post_text stringlengths 0 10k | post_title stringlengths 8 313 | chosen stringlengths 1 39.5k | rejected stringlengths 1 13.8k |
|---|---|---|---|
[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... | I think ultimately it all began back when I first read Sun Tzu. Hell, maybe even just with my fascination with history back in school.
--
Growing up, I always found history to just be so INTERESTING. I could never learn enough about it. All the epic clashes of powerful civilizations at odds with one another, in bloodthirsty conquest to see their ideals and machinations be the one on top in the end. Seeing how these nations rose and fell, how they succeeded and how they failed, it always gave me such insight into how we as humans work, and how we can learn from those mistakes to hopefully not repeat them in the future. That is the basis of civilization after all.
Back when I was in college though, that's when things started to get weird. I was always pretty laid back by nature, but I found that when on the rare occasion that a friend was able to drag me away from my studies to challenge me to a drinking contest, or to play some video game of theirs, I would always end up the victor. That is, not that I was actually any GOOD at these things in the slightest, quite the contrary: I was a man obsessed with my study of the past, and with eyes only for books, so drinking and socializing were so far from my realm of knowledge, that I was always an awkward addition to any social gathering. Yet, even when I could barely choke down a single sip of alcohol, I'd find that the handful of others competing with me would all suddenly become violently sick by the very idea of alcohol despite many of them being seasoned alcoholics. I'd find the most experienced of gamers to suddenly have no idea how to even hold their own controllers properly when they invited me to play.
Strange as the occurrences were, they were infrequent enough that I paid them little mind. There was, however, one area of my life in particular that these odd occurrences were much more annoying: my love life. While it always seemed that I was somehow winning at most things, it became more and more clear that every date I went on would end in utter failure and catastrophe. I would simply chalk it up to my frankly antisocial and singularly past-oriented obsessive mind, but it always seemed to be some odd occurrence that made it a failure, rather than a lack of chemistry. I would find myself with someone whom i'd known and gotten along with well just fine for years, and only once it become a technical 'date' that it would suddenly become some actual disaster that we'd both never wish to speak about again afterwards.
It was only once some friends had gotten together and successfully convinced me that I should put aside my obsessive focus on the past and focus more of my efforts on dating, that things truly came to an apex though. With my obsessive nature in singular drive, It was really hard to get me to stop when I truly had a goal in mind to work towards, even when the universe itself was seemingly against you at every turn.
For about three weeks now, i've been doing nothing but setting up as many date's as possible per day, and watching each and every one end in more and more spectacularly absurd of a disaster. No less than a dozen different cars failed, several restaurants around the county needed to be shut-down, and about a handful hospitalized (none dead, thankfully). With each and each date it almost felt like the level of absurdity in the failure kept increasing almost as a way to dissuade me from trying again.
I'd think I sound utterly crazy about all this, if it wasn't for the girl who showed up at my door today.
-
She wore a gown of ethereal shadows, moving and swaying into and out of existence like some sort of black fire in slow motion. While the otherworldliness of it was stunning, it also somehow came across as lazy, like something a shut-in would wear to bed. The cognitive incongruency in my perceptive elements almost hurt to think about too much. The aura of unquestionable dominance and power would have easily overwhelmed me, if it weren't somehow counterbalanced by an even more unusual feeling of strange familiarity in the girl standing before me. It felt somewhat like meeting a longtime internet friend for the first time.... except that the friend never existed, and the feeling is somehow instead generated for this strange shadow presence that now looms in my doorway.
"Hey so uh, can we uh, talk for a bit?"
Her voice sounded like it came from everywhere at once, yet still from a singular point. Like a thousand voices, but one at the same time. Behind all of the conflicting elements though was the gnawing feeling of familiarity. Like something on the tip of your tongue, the forefront of my brain, unable to remember, but knowing all the same that this is happening very much for the first time. Like Deja Vu, but for a person. Despite the otherworldly imposing presence that loomed in the doorway, it felt oddly like she was the one more intimidated as she fidgeted and stuttered in my doorway.
"Do I...... have we....."
My words trail off, totally unsure where to even begin my flood of questions. Even without properly vocalizing it, it seemed like the understood all the same.
"Oh, no, no we haven't. No that's just.... Okay so like, not officially no. Not in person, at least..."
It answered almost nothing, yet her very presence and existence in my doorway spoke so many volumes more that I fear a whole army of writers would fail to comprehend the full implications therein. More importantly than all that though, I realized the more immediate and almost shockingly petty thing which it implied.
"Wait, i'm.... you.... You're the one who kept ruining my dates?"
[Part one. Have to sleep. May write part 2 tomorrow!] | 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. | |
[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?” | I'd only went on a first date with them because of the horse in their profile pic. A chestnut with a long, red mane and eyes like fire. But nearly a two weeks after that awful night they're still texting me every night. The fact that their hobbies included the board game Risk should have been enough of a red flag to warn me off.
They were charming enough at first, even a little romantic, and they didn't look half bad from a distance. My schedule has been pretty full the last couple weeks with work so we met up for a quick lunch, a nice little sandwich shop. Sadly the shop's only semi-vegetarian option was a tuna salad sub, don't get me wrong, I love tuna salad, I just have to make sure that I don't end up eating it more than once a week or it gets pretty boring. I can't remember what my date ordered, I think it was something with barbecue sauce on it because I remember trying to think of a funny pun to say but I was stuck on calling them a BBCutie which was perhaps a bit too forward for having just met. They insisted that we sit facing the entrance which was kinda strange, I'd wanted to sit out in the sun but they said that it was too crowded. It didn't cost me any effort to accommodate them so I just went with it.
The couple at the table next to us was bickering quietly about something inane. Our own conversation was a little bland too, we both glossed over any details about what we did for work, well, they said that they "patrolled the earth, stirring up war and all manner of strife"
At the time I assumed that just meant they travelled for work and liked to gossip. We bonded a little over both being stressed by work and not sleeping enough.
By the time we got our sandwiches the couple that was bickering had escalated into screaming at each other. I was so overwhelmed that I ended up just giving my date my phone number and taking my sandwich back to work to eat it. My date had been staring at the door too so I think they wanted to leave as well, oddly, when I touched their hand to hand them the napkin with my number they jumped as though I'd startled them.
Our second date was a little more formal, dinner at a nice restaurant. I was originally worried that they were going to ghost me after I abandoned them on the first date but we had some pretty solid text conversations in the intervening days. We met at a park close to the restaurant. I just walked from my apartment and they had some friends drop them off, the driver of the black sedan was a skinny white guy, I didn't really see in the backseat, all I saw was someone lost in a black hoodie and I kept hearing a third person coughing.
Our reservation wasn't until seven so we wandered around the park for a bit. I showed him around the duck pond, they were all quite friendly to me because I usually throw them frozen peas on my way to work. The ducks stayed well clear of my date though. This was apparently for good reason because when one walked close enough he kicked it.
I'm not terribly proud of this but I pushed them right into the pond and ran. He kept texting me for the rest of the day, one downside of phones becoming waterproof recently. | |
[WP] Gods choose their agents based on who can serve them best. You, a young but renowned healer is chosen by the God of Death. | As the young cleric knelt before the altar, he felt the spiritual pressure built as a supernatural being entered the chamber with him.
*Finally! There may be hope for me yet!*
"My goddess," He stood, lifting his shield and hammer off the floor. "I-"
The being before him was not what he had been expecting. Not in the slightest.
"You are not my goddess." he said flatly.
"No. I am not. What gave it away?"
The figure before him was cloaked in dark robes, old and frayed. He held a long crooked staff in one hand. His face was gaunt and colorless, but in his sunken eye sockets were eyes of such a pale but brilliant blue they practically shone in the dim light of the cathedral.
No, it wasn't just an illusion, they actually *were* glowing.
Elias the cleric was dumbfounded. Unsure of his next move. Unsure if he was in danger. But most of all, unsure of why he found himself holding court with this deity instead of his own.
"Are... Are you here to answer my prayers?" He finally managed.
"In a way... yes."
"But why isn't-"
"Because she has abandoned you"
It was as though he'd been struck in the chest. He actually stumbled a few steps backward as he nearly lost his balance. His worst fear had come to fruition. The fortune teller had spoken truth.
"Steady yourself cleric, all is not lost" His voice was surprisingly powerful coming from such a sleight body. "You yet have call to serve."
The cleric looked back up, meeting this new beings gaze.
"I, Am Raziel. Lord of Death. And I call upon you to serve."
The shock of this request was so deep that his mind needed all of it's power to simply believe it had been made of him. It left nothing for outward emotion. So he simply stood in silence. Raziel waited, stoic. This clearly wasn't the first time he'd dealt with someone locked in the throes of an existential crisis. After all, death is nothing if not patient.
Eventually Elias' mind caught up with him, and he was again able to speak.
"I cannot serve death. I swore an oath!"
"And yet you *faltered."* Raziel shot back. "As with most things in this world, it is a question of faith."
Elias was equal parts confused and angered. How dare *anyone* question his faith. And yet, it was no lie that his ability had faded. That in all likelihood, his Goddess had, in fact, abandoned him.
"Besides," Raziel continued, "it's really just a matter of perspective-"
"Perspective?!"
"*Indeed."* The lord of death said with a glare. Apparently he did not appreciate being interrupted. "From MY perspective... you have been serving me your whole life."
"That's insanity." Elias replied, "I SAVE lives."
"Ah yes, but without life, there is no death. Your actions have never cancelled, never undone." Raziel stepped forward into the light between them. "You merely stave off the inevitable, ensuring that it's arrival is at the correct time, in the correct place. You have seen my domain as the enemy, as something to be feared, to be held at bay. But all this time you have been unknowingly serving it. Serving order."
Elias had to admit that made a degree of sense. Perhaps this could be the answer to his prayers. He started to feel that burning in his chest. The call. The pride of service.
"What... What would you ask of me?"
Raziel smiled, briefly. "I have a very specific task for you. There are those who defy me. Defy order. Creatures who live in death. No doubt you've heard stories of the Liches?"
"I have."
"All which lives... Must die. A Lich is a profane being, one who defiles the natural order. They must all be destroyed. I want you to hunt them, but also to continue your work. Heal the sick, mend the wounded, purify the accursed. Maintain. Order."
Elias gripped his hammer and shield tighter, standing tall.
"Do you accept my call?" Raziel held out his hand.
"I accept." | "Why me?"
"There is no death without life, and no life without death."
"That doesn't explain what I'm supposed to do. You can't expect me to kill, I swore an oath to the Gods of healing!"
"Listen, just keep doing what you did before."
"Help people?"
"Yes. I may be a God of death but my only role is to guide the soul to the afterlife, I mean no harm to anybody."
"Yes, but what do you get from this?"
The figure sighed and sat down
"Look man, I'll be honest... this job is too damn busy. Do you know how many people die every day?"
"A lo-"
"Exactly. A. LOT. I just need a short break with less souls flowing in for a bit... just a short vacation, that is all I'm asking for."
"So... thats it? I just need to heal more efficiently for a bit?"
"I would really appreciate that. Just give it your best. Think you can handle it?"
"Yeah I suppo-"
"Good."
And with that he dissapeared in a cloud of mist, leaving me to question what I had gotten into. | |
[WP] Your opponent has just won the championship, while you finished in second place. Shortly after the festivities, you walk down the hall, angry and disappointed with yourself, and find your opponent sitting on the floor with the trophy in hand and crying. | Take this, I don't want it!
The champion threw the trophy at my head. Luckily, I dodged just in time. The trophy made a mixture of noises as it fell to the ground and the wooden base detached from the metal of the trophy.
- What the fuck. What is wrong with you?
The champion started sobbing uncontrollably. Confusion started taking over me as my anger started to fade.
- You won. You’re the champ. What’s wrong?
Through his sobs I could hear him mutter again and again.
- I am fucked. I am totally totally fucked.
- I don’t understand. Why? What’s wrong?
The champ gathered himself and said in a shaky voice.
- I’ve betted all my money on you. I’ve betted my savings, my wedding ring, my kids college fund on you.
- You tried to fix the game?
- No I didn’t. I just didn’t think it was possible. I didn’t believe..
I looked at him in disbelief.
- You thought I was going to win?
- I knew that you were going to win. No actually I knew I was going to lose. I’m a loser. Everyone knows that.
I felt sad again not for my loss this time but for my opponent. Sad and confused.
- You have to believe in yourself or you’ll never succeed.
- I don’t know how. I tried, I tried all my life. But every time I try, I hear my father’s voice whispering: give up, stop trying, you’ll be always a loser to me.
- But you won. I argued.
- Even when I win, I lose.
I hugged the champion and managed to say through my sorrow and my tears: I guess our fathers were right. We are losers. | Penny could not believe her eyes. She had been doing this for quite some time now, but the reaction speed of her opponent made her feel so small. Like the past four years of spending days and days behind the subtle glow of a monitor was for nothing.
Penny had just competed in the biggest E-sport event of the year for a dying game she chose to specialize in. As she sat in an over-sized computer chair with a large golden arch of the sponsor plastered in every empty space, spotlights and flashing lights continued to shimmy over her and the stage. With every flash, Penny was brought back to reality again; swimming in a spiral of self-doubt and disappointment.
The stage had two large desks facing each other. They donned the tacky golden arches along with the chairs, every square inch covered so there was no mistaking this companies involvement. Although, when all the furniture was on the stage, they had a look of being quite dated.
Confetti was now dancing it’s way into Penny’s mouth and eyes. She finally came to when the combination of glitter and laser pointers became too much to ignore.
Penny felt like she could see herself stand up and shake the hand of her opponent. Almost like she was controlling her body with a mouse and keyboard. When she finally directed herself off stage and away from the shouting fans, Penny snapped back to her body and found herself in a locker room.
The gaming company had to rent out a high school gym for the event. It was like they tried to hide this fact with all the extra lights and posters, like they were embarrassed their game was dying, if not dead already. Penny compared it to trying to make a hot-dog fancy. She managed a chuckle, which helped her start thinking about a more positive outlook on getting 2nd place. After all, it was SHE who chose this terrible, broken, unbalanced game in the first place!
Penny could still hear the crowd of people and the redundancy of the top fifty pop music blasting through the speakers as she sat in the dark, separated from everyone in an empty locker room of a high school. Penny could feel the color returning to her cheeks and almost got mad at herself for acting like such a sore loser. Her opponent must have worked even harder than herself, so she should be celebrating with them and congratulating them on their hard earned victory. She let out another chuckle as she stood up to return to the stage and crowd of people.
“Ya know, second place is still great. I’m still proud of myself. And it was fun. I shouldn’t be so negative!” Penny said to herself in an attempt to convince herself this was how she actually felt.
Suddenly, she heard a strange noise erupt from the hallway. It sounded like a frog had grown fifty times its size and looked in a mirror for the first time. Penny rushed out in confusion, half expecting to see something otherworldly.
In a way, she did.
Her opponent, the one that had just won, was holding the trophy in his left hand as it stood taller than him on the floor. He was hunched over, on the ground, and making sounds fit for a cow giving birth.
Penny approached the crumpled figure and tall bright trophy with caution and reached a hand out to touch him on the shoulder. As she crouched down she asked him “uhh, YeetusKing, sorry I don’t remember your actual name. Are you … uh.. sad?”
Fuck, she thought. Penny was very skilled with her hands, but her ways with words was somewhat lacking. “Sorry, I know you are sad. Duh. Oh my god, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that out loud!”
The small figure on the ground stopped making loud, jarring sobs and flinched slightly when Penny put her hand on his shoulder.
“My name is Tim,” YeetusKing stated in a wet and somber way, “it’s ok. I suck at talking too.”
Penny looked over YeetusKing and could see he was still tense, almost like he was scared of her. He had just beaten her in-front of thousands of people, why was he acting this way?
“Umm. Well. Thank you?” Penny often questioned if she really did have a grasp on the English language. “I wanted to say congrats by the way. I’m sorry if I came off as a sore loser. You played incredibly. Your reaction speed is insane! I’m honestly jealous.”
He winced when Penny started complimenting him. Suddenly he looked up towards her with a strange new look of determination. “Penny. I have to tell you something.” His eyes looked more determined than ever, and she had a strange feeling what he was about to say was harder for him than winning the tournament.
“I didn’t really win. They… they contacted me about a year ago…” he started to trail off slightly than regained his confidence. “They told me I’d be their golden boy. Their poster child. I just had to not say anything. But I can’t anymore. You have worked so hard and had everything thrown at you, Penny. Everyone knows you get treated like shit in this industry just for being a women. And yet you still work so hard!” His eyes were brimming with tears again, like a glass with liquid poured too heavily. “It’s rigged! It’s all rigged! They know the game is dead and they are just squeezing every last bit of money they can out of this. I’m so sorry, I never said anything. About them, about the people heckling you, I’m so sorry I never said anything!”
Penny stood back up when she heard this. The pathetic figure whom she was just comforting now seemed like someone with the plague. She wanted to stay away from him, like she could catch this bout of sniveling and suffering. Emotions were boiling up inside of her, but anger was the most prevalent. She had ignored the remarks, the sexist comments, the clear favoritism. She had buried it deep inside of her but when she registered what YeetusKing had said, the damn holding back the years of pain burst open like the wall from Helms Deep. Too long has this gone on. Too long has this world been dominated by chauvinistic points of view. Too long has “the man” controlled everything and ruined the principle of honesty. Fuck this pathetic creature in front of Penny. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness. Maybe after he tells the world.
At this thought, Penny felt despair replacing the anger. Even if he were to tell the world, I doubt the world would care.
______________________________
This is my first time ever writing a short story. I probably have sooo many mistakes. But I had a lot of fun and want to keep doing this!
Cheers | |
Edit: How did this get famous? Lmao | [WP] "But...this place is my home!" He stopped pacing around and stared at me in annoyance, "You've died 349 times in this place...and yet still you call this place 'home'?" | “Home is where the heart is after all,” I said.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve died in this house 349 times so far,” said Jim.
This wasn’t the first time a time traveler had come to me to try and get me out of my time loop. At first, I had created a loop field around my living space so that I could relive the same day over and over again. Each time I would do something different, usually leading to my brutal death, but after about death 100 I got used to it.
“Truth be told, I just don’t want to go back to reality again. I like the predictability here. I can take notes and observe things because each day happens the same and I can experiment safely and go back to normal,” I said.
Jim sighed and looked at me.
“You’ve been crushed by your refrigerator, stung to death by wasps, and have been set on fire and you still prefer this to reality? How can you be afraid of the outside when all this has happened to you?” asked Jim.
“But the outside is scary,” I said.
“Well as a time traveler, I can’t force you to take any actions. I can only try and guide you in the right path. Seeing as how you don’t want to touch any grass, I’ll be returning every day until you do.”
“Ok that’s fine. I don’t care, I'm going to have my morning coffee,” I said.
I walked over to my coffee maker and grabbed the mug. The unexpected heat from the handle caused me to spill it on a wire and electrocute myself yet again. Jim sighed and shook his head as I got ready to enter the next loop.
“If this is what you really want then go for it,” said Jim. “But just remember, the longer you’re here, the tougher it’ll be to escape your ‘comfortable’ loop.”
I knew Jim was right deep down, but at this point the house was a part of me. If I was going to escape, I’d have to change everything I knew. My comfort zone would be broken, but sometimes that’s what needs to happen for change. | # Soulmage
**"I'm sorry, I've done** ***what*** **three hundred and forty-nine times?"** I asked, blanching.
Sansen grimaced. "Sorry. The oracular trance... I've seen you die here, three hundred and forty-nine times. In three hundred and forty-eight futures that never were."
"Wait." I set down my cup of slurry. "How did I die three hundred and forty-*nine* times if you only looked into three hundred and forty-*eight* futures?"
"Necromancer in one of them," Sansen idly said, waving a hand. "Look, the point is this. Remember the Battle of Silentfell?"
I shuddered. "How could I not? I still have nightmares about Odin and his forces tromping up and down the streets and blowing up everything in sight."
"Yeah. Well. I was an oracle trying to keep the people I love safe. I'm not trying to diminish your traumas or anything, but... you only lived through that battle in real time, once. I *died* through it more times than you can count."
"But you can count them," I murmured.
Sansen closed his eyes. "Every single one," he agreed.
Put that way... I could totally see why Sansen had hidden his oracular abilities when the draft for the war came. If the poor old man had gone through hell and back just to survive one battle, I shuddered to think what those freaks in the Silent Parliament would do if they got their hands on him for the course of an entire war.
And I could see why Sansen wanted to leave the city.
"This place..." I hesitated, then continued. "It's the closest thing I have to a home. Ever since Sorrowfell was destroyed for the last time."
Sansen tilted his head, and for some reason the old man looked curiously puppyish.
"But..." Memories flashed behind my eyes as I stared around the old, solid wooden house. *Here* was where I'd hidden in the saferoom with Sansen as Odin's forces entered the mountain. *There* was the church where I'd been shoved out of the teleportation circle and stranded in the middle of a warzone. "It's getting worse," I finally said. "The only thing that makes this home is my friends and family."
Sansen gave me a tired smile. "You can take those with you," he said.
"I can take them with me," I agreed.
He stood and held out a hand. "I'll be packing. Three days from today."
I raised an eyebrow. "That an oracle's prediction?"
"It's your uncle's promise."
I smiled and took his hand, and the old man hauled me to my feet.
Then I left the house that Sansen and his husband had built with their own two hands, to gather my friends and tell them to flee.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-one other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. |
Edit: How did this get famous? Lmao | [WP] "But...this place is my home!" He stopped pacing around and stared at me in annoyance, "You've died 349 times in this place...and yet still you call this place 'home'?" | "I'm not leaving." I sat down, arms crossed over my body. The angel, —no longer in their most unnerving form of spinning eyes,— sat down across from me. They looked exasperated.
"Despite my best efforts, I've lost count of how many times-"
"349." I interrupted. I hadn't lost count. The angel got up — they seemed to have difficulty sitting still— and began pacing.
"This is nonsense, this place is obviously dangerous and horrible. Why do you want to stay?" They asked, gesturing around them.
"Because. It's my home." I said. They stopped in their tracks, staring at me. It was hard to tell if they were annoyed or incredulous. Probably both. We stayed that way for a few minutes, the angel obviously searching for words.
"You've died 349 times. Here. And you still call it home?" The tone suggested that the angel was questioning my sanity. Perhaps they had a right to. They had been with me since the beginning.
"What else would you call the place you live in? That you love, and that you feel most comfortable in? That holds all the people you care about, and who care about you?" My voice cracked a little on the last few words. In my last death, I had lost one of those people. Scrubbing a hand over their face, the angel once again plopped down.
"I wasn't asking for your definition of the word home. I just don't understand why it has to be here. Why not anywhere else? I've been given permission to take you anywhere you like. Instantly, with no lasting repercussions."
"Anywhere?" I asked, knowing that one word would give the angel hope. Sure enough, they sat up straighter, eyes fixing on mine. I pretended to think. "Well, I quite like that hill over there, been trying to get there for a while...." Trailing off, I watched as the angel slumped. They were a bit predictable.
"Look. I like it here. And I've told you before. You don't have to stay. I know it would probably be a better mark on your record if you left." The angel was shaking their head before I finished the sentence.
"It's my job to guard you. That's what I am, and even if you choose to live here," they shuddered. "Then that's what I'm going to do."
I rose, dusting off my linen pants. The landscape around me, painted in tones of red, orange, yellow and black shifted in the edges of my vision. Holding out a hand to the angel, I smiled.
"Well then. Let's get wandering. There's a lot of ground to cover before we can rest." Taking my hand the angel rose, starting to shimmer into their terrifying form. I began walking, knowing they'd catch up. Being sent here might have been a clerical error when I first had a near-death experience. But I hadn't been lying. It was my home. A slight hissing noise came from behind me. My guardian angel had caught up, and travelling together, we began our endless journey across Hell. My home. | # Soulmage
**"I'm sorry, I've done** ***what*** **three hundred and forty-nine times?"** I asked, blanching.
Sansen grimaced. "Sorry. The oracular trance... I've seen you die here, three hundred and forty-nine times. In three hundred and forty-eight futures that never were."
"Wait." I set down my cup of slurry. "How did I die three hundred and forty-*nine* times if you only looked into three hundred and forty-*eight* futures?"
"Necromancer in one of them," Sansen idly said, waving a hand. "Look, the point is this. Remember the Battle of Silentfell?"
I shuddered. "How could I not? I still have nightmares about Odin and his forces tromping up and down the streets and blowing up everything in sight."
"Yeah. Well. I was an oracle trying to keep the people I love safe. I'm not trying to diminish your traumas or anything, but... you only lived through that battle in real time, once. I *died* through it more times than you can count."
"But you can count them," I murmured.
Sansen closed his eyes. "Every single one," he agreed.
Put that way... I could totally see why Sansen had hidden his oracular abilities when the draft for the war came. If the poor old man had gone through hell and back just to survive one battle, I shuddered to think what those freaks in the Silent Parliament would do if they got their hands on him for the course of an entire war.
And I could see why Sansen wanted to leave the city.
"This place..." I hesitated, then continued. "It's the closest thing I have to a home. Ever since Sorrowfell was destroyed for the last time."
Sansen tilted his head, and for some reason the old man looked curiously puppyish.
"But..." Memories flashed behind my eyes as I stared around the old, solid wooden house. *Here* was where I'd hidden in the saferoom with Sansen as Odin's forces entered the mountain. *There* was the church where I'd been shoved out of the teleportation circle and stranded in the middle of a warzone. "It's getting worse," I finally said. "The only thing that makes this home is my friends and family."
Sansen gave me a tired smile. "You can take those with you," he said.
"I can take them with me," I agreed.
He stood and held out a hand. "I'll be packing. Three days from today."
I raised an eyebrow. "That an oracle's prediction?"
"It's your uncle's promise."
I smiled and took his hand, and the old man hauled me to my feet.
Then I left the house that Sansen and his husband had built with their own two hands, to gather my friends and tell them to flee.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-one other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. |
[WP] The Demon Lord wants to retire. After interviewing a bunch of his demon commanders, he realises there is no worthy successor. | It was a beautiful summer morning, and Alice was standing in the backyard, holding something in between her tiny arms. She was holding it tight, squeezing it with all the strength she had. If her parents weren’t too busy crying and screaming and throwing porcelain at each other, they would’ve certainly seen her, and they would’ve certainly seen that she was almost killing the neighbor’s cat.
Alice was seeing how long the beast could hold its breath before passing out. “Fifteen… Sixteen…” she counted, her face almost red from the effort, and she hoped the little thing would die soon or she’d reach the numbers she didn’t know. “Twenty… Twenty-one…”
And then the earth fractured.
She saw the crack forming in the ground, beyond the rusty swing and the old table by the fence. It was first a small hole, but it was growing quickly and devouring the grass and the soil around it. There was a strong crimson light shinning from it, and it felt so warm on her eyes she had to squint so she could stare.
A voice came out of the hole. She jumped and dropped the cat, and the little thing ran and ran for his dear life and jumped over the fence to Mrs. Green’s yard.
“*Little one…*” The hole spoke, and Alice thought she was hearing a thousand voices speaking all at once. “*Little one…*”
The hole grew and grew, and Alice could see the fire and the flame that awaited her at the other side. She got closer.
“*Little one…*”
“You made me lose count!” she screamed at the glowing hole. “I lost count and I lost the cat!”
The hole grew more and swallowed one of her old pink bicycles she hated so much. It was as big as a car now and she could feel its warmth, even from afar. Thick silvery smoke started coming out of it and started forming and condensing into some weird, bizarre shape. Suddenly, the smoke rose in temperature and started glowing, as if it was steel being worked on. It got denser and denser, and it turned into blood. Alice recognized something sprouting out of it.
It was a man.
“Little one” the voice said again, but this time it was only one voice. It was the man’s voice.
“Who are you?” Alice asked. She had forgotten all about the cat now. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve had many names. But for you, little one, for you I have none.”
“Huh…” Alice sighed, as if the thought of a man with no name was stranger than the flaming hole a few feet away from her.
“I am here to take you with me” he said. “If you would.”
“What for?”
The man smiled, and Alice felt the corners of his mouth reaching his pointy ears. She looked up —all the way up where her neck started hurting— to see his eyes. There was darkness in them.
“You’re very bright, aren’t you?” the man said.
“Not really…” Alice said. “I’m slow in class. Momma said they gon’ put me in a baby’s class if I don’t learn to read fast.”
“Ah… Reading… What’s it good for…”
“That’s what I say!”
“But you’re bright in other ways, aren’t you?” the man said, and Alice flustered. “With the other kids…”
“They all make fun of me!”
“Oh yes! They do. And what do you do to them, little one? What do you do to them when their momma’s not looking?”
“I… I hurt them…” Alice said and looked away. She could not look into his eyes anymore.
“How do you hurt them?” he asked. “Do you punch them?”
“No…”
“Do you kick them?”
“No.”
“Do you hit them?”
“No!” she shouted. “I hurt them! I hurt them bad! They kick me and they laugh and they call me *things*! And they spit on me!”
“And what do you do?”
“I kills them” Alice said. “I push Tommy and he felt to the tracks and the train was coming and he was crying and reaching for my hand. But I didn’t give him no hand. I just smiled at him. When the train got’em I was happy.”
The man chuckled. “What about Claire? What you do to little Claire?”
“She was stupid. She drank the poison. Cause I dared her.”
“Marvelous… Simply marvelous…”
“And Mrs. Green” Alice said, unprompted this time. “I kills her with the knife. She was mean. Always shouting, always mean. She’s not mean no more.”
The man smiled again, and Alice could see his sharp, wolf-like teeth showing behind his thin red lips. His eyes were shining with greed.
“Splendid” he said. “There’s greatness in you, little one. Oh yes!”
Alice smiled with strange innocence.
“Now, I must ask again. Will you come with me?” the man said.
“But why?”
“You know… I’ve been looking. Oh yeah… I’ve been looking” he said, and his voice was deeper now. “All across the Earth, and all across what lies below. Oh, the shame I felt! When I couldn’t find excellence in all my closest chiefs. My serving lackeys. All useless…”
“What…” She muttered.
“But you, little one, *Alice…*” he said, and the thousand voices were there again to say her name. “You posses such greatness. Such rage and fury. Such troubled mind.”
“What you want me for?”
“You’ll be the successor” he said.
“I’ll be what?” Alice could barely pronounce that word.
The man whispered. “*My* successor.” | \[Aurelio's Fun\]
"Begone," Dark Lord Oren dismissed the latest commander with a wave of his wrist and a sigh. The demon bowed and made himself scarce. "They're all useless...," Oren muttered to himself. He sat alone in his vast stone throne room as he weighed his options in his mind. He was bored of the kingdom already; but, he'd put work into getting it to where it was. He hoped to leave one of his demon commanders in charge but none of them were capable of the task.
"I suppose it's time for drastic measures...," he said. He concentrated for a moment and sent a Whisper to the first person on his list. Aurelio wasn't someone Oren considered a close friend; that's why he was first on the list. He was the most profitable prospect. It only took a moment for Aurelio to step into Oren's throne room through a portal.
"I'm definitely interested in taking over," Aury nodded as he approached Oren.
"I've invested quite heavily into this server...," Oren said. "It won't be cheap."
"Cheap?" Aury chuckled and shook his head. "I don't want to buy it; I thought you wanted a challenge."
"A challenge?!" Oren sat up straighter. "What did you have in mind?"
"Nothing," Aury shrugged. "I thought you had something in mind. Uh,..," he thought for a moment. "But, I think it's my turn anyway. So, how about...," He crossed his arms and tapped his chin while he thought. "...first to three knockdowns? Winner gets the server?" he asked.
"That does sound entertaining!" Oren grinned and stood from his throne. He approached Aury, but paused before they shook hands. "But... I already own this server," Oren said. "What are you betting?"
"Oh, right...," Aury nodded. "Uhh.. nodes?" He held up four nodes in his hand fanned out like cards. Oren chuckled and held his own hand up with twice as many nodes.
"I create nanos, remember?" he asked.
"Oh yeah...," Aurelio did know that, of course. But, he was caught by surprise. It was his own fault for rushing into the situation. Oren asked him if he wanted to take over the server and Aurelio was there in an instant; he should have known what to expect from Oren by now. Aurelio owned a few of his own servers already; but, this one was leveled by Oren himself. More than anything, he wanted to study it and try to learn whatever secrets he could. Except, at the moment, he would have an easier time raising the money to buy it from Oren than finding something that interested him. Though, as he ran down a list of friends he could possibly borrow money from, Jenny crossed his mind. Not only would she have the money to lend, she also likely had some new gadget that interested Oren.
"Well...," Oren said loudly. "If you can't think of anything, I'm sure I can sell it to someone else." The added pressure of missing out made Aurelio realize he already had some of Jenny's tech that Oren might like.
"Wait!" Aury said. He stepped forward and pulled out a red translucent node. "What about this?" The fact that he was offering to bet Jenny's project only crossed his mind briefly. But, the thought was ignored. Past experience told Aurelio he was better than Oren; and, he would likely win again. Oren tilted his head at the red node.
"What's that?" he asked. His eyes glowed red as he asked the question. He was inspecting it; but, he still felt compelled to know more.
"It's a project Jenny's working on," Aurelio said with a grin. He knew the challenge was accepted as soon as he mentioned Jenny's name. Oren did not disappoint.
"Jenny?" he asked. He stepped closer and his eyes glowed brighter. Then, he nodded to himself when the glow faded. "Yes, her encryption is much better than yours. Very well," Oren offered his hand. "I accept your challenge. I will wager this server against that node. Triple knockdown, winner take all."
"Alright," Aurelio grinned. "It's a bet."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1606 in a row. (Story #160 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on June. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until August 19th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/v6bapz/aurelios_sun_1st_half/). | |
[WP] The Demon Lord wants to retire. After interviewing a bunch of his demon commanders, he realises there is no worthy successor. | “None are acceptable”
“Including Commander Evernight?”
“Especially Evernight, Periwinkle. What sort of demon chooses the name Evernight upon awakening?”
“I imagine the misguided kind, sir.”
“We’re able to change it. He’s wisened up by now. Having an edgelord is unacceptable.”
“I can hardly put that down in the report, sir.”
“Oh, he fails due to plenty of other reasons. His troops lack the discipline necessary to maintain competence. I’m not talking about the troops’ scales having enough sheen. On an expedition into the UnderForest there were regular instances of the shock troops defecating onto the bare ground, and not bothering to collect the droppings.”
“That’s toxic to the inhabitants of that sector-”
“And after those troops were rounded up and exiled into the void Evernight was given a metaphorical slap on the wrist. It’s all we can really do with the regulations. Infernal shit to the lowest, but makes commander and above untouchable for all but the worst offences.”
“So not Evernight.”
“Not Evernight. Sebastian is the closest. If we absolutely cannot find any other infernal soul to lead these bastards, then we’ll have to settle for him.”
“Not a grand endorsement, sir.”
“No, Periwinkle. He’s just, ah -”
“... stunningly mediocre?”
“I was thinking the embodiment of ‘meh’, but yes.”
“He has never managed to inspire, sir. I may banish myself out of sheer boredom if you select him.” | \[Aurelio's Fun\]
"Begone," Dark Lord Oren dismissed the latest commander with a wave of his wrist and a sigh. The demon bowed and made himself scarce. "They're all useless...," Oren muttered to himself. He sat alone in his vast stone throne room as he weighed his options in his mind. He was bored of the kingdom already; but, he'd put work into getting it to where it was. He hoped to leave one of his demon commanders in charge but none of them were capable of the task.
"I suppose it's time for drastic measures...," he said. He concentrated for a moment and sent a Whisper to the first person on his list. Aurelio wasn't someone Oren considered a close friend; that's why he was first on the list. He was the most profitable prospect. It only took a moment for Aurelio to step into Oren's throne room through a portal.
"I'm definitely interested in taking over," Aury nodded as he approached Oren.
"I've invested quite heavily into this server...," Oren said. "It won't be cheap."
"Cheap?" Aury chuckled and shook his head. "I don't want to buy it; I thought you wanted a challenge."
"A challenge?!" Oren sat up straighter. "What did you have in mind?"
"Nothing," Aury shrugged. "I thought you had something in mind. Uh,..," he thought for a moment. "But, I think it's my turn anyway. So, how about...," He crossed his arms and tapped his chin while he thought. "...first to three knockdowns? Winner gets the server?" he asked.
"That does sound entertaining!" Oren grinned and stood from his throne. He approached Aury, but paused before they shook hands. "But... I already own this server," Oren said. "What are you betting?"
"Oh, right...," Aury nodded. "Uhh.. nodes?" He held up four nodes in his hand fanned out like cards. Oren chuckled and held his own hand up with twice as many nodes.
"I create nanos, remember?" he asked.
"Oh yeah...," Aurelio did know that, of course. But, he was caught by surprise. It was his own fault for rushing into the situation. Oren asked him if he wanted to take over the server and Aurelio was there in an instant; he should have known what to expect from Oren by now. Aurelio owned a few of his own servers already; but, this one was leveled by Oren himself. More than anything, he wanted to study it and try to learn whatever secrets he could. Except, at the moment, he would have an easier time raising the money to buy it from Oren than finding something that interested him. Though, as he ran down a list of friends he could possibly borrow money from, Jenny crossed his mind. Not only would she have the money to lend, she also likely had some new gadget that interested Oren.
"Well...," Oren said loudly. "If you can't think of anything, I'm sure I can sell it to someone else." The added pressure of missing out made Aurelio realize he already had some of Jenny's tech that Oren might like.
"Wait!" Aury said. He stepped forward and pulled out a red translucent node. "What about this?" The fact that he was offering to bet Jenny's project only crossed his mind briefly. But, the thought was ignored. Past experience told Aurelio he was better than Oren; and, he would likely win again. Oren tilted his head at the red node.
"What's that?" he asked. His eyes glowed red as he asked the question. He was inspecting it; but, he still felt compelled to know more.
"It's a project Jenny's working on," Aurelio said with a grin. He knew the challenge was accepted as soon as he mentioned Jenny's name. Oren did not disappoint.
"Jenny?" he asked. He stepped closer and his eyes glowed brighter. Then, he nodded to himself when the glow faded. "Yes, her encryption is much better than yours. Very well," Oren offered his hand. "I accept your challenge. I will wager this server against that node. Triple knockdown, winner take all."
"Alright," Aurelio grinned. "It's a bet."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1606 in a row. (Story #160 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on June. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until August 19th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/v6bapz/aurelios_sun_1st_half/). | |
[WP] The Demon Lord wants to retire. After interviewing a bunch of his demon commanders, he realises there is no worthy successor. | “None are acceptable”
“Including Commander Evernight?”
“Especially Evernight, Periwinkle. What sort of demon chooses the name Evernight upon awakening?”
“I imagine the misguided kind, sir.”
“We’re able to change it. He’s wisened up by now. Having an edgelord is unacceptable.”
“I can hardly put that down in the report, sir.”
“Oh, he fails due to plenty of other reasons. His troops lack the discipline necessary to maintain competence. I’m not talking about the troops’ scales having enough sheen. On an expedition into the UnderForest there were regular instances of the shock troops defecating onto the bare ground, and not bothering to collect the droppings.”
“That’s toxic to the inhabitants of that sector-”
“And after those troops were rounded up and exiled into the void Evernight was given a metaphorical slap on the wrist. It’s all we can really do with the regulations. Infernal shit to the lowest, but makes commander and above untouchable for all but the worst offences.”
“So not Evernight.”
“Not Evernight. Sebastian is the closest. If we absolutely cannot find any other infernal soul to lead these bastards, then we’ll have to settle for him.”
“Not a grand endorsement, sir.”
“No, Periwinkle. He’s just, ah -”
“... stunningly mediocre?”
“I was thinking the embodiment of ‘meh’, but yes.”
“He has never managed to inspire, sir. I may banish myself out of sheer boredom if you select him.” | It was a beautiful summer morning, and Alice was standing in the backyard, holding something in between her tiny arms. She was holding it tight, squeezing it with all the strength she had. If her parents weren’t too busy crying and screaming and throwing porcelain at each other, they would’ve certainly seen her, and they would’ve certainly seen that she was almost killing the neighbor’s cat.
Alice was seeing how long the beast could hold its breath before passing out. “Fifteen… Sixteen…” she counted, her face almost red from the effort, and she hoped the little thing would die soon or she’d reach the numbers she didn’t know. “Twenty… Twenty-one…”
And then the earth fractured.
She saw the crack forming in the ground, beyond the rusty swing and the old table by the fence. It was first a small hole, but it was growing quickly and devouring the grass and the soil around it. There was a strong crimson light shinning from it, and it felt so warm on her eyes she had to squint so she could stare.
A voice came out of the hole. She jumped and dropped the cat, and the little thing ran and ran for his dear life and jumped over the fence to Mrs. Green’s yard.
“*Little one…*” The hole spoke, and Alice thought she was hearing a thousand voices speaking all at once. “*Little one…*”
The hole grew and grew, and Alice could see the fire and the flame that awaited her at the other side. She got closer.
“*Little one…*”
“You made me lose count!” she screamed at the glowing hole. “I lost count and I lost the cat!”
The hole grew more and swallowed one of her old pink bicycles she hated so much. It was as big as a car now and she could feel its warmth, even from afar. Thick silvery smoke started coming out of it and started forming and condensing into some weird, bizarre shape. Suddenly, the smoke rose in temperature and started glowing, as if it was steel being worked on. It got denser and denser, and it turned into blood. Alice recognized something sprouting out of it.
It was a man.
“Little one” the voice said again, but this time it was only one voice. It was the man’s voice.
“Who are you?” Alice asked. She had forgotten all about the cat now. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve had many names. But for you, little one, for you I have none.”
“Huh…” Alice sighed, as if the thought of a man with no name was stranger than the flaming hole a few feet away from her.
“I am here to take you with me” he said. “If you would.”
“What for?”
The man smiled, and Alice felt the corners of his mouth reaching his pointy ears. She looked up —all the way up where her neck started hurting— to see his eyes. There was darkness in them.
“You’re very bright, aren’t you?” the man said.
“Not really…” Alice said. “I’m slow in class. Momma said they gon’ put me in a baby’s class if I don’t learn to read fast.”
“Ah… Reading… What’s it good for…”
“That’s what I say!”
“But you’re bright in other ways, aren’t you?” the man said, and Alice flustered. “With the other kids…”
“They all make fun of me!”
“Oh yes! They do. And what do you do to them, little one? What do you do to them when their momma’s not looking?”
“I… I hurt them…” Alice said and looked away. She could not look into his eyes anymore.
“How do you hurt them?” he asked. “Do you punch them?”
“No…”
“Do you kick them?”
“No.”
“Do you hit them?”
“No!” she shouted. “I hurt them! I hurt them bad! They kick me and they laugh and they call me *things*! And they spit on me!”
“And what do you do?”
“I kills them” Alice said. “I push Tommy and he felt to the tracks and the train was coming and he was crying and reaching for my hand. But I didn’t give him no hand. I just smiled at him. When the train got’em I was happy.”
The man chuckled. “What about Claire? What you do to little Claire?”
“She was stupid. She drank the poison. Cause I dared her.”
“Marvelous… Simply marvelous…”
“And Mrs. Green” Alice said, unprompted this time. “I kills her with the knife. She was mean. Always shouting, always mean. She’s not mean no more.”
The man smiled again, and Alice could see his sharp, wolf-like teeth showing behind his thin red lips. His eyes were shining with greed.
“Splendid” he said. “There’s greatness in you, little one. Oh yes!”
Alice smiled with strange innocence.
“Now, I must ask again. Will you come with me?” the man said.
“But why?”
“You know… I’ve been looking. Oh yeah… I’ve been looking” he said, and his voice was deeper now. “All across the Earth, and all across what lies below. Oh, the shame I felt! When I couldn’t find excellence in all my closest chiefs. My serving lackeys. All useless…”
“What…” She muttered.
“But you, little one, *Alice…*” he said, and the thousand voices were there again to say her name. “You posses such greatness. Such rage and fury. Such troubled mind.”
“What you want me for?”
“You’ll be the successor” he said.
“I’ll be what?” Alice could barely pronounce that word.
The man whispered. “*My* successor.” | |
[WP] After your death you find out that you were one of the kindness, selfless, honest, and sincere people on earth. Because of that you are offered to reincarnate to anywhere, so you choose to be the Demon Lord. As after all your sure demons are just misunderstood. | "You called for me, my lord?" the Archdemon said, kneeling before me.
"Ah, Archie," I said, turning away from my table. "Thank you for coming in," I smiled. "Say, how are the hells looking today?"
"The suffering is steadily flowing, my lord. All demons, imps and spirits are doing their due diligence to bring horror and pain to the worlds above," he growled. I nodded, eyes heavy.
"Archie, do you like your job?" I asked. The demon before me paused.
"I... do not understand, my lord."
"Do you enjoy being an Arch-Demon?" I repeated. He stared at me blankly for a moment.
"It is who I *am*, my lord. It is not something to be enjoyed, it simply *is*," he said carefully.
"And the torture, pain, fire, all of that. Do you enjoy doing that?"
His somewhat puzzled look was replaced with a resolute one. "It is who I am, my lord."
"*Is it now?*" I said lightly. I walked back to my table and picked up a folder filled with papers; old, dusty, recovered from the deepest parts of Hell's bureaucracy. "Do you remember who you were before you came here?"
He narrowed his eyes but remained silent.
"You weren't born a demon, Archie. You were moulded into one. Here, look," I said and handed him the folder. He extended his hand and took the papers, slowly, gently, as if they were about to explode. Opening it, his eyes went wide, mouth grew slightly agape. They were documents about his life before the hells, before the demonic presence in him. A farm in 13th century France, a wife, a daughter, a love of parsnip stew... things long forgotten and wiped away.
"Did *Pierre* enjoy torture?" I asked him. He looked up with a gaze unusually soft and vulnerable.
"I..." he rasped, "I do not remember."
"Archie, I would like you to take some time off of the whole... torture thing and just... read. Think it over. Remember, if you can. Then I'd like to talk to you again. Perhaps your answer to my earlier question will be different," I smiled.
"What if..." he slowly said, "what if my answer is the same then?"
"That is perfectly fine, Archie. I just wanted to give you something you deserve," I said.
"That being?" he said and looked at the folder sorrowfully. I set my eyes back at the table. Several more files lay on it; a select few arch-demons and demon princes who have been in Hell for too long. Demons who have forgotten, drowned in the overwhelming environment of this blasted place. Demons who are demons because they were made into them, not because they *are* them.
"A choice." | # Soulmage
**The Demon of Fear coiled her sinuous black form around my humble wooden desk.** It was no throne of skulls or chair of living agony, but the last Demon Lord had both of those, and I'd deposed him easily enough.
"Demon Lord," the Demon of Fear hissed, "your forces await your orders."
"I am aware, Margaret." The Demon of Fear twitched with surprise—was it that uncommon to remember a name? "Could you pass me the report on the Second Battle of Hatebroke?"
The Demon of Fear hesitated. On one hand, she was a being of primordial darkness and terror, who bowed to no liege and consumed the souls of her victims after unmaking their bodies into dust.
On the other hand, I wasn't asking a Demon of Fear. I was asking Margaret, the self-conscious, insecure woman who put on a show of might because she was perpetually worried she'd be preyed on by the older Demons of Hatred if she didn't. The Demon of Fear had to put on a show for the world.
Margaret, my friend, did not.
"Yes, my lord," Margaret hissed.
"Just call me Odin," I said. Margaret flitted between extradimensional spaces beyond mortal comprehension, where I liked to keep my files for organizational purposes, and withdrew the report of the Second Battle of Hatebroke. The fittingly-named town had been a small but prosperous farming village, protected from roving bandits by the coalition of demons and bandits whom I called friends.
That is, until the Silent Peaks decided that a community of demons living peacefully like the people they were was absolutely unacceptable, and launched the Silent Crusade to eradicate us all.
A lot had happened between then and now. We'd lost Hatebreak. Retaken it. And now we'd lost it again, razed to the ground by the battlechoirs of the Silent Academy. But by now I'd had enough.
I pushed back the simple wooden chair of my office. I had an office, not a throne room. Throne rooms were for tyrants and overlords.
I was an equal. I would be first among the forces that rose to defend all of demonkind, and I would be the last.
"Margaret," I said. "Would you do me a favor?"
"Of course, my l—of course, Odin."
"I need you to fetch someone," I said.
"Who?" Margaret asked. "The Demons of Spite? Or the Demons of Shame?"
I shook my head. "Margaret. This war will not be won with fury and blind hate. The Silent Crusade has brought enough of that with them already." I stood, holding out one hand, and the magical threads that formed the basis of my power coalesced at my fingertips. "This war will be won with kindness."
"So... who do you want me to fetch?" Margaret asked, confused.
I smiled. "Anyone who wishes to defect from the Silent Crusade," I said, wrapping my magic around my soul. And with it, I packaged the memory of this conversation—the feel of talking to Margaret as a person, not a demon, the curiosity and empathy and *goodness* I saw in her. "Because after today, I have a feeling there will be quite a few of them. Anyone who wishes to defect, simply evacuate your camp, and my allies will protect you from any reprisal your so-called leaders would bring down on you."
Margaret tilted her head, uncomprehending. "But... Odin... they are your *enemies*. Why are you offering them aid?"
"Because I am a Demon of Empathy," I simply said, "and this is how I win wars."
Then I snapped my fingers, and the message I'd composed flew out to every soul on the opposite side of the battlefield.
I'd treated demons with compassion and open arms.
I'd do the same for anyone, even the crusaders who threatened to end everything I had worked for.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-three other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | |
[WP] In cyberpunk dystopia, a superhero arose who is dedicated to restoring the old free world. Upon confronting the elderly CEO of the biggest company in the world, they are surprised to find them completely supportive of this goal. When asked why the CEO only said, "I want to see the stars again." | She looked at them, perplexed. "You're lying."
The person shook their head.
No, to call it a person was generous. "It" was nothing but a collection of crawling nanobots on artificial skin, stretched on lab-grown muscles and alloy bones. "It" was sat on a life support apparatus masquerading as a chair. "It" smiled at her with a manufactured face that looked human.
"I wish to take one last look."
It took a look outside. The walls were once high quality PristiView windows that made life-like artificial vistas for your viewing pleasure. The hail of bullets have left most of them as pieces of shattered glass.
In this chaos, it looked on with an absurd fondness.
"I wish to remember what it was we gave up for this nonsense."
The gun in her hand was poised and charged to fire. The life apparatus defense systems were disabled and it wouldn't have any available bodysuits to wear if she were to shoot it in the head.
All she needed was to point and pull the trigger.
It gave her a sad smile.
"I have made terrible decisions," it said. "I have contributed to the inevitable destruction of this world and its people."
It said it plainly, like the violent takeover of all Earth's resources and the forced enslavement of anyone in the Downsiders was a normal inconvenience.
Her finger twitched on the trigger but did not fire.
"I won't stop you from killing me. You'll need to do it to ensure no one like me will ever be allowed to exist. But please believe me that I do want to help."
"Why?" she asked. "Did you finally buy a conscience?"
"Unfortunately, we never really made Conscience program packs a thing for us. Hard to live a rich man with a conscience."
"Can't live with the fact you made everything a slum so you can live in your sky castles?"
It flinched. Turned it's head downward.
"Yes, I know."
In a few strides, the barrel of the gun was on his temple.
"No you don't," she whispers harshly.
Beyond them, chaos echoed as the rest of the Downsiders and Groundmids continued their war with the Castlefolk. She could hear the whine of Castle tech as they exploded under rapid bullet fire. She could hear the sound of Castle ships crashing as they automated forces slowly but surely failed them.
What can a few kings do against the might of the peasantry after all?
It heard all of this, and she watched as ite sighed.
"There has been too much bloodshed already. I think it's time we ended this."
"I agree. So give me what I want."
The whine of the gun in her hand increased. The side of the barrel glowed threateningly. But it just looked at her with calm eyes.
Slowly, it opened it's hand and nanobots crawled like ants on his palm. They formed together to create a cube. A tiny insignificant looking thing.
The key to saving them all.
"This is all the data needed to create the Gaia System. All the research, all the locations of resources. Full access to every thing you'll need to fix it."
Without hesitation, she took the cube, eyes still fixed on it. It smiled.
Not sardonically. Genuine.
"I wish I could have done better to you," it whispered. "I wish I made this world a better place for you."
It spoke in a hauntingly melodic voice, making it's sorrow seem almost enchanting.
"But it's too late. So let me do this instead."
She turned away from it, taking to examining the object instead. She cannot look. Cannot stand to see the sight of it-
Of her.
But she did. There is something wet trailing down her cheeks as she did so.
"Thank you," she whispered, almost imperceptible. But the watery smile on the other person said otherwise.
"Thank you," the other replied. "for giving me a chance."
She had no other words left except,
"Goodbye mother." | "I want to see the stars again." Those words from a man stuck on life support, unmoving from a robotic body with the matching robotic voice. This is a large room with multiple doors. There are clashing and fighting in the background.
The expression of Tabitha turned to anger, she pointed her blue sword at him. “WHY? Should I trust you?”
“I am just tired of it all, I’ve been stuck here for years. A world with clear blue skies.”
“There was never a clear blue sky for me! You and your bunch stole it! Why should I trust you?”
“I am sorry…. Please… trust me..” The man croaked.
“I don’t want your pleads for forgiveness.” Tabitha approaches him a callous matter, an expression of hurt is across her face. “You made my life and my companions’ lives hell. You caused the death of my parents through overwork, my sister she’s gone too she… Supported me as a superhero”
The old man closed his eyes. A gunshot rang off, Tabitha was able to deflect the bullet. A figure wearing a reflective mask, with red and black approaches Tabitha.
“Agent…” The old man croaked.
“I tire of these games you play, sir. I’ve seen you twine and twirl in your mind of guilt. It’s frankly disgusting.”
“Why did you stop me?” Tabitha raises her blue sword at the figure, she can see the reflection in the mask.
“You… are loyal…” The CEO in the life machine croaked
“Well… Tabitha, you are the hero.” The figure gives a thinking pose. “Tell me Tabitha, what kind of world are you going to build with your friends?”
“Once they are gone, we will return to the world it once was. Do you dare stand against me?”
“A new world always has to be built on violence.” The figure pulled out a red sword. “You are fighting for a not-so-glorious past.”
“So? Everything I’ve done up to now, justifies in creating a world that is like the past.”
“I am sorry…” The figure muttered and pulls out a red sword and started charging at Tabitha. Tabitha was quickly able to sidestep and block the attacks.
“Why do you defend him?” Tabitha look the mask reflecting her face in confusion. The masked figure headbutts Tabitha with the mask cracking it.
“I don’t, what he has done is indefensible.” The figure looked towards Tabitha, she is shaking her head from the headbutt. “If I win I am turning off his life support permanently.”
Tabitha takes a breath and sheath’s her sword. “I’ve seen you stand beside this CEO’s side loyally like a servant, cut down anyone that stands against him. Why the change of heart now?”
“Because…” The masked figure took off the mask and yeeted the mask far away.
“S-Stella? You are still alive?” Tabitha chocked on her words.
“Well… it’s a robotic revival, but the amount time I spent dead, causes me to lose some memories.” Stella looked at the sword she was holding.
“Why didn’t you tell me you where alive?”
“It was complicated, I had to pretend to be a good little robot soldier.” Stella looked at the CEO with the annoyed expression. “So I had to play pretend, and dismantle it from the inside.”
Tabitha smiled and started to cry. “I am happy that you are alive.”
“You grew up well… and taller!” Stella smiled looking towards the dark sky. “Please build a kinder world.”
Stella started to walk away from Tabitha, flicking the life support machine off for the CEO.
“Where are you going?” Tabitha looked at Stella.
Stella gave a dramatic hero pose; Tabitha looked at the pose remembering the same one they had as kids, smiling. “I have more work to do… So do you… But I promise you, that once my work is done. I’ll see you again.”
