked upon in some circles, and the trait is now considered to have been common among precursor humans; after all, without magic of your own, how remarkable must the progress of the world seem? People smile when he blinks, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, as his head swivels back and forth like an infant in a brand new room.
The Control is blinking now, the world swimming in and out of focus as he squints between the soft, fuzzy edges, searching for that telltale glint of light.
The gremlins stole his glasses again.
The Control has never seen the gremlins exactly, but he knows they’re there. He imagines them as a stage in childhood development, opted into by thirty to forty percent of the misbegotten bastards who scurry all around him. The gremlins are two to three feet tall with green skin and green eyes and little corkscrew tails like pigs had in the storybooks before got people got to changing them. Their only purpose is to break things or to steal them, and sometimes (every time, where the Control himself is considered) they combine their two great passions, and poof! No more glasses for a week.
He claps his hands. He whistles. The sigils on the dressing room walls glow balefully back at him, refusing, as they always do, any form of help. He says the magic word that Tabby taught him, and is it his imagination, or does the pendant that he wears grow half an iota hotter? The magical circuitry sparking fitfully beneath the polished garnet as it tries, and fails, to carry out his wishes.
“Everything okay in there?” Tabby says. Her voice is small and sympathetic through the thick, oaken door.
“No. No, it’s not.”
“The gremlins again?”
The Control flops down onto the couch. He whistles one more time, and is it his imagination, or does the sigil twist a little tighter? A horse whinnies outside, and now the sigil moves, uncoiling itself like a snake about to strike as it arcs across the wall towards the sound. A blue streak against the fading posters, then gone.
“I’m coming in,” Tabby says.
The door opens and sunlight stabs in behind her. The Control curses, raising a hand to block the sun. She closes the door hurriedly, looks around with an expression of polite concern. *Are you eating enough? Do you need another book to read? You should talk to the houndkeeper’s apprentice, I think you could be friends.*
The Control loves Tabby. She’s as fundamental to his world as the air he breathes. She’s pretty, and she’s young, and she gives a shit.
“You’re sure you didn’t put them on the windowsill again?”
“I’m sure.”
“Or what about the bookshelf? Behind the Yeats? Last time they were behind the Yeats.”
“Tabby, I—”
“And the pendant didn’t help? Damn. I could make another pair but it will take a while. I don’t have the proper glass. Maybe a—”
“—A week,” says the Control. “Don’t worry about it yet, they’ll turn up. I think I’ve finally got a lead on the gremlins.”
He doesn’t, of course, but Tabby’s face lights up and when she smiles it’s okay to lie. It makes her happy to think that he’s engaging with the world.
The horse outside whinnies again, and then the hounds start up, their ten-part chorus of howls, a song that’s still cacophonous but in any case, they’re singing and that’s enough for what this is. Tabby bustles through the room. She peeks under the piles of books and clothes and old circus posters, unnerved as ever by the Bearded Lady, and though she doesn’t find his glasses every stop sees another garment in her hands. A t-shirt here, a pair of blue jeans there.
Tabby wears a robe of midnight black cinched tight at the waist by a band of frozen starlight. Her hair is woven through with cloth of gold, and whenever she smiles the color twists to catch the light. A neat trick, if unusually reserved in these parts, these times.
The Control dresses behind a conjured screen, slipping Tabby’s pendant into his pocket. When he’s done she eyes him critically, smoothing a crease here, brushing stains off there. It takes a little longer every time, another thing that he appreciates.
The horse whinnies again. It stamps its foot, and the whole dressing room shakes. Tabby keeps him there another thirty seconds, and then it’s time and there’s nothing more that she can do.
“I’ll see you after?” she says.
“In the morning,” he says.
The Control can’t bear to see her, after.
He leaves Tabby at the door. She’ll try and fail to straighten his room, her magic barely leaving in a dent a place that’s become so thoroughly him. She’ll leave a note on his pillow though, just a little something, a snippet of a poem perhaps, and he’ll hold it for a while when he comes back. As the horse is locked into its traces, and they fly off into the sunset.
The Control steps out into the world. His dressing room is a carriage, mounted on heavy, bright painted wheels. The horse, Clyde, eyes him with steady, too-human annoyance. They both know he’s late.
The Control walks through a world transformed. It’s springtime, and the air is filled with pollen, dancing through the wind like crushed sapphires and emeralds, a thousand colors for a thousand different, construct species. A dizzying profusion that threatens to blot out the path without his glasses, but of course, the Control can’t forget the path. Wherever they go, the camp is always built the same.
“You’re late,” says Asher. The Control nods. He stares at the ground, refusing to look up, and Asher takes his arm, half dragging him the rest of the way. They climb another short set of stairs, a door squeaks, and the Control is shoved in. The workday begins, and all he has is a wooden chair and four glass walls, a t-shirt, and blue jeans, and himself.
The Control sits in his glass cage and waits.
Soon he hears the voices. Children and their parents. Gremlins. Couples out on bad first dates, thrill-seekers too jaded to ever find a thrill. They come too easy now, snap your fingers and watch the world change. | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | I always wondered what the Chaos was.
Sure, when I looked out to the horizon I saw a storm-like eruption of colors and magical energy, but what was it? It was unlike any storm I ever knew, it was ever-persistent, said to have been in that same spot for centuries, encompassing the space of a former land.
What was that land like before the Chaos? What was it like now?
I felt a kinship with the Chaos. I could not perform any magic, I was a blotch in a perfect world of magic. Just as the Chaos was seen as a blotch. Something people couldn’t understand nor control, and today I would find out what lies within.
I took a deep breath, preparing myself for what was ahead, before stepping forward into the Chaos.
I was prepared to be torn asunder by it, to be struck by magical energy, or hit by some flying piece of magical debris; but nothing happened.
I laughed with relief and excitement. They were right! Without any magic within I was immune to the Chaos. When I was pulled aside and told by the kingsguard what mission they had for me, I thought I was being sent to die. But no! While to the rest of society I may be nothing but a useless, antimagic splotch, here, here I belonged!
To my wonder, the Chaos was… beautiful. So many vibrant and vivid colors mixing and swirling. Magic soared through the air in arcs of light and energy, making wonderful sounds as it traversed. There scarcely was ever a spectacle so magnificent as the majesty of the Chaos.
I cannot say how long I wandered the Chaos, for I do not know. It felt like a stupor while I marveled at the spectacular display of magic. Though eventually I was broken from my stupor, I found something I did not expect: others.
They had developed their own community at the center of the Chaos. While one might expect the epicenter to be nothing but waste and destruction, it was quite the opposite. It flourished with magic and life! There was a golden river that shimmered gloriously, plants of such colors and variety I had never seen, and marvelous gemstones so plentiful they used it to make their dwellings. This truly was a paradise!
Shortly after I stumbled upon the village, a man approached me with a smile, “Welcome. You must be one of us.”
I blinked, “Who is us?”
He chuckled, “Those who lack magic, of course. No one else can survive within the Chaos. It is kind to us where it is cruel to others.”
I nodded, “Yes, I lack magic. What is this place?”
He grinned, “Come inside, there is a lot to discuss.”
Once I followed him inside he introduced himself as Zeris. He explained to me that long ago, a great mage had attempted to turn themselves into pure magical energy. She succeeded, but not how she expected, the Chaos was thus created. One day the kingdom sent an inhabitant without magic to find out more about the Chaos. They saw us as expendable, likely to die in their exploration, but they did not. The first one sent in decided to tell his friend, a government man, to keep sending more antimages in. The government will presume them dead, and we can live in paradise without fear of persecution. This ruse has continued for hundreds of years, in the bounties of the Chaos. The Chaos, Zeris believes, sometimes seemed to have its own personality, acting warm or in a distant way to its inhabitants like a motherly presence. One he believes to be that great mage of old.
“What happened to antimages before the Chaos?” I asked.
He raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”
“What did the government do, did they persecute them?”
“I don’t know. There is no record of what happened to antimages before the Chaos. It’s almost as if they didn’t exist.”
“Do you think the government erased whatever persecution they inflicted on them from history?”
“Perhaps, though that would be difficult to prove.”
“I wish to find out. I thought myself alone in my lack of magic my whole life until I discovered this community. Now that I know that I have my own people, and that there are others, I wish to expose the truth. I owe us that much.”
“But why? We live in paradise here, we are safe.”
“Just because our corner of the world is perfect doesn’t permit us to hide away from the rest of the world’s flaws. I must take action.”
Zeris smiled, “I admire your tenacity, new blood. Perhaps I can help gather the council’s support. But you must be willing to go all the way, should we pursue this course of action.”
“I have a purpose now, I have no doubt left within me. I have to learn the truth.” | A young girl drops her backpack in the park across from where I’m standing. She’s choking. Her mother is frantically trying to help with a healing charm but it doesn’t work. She looks around desperately, I can almost hear her yells. More people see and they come running. They try their magic but the choking only gets worse and the would-be heroes stare at their hands in dismay. The little girl’s color is changing, her eyes are bulging, and she’s gripping the bench hard. I’m running across the street.
Mum launches a loud, red bright signal in the sky, like fireworks, a common and effective spell to get the Guarda to assist. This one seems more frail than what it should be, even dim, but it still has a flaming red cross at the end for medical emergency. I make my way through the cluster of uselessness: “Let me through, I know what to do!” Mum is crying. I rip her little girl from her arms and into mine, her face is outwards towards the crowd. I clasp one hand over my fist and push against her stomach towards her sternum in quick, hard repeating thrusts, inwards and upwards. She heaves and sputters and suddenly, a large marble flies into a bystander. I look down. The girl’s face is now a shade of pink instead of periwinkle. Her bloodshot eyes look up at me as I let go and she croaks: “Jawbreaker”.
Two vapors form by the crowd and move in. The Guardians manifest fully and examine the girl. One pulls me aside and asks what spell I used. I say none, and the look on his face is both shock and pity. I look back into his eyes, undaunted. Mum has heard and says to me: “I don’t know what that was but thank you!!” She turns to the Guardian examining her daughter: “Why won’t you admit something is wrong? Our powers aren’t working!!” The Guardian looks alarmed, clearly not cut out to PR the crises unfolding in this emblazoned woman and the crowd around her. She turns to me. “Did you lose your powers? Is that way you had to use this…technique?” The crowd looks over too, and stills.
“I never head any, nor have I had use for them.”
Everyone is quiet. | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | I broke down the door, my two partners entering behind me. "DROP YOUR WAND AND PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!" I yelled.
The wizard, towering over a strange mystical creature wasn't going for this. "DIE!" he responded, red lightning striking from its wand. Like a beam of light on a mirror, it ricocheted of my head, blowing a hole into the ceiling. I jumped to avoid falling debris from the floor above.
"DROP IT!" I repeated, making my way to the wizard, who suddenly seemed to be very frightened. He tried to fly out of the window but as I grabbed him, he fell to his feet again. Lightning struck again, this time blowing out three windows. One kick to the head, and the wizard fell to the ground. A knockout. I don't like to do this, but if you want trouble, you get it.
"Congratulations, you did it." My boss was very happy. "I knew only you could capture him. He was trying to create some sort of magical mind-controlling dragon. We have drained his mana and sent him to prison".
I didn't choose to become a police officer. In fact, I had more than enough trouble with law enforcement in my younger days, mostly because of weed. But when they figured out I was not only unable to cast magic but I was unharmed by it, I was pressured into the job. And I grew to like it.
Since there were a lot of powerful wizards, us 'Golems', as we were dubbed, were important to keep town secure and push back crime. Surely, you could try to counter magic with magic, but that often caused major destruction or harmed civilians. Whenever magic was involved, one of us was sent along to tank the spells and take them out melee if they didn't gave up.
I had been into boxing before, a skill that helped me a lot. Because nearly all powerful wizards have something in common, they don't do sports. They just teleport and levitate around, use telekinesis for lifting and make the house clean up itself. Which made them notoriously bad in a fight without wands. And that is why we are so successful. You can only fight us the classic way. | A young girl drops her backpack in the park across from where I’m standing. She’s choking. Her mother is frantically trying to help with a healing charm but it doesn’t work. She looks around desperately, I can almost hear her yells. More people see and they come running. They try their magic but the choking only gets worse and the would-be heroes stare at their hands in dismay. The little girl’s color is changing, her eyes are bulging, and she’s gripping the bench hard. I’m running across the street.
Mum launches a loud, red bright signal in the sky, like fireworks, a common and effective spell to get the Guarda to assist. This one seems more frail than what it should be, even dim, but it still has a flaming red cross at the end for medical emergency. I make my way through the cluster of uselessness: “Let me through, I know what to do!” Mum is crying. I rip her little girl from her arms and into mine, her face is outwards towards the crowd. I clasp one hand over my fist and push against her stomach towards her sternum in quick, hard repeating thrusts, inwards and upwards. She heaves and sputters and suddenly, a large marble flies into a bystander. I look down. The girl’s face is now a shade of pink instead of periwinkle. Her bloodshot eyes look up at me as I let go and she croaks: “Jawbreaker”.
Two vapors form by the crowd and move in. The Guardians manifest fully and examine the girl. One pulls me aside and asks what spell I used. I say none, and the look on his face is both shock and pity. I look back into his eyes, undaunted. Mum has heard and says to me: “I don’t know what that was but thank you!!” She turns to the Guardian examining her daughter: “Why won’t you admit something is wrong? Our powers aren’t working!!” The Guardian looks alarmed, clearly not cut out to PR the crises unfolding in this emblazoned woman and the crowd around her. She turns to me. “Did you lose your powers? Is that way you had to use this…technique?” The crowd looks over too, and stills.
“I never head any, nor have I had use for them.”
Everyone is quiet. | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | “Sign here if you’re sure.” The guard thrust a clipboard in my direction, almost jabbing me in the stomach.
“No hesitation,” I nodded. There wasn’t much need to read- my heart was clear. With the preliminaries handled and my medical exams covered, all that was left was to enter the plastic cell.
“We can’t send anyone in after you, you understand,” she coughed. “It’s up to you to get you both back out.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” I felt something in my stomach, the kind of anticipation from jumping out of a plane with a patchy parachute. It was like burning.
She grimaced, but picked up her walkie-talkie all the same and mouthed, “Delta passage, permission granted.”
“Response code TK49? Over.”
“861-Eff. Over.”
“Acknowledged. End.”
I could already hear the gears churning in the wall, each crinkling and cracking to open the thick vault door just a hair’s breadth size for me. My mind reflected on the events that brought me here- the phone call, the limo, the agency.
The newly opened doorway was dark inside. It felt impossible to move my feet for a moment, so stunning was the thought of finally walking into hell. I looked down at the velvet, maroon suitcase handcuffed to my arm. So small, yet so much.
“Good luck,” the guard nodded. I appreciated it, even knowing how she felt about my choice.
“See ya later Alligator,” I joked.
There was nothing left out here to do.
The door closed behind me and I walked into the abyss.
—-
The first few minutes were characterized only by absolute darkness. It helped more with the nerves, I think, than if I had just stepped straight into the “lion’s den.” The floor was tiled, flat, textured enough not to worry about slipping. Cool air flowed over me with each step.
The first pinpricks of sensation were soft, green balls of light in the air. Like lanterns, they flickered and floated. Each one was inscribed with a child’s looping scrawl, though the text wasn’t clear.
“Hello,” I called. I hoped it would hear me.
I’m not sure how to best describe this part to you, but what happened next was unlike anything else I’ve experienced. The floor all around me undulated, like a wave of water but made of linoleum and grout. When the wave reached my body it simply… passed through. I felt nothing, saw nothing.