“But…” Tabitha bit her lip and continued to cry. “I don’t want you to go, again.”
“Ugh.. please don’t cry… Let’s make a promise, once the skies turn blue. I’ll find you.”
“Deal, I’ll show you that I and my companions can create a kinder world!” Tabitha gave an intense yell.
“Same old Tabitha…, See ya.” Stella chuckle and went to take her leave. | |
[WP] In cyberpunk dystopia, a superhero arose who is dedicated to restoring the old free world. Upon confronting the elderly CEO of the biggest company in the world, they are surprised to find them completely supportive of this goal. When asked why the CEO only said, "I want to see the stars again." | Restoration Man paused in surprise.
The ancient CEO's bleary gaze did not falter.
"...the stars?" said Restoration Man finally.
"Yes," said the CEO, and then his wizened face crumpled like a used tissue, ready for the bin. He dropped it into his gnarled hands despairingly. "So much," he mumbled. "Such destruction. Such vast suffering. And for what?"
Restoration Man simply gawped. This was an unexpected twist.
The CEO spread his palms helplessly. "Greed," he moaned. "I have filled my pockets, and the pockets of my relatives and friends. Unending wealth. Plenty. Safety. Security. Influence." He looked down at his hands. They were heavily creased, the skin like crushed leather, lined over and over by the graspings of 100 years.
They trembled with age.
They were empty.
"What was the good of it?" the old man fretted. "Any of it? I have held the helm of power, steered the ship of Commerce, led leaders and financed financiers. I have filled these hands again and again at a well that seemed endless. I heard the puny cries of the bleeding hearts, but it was only after fifty years that I looked up to see with my own eyes that the sky had gone dark with the spewing of my chimneys, seas dead with effluvients of my factories, mountains razed for the coal that ran the whole machine. And at first, I did not care."
He pondered the trembling hands, palms up before him.
"For what was a view of the sky compared to a future crammed with my wildest dreams? What was a mountain or two weighed against what I thought of as progress? Even an ocean's death, then, seemed a fair price."
He cast a rheumy glance toward the office's plate-glass window. The night sky it showed was blackly overcast. Even the full moon's light made barely a smear through the heavy smoke. In the old man's eyes there was an inscrutable expression. Restoration Man recognized it, finally, as regret.
"The well was never endless after all," the old man quietly said. "It merely poured from the future into my hands. And so each grab I made was a stolen day, a day's life and lushness gone, not from myself, but from the world."
His brow furrowed deeply. "I am a thief, young man," he said at last, turning earnestly toward Restoration Man. "I have stolen my wealth from the world. I have quenched the stars with these hands, killed seas and burrowed with them into the open wounds of the Earth. I have murdered a planet with these filthy hands, holding the almighty dollar as my weapon."
Restoration Man choked up a bit at the bitterness in the quavering voice of the last CEO.
"I," said the old man thoughtfully. "I thought myself better than the greatest Emperor, higher than a priest. I thought myself perched atop the world, when in reality, my son, I was lower than the lowest cutpurse, eating up the Earth from underneath. And now that it is gone and my coffers are full, I see at last that all I took, I have *stolen* from all the sons and daughters of humanity, from the countless grandchildren who now will not be born beneath this accursed starless sky. I, who thought myself a King indeed, was but the lowest servant of my own greed."
He sighed deeply, an elderly man's wheeze that rattled his frailty like a ship's sail in the wind. There was a pause.
"I am old," he said at last. "As the days ahead of me grow fewer, I value them the more--the rising price of a scarce resource." He gave a sadchuckle full of regret. "Yet I would give them all, and eagerly, for another sight of the stars."
Restoration Man glanced toward the blackness of the window.
"Yes," the old man said, defeated. "I know. I cannot undo what I have done. I am not just a thief, but a fool." His creased hands fell helplessly open upon the luxury of the mahogany desktop as a tear tracked the wrinkles on his wizened cheek.
Restoration Man smiled. "No. It is true that you have been a thief, but you will die an honorable man. Look up yonder, once more."
The old man smirked violently at this, but his eyes went to the window with a faint hope nonetheless.
In the heavy smoke there drifted by a sudden gap. Two or three stars glimmered magically through it, bright as beacons. The eyes of the last CEO widened with joy, then slowly they closed, for the last time.
In the smoke outside, the starlight vanished, but Restoration Man left the corpse of the last CEO sitting stiffly behind the vast desk. He left the building, his figure encompassing the hope of a planet, armed with a dying man's regret. | Hero is baffled by the CEO.
The CEO just smiles at the hero says "What are you surprised, I know what you expected. An evil greedy CEO, who wants more money and doesn't care about people. Someone who just cares about the figures they get, and what their shareholders want."
The hero goes closer to the CEO, he doesn't know what he feels, he is mad but also sad, confused and relieved but tense and frightened. The CEO sits down in his chair and starts to drink a cup of tea. CEO asks if the hero wants to sit down with a cup of tea for now.
The Hero just sits down and ponders about what they have been doing for the last half a decade. They have been told that these CEO's don't care about the people or the world and that they're inhumane monsters, but this elderly man....he doesn't seem evil, then maybe he is just deceiving.
The hero says "Lets say you support my goal, then why do people live so badly now, why do you get to live in such a rich place, with beautiful food and beds. Why is it you don't have augments, while some need it to survive!"
The hero stands up angrily.
The CEO chuckles and says "You're a funny person, what do you mean I don't have augments, here look." The CEO shows his right shoulder to the man and it's completely augmented, looked like a old shoulder augment, most probably made just to make the arm more mobile and stronger. The CEO continues to talk "You see, I was also just like you who thought all the rich were scum. Until I met the CEO of a business at the time, it wasn't big but it was profitable and was in multiple districts, so upper-class at least. They explained to me how they are as human as I am. I didn't understand it at the time, but the older i grew, the more I understood this world. I have been trying to help people by allowing them to have businesses and augments. Because the 2 things that I have seen that help people are augments and businesses. Though now it looks like, augments have become a weapon. I am not in the right, but I don't know what to do anymore. Before I could see so many people have a spark in them like a star. But now I only see one person, and thats you."
"So will you help me sonny to make this world better?" | |
[WP] In cyberpunk dystopia, a superhero arose who is dedicated to restoring the old free world. Upon confronting the elderly CEO of the biggest company in the world, they are surprised to find them completely supportive of this goal. When asked why the CEO only said, "I want to see the stars again." | Restoration Man paused in surprise.
The ancient CEO's bleary gaze did not falter.
"...the stars?" said Restoration Man finally.
"Yes," said the CEO, and then his wizened face crumpled like a used tissue, ready for the bin. He dropped it into his gnarled hands despairingly. "So much," he mumbled. "Such destruction. Such vast suffering. And for what?"
Restoration Man simply gawped. This was an unexpected twist.
The CEO spread his palms helplessly. "Greed," he moaned. "I have filled my pockets, and the pockets of my relatives and friends. Unending wealth. Plenty. Safety. Security. Influence." He looked down at his hands. They were heavily creased, the skin like crushed leather, lined over and over by the graspings of 100 years.
They trembled with age.
They were empty.
"What was the good of it?" the old man fretted. "Any of it? I have held the helm of power, steered the ship of Commerce, led leaders and financed financiers. I have filled these hands again and again at a well that seemed endless. I heard the puny cries of the bleeding hearts, but it was only after fifty years that I looked up to see with my own eyes that the sky had gone dark with the spewing of my chimneys, seas dead with effluvients of my factories, mountains razed for the coal that ran the whole machine. And at first, I did not care."
He pondered the trembling hands, palms up before him.
"For what was a view of the sky compared to a future crammed with my wildest dreams? What was a mountain or two weighed against what I thought of as progress? Even an ocean's death, then, seemed a fair price."
He cast a rheumy glance toward the office's plate-glass window. The night sky it showed was blackly overcast. Even the full moon's light made barely a smear through the heavy smoke. In the old man's eyes there was an inscrutable expression. Restoration Man recognized it, finally, as regret.
"The well was never endless after all," the old man quietly said. "It merely poured from the future into my hands. And so each grab I made was a stolen day, a day's life and lushness gone, not from myself, but from the world."
His brow furrowed deeply. "I am a thief, young man," he said at last, turning earnestly toward Restoration Man. "I have stolen my wealth from the world. I have quenched the stars with these hands, killed seas and burrowed with them into the open wounds of the Earth. I have murdered a planet with these filthy hands, holding the almighty dollar as my weapon."
Restoration Man choked up a bit at the bitterness in the quavering voice of the last CEO.
"I," said the old man thoughtfully. "I thought myself better than the greatest Emperor, higher than a priest. I thought myself perched atop the world, when in reality, my son, I was lower than the lowest cutpurse, eating up the Earth from underneath. And now that it is gone and my coffers are full, I see at last that all I took, I have *stolen* from all the sons and daughters of humanity, from the countless grandchildren who now will not be born beneath this accursed starless sky. I, who thought myself a King indeed, was but the lowest servant of my own greed."
He sighed deeply, an elderly man's wheeze that rattled his frailty like a ship's sail in the wind. There was a pause.
"I am old," he said at last. "As the days ahead of me grow fewer, I value them the more--the rising price of a scarce resource." He gave a sadchuckle full of regret. "Yet I would give them all, and eagerly, for another sight of the stars."
Restoration Man glanced toward the blackness of the window.
"Yes," the old man said, defeated. "I know. I cannot undo what I have done. I am not just a thief, but a fool." His creased hands fell helplessly open upon the luxury of the mahogany desktop as a tear tracked the wrinkles on his wizened cheek.
Restoration Man smiled. "No. It is true that you have been a thief, but you will die an honorable man. Look up yonder, once more."
The old man smirked violently at this, but his eyes went to the window with a faint hope nonetheless.
In the heavy smoke there drifted by a sudden gap. Two or three stars glimmered magically through it, bright as beacons. The eyes of the last CEO widened with joy, then slowly they closed, for the last time.
In the smoke outside, the starlight vanished, but Restoration Man left the corpse of the last CEO sitting stiffly behind the vast desk. He left the building, his figure encompassing the hope of a planet, armed with a dying man's regret. | \[POEM\]
Standing tall, with new support, I ventured out to change
the zoo that I was raised in, full of lice and mange.
I had these newfound powertools, augmented optics, powered brain.
But even if without them, I could see the world had changed.
You see, time wrought on, and power shifts
And now it's *my* people who need the lift.
So I'll rock on, destroy this verse.
I'll take what they think so great, and make it profoundly worse.
All in all, the plight of them, won't bother me a tick.
As long as I stand free and see the stars, I've done the trick.
Life support networks be damned. My goal is set in stone.
When every other bastard's dead, I'll be at last free,
and alone. | |
[WP] In cyberpunk dystopia, a superhero arose who is dedicated to restoring the old free world. Upon confronting the elderly CEO of the biggest company in the world, they are surprised to find them completely supportive of this goal. When asked why the CEO only said, "I want to see the stars again." | “See,” The CEO of BiggerCorp continued, after a beat of shocked silence, “I was like you once. I did the same things you didback in my day, and hell, I was *good* at it, too.”
The CEO shifted in his seat, leaning forward against his lavishly decorated desk. He was a lot more frail in real life, I noticed. the posters and news made him look stronger. Younger. More powerful. Then again, the news also pretended the CEO was a good and generous man.
Now i couldn’t help but wonder if he was once the man the news claimed he was now. Or at least, a human. A person, who maybe once cared for something other than the money rolling in.
His expression shifted, and i realized mine must have, too. “Ah, but you know how it is. I don’t even know how it happened. One minute, I was a hero, the next I was killing people to keep the money rolling in. And by that point, I was in too deep to stop it.”
“That’s bullshit.” I blurted before I could bite my tongue. “You could have stopped all of this at any time. You could have saved this country, but you cared too much about your money.”
I was hoping he would retaliate, or do something that would make this easier, but he just smiled, leaning back in his oversized throne-like chair. His eyes glittered, and he looked far too human for comfort. “You’re right.” He replied wistfully. “My honest days are over. My life is reaching its bitter end. And I never even got to show my kids the stars.”
A beat passed. The grandfather clock chimed, indicating that it was now 3am. It was time, and he undoubtably knew this as well. “You know what I have to do now, right?”
The old man smiled again, showing off his unnaturally healthy teeth for his age. “I wont stop you, hero-“ I stood “-But, though I am in no position to ask a favor, could you do this one thing for me?”
“What is it?” My hand rested on the gun on my hip, ready for him to fight.
But he didn’t. “Succeed.” He said. “I want to see the stars again.”
I didn’t say anything as I shot him. I didn’t say anything for hours after that, either. | \[POEM\]
Standing tall, with new support, I ventured out to change
the zoo that I was raised in, full of lice and mange.
I had these newfound powertools, augmented optics, powered brain.
But even if without them, I could see the world had changed.
You see, time wrought on, and power shifts
And now it's *my* people who need the lift.
So I'll rock on, destroy this verse.
I'll take what they think so great, and make it profoundly worse.
All in all, the plight of them, won't bother me a tick.
As long as I stand free and see the stars, I've done the trick.
Life support networks be damned. My goal is set in stone.
When every other bastard's dead, I'll be at last free,
and alone. | |
[WP] Good news: You brought home two attractive people after the party. Bad news: You're about to find out what happens when a person gets bitten by both a vampire and a werewolf at the same time. | It feels odd being so close to death when your so young, yet so far. You could almost touch the veil of the afterlife, but your destiny was never to die so early in life. That was my situation.
I was in my room again, but I couldn't exactly recall why. The last thing I remember was getting hit by something on my drive home, blacking out in the process. I was on a dirt road about 3 miles out.
The experience of being in my room wasn't pleasant though. My ears were ringing as loud as police sirens, my body was aching from neck to toe, and as for my head, besides the ringing, I had a god awful migraine in the process of starting up. I was also extremely thirsty, but for some reason, I had no inclination for water. It was for something else, but I couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly that my throat was aching for. My vision was blurry as hell, but at the very least my room had enough distinguishing features for me to know it was such.
The walls were a light color of blue, with a nightstand placed on the wall to the left of the window. My desk was also there, right in front of said window, plopped right next to the nightstand. The mirror I had was also present, next to the door on the opposite side of the room, placed where I could open the door and immediately turn around, because I simply preferred it to be that way. My bed was positioned against another wall separate from the one with the window and door, on the same side as the nightstand. And there were three people in the room, but I couldn't make out there facial features. My eyes were still a wreck.
I was trying to sit-up on my bed, but the extreme protesting of my body made it impossible to maintain the position. I collapsed right back onto my back, defeated. All I could look at now was the ceiling, with a light that I remembered to be a chandelier. But it was turned on. It was still nighttime. I looked over at the window. It was dark. How long was I out for?
My rustling in the bed must've gotten the three people to notice me, because one of them then was now touching my check. Her voice was feminine, but I couldn't put a finger on where I heard it before.
"Ah, poor darling, this must be the worst night of your life. It started out so great at the club, but now your in your bed right after a wreck."
"Who the hell are you?" Was all I could muster.
"Why would that matter to you?" She replied.
Someone else replied before I could. It was the voice of one of the chicks I was bringing home. Safira was what she introduced herself as. "Well to be fair, your a person who he's probably never met who is now in his room. For all he knows, you could be a stalker, sex offender, or home invader." She chuckled.
"I only have his best intentions at heart!" The woman protested.
"How the hell is he supposed to know?" Safira replied. She was sounding like someone who had fun at a party right now.
At this point, the thirst was getting to me. My mouth was now gaping open, and I was trying to say something, but it kept coming out as rough and unintelligible.
"Well, it seems he's hungry." The third voice was chiming in. That would be Rebecca. Also someone I was taking home tonight.
"Thirsty is more like it," the mystery woman began, "so I guess I'm going to have to give him something to drink." She was close enough to my face to make out what she was doing. Her wrist came to her mouth, and then a sweet scent filled the air. Something was dripping from her wrist. It was almost impossible for it not to be her blood. She then placed her wrist on my mouth.
"Drink up, drink it all up. Lets lighten up your skin a bit, shall we?" | "Logan," I said, my voice catching. "I'm sorry."
His jaw tensed, his eyes blazing. "What? What do you have to be sorry for?"
"I don't know," I said, letting out a shaky breath. "I don't know what I have to be sorry for."
He stepped closer to me. His eyes searched mine. "You should be sorry for the past," he whispered.
I flinched as if he had slapped me. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice shaking.
His gaze softened. "I mean that you should be sorry for the past," he said. "You should be sorry for what happened to us."
"I am," I said, my stomach twisting. "I'm sorry."
"You should be sorry ... for what happened to us," he repeated.
I shook my head. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"You should be sorry for what you did," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For what you put me through."
I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "What did I do?" I asked, my voice shaking. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean," he said, his voice strained.
I shook my head. "No," I whispered. "Tell me."
"You know what you did," he said, his voice breaking. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "You know."
My mouth was dry, but I couldn't look away from him. "Tell me," I whispered again.
"I found him," he said, his voice cracking. "I found your husband, Mrs. Parker."
The words reverberated through my body as I stared at him, my mind struggling to comprehend what he was saying. "What do you mean?" I whispered. "What do you mean you found my husband?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes widened. "In the area you arranged," he said. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I have the information you wanted," he said.
I shook my head. "I don't understand," I said.
"You sent me to a dead end," he said. "I went back, but I couldn't find him."
I stared at him, my skin crawling with fear. "What dead end?" I asked. "What information?"
"I traced the call you made," he said. He The day of the party is here. What should be happening?
I took a deep breath and turned to look over my shoulder at the house.
"I know," the bodyguard said. "I'm just not sure what you want me to do about it."
I strolled down the hallway, shaking my head. "I have to have a party at my house on Saturday," I said. "It's my birthday. It's my party day."
He nodded. "I know," he said. "I saw the invitations."
I rubbed my chin. "I haven't decided whether to have my party at my house or at the house that was burned down," I said. "I hope I don't have to decide, but if I do, I know how I want it to go. I want my friends and my family to be here, but I want it to go my way."
He nodded. "I understand," he said. "But what about the bodyguard?"
I narrowed my eyes. "What about him?" I asked.
"He's been bothering me," he said. "He won't leave me alone."
I shook my head. "He's just doing his job," I said. "He's a bodyguard."
The bodyguard frowned. "I don't care how he does his job," he muttered. "I just don't want him around me."
A vampire and a werewolf stood in front of me, their eyes glaring at me with hatred. They took a step closer, their teeth bared in a savage grin. The bodyguard took a step back, his hand going to the gun at his side. He stood there, his eyes wide with fear.
"You're not supposed to be here," I said, my eyes narrowed. "I have a bodyguard, and I haven't told him to leave. You know what I think?"
The werewolf's eyes narrowed. "What do you think?" he asked.
"I think you did this," I said. "This is your fault, and you need to be sorry. I think you need to go away and not bother me again."
The bodyguard took another step back, his eyes shooting from the werewolf to me.
"You were supposed to leave me alone," I said. "You were supposed to let me have my party without any trouble."
The bodyguard took another step back, his eyes wide and full of fear. He pulled his gun out, holding it with both hands. The werewolf growled and lunged at him, taking him down to the floor. He screamed and fought against the werewolf, trying to keep the werewolf away from him. The werewolf pinned the bodyguard underneath him and started ripping him to pieces. I screamed and ran forward to help him, but the werewolf threw the bodyguard to the floor and stood over him. He was covered in blood, and he was trembling with anger.
"I'm not supposed to be here," the werewolf said, a low growl in his voice. "I told him that. He was supposed to let me have my party."
I turned to the werewolf and narrowed my eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" I asked.
(1/2) | |
[WP] Good news: You brought home two attractive people after the party. Bad news: You're about to find out what happens when a person gets bitten by both a vampire and a werewolf at the same time. | Don’t be desperate, they said. Fiona and Gwyn are bad news, they said. You’re still getting over Ashley cheating on you so don’t be stupid, they said.
Damn it though, when two gorgeous women zero in on you at the trashy party your friends dragged you to, and they laugh at your jokes & wanna go home with you, how could you refuse? I didn’t.
Which was why a gorgeous redheaded vampire and a beautiful blonde werewolf were chomping down on my neck like I was a juicy grilled steak.
Painful? Yes. Erotic? …
“Oh my your neck’s real red. Gwyn you chomped too hard.” Fiona said amidst wiping her lips of blood. Some dripped down and yeah, I was kind of terrified at the sight of it.
“Oh excuse me Mrs Leech. You made quite a mess on your side.” Gwyn smirked all the while caressing me. I couldn’t help but stare at her fangs all the while.
And then I felt it. Sure, when Fiona and Gwyn transformed earlier they warned me about what could happen. Sure, I was down for anything monster or not. But oh man. Feeling my blood go cold and hot, my organs shift and turn, and the hairs all over grow rapidly all over, was… a feeling.
The ladies watched as I writhed all over screaming my head off. I could only think about one thing through all the excruciating pain.
“If we bite you, there’s a 99 percent chance your body will react negatively to the vampiric and werewolf gene. We tend to get excited when in heat so that forewarning is there.”
The room felt like it was spinning. I felt like I was floating. My vision blurred. And then I was on the ground again.
The girls were looking at me but I was looking down at them. I was in no more pain. But wait a minute, Fiona and Gwyn are 6 feet tall. I’m only 5’3. Then I looked at the mirror.
…
…
…
“I’m an ostrich?” | "Logan," I said, my voice catching. "I'm sorry."
His jaw tensed, his eyes blazing. "What? What do you have to be sorry for?"
"I don't know," I said, letting out a shaky breath. "I don't know what I have to be sorry for."
He stepped closer to me. His eyes searched mine. "You should be sorry for the past," he whispered.
I flinched as if he had slapped me. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice shaking.
His gaze softened. "I mean that you should be sorry for the past," he said. "You should be sorry for what happened to us."
"I am," I said, my stomach twisting. "I'm sorry."
"You should be sorry ... for what happened to us," he repeated.
I shook my head. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"You should be sorry for what you did," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For what you put me through."
I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "What did I do?" I asked, my voice shaking. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean," he said, his voice strained.
I shook my head. "No," I whispered. "Tell me."
"You know what you did," he said, his voice breaking. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "You know."
My mouth was dry, but I couldn't look away from him. "Tell me," I whispered again.
"I found him," he said, his voice cracking. "I found your husband, Mrs. Parker."
The words reverberated through my body as I stared at him, my mind struggling to comprehend what he was saying. "What do you mean?" I whispered. "What do you mean you found my husband?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes widened. "In the area you arranged," he said. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I have the information you wanted," he said.
I shook my head. "I don't understand," I said.
"You sent me to a dead end," he said. "I went back, but I couldn't find him."
I stared at him, my skin crawling with fear. "What dead end?" I asked. "What information?"
"I traced the call you made," he said. He The day of the party is here. What should be happening?
I took a deep breath and turned to look over my shoulder at the house.
"I know," the bodyguard said. "I'm just not sure what you want me to do about it."
I strolled down the hallway, shaking my head. "I have to have a party at my house on Saturday," I said. "It's my birthday. It's my party day."
He nodded. "I know," he said. "I saw the invitations."
I rubbed my chin. "I haven't decided whether to have my party at my house or at the house that was burned down," I said. "I hope I don't have to decide, but if I do, I know how I want it to go. I want my friends and my family to be here, but I want it to go my way."
He nodded. "I understand," he said. "But what about the bodyguard?"
I narrowed my eyes. "What about him?" I asked.
"He's been bothering me," he said. "He won't leave me alone."
I shook my head. "He's just doing his job," I said. "He's a bodyguard."
The bodyguard frowned. "I don't care how he does his job," he muttered. "I just don't want him around me."
A vampire and a werewolf stood in front of me, their eyes glaring at me with hatred. They took a step closer, their teeth bared in a savage grin. The bodyguard took a step back, his hand going to the gun at his side. He stood there, his eyes wide with fear.
"You're not supposed to be here," I said, my eyes narrowed. "I have a bodyguard, and I haven't told him to leave. You know what I think?"
The werewolf's eyes narrowed. "What do you think?" he asked.
"I think you did this," I said. "This is your fault, and you need to be sorry. I think you need to go away and not bother me again."
The bodyguard took another step back, his eyes shooting from the werewolf to me.
"You were supposed to leave me alone," I said. "You were supposed to let me have my party without any trouble."
The bodyguard took another step back, his eyes wide and full of fear. He pulled his gun out, holding it with both hands. The werewolf growled and lunged at him, taking him down to the floor. He screamed and fought against the werewolf, trying to keep the werewolf away from him. The werewolf pinned the bodyguard underneath him and started ripping him to pieces. I screamed and ran forward to help him, but the werewolf threw the bodyguard to the floor and stood over him. He was covered in blood, and he was trembling with anger.
"I'm not supposed to be here," the werewolf said, a low growl in his voice. "I told him that. He was supposed to let me have my party."
I turned to the werewolf and narrowed my eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" I asked.
(1/2) | |
[WP] Good news: You brought home two attractive people after the party. Bad news: You're about to find out what happens when a person gets bitten by both a vampire and a werewolf at the same time. | It was in the middle of having some of the best sex of his life that Liam's life changed.
All he could feel was the trail of kisses Gregory and his werewolf licks left on his back while Seth took control of his mouth, sharp vampire fangs making the experience addictive. Gorgeous Gregory behind him and Seductive Seth in front, both doing their absolute best to make him forget his name.
It was here, while Liam was reminded that God was good and lived to bless his children, that he realized that two sets of mouths were nibbling on his neck. While he wasn't the type to shy away from a hickey or two, it was getting a little too intense and Liam could feel a too harsh sting.
Touching his shoulders, his fingers came back red.
"Hey guys, maybe ease up on the biting?"
Two gorgeous faces looked up and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry" they said and gave him one hell of a kiss. Then he forgot everything else as they proved to Liam that bad boys really do bring heaven to you.
It was three months in what he could confidently say was the beginning of a lovely poly relationship that he felt something. A sort of nausea and stomach pain that had his two boyfriends fuss over him for the first day before staunchly pushing him to go to the doctor.
Now he was sitting on a plastic chair, in front of a doctor and he was left wondering if this was a good idea at all.
"What exactly is wrong with me?"
His friend Martha was currently not talking to him, too busy staring wildly at the results in front of her. Had been for the past 5 minutes. The elf doctor was unresponsive to any attempts to get her attention, so Liam settled for throwing a piece of candy at her head.
"Ow! What the fuck?"
"You were ignoring me."
"I was not."
"Can you tell me what's wrong?" he begged. Because he'd been sick and vomiting for the past week and he did not want to find out he had a stomach bug on the day he was scheduled for a sea food buffet.
"Well, your results show...." she trailed off. Liam narrowed his eyes.
"You're afraid of telling me something."
She shook her head frantically. "No of course not!"
Liam just raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me the results."
Her intelligent response was, "Uh...."
"What's wrong Martha?"
"Nothing's wrong exactly!"
"Then stop evading the question."
"I'm not evading," she said evasively.
After a couple of minutes of Liam staring her down, she sighed. Then asked something he completely did not expect.
"Did you come in contact with a werewolf and vampire recently?"
Liam blinked. "No? I mean, I'm not really sure?"
"Well, have you been bitten by anyone recently?"
Liam thought for a while, but came up with a blank. He shook his head, which made Martha look more distressed.
"Are you sure no one's bitten you before?"
Liam was about to nod when he was struck by a memory from three months ago when his two lovely boyfriends made a meal out of him. He couldn't help the blush on his face, which Martha latched on too quickly.
"Oh my god," she said. "You hooked up with them didn't you."
"More like they're my boyfriends now?"
"Oh my god. Liam! Did you let them bite you?!"
"Yeah, actually," he admitted. "But that's okay, they have to consciously give you their blood to make you turn right?"
"Yes, but you're a pureblood human."
"Why's that important?"
Martha rubbed her temples like she was trying to fight off a headache. Or maybe not punch Liam in the face.
"Pureblood humans are so rare these days that most people can't tell them from halflings anymore. And it makes them forget that the lack of magical DNA makes for chaotic results when mixed with magic. If you were a the usual half-elf or half-vamp, nothing would have happened if they bit you. But now..."
The troubled look on Martha's face was really starting to scare him.
"Martha," he pleaded quietly, "what's going on?"
She looked up at him with serious gaze. Took a deep breath. Then said,
"Do you know about the omegaverse?"
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The door opened to their shared apartment. Gregory and Seth looked up with twin smiles and a greeting on the tip of their tongue. They never got a chance when Liam threw twin plastic sticks in their faces.
Sputtering, the vampire and werewolf duo looked up at a clearly irate Liam, then down on whatever he threw at them. Then blinked.
Because in their hands was two pregnancy tests.
"YOU GOT ME PREGNANT YOU ASSHOLES!"
"WAIT WHAT?!" | "Logan," I said, my voice catching. "I'm sorry."
His jaw tensed, his eyes blazing. "What? What do you have to be sorry for?"
"I don't know," I said, letting out a shaky breath. "I don't know what I have to be sorry for."
He stepped closer to me. His eyes searched mine. "You should be sorry for the past," he whispered.
I flinched as if he had slapped me. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice shaking.
His gaze softened. "I mean that you should be sorry for the past," he said. "You should be sorry for what happened to us."
"I am," I said, my stomach twisting. "I'm sorry."
"You should be sorry ... for what happened to us," he repeated.
I shook my head. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"You should be sorry for what you did," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For what you put me through."
I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "What did I do?" I asked, my voice shaking. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean," he said, his voice strained.
I shook my head. "No," I whispered. "Tell me."
"You know what you did," he said, his voice breaking. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "You know."
My mouth was dry, but I couldn't look away from him. "Tell me," I whispered again.
"I found him," he said, his voice cracking. "I found your husband, Mrs. Parker."
The words reverberated through my body as I stared at him, my mind struggling to comprehend what he was saying. "What do you mean?" I whispered. "What do you mean you found my husband?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes widened. "In the area you arranged," he said. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I have the information you wanted," he said.
I shook my head. "I don't understand," I said.
"You sent me to a dead end," he said. "I went back, but I couldn't find him."
I stared at him, my skin crawling with fear. "What dead end?" I asked. "What information?"
"I traced the call you made," he said. He The day of the party is here. What should be happening?
I took a deep breath and turned to look over my shoulder at the house.
"I know," the bodyguard said. "I'm just not sure what you want me to do about it."
I strolled down the hallway, shaking my head. "I have to have a party at my house on Saturday," I said. "It's my birthday. It's my party day."
He nodded. "I know," he said. "I saw the invitations."
I rubbed my chin. "I haven't decided whether to have my party at my house or at the house that was burned down," I said. "I hope I don't have to decide, but if I do, I know how I want it to go. I want my friends and my family to be here, but I want it to go my way."
He nodded. "I understand," he said. "But what about the bodyguard?"
I narrowed my eyes. "What about him?" I asked.
"He's been bothering me," he said. "He won't leave me alone."
I shook my head. "He's just doing his job," I said. "He's a bodyguard."
The bodyguard frowned. "I don't care how he does his job," he muttered. "I just don't want him around me."
A vampire and a werewolf stood in front of me, their eyes glaring at me with hatred. They took a step closer, their teeth bared in a savage grin. The bodyguard took a step back, his hand going to the gun at his side. He stood there, his eyes wide with fear.
"You're not supposed to be here," I said, my eyes narrowed. "I have a bodyguard, and I haven't told him to leave. You know what I think?"
The werewolf's eyes narrowed. "What do you think?" he asked.
"I think you did this," I said. "This is your fault, and you need to be sorry. I think you need to go away and not bother me again."
The bodyguard took another step back, his eyes shooting from the werewolf to me.
"You were supposed to leave me alone," I said. "You were supposed to let me have my party without any trouble."
The bodyguard took another step back, his eyes wide and full of fear. He pulled his gun out, holding it with both hands. The werewolf growled and lunged at him, taking him down to the floor. He screamed and fought against the werewolf, trying to keep the werewolf away from him. The werewolf pinned the bodyguard underneath him and started ripping him to pieces. I screamed and ran forward to help him, but the werewolf threw the bodyguard to the floor and stood over him. He was covered in blood, and he was trembling with anger.
"I'm not supposed to be here," the werewolf said, a low growl in his voice. "I told him that. He was supposed to let me have my party."
I turned to the werewolf and narrowed my eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" I asked.
(1/2) | |
[WP] Good news: You brought home two attractive people after the party. Bad news: You're about to find out what happens when a person gets bitten by both a vampire and a werewolf at the same time. | Don’t be desperate, they said. Fiona and Gwyn are bad news, they said. You’re still getting over Ashley cheating on you so don’t be stupid, they said.
Damn it though, when two gorgeous women zero in on you at the trashy party your friends dragged you to, and they laugh at your jokes & wanna go home with you, how could you refuse? I didn’t.
Which was why a gorgeous redheaded vampire and a beautiful blonde werewolf were chomping down on my neck like I was a juicy grilled steak.
Painful? Yes. Erotic? …
“Oh my your neck’s real red. Gwyn you chomped too hard.” Fiona said amidst wiping her lips of blood. Some dripped down and yeah, I was kind of terrified at the sight of it.
“Oh excuse me Mrs Leech. You made quite a mess on your side.” Gwyn smirked all the while caressing me. I couldn’t help but stare at her fangs all the while.
And then I felt it. Sure, when Fiona and Gwyn transformed earlier they warned me about what could happen. Sure, I was down for anything monster or not. But oh man. Feeling my blood go cold and hot, my organs shift and turn, and the hairs all over grow rapidly all over, was… a feeling.
The ladies watched as I writhed all over screaming my head off. I could only think about one thing through all the excruciating pain.
“If we bite you, there’s a 99 percent chance your body will react negatively to the vampiric and werewolf gene. We tend to get excited when in heat so that forewarning is there.”
The room felt like it was spinning. I felt like I was floating. My vision blurred. And then I was on the ground again.
The girls were looking at me but I was looking down at them. I was in no more pain. But wait a minute, Fiona and Gwyn are 6 feet tall. I’m only 5’3. Then I looked at the mirror.
…
…
…
“I’m an ostrich?” | It feels odd being so close to death when your so young, yet so far. You could almost touch the veil of the afterlife, but your destiny was never to die so early in life. That was my situation.
I was in my room again, but I couldn't exactly recall why. The last thing I remember was getting hit by something on my drive home, blacking out in the process. I was on a dirt road about 3 miles out.
The experience of being in my room wasn't pleasant though. My ears were ringing as loud as police sirens, my body was aching from neck to toe, and as for my head, besides the ringing, I had a god awful migraine in the process of starting up. I was also extremely thirsty, but for some reason, I had no inclination for water. It was for something else, but I couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly that my throat was aching for. My vision was blurry as hell, but at the very least my room had enough distinguishing features for me to know it was such.
The walls were a light color of blue, with a nightstand placed on the wall to the left of the window. My desk was also there, right in front of said window, plopped right next to the nightstand. The mirror I had was also present, next to the door on the opposite side of the room, placed where I could open the door and immediately turn around, because I simply preferred it to be that way. My bed was positioned against another wall separate from the one with the window and door, on the same side as the nightstand. And there were three people in the room, but I couldn't make out there facial features. My eyes were still a wreck.
I was trying to sit-up on my bed, but the extreme protesting of my body made it impossible to maintain the position. I collapsed right back onto my back, defeated. All I could look at now was the ceiling, with a light that I remembered to be a chandelier. But it was turned on. It was still nighttime. I looked over at the window. It was dark. How long was I out for?
My rustling in the bed must've gotten the three people to notice me, because one of them then was now touching my check. Her voice was feminine, but I couldn't put a finger on where I heard it before.
"Ah, poor darling, this must be the worst night of your life. It started out so great at the club, but now your in your bed right after a wreck."
"Who the hell are you?" Was all I could muster.
"Why would that matter to you?" She replied.
Someone else replied before I could. It was the voice of one of the chicks I was bringing home. Safira was what she introduced herself as. "Well to be fair, your a person who he's probably never met who is now in his room. For all he knows, you could be a stalker, sex offender, or home invader." She chuckled.
"I only have his best intentions at heart!" The woman protested.
"How the hell is he supposed to know?" Safira replied. She was sounding like someone who had fun at a party right now.
At this point, the thirst was getting to me. My mouth was now gaping open, and I was trying to say something, but it kept coming out as rough and unintelligible.
"Well, it seems he's hungry." The third voice was chiming in. That would be Rebecca. Also someone I was taking home tonight.
"Thirsty is more like it," the mystery woman began, "so I guess I'm going to have to give him something to drink." She was close enough to my face to make out what she was doing. Her wrist came to her mouth, and then a sweet scent filled the air. Something was dripping from her wrist. It was almost impossible for it not to be her blood. She then placed her wrist on my mouth.
"Drink up, drink it all up. Lets lighten up your skin a bit, shall we?" | |
[WP] Good news: You brought home two attractive people after the party. Bad news: You're about to find out what happens when a person gets bitten by both a vampire and a werewolf at the same time. | It was in the middle of having some of the best sex of his life that Liam's life changed.
All he could feel was the trail of kisses Gregory and his werewolf licks left on his back while Seth took control of his mouth, sharp vampire fangs making the experience addictive. Gorgeous Gregory behind him and Seductive Seth in front, both doing their absolute best to make him forget his name.
It was here, while Liam was reminded that God was good and lived to bless his children, that he realized that two sets of mouths were nibbling on his neck. While he wasn't the type to shy away from a hickey or two, it was getting a little too intense and Liam could feel a too harsh sting.
Touching his shoulders, his fingers came back red.
"Hey guys, maybe ease up on the biting?"
Two gorgeous faces looked up and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry" they said and gave him one hell of a kiss. Then he forgot everything else as they proved to Liam that bad boys really do bring heaven to you.
It was three months in what he could confidently say was the beginning of a lovely poly relationship that he felt something. A sort of nausea and stomach pain that had his two boyfriends fuss over him for the first day before staunchly pushing him to go to the doctor.
Now he was sitting on a plastic chair, in front of a doctor and he was left wondering if this was a good idea at all.
"What exactly is wrong with me?"
His friend Martha was currently not talking to him, too busy staring wildly at the results in front of her. Had been for the past 5 minutes. The elf doctor was unresponsive to any attempts to get her attention, so Liam settled for throwing a piece of candy at her head.
"Ow! What the fuck?"
"You were ignoring me."
"I was not."
"Can you tell me what's wrong?" he begged. Because he'd been sick and vomiting for the past week and he did not want to find out he had a stomach bug on the day he was scheduled for a sea food buffet.
"Well, your results show...." she trailed off. Liam narrowed his eyes.
"You're afraid of telling me something."
She shook her head frantically. "No of course not!"
Liam just raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me the results."
Her intelligent response was, "Uh...."
"What's wrong Martha?"
"Nothing's wrong exactly!"
"Then stop evading the question."
"I'm not evading," she said evasively.
After a couple of minutes of Liam staring her down, she sighed. Then asked something he completely did not expect.
"Did you come in contact with a werewolf and vampire recently?"
Liam blinked. "No? I mean, I'm not really sure?"
"Well, have you been bitten by anyone recently?"
Liam thought for a while, but came up with a blank. He shook his head, which made Martha look more distressed.
"Are you sure no one's bitten you before?"
Liam was about to nod when he was struck by a memory from three months ago when his two lovely boyfriends made a meal out of him. He couldn't help the blush on his face, which Martha latched on too quickly.
"Oh my god," she said. "You hooked up with them didn't you."
"More like they're my boyfriends now?"
"Oh my god. Liam! Did you let them bite you?!"
"Yeah, actually," he admitted. "But that's okay, they have to consciously give you their blood to make you turn right?"
"Yes, but you're a pureblood human."
"Why's that important?"
Martha rubbed her temples like she was trying to fight off a headache. Or maybe not punch Liam in the face.
"Pureblood humans are so rare these days that most people can't tell them from halflings anymore. And it makes them forget that the lack of magical DNA makes for chaotic results when mixed with magic. If you were a the usual half-elf or half-vamp, nothing would have happened if they bit you. But now..."
The troubled look on Martha's face was really starting to scare him.
"Martha," he pleaded quietly, "what's going on?"
She looked up at him with serious gaze. Took a deep breath. Then said,
"Do you know about the omegaverse?"
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The door opened to their shared apartment. Gregory and Seth looked up with twin smiles and a greeting on the tip of their tongue. They never got a chance when Liam threw twin plastic sticks in their faces.
Sputtering, the vampire and werewolf duo looked up at a clearly irate Liam, then down on whatever he threw at them. Then blinked.
Because in their hands was two pregnancy tests.
"YOU GOT ME PREGNANT YOU ASSHOLES!"
"WAIT WHAT?!" | It feels odd being so close to death when your so young, yet so far. You could almost touch the veil of the afterlife, but your destiny was never to die so early in life. That was my situation.
I was in my room again, but I couldn't exactly recall why. The last thing I remember was getting hit by something on my drive home, blacking out in the process. I was on a dirt road about 3 miles out.
The experience of being in my room wasn't pleasant though. My ears were ringing as loud as police sirens, my body was aching from neck to toe, and as for my head, besides the ringing, I had a god awful migraine in the process of starting up. I was also extremely thirsty, but for some reason, I had no inclination for water. It was for something else, but I couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly that my throat was aching for. My vision was blurry as hell, but at the very least my room had enough distinguishing features for me to know it was such.
The walls were a light color of blue, with a nightstand placed on the wall to the left of the window. My desk was also there, right in front of said window, plopped right next to the nightstand. The mirror I had was also present, next to the door on the opposite side of the room, placed where I could open the door and immediately turn around, because I simply preferred it to be that way. My bed was positioned against another wall separate from the one with the window and door, on the same side as the nightstand. And there were three people in the room, but I couldn't make out there facial features. My eyes were still a wreck.
I was trying to sit-up on my bed, but the extreme protesting of my body made it impossible to maintain the position. I collapsed right back onto my back, defeated. All I could look at now was the ceiling, with a light that I remembered to be a chandelier. But it was turned on. It was still nighttime. I looked over at the window. It was dark. How long was I out for?
My rustling in the bed must've gotten the three people to notice me, because one of them then was now touching my check. Her voice was feminine, but I couldn't put a finger on where I heard it before.
"Ah, poor darling, this must be the worst night of your life. It started out so great at the club, but now your in your bed right after a wreck."
"Who the hell are you?" Was all I could muster.
"Why would that matter to you?" She replied.
Someone else replied before I could. It was the voice of one of the chicks I was bringing home. Safira was what she introduced herself as. "Well to be fair, your a person who he's probably never met who is now in his room. For all he knows, you could be a stalker, sex offender, or home invader." She chuckled.
"I only have his best intentions at heart!" The woman protested.
"How the hell is he supposed to know?" Safira replied. She was sounding like someone who had fun at a party right now.
At this point, the thirst was getting to me. My mouth was now gaping open, and I was trying to say something, but it kept coming out as rough and unintelligible.
"Well, it seems he's hungry." The third voice was chiming in. That would be Rebecca. Also someone I was taking home tonight.
"Thirsty is more like it," the mystery woman began, "so I guess I'm going to have to give him something to drink." She was close enough to my face to make out what she was doing. Her wrist came to her mouth, and then a sweet scent filled the air. Something was dripping from her wrist. It was almost impossible for it not to be her blood. She then placed her wrist on my mouth.
"Drink up, drink it all up. Lets lighten up your skin a bit, shall we?" | |
[WP] Good news: You brought home two attractive people after the party. Bad news: You're about to find out what happens when a person gets bitten by both a vampire and a werewolf at the same time. | It was in the middle of having some of the best sex of his life that Liam's life changed.
All he could feel was the trail of kisses Gregory and his werewolf licks left on his back while Seth took control of his mouth, sharp vampire fangs making the experience addictive. Gorgeous Gregory behind him and Seductive Seth in front, both doing their absolute best to make him forget his name.
It was here, while Liam was reminded that God was good and lived to bless his children, that he realized that two sets of mouths were nibbling on his neck. While he wasn't the type to shy away from a hickey or two, it was getting a little too intense and Liam could feel a too harsh sting.
Touching his shoulders, his fingers came back red.
"Hey guys, maybe ease up on the biting?"
Two gorgeous faces looked up and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry" they said and gave him one hell of a kiss. Then he forgot everything else as they proved to Liam that bad boys really do bring heaven to you.
It was three months in what he could confidently say was the beginning of a lovely poly relationship that he felt something. A sort of nausea and stomach pain that had his two boyfriends fuss over him for the first day before staunchly pushing him to go to the doctor.
Now he was sitting on a plastic chair, in front of a doctor and he was left wondering if this was a good idea at all.
"What exactly is wrong with me?"
His friend Martha was currently not talking to him, too busy staring wildly at the results in front of her. Had been for the past 5 minutes. The elf doctor was unresponsive to any attempts to get her attention, so Liam settled for throwing a piece of candy at her head.
"Ow! What the fuck?"
"You were ignoring me."
"I was not."
"Can you tell me what's wrong?" he begged. Because he'd been sick and vomiting for the past week and he did not want to find out he had a stomach bug on the day he was scheduled for a sea food buffet.
"Well, your results show...." she trailed off. Liam narrowed his eyes.
"You're afraid of telling me something."
She shook her head frantically. "No of course not!"
Liam just raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me the results."
Her intelligent response was, "Uh...."
"What's wrong Martha?"
"Nothing's wrong exactly!"
"Then stop evading the question."
"I'm not evading," she said evasively.
After a couple of minutes of Liam staring her down, she sighed. Then asked something he completely did not expect.
"Did you come in contact with a werewolf and vampire recently?"
Liam blinked. "No? I mean, I'm not really sure?"
"Well, have you been bitten by anyone recently?"
Liam thought for a while, but came up with a blank. He shook his head, which made Martha look more distressed.
"Are you sure no one's bitten you before?"
Liam was about to nod when he was struck by a memory from three months ago when his two lovely boyfriends made a meal out of him. He couldn't help the blush on his face, which Martha latched on too quickly.
"Oh my god," she said. "You hooked up with them didn't you."
"More like they're my boyfriends now?"
"Oh my god. Liam! Did you let them bite you?!"
"Yeah, actually," he admitted. "But that's okay, they have to consciously give you their blood to make you turn right?"
"Yes, but you're a pureblood human."
"Why's that important?"
Martha rubbed her temples like she was trying to fight off a headache. Or maybe not punch Liam in the face.
"Pureblood humans are so rare these days that most people can't tell them from halflings anymore. And it makes them forget that the lack of magical DNA makes for chaotic results when mixed with magic. If you were a the usual half-elf or half-vamp, nothing would have happened if they bit you. But now..."
The troubled look on Martha's face was really starting to scare him.
"Martha," he pleaded quietly, "what's going on?"
She looked up at him with serious gaze. Took a deep breath. Then said,
"Do you know about the omegaverse?"
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The door opened to their shared apartment. Gregory and Seth looked up with twin smiles and a greeting on the tip of their tongue. They never got a chance when Liam threw twin plastic sticks in their faces.
Sputtering, the vampire and werewolf duo looked up at a clearly irate Liam, then down on whatever he threw at them. Then blinked.
Because in their hands was two pregnancy tests.
"YOU GOT ME PREGNANT YOU ASSHOLES!"
"WAIT WHAT?!" | Ashley looked up. "How did this happen?" She asked, pointing to the sleeping boy.
Mira shrugged. "How the hell should I know?" She asked, scratching hers ear. "We should see what will happen."
Ashley shook hers head. "It could be- gross." She looked at the red head. "You know, you look pretty today."
The pale girl smirked. "As always. But now we have him there... Let's do some experiments." She laughed and looked at hers friend. "C'mon Pup, let's have some fun..."
Ashley smiled softly before lifting the boy up and putting his head underwater.
(This is hella short lol) | |
[WP] Good news: You brought home two attractive people after the party. Bad news: You're about to find out what happens when a person gets bitten by both a vampire and a werewolf at the same time. | It was in the middle of having some of the best sex of his life that Liam's life changed.
All he could feel was the trail of kisses Gregory and his werewolf licks left on his back while Seth took control of his mouth, sharp vampire fangs making the experience addictive. Gorgeous Gregory behind him and Seductive Seth in front, both doing their absolute best to make him forget his name.
It was here, while Liam was reminded that God was good and lived to bless his children, that he realized that two sets of mouths were nibbling on his neck. While he wasn't the type to shy away from a hickey or two, it was getting a little too intense and Liam could feel a too harsh sting.
Touching his shoulders, his fingers came back red.
"Hey guys, maybe ease up on the biting?"
Two gorgeous faces looked up and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry" they said and gave him one hell of a kiss. Then he forgot everything else as they proved to Liam that bad boys really do bring heaven to you.
It was three months in what he could confidently say was the beginning of a lovely poly relationship that he felt something. A sort of nausea and stomach pain that had his two boyfriends fuss over him for the first day before staunchly pushing him to go to the doctor.
Now he was sitting on a plastic chair, in front of a doctor and he was left wondering if this was a good idea at all.
"What exactly is wrong with me?"
His friend Martha was currently not talking to him, too busy staring wildly at the results in front of her. Had been for the past 5 minutes. The elf doctor was unresponsive to any attempts to get her attention, so Liam settled for throwing a piece of candy at her head.
"Ow! What the fuck?"
"You were ignoring me."
"I was not."
"Can you tell me what's wrong?" he begged. Because he'd been sick and vomiting for the past week and he did not want to find out he had a stomach bug on the day he was scheduled for a sea food buffet.
"Well, your results show...." she trailed off. Liam narrowed his eyes.
"You're afraid of telling me something."
She shook her head frantically. "No of course not!"
Liam just raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me the results."
Her intelligent response was, "Uh...."
"What's wrong Martha?"
"Nothing's wrong exactly!"
"Then stop evading the question."
"I'm not evading," she said evasively.
After a couple of minutes of Liam staring her down, she sighed. Then asked something he completely did not expect.
"Did you come in contact with a werewolf and vampire recently?"
Liam blinked. "No? I mean, I'm not really sure?"
"Well, have you been bitten by anyone recently?"
Liam thought for a while, but came up with a blank. He shook his head, which made Martha look more distressed.
"Are you sure no one's bitten you before?"
Liam was about to nod when he was struck by a memory from three months ago when his two lovely boyfriends made a meal out of him. He couldn't help the blush on his face, which Martha latched on too quickly.
"Oh my god," she said. "You hooked up with them didn't you."
"More like they're my boyfriends now?"
"Oh my god. Liam! Did you let them bite you?!"
"Yeah, actually," he admitted. "But that's okay, they have to consciously give you their blood to make you turn right?"
"Yes, but you're a pureblood human."
"Why's that important?"
Martha rubbed her temples like she was trying to fight off a headache. Or maybe not punch Liam in the face.
"Pureblood humans are so rare these days that most people can't tell them from halflings anymore. And it makes them forget that the lack of magical DNA makes for chaotic results when mixed with magic. If you were a the usual half-elf or half-vamp, nothing would have happened if they bit you. But now..."
The troubled look on Martha's face was really starting to scare him.
"Martha," he pleaded quietly, "what's going on?"
She looked up at him with serious gaze. Took a deep breath. Then said,
"Do you know about the omegaverse?"
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The door opened to their shared apartment. Gregory and Seth looked up with twin smiles and a greeting on the tip of their tongue. They never got a chance when Liam threw twin plastic sticks in their faces.
Sputtering, the vampire and werewolf duo looked up at a clearly irate Liam, then down on whatever he threw at them. Then blinked.
Because in their hands was two pregnancy tests.
"YOU GOT ME PREGNANT YOU ASSHOLES!"
"WAIT WHAT?!" | Jake was pleased as punch with himself. He'd never actually brought someone home with him within hours of meeting them before. Yet alone two someone's! Looking back, perhaps this should have been his first warning to the obscene depravities that would be enacted upon him that night. But his heart full of pride and his member at attention, Jake swaggered forward to open the door of his home to these two lovely new friends.
"Don't mind the mess" Jake automatically intoned, though his apartment was as clean as it ever was, what he truly meant, if he had thought about it, was "I hope that you are comfortable with the same amount of general disarray as I am.
"Not at all" Edwina, the petite redhead, replied. The buxom blonde Jackie laughed as she said "Yeah, trust me, my place is a lot messier than this".
"So, can I get either of you ladies a drink?" Jake asked, desperately trying to play it cool. Something had changed. He was nervous now. He thought that it was simply the social pressure of having two attractive strangers in his home, but it was more than that. Jake had a sudden and inexplicable sense of dread bloom through him. He felt his sphincter tighten as a thick pulse of dread shot through his guts, making him feel both nauseus and excited in some terrible entropic corner of his soul.
Jake realized he had been staring and stammering at the redheads eyes for the past thirty seconds when he finally said "...is everything ok?", but really wanting to know 'are you going to hurt me?'
Jackie laughed again, her once dulcet tenor taking on an unhinged affect.
"Ok? You, don't think we're going to hurt you do you Jakey?
Because, yeah...I guess we are"
"But," chimed Edwina
"We don't think you'll mind too much" laughing a small sensual snicker that juxtaposed the heavy movement of her hands to the corners of her dress.
Jake's mind was pounding like a bass drum and the painful throb of his traitor bodies erection pulsed to match. "No... please" he whimpered halfheartedly as the two creatures before him seemed to melt and change in the diaphanous shadows of the lamps.
His mind and body both screamed to run but he stood there still and dumb, hypnotized by the creatures predatory eyes. He felt as the deer might feel; with the all too sudden realization that the story of the lights rushing towards him tells of his end.
Fangs, delicate as syringes, sprang from the now gaping maw of Edwina, her jaw a distended mass of razors and hunger.
Jackie, already of large stature, seemed to convulse slightly as her thick blonde mane of hair expanded and grew, claiming the totality of her body and leaving nothing but matted dirty blonde fur shading 300 pounds of hungry wolf.
"Will it hurt" Jake said softly, his voice heavy but firm.
"Yes" they vocalised in unison, no longer able to speak words so much as hiss and growl ascent from their malformed mouths
"...Good..."
FIN
Epilogue. And then he died. A lot...but like maybe in a terrible sexy way, like Hellraiser style but vamp and werewolf ladies. Yeah, that's it. And then Edwina and Jackie go see the New Bob's Burgers movie, just to top off the evening out. | |
[WP] “The creature is approaching—what do you do?” Asks the Dungeon Master. “I cast invisibility!” “I ready my bow!” “I read my End User Licence Agreement!” The group stops and sighs. “For the last time Gareth, ‘installation wizard’ is not a fucking class!” | Ashbjorn cursed his own luck as an axe the size of a modest doorway swung at where his head was only moments ago. Drake was already knocked out and lying in a puddle of his own blood and piss, his armor was sporting beautiful new holes in several places. His sword was doing a shockingly good impression of a snapped tree branch. That bitch Crimson had dipped the moment things got hairy.
 
"How much longer?!" Ashbjorn shouted at the only other party member still worth anything.
 
"Fifty percent!" Gareth replied from behind.
 
"Hurry the fuck up!" Ashbjorn risked a glance over his shoulder as the monster advanced. Gareth seemed to be performing a strange ritual which consisted of waving his arms back and forth like a progressing bar. He looked ridiculous. 'This is it. This is where I die,' Ashbjorn thought to himself.
 
"I need to define an installation directory, check for software compatibility, and–"
 
"Not now, Gareth! A little busy!" Ashbjorn rolled to his left, caught himself on a nearby tree, and sprung from it. The speed at which he changed direction surprised the monster, and Ashbjorn was able to get a strike in with his dagger. It was too shallow unfortunately. Curse this thing's thick hide. He never should've left The Pub.
 
\*\*\*
 
The Pub wasn't the sort of place you brought your children. It was dirty, dingy, and most of all dangerous. It was the sort of uncouth spot you might find a bandit pretending to be a upstanding mercenary or an animal feed merchant gaslighting as a restaurant bartender. Unfortunately for Ashbjorn, it was also the place The Guild posted their job offers.
 
"An installation wizard," a cheery voice tried to explain. The man wore a navy blue cloak three sizes too big and speckled with obnoxious stars. He held a wooden staff with what looked like a giant paperclip on the end. His pack was overflowing with books and scrolls. Frankly, he looked absurd and completely unfit for a hunting job. Ashbjorn questioned whether the man was lying or if the guild ladies had simply lost their minds recommending someone like this.
 
Drake frowned, "Is that some sort of magic carpenter? Do you install appliances in homes?"
 
Crimson offered a more sensible explanation, albeit also a bit poor, "Perhaps... he magically installs traps...?"
 
"No no, I perform application package installation, verifying client certification and establishing server communication while providing end user license agreements."
 
"Did you catch any of that?" Even Crimson was stumped with this one.
 
Ashbjorn rubbed his chin. Some of those words sounded familiar, but be couldn't quite grasp their meaning.
 
Drake simply stopped thinking and asked, "Can you cast offensive magic?"
 
"Yes, in fact I provide backwards compatibility with unsynchronized client–"
 
"GOOD! That's all I needed to hear, now let's get going."
 
"But don't you want to know about–"
 
"NOPE." Drake indicated the conversation was over by picking up his shield and heading for the door. Crimson shrugged and followed him out.
 
"It's alright," Ashbjorn offered. "I can listen if you like, but I'm not sure how much I would understand."
 
"No... it's okay. No one ever pays attention to anything I have to say anyway." The wizard was clearly dejected and Ashbjorn felt a little bad for him.
 
\*\*\*
 
Four goblins danced around a campfire in a clearing just ahead. Their figures created strange and eerie shapes in the dim moonlight as they circled a gruesome totem. Limbs jutted out of the burning effigy at obscene angles, heads lolled grotesquely, and mouths gurgled in their last moments of life. One of the bodies lay in a pool of its own blood and another was missing several limbs. A third had been impaled with a spear. Judging by their attire, Ashbjorn guessed they must be the missing caravan members they were instructed to rescue if possible. Guess that wasn't happening, poor fellows.
 
A fifth goblin with blue hair and a large wooden stick appeared at the edge of the clearing and began to shout something unintelligible while waving its hands. Ashbjorn strained to decipher the gibberish, but his ears weren't quite adapted to hearing the language. Crimson gestured at the two closest and Ashbjorn understood. He readied his crossbow and waited for her signal.
 
Two bolts flew from their spot with uncanny speed and accuracy, each striking their intended target in the skull. The remaining three goblins stopped to look at their fallen comrades with confusion, before noticing the quarrels sticking out from their domes. In a single breath, Drake and Crimson were already in their midst swinging and cutting with expert precision.
 
Ashbjorn loaded his next bolt, steadied his aim at the leader, and fired. Surprisingly, the goblin was staring right at him unfazed. Ashbjorn even noticed a smile on his grotesque features as the bolt drilled between his eyes. Without warning, the bonfire suddenly exploded and *something* gigantic and wreathed in flames stepped out into the darkness.
 
"OHHHH FUCK!" Drake's signature emergency battle cry was unmistakable.
 
A tree flew overhead, crashing behind Ashbjorn. He steadied himself on a nearby rock. What the hell was that?
 
Crimson emerged from an unseen shadow beside him, "Bad news, that last goblin summoned something terrible. Good news, it's not my problem." And with that, she melded back into the darkness.
 
"What the F– Get back here you cunt!" but it was no use, all traces of her presence had disappeared.
 
The monster's twin horns gleamed in the moonlight. The flames covering it were dissipating now, revealing a rippling mass of muscles underneath. It moved with impossible speed. There was no outrunning this creature, not for him anyway. Each swing of its furniture-sized axe split the air with a deafening boom. The very forest shuddered at its power. Drake was doing a commendable job keeping the minotaur at bay, but it would only be a matter of time.
 
Gareth was imitating a roly-poly by his feet and Ashbjorn kicked him, "You're up. Do something about *that* or we'll all be dead."
 
"But-but- installing packages takes time, I have to check for system support and–"
 
"I can buy you a minute or two maybe, now get to it." Ashbjorn drew his dagger. Bolts wouldn't do anything to the minotaur's thick hide. Drake tumbled into a nearby tree and Ashbjorn regretted every decision in his life that led him here.
 
\*\*\*
 
"Eighty five percent!" Gareth was now on his belly simulating a crawling worm.
 
Ashbjorn really wanted to ask what the fuck he was doing, but avoiding death was currenting using all his resources. The minotaur's axe crashed into the ground by his side, splitting rock and earth. It was bleeding from several cuts Ashbjorn was lucky enough to get in, but they were barely papercuts in comparison to the gashing wounds he'd suffered in the same time frame.
 
"Ninety percent!" The installation wizard was full on sprinting in place as fast as he could and going nowhere. Nothing he did made any sense.
 
A moment's error brings tragedy to the battlefield. The minotaur swung with its other arm and caught Ashbjorn in the ribs. A stiff crack reverberated throughout his body. He couldn't breathe and the pain was unbearable, yet he struggled to stand again. He had to. Whatever Gareth was doing, it was their last hope and he needed to protect him.
 
"Ninety five percent!" Gareth's staff was carving a perfect circle through the air in an impressive display of agility. If only he could use that skill in combat.
 
Ashbjorn gripped the minotaur's ankles as it tried to approach the installation wizard, "You're not going anywhere."
 
The minotaur let out a guttural roar and kicked Ashbjorn. His body launched across the clearing like a rag doll without strings. Every bone in his body must've be broken now. Ashbjorn watched as light gathered into the paperclip on Gareth's staff. The minotaur plodded closer and closer.
 
Then to everyone's surprise, the installation wizard knelt down, fished out a huge scroll out from his pack, and began reading, "By agreeing to this End User License Agreement, you–"
 
"I FUCKEN AGREE, NOW GET ON WITH IT!" Ashbjorn's vision was starting to dim, it was taking all his processing power to stay conscious.
 
Gareth smiled.
 