“My name is Rhett, what’s yours?” I called. There was a horrible, guttural screech in response. The floor began waving wildly, pushing away the soft, green lights. It was impossible to see, but also impossible for the reality bending effects to touch me. I kept walking.
The cry grew shriller, louder.
“I’m here to help,” I promised.
Reality continued to bend around me, unable to touch my skin. I could breathe as I had, I could hear and see and smell only stale air, but everything passed through my skin as an illusion.
Deeper and deeper, through rainstorms and lava lakes, through quicksand and farmland and dark machinery I walked. Then the illusions and screaming stopped, settling on a frigid snowscape.
“What’s your name?” I asked again.
From the ground sprung up a mirror. I stared at my reflection hungrily- and it walked out to face me. This could be it, I hoped.
“Go away,” it coughed, in my voice. Its lips were menacingly tight around the teeth.
“I’m here to help,” I promised. “I brought a-a present.” My hands shook as I held up the case.
“I don’t want you,” my reflection whined. “Why won’t you go away too?”
“Because I’m a real person,” I said. “You didn’t make me.”
“…real…” it mouthed. “Real?”
“Yes. What is your name?”
The reflection began to walk in circles around me, looking up and down with a childish demeanor. I felt like a butterfly under glass.
“What’s my present?” the reflection asked.
“Do you want to go outside?” I smiled.
It hissed. “I ate outside! I’ll eat you too!”
The reflection reared up and bit- but there was nothing for it to latch on, and it screamed somewhere between my neck and shoulder-blades. I took several steps back, but it came with.
“How about a new home? You don’t want to stay here, do you?”
This seemed to make the creature thoughtful. It didn’t pull away from bitting invisibly at my skin, but it did slow.
“I want ice cream,” it whistled.
“You want ice cream?“
“Yeah.”
I didn’t have any of that on hand, but I supposed it was a start.
“If you stand still right here, we’ll get you some ice cream, ok?”
The reflection perked up. “Really?”
“Really really,” I promised. “All the ice cream you want.”
“Ohhh kayyyy~” my doppelgänger’s voice sang back.
“Now hold still right here, do you think you can do that for me?” The floor did the wave again, so I took that as a yes.
With shaking hands, I unclasped the suitcase.
“What’s that? Its not ice cream.”
“This… uhmm, will help us get you to the ice cream,” I stuttered. It peered curiously into the case.
“You’re LYING!”
Suddenly, the shape morphed into a large, dark shadow. Smoke flooded the snowy landscape. It grew rocky and glassy.
“There’s no ice cream! You want to take away my special!”
Lightning flooded over my body, while the screeching intensified.
“You’re mean! Go away!”
“No, no, I-“
“MEAN!” The raw volume of its yelling caused me to drop the suitcase, almost snapping my wrist from the noise. I had to hold my ears from the pain. It seemed it was at least capable of reaching me one way, noise.
The screaming didn’t let up- I’d probably go deaf before I managed to put the syringe in.
“You can’t stay here forever!” I called. I have no idea if it heard me. “You keep killing people! I have to make you stop!”
It responded by turning into Godzilla.
This would take some time, I resolved. I sat on the floor to wait. | A young girl drops her backpack in the park across from where I’m standing. She’s choking. Her mother is frantically trying to help with a healing charm but it doesn’t work. She looks around desperately, I can almost hear her yells. More people see and they come running. They try their magic but the choking only gets worse and the would-be heroes stare at their hands in dismay. The little girl’s color is changing, her eyes are bulging, and she’s gripping the bench hard. I’m running across the street.
Mum launches a loud, red bright signal in the sky, like fireworks, a common and effective spell to get the Guarda to assist. This one seems more frail than what it should be, even dim, but it still has a flaming red cross at the end for medical emergency. I make my way through the cluster of uselessness: “Let me through, I know what to do!” Mum is crying. I rip her little girl from her arms and into mine, her face is outwards towards the crowd. I clasp one hand over my fist and push against her stomach towards her sternum in quick, hard repeating thrusts, inwards and upwards. She heaves and sputters and suddenly, a large marble flies into a bystander. I look down. The girl’s face is now a shade of pink instead of periwinkle. Her bloodshot eyes look up at me as I let go and she croaks: “Jawbreaker”.
Two vapors form by the crowd and move in. The Guardians manifest fully and examine the girl. One pulls me aside and asks what spell I used. I say none, and the look on his face is both shock and pity. I look back into his eyes, undaunted. Mum has heard and says to me: “I don’t know what that was but thank you!!” She turns to the Guardian examining her daughter: “Why won’t you admit something is wrong? Our powers aren’t working!!” The Guardian looks alarmed, clearly not cut out to PR the crises unfolding in this emblazoned woman and the crowd around her. She turns to me. “Did you lose your powers? Is that way you had to use this…technique?” The crowd looks over too, and stills.
“I never head any, nor have I had use for them.”
Everyone is quiet. | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | I broke down the door, my two partners entering behind me. "DROP YOUR WAND AND PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!" I yelled.
The wizard, towering over a strange mystical creature wasn't going for this. "DIE!" he responded, red lightning striking from its wand. Like a beam of light on a mirror, it ricocheted of my head, blowing a hole into the ceiling. I jumped to avoid falling debris from the floor above.
"DROP IT!" I repeated, making my way to the wizard, who suddenly seemed to be very frightened. He tried to fly out of the window but as I grabbed him, he fell to his feet again. Lightning struck again, this time blowing out three windows. One kick to the head, and the wizard fell to the ground. A knockout. I don't like to do this, but if you want trouble, you get it.
"Congratulations, you did it." My boss was very happy. "I knew only you could capture him. He was trying to create some sort of magical mind-controlling dragon. We have drained his mana and sent him to prison".
I didn't choose to become a police officer. In fact, I had more than enough trouble with law enforcement in my younger days, mostly because of weed. But when they figured out I was not only unable to cast magic but I was unharmed by it, I was pressured into the job. And I grew to like it.
Since there were a lot of powerful wizards, us 'Golems', as we were dubbed, were important to keep town secure and push back crime. Surely, you could try to counter magic with magic, but that often caused major destruction or harmed civilians. Whenever magic was involved, one of us was sent along to tank the spells and take them out melee if they didn't gave up.
I had been into boxing before, a skill that helped me a lot. Because nearly all powerful wizards have something in common, they don't do sports. They just teleport and levitate around, use telekinesis for lifting and make the house clean up itself. Which made them notoriously bad in a fight without wands. And that is why we are so successful. You can only fight us the classic way. | I always wondered what the Chaos was.
Sure, when I looked out to the horizon I saw a storm-like eruption of colors and magical energy, but what was it? It was unlike any storm I ever knew, it was ever-persistent, said to have been in that same spot for centuries, encompassing the space of a former land.
What was that land like before the Chaos? What was it like now?
I felt a kinship with the Chaos. I could not perform any magic, I was a blotch in a perfect world of magic. Just as the Chaos was seen as a blotch. Something people couldn’t understand nor control, and today I would find out what lies within.
I took a deep breath, preparing myself for what was ahead, before stepping forward into the Chaos.
I was prepared to be torn asunder by it, to be struck by magical energy, or hit by some flying piece of magical debris; but nothing happened.
I laughed with relief and excitement. They were right! Without any magic within I was immune to the Chaos. When I was pulled aside and told by the kingsguard what mission they had for me, I thought I was being sent to die. But no! While to the rest of society I may be nothing but a useless, antimagic splotch, here, here I belonged!
To my wonder, the Chaos was… beautiful. So many vibrant and vivid colors mixing and swirling. Magic soared through the air in arcs of light and energy, making wonderful sounds as it traversed. There scarcely was ever a spectacle so magnificent as the majesty of the Chaos.