___
I write stuff sometimes, read more at /r/Unexpected_Works | You try to be quiet, but the leaves under your feet betray you, letting out their last breath in a soft crackle. It wasn't much of a noise. But it was enough.
In the distance, appears a glint of yellow, no, two, four... eight. The moon is full, and a cold, short breeze comes and seems to crawl down your spine.
*Shit, do you see them Narea?*
Nerea’s nightsight sees even more than the ominous eyes. She can make out the silhouettes of what look like wolves, if only enlarged two or three times.
*I do, get ready*
*I will cast a shield around us, it will protect us from any dark energy.*
*Thanks, Eleanor. I’ll get my magic missiles ready. Should I concentrate on one or try to get three separate ones?*
*Focus on one, Claperois. Let’s see how strong these bastards are…*
*Ha-char, we will stand behind you, get ready to smash*
*…hehehehe*
Eleanor, Narea, Ha-char, and Claperois get ready, and they look toward Gareth, a self-proclaimed wizard who is joining on this quest. They have just met at the local inn, and this is their first engagement together.
*Are you are ready to proceed?*
*I guess the wizard doesn’t reveal his secrets...*
OK, roll for initiative. 5, 2, 13, 19, 2. Who has higher dexterity? Eleanor or Gareth?… OK.
Ha-char. You’re up.
*OH YES!.. I will charge, and swing with my warhammer! Say hello to THIS, little doggie!*
Your warhammer connects and lifts the Dire Wolf off of its feet and it slides about 10 feet away. 27 damage. But, his friends didn’t like that. The next one goes to bite. 8 damage!
*Just a flesh wound…*
Claperois you’re up.
*I focus all three missiles on the one that Ha-char hit*
You lift up your hands, and three hovering missiles seem to smell blood in the air as they hiss through the night and connect with the Wolf. He clearly had some broken bones from the first hit, and your strikes find this weaker spot and blast him against a tree — he is down, dead.
*ALL RIGHT!*
*Nice!*
*Good one, Clap*
*Next*
Yes, OK… next up is the third Dire Wolf. He dashes toward the group.
*Did he cross me?!*
Yes.
*Attack of opportunity!*
Roll for attack.
—sigh— That hits.
*HA! Smashing pumpkins? More like Smashing Wolves! Nat 20!*
I can’t believe it. How do you want to do this?
*Smash smash!!!*
Right. The wolf, so focused on his friend being blasted to death, dashes in rage at the source of the missiles, right in the path of our lovely big Dragonborn Fighter. As the wolf is running full speed, you bring up warhammer, and kind of like a mousetrap, you time it perfectly and absolutely crush the skull of the wolf. His body rolls from the initial momentum in some sort of somersault, right to the feet of the rest of the group.
*Amazing! Nice Ha-char!*
*Two down!*
*Let’s go!!!*
*Proceed*
OK. Now we have Narea. What are you doing?
*I swiftly try to sneak up on the third wolf. And swing my half-staff at him…*
*hit him with a stick! hit him with a stick!*
Alright, roll for stealth! … You succeed … Advantage on attack roll … Oh no, that does not hit.
*… I follow up with bare-handed attack.*
(A bit of laughter is shared around the table, this seems to happen a lot.)
*Punch him in the face!*
OK. … That hits! Roll for damage … 4 damage. Well, the wolf is more surprised than hurt. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the staff as it was swung, and his head kind of followed it toward the right. Then, you come in closer and give him a good whack right near his temple. Now, it’s Elenaor.
*I transform into the Dire Wolf. And go to bite this same wolf. Let’s see who has the sharper bite!*
You reach up to the sky, and your eyes turn green, a flash and then you start to transform right before our eyes, into a giant Dire Wolf. Roll for attack. That hits! Roll for damage. Oh! 14 damage! Ouch! … you run up to the wolf. It is both still a bit woozy from the last strike, and a bit confused to see you running at it, so you get right past its defense and leave a nasty gash along the side of the wolf’s neck. He is badly wounded.
It is the turn of the last wolf now. Seeing that his friends have been devastated without much luck, he turns and flees. There is only the one wounded wolf left. Gareth, you are up.
*Finish*
You want to finish him? Well, you have to attack him first. Do you have a spell ready? Or what do you do?
*I choose the F: drive*
The “F Drive”? Sorry I’m not familiar with that one. What is the saving throw? What does it say there on your sheet?
*Not enough space.”
…uh… to write it down? I can look it up then.
*I do not accept the agreement*
OK. What? What do you do then?
*Retry*
Fine. With the … “F Drive”?
*External Source*
What kind of source?
“External”
OK… um… whatever source this is… Let’s go with it. Roll for attack.
*Status 17%*
17? That hits. Roll for damage.
*Please wait*
…
Well? What is the damage?
*Complete corruption. Fall back to previously installed version.*
Corruption? It was a dark external source then. OK. You lift your… do you have a wand?
*Keys and a mouse.*
…right. You, take the keys, open some sort of window, a portal of sorts, and you drag the mouse up to it. You squeeze the mouse, and some sort of process begins, as if it were in a black box. Colors and shapes change, and all at once, it is over. The wolf seems to choke from the inside, as if a virus takes hold of his lungs. He struggles, and collapses. You did it.
*Whoa.. that was weird*
*…Nice job, Gareth..?*
*I like smash better.*
*A dark wizard, eh? It was setup for you!*
… *Complete.*
Well, adventurers. You fended off the pack of Dire Wolves. Good job. Now, you proceed onward along the path, until you see an enormous house, it fills half of the sky. It’s roof, almost in shambles. The garden left unkempt, with wild vines stretching like tendrils toward the gate, which is only patchwork at this point, opened and broken all over. What strikes you most though, are the windows; there are too many to count, and they are all a little different. At the top, however, is a window so large, it takes up almost the entire room of the floor. In the corner, you see a faint blue light.
Gareth's face lit up ... *Updates are ready*. | |
[WP] “The creature is approaching—what do you do?” Asks the Dungeon Master. “I cast invisibility!” “I ready my bow!” “I read my End User Licence Agreement!” The group stops and sighs. “For the last time Gareth, ‘installation wizard’ is not a fucking class!” | “Again with this?” asked Ty, sighing deeply. “That isn’t a spell. The most technologically savvy person in the party is the artificer, and even he has no idea what an EULA is.”
“My character does,” replied Gareth stubbornly. Ty barely knew him; he was a friend of Terry, and Terry hadn’t been able to make that session. It was only session two, and Ty already wanted to make him leave.
He resisted the urge. “Whatever. Andrew, you can take a shot since you prepared your bow action.”
Andrew rolled. “18!”
“That’s a hit,” Ty confirmed. “Roll for damage.
“Five on the 1d8… eight sneak attack damage… adding my bonuses… alright, a sixteen! Not bad for a level 3.”
“Very good, very good. Now, leaping out of the shadows, you see a strange, wolf-like creature. It is unrecognizable to most of you, but Lyra the cleric might recognize it due to her past…”
“I look it up on Google Chrome,” interrupted Gareth. “I read the entire EULA, so I have a +3 to browsing.”
“Browsing is not a stat that exists! And that’s not how EULAs work! You don’t even have an action! Let’s just… skip past that… Rachel, roll history.”
Rachel rolled. “6,” she groaned.
“Not gonna cut it. None of you recognize that creature, and no more prepared actions can be taken. Now, roll initiative.”
Each player rolled, and the wolf got first in initiative with a 20.
“So, as, uh… ‘Mikrasaft’ the wizard did not bother to move behind the front liners…” Ty started, interrupted by Gareth snickering at his own character name, “and instead opted to read the “license agreement” of his dagger, the wolf charges towards him.” A bit mean to do to a beginner player, sure, but he was *really* getting on Ty’s nerves. “He hits with a sixteen, and deals… 7 damage.”
Gareth went next. “I cast Firefox,” he announced.
“Firefox isn’t even a spell, dumbass!” shouted Thomas, who was playing a fighter. “And if you cast fireball, you’re gonna hit me, Rachel, Andrew, AND yourself!”
“I cast Firefox on the dire wolf,” said Gareth again.
“How do you know it’s a dire wolf?” asked Ty. “You’re all beginners.”
“My ‘avid tech user’ ability lets me look up monsters in and out of game,” explained Gareth. “You really need to pay attention to our characters, dude.”
Ty decided to not say anything to prevent himself from yelling at and/or punching Gareth. Lyra the Cleric went next. “Rachel, heal me,” demanded Gareth.
“I can’t heal you,” said Rachel, gritting her teeth, “because I exhausted all my healing spells last fight when you got hit, like, a million times shouting at Ty to read the dungeon’s EULA.”
“I cast a curse of bad Google searches on Lyra,” announced Gareth.”
“It’s not even your turn!” protested Thomas.
Gareth shrugged. “It’s what my character would do.”
“That’s it,” Ty snapped. “Leave my table and don’t come back until you have a character that adheres to the rules.
Gareth gave in and left. The rest of the session went well, as they were able to defeat the dire wolf and rescue the group of goblins they had been sent to look for. Ty set the date for the next game, and, to his surprise, Gareth came back with a new sheet.
“Is this character better, Gareth?” Ty asked.
“Yeah, he is,” said Gareth, grinning and holding up his character sheet. “This is Jim. He’s a Park Ranger.” | "I'm starting to get worried," Adam said. "Gareth and his company had already sent us a message two weeks ago. They claimed to be 99% of the way here.”
"Maybe something stopped them. Remember what the prophecy said. Only a fellowship of all races – human, dwarf, elf and mage – can save Esgilith from the Great Evil” said the elf.
"Give up on that prophecy! We have been sitting on our asses for two weeks, and meanwhile a dragon is ravaging the city!” thundered the dwarf, clearly already drunk.
"You have spent the last two weeks drinking. If you had instead helped us in our search for another wizard to join our team, we might already be on our way." said the elf angrily.
Suddenly the argument was interrupted by a deep voice. An old man in a long blue robe stained with blood entered the inn.
"Friends, let’s cancel this argument," Gareth the Installation Wizard spoke. "Forgive the delay. Along the way, my team and I were ambushed by a monster. Unfortunately, I was the only one to survive. This means the Evil is growing in strength. We must move immediately.”
***
On the way the mood improved considerably. Even the dwarf began to show signs of optimism.
"And when we've slaughtered the beast, we'll make a nice profit. I heard that this dragon has a bigger treasury than the emperor." he said.
"We'd better focus on how to defeat him." replied the elf. "As far as I know, Gareth, you went through the archives to gain knowledge of the beast's weaknesses. Tell me where I should aim my bow.”
"Ah, about that... I must have lost this data somewhere in the Program Files... " replied the wizard nervously.
"This Gareth is acting suspiciously." whispered Adam to the dwarf quietly enough for the wizard not to hear him.
"Yesterday when he saw me practicing sword fighting, he tried to push his toolbar on me. He claimed it would be more useful to me than my sword.”
"Don't be afraid,” the dwarf reassured him. "He is a trusted man, from recommendation. My good friend met him on a pirate ship a few years ago. They spent several years together on the sea and he never let him down. And the best part is that he agreed to take part in the expedition without taking anything for himself. Think about it, all the treasure would be ours! What a great guy.”
"That's what I found the most strange." replied the human. However, the dwarf's self-confidence proved convincing enough for him not to pursue the subject.
***
The man drew his sword. This was the last chance. The dragon devoured the elf before he could even draw his bow. The trap the dwarf was setting up, instead sent himself flying into the air. Now only Adam and Gareth remained. But the latter's spells, cast from afar, seemed to have no effect on the dragon.
Adam crept close to the dragon's lair, so that the soft belly of the beast was within reach. He swung his sword. Suddenly, however, a tremendous pain pierced his body. He looked down and saw a spike sticking out of his chest. With the last of his strength, he turned and looked at Gareth, who was standing right behind him.
"You didn't read my EULA, did you? "said the wizard. "Or you would know, what happens to those that don't want to pay." he smiled. | |
[removed] | [WP] Create the inner monologue of the single most morally disgusting person or being or anything that you can imagine. Most importantly, make this utter brutality and/or evil seem believable. | _Ohhh Sally shotgun. What fun we're going to have today. You and me have a date._
_I think you and me should stay indoors to be honest. Joanna is out getting her big dollars, HER GREENBACKS she'd say and it's pretty fucking gloomy out in general. And in my opinion, you're just about the only joyful thing in my life right now, Ha Ha. Now where do y-_
**bark** **bark** **bark**
_what in the-_
_**gunshot**_
#"SHUT THE FUCK UP."
_Ah shit, I'm sorry babygirl. That little shit would never stop barking and being needy, that kind of bullshit is just tiring on my soul. All this bullshit is just tiring man. Everything, everyone has disconnected from me. They don't complete that puzzle piece like you do. And, to be honest when Joanna gets here I'll be long retired. With you, in my arms._
.....
_No, I don't think she'll have a problem raising Julianna. She's going to be fine. She's going to grow up, and she's going to be strong... strong as her mamma is gonna be... and when mama is about ready to join me-- no wait nevermind she won't actually._
......
_Sally, listen to me. It was our bedroom, alright? OUR bed, and she's the little piggy on the fucking spitroast okay??? Look, I've danced this exact game with TWO OTHER WOMEN. I know how this works. She'll claim half of my shit and take Julianna along with her, and she can have her! She WILL have her alright? we have a date so I think it's in our best interest we STOP talking about this._
.....
_Thank you Sally. Now let's not mince words. Where should we get it on? Bedroom? Bathtub perhaps? Outside Patio? The Couch maybe? If you want, I'll take you into the bedroom of the missus..._
...?
_You want to actually go in?_
..
_Seriously?_
.......
_Oh, Sally!!!! See, this is why I'm in love with you. You always manage to go along with all of my "high horsey bullshit". Don't worry, we don't have to jump right in. We can take our sweet, sweet time. Sweet as can be._
_**door slam**_
[fear_lord_duck's a quack!]
(really loved this semi constrained writing style prompt btw) | Subverted it a little. Feedback welcome
\--
Doesn’t she look just stupid now! She only has herself to blame. Look at that disgusting pink goop on the floor. I have never. NEVER, enjoyed the pink flavour. She knows it too. If she wants to test my patience with these things, she better be ready to get down on her knees and mop it all up. Oh look, the yoghurt is getting runnier on the floor. Ha ha. Should I clap now? I think I’ll clap now. Seems to be the right thing to do.
That got her attention, didn’t it? Good. Maybe she’ll remember it the next time she goes to the big shop without me. She should know I like the blue ones. With the little happy berry on the front. I think I like it. I dunno. Maybe I threw that one out yesterday. It doesn’t matter. It's all her fault.
Wait, where is she going? HULLOO!! I'm stuck here. Pick me up, please. Oh god! That cruel woman. How could she abandon me like this? What will I do all alone here? Oh noo!! Wait. Is that a birdie at the window? Yes it is! I think it can see me waving. So pretty.
Ah now she comes back here. Is that…that is a …..plate of green not-berries! Gross! Ew!! Disgusting. Alright get ready, what can I hurl now. I know, I'll just grab her hair. Her nice long, hair that smells so nice. Yes, Imma grab it till she takes away the stupid green not-berries away. |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | Can't fucking believe I died.
Even worse, can't fucking believe I was wrong. I mean, I'm relieved, fading into nothing was always a dreadful idea.
"Ugh, your idea of death was very stressful." I suddenly hear a voice in my mind.
I start turning wildly on this green field surrounded by a starry sky. Who?
And then a shiny outline appears. Just an outline of a human being, not male, not female. It waves. And I hear a "Hi" that never touched my ears.
-Uhm... Hi?
It giggles - "I'm what your species calls God amongst other names."
"Well fuck me!" I yell, eyes widening, mind shattering, as I am forced to change my entire world view.
"Yeah, you are a particularly difficult case, that's why I came myself. I was afraid you'd stubborn your way into getting stuck in limbo. Anyhow, believing in me has nothing to do with heaven or hell. So, you're good. And, to alleviate some of that monstrous anxiety you've been carrying around - you get to ask me a question"
Shit shit shit. A question. I have none. Science has been answering my questions forever...
"What about platypuses?" I blurt out. God knows I watched too many weird animal videos, but what the fuck is wrong with me to ask that???
The voice in my mind sounds amused and confused, as the outline scratches its head. "About what-a-puses?"
"You know, hairy duck mammals with beaver tails, poison, laying eggs?"
"That doesn't exiiist" it says bemused.
"Well fuck me."
"I don't do that Zeus shit. You humans made that up" it says while stepping back.
"No, no... It's a figure of speech Sir... Ma'am? Dei?"
The figure approaches me again. The voice in my mind sounds perplexed. "ok... I'll give you a Google that you've been thinking about, and you'll show me the puses?"
I'm starting to think this deity seems and sounds rather immature...
"Imagine living forever. Wouldn't your mind change?" it scolds me.
OK, I have a phone in my hand, I found the platypus wiki page. I hand it over to Dei.
"Huh... Well... You see... Everything that anyone imagined exists somewhere... And sometimes those things spill out into my reality."
"Your...reality? As in, there are others?"
For some reason I know it's smiling. Suddenly the field we stood on starts moving farther and farther away. We zoom out. Suddenly, we float among the stars, and the deity is humongous. I am perched on its shoulder, and it is opening its palm to show me a marble.
"This is my reality" it says as I stare into the marble that is too complex inside for my mind to fully grasp.
"And these, are my brethren" - it points to other shapes among the stars, each holding a marble or a globe in its hands.
"But... The spill?"
"Oh, we sometimes play with marbles, somewhat like you humans do. The hits may displace things upon contact. But as a reward for showing me a spill, you can keep me company, and see others?"
And so, one question got me an eternal ride on Dei's shoulder. Love the fucking platypus. | "Fuck, I dunno..." God slurred. I couldn't even tell if he was looking at me or at the cloud over my shoulder. I could not believe my eyes. "Are .. are you drunk right now?" I asked.
"I can do whatever I damn well please. Do you know who I am?!" He leered in my direction, "I make all sorts of shit that I can't remember. I made you and monkeys comically similar!" He chuckled.
"You made the platypus while you were drunk?" I interrogated the Creator. He looked me up and down, then produced a scroll from inside his robe sleeve. He pulled on a loose strand of the golden twine holding the roll of parchment, unfurled it and skimmed the paper quickly. He seemed to sober almost instantly.
"You've got kids , enh?" He asked, not looking up from the paper. I nodded, "I had Madeline, who was 26 when I passed. Jake was 30."
"And were you proud of them?" He stared into my very soul.
"I, I loved them very much..." I stammered, "... But they just seemed so immature and undeveloped for their age... caught up with status, and being popular, and constantly wasting their money on things I just didn't think were important." The Lord softened his gaze, patiently at me I went on. " ... They don't want to work hard, but they want to be rich and famous. They're entitled. And for all the privilege and comfort they have, they just seem so ungrateful! They drive me crazy!"
The Almighty sighed, and produced two brown glass bottles from his other sleeve. He twisted the metal caps from the bottle tops, knocked back the contents of one, then handed the other to me.
"Now you know exactly how I fucking feel."
Edit: Clean up & Typos | |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | Can't fucking believe I died.
Even worse, can't fucking believe I was wrong. I mean, I'm relieved, fading into nothing was always a dreadful idea.
"Ugh, your idea of death was very stressful." I suddenly hear a voice in my mind.
I start turning wildly on this green field surrounded by a starry sky. Who?
And then a shiny outline appears. Just an outline of a human being, not male, not female. It waves. And I hear a "Hi" that never touched my ears.
-Uhm... Hi?
It giggles - "I'm what your species calls God amongst other names."
"Well fuck me!" I yell, eyes widening, mind shattering, as I am forced to change my entire world view.
"Yeah, you are a particularly difficult case, that's why I came myself. I was afraid you'd stubborn your way into getting stuck in limbo. Anyhow, believing in me has nothing to do with heaven or hell. So, you're good. And, to alleviate some of that monstrous anxiety you've been carrying around - you get to ask me a question"
Shit shit shit. A question. I have none. Science has been answering my questions forever...
"What about platypuses?" I blurt out. God knows I watched too many weird animal videos, but what the fuck is wrong with me to ask that???
The voice in my mind sounds amused and confused, as the outline scratches its head. "About what-a-puses?"
"You know, hairy duck mammals with beaver tails, poison, laying eggs?"
"That doesn't exiiist" it says bemused.
"Well fuck me."
"I don't do that Zeus shit. You humans made that up" it says while stepping back.
"No, no... It's a figure of speech Sir... Ma'am? Dei?"
The figure approaches me again. The voice in my mind sounds perplexed. "ok... I'll give you a Google that you've been thinking about, and you'll show me the puses?"
I'm starting to think this deity seems and sounds rather immature...
"Imagine living forever. Wouldn't your mind change?" it scolds me.
OK, I have a phone in my hand, I found the platypus wiki page. I hand it over to Dei.
"Huh... Well... You see... Everything that anyone imagined exists somewhere... And sometimes those things spill out into my reality."
"Your...reality? As in, there are others?"
For some reason I know it's smiling. Suddenly the field we stood on starts moving farther and farther away. We zoom out. Suddenly, we float among the stars, and the deity is humongous. I am perched on its shoulder, and it is opening its palm to show me a marble.
"This is my reality" it says as I stare into the marble that is too complex inside for my mind to fully grasp.
"And these, are my brethren" - it points to other shapes among the stars, each holding a marble or a globe in its hands.
"But... The spill?"
"Oh, we sometimes play with marbles, somewhat like you humans do. The hits may displace things upon contact. But as a reward for showing me a spill, you can keep me company, and see others?"
And so, one question got me an eternal ride on Dei's shoulder. Love the fucking platypus. | So there I was, sitting on a cloud in a waiting room for an audience with Yahweh. As the man who killed Bagdana I had gotten something I had never imagined: a trip to heaven. I got to meet Yahweh, and everything. All of this dispite me never having worshipped. I guess when you kill the king of the liliths, or lilijjoþ you get to see God even if you don't worship.
Eventually, the receptionist, a snake with wings attached to a slightly enlarged segment of its back, said "Yahweh will see you now"
I walked through a door to a versaillesesque room. Yahweh sat outside a sliding glass door on a wooden platform overlooking the river that ran through the city.
Yahweh turned to me, "So, you're the guy that beat Bagdana. You must know I am greatful"
"So do you have a boon for me or something?" I asked.
"Come on," Yahweh protested, "seriously? Straight to the boon? You'll get your boon. Just sit here, and let's chat for a bit first. How did you get him?"
"So," I explained, "It all started when these winged creatures with serpantine tails..."
"You don't gotta explain what a lilith looks like to me." God laughed, "Just tell me the battle."
I proceeded to describe in great detail the struggle against the demon lord, and Yahweh was obviously impressed.
"Alright, my turn to ask you something, right?" I asked.
"Yep"
"And this won't count as my boon, right?"
"No" Yahweh chuckled, "I'm not a genie. I'm not gonna do you dirty likethat"
Relieved I asked my question, "So Yahweh, what's up with the platypus. It's pretty weird, right?"
"The what?" said Yahweh.
"It's a creature that has fur lays eggs and has a soft beak," I explained.
Yahweh burried his head in his hands, "Tabarnak! I was so damn drunk. You have to understand. The goddamn thing was never supposed to actually exist. I had just created alcohol and marijuana and a whole load of other things like them. So me and the archangels decided to test them out to see if they worked.
Basically, we got crazy high, since we didn't know how drugs worked yet, and when you mix that with the powers of creation, a bunch of crazy stuff happened. The previous day, I had tested mushrooms and so I ended up creating a bunch of stuff from my trip. It's all locked deep in a vault. It's the one place not even my son is allowed. I have no idea how it got out.
Yahweh thought to himself "I need to figure out who the fuck did this."
"Probably Satan" I mused, "He was an angel back then, right?"
Yahweh laughed, "No, Satan wouldl never do something like that. He cared that everything was kept pristine especially back then. He mostly just made a bunch of cool caves."
"I bet it was Zad" Yahweh whispered.
"Who?"
"Zadkiel would definitely set something like that free." Then Yahweh called for Metatron. | |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | "The fucking what"
God be chilling. I never woulda guessed but God is a; bucket hat wearing, dank weed smoking, non-descript, non-racial being that spends his time admiring accretion disks on black holes.
(A little masturbatory if you ask me, but idk, I'm not God)
"Yeah, it's got like a beak lmfao...but no wings, and like, they're mammals but they lay eggs"
God took a pause...or something like it.
"You gotta stop smoking that sound young one"
He pulled his bucket hat a little deeper over his shades, the universe glinting on his frames.
I took a pause, I really needed it.
"A fucking platypus mate, are you taking a piss rn?"
"I mean...well yes..."
"Right, omni-presence, why don't you omni-lookup a goddamn platypus on Google?"
God fumbled with his shades a bit.
"Nah"
"Nah?"
"That wadn't me child"
"Wtf"
"No offense but I'm offended, y'all thought I made that?"
"..."
I took another pause. I find I need those alot when I chat with God, the most high, the almighty, all knowing benevolent deity...
"Fucking Lucifer..." God grumbled his way through his sentence as he relit his material.
"Can I try that?" I ask the Big G.
He takes a huge pull (the greedy fuck) and says: "Aii, but I gotta dip right after"
"Say less"
This parts always been my favorite hanging with God, I can never guess what he'll be smoking that week.
I take a pull. The accretion disk suddenly disappears, a half second later, I hear what has to be the big bang, it's so loud I can feel my heart rattling in it's cage. Colors I couldn't name present themselves to me, I become acquainted with them and Light, their mother.
I am one. I am one.
"Good shit eh?" God says, amused.
I blink. The accretion disk suddenly undisappears. I am me. Just me. I sigh.
"I gotta get to work"
"Same time next week?"
"Yeah, love you big man"
"Love you too youngin, stay safe" | You ask again. "The platypus—why such an odd creation?" God says: "I don't know."
And you say: "But surely you have some reason for making it so bizarre?"
"No," says God. "I can't think of any reason."
Then you say: "Well, then, why did you make the platypus at all?"
"Oh, that was just to keep things lively," says God.
And you say: "Why did you make me, then?"
"Why did I make you?" says God. "That's a good question. It's been bothering me for a long time."
And you say: "Why did you make me?"
"You're my favourite creation," says God. "You're not too bright, but you're lovable."
"What about the platypus?"
"It was an accident," says God. "I'm sorry."
you say: "An accident? That's your excuse for the platypus? Why do you think people will accept that as an answer?"
"Because I'm God," says God. "I can get away with anything."
"Yes," you say. "But you can't get away with this."
"This?" says God. "This is nothing. You should see some of the other creatures I've made."
"That's enough," you say. "I'm leaving."
"Not so fast," says God. "There are some things you haven't seen yet."
"I don't care," you say. "You can show me whatever you want."
"First, let's go back to the beginning. I didn't make the platypus—it was always there. The first humans saw it and were intrigued. They called it a duck-billed dinosaur—because they weren't sure what it was. They watched it swim in the river, and soon they realized it wasn't a duck or a dinosaur. It was something new, something interesting. Then one of them took a stick and poked the creature—and that's how we got the platypus."
"When I was making you, I tried to make you smart. But I couldn't get the intelligence gene right. So you're not as bright as I'd like, but you're lovable."
"So what are you trying to say?" you ask.
"I'm saying you can't blame me for the platypus. It's just nature. Nature makes the world. You can't stop it."
​
"You're the creator," you say. "Why can't you control nature?"
"I tried," says God. "I really did. I made a big, beautiful garden for the platypus—a paradise. But then some other creatures came along and destroyed it. So I made another garden, and gave it to the platypus. That was when I started to get worried. I thought maybe you wouldn't be lovable enough."
"So you created the platypus?"
"No," says God. "It was always there. I just gave it a good home. And now you're going to leave. Good-bye." | |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | I cast my eyes discreetly downward as I humbly approached the resplendent golden throne. My lowered gaze was partially in reverence and partially due to the blinding rays of light that emanated from the ineffable Figure sitting upon the throne.
"Ask, and ye shall receive," came the chorale tones of a single majestic Voice.
I nodded. I had given this moment much thought. I knelt respectfully before the throne of my Deity, bathed in Its light, and murmured my soul's burning question.
"Excuse me, the what?" said the chorale tones of the single majestic Voice with scorn.
That was a bit of a jolt.
"The...the platypus. Why? *Why, God?"* I cried aloud. "Why is it so FREAKING WEIRD???"
The radiant Face of Divinity took on an expression of distinct discomfort.
"That one," said the Holiest of Holies with the slightest hesitation, "that was a contractor job."
"A *what?"* I cried out before I could catch myself. "A *contractor?"*
"Erm. Ahem. Somewhere between the panther and the prairie dog I got *extremely* bored and, well, I sort of delegated the whole Creation thing for most of the a long weekend. We ended up with some very...interesting creatures."
"No way."
The Face of Everlasting Glory nodded ruefully. "Anteaters," It intoned mournfully. "What the heck?"
"Penguins?"
"Oh, absolutely. And dodo birds too, but the dodos didn't precisely stick around."
"Rhinoceroses," I accused. "Giraffes."
"Of course giraffes," the Almighty responded. "What sort of sadist would do that on purpose? And I was actually rather impressed with the rhinoceros."
"Mosquitos. Cockroaches. Bed bugs."
"I actually did those ones first," said God with a certain pride.
"And when did you get back around to creating humans?" I asked the Alpha and the Omega eagerly.
"Creating...humans?" said the Way, the Truth, and the Light, tilting Its radiant head quizzically. "Why in My Own Name would I ever have done that?"
I reeled.
"You're a load of petitioning pesterers and you never shut up a moment with your "bless me," "forgive me," "guide me"...great Scott, it's overwhelming. All you ridiculous creatures do is multiply, too. I ought to hit you all with a meteor."
I stood for a moment and considered this, shaken. "You never--with the Garden--"
"The Tree thing? Ugh. No, of course not. What sort of asshole--"
"I see," I mumbled dizzily. My worldview had gone rather severely sideways quite rapidly. "But. The Knowledge of Good and Evil?"
"Hubris," the Alpha and the Omega rumbled. "You know as much as any monkey about matters of Good and Evil. Or rather, any random monkey knows as much about it as *you."*
This was a bit much. "I beg your pardon--"
"Yes, but will you get it?" teased the Almighty in an entirely uncalled-for manner. "That's the million dollar question, isn't it?"
"You're a jerk," I informed God.
"Of course," God cheerfully replied, before chucking my naively goggling arse into a lake of eternal fire. "Who told you otherwise?" | You ask again. "The platypus—why such an odd creation?" God says: "I don't know."
And you say: "But surely you have some reason for making it so bizarre?"
"No," says God. "I can't think of any reason."
Then you say: "Well, then, why did you make the platypus at all?"
"Oh, that was just to keep things lively," says God.
And you say: "Why did you make me, then?"
"Why did I make you?" says God. "That's a good question. It's been bothering me for a long time."
And you say: "Why did you make me?"
"You're my favourite creation," says God. "You're not too bright, but you're lovable."
"What about the platypus?"
"It was an accident," says God. "I'm sorry."
you say: "An accident? That's your excuse for the platypus? Why do you think people will accept that as an answer?"
"Because I'm God," says God. "I can get away with anything."
"Yes," you say. "But you can't get away with this."
"This?" says God. "This is nothing. You should see some of the other creatures I've made."
"That's enough," you say. "I'm leaving."
"Not so fast," says God. "There are some things you haven't seen yet."
"I don't care," you say. "You can show me whatever you want."
"First, let's go back to the beginning. I didn't make the platypus—it was always there. The first humans saw it and were intrigued. They called it a duck-billed dinosaur—because they weren't sure what it was. They watched it swim in the river, and soon they realized it wasn't a duck or a dinosaur. It was something new, something interesting. Then one of them took a stick and poked the creature—and that's how we got the platypus."
"When I was making you, I tried to make you smart. But I couldn't get the intelligence gene right. So you're not as bright as I'd like, but you're lovable."
"So what are you trying to say?" you ask.
"I'm saying you can't blame me for the platypus. It's just nature. Nature makes the world. You can't stop it."
​
"You're the creator," you say. "Why can't you control nature?"
"I tried," says God. "I really did. I made a big, beautiful garden for the platypus—a paradise. But then some other creatures came along and destroyed it. So I made another garden, and gave it to the platypus. That was when I started to get worried. I thought maybe you wouldn't be lovable enough."
"So you created the platypus?"
"No," says God. "It was always there. I just gave it a good home. And now you're going to leave. Good-bye." | |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | He was cutting cheese, which I thought was a bit strange. In fact, this entire setting wasn’t what I had expected when I died, really. Not that I didn’t believe in an afterlife, but my first guess was not opening my eyes to find myself sitting at a dining room table, watching the Lord, Himself cut cheese. No, not the cheese, Swiss cheese, oddly enough one of the holier cheeses.
On the table before me sat a vase of freshly cut flowers. The wall next to me was covered in framed pictures of all sorts of animals; giraffes, house cats, the average bear, you name it, it was there.
“Want some?” God had turned to me, holding out a platter of now cut cheese and crackers. He set it down before me on the mahogany dining table and sat down Himself.
I rubbed at my eye with the heel of my hand, “I’m sorry- where am I exactly? Is this Heaven?”
God laughed in a way that really one would expect God to laugh. “No, dear, silly, little child,” He pinched my cheek in a way one would not expect God to pinch one’s cheek. “You’re in my kitchen,” He, as in the Father of the Trinity, gestured to the aforementioned kitchen. “And that,” He pointed to a closed door, “ is my bathroom.” He turned to me with a rather concerned face, “You have bathrooms now, right?”
I blinked a few times in hopes that perhaps reality with a more tangible explanation would make itself known, although it failed to reveal itself. “I am dead, aren’t I?”
God tenderly took a slice of muenster cheese and placed it on a cracker, “Yes.”
I sat there, waiting for further explanation, but upon the continued silence I realized that was all I was going to get. God continued to place cheese slices upon crackers and eating them in a meticulous manner until I finally cleared my throat. “Now what?”
God looked at me, “What’s your question?”
My brows raise, “My question?”
“Yes,” God nodded, paused then nodded again. “Yes, you get one question, the question. Everyone has a question they want to ask God.”
I rubbed at my eye again, “Somehow I feel as though you’re making this up as you go along.”
He leaned forward, much closer than I would happily admit, “Go on, ask away, little one.” I worried that He was planning to pinch my cheek in that not so Omnipotent way of His. “Please make it quick, a new one is coming soon.” God smiled and pointed to an egg timer on the kitchen counter, one I had not noticed before. It ticked away, threatening to buzz at any unknown time.
Oh, God, oh Him, what could I possibly ask? What was the question of the century- of all time? My eyes dashed for some form of a question, they moved throughout the kitchen. Perhaps it would be an unwise question, but I really wondered why God had a dishwasher. I looked to the wall of pictured animals, there must have been hundreds, thousands of images. There, my eyes landed on the humble, yet very odd and honestly quite upsetting platypus.
“The platypus! Why did you make the platypus so weird?” I felt my stomach drop. That was my question? Not about the purpose of life, why children suffer illness, why politicians exist, or why my chest sometimes hurts really bad then eventually stops hurting. Platypuses. Platypuses!
God’s smile faded, “The what?”
I sat for a moment trying to understand this response. “You know, the platypus.”
God shook His head, “Sorry, looks like you’re out of time, maybe next time you’ll have a better question.
“I’m not out of time! What about the platypus?” I asked again, strangely enough feeling a bit empowered by this new dynamic in the conversation.
God stood and picked up the timer, giving it a good shake, causing it to ring, “No, you’re definitely out of time, the new one’s going to be here any minute.”
I picked up a cracker, “I’m pretty sure that they sweat milk.”
“Any second now,” God muttered trying but failing to make the top-half of the egg timer move any faster.
“Ok, fine!” God admonished, setting the timer down. His voice grew higher in tone as He continued to speak, “There are a few creations that I perhaps did not make, but signed them off as my own?”
I gave Him a perplexed look.
“The angels helped me.” He mumbled as if He, the Lord, was caught with His hand in the cookie jar.
I thought this new realization over, “So the platypus was--?”
“Not Me.”
“The spider crab?”
“No,” He shook His head.
“Wasps?”
“Actually, yes. That was Me.”
“Really?” I nodded, resting my chin in my hand. “So what about Australia?”
God’s face morphed into a look of utter horror, “What?”
The timer went off with a single ring. | You ask again. "The platypus—why such an odd creation?" God says: "I don't know."
And you say: "But surely you have some reason for making it so bizarre?"
"No," says God. "I can't think of any reason."
Then you say: "Well, then, why did you make the platypus at all?"
"Oh, that was just to keep things lively," says God.
And you say: "Why did you make me, then?"
"Why did I make you?" says God. "That's a good question. It's been bothering me for a long time."
And you say: "Why did you make me?"
"You're my favourite creation," says God. "You're not too bright, but you're lovable."
"What about the platypus?"
"It was an accident," says God. "I'm sorry."
you say: "An accident? That's your excuse for the platypus? Why do you think people will accept that as an answer?"
"Because I'm God," says God. "I can get away with anything."
"Yes," you say. "But you can't get away with this."
"This?" says God. "This is nothing. You should see some of the other creatures I've made."
"That's enough," you say. "I'm leaving."
"Not so fast," says God. "There are some things you haven't seen yet."
"I don't care," you say. "You can show me whatever you want."
"First, let's go back to the beginning. I didn't make the platypus—it was always there. The first humans saw it and were intrigued. They called it a duck-billed dinosaur—because they weren't sure what it was. They watched it swim in the river, and soon they realized it wasn't a duck or a dinosaur. It was something new, something interesting. Then one of them took a stick and poked the creature—and that's how we got the platypus."
"When I was making you, I tried to make you smart. But I couldn't get the intelligence gene right. So you're not as bright as I'd like, but you're lovable."
"So what are you trying to say?" you ask.
"I'm saying you can't blame me for the platypus. It's just nature. Nature makes the world. You can't stop it."
​
"You're the creator," you say. "Why can't you control nature?"
"I tried," says God. "I really did. I made a big, beautiful garden for the platypus—a paradise. But then some other creatures came along and destroyed it. So I made another garden, and gave it to the platypus. That was when I started to get worried. I thought maybe you wouldn't be lovable enough."
"So you created the platypus?"
"No," says God. "It was always there. I just gave it a good home. And now you're going to leave. Good-bye." | |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | I cast my eyes discreetly downward as I humbly approached the resplendent golden throne. My lowered gaze was partially in reverence and partially due to the blinding rays of light that emanated from the ineffable Figure sitting upon the throne.
"Ask, and ye shall receive," came the chorale tones of a single majestic Voice.
I nodded. I had given this moment much thought. I knelt respectfully before the throne of my Deity, bathed in Its light, and murmured my soul's burning question.
"Excuse me, the what?" said the chorale tones of the single majestic Voice with scorn.
That was a bit of a jolt.
"The...the platypus. Why? *Why, God?"* I cried aloud. "Why is it so FREAKING WEIRD???"
The radiant Face of Divinity took on an expression of distinct discomfort.
"That one," said the Holiest of Holies with the slightest hesitation, "that was a contractor job."
"A *what?"* I cried out before I could catch myself. "A *contractor?"*
"Erm. Ahem. Somewhere between the panther and the prairie dog I got *extremely* bored and, well, I sort of delegated the whole Creation thing for most of the a long weekend. We ended up with some very...interesting creatures."
"No way."
The Face of Everlasting Glory nodded ruefully. "Anteaters," It intoned mournfully. "What the heck?"
"Penguins?"
"Oh, absolutely. And dodo birds too, but the dodos didn't precisely stick around."
"Rhinoceroses," I accused. "Giraffes."
"Of course giraffes," the Almighty responded. "What sort of sadist would do that on purpose? And I was actually rather impressed with the rhinoceros."
"Mosquitos. Cockroaches. Bed bugs."
"I actually did those ones first," said God with a certain pride.
"And when did you get back around to creating humans?" I asked the Alpha and the Omega eagerly.
"Creating...humans?" said the Way, the Truth, and the Light, tilting Its radiant head quizzically. "Why in My Own Name would I ever have done that?"
I reeled.
"You're a load of petitioning pesterers and you never shut up a moment with your "bless me," "forgive me," "guide me"...great Scott, it's overwhelming. All you ridiculous creatures do is multiply, too. I ought to hit you all with a meteor."
I stood for a moment and considered this, shaken. "You never--with the Garden--"
"The Tree thing? Ugh. No, of course not. What sort of asshole--"
"I see," I mumbled dizzily. My worldview had gone rather severely sideways quite rapidly. "But. The Knowledge of Good and Evil?"
"Hubris," the Alpha and the Omega rumbled. "You know as much as any monkey about matters of Good and Evil. Or rather, any random monkey knows as much about it as *you."*
This was a bit much. "I beg your pardon--"
"Yes, but will you get it?" teased the Almighty in an entirely uncalled-for manner. "That's the million dollar question, isn't it?"
"You're a jerk," I informed God.
"Of course," God cheerfully replied, before chucking my naively goggling arse into a lake of eternal fire. "Who told you otherwise?" | "The fucking what"
God be chilling. I never woulda guessed but God is a; bucket hat wearing, dank weed smoking, non-descript, non-racial being that spends his time admiring accretion disks on black holes.
(A little masturbatory if you ask me, but idk, I'm not God)
"Yeah, it's got like a beak lmfao...but no wings, and like, they're mammals but they lay eggs"
God took a pause...or something like it.
"You gotta stop smoking that sound young one"
He pulled his bucket hat a little deeper over his shades, the universe glinting on his frames.
I took a pause, I really needed it.
"A fucking platypus mate, are you taking a piss rn?"
"I mean...well yes..."
"Right, omni-presence, why don't you omni-lookup a goddamn platypus on Google?"
God fumbled with his shades a bit.
"Nah"
"Nah?"
"That wadn't me child"
"Wtf"
"No offense but I'm offended, y'all thought I made that?"
"..."
I took another pause. I find I need those alot when I chat with God, the most high, the almighty, all knowing benevolent deity...
"Fucking Lucifer..." God grumbled his way through his sentence as he relit his material.
"Can I try that?" I ask the Big G.
He takes a huge pull (the greedy fuck) and says: "Aii, but I gotta dip right after"
"Say less"
This parts always been my favorite hanging with God, I can never guess what he'll be smoking that week.
I take a pull. The accretion disk suddenly disappears, a half second later, I hear what has to be the big bang, it's so loud I can feel my heart rattling in it's cage. Colors I couldn't name present themselves to me, I become acquainted with them and Light, their mother.
I am one. I am one.
"Good shit eh?" God says, amused.
I blink. The accretion disk suddenly undisappears. I am me. Just me. I sigh.
"I gotta get to work"
"Same time next week?"
"Yeah, love you big man"
"Love you too youngin, stay safe" | |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | He was cutting cheese, which I thought was a bit strange. In fact, this entire setting wasn’t what I had expected when I died, really. Not that I didn’t believe in an afterlife, but my first guess was not opening my eyes to find myself sitting at a dining room table, watching the Lord, Himself cut cheese. No, not the cheese, Swiss cheese, oddly enough one of the holier cheeses.
On the table before me sat a vase of freshly cut flowers. The wall next to me was covered in framed pictures of all sorts of animals; giraffes, house cats, the average bear, you name it, it was there.
“Want some?” God had turned to me, holding out a platter of now cut cheese and crackers. He set it down before me on the mahogany dining table and sat down Himself.
I rubbed at my eye with the heel of my hand, “I’m sorry- where am I exactly? Is this Heaven?”
God laughed in a way that really one would expect God to laugh. “No, dear, silly, little child,” He pinched my cheek in a way one would not expect God to pinch one’s cheek. “You’re in my kitchen,” He, as in the Father of the Trinity, gestured to the aforementioned kitchen. “And that,” He pointed to a closed door, “ is my bathroom.” He turned to me with a rather concerned face, “You have bathrooms now, right?”
I blinked a few times in hopes that perhaps reality with a more tangible explanation would make itself known, although it failed to reveal itself. “I am dead, aren’t I?”
God tenderly took a slice of muenster cheese and placed it on a cracker, “Yes.”
I sat there, waiting for further explanation, but upon the continued silence I realized that was all I was going to get. God continued to place cheese slices upon crackers and eating them in a meticulous manner until I finally cleared my throat. “Now what?”
God looked at me, “What’s your question?”
My brows raise, “My question?”
“Yes,” God nodded, paused then nodded again. “Yes, you get one question, the question. Everyone has a question they want to ask God.”
I rubbed at my eye again, “Somehow I feel as though you’re making this up as you go along.”
He leaned forward, much closer than I would happily admit, “Go on, ask away, little one.” I worried that He was planning to pinch my cheek in that not so Omnipotent way of His. “Please make it quick, a new one is coming soon.” God smiled and pointed to an egg timer on the kitchen counter, one I had not noticed before. It ticked away, threatening to buzz at any unknown time.
Oh, God, oh Him, what could I possibly ask? What was the question of the century- of all time? My eyes dashed for some form of a question, they moved throughout the kitchen. Perhaps it would be an unwise question, but I really wondered why God had a dishwasher. I looked to the wall of pictured animals, there must have been hundreds, thousands of images. There, my eyes landed on the humble, yet very odd and honestly quite upsetting platypus.
“The platypus! Why did you make the platypus so weird?” I felt my stomach drop. That was my question? Not about the purpose of life, why children suffer illness, why politicians exist, or why my chest sometimes hurts really bad then eventually stops hurting. Platypuses. Platypuses!
God’s smile faded, “The what?”
I sat for a moment trying to understand this response. “You know, the platypus.”
God shook His head, “Sorry, looks like you’re out of time, maybe next time you’ll have a better question.
“I’m not out of time! What about the platypus?” I asked again, strangely enough feeling a bit empowered by this new dynamic in the conversation.
God stood and picked up the timer, giving it a good shake, causing it to ring, “No, you’re definitely out of time, the new one’s going to be here any minute.”
I picked up a cracker, “I’m pretty sure that they sweat milk.”
“Any second now,” God muttered trying but failing to make the top-half of the egg timer move any faster.
“Ok, fine!” God admonished, setting the timer down. His voice grew higher in tone as He continued to speak, “There are a few creations that I perhaps did not make, but signed them off as my own?”
I gave Him a perplexed look.
“The angels helped me.” He mumbled as if He, the Lord, was caught with His hand in the cookie jar.
I thought this new realization over, “So the platypus was--?”
“Not Me.”
“The spider crab?”
“No,” He shook His head.
“Wasps?”
“Actually, yes. That was Me.”
“Really?” I nodded, resting my chin in my hand. “So what about Australia?”
God’s face morphed into a look of utter horror, “What?”
The timer went off with a single ring. | "The fucking what"
God be chilling. I never woulda guessed but God is a; bucket hat wearing, dank weed smoking, non-descript, non-racial being that spends his time admiring accretion disks on black holes.
(A little masturbatory if you ask me, but idk, I'm not God)
"Yeah, it's got like a beak lmfao...but no wings, and like, they're mammals but they lay eggs"
God took a pause...or something like it.
"You gotta stop smoking that sound young one"
He pulled his bucket hat a little deeper over his shades, the universe glinting on his frames.
I took a pause, I really needed it.
"A fucking platypus mate, are you taking a piss rn?"
"I mean...well yes..."
"Right, omni-presence, why don't you omni-lookup a goddamn platypus on Google?"
God fumbled with his shades a bit.
"Nah"
"Nah?"
"That wadn't me child"
"Wtf"
"No offense but I'm offended, y'all thought I made that?"
"..."
I took another pause. I find I need those alot when I chat with God, the most high, the almighty, all knowing benevolent deity...
"Fucking Lucifer..." God grumbled his way through his sentence as he relit his material.
"Can I try that?" I ask the Big G.
He takes a huge pull (the greedy fuck) and says: "Aii, but I gotta dip right after"
"Say less"
This parts always been my favorite hanging with God, I can never guess what he'll be smoking that week.
I take a pull. The accretion disk suddenly disappears, a half second later, I hear what has to be the big bang, it's so loud I can feel my heart rattling in it's cage. Colors I couldn't name present themselves to me, I become acquainted with them and Light, their mother.
I am one. I am one.
"Good shit eh?" God says, amused.
I blink. The accretion disk suddenly undisappears. I am me. Just me. I sigh.
"I gotta get to work"
"Same time next week?"
"Yeah, love you big man"
"Love you too youngin, stay safe" | |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | I cast my eyes discreetly downward as I humbly approached the resplendent golden throne. My lowered gaze was partially in reverence and partially due to the blinding rays of light that emanated from the ineffable Figure sitting upon the throne.
"Ask, and ye shall receive," came the chorale tones of a single majestic Voice.
I nodded. I had given this moment much thought. I knelt respectfully before the throne of my Deity, bathed in Its light, and murmured my soul's burning question.
"Excuse me, the what?" said the chorale tones of the single majestic Voice with scorn.
That was a bit of a jolt.
"The...the platypus. Why? *Why, God?"* I cried aloud. "Why is it so FREAKING WEIRD???"
The radiant Face of Divinity took on an expression of distinct discomfort.
"That one," said the Holiest of Holies with the slightest hesitation, "that was a contractor job."
"A *what?"* I cried out before I could catch myself. "A *contractor?"*
"Erm. Ahem. Somewhere between the panther and the prairie dog I got *extremely* bored and, well, I sort of delegated the whole Creation thing for most of the a long weekend. We ended up with some very...interesting creatures."
"No way."
The Face of Everlasting Glory nodded ruefully. "Anteaters," It intoned mournfully. "What the heck?"
"Penguins?"
"Oh, absolutely. And dodo birds too, but the dodos didn't precisely stick around."
"Rhinoceroses," I accused. "Giraffes."
"Of course giraffes," the Almighty responded. "What sort of sadist would do that on purpose? And I was actually rather impressed with the rhinoceros."
"Mosquitos. Cockroaches. Bed bugs."
"I actually did those ones first," said God with a certain pride.
"And when did you get back around to creating humans?" I asked the Alpha and the Omega eagerly.
"Creating...humans?" said the Way, the Truth, and the Light, tilting Its radiant head quizzically. "Why in My Own Name would I ever have done that?"
I reeled.
"You're a load of petitioning pesterers and you never shut up a moment with your "bless me," "forgive me," "guide me"...great Scott, it's overwhelming. All you ridiculous creatures do is multiply, too. I ought to hit you all with a meteor."
I stood for a moment and considered this, shaken. "You never--with the Garden--"
"The Tree thing? Ugh. No, of course not. What sort of asshole--"
"I see," I mumbled dizzily. My worldview had gone rather severely sideways quite rapidly. "But. The Knowledge of Good and Evil?"
"Hubris," the Alpha and the Omega rumbled. "You know as much as any monkey about matters of Good and Evil. Or rather, any random monkey knows as much about it as *you."*
This was a bit much. "I beg your pardon--"
"Yes, but will you get it?" teased the Almighty in an entirely uncalled-for manner. "That's the million dollar question, isn't it?"
"You're a jerk," I informed God.
"Of course," God cheerfully replied, before chucking my naively goggling arse into a lake of eternal fire. "Who told you otherwise?" | I casually made my weekly trip across the barrier of the two realms I call home: the human realm, and the spiritual realm.
Now, I usually do not meet the almighty lord on my visits, but this time I was able to see him for some afternoon tea. I was excited to finally have all my questions answered... especially one in particular.
"Good afternoon, Abigail." God said sipping on his Earl Grey latte.
"Good afternoon! it's nice to see you after so long." I replied before taking a sip of my iced Lady Grey tea latte with vanilla sweet cold foam.
"You know, it's always a pleasure seeing you, Abigail. Now, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?" He asked me, not knowing what's in store for him.
"I'll just get straight to it. God, why is the Platypus so weird? Is there a reason for it's existence? Is it just alive to be in Finneas and Ferb? I've never understood."
"Huh? What the hell's a Platypus?" He replied, slightly confused.
"You know, a Platypus. one of the millions of things you created?"
"Nope, doesn't ring a bell." He said shrugging.
Oh no... what is happening? Does God have amnesia? Or... did the devil create the platypus?!
This new development concerned me. I had to talk to Lucifer, but I couldn't tell God. (They don't like each other that much.) So, I then emailed Lucifer about the whole platypus situation.
"Ha! Oh yeah I remember doing that! I designed the platypus to keep tabs on the Human Realm since I'm kind of not allowed there." He replied to the email.
I see... all of my questions have been answered! *Thank you, Lucifer, for teaching me all of your ways. Maybe...just one day...we can finally be reunited...father.* | |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | He was cutting cheese, which I thought was a bit strange. In fact, this entire setting wasn’t what I had expected when I died, really. Not that I didn’t believe in an afterlife, but my first guess was not opening my eyes to find myself sitting at a dining room table, watching the Lord, Himself cut cheese. No, not the cheese, Swiss cheese, oddly enough one of the holier cheeses.
On the table before me sat a vase of freshly cut flowers. The wall next to me was covered in framed pictures of all sorts of animals; giraffes, house cats, the average bear, you name it, it was there.
“Want some?” God had turned to me, holding out a platter of now cut cheese and crackers. He set it down before me on the mahogany dining table and sat down Himself.
I rubbed at my eye with the heel of my hand, “I’m sorry- where am I exactly? Is this Heaven?”
God laughed in a way that really one would expect God to laugh. “No, dear, silly, little child,” He pinched my cheek in a way one would not expect God to pinch one’s cheek. “You’re in my kitchen,” He, as in the Father of the Trinity, gestured to the aforementioned kitchen. “And that,” He pointed to a closed door, “ is my bathroom.” He turned to me with a rather concerned face, “You have bathrooms now, right?”
I blinked a few times in hopes that perhaps reality with a more tangible explanation would make itself known, although it failed to reveal itself. “I am dead, aren’t I?”
God tenderly took a slice of muenster cheese and placed it on a cracker, “Yes.”
I sat there, waiting for further explanation, but upon the continued silence I realized that was all I was going to get. God continued to place cheese slices upon crackers and eating them in a meticulous manner until I finally cleared my throat. “Now what?”
God looked at me, “What’s your question?”
My brows raise, “My question?”
“Yes,” God nodded, paused then nodded again. “Yes, you get one question, the question. Everyone has a question they want to ask God.”
I rubbed at my eye again, “Somehow I feel as though you’re making this up as you go along.”
He leaned forward, much closer than I would happily admit, “Go on, ask away, little one.” I worried that He was planning to pinch my cheek in that not so Omnipotent way of His. “Please make it quick, a new one is coming soon.” God smiled and pointed to an egg timer on the kitchen counter, one I had not noticed before. It ticked away, threatening to buzz at any unknown time.
Oh, God, oh Him, what could I possibly ask? What was the question of the century- of all time? My eyes dashed for some form of a question, they moved throughout the kitchen. Perhaps it would be an unwise question, but I really wondered why God had a dishwasher. I looked to the wall of pictured animals, there must have been hundreds, thousands of images. There, my eyes landed on the humble, yet very odd and honestly quite upsetting platypus.
“The platypus! Why did you make the platypus so weird?” I felt my stomach drop. That was my question? Not about the purpose of life, why children suffer illness, why politicians exist, or why my chest sometimes hurts really bad then eventually stops hurting. Platypuses. Platypuses!
God’s smile faded, “The what?”
I sat for a moment trying to understand this response. “You know, the platypus.”
God shook His head, “Sorry, looks like you’re out of time, maybe next time you’ll have a better question.
“I’m not out of time! What about the platypus?” I asked again, strangely enough feeling a bit empowered by this new dynamic in the conversation.
God stood and picked up the timer, giving it a good shake, causing it to ring, “No, you’re definitely out of time, the new one’s going to be here any minute.”
I picked up a cracker, “I’m pretty sure that they sweat milk.”
“Any second now,” God muttered trying but failing to make the top-half of the egg timer move any faster.
“Ok, fine!” God admonished, setting the timer down. His voice grew higher in tone as He continued to speak, “There are a few creations that I perhaps did not make, but signed them off as my own?”
I gave Him a perplexed look.
“The angels helped me.” He mumbled as if He, the Lord, was caught with His hand in the cookie jar.
I thought this new realization over, “So the platypus was--?”
“Not Me.”
“The spider crab?”
“No,” He shook His head.
“Wasps?”
“Actually, yes. That was Me.”
“Really?” I nodded, resting my chin in my hand. “So what about Australia?”
God’s face morphed into a look of utter horror, “What?”
The timer went off with a single ring. | I casually made my weekly trip across the barrier of the two realms I call home: the human realm, and the spiritual realm.
Now, I usually do not meet the almighty lord on my visits, but this time I was able to see him for some afternoon tea. I was excited to finally have all my questions answered... especially one in particular.
"Good afternoon, Abigail." God said sipping on his Earl Grey latte.
"Good afternoon! it's nice to see you after so long." I replied before taking a sip of my iced Lady Grey tea latte with vanilla sweet cold foam.
"You know, it's always a pleasure seeing you, Abigail. Now, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?" He asked me, not knowing what's in store for him.
"I'll just get straight to it. God, why is the Platypus so weird? Is there a reason for it's existence? Is it just alive to be in Finneas and Ferb? I've never understood."
"Huh? What the hell's a Platypus?" He replied, slightly confused.
"You know, a Platypus. one of the millions of things you created?"
"Nope, doesn't ring a bell." He said shrugging.
Oh no... what is happening? Does God have amnesia? Or... did the devil create the platypus?!
This new development concerned me. I had to talk to Lucifer, but I couldn't tell God. (They don't like each other that much.) So, I then emailed Lucifer about the whole platypus situation.
"Ha! Oh yeah I remember doing that! I designed the platypus to keep tabs on the Human Realm since I'm kind of not allowed there." He replied to the email.
I see... all of my questions have been answered! *Thank you, Lucifer, for teaching me all of your ways. Maybe...just one day...we can finally be reunited...father.* | |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | He was cutting cheese, which I thought was a bit strange. In fact, this entire setting wasn’t what I had expected when I died, really. Not that I didn’t believe in an afterlife, but my first guess was not opening my eyes to find myself sitting at a dining room table, watching the Lord, Himself cut cheese. No, not the cheese, Swiss cheese, oddly enough one of the holier cheeses.
On the table before me sat a vase of freshly cut flowers. The wall next to me was covered in framed pictures of all sorts of animals; giraffes, house cats, the average bear, you name it, it was there.
“Want some?” God had turned to me, holding out a platter of now cut cheese and crackers. He set it down before me on the mahogany dining table and sat down Himself.
I rubbed at my eye with the heel of my hand, “I’m sorry- where am I exactly? Is this Heaven?”
God laughed in a way that really one would expect God to laugh. “No, dear, silly, little child,” He pinched my cheek in a way one would not expect God to pinch one’s cheek. “You’re in my kitchen,” He, as in the Father of the Trinity, gestured to the aforementioned kitchen. “And that,” He pointed to a closed door, “ is my bathroom.” He turned to me with a rather concerned face, “You have bathrooms now, right?”
I blinked a few times in hopes that perhaps reality with a more tangible explanation would make itself known, although it failed to reveal itself. “I am dead, aren’t I?”
God tenderly took a slice of muenster cheese and placed it on a cracker, “Yes.”
I sat there, waiting for further explanation, but upon the continued silence I realized that was all I was going to get. God continued to place cheese slices upon crackers and eating them in a meticulous manner until I finally cleared my throat. “Now what?”
God looked at me, “What’s your question?”
My brows raise, “My question?”
“Yes,” God nodded, paused then nodded again. “Yes, you get one question, the question. Everyone has a question they want to ask God.”
I rubbed at my eye again, “Somehow I feel as though you’re making this up as you go along.”
He leaned forward, much closer than I would happily admit, “Go on, ask away, little one.” I worried that He was planning to pinch my cheek in that not so Omnipotent way of His. “Please make it quick, a new one is coming soon.” God smiled and pointed to an egg timer on the kitchen counter, one I had not noticed before. It ticked away, threatening to buzz at any unknown time.
Oh, God, oh Him, what could I possibly ask? What was the question of the century- of all time? My eyes dashed for some form of a question, they moved throughout the kitchen. Perhaps it would be an unwise question, but I really wondered why God had a dishwasher. I looked to the wall of pictured animals, there must have been hundreds, thousands of images. There, my eyes landed on the humble, yet very odd and honestly quite upsetting platypus.
“The platypus! Why did you make the platypus so weird?” I felt my stomach drop. That was my question? Not about the purpose of life, why children suffer illness, why politicians exist, or why my chest sometimes hurts really bad then eventually stops hurting. Platypuses. Platypuses!
God’s smile faded, “The what?”
I sat for a moment trying to understand this response. “You know, the platypus.”
God shook His head, “Sorry, looks like you’re out of time, maybe next time you’ll have a better question.
“I’m not out of time! What about the platypus?” I asked again, strangely enough feeling a bit empowered by this new dynamic in the conversation.
God stood and picked up the timer, giving it a good shake, causing it to ring, “No, you’re definitely out of time, the new one’s going to be here any minute.”
I picked up a cracker, “I’m pretty sure that they sweat milk.”
“Any second now,” God muttered trying but failing to make the top-half of the egg timer move any faster.
“Ok, fine!” God admonished, setting the timer down. His voice grew higher in tone as He continued to speak, “There are a few creations that I perhaps did not make, but signed them off as my own?”
I gave Him a perplexed look.
“The angels helped me.” He mumbled as if He, the Lord, was caught with His hand in the cookie jar.
I thought this new realization over, “So the platypus was--?”
“Not Me.”
“The spider crab?”
“No,” He shook His head.
“Wasps?”
“Actually, yes. That was Me.”
“Really?” I nodded, resting my chin in my hand. “So what about Australia?”
God’s face morphed into a look of utter horror, “What?”
The timer went off with a single ring. | I cast my eyes discreetly downward as I humbly approached the resplendent golden throne. My lowered gaze was partially in reverence and partially due to the blinding rays of light that emanated from the ineffable Figure sitting upon the throne.
"Ask, and ye shall receive," came the chorale tones of a single majestic Voice.
I nodded. I had given this moment much thought. I knelt respectfully before the throne of my Deity, bathed in Its light, and murmured my soul's burning question.
"Excuse me, the what?" said the chorale tones of the single majestic Voice with scorn.
That was a bit of a jolt.
"The...the platypus. Why? *Why, God?"* I cried aloud. "Why is it so FREAKING WEIRD???"
The radiant Face of Divinity took on an expression of distinct discomfort.
"That one," said the Holiest of Holies with the slightest hesitation, "that was a contractor job."
"A *what?"* I cried out before I could catch myself. "A *contractor?"*
"Erm. Ahem. Somewhere between the panther and the prairie dog I got *extremely* bored and, well, I sort of delegated the whole Creation thing for most of the a long weekend. We ended up with some very...interesting creatures."
"No way."
The Face of Everlasting Glory nodded ruefully. "Anteaters," It intoned mournfully. "What the heck?"
"Penguins?"
"Oh, absolutely. And dodo birds too, but the dodos didn't precisely stick around."
"Rhinoceroses," I accused. "Giraffes."
"Of course giraffes," the Almighty responded. "What sort of sadist would do that on purpose? And I was actually rather impressed with the rhinoceros."
"Mosquitos. Cockroaches. Bed bugs."
"I actually did those ones first," said God with a certain pride.
"And when did you get back around to creating humans?" I asked the Alpha and the Omega eagerly.
"Creating...humans?" said the Way, the Truth, and the Light, tilting Its radiant head quizzically. "Why in My Own Name would I ever have done that?"
I reeled.
"You're a load of petitioning pesterers and you never shut up a moment with your "bless me," "forgive me," "guide me"...great Scott, it's overwhelming. All you ridiculous creatures do is multiply, too. I ought to hit you all with a meteor."
I stood for a moment and considered this, shaken. "You never--with the Garden--"
"The Tree thing? Ugh. No, of course not. What sort of asshole--"
"I see," I mumbled dizzily. My worldview had gone rather severely sideways quite rapidly. "But. The Knowledge of Good and Evil?"
"Hubris," the Alpha and the Omega rumbled. "You know as much as any monkey about matters of Good and Evil. Or rather, any random monkey knows as much about it as *you."*
This was a bit much. "I beg your pardon--"
"Yes, but will you get it?" teased the Almighty in an entirely uncalled-for manner. "That's the million dollar question, isn't it?"
"You're a jerk," I informed God.
"Of course," God cheerfully replied, before chucking my naively goggling arse into a lake of eternal fire. "Who told you otherwise?" | |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | He was cutting cheese, which I thought was a bit strange. In fact, this entire setting wasn’t what I had expected when I died, really. Not that I didn’t believe in an afterlife, but my first guess was not opening my eyes to find myself sitting at a dining room table, watching the Lord, Himself cut cheese. No, not the cheese, Swiss cheese, oddly enough one of the holier cheeses.
On the table before me sat a vase of freshly cut flowers. The wall next to me was covered in framed pictures of all sorts of animals; giraffes, house cats, the average bear, you name it, it was there.
“Want some?” God had turned to me, holding out a platter of now cut cheese and crackers. He set it down before me on the mahogany dining table and sat down Himself.
I rubbed at my eye with the heel of my hand, “I’m sorry- where am I exactly? Is this Heaven?”
God laughed in a way that really one would expect God to laugh. “No, dear, silly, little child,” He pinched my cheek in a way one would not expect God to pinch one’s cheek. “You’re in my kitchen,” He, as in the Father of the Trinity, gestured to the aforementioned kitchen. “And that,” He pointed to a closed door, “ is my bathroom.” He turned to me with a rather concerned face, “You have bathrooms now, right?”
I blinked a few times in hopes that perhaps reality with a more tangible explanation would make itself known, although it failed to reveal itself. “I am dead, aren’t I?”
God tenderly took a slice of muenster cheese and placed it on a cracker, “Yes.”
I sat there, waiting for further explanation, but upon the continued silence I realized that was all I was going to get. God continued to place cheese slices upon crackers and eating them in a meticulous manner until I finally cleared my throat. “Now what?”
God looked at me, “What’s your question?”
My brows raise, “My question?”
“Yes,” God nodded, paused then nodded again. “Yes, you get one question, the question. Everyone has a question they want to ask God.”
I rubbed at my eye again, “Somehow I feel as though you’re making this up as you go along.”
He leaned forward, much closer than I would happily admit, “Go on, ask away, little one.” I worried that He was planning to pinch my cheek in that not so Omnipotent way of His. “Please make it quick, a new one is coming soon.” God smiled and pointed to an egg timer on the kitchen counter, one I had not noticed before. It ticked away, threatening to buzz at any unknown time.
Oh, God, oh Him, what could I possibly ask? What was the question of the century- of all time? My eyes dashed for some form of a question, they moved throughout the kitchen. Perhaps it would be an unwise question, but I really wondered why God had a dishwasher. I looked to the wall of pictured animals, there must have been hundreds, thousands of images. There, my eyes landed on the humble, yet very odd and honestly quite upsetting platypus.
“The platypus! Why did you make the platypus so weird?” I felt my stomach drop. That was my question? Not about the purpose of life, why children suffer illness, why politicians exist, or why my chest sometimes hurts really bad then eventually stops hurting. Platypuses. Platypuses!
God’s smile faded, “The what?”
I sat for a moment trying to understand this response. “You know, the platypus.”
God shook His head, “Sorry, looks like you’re out of time, maybe next time you’ll have a better question.
“I’m not out of time! What about the platypus?” I asked again, strangely enough feeling a bit empowered by this new dynamic in the conversation.
God stood and picked up the timer, giving it a good shake, causing it to ring, “No, you’re definitely out of time, the new one’s going to be here any minute.”
I picked up a cracker, “I’m pretty sure that they sweat milk.”
“Any second now,” God muttered trying but failing to make the top-half of the egg timer move any faster.
“Ok, fine!” God admonished, setting the timer down. His voice grew higher in tone as He continued to speak, “There are a few creations that I perhaps did not make, but signed them off as my own?”
I gave Him a perplexed look.
“The angels helped me.” He mumbled as if He, the Lord, was caught with His hand in the cookie jar.
I thought this new realization over, “So the platypus was--?”
“Not Me.”
“The spider crab?”
“No,” He shook His head.
“Wasps?”
“Actually, yes. That was Me.”
“Really?” I nodded, resting my chin in my hand. “So what about Australia?”
God’s face morphed into a look of utter horror, “What?”
The timer went off with a single ring. | I pulled out my smartphone. It nestled itself in my hand, like it had never left my grip, despite me losing my grip to the mortal coil.
God squinted two eyes, looking at the first image result of the platypus. Its coarse fur that almost resembled the hedgehog’s short, sharp quills. A beaver’s tail and duck’s snout that seemed obtuse and out of place on its pudgy body, like installing the spoiler of an F1 car and the headlights of a semi truck onto a Beetle. The sharp claws protruding out of webbed feet, like a frog decided to become a samurai.
He pulled back, rubbed His eyes, shook His head, and focused once more. His mouth gaped open, and close, and open, and close, like a platypus struggling to breathe.
“What in my name is that thing?”
I shrugged.
“It’s the platypus. A mammal.”
“A mammal? Did… did Noah just squish a few animals together? Was Jesus burning bush?” God wondered out loud. “Hell, is my stupid son playing a prank on me?”
“Wait,” I whispered softly, in contrast to the thunderous revelation that flashed through my head. “You… You don’t know about this animal?”
“Not a clue,” God scratched his head of pure white hair, awash with divine light. “I recognize parts of it, yes. It’s like I’ve mashed potatoes and tomatoes together. I don’t know where it begins and ends.”
“Um,” I said. “Wow. This is big. Huge. You. You! Actually never knew about something. Anything!”
“It happens,” God said. “A good deity knows how to delegate work. It’s the only way things get done in a place with a transfer rate of thousands of souls every day. I hope humans have learned that lesson, and learned it well.”
“Um,” I gulped. “Well. Humans have a lot to learn, still.”
“But it is curious. If the platypus exists without my knowledge, that means there are things that exist outside of even my realm of comprehension,” God ruminated, one hand absent-mindedly stroking his long beard. “That, while terrifying, is simultaneously stimulating.”
“That’s one off the bucket list,” I said. “Teaching God something new.”
“Well done, human!” God said. “I’m afraid I can’t give you a reward, for all souls in heaven get their dues.”
“It is an honour to serve You,” I bowed deeply. “I require no reward.”
“Good, good,” God laughed. “Might I pardon you to teach Me more about the world? It’s frankly quite exciting.”
“Of course, my LORD,” I said, ecstatic, waving the smartphone again. This was an otherworldly opportunity. To shoot a movement into complete legitmacy. “See, this picture of the platypus?”
“Yes. Still extremely strange to look at. But intriguing nonetheless.”
“Now, what if, we can take this picture, and turn it into an NFT?”
---
r/dexdrafts | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | As a teenager, John was the Halo master. The moment, he got home from school, he played Halo. His parents dropped him off at tournaments, where he would always win. He was the best he had ever met, and he had no equal. He never lost a match.The amount of destruction he wrought among digitally enhanced pixels of Spartan soldiers was astronomical.
But, over the years, he went to college, studied business and started a cupcake shop. He occasionally reminisced about his Halo glory days, but his mind immediately reverted to tallying cupcake sales on his Excel spreadsheet. Life was busy with work; no time for games he would tell himself.
But all that changed, on one fateful day in the bitter cold of a February morning. On his way to work, he would always stop for a morning coffee. As he stepped into the same coffee shop for his reliable cup of brew, he saw a flash of light and then passed out.
When he awoke, he was surrounded by a strange assortment of people. All looked strong and muscular, from several different ages. He recognized one man in steel armor and held a large broadsword. Another carried a large machine gun. Yet another wore a suit of material he could not recognize and held a large glowing object. He gasped for air. Looking down, he recognized himself, not as himself, but as he had been as a teenager.
One man stretched out his arm to help him up and loudly proclaimed "Hello friend, you are the warrior we have heard the most about. We hear you are undefeated in battle. Welcome friend!"
John responded, amazed at the crowd now surrounding him, "WHAT IS HAPPENING?"
The man scratched his head and explained, "We are the Earth's finest warriors from history, we welcome you among us."
John stood up, looked around, and asked calmly, "Oh I see, where's the xbox? How good is the wifi in here?"
Murmurs spread around the crowd, and almost in unison, they asked, "what's an ... xbox?" | I stopped believing it was all a hallucination when Genghis Khan ignored my arm-wrestling proposition and stabbed me in the face.
Painfully losing the left half my vision barely registered against the sudden fear thundering in my veins as I fell onto the sand, scrambling away from the man and his two ill-matching companions behind him. The Khan laughed, turning to his companions and gleefully barking out what I assumed to be murderer trash talk.
The blonde one with little clothing but twin hand-axes seemed as jovial as the Khan himself, but the legionnaire in the segmented armor scoffed and waved the talk away.
While they had their moment, I looked around in the half-sunken temple we were in for an escape. There was none. The chipped columns of faded marble hid only shadows, and the only way out was through the tall gate behind my four interlopers.
*Four?*
A nondescript old man stood behind the trio, his hair more salt than pepper and his skin with the consistency of well-worn leather. He knelt behind the Viking, slid a knife out of the blonde's boot, and smoothly deposited it into the back of the man's skull. All of it produced less sound than the distant crashing of waves. That is, until the Viking fell down.
And so did his axes.
Without looking, the old man leaned away from the startled legionnaire's spear thrust just as he fished one of the falling axes out of the air and tossed it at the Roman, back-hand. The legionnaire crisply caught the axe with his face and fell onto the reddening sand.
The old man looked at me, looked at Genghis Khan, and heaved a frustrated sigh. He said: "Would it have killed you to wait another minute?" Then, he frowned thoughtfully and added: "Never mind. Excuse the rhetorical question."
Genghis was sweating. He was also screaming-slash-entreating at me to do something, help him probably, but I had neither the capacity nor the sympathy to do so. I mean, the old guy was like a terminator. I had never thrown a punch in my life, and the one time I did get punched by my stupid cousin, I had cried for hours.
Also, Genghis Khan had just stabbed me in the face.
He could get fucked.
In the end, it was no glorious battle. The old man picked up a long-forgotten chunk of broken marble from the base of a column, threw it at Genghis Khan, and hit him square in the head. The Khan's last battle cry ended with a gurgle and a *thump*.
Focused on my late attacker as I was, I didn't realize that the old man had approached me until he was already here.
His gaze was intense, searching for something in my face. Fear? Why bother? The guy had just killed three career warriors with less difficulty than I had with taking out the trash. Would fear help against a bullet in flight?
But the least I could do, even if it was the last and the stupidest meaningless gesture of courage I would ever make in my life, was to stare my death in its terrible visage.
His terrible, *one-eyed* visage.
And Death said: "Come with me if you want to live." | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I was as surprised as the next person when I woke up to the sound of hooting and cheering. The mattress I was lying on was clearly not the one I went to sleep on last night. At first, I thought I had been kidnapped and taken to an old prison somewhere in Northern Africa. The bars were made of rusting and irregular iron, the ground was uneven, and the guards wore what were once white bedsheets for clothes. My T-shirt and shorts seemed out of place till I noticed a bespectacled prisoner in the adjoining cell also similarly casually dressed.
​
We both gave each other the same puzzled look and wondered aloud almost simultaneously, "what the fuck just happened?"
​
Turned out, he, like me, was just a software engineer and a nerd.
​
The guards didn't seem to care one bit how much we chatted.
​
The mystery of a trail of blood in the walkway outside our cells was soon answered when a mostly disemboweled and recently violently deceased corpse was dragged through the corridor after a fresh volley of cheers.
​
The bespectacled man, whose name turned out to be Bob, started sobbing.
​
Shortly, a burly guard, probably three times my size, opened the gate to my cell, picked me up and tossed me into the hallway. He gruffly motioned towards the brighter end of the path. The hooting and cheering seemed to be coming from that direction.
​
As I walked towards the cheers, it was clear to me; there was gladitorial combat afoot. I wondered and hoped it was a melee where I stood a chance, and also that everyone else was also a nerdy software engineer like me. Boy was I wrong.
​
The moment I stepped into the light of the stadium, I saw three things: a medieval warrior standing about a hundred feet away laughing, a stadium full of 21st century booers and hooters, and a heap of ancient weapons and armor.
​
The warrior started running towards me and the crowd cheered. I ran towards the pile of weaponry and grabbed two hatchets, hoping my two visits to a local axe-throwing family arcade were going to be of some use here.
​
The warrior, now a few dozen feet away looked a bit like what I imagined Atilla the Hun was like. Desperate, I yelled out to him that I was just an unemployed software engineer and there might have been an administrative error in my selection. He didn't seem to care or understand and didn't slow down one bit. So I did my best axe-release and miraculously hit him square on his face; I did after all have the best score at the axe-throwing office outing a few months ago. The axe seemed to cleave Atilla's left cheekbone and possibly blinded him. He stumbled a bit and continued running towards me. I grabbed another axe and started running away from him, hoping the bleeding would render him unconscious soon.
​
My hunch was correct. He soon staggered and fell into a clattering heap of uselessness, legs kicking in the air an imaginary ground that would never get him any closer to me.
​
The crowd was a bit stunned and there was a bit of applause that was soon drowned out by booing.
​
A couple of guards dragged him away and soon Bob emerged. He looked at me with some degree of awe and yelled out that there was probably an administrative error in his selection since he was merely a software engineer.
​
"What kind of software engineer are you?", I yelled over the hooting.
​
"Low latency elastic scalable distributed systems mostly, but I do a bit of everything", he hollered back. "Are you hiring?", he added after a thoughtful pause.
​
"Full stack?", I asked intrigued by how much we had in common.
​
"Fuck no, do I look like an arts student with a hello world HTML certificate?", he laughed back at me.
​
The crowd was not amused and started booing even louder.
​
Bob noticed me laughing too, picked up an axe, and asked me if I believed in containerization.
​
"Never for low-latency or if I care about the electricity bill.", I shot back. He put the axe down, relaxed a bit, and nodded in agreement.
​
"What do you run your shit on?", he asked.
​
"Bare metal, baby", I replied instantly, licking my axe.
​
He walked up to me and held out his hand to shake. We shook hands as the crowd went berserk.
​
We both turned to the crowd and explained to them that JavaScript frameworks were a conspiracy by "Big CPU" to slow down computers so we all have to keep upgrading. That only morons and hello world drifters would write rich clients that run in a browser. This seemed to get the crowd puzzled and the booing subsided. A few fist fights broke out amongst the spectators. Some people started screaming and running for the exits.
​
The guards seemed alarmed at Bob and my bonhomie and soon produced a new gladiator.
​
We asked him if he was a back-end developer too. He nodded, and seemed suspiciously sublimely smiling.
​
"What's your stack like?", Bob and I asked simultaneously.
​
"Node.js and the kube", he replied shrugging and tipped his fedora to a tilt.
​
Bob and I threw our axes at him simultaneously. Neither of us missed. | I stopped believing it was all a hallucination when Genghis Khan ignored my arm-wrestling proposition and stabbed me in the face.
Painfully losing the left half my vision barely registered against the sudden fear thundering in my veins as I fell onto the sand, scrambling away from the man and his two ill-matching companions behind him. The Khan laughed, turning to his companions and gleefully barking out what I assumed to be murderer trash talk.
The blonde one with little clothing but twin hand-axes seemed as jovial as the Khan himself, but the legionnaire in the segmented armor scoffed and waved the talk away.
While they had their moment, I looked around in the half-sunken temple we were in for an escape. There was none. The chipped columns of faded marble hid only shadows, and the only way out was through the tall gate behind my four interlopers.
*Four?*
A nondescript old man stood behind the trio, his hair more salt than pepper and his skin with the consistency of well-worn leather. He knelt behind the Viking, slid a knife out of the blonde's boot, and smoothly deposited it into the back of the man's skull. All of it produced less sound than the distant crashing of waves. That is, until the Viking fell down.
And so did his axes.
Without looking, the old man leaned away from the startled legionnaire's spear thrust just as he fished one of the falling axes out of the air and tossed it at the Roman, back-hand. The legionnaire crisply caught the axe with his face and fell onto the reddening sand.
The old man looked at me, looked at Genghis Khan, and heaved a frustrated sigh. He said: "Would it have killed you to wait another minute?" Then, he frowned thoughtfully and added: "Never mind. Excuse the rhetorical question."
Genghis was sweating. He was also screaming-slash-entreating at me to do something, help him probably, but I had neither the capacity nor the sympathy to do so. I mean, the old guy was like a terminator. I had never thrown a punch in my life, and the one time I did get punched by my stupid cousin, I had cried for hours.
Also, Genghis Khan had just stabbed me in the face.
He could get fucked.
In the end, it was no glorious battle. The old man picked up a long-forgotten chunk of broken marble from the base of a column, threw it at Genghis Khan, and hit him square in the head. The Khan's last battle cry ended with a gurgle and a *thump*.
Focused on my late attacker as I was, I didn't realize that the old man had approached me until he was already here.
His gaze was intense, searching for something in my face. Fear? Why bother? The guy had just killed three career warriors with less difficulty than I had with taking out the trash. Would fear help against a bullet in flight?
But the least I could do, even if it was the last and the stupidest meaningless gesture of courage I would ever make in my life, was to stare my death in its terrible visage.
His terrible, *one-eyed* visage.
And Death said: "Come with me if you want to live." | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | As a teenager, John was the Halo master. The moment, he got home from school, he played Halo. His parents dropped him off at tournaments, where he would always win. He was the best he had ever met, and he had no equal. He never lost a match.The amount of destruction he wrought among digitally enhanced pixels of Spartan soldiers was astronomical.
But, over the years, he went to college, studied business and started a cupcake shop. He occasionally reminisced about his Halo glory days, but his mind immediately reverted to tallying cupcake sales on his Excel spreadsheet. Life was busy with work; no time for games he would tell himself.
But all that changed, on one fateful day in the bitter cold of a February morning. On his way to work, he would always stop for a morning coffee. As he stepped into the same coffee shop for his reliable cup of brew, he saw a flash of light and then passed out.
When he awoke, he was surrounded by a strange assortment of people. All looked strong and muscular, from several different ages. He recognized one man in steel armor and held a large broadsword. Another carried a large machine gun. Yet another wore a suit of material he could not recognize and held a large glowing object. He gasped for air. Looking down, he recognized himself, not as himself, but as he had been as a teenager.
One man stretched out his arm to help him up and loudly proclaimed "Hello friend, you are the warrior we have heard the most about. We hear you are undefeated in battle. Welcome friend!"
John responded, amazed at the crowd now surrounding him, "WHAT IS HAPPENING?"
The man scratched his head and explained, "We are the Earth's finest warriors from history, we welcome you among us."
John stood up, looked around, and asked calmly, "Oh I see, where's the xbox? How good is the wifi in here?"
Murmurs spread around the crowd, and almost in unison, they asked, "what's an ... xbox?" | Is this my future I thought to myself?
I haven’t had a thought for a while.
Every once and while.
Today was the day, or was that yesterday?
I see my start, my middle, my end but I don’t see it now; it was then. Back then in my mind.
A loud voice booms, startling me.
Emotion, I haven’t felt in years.
Ah yes, I believe I’m in the now.
“Oh Ancient one we come in reverence. We have seen your past and judge you fit”
The lights around me turn on, dizzying at first I see not one, but thousands of people around me. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen, anyone, let alone a crowd.
Floating through space for a thousand years tends to disorient some people; here I was thinking I was alone in the universe when I find these people!
“Your path was hard, a battle well fought. Many scars have you been rewarded with.”
“The suffering that we’ve been through” I say, with words that feel stolen. The cloaked figure nods respectfully.
I realize now I’ve been here before, in my end. Our end, but my future, right now.
“We’ve gathered here today, for the battle of a lifetime! The Ancient one, versus the sun! Hope you’ve gotten your seats because no one will miss this one!”
Fresh in my mind, just as it was a thousand years ago I remember what my advisor said to me.
“Civilizations end, but with that end it seeds new life. This has always been our goal with the fights. We know what we need to do to ensure that we are not the last lights in the universe.”
The day I’ve been living for, the day I die. The sun burns our atmosphere, as the cloaked figure flys away I know now what to do.
We salsa across the stars, tango through the universe. With the last punch I see a brilliant light spread. It spreads my ashes through the supernova. Brilliant colors swirl and combine into one. Gasses coalesce, rocks smash and merge.
The cloaked figure floats through a universe unfamiliar to him, someday he’ll appreciate the stars we gave him. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I was as surprised as the next person when I woke up to the sound of hooting and cheering. The mattress I was lying on was clearly not the one I went to sleep on last night. At first, I thought I had been kidnapped and taken to an old prison somewhere in Northern Africa. The bars were made of rusting and irregular iron, the ground was uneven, and the guards wore what were once white bedsheets for clothes. My T-shirt and shorts seemed out of place till I noticed a bespectacled prisoner in the adjoining cell also similarly casually dressed.
​
We both gave each other the same puzzled look and wondered aloud almost simultaneously, "what the fuck just happened?"
​
Turned out, he, like me, was just a software engineer and a nerd.
​
The guards didn't seem to care one bit how much we chatted.
​
The mystery of a trail of blood in the walkway outside our cells was soon answered when a mostly disemboweled and recently violently deceased corpse was dragged through the corridor after a fresh volley of cheers.
​
The bespectacled man, whose name turned out to be Bob, started sobbing.
​
Shortly, a burly guard, probably three times my size, opened the gate to my cell, picked me up and tossed me into the hallway. He gruffly motioned towards the brighter end of the path. The hooting and cheering seemed to be coming from that direction.
​
As I walked towards the cheers, it was clear to me; there was gladitorial combat afoot. I wondered and hoped it was a melee where I stood a chance, and also that everyone else was also a nerdy software engineer like me. Boy was I wrong.
​
The moment I stepped into the light of the stadium, I saw three things: a medieval warrior standing about a hundred feet away laughing, a stadium full of 21st century booers and hooters, and a heap of ancient weapons and armor.
​
The warrior started running towards me and the crowd cheered. I ran towards the pile of weaponry and grabbed two hatchets, hoping my two visits to a local axe-throwing family arcade were going to be of some use here.
​
The warrior, now a few dozen feet away looked a bit like what I imagined Atilla the Hun was like. Desperate, I yelled out to him that I was just an unemployed software engineer and there might have been an administrative error in my selection. He didn't seem to care or understand and didn't slow down one bit. So I did my best axe-release and miraculously hit him square on his face; I did after all have the best score at the axe-throwing office outing a few months ago. The axe seemed to cleave Atilla's left cheekbone and possibly blinded him. He stumbled a bit and continued running towards me. I grabbed another axe and started running away from him, hoping the bleeding would render him unconscious soon.
​
My hunch was correct. He soon staggered and fell into a clattering heap of uselessness, legs kicking in the air an imaginary ground that would never get him any closer to me.
​
The crowd was a bit stunned and there was a bit of applause that was soon drowned out by booing.
​
A couple of guards dragged him away and soon Bob emerged. He looked at me with some degree of awe and yelled out that there was probably an administrative error in his selection since he was merely a software engineer.
​
"What kind of software engineer are you?", I yelled over the hooting.
​
"Low latency elastic scalable distributed systems mostly, but I do a bit of everything", he hollered back. "Are you hiring?", he added after a thoughtful pause.
​
"Full stack?", I asked intrigued by how much we had in common.
​
"Fuck no, do I look like an arts student with a hello world HTML certificate?", he laughed back at me.
​
The crowd was not amused and started booing even louder.
​
Bob noticed me laughing too, picked up an axe, and asked me if I believed in containerization.
​
"Never for low-latency or if I care about the electricity bill.", I shot back. He put the axe down, relaxed a bit, and nodded in agreement.
​
"What do you run your shit on?", he asked.
​
"Bare metal, baby", I replied instantly, licking my axe.
​
He walked up to me and held out his hand to shake. We shook hands as the crowd went berserk.
​
We both turned to the crowd and explained to them that JavaScript frameworks were a conspiracy by "Big CPU" to slow down computers so we all have to keep upgrading. That only morons and hello world drifters would write rich clients that run in a browser. This seemed to get the crowd puzzled and the booing subsided. A few fist fights broke out amongst the spectators. Some people started screaming and running for the exits.
​
The guards seemed alarmed at Bob and my bonhomie and soon produced a new gladiator.
​
We asked him if he was a back-end developer too. He nodded, and seemed suspiciously sublimely smiling.
​
"What's your stack like?", Bob and I asked simultaneously.
​
"Node.js and the kube", he replied shrugging and tipped his fedora to a tilt.
​
Bob and I threw our axes at him simultaneously. Neither of us missed. | Is this my future I thought to myself?
I haven’t had a thought for a while.
Every once and while.
Today was the day, or was that yesterday?
I see my start, my middle, my end but I don’t see it now; it was then. Back then in my mind.
A loud voice booms, startling me.
Emotion, I haven’t felt in years.
Ah yes, I believe I’m in the now.
“Oh Ancient one we come in reverence. We have seen your past and judge you fit”
The lights around me turn on, dizzying at first I see not one, but thousands of people around me. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen, anyone, let alone a crowd.
Floating through space for a thousand years tends to disorient some people; here I was thinking I was alone in the universe when I find these people!
“Your path was hard, a battle well fought. Many scars have you been rewarded with.”
“The suffering that we’ve been through” I say, with words that feel stolen. The cloaked figure nods respectfully.
I realize now I’ve been here before, in my end. Our end, but my future, right now.
“We’ve gathered here today, for the battle of a lifetime! The Ancient one, versus the sun! Hope you’ve gotten your seats because no one will miss this one!”
Fresh in my mind, just as it was a thousand years ago I remember what my advisor said to me.
“Civilizations end, but with that end it seeds new life. This has always been our goal with the fights. We know what we need to do to ensure that we are not the last lights in the universe.”
The day I’ve been living for, the day I die. The sun burns our atmosphere, as the cloaked figure flys away I know now what to do.
We salsa across the stars, tango through the universe. With the last punch I see a brilliant light spread. It spreads my ashes through the supernova. Brilliant colors swirl and combine into one. Gasses coalesce, rocks smash and merge.
The cloaked figure floats through a universe unfamiliar to him, someday he’ll appreciate the stars we gave him. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | As a teenager, John was the Halo master. The moment, he got home from school, he played Halo. His parents dropped him off at tournaments, where he would always win. He was the best he had ever met, and he had no equal. He never lost a match.The amount of destruction he wrought among digitally enhanced pixels of Spartan soldiers was astronomical.
But, over the years, he went to college, studied business and started a cupcake shop. He occasionally reminisced about his Halo glory days, but his mind immediately reverted to tallying cupcake sales on his Excel spreadsheet. Life was busy with work; no time for games he would tell himself.
But all that changed, on one fateful day in the bitter cold of a February morning. On his way to work, he would always stop for a morning coffee. As he stepped into the same coffee shop for his reliable cup of brew, he saw a flash of light and then passed out.
When he awoke, he was surrounded by a strange assortment of people. All looked strong and muscular, from several different ages. He recognized one man in steel armor and held a large broadsword. Another carried a large machine gun. Yet another wore a suit of material he could not recognize and held a large glowing object. He gasped for air. Looking down, he recognized himself, not as himself, but as he had been as a teenager.
One man stretched out his arm to help him up and loudly proclaimed "Hello friend, you are the warrior we have heard the most about. We hear you are undefeated in battle. Welcome friend!"
John responded, amazed at the crowd now surrounding him, "WHAT IS HAPPENING?"
The man scratched his head and explained, "We are the Earth's finest warriors from history, we welcome you among us."
John stood up, looked around, and asked calmly, "Oh I see, where's the xbox? How good is the wifi in here?"
Murmurs spread around the crowd, and almost in unison, they asked, "what's an ... xbox?" | "Uhh, what year is this place?"
"4269, Sir Jonathan Johnson"
"And, this, is?"
"A Gladiator Staduim, which finds all of the greatest warriors of all time."
"And, I am chosen."
"Yes, sir."
"Uhh, why?"
"Because you are one of them."
"In what aspect?"
"Your creativity, your ability to know everything about your opponent."
"Uh, okay?"
I mean, I am a good observer and all, but why me? As far as a human goes, I am a normal person.
"Well, can I choose my weapons?"
"Yes sir."
"Hmm, give me a portal generator, that can be worn in my legs and hands."
"Yes sir, immediately."
Might as well just try to win. There is no use panicking and asking questions, I just have to win.
"By the way, what's your name?"
"N1511 sir."
"Okay, N1511. I shall call you Nihil. Have a good day."
"You too sir." | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I was as surprised as the next person when I woke up to the sound of hooting and cheering. The mattress I was lying on was clearly not the one I went to sleep on last night. At first, I thought I had been kidnapped and taken to an old prison somewhere in Northern Africa. The bars were made of rusting and irregular iron, the ground was uneven, and the guards wore what were once white bedsheets for clothes. My T-shirt and shorts seemed out of place till I noticed a bespectacled prisoner in the adjoining cell also similarly casually dressed.
​
We both gave each other the same puzzled look and wondered aloud almost simultaneously, "what the fuck just happened?"
​
Turned out, he, like me, was just a software engineer and a nerd.
​
The guards didn't seem to care one bit how much we chatted.
​
The mystery of a trail of blood in the walkway outside our cells was soon answered when a mostly disemboweled and recently violently deceased corpse was dragged through the corridor after a fresh volley of cheers.
​
The bespectacled man, whose name turned out to be Bob, started sobbing.
​
Shortly, a burly guard, probably three times my size, opened the gate to my cell, picked me up and tossed me into the hallway. He gruffly motioned towards the brighter end of the path. The hooting and cheering seemed to be coming from that direction.
​
As I walked towards the cheers, it was clear to me; there was gladitorial combat afoot. I wondered and hoped it was a melee where I stood a chance, and also that everyone else was also a nerdy software engineer like me. Boy was I wrong.
​
The moment I stepped into the light of the stadium, I saw three things: a medieval warrior standing about a hundred feet away laughing, a stadium full of 21st century booers and hooters, and a heap of ancient weapons and armor.
​
The warrior started running towards me and the crowd cheered. I ran towards the pile of weaponry and grabbed two hatchets, hoping my two visits to a local axe-throwing family arcade were going to be of some use here.
​
The warrior, now a few dozen feet away looked a bit like what I imagined Atilla the Hun was like. Desperate, I yelled out to him that I was just an unemployed software engineer and there might have been an administrative error in my selection. He didn't seem to care or understand and didn't slow down one bit. So I did my best axe-release and miraculously hit him square on his face; I did after all have the best score at the axe-throwing office outing a few months ago. The axe seemed to cleave Atilla's left cheekbone and possibly blinded him. He stumbled a bit and continued running towards me. I grabbed another axe and started running away from him, hoping the bleeding would render him unconscious soon.
​
My hunch was correct. He soon staggered and fell into a clattering heap of uselessness, legs kicking in the air an imaginary ground that would never get him any closer to me.
​
The crowd was a bit stunned and there was a bit of applause that was soon drowned out by booing.
​
A couple of guards dragged him away and soon Bob emerged. He looked at me with some degree of awe and yelled out that there was probably an administrative error in his selection since he was merely a software engineer.
​
"What kind of software engineer are you?", I yelled over the hooting.
​
"Low latency elastic scalable distributed systems mostly, but I do a bit of everything", he hollered back. "Are you hiring?", he added after a thoughtful pause.
​
"Full stack?", I asked intrigued by how much we had in common.
​
"Fuck no, do I look like an arts student with a hello world HTML certificate?", he laughed back at me.
​
The crowd was not amused and started booing even louder.
​
Bob noticed me laughing too, picked up an axe, and asked me if I believed in containerization.
​
"Never for low-latency or if I care about the electricity bill.", I shot back. He put the axe down, relaxed a bit, and nodded in agreement.
​
"What do you run your shit on?", he asked.
​
"Bare metal, baby", I replied instantly, licking my axe.
​
He walked up to me and held out his hand to shake. We shook hands as the crowd went berserk.
​
We both turned to the crowd and explained to them that JavaScript frameworks were a conspiracy by "Big CPU" to slow down computers so we all have to keep upgrading. That only morons and hello world drifters would write rich clients that run in a browser. This seemed to get the crowd puzzled and the booing subsided. A few fist fights broke out amongst the spectators. Some people started screaming and running for the exits.
​
The guards seemed alarmed at Bob and my bonhomie and soon produced a new gladiator.
​
We asked him if he was a back-end developer too. He nodded, and seemed suspiciously sublimely smiling.
​
"What's your stack like?", Bob and I asked simultaneously.
​
"Node.js and the kube", he replied shrugging and tipped his fedora to a tilt.
​
Bob and I threw our axes at him simultaneously. Neither of us missed. | "Uhh, what year is this place?"
"4269, Sir Jonathan Johnson"
"And, this, is?"
"A Gladiator Staduim, which finds all of the greatest warriors of all time."
"And, I am chosen."
"Yes, sir."
"Uhh, why?"
"Because you are one of them."
"In what aspect?"
"Your creativity, your ability to know everything about your opponent."
"Uh, okay?"
I mean, I am a good observer and all, but why me? As far as a human goes, I am a normal person.
"Well, can I choose my weapons?"
"Yes sir."
"Hmm, give me a portal generator, that can be worn in my legs and hands."
"Yes sir, immediately."
Might as well just try to win. There is no use panicking and asking questions, I just have to win.
"By the way, what's your name?"
"N1511 sir."
"Okay, N1511. I shall call you Nihil. Have a good day."
"You too sir." | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | As a teenager, John was the Halo master. The moment, he got home from school, he played Halo. His parents dropped him off at tournaments, where he would always win. He was the best he had ever met, and he had no equal. He never lost a match.The amount of destruction he wrought among digitally enhanced pixels of Spartan soldiers was astronomical.
But, over the years, he went to college, studied business and started a cupcake shop. He occasionally reminisced about his Halo glory days, but his mind immediately reverted to tallying cupcake sales on his Excel spreadsheet. Life was busy with work; no time for games he would tell himself.
But all that changed, on one fateful day in the bitter cold of a February morning. On his way to work, he would always stop for a morning coffee. As he stepped into the same coffee shop for his reliable cup of brew, he saw a flash of light and then passed out.
When he awoke, he was surrounded by a strange assortment of people. All looked strong and muscular, from several different ages. He recognized one man in steel armor and held a large broadsword. Another carried a large machine gun. Yet another wore a suit of material he could not recognize and held a large glowing object. He gasped for air. Looking down, he recognized himself, not as himself, but as he had been as a teenager.
One man stretched out his arm to help him up and loudly proclaimed "Hello friend, you are the warrior we have heard the most about. We hear you are undefeated in battle. Welcome friend!"
John responded, amazed at the crowd now surrounding him, "WHAT IS HAPPENING?"
The man scratched his head and explained, "We are the Earth's finest warriors from history, we welcome you among us."
John stood up, looked around, and asked calmly, "Oh I see, where's the xbox? How good is the wifi in here?"
Murmurs spread around the crowd, and almost in unison, they asked, "what's an ... xbox?" | I woke up in a daze, as some sort of ridiculous alarm was going off. I rolled over, only to find that the bed had ended, as I nearly fell out of what I now knew wasn't even my own bed.