I cannot say how long I wandered the Chaos, for I do not know. It felt like a stupor while I marveled at the spectacular display of magic. Though eventually I was broken from my stupor, I found something I did not expect: others.
They had developed their own community at the center of the Chaos. While one might expect the epicenter to be nothing but waste and destruction, it was quite the opposite. It flourished with magic and life! There was a golden river that shimmered gloriously, plants of such colors and variety I had never seen, and marvelous gemstones so plentiful they used it to make their dwellings. This truly was a paradise!
Shortly after I stumbled upon the village, a man approached me with a smile, “Welcome. You must be one of us.”
I blinked, “Who is us?”
He chuckled, “Those who lack magic, of course. No one else can survive within the Chaos. It is kind to us where it is cruel to others.”
I nodded, “Yes, I lack magic. What is this place?”
He grinned, “Come inside, there is a lot to discuss.”
Once I followed him inside he introduced himself as Zeris. He explained to me that long ago, a great mage had attempted to turn themselves into pure magical energy. She succeeded, but not how she expected, the Chaos was thus created. One day the kingdom sent an inhabitant without magic to find out more about the Chaos. They saw us as expendable, likely to die in their exploration, but they did not. The first one sent in decided to tell his friend, a government man, to keep sending more antimages in. The government will presume them dead, and we can live in paradise without fear of persecution. This ruse has continued for hundreds of years, in the bounties of the Chaos. The Chaos, Zeris believes, sometimes seemed to have its own personality, acting warm or in a distant way to its inhabitants like a motherly presence. One he believes to be that great mage of old.
“What happened to antimages before the Chaos?” I asked.
He raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”
“What did the government do, did they persecute them?”
“I don’t know. There is no record of what happened to antimages before the Chaos. It’s almost as if they didn’t exist.”
“Do you think the government erased whatever persecution they inflicted on them from history?”
“Perhaps, though that would be difficult to prove.”
“I wish to find out. I thought myself alone in my lack of magic my whole life until I discovered this community. Now that I know that I have my own people, and that there are others, I wish to expose the truth. I owe us that much.”
“But why? We live in paradise here, we are safe.”
“Just because our corner of the world is perfect doesn’t permit us to hide away from the rest of the world’s flaws. I must take action.”
Zeris smiled, “I admire your tenacity, new blood. Perhaps I can help gather the council’s support. But you must be willing to go all the way, should we pursue this course of action.”
“I have a purpose now, I have no doubt left within me. I have to learn the truth.” | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | I broke down the door, my two partners entering behind me. "DROP YOUR WAND AND PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!" I yelled.
The wizard, towering over a strange mystical creature wasn't going for this. "DIE!" he responded, red lightning striking from its wand. Like a beam of light on a mirror, it ricocheted of my head, blowing a hole into the ceiling. I jumped to avoid falling debris from the floor above.
"DROP IT!" I repeated, making my way to the wizard, who suddenly seemed to be very frightened. He tried to fly out of the window but as I grabbed him, he fell to his feet again. Lightning struck again, this time blowing out three windows. One kick to the head, and the wizard fell to the ground. A knockout. I don't like to do this, but if you want trouble, you get it.
"Congratulations, you did it." My boss was very happy. "I knew only you could capture him. He was trying to create some sort of magical mind-controlling dragon. We have drained his mana and sent him to prison".
I didn't choose to become a police officer. In fact, I had more than enough trouble with law enforcement in my younger days, mostly because of weed. But when they figured out I was not only unable to cast magic but I was unharmed by it, I was pressured into the job. And I grew to like it.
Since there were a lot of powerful wizards, us 'Golems', as we were dubbed, were important to keep town secure and push back crime. Surely, you could try to counter magic with magic, but that often caused major destruction or harmed civilians. Whenever magic was involved, one of us was sent along to tank the spells and take them out melee if they didn't gave up.
I had been into boxing before, a skill that helped me a lot. Because nearly all powerful wizards have something in common, they don't do sports. They just teleport and levitate around, use telekinesis for lifting and make the house clean up itself. Which made them notoriously bad in a fight without wands. And that is why we are so successful. You can only fight us the classic way. | oh wow a WP that has lore I actually want to explore
edit: i notice the other responses have cool things like policemen, or what. That is SO AWESOME, i wish I’d thought of that. I just went this route because if you’re called an “unremarkable” I guessed you weren’t going to be respected a lot.
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Some people found it lucky being an unremarkable, but I wasn’t one of them. They said, hey, you can’t use magic, but at least nothing bad can happen to you, eh? Wink wink, nudge nudge.
I thought it was stupid, since I couldn’t use it or feel its effects, so it was sort of a double no-magic, which didn’t cancel out and just made it twice as worse.
And then one day, They came. I just thought of them as They because the Magic Association was too long for my head to think about all the time, and it was only capitalized so I wouldn’t confuse it with other theys, like puppies or flowers.
I was eating breakfast, and there was a knock on the door. I squeezed past the table to open the door. A neat, polished woman was standing there. I groaned inwardly. That could mean nothing good. I looked at their badge. “MA”, it said. Magic Association.
”What do you want?” I demanded, admittedly a bit rudely.
The lady smiled and explained that the MA, the *government* in fact, was looking for individuals with certain, ah, characteristics, to help participate in a developmental experiment in magic, and it would be appreciated if someone could help.
She smiled a lot, and there had been a slight undertone that made it hard to say no (that suggested that bad things would happen if I refused to cooperate), and so I had agreed, and she brought me to the headquarters.
More people wearing suits and smiles ushered me along like a lost sheep, until at last I was deposited into a control room of sorts, with computers lined up along two sides of the room, with people clacking madly at them. On the side directly opposite me was a large glass window, showcasing another room, with nothing but a whirling globe of energy in the middle, all colours and yet none, shining brightly enough it should’ve blinded you but all I could do was stare at it.
A scientist stepped up. “Ah, you’ve agreed to help us? Unfortunately, due to containment measures, you will have to stay here for a while.”
”Wait, what?” I said, alarmed. “For how long?”
”For about five years or so,” he said, smiling. “Don’t worry, we have a nice bed set up for you, and you will get meals eve-“
”WHAT?” I yelled, lunging at him. Before I could, the computer people all whirled around and pointed a gun at me. It was almost ridiculous if I wasn’t about to be killed.
The scientist continued, still smiling, “Magic may not work on you unremarkables, but we do have more traditional methods, if you wish so.“
I settled back, fuming. “What do I have to do?” I asked, privately planning to do whatever it was as fast as I could and then get out of here.
”Oh, well,” said the scientist, “You see that blob of energy there? Well, we’re experimenting with a new type of magic, one that could potentially revolutionise magic as we know it!”
”I didn’t know you could do science with magic.”
”Well, science is just magic but with physics. Not that you can do either,” he chuckled. My eye twitched. “Anyway,” he continued, “You won’t have to do anything. Since you are immune to the magic, all you have to do is grab it, and then throw it at yourself.”
”What?” I asked, flabbergasted. “I may be immune to magic but I’m still a normal human being that can get hurt, you know.”
”Exactly,” he nodded. “It’s so we can test it without the magic effect, but just how it would affect basic human anatomy.”
”Are you asking me to literally kill myself for the sake of science?” My voice raised in disbelief.
”Yes.” He replied calmly, and pushed me into the room. Once I could react, I turned back, to discover the door was locked.
I stared at the energy. The scientists were staring at me through the glass wall, like I was some particularly interesting animal at the zoo. I stepped closer to it, boiling with rage over how they had manipulated me into doing this.
But then again…
I was immune to magic, and it couldn’t hurt me. I grabbed it. It was hot to the point of cold and cold to the point of hot. It couldn’t affect me. It couldn’t touch me.
I was a vessel, a vessel for magic, and it might not affect me, but I could hold it, and it definitely would affect Them.
I held it up and turned to their direction.