I immediately snapped up in a panic, and looked around me. Wherever I was, it was clearly meant to hold me. I was in cuffs, my bed was a simply mattress on the ground, and the 'alarm' was a man slamming a metal rod on a pan. The room was dark, but by the smell, I was on some sort of dirty ground, probably sand. By the look, outside of the mattress and what looked like a small hole to poop in, the room was empty.
"Get up, trickster! Do you want to disappoint the crowd?" he yelled at me, angrily.
"Huh? What's going on?" I said, trying to rattle out of my chains a little bit.
"Don't try to weasel your way around me, mind reader!" he shouted. "We know your tricks. We know what you're like!" he almost looked *scared* of me. Why he would be, I wouldn't know. I mean, I worked at Walmart, scrolled through tiktok, and played videogames all day. Occasionally I played DnD, but it wasn't like I did any serious lifting, or was good with a gun. It wasn't like I was strong, either. I was a 6'1 20 year old, mostly just tall and skinny. I was *average*.
"Dude, what the fuck?"
"Don't try to curse me, you foul betrayer!" he put up his rod and pan like they were a sword and shield. He yelled back at some other people, and immediately, some other people with similar looking stuff came up to the cell walls.
"Backup, Harry?" one of them asked.
"Yeah, he's feisty. He doesn't know what's going on."
"Good lord, I'm gonna call the police on y'all."
"I'm afraid your summons won't work here." one of the guards- I hesitate to call them that- looked at me with a smug grin. "Those only work on the field of battle."
I rolled my eyes and muttered to myself. "Y'all are fucking loony."
One of the guards unlocked the cell door, and let in some more light. Along with that, there seemed to be some sort of roaring out there.
"Get up, trickster. Your battle awaits you." the guard attached extra chains from some sort of massive device outside the room, before releasing me from the wall of the room. Whoever had made this thing up was probably gonna put me into slavery or some shit.
"HEY! ANYONE! HELP!" At that point, I tried wrangling from my shackles, but they just locked up tighter, and some searing feeling in my chest compelled me to stop.
A guard chuckled. "So the locks work. Good. The trickster won't leave."
More of them snickered, as I looked at them in anger. "Just wait." I started, as i was being dragged towards the roaring sound. "You'll all be dead soon."
They all laughed. "I am very sure you'll kill us, trickster." he said, sarcastically.
With that, a bright light blinded me, and I looked out to what my fate would be.
​
The arena I was in was huge. The machine pulling me, along with my shackles, was gone. I was surrounded by what looked like some massive metal cage, tiny white sparks emanating from each strip of metal. Whatever it was, it felt solid. The noise sounded dimmed, like there was solid mater between me and the now obviously alien crowd.
What I can only call humanoids were in every seat of what I could now see was The Colosseum. Marble seats in rows layered each side closest to where I was standing, while upwards, more stone than more precious materials. Things from my nightmares lined the seats, cheering in a language I didn't know. Hisses, hoots, hollers, screams, wails, even what sounded like explosions were coming from them, and all of it was just too much for me, honestly. I looked around, horrified, though oddly calm for a person who didn't like the spotlight. Something felt different about this place. It wasn't even the aliens, or the Colosseum, or the now obviously magical lights in the sky above us. It wasn't even that all of them were wearing togas. It was the air, and my own body. I felt like I'd been made stronger, somehow. It was elating, as a feeling. While a naturally shrunk away from the crowd, I almost felt a sort of disgust for the action I had taken that was so ingrained as a habit. I should have been *proud* of this. I was special, somehow. At least here.
"In the right entrance, we have the most well known Trickster in the 20th century! In the 16th seed of the 21st century bracket, taken from 2034, in the United States of America, we have the 31 year old Harry Pommish!"
That was wrong. It was 2022. I was only 19. Also, I wasn't any type of trickster. I was a wage slave in college.
However, as the crowd cheered, a sudden rumbling came from below. The sound of pattering feet scurrying away from whatever it was. A platform in the sand arena caved in, as someone else came in, roaring at someone.
"The fuck you say to me you little shit!"
The first thing that clued me into who I was supposed to- probably- fight was his blue hair. The next was the bandanna, and the last one was what he'd just told some poor guy.
"In the left entrance, we have the one Ninja that you all know and Love! In the 1st seed of the 21st century bracket, taken from 2022, in the United States of America, we have the 31 year old Tyler Blevins! Ninja!"
I thought the crowd had cheered loudly for me. They went fucking nuts for Ninja. People were yelling obsessively, trying to throw- or, in one gross case, *spit*\- stuff onto the field for him to use. A pile of keys from a keyboard, one of them even threw down a weapon, but that didn't make it into the ring. That wasn't what confused me, though. I was still enough in shock to think logically, but something tingling on my skin mad me want to think that this wasn't the real Tyler Blevins.
This guy had all the right attributes of Ninja. He had the hair, he had the attitude, but for some reason, he didn't feel as if he was *human*. Something in him felt fabricated, like someone had looked at him from afar, and tried to make him with clay.
"Now, competetitors, here are the rules. Those who don't fight, die. If you die, you lose, if you forfeit, you die, and you lose. Now, have fun!"
As soon as he said to have fun, my suspicions were confirmed. If this was Ninja, than he was radically different from what I'd thought. A maniacal grin encompassed his face, and he looked directly at me with a sense of gory glee.
As it happened, a few things came into view. A bar in my top right, a gun in my hand, and a resource bar in my bottom view. Other things came into view, but I didn't know what they were. In front of me, Ninja was now at a desk, his head super close to the monitor, his mouse moving rapidly.
I'd read my fair share of books, and when I was a younger teen, I'd watched some anime. I knew what this was.
I was going to have to outgame Tyler "Ninja" Blevins in Fortnite, or I'd die. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I was as surprised as the next person when I woke up to the sound of hooting and cheering. The mattress I was lying on was clearly not the one I went to sleep on last night. At first, I thought I had been kidnapped and taken to an old prison somewhere in Northern Africa. The bars were made of rusting and irregular iron, the ground was uneven, and the guards wore what were once white bedsheets for clothes. My T-shirt and shorts seemed out of place till I noticed a bespectacled prisoner in the adjoining cell also similarly casually dressed.
​
We both gave each other the same puzzled look and wondered aloud almost simultaneously, "what the fuck just happened?"
​
Turned out, he, like me, was just a software engineer and a nerd.
​
The guards didn't seem to care one bit how much we chatted.
​
The mystery of a trail of blood in the walkway outside our cells was soon answered when a mostly disemboweled and recently violently deceased corpse was dragged through the corridor after a fresh volley of cheers.
​
The bespectacled man, whose name turned out to be Bob, started sobbing.
​
Shortly, a burly guard, probably three times my size, opened the gate to my cell, picked me up and tossed me into the hallway. He gruffly motioned towards the brighter end of the path. The hooting and cheering seemed to be coming from that direction.
​
As I walked towards the cheers, it was clear to me; there was gladitorial combat afoot. I wondered and hoped it was a melee where I stood a chance, and also that everyone else was also a nerdy software engineer like me. Boy was I wrong.
​
The moment I stepped into the light of the stadium, I saw three things: a medieval warrior standing about a hundred feet away laughing, a stadium full of 21st century booers and hooters, and a heap of ancient weapons and armor.
​
The warrior started running towards me and the crowd cheered. I ran towards the pile of weaponry and grabbed two hatchets, hoping my two visits to a local axe-throwing family arcade were going to be of some use here.
​
The warrior, now a few dozen feet away looked a bit like what I imagined Atilla the Hun was like. Desperate, I yelled out to him that I was just an unemployed software engineer and there might have been an administrative error in my selection. He didn't seem to care or understand and didn't slow down one bit. So I did my best axe-release and miraculously hit him square on his face; I did after all have the best score at the axe-throwing office outing a few months ago. The axe seemed to cleave Atilla's left cheekbone and possibly blinded him. He stumbled a bit and continued running towards me. I grabbed another axe and started running away from him, hoping the bleeding would render him unconscious soon.
​
My hunch was correct. He soon staggered and fell into a clattering heap of uselessness, legs kicking in the air an imaginary ground that would never get him any closer to me.
​
The crowd was a bit stunned and there was a bit of applause that was soon drowned out by booing.
​
A couple of guards dragged him away and soon Bob emerged. He looked at me with some degree of awe and yelled out that there was probably an administrative error in his selection since he was merely a software engineer.
​
"What kind of software engineer are you?", I yelled over the hooting.
​
"Low latency elastic scalable distributed systems mostly, but I do a bit of everything", he hollered back. "Are you hiring?", he added after a thoughtful pause.
​
"Full stack?", I asked intrigued by how much we had in common.
​
"Fuck no, do I look like an arts student with a hello world HTML certificate?", he laughed back at me.
​
The crowd was not amused and started booing even louder.
​
Bob noticed me laughing too, picked up an axe, and asked me if I believed in containerization.
​
"Never for low-latency or if I care about the electricity bill.", I shot back. He put the axe down, relaxed a bit, and nodded in agreement.
​
"What do you run your shit on?", he asked.
​
"Bare metal, baby", I replied instantly, licking my axe.
​
He walked up to me and held out his hand to shake. We shook hands as the crowd went berserk.
​
We both turned to the crowd and explained to them that JavaScript frameworks were a conspiracy by "Big CPU" to slow down computers so we all have to keep upgrading. That only morons and hello world drifters would write rich clients that run in a browser. This seemed to get the crowd puzzled and the booing subsided. A few fist fights broke out amongst the spectators. Some people started screaming and running for the exits.
​
The guards seemed alarmed at Bob and my bonhomie and soon produced a new gladiator.
​
We asked him if he was a back-end developer too. He nodded, and seemed suspiciously sublimely smiling.
​
"What's your stack like?", Bob and I asked simultaneously.
​
"Node.js and the kube", he replied shrugging and tipped his fedora to a tilt.
​
Bob and I threw our axes at him simultaneously. Neither of us missed. | I woke up in a daze, as some sort of ridiculous alarm was going off. I rolled over, only to find that the bed had ended, as I nearly fell out of what I now knew wasn't even my own bed.
I immediately snapped up in a panic, and looked around me. Wherever I was, it was clearly meant to hold me. I was in cuffs, my bed was a simply mattress on the ground, and the 'alarm' was a man slamming a metal rod on a pan. The room was dark, but by the smell, I was on some sort of dirty ground, probably sand. By the look, outside of the mattress and what looked like a small hole to poop in, the room was empty.
"Get up, trickster! Do you want to disappoint the crowd?" he yelled at me, angrily.
"Huh? What's going on?" I said, trying to rattle out of my chains a little bit.
"Don't try to weasel your way around me, mind reader!" he shouted. "We know your tricks. We know what you're like!" he almost looked *scared* of me. Why he would be, I wouldn't know. I mean, I worked at Walmart, scrolled through tiktok, and played videogames all day. Occasionally I played DnD, but it wasn't like I did any serious lifting, or was good with a gun. It wasn't like I was strong, either. I was a 6'1 20 year old, mostly just tall and skinny. I was *average*.
"Dude, what the fuck?"
"Don't try to curse me, you foul betrayer!" he put up his rod and pan like they were a sword and shield. He yelled back at some other people, and immediately, some other people with similar looking stuff came up to the cell walls.
"Backup, Harry?" one of them asked.
"Yeah, he's feisty. He doesn't know what's going on."
"Good lord, I'm gonna call the police on y'all."
"I'm afraid your summons won't work here." one of the guards- I hesitate to call them that- looked at me with a smug grin. "Those only work on the field of battle."
I rolled my eyes and muttered to myself. "Y'all are fucking loony."
One of the guards unlocked the cell door, and let in some more light. Along with that, there seemed to be some sort of roaring out there.
"Get up, trickster. Your battle awaits you." the guard attached extra chains from some sort of massive device outside the room, before releasing me from the wall of the room. Whoever had made this thing up was probably gonna put me into slavery or some shit.
"HEY! ANYONE! HELP!" At that point, I tried wrangling from my shackles, but they just locked up tighter, and some searing feeling in my chest compelled me to stop.
A guard chuckled. "So the locks work. Good. The trickster won't leave."
More of them snickered, as I looked at them in anger. "Just wait." I started, as i was being dragged towards the roaring sound. "You'll all be dead soon."
They all laughed. "I am very sure you'll kill us, trickster." he said, sarcastically.
With that, a bright light blinded me, and I looked out to what my fate would be.
​
The arena I was in was huge. The machine pulling me, along with my shackles, was gone. I was surrounded by what looked like some massive metal cage, tiny white sparks emanating from each strip of metal. Whatever it was, it felt solid. The noise sounded dimmed, like there was solid mater between me and the now obviously alien crowd.
What I can only call humanoids were in every seat of what I could now see was The Colosseum. Marble seats in rows layered each side closest to where I was standing, while upwards, more stone than more precious materials. Things from my nightmares lined the seats, cheering in a language I didn't know. Hisses, hoots, hollers, screams, wails, even what sounded like explosions were coming from them, and all of it was just too much for me, honestly. I looked around, horrified, though oddly calm for a person who didn't like the spotlight. Something felt different about this place. It wasn't even the aliens, or the Colosseum, or the now obviously magical lights in the sky above us. It wasn't even that all of them were wearing togas. It was the air, and my own body. I felt like I'd been made stronger, somehow. It was elating, as a feeling. While a naturally shrunk away from the crowd, I almost felt a sort of disgust for the action I had taken that was so ingrained as a habit. I should have been *proud* of this. I was special, somehow. At least here.
"In the right entrance, we have the most well known Trickster in the 20th century! In the 16th seed of the 21st century bracket, taken from 2034, in the United States of America, we have the 31 year old Harry Pommish!"
That was wrong. It was 2022. I was only 19. Also, I wasn't any type of trickster. I was a wage slave in college.
However, as the crowd cheered, a sudden rumbling came from below. The sound of pattering feet scurrying away from whatever it was. A platform in the sand arena caved in, as someone else came in, roaring at someone.
"The fuck you say to me you little shit!"
The first thing that clued me into who I was supposed to- probably- fight was his blue hair. The next was the bandanna, and the last one was what he'd just told some poor guy.
"In the left entrance, we have the one Ninja that you all know and Love! In the 1st seed of the 21st century bracket, taken from 2022, in the United States of America, we have the 31 year old Tyler Blevins! Ninja!"
I thought the crowd had cheered loudly for me. They went fucking nuts for Ninja. People were yelling obsessively, trying to throw- or, in one gross case, *spit*\- stuff onto the field for him to use. A pile of keys from a keyboard, one of them even threw down a weapon, but that didn't make it into the ring. That wasn't what confused me, though. I was still enough in shock to think logically, but something tingling on my skin mad me want to think that this wasn't the real Tyler Blevins.
This guy had all the right attributes of Ninja. He had the hair, he had the attitude, but for some reason, he didn't feel as if he was *human*. Something in him felt fabricated, like someone had looked at him from afar, and tried to make him with clay.
"Now, competetitors, here are the rules. Those who don't fight, die. If you die, you lose, if you forfeit, you die, and you lose. Now, have fun!"
As soon as he said to have fun, my suspicions were confirmed. If this was Ninja, than he was radically different from what I'd thought. A maniacal grin encompassed his face, and he looked directly at me with a sense of gory glee.
As it happened, a few things came into view. A bar in my top right, a gun in my hand, and a resource bar in my bottom view. Other things came into view, but I didn't know what they were. In front of me, Ninja was now at a desk, his head super close to the monitor, his mouse moving rapidly.
I'd read my fair share of books, and when I was a younger teen, I'd watched some anime. I knew what this was.
I was going to have to outgame Tyler "Ninja" Blevins in Fortnite, or I'd die. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | As a teenager, John was the Halo master. The moment, he got home from school, he played Halo. His parents dropped him off at tournaments, where he would always win. He was the best he had ever met, and he had no equal. He never lost a match.The amount of destruction he wrought among digitally enhanced pixels of Spartan soldiers was astronomical.
But, over the years, he went to college, studied business and started a cupcake shop. He occasionally reminisced about his Halo glory days, but his mind immediately reverted to tallying cupcake sales on his Excel spreadsheet. Life was busy with work; no time for games he would tell himself.
But all that changed, on one fateful day in the bitter cold of a February morning. On his way to work, he would always stop for a morning coffee. As he stepped into the same coffee shop for his reliable cup of brew, he saw a flash of light and then passed out.
When he awoke, he was surrounded by a strange assortment of people. All looked strong and muscular, from several different ages. He recognized one man in steel armor and held a large broadsword. Another carried a large machine gun. Yet another wore a suit of material he could not recognize and held a large glowing object. He gasped for air. Looking down, he recognized himself, not as himself, but as he had been as a teenager.
One man stretched out his arm to help him up and loudly proclaimed "Hello friend, you are the warrior we have heard the most about. We hear you are undefeated in battle. Welcome friend!"
John responded, amazed at the crowd now surrounding him, "WHAT IS HAPPENING?"
The man scratched his head and explained, "We are the Earth's finest warriors from history, we welcome you among us."
John stood up, looked around, and asked calmly, "Oh I see, where's the xbox? How good is the wifi in here?"
Murmurs spread around the crowd, and almost in unison, they asked, "what's an ... xbox?" | Nauseous and wobbly I slowly got to my knees. I was blind, I tried brushing the sand from my face and shaking my head to regain my senses. As I tried to stagger to my feet I managed to kick a small stone into something that reacted with a guttural grunt. The sound of chains rattling out and snapping taunt with immense force caused me to squeak in panic. Desperately trying to gain my senses I lurched away as the stone whizzed by echoing loudly against a wall. Still I could not focus my mind or body. Nearly paralyzed with fear I knew I was dead. I collapsed again, retching up my subway sandwich and once again filling my mouth with sand. I couldn’t fight or run. I was helpless. I lay awaiting the coming death by whatever beast was chained. too sick, weak, and blind to even give resistance. I felt hands pulling me away from the darkness. I was propped against the wall in a brighter area, still nearly blind I could make out human hands trying to give me something from a bottle. I instinctively gulped down the fiery liquid and slowly began to regain my senses. I listened to many voices in tongues I’ve never heard. As the fog and dizziness that blinded me subsided I saw dozens of men. Wildly different men from all ages of history. All around me in various stages of sickness and weakness men trying to cry out. What I saw dumbfounded and terrified me. A short stocky Olive colored man sat in front of me trying to communicate, gesturing wildly and spitting out rapid fire Latin. I only took a single semester of Latin and cursed myself for being lazy. He saw my confusion and slowly said just one word “*amica*”. “*Friend! Er amica! I croaked*”. He smiled revealing even white teeth and moved to sit beside me. We sat for long minutes as I looked about trying to puzzle out what happened and where I am. Still too dizzy and nauseous to stand, I took my time to look around. Tattooed Celts ,Roman’s in woolen tunics, Chinese in silk, Japanese, native Americans, Africans, bearded blond giant men, Huns with ritual scarring, dozens of men from many cultures. Some I could recognize most I could not and lastly and the most shocking was Otzi the iceman.
*Where was I?! What happened!? How am I here?*, I Yelled out. My mind raced and I almost gave in to hysteria again but my olive skinned friend rested his hand on my shoulder. Leaning in, smiling reassuringly, and trying to calm me. He Gently kept saying tranquillitas over and over. tranquillitas means calm! I thought. Taking control of myself again the Roman smiled and leaned back against the granite wall. I remembered nothing besides I was eating a subway sandwich on my couch watching a National Geographic program about Otzi and now I’m here. I must have fallen asleep but this was no dream, this was real. The sickness I feel is real, the sand floor is real. The walls of our cell were cut from solid granite rock with a sickening ethereal illumination that came from some unseen source. This was real and no dream. There seemed to be no door or window, just a high ceiling cell cut from a mountain. I suddenly felt my exhaustion and shock weighing heavily upon me and drifted into a dreamless slumber.
Waking with a start to a loud mechanical boom the room erupted into light. The many men, clearly warriors, jumped to their feet babbling in an incomprehensible sea of languages. Some began to rush forward to escape or fight through a door in the wall that was slowly sliding open. Seemingly cut from solid rock and invisible till it began its slow grating grind open. It was Built to slide into recess of the wall itself and bright artificial light began pouring through. Otzi was first to the door screaming a war cry fit to terrify anyone and was struck by some sort of high voltage. Writhing with pain he was hurled backwards into the mass of charging men. The effect must have seemed like the power of the gods and brought most of the men cowering to their knees. A squad of tall armored men advanced through the door immediately In a shield wall formation. Carrying spears pulsing with a powerful blue electric power and arranging themselves in a defensive formation. The shields, modeled after the legionary scutum, seemed impossibly light but struck nearby men with an unimaginable force. The squad were all armored in futuristic suits of composite armor modeled to look like roman segmentatas. Their composite legionary helmets had electronic displays over the eyes and ear pieces presumably for radios. They began to shock prod and beat anyone still on their feet to their knees. Some men tried to resist and paid the price with screams of mortal agony as they were beaten to submission. After all the men were forced to kneel or lay nearly lifeless paralyzed by fear and pain They just stood and stared. Their eyes darting and watchful ready for anything. No one dared to move against these gods or speak for fear of being struck down like the others. After an uncomfortable minute of silence the man mumbled into his microphone and must have given an order because two more squads shuffled into the room. Our captors arranged themselves into a deeper defensive formation and then a man wearing a glowing golden crown of olives and a toga that shone brilliantly white, unlike any fabric from my era, entered the room. He must have activated a speaker in the room because he loudly clapped his hands and spoke. “*Hello, and greetings*”. “*You all have many questions but they shall wait*”. He spoke English yet every man from every era seemed to understand the voice coming from the unseen speaker. The shock was too much for some who fainted immediately. With a wry smile he placed his hands behind his back in a typical roman oratory style. “*My name is unimportant. I shall be known to you all as imperator. I've come to meet the greatest warriors in history before many of you die honorably in the arena. This spectacle is arranged in honor of our triumph in conquering the world and uniting all under one purpose. You men shall fight in gladiatorial games and the winner shall be given a place of honor and allowed to return to your own time and lives. Not only will you be given special strengths and abilities but powerful weapons to become gods to your people but Only if you win. There is no refusal, there is no choice, you only live now because I allow it. Holding high a bracelet pulsing with the blue electrical pulses He said “I shall have everyone here shackled and the price of resistance or tampering with the shackle shall be a burning shock with pain so horrible some do not survive. We can track you across the world with this shackle. We can listen in to what you are saying and lastly This will allow you to communicate with anyone no matter their language or place of origin.” Some of you will no doubt try to escape, Some to bargain, And some to take their own lives. Just Know, there is no escape on your terms. An absence of choice you could say. There is no wound, sickness, or death that cannot be cured,* ***YOU WILL FIGHT***\*”\*. With that last statement the imperator turned on his heel and stalked from the room.
As this particular psychopath left two men dressed in white coveralls entered the room carrying a large trunk between them. One of the men proclaimed loudly: *no talking, no questions, and no moving. anyone who disobeys will be beaten*. They opened the trunk revealing the shackles and started attaching the shackles to every man's arm one by one. As they worked their way across the room they came to one of the huge bearded Norsemen. After his shackle was attached the Norseman looked up from his knees and said “*How! You have the power of Mjolnir*?” The technician slowly smiled a cruel and excited look. The sharp hard lines of his face showed he was one who relished suffering. He produced a small Baton and began to beat the Norse man savagely. The Norseman rose to his feet to resist and succeeded in catching the baton with an audible crunch of hand bones. Stubbornly this warrior held on and a struggle ensued. A silent guard stepped forward and delivered a vicious strike to the Norseman's outstretched arm with his shield, flooring the man and breaking his arm at the elbow. The guard silently stepped back, his face a mask of stone. Immediately the cruel technician straddled the Norseman and began to methodically beat the man with his baton. Between growls of rage and howls of pain the Norseman was slowly beaten to a pulp. Lacerations opened with each strike, bone audibly crunched with each swing, and within seconds the man could no longer fend off the strikes with his arms. Silently The technician destroyed the Norseman's body from top to bottom. It was a message to us about what would happen if we broke the rules. The Norseman laid gurgling and choking, his face destroyed and unrecognizable as human. Arms, legs and torso broken and bleeding. I suddenly started to retch and the technician turned on me. “*Too much blood for you, You shall get the same!*” and started towards me. I was dead. I knew I was dead. I tried to retreat further into the wall of the cell looking about wildly for some escape. Somehow The Norseman was still defiant and hissed out *“NITHING”! It* stopped the technician dead in his tracks. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I was as surprised as the next person when I woke up to the sound of hooting and cheering. The mattress I was lying on was clearly not the one I went to sleep on last night. At first, I thought I had been kidnapped and taken to an old prison somewhere in Northern Africa. The bars were made of rusting and irregular iron, the ground was uneven, and the guards wore what were once white bedsheets for clothes. My T-shirt and shorts seemed out of place till I noticed a bespectacled prisoner in the adjoining cell also similarly casually dressed.
​
We both gave each other the same puzzled look and wondered aloud almost simultaneously, "what the fuck just happened?"
​
Turned out, he, like me, was just a software engineer and a nerd.
​
The guards didn't seem to care one bit how much we chatted.
​
The mystery of a trail of blood in the walkway outside our cells was soon answered when a mostly disemboweled and recently violently deceased corpse was dragged through the corridor after a fresh volley of cheers.
​
The bespectacled man, whose name turned out to be Bob, started sobbing.
​
Shortly, a burly guard, probably three times my size, opened the gate to my cell, picked me up and tossed me into the hallway. He gruffly motioned towards the brighter end of the path. The hooting and cheering seemed to be coming from that direction.
​
As I walked towards the cheers, it was clear to me; there was gladitorial combat afoot. I wondered and hoped it was a melee where I stood a chance, and also that everyone else was also a nerdy software engineer like me. Boy was I wrong.
​
The moment I stepped into the light of the stadium, I saw three things: a medieval warrior standing about a hundred feet away laughing, a stadium full of 21st century booers and hooters, and a heap of ancient weapons and armor.
​
The warrior started running towards me and the crowd cheered. I ran towards the pile of weaponry and grabbed two hatchets, hoping my two visits to a local axe-throwing family arcade were going to be of some use here.
​
The warrior, now a few dozen feet away looked a bit like what I imagined Atilla the Hun was like. Desperate, I yelled out to him that I was just an unemployed software engineer and there might have been an administrative error in my selection. He didn't seem to care or understand and didn't slow down one bit. So I did my best axe-release and miraculously hit him square on his face; I did after all have the best score at the axe-throwing office outing a few months ago. The axe seemed to cleave Atilla's left cheekbone and possibly blinded him. He stumbled a bit and continued running towards me. I grabbed another axe and started running away from him, hoping the bleeding would render him unconscious soon.
​
My hunch was correct. He soon staggered and fell into a clattering heap of uselessness, legs kicking in the air an imaginary ground that would never get him any closer to me.
​
The crowd was a bit stunned and there was a bit of applause that was soon drowned out by booing.
​
A couple of guards dragged him away and soon Bob emerged. He looked at me with some degree of awe and yelled out that there was probably an administrative error in his selection since he was merely a software engineer.
​
"What kind of software engineer are you?", I yelled over the hooting.
​
"Low latency elastic scalable distributed systems mostly, but I do a bit of everything", he hollered back. "Are you hiring?", he added after a thoughtful pause.
​
"Full stack?", I asked intrigued by how much we had in common.
​
"Fuck no, do I look like an arts student with a hello world HTML certificate?", he laughed back at me.
​
The crowd was not amused and started booing even louder.
​
Bob noticed me laughing too, picked up an axe, and asked me if I believed in containerization.
​
"Never for low-latency or if I care about the electricity bill.", I shot back. He put the axe down, relaxed a bit, and nodded in agreement.
​
"What do you run your shit on?", he asked.
​
"Bare metal, baby", I replied instantly, licking my axe.
​
He walked up to me and held out his hand to shake. We shook hands as the crowd went berserk.
​
We both turned to the crowd and explained to them that JavaScript frameworks were a conspiracy by "Big CPU" to slow down computers so we all have to keep upgrading. That only morons and hello world drifters would write rich clients that run in a browser. This seemed to get the crowd puzzled and the booing subsided. A few fist fights broke out amongst the spectators. Some people started screaming and running for the exits.
​
The guards seemed alarmed at Bob and my bonhomie and soon produced a new gladiator.
​
We asked him if he was a back-end developer too. He nodded, and seemed suspiciously sublimely smiling.
​
"What's your stack like?", Bob and I asked simultaneously.
​
"Node.js and the kube", he replied shrugging and tipped his fedora to a tilt.
​
Bob and I threw our axes at him simultaneously. Neither of us missed. | Nauseous and wobbly I slowly got to my knees. I was blind, I tried brushing the sand from my face and shaking my head to regain my senses. As I tried to stagger to my feet I managed to kick a small stone into something that reacted with a guttural grunt. The sound of chains rattling out and snapping taunt with immense force caused me to squeak in panic. Desperately trying to gain my senses I lurched away as the stone whizzed by echoing loudly against a wall. Still I could not focus my mind or body. Nearly paralyzed with fear I knew I was dead. I collapsed again, retching up my subway sandwich and once again filling my mouth with sand. I couldn’t fight or run. I was helpless. I lay awaiting the coming death by whatever beast was chained. too sick, weak, and blind to even give resistance. I felt hands pulling me away from the darkness. I was propped against the wall in a brighter area, still nearly blind I could make out human hands trying to give me something from a bottle. I instinctively gulped down the fiery liquid and slowly began to regain my senses. I listened to many voices in tongues I’ve never heard. As the fog and dizziness that blinded me subsided I saw dozens of men. Wildly different men from all ages of history. All around me in various stages of sickness and weakness men trying to cry out. What I saw dumbfounded and terrified me. A short stocky Olive colored man sat in front of me trying to communicate, gesturing wildly and spitting out rapid fire Latin. I only took a single semester of Latin and cursed myself for being lazy. He saw my confusion and slowly said just one word “*amica*”. “*Friend! Er amica! I croaked*”. He smiled revealing even white teeth and moved to sit beside me. We sat for long minutes as I looked about trying to puzzle out what happened and where I am. Still too dizzy and nauseous to stand, I took my time to look around. Tattooed Celts ,Roman’s in woolen tunics, Chinese in silk, Japanese, native Americans, Africans, bearded blond giant men, Huns with ritual scarring, dozens of men from many cultures. Some I could recognize most I could not and lastly and the most shocking was Otzi the iceman.
*Where was I?! What happened!? How am I here?*, I Yelled out. My mind raced and I almost gave in to hysteria again but my olive skinned friend rested his hand on my shoulder. Leaning in, smiling reassuringly, and trying to calm me. He Gently kept saying tranquillitas over and over. tranquillitas means calm! I thought. Taking control of myself again the Roman smiled and leaned back against the granite wall. I remembered nothing besides I was eating a subway sandwich on my couch watching a National Geographic program about Otzi and now I’m here. I must have fallen asleep but this was no dream, this was real. The sickness I feel is real, the sand floor is real. The walls of our cell were cut from solid granite rock with a sickening ethereal illumination that came from some unseen source. This was real and no dream. There seemed to be no door or window, just a high ceiling cell cut from a mountain. I suddenly felt my exhaustion and shock weighing heavily upon me and drifted into a dreamless slumber.
Waking with a start to a loud mechanical boom the room erupted into light. The many men, clearly warriors, jumped to their feet babbling in an incomprehensible sea of languages. Some began to rush forward to escape or fight through a door in the wall that was slowly sliding open. Seemingly cut from solid rock and invisible till it began its slow grating grind open. It was Built to slide into recess of the wall itself and bright artificial light began pouring through. Otzi was first to the door screaming a war cry fit to terrify anyone and was struck by some sort of high voltage. Writhing with pain he was hurled backwards into the mass of charging men. The effect must have seemed like the power of the gods and brought most of the men cowering to their knees. A squad of tall armored men advanced through the door immediately In a shield wall formation. Carrying spears pulsing with a powerful blue electric power and arranging themselves in a defensive formation. The shields, modeled after the legionary scutum, seemed impossibly light but struck nearby men with an unimaginable force. The squad were all armored in futuristic suits of composite armor modeled to look like roman segmentatas. Their composite legionary helmets had electronic displays over the eyes and ear pieces presumably for radios. They began to shock prod and beat anyone still on their feet to their knees. Some men tried to resist and paid the price with screams of mortal agony as they were beaten to submission. After all the men were forced to kneel or lay nearly lifeless paralyzed by fear and pain They just stood and stared. Their eyes darting and watchful ready for anything. No one dared to move against these gods or speak for fear of being struck down like the others. After an uncomfortable minute of silence the man mumbled into his microphone and must have given an order because two more squads shuffled into the room. Our captors arranged themselves into a deeper defensive formation and then a man wearing a glowing golden crown of olives and a toga that shone brilliantly white, unlike any fabric from my era, entered the room. He must have activated a speaker in the room because he loudly clapped his hands and spoke. “*Hello, and greetings*”. “*You all have many questions but they shall wait*”. He spoke English yet every man from every era seemed to understand the voice coming from the unseen speaker. The shock was too much for some who fainted immediately. With a wry smile he placed his hands behind his back in a typical roman oratory style. “*My name is unimportant. I shall be known to you all as imperator. I've come to meet the greatest warriors in history before many of you die honorably in the arena. This spectacle is arranged in honor of our triumph in conquering the world and uniting all under one purpose. You men shall fight in gladiatorial games and the winner shall be given a place of honor and allowed to return to your own time and lives. Not only will you be given special strengths and abilities but powerful weapons to become gods to your people but Only if you win. There is no refusal, there is no choice, you only live now because I allow it. Holding high a bracelet pulsing with the blue electrical pulses He said “I shall have everyone here shackled and the price of resistance or tampering with the shackle shall be a burning shock with pain so horrible some do not survive. We can track you across the world with this shackle. We can listen in to what you are saying and lastly This will allow you to communicate with anyone no matter their language or place of origin.” Some of you will no doubt try to escape, Some to bargain, And some to take their own lives. Just Know, there is no escape on your terms. An absence of choice you could say. There is no wound, sickness, or death that cannot be cured,* ***YOU WILL FIGHT***\*”\*. With that last statement the imperator turned on his heel and stalked from the room.
As this particular psychopath left two men dressed in white coveralls entered the room carrying a large trunk between them. One of the men proclaimed loudly: *no talking, no questions, and no moving. anyone who disobeys will be beaten*. They opened the trunk revealing the shackles and started attaching the shackles to every man's arm one by one. As they worked their way across the room they came to one of the huge bearded Norsemen. After his shackle was attached the Norseman looked up from his knees and said “*How! You have the power of Mjolnir*?” The technician slowly smiled a cruel and excited look. The sharp hard lines of his face showed he was one who relished suffering. He produced a small Baton and began to beat the Norse man savagely. The Norseman rose to his feet to resist and succeeded in catching the baton with an audible crunch of hand bones. Stubbornly this warrior held on and a struggle ensued. A silent guard stepped forward and delivered a vicious strike to the Norseman's outstretched arm with his shield, flooring the man and breaking his arm at the elbow. The guard silently stepped back, his face a mask of stone. Immediately the cruel technician straddled the Norseman and began to methodically beat the man with his baton. Between growls of rage and howls of pain the Norseman was slowly beaten to a pulp. Lacerations opened with each strike, bone audibly crunched with each swing, and within seconds the man could no longer fend off the strikes with his arms. Silently The technician destroyed the Norseman's body from top to bottom. It was a message to us about what would happen if we broke the rules. The Norseman laid gurgling and choking, his face destroyed and unrecognizable as human. Arms, legs and torso broken and bleeding. I suddenly started to retch and the technician turned on me. “*Too much blood for you, You shall get the same!*” and started towards me. I was dead. I knew I was dead. I tried to retreat further into the wall of the cell looking about wildly for some escape. Somehow The Norseman was still defiant and hissed out *“NITHING”! It* stopped the technician dead in his tracks. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I was as surprised as the next person when I woke up to the sound of hooting and cheering. The mattress I was lying on was clearly not the one I went to sleep on last night. At first, I thought I had been kidnapped and taken to an old prison somewhere in Northern Africa. The bars were made of rusting and irregular iron, the ground was uneven, and the guards wore what were once white bedsheets for clothes. My T-shirt and shorts seemed out of place till I noticed a bespectacled prisoner in the adjoining cell also similarly casually dressed.
​
We both gave each other the same puzzled look and wondered aloud almost simultaneously, "what the fuck just happened?"
​
Turned out, he, like me, was just a software engineer and a nerd.
​
The guards didn't seem to care one bit how much we chatted.
​
The mystery of a trail of blood in the walkway outside our cells was soon answered when a mostly disemboweled and recently violently deceased corpse was dragged through the corridor after a fresh volley of cheers.
​
The bespectacled man, whose name turned out to be Bob, started sobbing.
​
Shortly, a burly guard, probably three times my size, opened the gate to my cell, picked me up and tossed me into the hallway. He gruffly motioned towards the brighter end of the path. The hooting and cheering seemed to be coming from that direction.
​
As I walked towards the cheers, it was clear to me; there was gladitorial combat afoot. I wondered and hoped it was a melee where I stood a chance, and also that everyone else was also a nerdy software engineer like me. Boy was I wrong.
​
The moment I stepped into the light of the stadium, I saw three things: a medieval warrior standing about a hundred feet away laughing, a stadium full of 21st century booers and hooters, and a heap of ancient weapons and armor.
​
The warrior started running towards me and the crowd cheered. I ran towards the pile of weaponry and grabbed two hatchets, hoping my two visits to a local axe-throwing family arcade were going to be of some use here.
​
The warrior, now a few dozen feet away looked a bit like what I imagined Atilla the Hun was like. Desperate, I yelled out to him that I was just an unemployed software engineer and there might have been an administrative error in my selection. He didn't seem to care or understand and didn't slow down one bit. So I did my best axe-release and miraculously hit him square on his face; I did after all have the best score at the axe-throwing office outing a few months ago. The axe seemed to cleave Atilla's left cheekbone and possibly blinded him. He stumbled a bit and continued running towards me. I grabbed another axe and started running away from him, hoping the bleeding would render him unconscious soon.
​
My hunch was correct. He soon staggered and fell into a clattering heap of uselessness, legs kicking in the air an imaginary ground that would never get him any closer to me.
​
The crowd was a bit stunned and there was a bit of applause that was soon drowned out by booing.
​
A couple of guards dragged him away and soon Bob emerged. He looked at me with some degree of awe and yelled out that there was probably an administrative error in his selection since he was merely a software engineer.
​
"What kind of software engineer are you?", I yelled over the hooting.
​
"Low latency elastic scalable distributed systems mostly, but I do a bit of everything", he hollered back. "Are you hiring?", he added after a thoughtful pause.
​
"Full stack?", I asked intrigued by how much we had in common.
​
"Fuck no, do I look like an arts student with a hello world HTML certificate?", he laughed back at me.
​
The crowd was not amused and started booing even louder.
​
Bob noticed me laughing too, picked up an axe, and asked me if I believed in containerization.
​
"Never for low-latency or if I care about the electricity bill.", I shot back. He put the axe down, relaxed a bit, and nodded in agreement.
​
"What do you run your shit on?", he asked.
​
"Bare metal, baby", I replied instantly, licking my axe.
​
He walked up to me and held out his hand to shake. We shook hands as the crowd went berserk.
​
We both turned to the crowd and explained to them that JavaScript frameworks were a conspiracy by "Big CPU" to slow down computers so we all have to keep upgrading. That only morons and hello world drifters would write rich clients that run in a browser. This seemed to get the crowd puzzled and the booing subsided. A few fist fights broke out amongst the spectators. Some people started screaming and running for the exits.
​
The guards seemed alarmed at Bob and my bonhomie and soon produced a new gladiator.
​
We asked him if he was a back-end developer too. He nodded, and seemed suspiciously sublimely smiling.
​
"What's your stack like?", Bob and I asked simultaneously.
​
"Node.js and the kube", he replied shrugging and tipped his fedora to a tilt.
​
Bob and I threw our axes at him simultaneously. Neither of us missed. | Running had never been... Fun. I'm not a runner. I'm no sprinter, and long distance just seems like a great way to ruin a weekend. That being said, there's enough heart disease in my family, I feel like I have to do *something* to keep the pounds off, so, well, I run. It's torture, but at least I can listen to audiobooks while I do it. Well... Usually, anyway.
I check over my shoulder. The four-legged creature with the spear seemed to be showing down a bit, but there was a gangly two-legged... Thing... that was managing to match my pace. It didn't look all that well, though - the opening on it's belly was heaving open and closed as it struggled for breath. I turned my eyes back to the track, and allowed myself to settle into a less furious run. This... Was actually going pretty well. I'd managed to stop screaming after only a minute or so, and the arena was big enough I could probably keep running for hours. The other creatures were slower than I was.
A shriek assaulted my ears. The watch-thing on my arm translated: "(Implied you) Stop running, coward/masculine! Face Rage Face like a masculine being!"
I turned to see that the four-legged creature had stopped, panting, and was hugging the ground; the gangly thing was leaning forward, its breathing-hole ringed with white flecks of what I was guessing was spit. I slowed to a walk, turning around to face them. "Coward? You think I'm a coward? There you are, barely able to raise a... Spear-thingy, and you're calling me a coward? You can't even join me for a fight! Come over here, and fight me at a run, like, uh, all noble warriors should! Or are you afraid? Is that why you're running so slow?"
I immediately regretted my taunt, but can you blame me? Four hours ago, I was going for a nice leisurely jog, about to head home and binge watch whatever dregs were left unseen on my Netflix account, and then suddenly I was here, getting fitted with a talking wristwatch, told I was a great warrior, and sent to battle these freaky monsters. Sure, they understood my need for water, food, whatever, but... Stressful does not begin to cover it. And then I ran for an hour, and the huge monster chasing me passed out. And the next hour, the freaky centipede-robot ran out of juice and caught fire. And then there were these two guys, who - actually, I think the thing with four legs might have had a heart attack, and the body horror guy isn't looking much better.
I turned back and jogged some more. The last "contestant" started plunging towards me, and managed another ten minutes before collapsing. This wasn't so bad, actually. It turns out, if you're running for your life, you really do have deep reserves of energy.
It only took half an hour to out-run the elephant girl. The meth-otter lasted an hour, but at a gentle walk, because... Y'know, no legs. The snake-dog literally vomited up it's own organs after 45 minutes, which was rough, because I totally thought it was dead, but I guess that just sets a clock, and makes it hella faster. I think it can re-swallow its organs, because it freaked out when I looped around and did some lung-stomping. It didn't make it much longer after that.
Eventually, my luck ran out. The wolf-monkey was just a bit too fast for me, and managed to catch up. Howling in triumph, it grabbed my arm and whirled me around. There was a *snap*, and pain shot through my arm. It tossed me on the ground, then bayed at the cheering crowd. *Finally, a good fight!*
A good fight? I'll show them a good fight! Holding my throbbing arm to my chest, and riding the adrenaline rush of ten lifetimes, I charged forward, and, well... Punched it on the nose. It yelped in pain and surprise, so I grabbed an ear and stomped on its foot as hard as I could. It struggled free, whining in pain. I screamed in pain and rage, and as it twisted to snap at me, I stomped on its thin hind leg, feeling it snap under my shoe. It screamed, twitching and convulsing.
Heroically, I threw up.
The pain in my arm hasn't changed much - a clean break, but it needed a splint. I explained how to do it to one of the show-runner... people... things, and it managed to bandage my arm with a makeshift splint. They even had some decent pain killers. Once my arm was bandaged, I asked if I could test for a couple hours, before the next fight. Utter confusion. "You want us to... Pause the next fight? Until you can watch it?"
"Watch? Oh! I thought I had to keep fighting until, y'know... I die, to or whatever."
More confusion. "You... Are still... You can fight with broken bones!?"
I offered a cheery grin. "Once I ran a 5k with a broken toe, my arm won't get in the way at all!"
The creature managed a very human-looking embarrassed grimace. "But... We already gave you the lethal dose of medication. You won't live much longer. Your body will shut down."
"The hell you have! This doesn't feel any worse than that hydrocodone I took when I broke my wrist. Now, do I get to rest, or what?"
The creature bowed out of the room, and after a two hour nap, I was (r reverently? Fearfully?) ushered back down to the arena. I ran the next contender into the dirt, and then... Nothing. I waited two hours, dozing, until three very large monkey-bears escorted me into a large, white room, where several creatures holding dangerous looking guns looked over me, quaking in their boots.
"Uh, Mr. Lucy Tavers, sir-"
"It's Miss. Miss Tavers. 'Ma'am'."
The creature gulped, shaking in its seat. "So sorry, we didn't realize... Not many cultures have female warriors, we assumed - so terribly sorry." It trailed off, and another chimed in. "You've broken your arm, but you say you've broken other bones, as well? You must be an amazing species to be able to survive such a terrible shock to your system! And surviving the death dose... And your stamina! No hunter-species we've encountered had such!"
I sighed. In my defence, it had been a very long day, I was tired, in pain, and hopped up on drugs, but... "Why am I here?"
"Er. You are one of the greatest warriors of your time and planet! You were recorded in the annuls of history! Look!"
A glowing object appeared in front of me - an award, actually. "Lucy Tavers, Champion Warrior, First Place: Battlefield Rumble!"
I giggled. "Wait. You thought my highschool award for a tag-team race was a global... Thing? My team was named The Warriors, because they didn't have enough room for 'Ultimate Ninja Zombie Robot Warriors' on the form. I was sixteen! We did a relay, rode bikes, climbed a rope, and threw a ball!"
The first creature was beginning to look positively green. And about that time, somebody else barged in, and said something about all the other contestants either giving up or killing themselves to avoid facing the nightmare monster with yellow hair. Which, drugged or not, I realized was me. I cleared my throat, which caused a guard to faint, and innocently asked, "If I'm the last one left... What do I win?"
So, yeah. Turns out, I was the first contestant to actually survive past the end, so they gave me an award, marked Earth as a nightmare planet full of monsters, and dumped me back in my own home with their equivalent of a gift certificate for a free drink - half a ton of solid gold - and my award. Future me had my back, though. I stuffed an SD card full of stock market tips and lottery numbers inside the plaque, cunningly revealed by the cryptic clue, "Look inside.".
Normally, I end my story with something like, "So, that's the whole story, officer. The gold in my trunk, why I'm driving to the hospital, everything. What? No, I only had one dose of the medication they gave me, why do you ask?"... But not this time. I'm not fishing for free drinks. I want to know how I can store this plaque, and the SD card inside, for the next twelve hundred years. Because right now, *I'm* future-me. And I owe an awful lot to that college dropout that could run like the wind, and hated it the whole time. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | All told, the Warrior was not prepared.
He was not prepared for having his flesh vaporized in meticulous sequence, transmitted in a stream of atoms across the ephemeral time stream, and reconstituted a billion odd years into the future. He was not prepared to find himself abruptly in a slate landscape that shifted and blurred, that grew in huge waves and sprouted rectangular columns, exploding out in fractal patterns ending in quivering spikes before falling back into primordial soup. He was not prepared for the indescribable sounds of matter rearranging on a molecular level, micro-frictions between atoms generating the slightest vibrations amplified a trillion-fold into a cacophony of singing and howls and screams that clawed at his eardrums and reached up through the connected nerves into his skull. The Warrior was not prepared to be chosen, let alone while still clad in his olive green military camo pajamas.
Abrupt silence. The chaotic landscape stilled for a brief second, then exploded out from the Warrior in a violent circular wave flying apart, accelerating at horrifying speeds before slamming to a jarring stop in a ringed wall miles high. The Warrior’s head throbbed with the reverberations, blurring his vision as he struggled to regain his equilibrium.
As the waves receded, the Warrior became aware of shadows that flitted at the edge of his vision, first mere annoyances to be blinked away but soon becoming flickerings of void that defied direct observation. Even as the Warrior looked desperately about, heart frozen in his chest, the phantoms grew in number, multiplying in impossibly deepening ranks darkening his peripheral vision. Overwhelmed by dread, the Warrior blinked. And in that instant, that which was there yet not there crossed the veil into undeniable reality. Around the Warrior sprang countless horrific forms, dripping fangs, curved implements of cruelty, silver and gray futuristic implements of extermination. The line between alien and human blurred from the masses of distorted bodies and bent limbs in unnatural configurations, melted flesh, muscle and sinew in impossible proportion.
The Warrior whimpered. The single Cheeto hanging desperately to the Warrior’s lips, having made the unimaginable journey across vast gulfs of space and time, at last relented to the gravity of the situation. The orange nugget tilted slowly in its final surrender into the open air and then swan dived artlessly onto the ground.
“YOU,” resonated a sound that was and was not a voice, forcing the Warrior’s internal organs into oscillations of its waveform with its power, robbing him of breath. The Warrior clamped the headset harder onto his head, tears filling his eyes as he struggled to breathe.
“you,” the same sound whispered, now but a mosquito in his ear.
“You,” the voice stated, now sonorous yet oddly flat in affect.
“You. Are chosen.”
The Warrior licked his lips and swallowed in the following pause. The taste of salt and preservatives shocked his senses back into temporary alignment. “Chosen?” he croaked. “Chosen for- Did I win… something?”
“The greatest warriors. The mighty. Throughout, all time. You. Are chosen. To fight.”
Another pause, then the Warrior’s eyes bulged. “I don’t-“ stammered the Warrior. “I’m just a- I’m-“ The words stumbled and fell on their way out of his orange-dusted lips as the others around craned towards him with silent malice, smothering him.
The voice spoke again. “From time immemorial.” A light seemed to collect around the Warrior’s form, focusing attention upon him. “You, primarch. The first history. Records, so few. But, we find. Your exploits. Persist. Tell of your might.”
“What??” shouted the Warrior, hysteria twisting his voice higher. “I’m not mighty! I mean, I-“
Streams of tiny blocks slithered from the ground up into the air and curled around each other in hissing strands. They intertwined and then hung, suspended, before the Warrior’s horrified eyes. Their foreign forms swam into focus, gradually sharpening into what the Warrior finally understood were words. English. In a fashion.
`[xX_I_f_ed_your_mother_Xx]: Im the greatest, dont fucking forget it, f*g`
The Warrior’s heart stopped briefly as the sight coalesced into signals, traveled down neural pathways, and finally entered his brain. His mouth creaked open. He stared as more words appeared.
`[xX_I_f_ed_your_mother_Xx]: Get good n00b`
`[xX_I_f_ed_your_mother_Xx]: Gg`
`[xX_I_f_ed_your_mother_Xx]: Just kidding you suck SO bad`
“Please… I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t-“ the Warrior whimpered, holding the game controller still in one hand to shield himself from the sight. More words.
`[xX_I_f_ed_your_mother_Xx]: Why do you even play you suck so bad you should fucking kill yourself`
“I… I….”
The light around the Warrior died and a red haze rose from the ground.
“The contest,” said the voice. “Begins.”
The Warrior’s mewling cry was barely audible in the split second before it ended amongst a collective roar and the sounds of a million limbs and weapons clashing and firing across the vast arena. | No one can survive what will befall them here. The judges have determined that the winner shall fight Ghandi
You are not sure how to win this fight. You know only one thing: you must kill Ghandi or die trying. In your hand is a knife with the power to destroy him.
You make the first move and strike at his throat. But he falls on top of you and pins you down, lifting you up in the air. "Kill me!" he screams, "Or I'll kill you! Kill me now, before it's too late!"
You struggle as hard as you can against his grip but you're helpless beneath him. He has overpowered you. Your life is over. Or is it?
The judges, who have been watching everything that happened since this fight began, decide that there is no way you could possibly kill Ghandi. The ultimate warrior, he is indestructible. And yet...the judges also know what will happen if they let such an evil man live. They order the two of you to stop fighting right away so that your lives may be spared.
You try to comply but Ghandi refuses to give up. "I will never lose again," he yells. "My destiny is to destroy all who oppose me."
"No!" the judges shout. "Never!"
But Ghandi ignores them. He stares at you. "Now you die, you pathetic worm! You will suffer forever!"
A nuclear explosion erupts above you and you are instantly vaporized. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | It has been said that he who lives a life of violence can never truly know peace. Never have those words been more true than in my case.
I was born what I now know to be centuries ago, the son of a soldier of the kingdom and a maiden. I was raised to fight by my father, and in this I excelled. By my 16th birthday, I could fare well against even the most seasoned warriors. Desiring to prove myself and impress my father, I enlisted and was sent by ship to take my place with the King’s Legion.
And prove myself I did. Within two years, my feats on the the battlefield were the stuff of legend. No man could stand against me and all feared name. For decades, I served with distinction, rising to the rank of Legionaire.
But in time, tired of war desiring to build a future, I retired from service and married a beautiful woman I had met while at war and brought home with me. I sought no more than to have a wife and family, to live the life my parents had, to be at peace.
But it was not to be. Having hidden their approach by traveling at night by sea, and with the aid of a traitor in the court, the enemy descended upon us under cover of darkness. And in that darkness, they killed. Much of the kingdom was destroyed in the siege - the enemy’s blades did not distinguish between the soldiers and the innocent. I was struck, but they did not ensure that I was dead. When I awoke, I found that the same mistake had not been made with my parents, wife, and daughter. The enemy killed relentlessly.
But they did not kill me, and that was their greatest mistake.
In the years to come, I became the scourge of my enemy. I lived for vengeance - whether by spear, or by blade, or by arrow, or by my hands alone, I killed any I found who represented those who had taken everything from me. Thousands died as they had killed - violently and in darkness. I was given the name “Bringer of Death,” and I earned it completely.
But eventually I tired of my never-ending war. Vengeance is a temporary salve - it covers the pain but provides no true healing. With nothing left to live for, I threw myself into attacking an enemy garrison - I killed many of them, but paid a heavy price in return. And on that field, with nothing but memories of death, both suffered and caused, I said a prayer to my lost wife and child and breathed my last.
Or so I thought.
But minutes ago I awoke here, in this strange place. I do not know how I yet live or how my wounds were healed, and I do not recognize anything around me. The buildings are strange, as are the languages spoken and the people who speak them.
And then there are the others. Creatures that resemble less people than the stuff of nightmares. Beasts that resemble lions and elephants, snake-like creatures the size of trees and monsters the size of mountains that were covered inside scales and seem to breathe fire.
I am approached by a man in strange dress, and he tells me that I have been chosen for a contest. That their society has mastered the art of time travel and that greatest warriors of all time are being gathered into a single arena to fight until only one remains. I am no stranger to fighting, I say, but I do not believe that I am one of the greatest of all eternity. Surely my presence here must be in error. But he disagrees, telling them that the “Bringer of Death” is a figure of legend and there is no doubt that I belong. But here? In this foreign land (and time?), fighting against creatures beyond even my imagination, creatures that cannot possibly exist? This is madness!
But my life has been madness. If this is a dream, I will hope to awaken. If it is not, perhaps it is my fate. It is said that he who lives a life of violence can never truly know peace. I tried to know peace once - perhaps this is the price I must pay. If so, then pay it I shall.
My name has just been called; I pick up my spear and blade and enter the arena. I see my opponent, and feel the familiar rush of energy as I prepare for battle.
My name is Marcus, the Bringer of Death. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I smile. | No one can survive what will befall them here. The judges have determined that the winner shall fight Ghandi
You are not sure how to win this fight. You know only one thing: you must kill Ghandi or die trying. In your hand is a knife with the power to destroy him.
You make the first move and strike at his throat. But he falls on top of you and pins you down, lifting you up in the air. "Kill me!" he screams, "Or I'll kill you! Kill me now, before it's too late!"
You struggle as hard as you can against his grip but you're helpless beneath him. He has overpowered you. Your life is over. Or is it?
The judges, who have been watching everything that happened since this fight began, decide that there is no way you could possibly kill Ghandi. The ultimate warrior, he is indestructible. And yet...the judges also know what will happen if they let such an evil man live. They order the two of you to stop fighting right away so that your lives may be spared.
You try to comply but Ghandi refuses to give up. "I will never lose again," he yells. "My destiny is to destroy all who oppose me."
"No!" the judges shout. "Never!"
But Ghandi ignores them. He stares at you. "Now you die, you pathetic worm! You will suffer forever!"
A nuclear explosion erupts above you and you are instantly vaporized. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | *It's beautiful.*
I stared at the sand beneath my feet as I was pushed forward into the arena; a marvel of construction, unlike anything you could ever witness on Earth. Larger than the eye could see, more grandiose than the finest palaces, bloodier than the most frequented abattoirs. And it chose me. *Me*! As its participant! I had no idea why or how, but I did not care. I was here. That's all that mattered.
I could scarcely believe my luck. This was... *so much more* than I could have ever hoped for. Everything that I have ever planned and wished for paled in comparison to this place; it dwarfed any potential I ever had. And now, having been thrown in with barely a sharpened stick to face off against a seasoned gladiator thrice my size, I knew what I would do; what I was *destined* to do.
It was time for me to die.
The alien felled me the second it reached me, running me through with its massive sword. I felt the force of the impact lift me from the ground as the crowd cheered and yelled - perhaps disappointed by the lacklustre fight, perhaps excited by the bloodshed. I was sure more was planned for later, but their plans would never come for an entirely different spectacle was in store.
For with my death, the final seal was broken.
The last sacrifice. The finishing heart to stop. The penultimate soul given to the Old Ones. And now that I lay here, my lifeblood pouring out, the tattoos symbolizing my allegiance, I can see them, in the sky; a rift opening in the sky like a gaping wound, tearing the veil between Dream and Reality, and in through this cosmic portal peered the eyes of the malevolent gods. I shed a tear as I witnessed it; not of sorrow for my death, but of pure joy as I knew what my meaningless life accomplished. It was thanks to me they came and could finally feed and play with their playthings and spread their madness and thrive!
Praise them. And as my last breath left my body, I could hear the screams of death and madness echo through the arena.
I am happy. One could not ask for a more glorious death. | No one can survive what will befall them here. The judges have determined that the winner shall fight Ghandi
You are not sure how to win this fight. You know only one thing: you must kill Ghandi or die trying. In your hand is a knife with the power to destroy him.
You make the first move and strike at his throat. But he falls on top of you and pins you down, lifting you up in the air. "Kill me!" he screams, "Or I'll kill you! Kill me now, before it's too late!"
You struggle as hard as you can against his grip but you're helpless beneath him. He has overpowered you. Your life is over. Or is it?
The judges, who have been watching everything that happened since this fight began, decide that there is no way you could possibly kill Ghandi. The ultimate warrior, he is indestructible. And yet...the judges also know what will happen if they let such an evil man live. They order the two of you to stop fighting right away so that your lives may be spared.
You try to comply but Ghandi refuses to give up. "I will never lose again," he yells. "My destiny is to destroy all who oppose me."
"No!" the judges shout. "Never!"
But Ghandi ignores them. He stares at you. "Now you die, you pathetic worm! You will suffer forever!"
A nuclear explosion erupts above you and you are instantly vaporized. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | "I deeply worry about how distorted history must be in the future if I'm considered one of humanity's greatest warriors," Nikolai muttered to himself as he gripped onto his briefcase. He was standing in a middle of what appeared to be a deserted town square while in the far distance, he could hear an audience of millions screaming and hollering for the fight to begin.
An announcer flying above in a jetpack suddenly whipped out his microphone. "Ladies and gentleman, the next match is about to begin! On one side, we have the Wizard of Electricity, Nikolai Tesla!" The audience roared with cheers.
"And on the other side, the Mad Monk, Grigori Rasputin!" There was a loud explosion of black smoke as a bearded man with haunting eyes stepped forth into the arena while the audience went even more wild than they had before. "Let the death battle begin!"
Rasputin let out a loud roar as he pulled out a saber and rushed towards Tesla like a angry bull. Without even a hint of fear, Tesla pulled open his briefcase and pulled out the most dangerous weapon that he had ever created. With one flick of a switch, the arena lit up with purple crackling electricity as Tesla activated his death ray. The blinding light tore a hole right through Rasputin's torso and knocked him onto the floor as the audience cheered in delight.
Rasputin merely let out a loud laugh though. To Tesla's complete surprise, the monk casually stood up as though a good portion of his organs hadn't just been melted into ash. "Surprised? You cannot hope to kill me that easily. For I am Grigori Rasputin, master of the mystic arts and the true ruler of Russia!" He stared deep into Tesla's eyes. "Now, **kneel**."
Tesla tried to activate his weapon a second time, but to his shock, he couldn't move his hands. He couldn't even break eye contact with Rasputin as he fell to his knees. He had become a prisoner in his own body, helpless to defend himself. "That's right," Rasputin whispered as he walked closer. "It will all be over ---" he paused as he heard the loud sound of cooing. "...что за бред?!"
From out of nowhere, what could be described as nothing less than a storm of thousands and thousands of pigeons emerged from the clouds. They swarmed Rasputin, furiously pecking away at every piece of exposed flesh they could get their beaks on as the monk screamed in rage and tore the pigeons apart with his own teeth. With Rasputin's hypnotic spell broken, Tesla came back to his senses. He looked aghast at the sight of dozens of dead pigeons who had given up their life for him. "This ends here," he said, grimly. "Pigeons, leave him to me!" he ordered. The great pigeon army retreated back into the sky, giving Tesla a clear shot at his enemy. Rasputin never even had a chance to spit the feathers out of his mouth before Tesla activated his death ray at full power, obliterating every last trace of the Mad Monk from the face of the Earth. | No one can survive what will befall them here. The judges have determined that the winner shall fight Ghandi
You are not sure how to win this fight. You know only one thing: you must kill Ghandi or die trying. In your hand is a knife with the power to destroy him.
You make the first move and strike at his throat. But he falls on top of you and pins you down, lifting you up in the air. "Kill me!" he screams, "Or I'll kill you! Kill me now, before it's too late!"
You struggle as hard as you can against his grip but you're helpless beneath him. He has overpowered you. Your life is over. Or is it?
The judges, who have been watching everything that happened since this fight began, decide that there is no way you could possibly kill Ghandi. The ultimate warrior, he is indestructible. And yet...the judges also know what will happen if they let such an evil man live. They order the two of you to stop fighting right away so that your lives may be spared.
You try to comply but Ghandi refuses to give up. "I will never lose again," he yells. "My destiny is to destroy all who oppose me."
"No!" the judges shout. "Never!"
But Ghandi ignores them. He stares at you. "Now you die, you pathetic worm! You will suffer forever!"
A nuclear explosion erupts above you and you are instantly vaporized. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I had no choice but to fight.
One second, I was scrolling through Youtube in my apartment, the next, I was sucked up into a vortex that threw me into the middle of a futuristic arena.
Holograms floated in the air, displaying different angles of the battlefield. It was massive. Twisting corridors and an open ceiling led into a dangerous maze that covered the battlefield. Hundreds of weapons and traps were scattered throughout this maze. Things like fire pits and dangerous animals like lions and bears. That wasn't what drew my attention the most, though.
Robotic servants carried food and beverages to a multitude of strange-looking people that sat on the looming stands. They didn't look like anyone I'd ever seen before. Some had cybernetic eyes and limbs, while others seemed to have genetically altered their bodies to the point where they barely looked human.
The announcer wasn't any different. He appeared to have golden teeth, slitted eyes like a cat, and a gaudy pink robe that didn't cover his metallic chest, floating on a circular platform that overlooked the arena. The announcer went on to cheerfully proclaim:
"Combatants, you are gathered here because of your great accomplishments in life, which have endured the test of time and are spoken of to this day. Our goal is simple: to find the mightiest warrior in history! Kill the other combatant and you get to advance!"
I squinted. What the hell was he talking about? The only thing I'd ever fought in my life was my crippling social anxiety.
"Throughout this arena you'll find an assortment of weapons which you are free to use in any way you deem necessary. Should you win the tournament, you'll have your deepest desires fulfilled!"
"W-wait!" I shouted, "There has to be some mistake here. I'm not a warrior!"
"Amazing!" said the announcer, "Such humility from our first fighter! Of course, he needs no introduction. Behold! The butcher of world war three has joined the fray!"
The crowd roared so loudly that the ground shook a little.
I couldn't ignore what I heard. Did he just say world war... three?
"And in the other side of the arena," continued the announcer, "we have one of the mightiest warriors of Judaic history! A man that slayed a lion with his bare hands and massacred an entire army using only the jawbone of a donkey! Samson, the last judge of Israel!"
I widened my eyes at the hulking figure across from me. He looked more like a mountain of muscle than an actual man, with long, flowing hair and a beard to match. I couldn't believe he was real. Samson always felt more like a myth, not an actual historical figure.
"This is ridiculous!" I shouted. "Are we all speaking English or is this getting translated? And what do you mean by world war three? Also, does this mean the Abrahamic god is real? I have so many questions!"
"And none of them will be answered!" replied the announcer. "Now fight!"
Samson barreled towards me.
I ran in the opposite direction. This shouldn't be happening. Not only did they get the wrong person for this, but they also threw at me a nigh-invulnerable demigod.
It didn't take long for Samson to catch up to me. Every step he took was like three or four of mine. Upon being cornered, I raised my hands and said:
"We don't have to fight! Please, hear me out!"
"Silence, heathen!" Samson picked up an axe and swung it at me. "Your lack of faith shall be punished!"
I rolled out of the way, barely dodging the axe.
Samson wouldn't hear me out. I shouldn't have questioned his god in front of him. The warrior literally pulverized the wall behind me. His strength was unfathomable. I didn't stand a chance unarmed.
Thankfully, not only were there swords and shields scattered about; there was also a wide assortment of firearms that could be used. I quickly grabbed a rifle and aimed it at him, hoping to keep him at bay.
It didn't work.
Samson was oblivious to the dangers of a gun so he just kept running at me.
I couldn't pull the trigger. Killing him didn't feel right, even if he was technically already dead. Samson didn't have such reservations, though. From his perspective, he had just been summoned by angels, or something similar, to destroy a godless heathen. This was literally his purpose. Convincing him to stand down was impossible.
After dodging a few more attacks, I couldn't withstand the pressure and fired at him, aiming at his legs to avoid a lethal blow.
The entire arena gasped.
Samson remained unscathed. The bullets simply bounced off his flesh like rubber. He stood quiet for a second, confused by the rifle, then proceeded to resume his assault.
I avoided a pitfall with spikes at the bottom, inching my way around it, which Samson leapt over in a single stride.
"This is insane!" I cried out. "Who the hell thought this was a fair match?!?"
Nobody listened. The crowd was too enthralled to care about my pleas.
"Stop running, coward!"
"Fuck off!" I shouted. "What do you expect me to do? Roll over and die?"
"Yes! Everyone should surrender before the might of God!"
I rolled my eyes. At a certain point, I started wondering if this really was a punishment from the heavens. There just wasn't a way to beat him...
Except...
There *was* one way. Samson had a famous weak spot. The legend said his hair gave him strength. All I needed to do was cut it off, and the fight would be over.
That was easier said than done. Aiming for his hair was the same as aiming for his head. A warrior of his caliber would know how to defend it. I didn't care, though. Giving up wasn't an option.
I stood my ground and picked up a spear.
The crowd fell quiet.
Samson seemed to respect the decision, giving me time to prepare myself.
I swallowed down my anxiety. This would be my only chance to survive. If Samson figured out I knew about his weak spot, he would quickly adapt and punish me.
Samson sprinted towards me.
I mirrored him, flailing my spear.
Samson cut off my left hand with a beautifully fluid spin of his axe.
I endured the pain and, when Samson lowered his guard, I sliced off a lock of his hair.
The warrior gaped his mouth in shock. I had just lost a limb, but his face showed more fear than mine.
"How..." said Samson. "How... did you know?"
I made a nervous smile, terrified of his wrath.
Samson prepared for another swing.
I ran away again.
The entire arena started booing me. They wanted me to fight fair.
I, however, had no interest in that. They literally abducted me. Their entertainment was the last thing on my mind.
Samson appeared to be weaker than before. His strength was still inhuman, but he had a harder time catching up to me. I wasn't exactly in the best shape, either. The blood loss from my hand made my vision grow blurry. I couldn't afford to keep running.
A fire pit emerged ahead of me.
I didn't have the strength to jump over it.
Samson kept rushing towards me. He seemed interested in tackling me into the flames.
I stuck my spear into the fire and set it ablaze, pointing it at him.
Samson froze in place.
"Come on!" I took a step forward, waving the fiery spear. "Wasn't I a coward?!?"
Samson snarled, but stood still.
"I thought your god was mighty! Where is he now?!?"
"You dare?!?" shouted Samson, lunging at me.
I couldn't avoid the axe. It sank into my shoulder, just as I lit on fire Samson's hair.
That quickly ended the match.
Samson tried putting out the fire to no avail, losing his muscles in a few seconds.
"Finish him!" said the announcer.
The crowd started chanting the same.
Samson fell to his knees, offering his neck to me. "You... have won. Make it quick."
I shook my head. "Not happening."
The crowd jeered at me louder than before. They were bloodthirsty.
"I'm not doing it!"
"If you don't decide on a winner," said the announcer, "we'll just kill you both."
"Wait," said Samson, "I forfeit!"
Everyone gasped, including myself.
"But... why?" I asked. "I'm bleeding out. I could still die, if you wait it out."
"No," said Samson, "you offered me mercy when I had none. That virtue should not be punished."
Damn. We had different values due to our time periods, but he was still a good person. I couldn't hate him after that. Especially after antagonizing his faith. That settled it. I looked at the announcer and said:
"I'd rather die than kill him."
The announcer grit his teeth, then said:
"Fine! This is an excellent demonstration of honor! The winner by forfeit is the butcher of World War Three!"
The crowd actually cheered. I couldn't believe how fickle they were. That said, the only thing in my mind was what he said about me.
Butcher of World War Three. Was that really my destiny? I didn't have time to question it. The blood loss got to me and I proceeded to faint. By the time I woke up, a nurse told me I should be getting ready for the second round.
------
>If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | No one can survive what will befall them here. The judges have determined that the winner shall fight Ghandi
You are not sure how to win this fight. You know only one thing: you must kill Ghandi or die trying. In your hand is a knife with the power to destroy him.
You make the first move and strike at his throat. But he falls on top of you and pins you down, lifting you up in the air. "Kill me!" he screams, "Or I'll kill you! Kill me now, before it's too late!"
You struggle as hard as you can against his grip but you're helpless beneath him. He has overpowered you. Your life is over. Or is it?
The judges, who have been watching everything that happened since this fight began, decide that there is no way you could possibly kill Ghandi. The ultimate warrior, he is indestructible. And yet...the judges also know what will happen if they let such an evil man live. They order the two of you to stop fighting right away so that your lives may be spared.
You try to comply but Ghandi refuses to give up. "I will never lose again," he yells. "My destiny is to destroy all who oppose me."
"No!" the judges shout. "Never!"
But Ghandi ignores them. He stares at you. "Now you die, you pathetic worm! You will suffer forever!"
A nuclear explosion erupts above you and you are instantly vaporized. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | Lucian had been camping out alone in the Rocky Mountains, looking up at the night sky and observing the constellations.
Then, without warning, the sky changed.
The horizon was filled to the brim with bright, unfamiliar stars. In the middle of the sky was an enormous infinity symbol that blazed a cosmic purple.
Lucian blinked, but the illusion didn’t disappear. It was real.
“What the hell?” He whispered, his eyes wide.
A white flash across his eyes. Pain racked his body.
“The time intervention was successful…” He heard a voice bark into a radio.
Guards in sleek black armor with silver visors filled his bleary vision. Then he blacked out.
___
Lucian slowly woke up to the low roar of a distant crowd.
He blearily looked at his surroundings. He was in what looked like an enormous gladiator arena completely encased in a glass dome with a vast sea of people watching from tiered seats. The arena was open to the sky, so when Lucian’s eyes trailed upwards, the infinity sign glared back down on him in the night sky.
Lucian’s breathing quickened. He looked around for someone he could call out to.
Then he saw them. Across from him in the arena, four strangely clad warriors were looking at him warily, their weapons raised.
One looked like a futuristic special-ops soldier, with a long, sleek gun held in both hands. Another seemed to be a witch in a purple cloak, equipped with a staff. Another had ruffled, civilian clothing but had multiple firearms strapped onto his back and two shotguns in hand. The final warrior was a muscular guy wearing a red suit floating in the air with his arms crossed. They were tense, as if they were about to attack but had to wait for something.
Lucian quickly tried to raise his hands in surrender, but he found they wouldn’t move. He looked down and found that not only were his arms chained to the ground but his legs too, with thicker, heavier chains than he had ever seen in his life.
What’s going on? Is this a dream or am I really going to be some sort of exotic sacrifice?
An announcer's voice boomed from all directions. “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Time’s Edge Arena! Hold onto your seats because today’s fight will be sure to go down in history!”
The crowd thundered in response.
Lucian’s heart was pounding in his chest now, and blood roared in his ears.
He shouted, the desperation breaking his voice, “Please! I don’t know what’s going on! Please help me!”
The announcer’s voice continued.
“On one side, we have the four strongest Time Champions who you’ve watched win countless times before! We all know they need no introduction, so give it up for Aola the Witch, Deadshot Chrome, Lawrence the Scrapper, and Gorehands the Murder Hero!”
The audience screamed in response, making Lucian grimace and his head throb.
“And on the other side,” The announcer said, “We have the strongest monster to ever live, titled the Calamity of Nine Years, the Lord of Monsters, who singlehandedly created a dark age in his own timeline! Give it up for Lucian Ashcrown!”
“You have the wrong person!” Lucian screamed, but the crowd’s roar was deafening, far louder than it had been for any other. Lucian couldn’t even hear his own, hoarse yelling.
“Now, without further ado, let the fight begin!”
Before Lucian could yell out another protest, he heard a loud crack and he felt a burning sensation spread through his chest. He looked down and saw the red shirt staining where his heart should be.
A cold, numbness spread throughout him and his vision went dark.
Lucian limply fell backward, dead within seconds. Chrome’s futuristic-looking gun smoked. He exchanged wary glances with his two companions. They knew that something was up.
“That… can’t be,” The announcer said. “But it’s unmistakable. The Lord of Monster’s vital signs has gone dark. He’s dead.”
The crowd went dead silent, completely in shock. The four warriors didn’t let their eyes leave Lucian’s dead body.
“Hold tight as we set up something new!” The announcer said quickly, “We have plenty more monsters lined up for a long night of excitement…” His voice trailed off.
Lucian’s heart beat again. A vast, alien heartbeat, one that didn’t care that every beat spurt blood out of the hole in his chest.
The heartbeat was loud and deep enough that the audience members could feel its vibration in their chests. They were completely silent, this time for a different reason.
“He’s still alive…” The announcer’s voice was quiet with awe and fear at the sudden presence that filled the arena.
The Lord of Monsters opened his eyes. They were a deep, rich orange, with a vertical slit as his pupil.
___
Part 2 coming soon if enough people are interested. Come join r/WanderWilder to read it along with other stories. Would love to have you! | No one can survive what will befall them here. The judges have determined that the winner shall fight Ghandi
You are not sure how to win this fight. You know only one thing: you must kill Ghandi or die trying. In your hand is a knife with the power to destroy him.
You make the first move and strike at his throat. But he falls on top of you and pins you down, lifting you up in the air. "Kill me!" he screams, "Or I'll kill you! Kill me now, before it's too late!"
You struggle as hard as you can against his grip but you're helpless beneath him. He has overpowered you. Your life is over. Or is it?
The judges, who have been watching everything that happened since this fight began, decide that there is no way you could possibly kill Ghandi. The ultimate warrior, he is indestructible. And yet...the judges also know what will happen if they let such an evil man live. They order the two of you to stop fighting right away so that your lives may be spared.
You try to comply but Ghandi refuses to give up. "I will never lose again," he yells. "My destiny is to destroy all who oppose me."
"No!" the judges shout. "Never!"
But Ghandi ignores them. He stares at you. "Now you die, you pathetic worm! You will suffer forever!"
A nuclear explosion erupts above you and you are instantly vaporized. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | *It's beautiful.*
I stared at the sand beneath my feet as I was pushed forward into the arena; a marvel of construction, unlike anything you could ever witness on Earth. Larger than the eye could see, more grandiose than the finest palaces, bloodier than the most frequented abattoirs. And it chose me. *Me*! As its participant! I had no idea why or how, but I did not care. I was here. That's all that mattered.
I could scarcely believe my luck. This was... *so much more* than I could have ever hoped for. Everything that I have ever planned and wished for paled in comparison to this place; it dwarfed any potential I ever had. And now, having been thrown in with barely a sharpened stick to face off against a seasoned gladiator thrice my size, I knew what I would do; what I was *destined* to do.
It was time for me to die.
The alien felled me the second it reached me, running me through with its massive sword. I felt the force of the impact lift me from the ground as the crowd cheered and yelled - perhaps disappointed by the lacklustre fight, perhaps excited by the bloodshed. I was sure more was planned for later, but their plans would never come for an entirely different spectacle was in store.
For with my death, the final seal was broken.
The last sacrifice. The finishing heart to stop. The penultimate soul given to the Old Ones. And now that I lay here, my lifeblood pouring out, the tattoos symbolizing my allegiance, I can see them, in the sky; a rift opening in the sky like a gaping wound, tearing the veil between Dream and Reality, and in through this cosmic portal peered the eyes of the malevolent gods. I shed a tear as I witnessed it; not of sorrow for my death, but of pure joy as I knew what my meaningless life accomplished. It was thanks to me they came and could finally feed and play with their playthings and spread their madness and thrive!
Praise them. And as my last breath left my body, I could hear the screams of death and madness echo through the arena.
I am happy. One could not ask for a more glorious death. | It has been said that he who lives a life of violence can never truly know peace. Never have those words been more true than in my case.
I was born what I now know to be centuries ago, the son of a soldier of the kingdom and a maiden. I was raised to fight by my father, and in this I excelled. By my 16th birthday, I could fare well against even the most seasoned warriors. Desiring to prove myself and impress my father, I enlisted and was sent by ship to take my place with the King’s Legion.
And prove myself I did. Within two years, my feats on the the battlefield were the stuff of legend. No man could stand against me and all feared name. For decades, I served with distinction, rising to the rank of Legionaire.
But in time, tired of war desiring to build a future, I retired from service and married a beautiful woman I had met while at war and brought home with me. I sought no more than to have a wife and family, to live the life my parents had, to be at peace.
But it was not to be. Having hidden their approach by traveling at night by sea, and with the aid of a traitor in the court, the enemy descended upon us under cover of darkness. And in that darkness, they killed. Much of the kingdom was destroyed in the siege - the enemy’s blades did not distinguish between the soldiers and the innocent. I was struck, but they did not ensure that I was dead. When I awoke, I found that the same mistake had not been made with my parents, wife, and daughter. The enemy killed relentlessly.
But they did not kill me, and that was their greatest mistake.
In the years to come, I became the scourge of my enemy. I lived for vengeance - whether by spear, or by blade, or by arrow, or by my hands alone, I killed any I found who represented those who had taken everything from me. Thousands died as they had killed - violently and in darkness. I was given the name “Bringer of Death,” and I earned it completely.
But eventually I tired of my never-ending war. Vengeance is a temporary salve - it covers the pain but provides no true healing. With nothing left to live for, I threw myself into attacking an enemy garrison - I killed many of them, but paid a heavy price in return. And on that field, with nothing but memories of death, both suffered and caused, I said a prayer to my lost wife and child and breathed my last.
Or so I thought.
But minutes ago I awoke here, in this strange place. I do not know how I yet live or how my wounds were healed, and I do not recognize anything around me. The buildings are strange, as are the languages spoken and the people who speak them.
And then there are the others. Creatures that resemble less people than the stuff of nightmares. Beasts that resemble lions and elephants, snake-like creatures the size of trees and monsters the size of mountains that were covered inside scales and seem to breathe fire.
I am approached by a man in strange dress, and he tells me that I have been chosen for a contest. That their society has mastered the art of time travel and that greatest warriors of all time are being gathered into a single arena to fight until only one remains. I am no stranger to fighting, I say, but I do not believe that I am one of the greatest of all eternity. Surely my presence here must be in error. But he disagrees, telling them that the “Bringer of Death” is a figure of legend and there is no doubt that I belong. But here? In this foreign land (and time?), fighting against creatures beyond even my imagination, creatures that cannot possibly exist? This is madness!
But my life has been madness. If this is a dream, I will hope to awaken. If it is not, perhaps it is my fate. It is said that he who lives a life of violence can never truly know peace. I tried to know peace once - perhaps this is the price I must pay. If so, then pay it I shall.
My name has just been called; I pick up my spear and blade and enter the arena. I see my opponent, and feel the familiar rush of energy as I prepare for battle.
My name is Marcus, the Bringer of Death. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I smile. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I had no choice but to fight.
One second, I was scrolling through Youtube in my apartment, the next, I was sucked up into a vortex that threw me into the middle of a futuristic arena.
Holograms floated in the air, displaying different angles of the battlefield. It was massive. Twisting corridors and an open ceiling led into a dangerous maze that covered the battlefield. Hundreds of weapons and traps were scattered throughout this maze. Things like fire pits and dangerous animals like lions and bears. That wasn't what drew my attention the most, though.
Robotic servants carried food and beverages to a multitude of strange-looking people that sat on the looming stands. They didn't look like anyone I'd ever seen before. Some had cybernetic eyes and limbs, while others seemed to have genetically altered their bodies to the point where they barely looked human.
The announcer wasn't any different. He appeared to have golden teeth, slitted eyes like a cat, and a gaudy pink robe that didn't cover his metallic chest, floating on a circular platform that overlooked the arena. The announcer went on to cheerfully proclaim:
"Combatants, you are gathered here because of your great accomplishments in life, which have endured the test of time and are spoken of to this day. Our goal is simple: to find the mightiest warrior in history! Kill the other combatant and you get to advance!"
I squinted. What the hell was he talking about? The only thing I'd ever fought in my life was my crippling social anxiety.
"Throughout this arena you'll find an assortment of weapons which you are free to use in any way you deem necessary. Should you win the tournament, you'll have your deepest desires fulfilled!"
"W-wait!" I shouted, "There has to be some mistake here. I'm not a warrior!"
"Amazing!" said the announcer, "Such humility from our first fighter! Of course, he needs no introduction. Behold! The butcher of world war three has joined the fray!"
The crowd roared so loudly that the ground shook a little.
I couldn't ignore what I heard. Did he just say world war... three?
"And in the other side of the arena," continued the announcer, "we have one of the mightiest warriors of Judaic history! A man that slayed a lion with his bare hands and massacred an entire army using only the jawbone of a donkey! Samson, the last judge of Israel!"
I widened my eyes at the hulking figure across from me. He looked more like a mountain of muscle than an actual man, with long, flowing hair and a beard to match. I couldn't believe he was real. Samson always felt more like a myth, not an actual historical figure.
"This is ridiculous!" I shouted. "Are we all speaking English or is this getting translated? And what do you mean by world war three? Also, does this mean the Abrahamic god is real? I have so many questions!"
"And none of them will be answered!" replied the announcer. "Now fight!"
Samson barreled towards me.
I ran in the opposite direction. This shouldn't be happening. Not only did they get the wrong person for this, but they also threw at me a nigh-invulnerable demigod.
It didn't take long for Samson to catch up to me. Every step he took was like three or four of mine. Upon being cornered, I raised my hands and said:
"We don't have to fight! Please, hear me out!"
"Silence, heathen!" Samson picked up an axe and swung it at me. "Your lack of faith shall be punished!"
I rolled out of the way, barely dodging the axe.
Samson wouldn't hear me out. I shouldn't have questioned his god in front of him. The warrior literally pulverized the wall behind me. His strength was unfathomable. I didn't stand a chance unarmed.
Thankfully, not only were there swords and shields scattered about; there was also a wide assortment of firearms that could be used. I quickly grabbed a rifle and aimed it at him, hoping to keep him at bay.
It didn't work.
Samson was oblivious to the dangers of a gun so he just kept running at me.
I couldn't pull the trigger. Killing him didn't feel right, even if he was technically already dead. Samson didn't have such reservations, though. From his perspective, he had just been summoned by angels, or something similar, to destroy a godless heathen. This was literally his purpose. Convincing him to stand down was impossible.
After dodging a few more attacks, I couldn't withstand the pressure and fired at him, aiming at his legs to avoid a lethal blow.
The entire arena gasped.
Samson remained unscathed. The bullets simply bounced off his flesh like rubber. He stood quiet for a second, confused by the rifle, then proceeded to resume his assault.
I avoided a pitfall with spikes at the bottom, inching my way around it, which Samson leapt over in a single stride.
"This is insane!" I cried out. "Who the hell thought this was a fair match?!?"
Nobody listened. The crowd was too enthralled to care about my pleas.
"Stop running, coward!"
"Fuck off!" I shouted. "What do you expect me to do? Roll over and die?"
"Yes! Everyone should surrender before the might of God!"
I rolled my eyes. At a certain point, I started wondering if this really was a punishment from the heavens. There just wasn't a way to beat him...
Except...
There *was* one way. Samson had a famous weak spot. The legend said his hair gave him strength. All I needed to do was cut it off, and the fight would be over.
That was easier said than done. Aiming for his hair was the same as aiming for his head. A warrior of his caliber would know how to defend it. I didn't care, though. Giving up wasn't an option.
I stood my ground and picked up a spear.
The crowd fell quiet.
Samson seemed to respect the decision, giving me time to prepare myself.
I swallowed down my anxiety. This would be my only chance to survive. If Samson figured out I knew about his weak spot, he would quickly adapt and punish me.
Samson sprinted towards me.
I mirrored him, flailing my spear.
Samson cut off my left hand with a beautifully fluid spin of his axe.
I endured the pain and, when Samson lowered his guard, I sliced off a lock of his hair.
The warrior gaped his mouth in shock. I had just lost a limb, but his face showed more fear than mine.
"How..." said Samson. "How... did you know?"
I made a nervous smile, terrified of his wrath.
Samson prepared for another swing.
I ran away again.
The entire arena started booing me. They wanted me to fight fair.
I, however, had no interest in that. They literally abducted me. Their entertainment was the last thing on my mind.
Samson appeared to be weaker than before. His strength was still inhuman, but he had a harder time catching up to me. I wasn't exactly in the best shape, either. The blood loss from my hand made my vision grow blurry. I couldn't afford to keep running.
A fire pit emerged ahead of me.
I didn't have the strength to jump over it.
Samson kept rushing towards me. He seemed interested in tackling me into the flames.
I stuck my spear into the fire and set it ablaze, pointing it at him.
Samson froze in place.
"Come on!" I took a step forward, waving the fiery spear. "Wasn't I a coward?!?"
Samson snarled, but stood still.
"I thought your god was mighty! Where is he now?!?"
"You dare?!?" shouted Samson, lunging at me.
I couldn't avoid the axe. It sank into my shoulder, just as I lit on fire Samson's hair.
That quickly ended the match.
Samson tried putting out the fire to no avail, losing his muscles in a few seconds.
"Finish him!" said the announcer.
The crowd started chanting the same.
Samson fell to his knees, offering his neck to me. "You... have won. Make it quick."
I shook my head. "Not happening."
The crowd jeered at me louder than before. They were bloodthirsty.
"I'm not doing it!"
"If you don't decide on a winner," said the announcer, "we'll just kill you both."
"Wait," said Samson, "I forfeit!"
Everyone gasped, including myself.
"But... why?" I asked. "I'm bleeding out. I could still die, if you wait it out."
"No," said Samson, "you offered me mercy when I had none. That virtue should not be punished."
Damn. We had different values due to our time periods, but he was still a good person. I couldn't hate him after that. Especially after antagonizing his faith. That settled it. I looked at the announcer and said:
"I'd rather die than kill him."
The announcer grit his teeth, then said:
"Fine! This is an excellent demonstration of honor! The winner by forfeit is the butcher of World War Three!"
The crowd actually cheered. I couldn't believe how fickle they were. That said, the only thing in my mind was what he said about me.
Butcher of World War Three. Was that really my destiny? I didn't have time to question it. The blood loss got to me and I proceeded to faint. By the time I woke up, a nurse told me I should be getting ready for the second round.
------
>If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | It has been said that he who lives a life of violence can never truly know peace. Never have those words been more true than in my case.
I was born what I now know to be centuries ago, the son of a soldier of the kingdom and a maiden. I was raised to fight by my father, and in this I excelled. By my 16th birthday, I could fare well against even the most seasoned warriors. Desiring to prove myself and impress my father, I enlisted and was sent by ship to take my place with the King’s Legion.
And prove myself I did. Within two years, my feats on the the battlefield were the stuff of legend. No man could stand against me and all feared name. For decades, I served with distinction, rising to the rank of Legionaire.
But in time, tired of war desiring to build a future, I retired from service and married a beautiful woman I had met while at war and brought home with me. I sought no more than to have a wife and family, to live the life my parents had, to be at peace.
But it was not to be. Having hidden their approach by traveling at night by sea, and with the aid of a traitor in the court, the enemy descended upon us under cover of darkness. And in that darkness, they killed. Much of the kingdom was destroyed in the siege - the enemy’s blades did not distinguish between the soldiers and the innocent. I was struck, but they did not ensure that I was dead. When I awoke, I found that the same mistake had not been made with my parents, wife, and daughter. The enemy killed relentlessly.
But they did not kill me, and that was their greatest mistake.
In the years to come, I became the scourge of my enemy. I lived for vengeance - whether by spear, or by blade, or by arrow, or by my hands alone, I killed any I found who represented those who had taken everything from me. Thousands died as they had killed - violently and in darkness. I was given the name “Bringer of Death,” and I earned it completely.
But eventually I tired of my never-ending war. Vengeance is a temporary salve - it covers the pain but provides no true healing. With nothing left to live for, I threw myself into attacking an enemy garrison - I killed many of them, but paid a heavy price in return. And on that field, with nothing but memories of death, both suffered and caused, I said a prayer to my lost wife and child and breathed my last.
Or so I thought.
But minutes ago I awoke here, in this strange place. I do not know how I yet live or how my wounds were healed, and I do not recognize anything around me. The buildings are strange, as are the languages spoken and the people who speak them.
And then there are the others. Creatures that resemble less people than the stuff of nightmares. Beasts that resemble lions and elephants, snake-like creatures the size of trees and monsters the size of mountains that were covered inside scales and seem to breathe fire.
I am approached by a man in strange dress, and he tells me that I have been chosen for a contest. That their society has mastered the art of time travel and that greatest warriors of all time are being gathered into a single arena to fight until only one remains. I am no stranger to fighting, I say, but I do not believe that I am one of the greatest of all eternity. Surely my presence here must be in error. But he disagrees, telling them that the “Bringer of Death” is a figure of legend and there is no doubt that I belong. But here? In this foreign land (and time?), fighting against creatures beyond even my imagination, creatures that cannot possibly exist? This is madness!
But my life has been madness. If this is a dream, I will hope to awaken. If it is not, perhaps it is my fate. It is said that he who lives a life of violence can never truly know peace. I tried to know peace once - perhaps this is the price I must pay. If so, then pay it I shall.
My name has just been called; I pick up my spear and blade and enter the arena. I see my opponent, and feel the familiar rush of energy as I prepare for battle.
My name is Marcus, the Bringer of Death. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I smile. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | Lucian had been camping out alone in the Rocky Mountains, looking up at the night sky and observing the constellations.
Then, without warning, the sky changed.
The horizon was filled to the brim with bright, unfamiliar stars. In the middle of the sky was an enormous infinity symbol that blazed a cosmic purple.
Lucian blinked, but the illusion didn’t disappear. It was real.
“What the hell?” He whispered, his eyes wide.
A white flash across his eyes. Pain racked his body.
“The time intervention was successful…” He heard a voice bark into a radio.
Guards in sleek black armor with silver visors filled his bleary vision. Then he blacked out.
___
Lucian slowly woke up to the low roar of a distant crowd.
He blearily looked at his surroundings. He was in what looked like an enormous gladiator arena completely encased in a glass dome with a vast sea of people watching from tiered seats. The arena was open to the sky, so when Lucian’s eyes trailed upwards, the infinity sign glared back down on him in the night sky.
Lucian’s breathing quickened. He looked around for someone he could call out to.
Then he saw them. Across from him in the arena, four strangely clad warriors were looking at him warily, their weapons raised.
One looked like a futuristic special-ops soldier, with a long, sleek gun held in both hands. Another seemed to be a witch in a purple cloak, equipped with a staff. Another had ruffled, civilian clothing but had multiple firearms strapped onto his back and two shotguns in hand. The final warrior was a muscular guy wearing a red suit floating in the air with his arms crossed. They were tense, as if they were about to attack but had to wait for something.
Lucian quickly tried to raise his hands in surrender, but he found they wouldn’t move. He looked down and found that not only were his arms chained to the ground but his legs too, with thicker, heavier chains than he had ever seen in his life.
What’s going on? Is this a dream or am I really going to be some sort of exotic sacrifice?
An announcer's voice boomed from all directions. “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Time’s Edge Arena! Hold onto your seats because today’s fight will be sure to go down in history!”
The crowd thundered in response.
Lucian’s heart was pounding in his chest now, and blood roared in his ears.
He shouted, the desperation breaking his voice, “Please! I don’t know what’s going on! Please help me!”
The announcer’s voice continued.
“On one side, we have the four strongest Time Champions who you’ve watched win countless times before! We all know they need no introduction, so give it up for Aola the Witch, Deadshot Chrome, Lawrence the Scrapper, and Gorehands the Murder Hero!”
The audience screamed in response, making Lucian grimace and his head throb.