They didn’t even see it coming when I threw it. | |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | “Sign here if you’re sure.” The guard thrust a clipboard in my direction, almost jabbing me in the stomach.
“No hesitation,” I nodded. There wasn’t much need to read- my heart was clear. With the preliminaries handled and my medical exams covered, all that was left was to enter the plastic cell.
“We can’t send anyone in after you, you understand,” she coughed. “It’s up to you to get you both back out.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” I felt something in my stomach, the kind of anticipation from jumping out of a plane with a patchy parachute. It was like burning.
She grimaced, but picked up her walkie-talkie all the same and mouthed, “Delta passage, permission granted.”
“Response code TK49? Over.”
“861-Eff. Over.”
“Acknowledged. End.”
I could already hear the gears churning in the wall, each crinkling and cracking to open the thick vault door just a hair’s breadth size for me. My mind reflected on the events that brought me here- the phone call, the limo, the agency.
The newly opened doorway was dark inside. It felt impossible to move my feet for a moment, so stunning was the thought of finally walking into hell. I looked down at the velvet, maroon suitcase handcuffed to my arm. So small, yet so much.
“Good luck,” the guard nodded. I appreciated it, even knowing how she felt about my choice.
“See ya later Alligator,” I joked.
There was nothing left out here to do.
The door closed behind me and I walked into the abyss.
—-
The first few minutes were characterized only by absolute darkness. It helped more with the nerves, I think, than if I had just stepped straight into the “lion’s den.” The floor was tiled, flat, textured enough not to worry about slipping. Cool air flowed over me with each step.
The first pinpricks of sensation were soft, green balls of light in the air. Like lanterns, they flickered and floated. Each one was inscribed with a child’s looping scrawl, though the text wasn’t clear.
“Hello,” I called. I hoped it would hear me.
I’m not sure how to best describe this part to you, but what happened next was unlike anything else I’ve experienced. The floor all around me undulated, like a wave of water but made of linoleum and grout. When the wave reached my body it simply… passed through. I felt nothing, saw nothing.
“My name is Rhett, what’s yours?” I called. There was a horrible, guttural screech in response. The floor began waving wildly, pushing away the soft, green lights. It was impossible to see, but also impossible for the reality bending effects to touch me. I kept walking.
The cry grew shriller, louder.
“I’m here to help,” I promised.
Reality continued to bend around me, unable to touch my skin. I could breathe as I had, I could hear and see and smell only stale air, but everything passed through my skin as an illusion.
Deeper and deeper, through rainstorms and lava lakes, through quicksand and farmland and dark machinery I walked. Then the illusions and screaming stopped, settling on a frigid snowscape.
“What’s your name?” I asked again.
From the ground sprung up a mirror. I stared at my reflection hungrily- and it walked out to face me. This could be it, I hoped.
“Go away,” it coughed, in my voice. Its lips were menacingly tight around the teeth.
“I’m here to help,” I promised. “I brought a-a present.” My hands shook as I held up the case.
“I don’t want you,” my reflection whined. “Why won’t you go away too?”
“Because I’m a real person,” I said. “You didn’t make me.”
“…real…” it mouthed. “Real?”
“Yes. What is your name?”
The reflection began to walk in circles around me, looking up and down with a childish demeanor. I felt like a butterfly under glass.
“What’s my present?” the reflection asked.
“Do you want to go outside?” I smiled.
It hissed. “I ate outside! I’ll eat you too!”
The reflection reared up and bit- but there was nothing for it to latch on, and it screamed somewhere between my neck and shoulder-blades. I took several steps back, but it came with.
“How about a new home? You don’t want to stay here, do you?”
This seemed to make the creature thoughtful. It didn’t pull away from bitting invisibly at my skin, but it did slow.
“I want ice cream,” it whistled.
“You want ice cream?“
“Yeah.”
I didn’t have any of that on hand, but I supposed it was a start.
“If you stand still right here, we’ll get you some ice cream, ok?”
The reflection perked up. “Really?”
“Really really,” I promised. “All the ice cream you want.”
“Ohhh kayyyy~” my doppelgänger’s voice sang back.
“Now hold still right here, do you think you can do that for me?” The floor did the wave again, so I took that as a yes.
With shaking hands, I unclasped the suitcase.
“What’s that? Its not ice cream.”
“This… uhmm, will help us get you to the ice cream,” I stuttered. It peered curiously into the case.
“You’re LYING!”
Suddenly, the shape morphed into a large, dark shadow. Smoke flooded the snowy landscape. It grew rocky and glassy.
“There’s no ice cream! You want to take away my special!”
Lightning flooded over my body, while the screeching intensified.
“You’re mean! Go away!”
“No, no, I-“
“MEAN!” The raw volume of its yelling caused me to drop the suitcase, almost snapping my wrist from the noise. I had to hold my ears from the pain. It seemed it was at least capable of reaching me one way, noise.
The screaming didn’t let up- I’d probably go deaf before I managed to put the syringe in.
“You can’t stay here forever!” I called. I have no idea if it heard me. “You keep killing people! I have to make you stop!”
It responded by turning into Godzilla.
This would take some time, I resolved. I sat on the floor to wait. | oh wow a WP that has lore I actually want to explore
edit: i notice the other responses have cool things like policemen, or what. That is SO AWESOME, i wish I’d thought of that. I just went this route because if you’re called an “unremarkable” I guessed you weren’t going to be respected a lot.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Some people found it lucky being an unremarkable, but I wasn’t one of them. They said, hey, you can’t use magic, but at least nothing bad can happen to you, eh? Wink wink, nudge nudge.
I thought it was stupid, since I couldn’t use it or feel its effects, so it was sort of a double no-magic, which didn’t cancel out and just made it twice as worse.
And then one day, They came. I just thought of them as They because the Magic Association was too long for my head to think about all the time, and it was only capitalized so I wouldn’t confuse it with other theys, like puppies or flowers.
I was eating breakfast, and there was a knock on the door. I squeezed past the table to open the door. A neat, polished woman was standing there. I groaned inwardly. That could mean nothing good. I looked at their badge. “MA”, it said. Magic Association.
”What do you want?” I demanded, admittedly a bit rudely.
The lady smiled and explained that the MA, the *government* in fact, was looking for individuals with certain, ah, characteristics, to help participate in a developmental experiment in magic, and it would be appreciated if someone could help.
She smiled a lot, and there had been a slight undertone that made it hard to say no (that suggested that bad things would happen if I refused to cooperate), and so I had agreed, and she brought me to the headquarters.
More people wearing suits and smiles ushered me along like a lost sheep, until at last I was deposited into a control room of sorts, with computers lined up along two sides of the room, with people clacking madly at them. On the side directly opposite me was a large glass window, showcasing another room, with nothing but a whirling globe of energy in the middle, all colours and yet none, shining brightly enough it should’ve blinded you but all I could do was stare at it.
A scientist stepped up. “Ah, you’ve agreed to help us? Unfortunately, due to containment measures, you will have to stay here for a while.”
”Wait, what?” I said, alarmed. “For how long?”
”For about five years or so,” he said, smiling. “Don’t worry, we have a nice bed set up for you, and you will get meals eve-“
”WHAT?” I yelled, lunging at him. Before I could, the computer people all whirled around and pointed a gun at me. It was almost ridiculous if I wasn’t about to be killed.
The scientist continued, still smiling, “Magic may not work on you unremarkables, but we do have more traditional methods, if you wish so.“
I settled back, fuming. “What do I have to do?” I asked, privately planning to do whatever it was as fast as I could and then get out of here.
”Oh, well,” said the scientist, “You see that blob of energy there? Well, we’re experimenting with a new type of magic, one that could potentially revolutionise magic as we know it!”
”I didn’t know you could do science with magic.”
”Well, science is just magic but with physics. Not that you can do either,” he chuckled. My eye twitched. “Anyway,” he continued, “You won’t have to do anything. Since you are immune to the magic, all you have to do is grab it, and then throw it at yourself.”
”What?” I asked, flabbergasted. “I may be immune to magic but I’m still a normal human being that can get hurt, you know.”
”Exactly,” he nodded. “It’s so we can test it without the magic effect, but just how it would affect basic human anatomy.”
”Are you asking me to literally kill myself for the sake of science?” My voice raised in disbelief.
”Yes.” He replied calmly, and pushed me into the room. Once I could react, I turned back, to discover the door was locked.
I stared at the energy. The scientists were staring at me through the glass wall, like I was some particularly interesting animal at the zoo. I stepped closer to it, boiling with rage over how they had manipulated me into doing this.
But then again…
I was immune to magic, and it couldn’t hurt me. I grabbed it. It was hot to the point of cold and cold to the point of hot. It couldn’t affect me. It couldn’t touch me.
I was a vessel, a vessel for magic, and it might not affect me, but I could hold it, and it definitely would affect Them.
I held it up and turned to their direction.
They didn’t even see it coming when I threw it. | |
[WP] You wake up in a black void with what appears to be a Windows error message in front of you, it reads “Error: 404 - You.exe cannot be found.” | Surprised, I scanned the void slowly, before eventually turning my gaze down to my body. Or, where my body should have been. Instead, it appeared I was simply a floating head, if not only a floating, observing conscience, looking on at what was perhaps the truth of the reality I formerly found myself in.
“What…” I was surprised to actually hear my voice out loud, but it didn’t distract from the monsoon of thoughts storming my mind. Frantically looking from side to side, I tried finding anything that could help me, only to see more and more of the blank void surrounding me. Even opposite the message popup, where I would expect a screen to be, there was nothing.
“Wait,” my thought process came to a screeching halt as I reprocessed the message. “If… if my executable is missing, how am I—“
Suddenly, the sound of a door creaking open and shutting echoed throughout the void. I could hear the clinking of keys sound before a light humming came within earshot. I heard a grunt, and the shifting of a rolling chair on a hard flooring, before they groaned. “Oh, for the love of—how many times does that make it this week?” The clicking of mechanical keystrokes and a mouse sounded before my confusion bubbled to its boiling point, and I couldn’t stay silent any longer.
“What is happening here?”
“WHA—“ I heard them scream, soon followed by a thump and a quiet “Oww…” There’s relative quiet for a moment before I hear the chair creak again. “Who… who was that?” they asked, and I could hear the clicking of their mouse in the background.
“Me? I’m staring at an error message right now, and frankly, I have more than a few questions to ask.”
“But who is… oh… oh no….”
“What?”
“Wait, you said you can only see an error message?”
“Yes…”
“Hmm,” they were silent for a moment, before speaking in a whisper. “So even bugged, they can still only view parts of their native program?”
“I can still hear you, you know!”
“Wha… Y—yeah, I know,” they said, before I heard another click. “Crap, I have to fix this fast, or they’re going to be pissed….”
“Are you going to just keep treating me as if I’m not here, or am I going to get an answer?”
“I just need to get into the files, and find wherever the bug is… Come on you stupid thing!” As they finish speaking, the world around me seemed to shake as if in an earthquake, accompanied by a loud, echoing metal banging sound. “There we go.”
“I’ll just take that as a no,” I muttered as I simply stared to the message window.
“But how did… shit, this is a renaming issue, isn’t it? ...Yep, goddammit Jay, can’t you at least learn to double-check your goddamn code.”
“But then how the hell am I even here!” I yelled, frustration finally getting the better of me.
“I don’t know, a catastrophic bug or bit flip or something?” My anger deflated slightly having finally been a response, but my mind still reeled with the jargon they just used that went completely over my probably nonexistent head. I could hear them furiously typing for a solid few minutes before finally sighing. “A—alright, so… just treat this as a dream or something. This has no meaning to it, alright?”
“What?” I asked before I heard a click, and a low humming began to grow in volume around me. “What do you—“
Before I knew it, the visage before me disappeared, and my eyes were flooded with light.
“—mean?” I gasped as my eyes shot open, looking at an unfamiliar, tiled ceiling with flush fluorescent lights. I gulp, and feel an uncomfortable pain in the back of my throat as I do. Looking to either side, I find a clock, and see a date nine months past what I remembered it being.
“Holy—“
\------
Fun idea, thanks for the prompt, OP!
r/IUniven | Seeing the error message I then turn and look behind me, and see what looks to be a cord connecting to a large pink/red router of some kind; I unplug it, wait a moment, and then plug it back in.
Colors vibrate, and oblong shapes and patterns ripple across my vision, and I can feel my mind waver heavy and mute.
I wake to the sounds and voices around me, muffled and then progressively becoming more loud and sharp; After a moment I finally make out the noises of a bustling city street, and the voices of my friends calling to me.
My vision starts to come to me, I look around and out of the black mist and blotches across my eye sight, I start to make out street lights, people, cars, and skyscrapers.
My friends help me up slowly so I can sit on a nearby stoop.
As I gather my thoughts I see one of my friends rushing back to me, water in-hand. They give it to me looking worried as they say
"Hey man, I told you not to drink too much at the club."
'Club?' I thought, making a face at the lost memory.
My friend saw my confused look and nodded his head to the club across the street; I turned my head to look, and there across the street stood 3 angry-looking bouncers glaring back at us. They stood in front of closed golden double doors and a roped entrance; A sign above them in flashing lights and neon colors read:
'Club: Error 404 S.eXXXE'
.............
You look to your top right corner of the void, and try opening another file; It says 'Werewolf.exe found'
Eat a Snickers. | |
[removed] | [WP] Describe something without revealing what it is (e.g. a nearby object), let the others guess or reveal it at the end of your description. | \[Poem\]
A mirrored void with vibrant sides,
An item of great appeal,
Crafted by words, Red under White,
Blurs the line between fake and real.
a Luminant portal to infinite Worlds
For those jaded of theirs.
A tale, a fright,
A hero, a fight,
for all who want to prove their might. | It looks at me almost in disdain, yet mysterious, as if she cannot yet assess me. Her forms are feminine. She has many layers to her. A lot of them filled, others blank. Her spine shows the cracks of age. When you open her up, she reveals your past, not hers, remaining eternally mysterious. She holds your dearest secrets without revealing anything of herself. Her content thin, yet manifold. When you skim through her, touching her, she feels airy, impossible to hold. She is like the sea, you can make her push and pull, while a breeze of crispness engulfs you, one wave after the other, until this eternal mystery finally closes. |
[WP] Cosmian is an ancient language, presumed to be dead, that allows fluent speakers to control the universe by turning their words into reality. The language did not die from natural causes, but rather all users were exterminated after a pathological liar went on a rampage. | I didn't want to have to do this, but I've been left no choice.
I tried to explain to the Primordial Guard why The Word should no longer be shared, but they wouldn't grant me an audience with the Scepter. I tried to talk to the Library professors, but they shooed me out with either abhorrent disdain or mocking joviality. Few had ever attempted to Speak a paradox before, and each instance ended in destruction.
The Word is what freed everything that Is from the state of Not Being. Debates on the topic of creation always end in a discussion of the chicken and the egg. Did the First Speaker create The Word or did The Word create the First Speaker? Most of the resources of the Theoretical Dialogues department of the Library are dedicated to answering this question. I get a bit sad to think they will never find the answer to that question, but everything comes at a price, and for too long we Eli'ir have considered ourselves debt-free.
You see, The Word was useful, necessary even. When the first few utterances created energy and matter, heat and light, the entire Universe was a kaleidoscope of fire. Chaotic tendrils of existence racing across the expanse, clawing, gnashing, fighting to continue to be. Were it not for the First Speaker, order would have never been wrought from chaos, just like light would never have been born from darkness.
The First Speaker used The Word to give form to things. First stars came, then gas clouds and larger stars. Star clusters and huge supernovas. As the universe began to fill with complexity, the First Speaker spoke the Umahd into existence. The First Speaker taught them The Way, a philosophy of using The Word to create the balance between order and chaos. But they were children, and children rebel. The first Umahd used The Word to make more of them, each generation less perfect than the last and straying further and further from The Way of the First Speaker. Chaos reigned as they found more pleasure in warping the physical laws of the universe than in building anything with substance. So, at last, the Speaker unmade them. Again, the Speaker was alone in the universe, trying to create order.
The problem seemed to be solved when the Speaker created the Eli'ir and the Primordial Guard. Separate entities, they would share the power of The Word: The Primordial Guard were a manifestation of The Way, but were not able to speak; and the Eli'ir were the joyful, exuberant chaos of childhood and would be taught The Word by the Primordial Guard. For eons, a balance was struck that led the universe into greater and greater complexity. Until the Primordial Guard taught Azmodeus how to create more Eli'ir using The Word.
He created for himself an army of Eli'ir, with the sole purpose of learning The Word by brute force if necessary. He is credited with the first use of paradoxes, and he used them to hide himself from the First Speaker's watchful eye. Until one day he, or his army of scholars, found The Words to unmake the First Speaker. He spoke them, and the First Speaker ceased to exist. Since then, chaos has been unleashed. Around the universe, stars explode and vanish and reappear. Planets collide and whole galaxies are swallowed up by gravity. It's a terror. We are a terror.
The downfall of Eli'ir is that we were created to see what could be made with The Word. A race of mad scientists at best, infernal demons of chaos at worst. We are simply too large to notice small details. After creating a galaxy, few of us stick around to see how it progresses, and many just destroy the galaxy again from boredom. I, however, did stay.
In your English language, you call your galaxy the "Milky Way," a name I could never have dreamed for you. It's as simple and perfectly flawed as you yourselves are. From where you see it, it shines white across the sky in the night, and from it all of your lives have come into being. Of course you call it that. You also call The Word "Cosmian." Can't you see it again there? Cosmian, because it is the language of the Cosmos. You humans are often so close to the truth and yet somehow off. I love it.
I wish I could take credit for making you. I really do. What a compliment to my grasp of The Word that would be. However, all I did was speak some elements into being, wrap them in some rules for physical interactions, and wait. Like a gardener poring over seedlings I watched in awe as your galaxy grew up. I was ridiculed by other Eli'ir for my attention to detail, but I couldn't help but gaze upon each planet as it matured. Imagine my surprise when living creatures appeared on them! Some of the creatures even became intelligent. They came up with their own systems for solving their problems that didn't involve fundamentally altering reality. They worked within the system to change the system. I was fascinated.
Many of these species took it once step further and devised their own language. A language separate from The Word. I was so proud of their advancements I made the moronic error of showing them off to the other Eli'ir, and just like that their entire solar system was swallowed in an instant by a black hole. I learned two things then: 1) Eli'ir were not to be trusted, and 2) I would never show my treasures again.
Luck shone on me again and humanity was born. You are splendidly industrious while still maintaining a fine hum of chaos. I reveled in your collective glories and wept at your shortcomings. You were, you are my children. But you are curious. You gaze more deeply into the stars than anything I have seen before, and it is only a matter of time before you find us. Before you find the Eli'ir and the Primordial Guard, and The Word itself. Who could ever guess what atrocities would be fall you, what crimes you yourselves would commit with that kind of power.
So I will speak a paradox that no Eli'ir, not even the First Speaker would dare to speak. I will translate it here, in a familiar human tongue, so that you may know the great sacrifice I am making. So that should my paradox fail, you will be forewarned of the great power and burden of knowing The Word. In mere moments, I will say:
I am speaking The Word which does not exist. | "What was it like learning magic under Merlin?" The reporter asked, doing well to hide her smirk.
Glancing at the camera, I chuckle slightly at the question. Having stopped a bank robbery in progress, displaying only a portion of what I am capable of, then having to defeat Baldur when he tried to abduct me to Asgard, all filmed on either security cameras or mobile phone cameras and magic still blow people's minds is amusing.
"I didn't learn what I would call Hollywood Magic. Combat spells or anything flashy like that. My physical abilities had helped me overcome many fights in my younger life, but Merlin never actually taught me that style of Magic. He actually educated me on physics, biology, chemistry, mathematics. He was more of a home tutor for my upbringing."
The reporter's eyes shift slightly, obviously not expecting this answer. A glance to her cameraman and she composed herself to try and ask a follow-up to catch me out on a lie.
"But, he did teach me something that I would like to share with the world, an unspoken truth, as it were." I smile at the foreshadowing irony of my words.
"Magic has not truly faded from our world. I know, because my personal magic still exists. I may not be able to throw fireballs or lightning around, but my magic that I created with his help has helped me far more than any combat or healing magic could ever do."
I turn slightly in the leather chair to face the camera better. This is not going to go down to well when people realize how terrifying this actually is, and how there is no way to counter it.
"What humanity views as magic, is when reality gets shaped by the presence of magic. Imagine if you opened your hand and created a fireball in the palm of your hand in front of that camera. The words you would use would shape reality to create that spell. That power has never truly disappeared. Belief has become so muddled with all of the religions and cults of the world trying to force their perspective as being the correct one, when most of them are plainly wrong or the deity they worship doesn't care about them. Millions of people with their own view of their religion causes what is basically a huge amount of 'static' which prevents the more overt magic, the visible stuff to manifest."
"The magic I have is a network. A connection between every portal on the planet. I can open that door behind me, and appear literally anywhere on the planet I want." I drop the bombshell. There is not a place on this planet that I cannot get to.
"I can even take people with me if I wish. This is not something I abuse. I don't visit military or secret locations or anything like that. But, if I want to be on another part of the planet, I cannot be stopped. And the secret to how this works is so embedded in the human mindset, it cannot be removed. Because a portal is a door or entrance. Windows, for an example are another case of portals. It is an entrance into buildings or vehicles."
The reporter is shocked at this, and even the cameraman is nervous.
"The reason why I am telling you this is, I am trying to point something out that every viewer right now has likely completely overlooked with my admission. Magic is real, and still here. You just have to stop believing in your god. I don't follow any religious texts and I am hounded by the Norse Gods themselves as those who saw the fight of me against Thor in Detroit so aptly demonstrated. Magic is belief, pure and strong. Faith is so convoluted nowadays that none of your prayers are getting to the one you pray to. Look at every Christian Sect. Presbyterian, Lutherian, Catholic, and so many others. The Muslim faith is no better. Be it Monotheistic or Polytheistic, your belief is weakened, because Faith has become corrupted by those who wield it for their own devices. Magic is the same way."
"There are people with a broken or missing moral compass. No amount of holy text would ever fix that. But people do know that killing people is bad, stealing is bad, forcing yourself onto another person is bad. You don't need a 'holy book' to tell you that, just responsible parents. Merlin told me that if the entire world would believe for one unified moment in time, then everyone on this planet would be able to wield magic, because of those with the strength of character to cast magic would show the others that Magic is visible."
"This sounds like bullshit." The cameraman exclaimed.
"Fair enough. I understand that. But I can actually prove it. Words that can be used to shape reality are being spoken everyday. Consider nicknames. All the parents that call their daughter 'Princess', how many of those 'Princesses' act like spoilt brats? Every time a parent calls their child a derogatory name, how many of those victims of that verbal abuse take on those traits. Magic is real, and has always been here. Words used to shape reality or our perception is magic. Brainwashing is hypnosis without the setup, these people can manipulate people into seeing the world the way they do... And you think Magic isn't real?" | |
[WP] "You may not be interested in war, but war is interested in you" goes the cliche, and sadly it's true. Ever since you matched on the dating app, the Personification of War has been asking you out and messaging you... | Of course, I had heard of the Horsemen. Who hadn’t? But I had never expected her- “The Red Horseman”- to be a _Lady,_ with that capital “L”.
And she _was._ She was well trained in everything from History to Etiquette, and, of course, War. She surprised me one day with videos of her _blacksmithing._ When I mentioned my knives were going dull, she sent me whetstones, polishing oils, and etching equipment, as well as walking me through the processes and giving me warnings about how various chemicals could be used- or misused- in deadlier compounds. When she introduced me to her horse, Ruin, I found he was actually rather docile. She seemed impressed that he had taken a liking to me.
She was beautiful, graceful, and classy or down-home as you could like. Irish red hair, piercing crimson eyes, skin as pale and smooth as silk, dotted and lined with tiny quicksilver scars. And a witchy, delicate tattoo of rose thorns danced across the nape of her neck.
But I was never sure about her- not when I introduced her to my martial arts classes and teachers, not when I introduced her to my Parents, not when she taught me things I never would have found- or cared to learn- on my own.
It wasn’t until February of this year that things changed. Of course, by this point I was dedicated. I told myself that I had poured too much of myself into her- too much time, effort, and not a small amount of energy and strength. I had grown in strength, skill, and confidence. But she was different, too. She was softer, now. Warmer, in a way.
And I hadn’t noticed until Valentine’s.
I met her by the banks of Blacksea Bay that night. The full moon hung low, sending silver scimitars of broken glass slashing across the surface of the water, echoing vainly the diamond dusted sky.
She was in her armor and the uniform of her siblings- simple, elegant, flexible, and most of all, ~~beautiful~~ effective. Normally, she was talkative and energetic, using older language than I was accustomed to, outside of the rare historical reenactment I sometimes did. On that night, she was shy, quiet, informal. Distant, even. It was a cold shock to see someone normally so outlandish and handsy be so… _Small._
“What’s wrong, Charlie?”
An odd name, for a woman, I know. But she decided on it when she noticed the average English or American couldn’t pronounce her _actual_ name- Caoimhe. It’s a name that I’m still trying to get right- something like “kee-va”, I’m told, but there’s a lilt on the last that I can’t quite seem to capture.
She was silent for several minutes.
I sat and waited patiently as I could. She chewed her lip in that way that made my heart drum and set panic running through me. Her brow furrowed, her breathing deepened as though she was trying to calm herself. I had never seen her like this before, or since.
I began to panic. Really, truly panic. Had something happened? Did she not want to see me again? She has joked about marriage several times before, but was that all they were? Jokes?
Of course, it was in that moment that I realized I loved her. Truly, deeply love her.
She seemed “gone”- somewhere else, in her own little world. I led her over to a nearby bench, just a few meters from the water. The lapping waves would calm her, I hoped.
“Do you love me, Micheal?” Her voice rang out like a line of silver bells, only happy to be ringing.
I knew the answer. I had just decided only moments ago. But I thought for a moment, reflecting. I thought of the last two years, countless dates and small, private moments that I would cherish forever.
“Of course I do. But why…?”
“I love you, too.”
She moved, suddenly, turning around and reaching under the heavy coat. With baited breath, I watched.
In the next moment, she conjured a small box. It was unlike anything Man or Mortal-crafted. It was a wood I had never seen, that glittered in the moonlight like an unmarred field of snow.
She opened the box and revealed two large, golden, twisted rings- one that ended with snarling wolves, the other with sleek wise looking crows.
“I realized I loved you a year ago, today. Do you remember?”
I nodded. How could I forget? Instead of going on a date, we had spent the week fighting in a local tournament. Neither of us cared that we lost out in the round robin (I admit with no shame the fault was mine, even if she disagreed for my benefit), only that we had spent the exciting week together. It was on that day, the previous Valentine’s, that we had been awarded silver medals and celebrated with the finest dinner we could afford with the winnings.
“And I want to spend the rest of my life with you”, she finished plainly.
“Can you not?”
“Of course,” she began, “I could spend the rest of _your_ life with you. But not _mine.”_
Realization dawned on me then. She was Immortal; I was not.
She continued, “But we can change that. And that’s why…”
“Why?” I demanded, nearly shouting. I clapped a hand to my mouth, ashamed of breaking that stoicism she had complimented so many times.
“Why I hesitated and waited for so long before coming to you.”
And she explained her plan. We could “Oath” to each other. It was a magical binding, more serious than a wedding or any legal document. An Oathing would bing us to each other, through eternity. And, because she was Immortal, the Oathing would grant Immortality to me.
I had one question. One burning question I had kept buried for two years.
“But, Caoimhe, why _me?”_
We sat in silence for a long while, holding each other in the waning night and early spring cold.
“Why _not_ you?” | Out of the blue I got a message on the dating app, I had been in a slump for a while and things were looking pretty bleak. The person who tagged me was tall blonde and Scandinavian, I saw the pictures on the dating app and thought holy cow she is definitely out of my league. Why is she contacting me? Someone is catfishing me was my second thought. In retrospect if I only had been that lucky.
I immediately looked at her profile and was stunned by what I saw. Tall blonde Scandinavian and out of my league. Her profile said she enjoyed Canadian Football, rugby league, Mixed Martial Arts, violent movies, sailing and military history.
As I read her profile I thought there is no way this is a real person but I was in the slump to end all slumps and thought what the hell do you have to lose? Let's roll the dice and lets see where this goes. If someone is catfishing me this should be a interesting to see who really shows up. So I set up a date with her that first night thinking that no way in hell is she going to show up. This can't be a real person.
So I started the DM chain with her.
Me: How about we meet for drinks at Fred's Bar and Grill? Tonight at 8 pm?
Freyja: Great - looking forward to meeting you.
Me: You need an address?
Freyja: I can find it. See you soon. XOXO.
Me: Great see you there.
As I read the DM exchange I knew that sure as heck this was a trap or some kind of catfishing adventure because no woman that hot throws out the XOXO in the first DM exchange.
What I didn't tell her or him or them was that Fred's Bar and Grill was a little bit sketchy, actually who was I kidding it was a lot sketchy. At any rate I figured this would be interesting to see if anyone showed up as Fred's tonight, if not I would have a couple of beers and hit Jack in the Box on the way home for some late night artery clogging munchies, pass out and live life as if this had never happened.
It was a Tuesday night and Fred's Bar and Grill was just as busy as it should have been on a week night, with ten or twelve patrons in the place. Most were at the bar or shooting pool while I was sitting at the bar. When she walked through the door I was half way through Coor's beer number three, Talk about pleasantly surprised and exceeding expectations.
At first glimpse all I could think of was that old George Jones song - The one I loved Back Then - with the lyrics "She was the fastest thing around - Long and lean, every young man's dream." To say she was beautiful was an understatement.
I am not exaggerating in any way shape or form when I say everyone in the bar stopped to watch her walk across the floor and take a bar stool next to me. She was every bit of 6 foot tall, and wearing a much too short black dress mini skirt outfit with heels that were borderline impossible from a physics and engineering standpoint. After a few uncomfortable moments she opened the conversation with "You can blink now Steve."
I shook my head and apologized to her. "Sorry I just didn't know if you were real as the photos were perfect and almost way too perfect."
Freyja answered matter of factly with a hint of a Scandinavian accent. "Believe it or not, I get that a lot."
I ordered her a beer, I have no clue as to what it was, it was something dark and had a foreign name to it. She ever so gracefully grabbed her glass of beer and motioned to a table towards the back of the bar.
As we headed to the table to talk I could feel all the eyes in the place on us. The women's eyes full of jealousy and hatred come to think of it all the men's eyes were full of jealousy and hatred.
As we sat and made small talk the stronger the feeling grew that something was just not right. The hair on the back of my neck was standing straight up. I just could not shake the feeling that something was very wrong or very right. |
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