“And on the other side,” The announcer said, “We have the strongest monster to ever live, titled the Calamity of Nine Years, the Lord of Monsters, who singlehandedly created a dark age in his own timeline! Give it up for Lucian Ashcrown!”
“You have the wrong person!” Lucian screamed, but the crowd’s roar was deafening, far louder than it had been for any other. Lucian couldn’t even hear his own, hoarse yelling.
“Now, without further ado, let the fight begin!”
Before Lucian could yell out another protest, he heard a loud crack and he felt a burning sensation spread through his chest. He looked down and saw the red shirt staining where his heart should be.
A cold, numbness spread throughout him and his vision went dark.
Lucian limply fell backward, dead within seconds. Chrome’s futuristic-looking gun smoked. He exchanged wary glances with his two companions. They knew that something was up.
“That… can’t be,” The announcer said. “But it’s unmistakable. The Lord of Monster’s vital signs has gone dark. He’s dead.”
The crowd went dead silent, completely in shock. The four warriors didn’t let their eyes leave Lucian’s dead body.
“Hold tight as we set up something new!” The announcer said quickly, “We have plenty more monsters lined up for a long night of excitement…” His voice trailed off.
Lucian’s heart beat again. A vast, alien heartbeat, one that didn’t care that every beat spurt blood out of the hole in his chest.
The heartbeat was loud and deep enough that the audience members could feel its vibration in their chests. They were completely silent, this time for a different reason.
“He’s still alive…” The announcer’s voice was quiet with awe and fear at the sudden presence that filled the arena.
The Lord of Monsters opened his eyes. They were a deep, rich orange, with a vertical slit as his pupil.
___
Part 2 coming soon if enough people are interested. Come join r/WanderWilder to read it along with other stories. Would love to have you! | It has been said that he who lives a life of violence can never truly know peace. Never have those words been more true than in my case.
I was born what I now know to be centuries ago, the son of a soldier of the kingdom and a maiden. I was raised to fight by my father, and in this I excelled. By my 16th birthday, I could fare well against even the most seasoned warriors. Desiring to prove myself and impress my father, I enlisted and was sent by ship to take my place with the King’s Legion.
And prove myself I did. Within two years, my feats on the the battlefield were the stuff of legend. No man could stand against me and all feared name. For decades, I served with distinction, rising to the rank of Legionaire.
But in time, tired of war desiring to build a future, I retired from service and married a beautiful woman I had met while at war and brought home with me. I sought no more than to have a wife and family, to live the life my parents had, to be at peace.
But it was not to be. Having hidden their approach by traveling at night by sea, and with the aid of a traitor in the court, the enemy descended upon us under cover of darkness. And in that darkness, they killed. Much of the kingdom was destroyed in the siege - the enemy’s blades did not distinguish between the soldiers and the innocent. I was struck, but they did not ensure that I was dead. When I awoke, I found that the same mistake had not been made with my parents, wife, and daughter. The enemy killed relentlessly.
But they did not kill me, and that was their greatest mistake.
In the years to come, I became the scourge of my enemy. I lived for vengeance - whether by spear, or by blade, or by arrow, or by my hands alone, I killed any I found who represented those who had taken everything from me. Thousands died as they had killed - violently and in darkness. I was given the name “Bringer of Death,” and I earned it completely.
But eventually I tired of my never-ending war. Vengeance is a temporary salve - it covers the pain but provides no true healing. With nothing left to live for, I threw myself into attacking an enemy garrison - I killed many of them, but paid a heavy price in return. And on that field, with nothing but memories of death, both suffered and caused, I said a prayer to my lost wife and child and breathed my last.
Or so I thought.
But minutes ago I awoke here, in this strange place. I do not know how I yet live or how my wounds were healed, and I do not recognize anything around me. The buildings are strange, as are the languages spoken and the people who speak them.
And then there are the others. Creatures that resemble less people than the stuff of nightmares. Beasts that resemble lions and elephants, snake-like creatures the size of trees and monsters the size of mountains that were covered inside scales and seem to breathe fire.
I am approached by a man in strange dress, and he tells me that I have been chosen for a contest. That their society has mastered the art of time travel and that greatest warriors of all time are being gathered into a single arena to fight until only one remains. I am no stranger to fighting, I say, but I do not believe that I am one of the greatest of all eternity. Surely my presence here must be in error. But he disagrees, telling them that the “Bringer of Death” is a figure of legend and there is no doubt that I belong. But here? In this foreign land (and time?), fighting against creatures beyond even my imagination, creatures that cannot possibly exist? This is madness!
But my life has been madness. If this is a dream, I will hope to awaken. If it is not, perhaps it is my fate. It is said that he who lives a life of violence can never truly know peace. I tried to know peace once - perhaps this is the price I must pay. If so, then pay it I shall.
My name has just been called; I pick up my spear and blade and enter the arena. I see my opponent, and feel the familiar rush of energy as I prepare for battle.
My name is Marcus, the Bringer of Death. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I smile. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I had no choice but to fight.
One second, I was scrolling through Youtube in my apartment, the next, I was sucked up into a vortex that threw me into the middle of a futuristic arena.
Holograms floated in the air, displaying different angles of the battlefield. It was massive. Twisting corridors and an open ceiling led into a dangerous maze that covered the battlefield. Hundreds of weapons and traps were scattered throughout this maze. Things like fire pits and dangerous animals like lions and bears. That wasn't what drew my attention the most, though.
Robotic servants carried food and beverages to a multitude of strange-looking people that sat on the looming stands. They didn't look like anyone I'd ever seen before. Some had cybernetic eyes and limbs, while others seemed to have genetically altered their bodies to the point where they barely looked human.
The announcer wasn't any different. He appeared to have golden teeth, slitted eyes like a cat, and a gaudy pink robe that didn't cover his metallic chest, floating on a circular platform that overlooked the arena. The announcer went on to cheerfully proclaim:
"Combatants, you are gathered here because of your great accomplishments in life, which have endured the test of time and are spoken of to this day. Our goal is simple: to find the mightiest warrior in history! Kill the other combatant and you get to advance!"
I squinted. What the hell was he talking about? The only thing I'd ever fought in my life was my crippling social anxiety.
"Throughout this arena you'll find an assortment of weapons which you are free to use in any way you deem necessary. Should you win the tournament, you'll have your deepest desires fulfilled!"
"W-wait!" I shouted, "There has to be some mistake here. I'm not a warrior!"
"Amazing!" said the announcer, "Such humility from our first fighter! Of course, he needs no introduction. Behold! The butcher of world war three has joined the fray!"
The crowd roared so loudly that the ground shook a little.
I couldn't ignore what I heard. Did he just say world war... three?
"And in the other side of the arena," continued the announcer, "we have one of the mightiest warriors of Judaic history! A man that slayed a lion with his bare hands and massacred an entire army using only the jawbone of a donkey! Samson, the last judge of Israel!"
I widened my eyes at the hulking figure across from me. He looked more like a mountain of muscle than an actual man, with long, flowing hair and a beard to match. I couldn't believe he was real. Samson always felt more like a myth, not an actual historical figure.
"This is ridiculous!" I shouted. "Are we all speaking English or is this getting translated? And what do you mean by world war three? Also, does this mean the Abrahamic god is real? I have so many questions!"
"And none of them will be answered!" replied the announcer. "Now fight!"
Samson barreled towards me.
I ran in the opposite direction. This shouldn't be happening. Not only did they get the wrong person for this, but they also threw at me a nigh-invulnerable demigod.
It didn't take long for Samson to catch up to me. Every step he took was like three or four of mine. Upon being cornered, I raised my hands and said:
"We don't have to fight! Please, hear me out!"
"Silence, heathen!" Samson picked up an axe and swung it at me. "Your lack of faith shall be punished!"
I rolled out of the way, barely dodging the axe.
Samson wouldn't hear me out. I shouldn't have questioned his god in front of him. The warrior literally pulverized the wall behind me. His strength was unfathomable. I didn't stand a chance unarmed.
Thankfully, not only were there swords and shields scattered about; there was also a wide assortment of firearms that could be used. I quickly grabbed a rifle and aimed it at him, hoping to keep him at bay.
It didn't work.
Samson was oblivious to the dangers of a gun so he just kept running at me.
I couldn't pull the trigger. Killing him didn't feel right, even if he was technically already dead. Samson didn't have such reservations, though. From his perspective, he had just been summoned by angels, or something similar, to destroy a godless heathen. This was literally his purpose. Convincing him to stand down was impossible.
After dodging a few more attacks, I couldn't withstand the pressure and fired at him, aiming at his legs to avoid a lethal blow.
The entire arena gasped.
Samson remained unscathed. The bullets simply bounced off his flesh like rubber. He stood quiet for a second, confused by the rifle, then proceeded to resume his assault.
I avoided a pitfall with spikes at the bottom, inching my way around it, which Samson leapt over in a single stride.
"This is insane!" I cried out. "Who the hell thought this was a fair match?!?"
Nobody listened. The crowd was too enthralled to care about my pleas.
"Stop running, coward!"
"Fuck off!" I shouted. "What do you expect me to do? Roll over and die?"
"Yes! Everyone should surrender before the might of God!"
I rolled my eyes. At a certain point, I started wondering if this really was a punishment from the heavens. There just wasn't a way to beat him...
Except...
There *was* one way. Samson had a famous weak spot. The legend said his hair gave him strength. All I needed to do was cut it off, and the fight would be over.
That was easier said than done. Aiming for his hair was the same as aiming for his head. A warrior of his caliber would know how to defend it. I didn't care, though. Giving up wasn't an option.
I stood my ground and picked up a spear.
The crowd fell quiet.
Samson seemed to respect the decision, giving me time to prepare myself.
I swallowed down my anxiety. This would be my only chance to survive. If Samson figured out I knew about his weak spot, he would quickly adapt and punish me.
Samson sprinted towards me.
I mirrored him, flailing my spear.
Samson cut off my left hand with a beautifully fluid spin of his axe.
I endured the pain and, when Samson lowered his guard, I sliced off a lock of his hair.
The warrior gaped his mouth in shock. I had just lost a limb, but his face showed more fear than mine.
"How..." said Samson. "How... did you know?"
I made a nervous smile, terrified of his wrath.
Samson prepared for another swing.
I ran away again.
The entire arena started booing me. They wanted me to fight fair.
I, however, had no interest in that. They literally abducted me. Their entertainment was the last thing on my mind.
Samson appeared to be weaker than before. His strength was still inhuman, but he had a harder time catching up to me. I wasn't exactly in the best shape, either. The blood loss from my hand made my vision grow blurry. I couldn't afford to keep running.
A fire pit emerged ahead of me.
I didn't have the strength to jump over it.
Samson kept rushing towards me. He seemed interested in tackling me into the flames.
I stuck my spear into the fire and set it ablaze, pointing it at him.
Samson froze in place.
"Come on!" I took a step forward, waving the fiery spear. "Wasn't I a coward?!?"
Samson snarled, but stood still.
"I thought your god was mighty! Where is he now?!?"
"You dare?!?" shouted Samson, lunging at me.
I couldn't avoid the axe. It sank into my shoulder, just as I lit on fire Samson's hair.
That quickly ended the match.
Samson tried putting out the fire to no avail, losing his muscles in a few seconds.
"Finish him!" said the announcer.
The crowd started chanting the same.
Samson fell to his knees, offering his neck to me. "You... have won. Make it quick."
I shook my head. "Not happening."
The crowd jeered at me louder than before. They were bloodthirsty.
"I'm not doing it!"
"If you don't decide on a winner," said the announcer, "we'll just kill you both."
"Wait," said Samson, "I forfeit!"
Everyone gasped, including myself.
"But... why?" I asked. "I'm bleeding out. I could still die, if you wait it out."
"No," said Samson, "you offered me mercy when I had none. That virtue should not be punished."
Damn. We had different values due to our time periods, but he was still a good person. I couldn't hate him after that. Especially after antagonizing his faith. That settled it. I looked at the announcer and said:
"I'd rather die than kill him."
The announcer grit his teeth, then said:
"Fine! This is an excellent demonstration of honor! The winner by forfeit is the butcher of World War Three!"
The crowd actually cheered. I couldn't believe how fickle they were. That said, the only thing in my mind was what he said about me.
Butcher of World War Three. Was that really my destiny? I didn't have time to question it. The blood loss got to me and I proceeded to faint. By the time I woke up, a nurse told me I should be getting ready for the second round.
------
>If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | "I deeply worry about how distorted history must be in the future if I'm considered one of humanity's greatest warriors," Nikolai muttered to himself as he gripped onto his briefcase. He was standing in a middle of what appeared to be a deserted town square while in the far distance, he could hear an audience of millions screaming and hollering for the fight to begin.
An announcer flying above in a jetpack suddenly whipped out his microphone. "Ladies and gentleman, the next match is about to begin! On one side, we have the Wizard of Electricity, Nikolai Tesla!" The audience roared with cheers.
"And on the other side, the Mad Monk, Grigori Rasputin!" There was a loud explosion of black smoke as a bearded man with haunting eyes stepped forth into the arena while the audience went even more wild than they had before. "Let the death battle begin!"
Rasputin let out a loud roar as he pulled out a saber and rushed towards Tesla like a angry bull. Without even a hint of fear, Tesla pulled open his briefcase and pulled out the most dangerous weapon that he had ever created. With one flick of a switch, the arena lit up with purple crackling electricity as Tesla activated his death ray. The blinding light tore a hole right through Rasputin's torso and knocked him onto the floor as the audience cheered in delight.
Rasputin merely let out a loud laugh though. To Tesla's complete surprise, the monk casually stood up as though a good portion of his organs hadn't just been melted into ash. "Surprised? You cannot hope to kill me that easily. For I am Grigori Rasputin, master of the mystic arts and the true ruler of Russia!" He stared deep into Tesla's eyes. "Now, **kneel**."
Tesla tried to activate his weapon a second time, but to his shock, he couldn't move his hands. He couldn't even break eye contact with Rasputin as he fell to his knees. He had become a prisoner in his own body, helpless to defend himself. "That's right," Rasputin whispered as he walked closer. "It will all be over ---" he paused as he heard the loud sound of cooing. "...что за бред?!"
From out of nowhere, what could be described as nothing less than a storm of thousands and thousands of pigeons emerged from the clouds. They swarmed Rasputin, furiously pecking away at every piece of exposed flesh they could get their beaks on as the monk screamed in rage and tore the pigeons apart with his own teeth. With Rasputin's hypnotic spell broken, Tesla came back to his senses. He looked aghast at the sight of dozens of dead pigeons who had given up their life for him. "This ends here," he said, grimly. "Pigeons, leave him to me!" he ordered. The great pigeon army retreated back into the sky, giving Tesla a clear shot at his enemy. Rasputin never even had a chance to spit the feathers out of his mouth before Tesla activated his death ray at full power, obliterating every last trace of the Mad Monk from the face of the Earth. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | Lucian had been camping out alone in the Rocky Mountains, looking up at the night sky and observing the constellations.
Then, without warning, the sky changed.
The horizon was filled to the brim with bright, unfamiliar stars. In the middle of the sky was an enormous infinity symbol that blazed a cosmic purple.
Lucian blinked, but the illusion didn’t disappear. It was real.
“What the hell?” He whispered, his eyes wide.
A white flash across his eyes. Pain racked his body.
“The time intervention was successful…” He heard a voice bark into a radio.
Guards in sleek black armor with silver visors filled his bleary vision. Then he blacked out.
___
Lucian slowly woke up to the low roar of a distant crowd.
He blearily looked at his surroundings. He was in what looked like an enormous gladiator arena completely encased in a glass dome with a vast sea of people watching from tiered seats. The arena was open to the sky, so when Lucian’s eyes trailed upwards, the infinity sign glared back down on him in the night sky.
Lucian’s breathing quickened. He looked around for someone he could call out to.
Then he saw them. Across from him in the arena, four strangely clad warriors were looking at him warily, their weapons raised.
One looked like a futuristic special-ops soldier, with a long, sleek gun held in both hands. Another seemed to be a witch in a purple cloak, equipped with a staff. Another had ruffled, civilian clothing but had multiple firearms strapped onto his back and two shotguns in hand. The final warrior was a muscular guy wearing a red suit floating in the air with his arms crossed. They were tense, as if they were about to attack but had to wait for something.
Lucian quickly tried to raise his hands in surrender, but he found they wouldn’t move. He looked down and found that not only were his arms chained to the ground but his legs too, with thicker, heavier chains than he had ever seen in his life.
What’s going on? Is this a dream or am I really going to be some sort of exotic sacrifice?
An announcer's voice boomed from all directions. “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Time’s Edge Arena! Hold onto your seats because today’s fight will be sure to go down in history!”
The crowd thundered in response.
Lucian’s heart was pounding in his chest now, and blood roared in his ears.
He shouted, the desperation breaking his voice, “Please! I don’t know what’s going on! Please help me!”
The announcer’s voice continued.
“On one side, we have the four strongest Time Champions who you’ve watched win countless times before! We all know they need no introduction, so give it up for Aola the Witch, Deadshot Chrome, Lawrence the Scrapper, and Gorehands the Murder Hero!”
The audience screamed in response, making Lucian grimace and his head throb.
“And on the other side,” The announcer said, “We have the strongest monster to ever live, titled the Calamity of Nine Years, the Lord of Monsters, who singlehandedly created a dark age in his own timeline! Give it up for Lucian Ashcrown!”
“You have the wrong person!” Lucian screamed, but the crowd’s roar was deafening, far louder than it had been for any other. Lucian couldn’t even hear his own, hoarse yelling.
“Now, without further ado, let the fight begin!”
Before Lucian could yell out another protest, he heard a loud crack and he felt a burning sensation spread through his chest. He looked down and saw the red shirt staining where his heart should be.
A cold, numbness spread throughout him and his vision went dark.
Lucian limply fell backward, dead within seconds. Chrome’s futuristic-looking gun smoked. He exchanged wary glances with his two companions. They knew that something was up.
“That… can’t be,” The announcer said. “But it’s unmistakable. The Lord of Monster’s vital signs has gone dark. He’s dead.”
The crowd went dead silent, completely in shock. The four warriors didn’t let their eyes leave Lucian’s dead body.
“Hold tight as we set up something new!” The announcer said quickly, “We have plenty more monsters lined up for a long night of excitement…” His voice trailed off.
Lucian’s heart beat again. A vast, alien heartbeat, one that didn’t care that every beat spurt blood out of the hole in his chest.
The heartbeat was loud and deep enough that the audience members could feel its vibration in their chests. They were completely silent, this time for a different reason.
“He’s still alive…” The announcer’s voice was quiet with awe and fear at the sudden presence that filled the arena.
The Lord of Monsters opened his eyes. They were a deep, rich orange, with a vertical slit as his pupil.
___
Part 2 coming soon if enough people are interested. Come join r/WanderWilder to read it along with other stories. Would love to have you! | "I deeply worry about how distorted history must be in the future if I'm considered one of humanity's greatest warriors," Nikolai muttered to himself as he gripped onto his briefcase. He was standing in a middle of what appeared to be a deserted town square while in the far distance, he could hear an audience of millions screaming and hollering for the fight to begin.
An announcer flying above in a jetpack suddenly whipped out his microphone. "Ladies and gentleman, the next match is about to begin! On one side, we have the Wizard of Electricity, Nikolai Tesla!" The audience roared with cheers.
"And on the other side, the Mad Monk, Grigori Rasputin!" There was a loud explosion of black smoke as a bearded man with haunting eyes stepped forth into the arena while the audience went even more wild than they had before. "Let the death battle begin!"
Rasputin let out a loud roar as he pulled out a saber and rushed towards Tesla like a angry bull. Without even a hint of fear, Tesla pulled open his briefcase and pulled out the most dangerous weapon that he had ever created. With one flick of a switch, the arena lit up with purple crackling electricity as Tesla activated his death ray. The blinding light tore a hole right through Rasputin's torso and knocked him onto the floor as the audience cheered in delight.
Rasputin merely let out a loud laugh though. To Tesla's complete surprise, the monk casually stood up as though a good portion of his organs hadn't just been melted into ash. "Surprised? You cannot hope to kill me that easily. For I am Grigori Rasputin, master of the mystic arts and the true ruler of Russia!" He stared deep into Tesla's eyes. "Now, **kneel**."
Tesla tried to activate his weapon a second time, but to his shock, he couldn't move his hands. He couldn't even break eye contact with Rasputin as he fell to his knees. He had become a prisoner in his own body, helpless to defend himself. "That's right," Rasputin whispered as he walked closer. "It will all be over ---" he paused as he heard the loud sound of cooing. "...что за бред?!"
From out of nowhere, what could be described as nothing less than a storm of thousands and thousands of pigeons emerged from the clouds. They swarmed Rasputin, furiously pecking away at every piece of exposed flesh they could get their beaks on as the monk screamed in rage and tore the pigeons apart with his own teeth. With Rasputin's hypnotic spell broken, Tesla came back to his senses. He looked aghast at the sight of dozens of dead pigeons who had given up their life for him. "This ends here," he said, grimly. "Pigeons, leave him to me!" he ordered. The great pigeon army retreated back into the sky, giving Tesla a clear shot at his enemy. Rasputin never even had a chance to spit the feathers out of his mouth before Tesla activated his death ray at full power, obliterating every last trace of the Mad Monk from the face of the Earth. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | **Zookept**
“I’m a *zookeeper*! Trust me, I’m not a warrior, not by any means. I’ll be a disgrace out there.” That much was definitely true, though I was disgrace anywhere. Wow dropping to my knees had hurt. What a stupid thought to have right now.
The strange humanoid robot stared at me through the glass wall of my cell, its eyes obscured behind a jet-black visor. “You have been chosen for your bravery, 2022-5692. You tame great, ancient beasts, yes? You pet lions and feed bears. Creatures obviously so much… mightier than yourself.” It’s voice was amazingly human. And wait, was that sarcasm?
“No! I just take care of them, I don’t—“
It turned and walked away. I slammed on the glass, shouted for it to come back, but soon enough it rounded the corner and was gone. My strength gave out. My hands slid down the glass and my body curled itself into a fetal position.
For a long while all I could do was watch as other prisoners were walked past my cell. I imagined the big and burly ones were Vikings, the lithe and stealthy ones ninjas, the scrappy ones pirates. But mostly I imagined how each of them could easily kill me.
Eventually, a new pair of boots stopped right in front of my cell again. I scrambled away, the door slide open, and someone else was thrust in.
Our eyes met. His head was shaved completely bald, like mine, and he had blood smeared all over his face, but still he looked familiar. “Well hello there,” he said winningly, with a thick Australian accent. A wide, white grin flashed though the drying blood, ”you’re a scared newbie, ain’t cha?”
I’d know that voice anywhere. It was the king of Animal Planet himself, my childhood idol. ”You’re hurt,” was all I could manage. What does one say to a bloody, time-traveled Steve freakin’ Irwin?
He touched his face and looked at his hand, somewhat amused. “Oh it ain’t mine.” And added, after seeing the look on my face, “it’s nobody’s, don’t cha worry. It’s fake, it’s show.”
Fake? “What is this place? They said something about me fighting other legendary warriors, but is it just a show?”
“Not exactly, no, but you do gotta give ‘em a show if you wanna survive out there. Yeah, that it’s. That’s the name of the game: survive and give ‘em a show.” He glanced back down the hallway, “crickey, I think they’re coming for ya. Just remember what I told ya.”
A few seconds later and, sure enough, two guards were at the glass. “2022-5692, 2006-372, you have been chosen.”
”I was just in there!” Steve protested to no avail. They marched us down long hallways, past countless other prisoners, until we finally approached a huge, metal door. It slid open, they pushed us in, and it slammed shut.
Darkness. At first, all I could hear was my own ragged breaths. Then, huge, earth shaking thuds and a rumbling, like a distant thunder washing over us. No… not thunder. Applause.
“Are we going to fight?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. I mean, not each other anyway. They’ve been matching me up with some real big fellers, and now we’ve got you too. Just remember what I told ya.”
Suddenly, the metal door slid up and light blasted into our steel cell. I tried to shirk back, but Steve grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out. “Remember, what I told ya!” He shouts, but it’s barely audible over the roaring of the crowds.
The stadium is so huge I can barely even see all the way to the other side. There are small buildings and rock formations scattered throughout the huge arena. It’s impossible to make out individuals in the crowds; they’re waves of chaos and excitement.
Though one things is discernible: and huge black mass charging towards us. It was bigger than an elephant, but running like a bear. Every stride pounded the earth with incredible force.
Fear. But a familiar fear, like when I’d first fed a lion, or handled a snake, or washed an elephant. There was something comforting in the way the beast moved, the way I recognized it for what it was: another animal. A genetically modified monstrosity of an animal, probably, but an animal nonetheless.
“Go that way!” Steve shouts, pointing in one direction as he sprints away in the other, flailing his arms wildly, whooping and hollering.
The giant bear takes the bait and chooses to go after him. There’s a small structure to might right, something kind of like a playground, but without all the colors. I rush towards it.
Once I reach it, I see Steve found a big rock formation on the other side. He scrambled up the boulders just barely high enough to be out of reach. The bear roars and tries to climb the rocks, but keeps slipping. It won’t last long, though. The beast begins ramming it’s side into the formation, each time sending huge cracks into the rocks. There’s nowhere for Steve to go.
I’m safe, for now, but that wasn’t enough. “Hey!” I shouted, as I chucked a rock at the beast. It didn’t hear me, and the rock didn’t even clear half the distance. I was going to have to get a lot closer.
I’d survived. Now it was time to give ‘em a show. | I find myself in a large ring. It’s bigger than any stadium I’ve been in. I hear alien languages booming out from all directions, and cheers just as hard to understand. My legs start shaking a bit, but I feel the ground is firm. Then the voice of the announcer starts to make sense.
“Visitors, we have gathered the best champions from across time to fight for our amusement!”
The voice said more, but I stopped paying attention. I started sneezing. The crowd cheered more for some reason. And then my opponent entered the ring. It was a large, three armed alien being with sharp claws and spikes protruding menacingly from its forearms. I heard what could best be destined as a gong as the sound slammed off my eardrums, and off the walls of the stadium, and so my fight begun.
Apparently I was qualified to fight this alien, but I’m not a fighter. I know a tiny bit of boxing and can do some elbow strikes, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough to beat someone with three massive arms, especially if I cannot reach their head.
Bright lights came on, and I shut my eyes out of reflex. When I opened them, my opponent had already charged right up to me, prepared to strike. My nose began to feel numb and tingly as I prepared myself for death. Then the tingling rapidly got unbearable, and I remembered what always happens when I go into bright light. I sneeze.
This sneeze was one of my loudest. It tore violently out of my throat, and it felt like my nose was being pulled apart. I apologized to my opponent, purely out of habit. But I was surprised to see a look of horror on his face. His eyes went wide, and he stumbled backwards, stumbling on a rock and slamming to the ground. I saw his face go from a bright red to a pale gray to a rather sickly spotted green. And then he seemed to disintegrate before my eyes. The crowd went silent for a few moments, before letting out a massive cheer.
The announcer explained to the questioning crowd that I was carrying a deadly weapon in my lungs, but I was somehow immune to it’s murderous effects. He explained how anyone with regeneration abilities would be killed instantly as their body’s own systems turned against them.
Then I remembered what I had been doing before I got pulled here. The year was 2022, and I had just been told I tested positive for Covid-19, but that I’d be fine because I had already gotten it and had the vaccine. So I guess I was immune, but this alien wasn’t. I smiled, thinking at last some good had come out of 2020.
The End | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | **INTERGALACTIC GLADIATORS**
They say the pen is mightier than the sword.
But I’m pretty sure whoever the heck *they* are had never found themselves being charged by a four-hundred-pound warrior wielding the largest sword I’d ever seen, while only being armed with a, you guessed it, a fountain pen.
I didn’t even have time to properly take in the surroundings I suddenly found myself in. I was too busy attempting to keep my head on my shoulders, thank you very much.
I zigged and zagged, pure adrenaline and, yes fear, had my muscle memory pulling out all the old gymnastic rolls, flips and tumbles that I hadn’t done since elementary school. My forty-year-old body was not going to like that in the morning. If there was a morning for me after this.
I dodged another of the giant’s downward slashes that effectively made his sword a guillotine and tried to come up with a way to save my neck, fast.
Think, think – nope, evade, evade!
I couldn’t keep this up for much longer and the Atilla the Hun lookalike staring at me with bloodlust knew it. I was fading fast and from my periphery I could see several other skirmishes coming to a bloody end. What the heck was going –
I tripped.
And Atilla smiled menacingly as he advanced with his sword high above his head, prepared for the killing blow.
Instinctively I raised my arm to protect myself, like that would do anything to stop the steel death coming my way. As the sword arced down towards me, I closed my eyes and cursed the useless pen in my hand. If only I had a shield –
A deafening tha-wump of metal hitting wood resounded above me and reverberated through me. My arm crumpled with the force of impact.
But the sword hadn’t sliced through me.
Astounded, I opened my eyes to see Atilla raging as he tried to pull his embedded sword out of … my shield?
A magnificent shield was strapped to my arm and was so large it covered most of my body. With my foe struggling to free his weapon, I quickly undid the straps and crawled out from under the shield. Pen in hand, I tried to scurry away from Atilla.
But he must’ve realized his hands alone were large enough to squash my head like a grape, because he abandoned the sword and shield and grabbed for me –
He caught my ankle and started to pull me towards him. This wasn’t going to end well for me. Desperate, ready to try anything, I turned the business end of my fountain pen on him and wrote into the air.
And suddenly, Atilla was swallowed up by a large hole beneath him.
Just like that he was gone, and I was a murderer.
Well now, that didn’t sit well with me, so trusting the weird rules of whatever this was, I wrote again, and a pvc pipe emerged from the ground. Satisfied Atilla had air flow, I stood and finally saw where I was.
Think Rome’s Colosseum if it were on a spaceship and had a dome above it that gave an unobstructed view of the galaxy around you.
The stadium seating was packed with tens of thousands of spectators of all different species. And none of them were human.
I was standing in part of the expansive arena floor. And I wasn’t alone.
All around me were the aftermath of one-on-one skirmishes. The victor and the fallen. My fellow victors were looking around with the same dazed expression on their faces when the arena floor flooded with light.
And suddenly we were each caged in by lasers.
I gripped my pen harder in my hand as a loud voice filled the air.
*“Greetings. And welcome to the Intergalactic Gladiator Games!”*
The voice must’ve translated for each individual that heard it, because the spectators all roared responses in their own languages. I didn’t need a translator to know that the crowd wanted more blood. And I didn’t need to touch the laser cage to know I couldn’t get out of that.
But the thing I didn’t know that was bugging me the most was why the heck was I here?
*“Humans! We have brought your greatest warriors from across your times to present your case. Is your species worthy of joining the Empire? Do you have what it takes to walk among us as peers? Or will your worthiest warrior fall, dooming your kind to annihilation?”*
At this point, I had found the speaker. A little blue man with a face that resembled a hippopotamus was holding what I could only presume was a microphone. His voice carried throughout the colosseum.
*“While in the arena, your greatest strength as a warrior is enhanced. This is more for our entertainment than for your advantage. But I digress … Each of you will battle one-on-one until it is clear which warrior class is superior: brains or brawn.”*
Surreptitiously checking out the other “gladiators” on the killing floor with me, I realized that we *were* an odd group. A lot of muscles and true-blooded warriors, mixed in with a lot of nerdy types like me.
*“At which point … the losing class shall be eliminated, and the winning class shall go head-to-head with our greatest warriors to determine whether humans will have a place with us. And if so, what your citizen status will be. Let us begin.”*
The hippo-man made a gurgle in what appeared to be his throat and horns sounded throughout the arena. The lasers enclosing me disappeared and then reappeared, my cage now larger and holding another bloodied victor on the far side of it.
We stared at each other as I quickly tried to think of every fantasy and adventure book I’d ever read. Tried to catalogue defensives and countermoves that I could command with my pen, tried to think of anything to stop this ...
And as my next foe approached, I frantically wrote on the air --
The ground near me shook and rumbled and then Atilla the Hun, guess he wasn't a lookalike after all, was spit out. He stood there immobile for a moment as the advancing foe stalled, perplexed by the new odds.
I took advantage of their confusion and scribbled again, cautiously wording my play and then --
The arena was filled with a gale force wind, like a balloon that was letting out air was suddenly reversed and took in all the air until it was so full it burst.
I shook my head to clear the noise from my ringing ears and looked around:
The remaining human gladiators were now in the stands and the tens of thousands of spectating aliens were in the ring. Hippo-man in the center. The laser cages now kept them in the arena.
As they realized their situation and began roaring in their many tongues, I lifted the pen in my hand, weighing it. It felt different, now that I wasn't in the arena, and I knew without trying that it wouldn't work the same way anymore. But words were still my mightiest weapon. I raised my voice above the din, doubting anyone would hear me, and yet as I spoke they all fell silent.
"Let's try this again, shall we?" I gestured to the killing floor, let the aliens consider their new situation as I looked around at my fellow humans in the stands.
They spanned from across the ages, the greatest warriors humanity had to offer, and almost as one they nodded their agreement. Atilla, next to me, grunted. I turned back to the aliens, "This time, let's see if we can discuss citizenship without bloodshed. Or not, the choice is yours."
​
\~\~\~
*Author's Note: I wasn't happy with the ending and after it bugging me for a day, had to come back with the revision. Hope you enjoy, cheers! - W.A.*
Thank you for reading! For more scribblings, wander over to r/WanderingAnonymous | I find myself in a large ring. It’s bigger than any stadium I’ve been in. I hear alien languages booming out from all directions, and cheers just as hard to understand. My legs start shaking a bit, but I feel the ground is firm. Then the voice of the announcer starts to make sense.
“Visitors, we have gathered the best champions from across time to fight for our amusement!”
The voice said more, but I stopped paying attention. I started sneezing. The crowd cheered more for some reason. And then my opponent entered the ring. It was a large, three armed alien being with sharp claws and spikes protruding menacingly from its forearms. I heard what could best be destined as a gong as the sound slammed off my eardrums, and off the walls of the stadium, and so my fight begun.
Apparently I was qualified to fight this alien, but I’m not a fighter. I know a tiny bit of boxing and can do some elbow strikes, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough to beat someone with three massive arms, especially if I cannot reach their head.
Bright lights came on, and I shut my eyes out of reflex. When I opened them, my opponent had already charged right up to me, prepared to strike. My nose began to feel numb and tingly as I prepared myself for death. Then the tingling rapidly got unbearable, and I remembered what always happens when I go into bright light. I sneeze.
This sneeze was one of my loudest. It tore violently out of my throat, and it felt like my nose was being pulled apart. I apologized to my opponent, purely out of habit. But I was surprised to see a look of horror on his face. His eyes went wide, and he stumbled backwards, stumbling on a rock and slamming to the ground. I saw his face go from a bright red to a pale gray to a rather sickly spotted green. And then he seemed to disintegrate before my eyes. The crowd went silent for a few moments, before letting out a massive cheer.
The announcer explained to the questioning crowd that I was carrying a deadly weapon in my lungs, but I was somehow immune to it’s murderous effects. He explained how anyone with regeneration abilities would be killed instantly as their body’s own systems turned against them.
Then I remembered what I had been doing before I got pulled here. The year was 2022, and I had just been told I tested positive for Covid-19, but that I’d be fine because I had already gotten it and had the vaccine. So I guess I was immune, but this alien wasn’t. I smiled, thinking at last some good had come out of 2020.
The End | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | "This really doesn't seem fair." I called towards the luxurious box overlooking the arena, where the aliens dressed in ancient Roman garb presided over the grisly festivities. I don't know why I bothered.
If you were going to kidnap people -- ostensibly great warriors, which made me puzzled as to why *I* had been included -- from various periods in human history, hand them culturally appropriate weapons, and make them fight to the death for your entertainment, then *fairness* probably wasn't high on your list of priorities.
Plus, I don't think they spoke English.
The portcullis opposite me opened. A swarthy warrior with long dark hair, clad in leather armor, bearing a trident in one hand, and a net in the other, strode out onto the blood-stained sand of the alien arena. I took an involuntary step back.
The warrior bellowed a challenge in a language I didn't understand.
"I don't know what that means, but I don't want to fight!" I shouted back.
He ignored me, continuing to stalk forward with a confident sneer.
"Please don't." I pleaded, shifting from foot to foot nervously.
He kept coming.
"I'm not even a warrior! I'm just *some guy.* There's no, uh...*honor* in this, or whatever!" I uselessly insisted to the man, who clearly didn't know my language any better than I knew his.
He didn't stop.
"Let's team up instead?" I offered, desperately, extending my hand in friendship.
He advanced, drawing back his trident. He was not going to shake my hand.
"Come *on!"* I shouted, crossly, resorting to the universal last-ditch argument of my childhood.
Alas, he did not seem amenable to coming on.
So, with a heavy sigh, when he was just a few yards away, I dropped into a Weaver stance, lifted my pistol, and shot him three times in the chest.
I hadn't lied. I wasn't a warrior, or a soldier, or even a cop. But I was from 21st Century Montana, and I knew how to use the weapons of my culture and time period: firearms.
The warrior fell to the sand, writhed for a moment, and then lay still. For some reason, the aliens *cheered.* They were clearly enamored with the trappings of historical human bloodsports, but it was just as clear that the *nuances* of such events escaped them. Two humans enter, one human leaves -- as long as that happened, they were happy.
Like I said, it really didn't seem fair. | I find myself in a large ring. It’s bigger than any stadium I’ve been in. I hear alien languages booming out from all directions, and cheers just as hard to understand. My legs start shaking a bit, but I feel the ground is firm. Then the voice of the announcer starts to make sense.
“Visitors, we have gathered the best champions from across time to fight for our amusement!”
The voice said more, but I stopped paying attention. I started sneezing. The crowd cheered more for some reason. And then my opponent entered the ring. It was a large, three armed alien being with sharp claws and spikes protruding menacingly from its forearms. I heard what could best be destined as a gong as the sound slammed off my eardrums, and off the walls of the stadium, and so my fight begun.
Apparently I was qualified to fight this alien, but I’m not a fighter. I know a tiny bit of boxing and can do some elbow strikes, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough to beat someone with three massive arms, especially if I cannot reach their head.
Bright lights came on, and I shut my eyes out of reflex. When I opened them, my opponent had already charged right up to me, prepared to strike. My nose began to feel numb and tingly as I prepared myself for death. Then the tingling rapidly got unbearable, and I remembered what always happens when I go into bright light. I sneeze.
This sneeze was one of my loudest. It tore violently out of my throat, and it felt like my nose was being pulled apart. I apologized to my opponent, purely out of habit. But I was surprised to see a look of horror on his face. His eyes went wide, and he stumbled backwards, stumbling on a rock and slamming to the ground. I saw his face go from a bright red to a pale gray to a rather sickly spotted green. And then he seemed to disintegrate before my eyes. The crowd went silent for a few moments, before letting out a massive cheer.
The announcer explained to the questioning crowd that I was carrying a deadly weapon in my lungs, but I was somehow immune to it’s murderous effects. He explained how anyone with regeneration abilities would be killed instantly as their body’s own systems turned against them.
Then I remembered what I had been doing before I got pulled here. The year was 2022, and I had just been told I tested positive for Covid-19, but that I’d be fine because I had already gotten it and had the vaccine. So I guess I was immune, but this alien wasn’t. I smiled, thinking at last some good had come out of 2020.
The End | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I was a doctor. Not a soldier. I didn't hold rifles, or use my hands for combat. I held scalpels, and used my hands to probe the deepest recesses of the human body.
The man in front of me, massive barrel chest heaving, incredible arms, built for crushing, rending, clutched a short sword.
It was explained to me when I arrived; only the greatest warriors were selected. Chosen from history by the size of their body counts. But I was a doctor. Not a warrior. No matter how many times I insisted, I was rebuffed. I was to fight. I was to kill, or I was to die.
I carefully approached the man in front of me. He did not fear me. Why would he? I was small, supple, gentle. He was a beast of a man who had slain dozens. Maybe hundreds. We knew nothing of eachother but what we saw in front of us.
He saw weakness. And he was confident in his strength.
I saw his great barrel chest, I saw the opening between the ribs. I saw his confidence falter as his breath, exploded from the tiny opening I created, piercing a lung. His sword dropped to the ground as his blood did.
His massive fist clamped around my throat and squeezed. For the briefest of moments I thought he would outlast me. But another quick jab, into the other lung, and the rest of his strength faltered. He released me and staggered backwards, falling to his knees.
His barel chest heaved violently as he struggled for air that would not stay long enough to sustain him.
His massive arms struggled to hold him upright, head hung as he gasped for breath.
I was a doctor. I knew every portion of his anatomy, and how to make the suffering linger. Or how to end it quickly. How did these people know me? How did they know that my tools, delicately, and painstakingly handcrafted were as effective as any sword, or rifle throughout history? Who can say. Perhaps years later, long after Mt death someone had found something I missed. Maybe they found my keepsakes. Maybe.
I slowly, methodically moved behind the failing warrior. This soldier from antiquity. I stood behind him as I pulled his head back, and dragged my instrument across the throat. I didn't use much force. I didn't have to. I reached into the cavity and felt the larynx; the trachea; the esophagus.
I clamped down on the stiff cartilage and pulled. I felt the weakened man struggle. I felt him limply try to claw at my arm. I felt the breaking. The tearing. I felt the tissue separate and come away in my hand. I felt the warmth lf his blood, his life oozing down my forearm. The rivulets tickled slightly. Felt sticky.
I stared out at the silenced crowd. The crowd had expected a very fast ending to this show. They had not expected this outcome, however.
Afterall, I was a doctor. Not a warrior. | I find myself in a large ring. It’s bigger than any stadium I’ve been in. I hear alien languages booming out from all directions, and cheers just as hard to understand. My legs start shaking a bit, but I feel the ground is firm. Then the voice of the announcer starts to make sense.
“Visitors, we have gathered the best champions from across time to fight for our amusement!”
The voice said more, but I stopped paying attention. I started sneezing. The crowd cheered more for some reason. And then my opponent entered the ring. It was a large, three armed alien being with sharp claws and spikes protruding menacingly from its forearms. I heard what could best be destined as a gong as the sound slammed off my eardrums, and off the walls of the stadium, and so my fight begun.
Apparently I was qualified to fight this alien, but I’m not a fighter. I know a tiny bit of boxing and can do some elbow strikes, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough to beat someone with three massive arms, especially if I cannot reach their head.
Bright lights came on, and I shut my eyes out of reflex. When I opened them, my opponent had already charged right up to me, prepared to strike. My nose began to feel numb and tingly as I prepared myself for death. Then the tingling rapidly got unbearable, and I remembered what always happens when I go into bright light. I sneeze.
This sneeze was one of my loudest. It tore violently out of my throat, and it felt like my nose was being pulled apart. I apologized to my opponent, purely out of habit. But I was surprised to see a look of horror on his face. His eyes went wide, and he stumbled backwards, stumbling on a rock and slamming to the ground. I saw his face go from a bright red to a pale gray to a rather sickly spotted green. And then he seemed to disintegrate before my eyes. The crowd went silent for a few moments, before letting out a massive cheer.
The announcer explained to the questioning crowd that I was carrying a deadly weapon in my lungs, but I was somehow immune to it’s murderous effects. He explained how anyone with regeneration abilities would be killed instantly as their body’s own systems turned against them.
Then I remembered what I had been doing before I got pulled here. The year was 2022, and I had just been told I tested positive for Covid-19, but that I’d be fine because I had already gotten it and had the vaccine. So I guess I was immune, but this alien wasn’t. I smiled, thinking at last some good had come out of 2020.
The End | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | "This really doesn't seem fair." I called towards the luxurious box overlooking the arena, where the aliens dressed in ancient Roman garb presided over the grisly festivities. I don't know why I bothered.
If you were going to kidnap people -- ostensibly great warriors, which made me puzzled as to why *I* had been included -- from various periods in human history, hand them culturally appropriate weapons, and make them fight to the death for your entertainment, then *fairness* probably wasn't high on your list of priorities.
Plus, I don't think they spoke English.
The portcullis opposite me opened. A swarthy warrior with long dark hair, clad in leather armor, bearing a trident in one hand, and a net in the other, strode out onto the blood-stained sand of the alien arena. I took an involuntary step back.
The warrior bellowed a challenge in a language I didn't understand.
"I don't know what that means, but I don't want to fight!" I shouted back.
He ignored me, continuing to stalk forward with a confident sneer.
"Please don't." I pleaded, shifting from foot to foot nervously.
He kept coming.
"I'm not even a warrior! I'm just *some guy.* There's no, uh...*honor* in this, or whatever!" I uselessly insisted to the man, who clearly didn't know my language any better than I knew his.
He didn't stop.
"Let's team up instead?" I offered, desperately, extending my hand in friendship.
He advanced, drawing back his trident. He was not going to shake my hand.
"Come *on!"* I shouted, crossly, resorting to the universal last-ditch argument of my childhood.
Alas, he did not seem amenable to coming on.
So, with a heavy sigh, when he was just a few yards away, I dropped into a Weaver stance, lifted my pistol, and shot him three times in the chest.
I hadn't lied. I wasn't a warrior, or a soldier, or even a cop. But I was from 21st Century Montana, and I knew how to use the weapons of my culture and time period: firearms.
The warrior fell to the sand, writhed for a moment, and then lay still. For some reason, the aliens *cheered.* They were clearly enamored with the trappings of historical human bloodsports, but it was just as clear that the *nuances* of such events escaped them. Two humans enter, one human leaves -- as long as that happened, they were happy.
Like I said, it really didn't seem fair. | **Zookept**
“I’m a *zookeeper*! Trust me, I’m not a warrior, not by any means. I’ll be a disgrace out there.” That much was definitely true, though I was disgrace anywhere. Wow dropping to my knees had hurt. What a stupid thought to have right now.
The strange humanoid robot stared at me through the glass wall of my cell, its eyes obscured behind a jet-black visor. “You have been chosen for your bravery, 2022-5692. You tame great, ancient beasts, yes? You pet lions and feed bears. Creatures obviously so much… mightier than yourself.” It’s voice was amazingly human. And wait, was that sarcasm?
“No! I just take care of them, I don’t—“
It turned and walked away. I slammed on the glass, shouted for it to come back, but soon enough it rounded the corner and was gone. My strength gave out. My hands slid down the glass and my body curled itself into a fetal position.
For a long while all I could do was watch as other prisoners were walked past my cell. I imagined the big and burly ones were Vikings, the lithe and stealthy ones ninjas, the scrappy ones pirates. But mostly I imagined how each of them could easily kill me.
Eventually, a new pair of boots stopped right in front of my cell again. I scrambled away, the door slide open, and someone else was thrust in.
Our eyes met. His head was shaved completely bald, like mine, and he had blood smeared all over his face, but still he looked familiar. “Well hello there,” he said winningly, with a thick Australian accent. A wide, white grin flashed though the drying blood, ”you’re a scared newbie, ain’t cha?”
I’d know that voice anywhere. It was the king of Animal Planet himself, my childhood idol. ”You’re hurt,” was all I could manage. What does one say to a bloody, time-traveled Steve freakin’ Irwin?
He touched his face and looked at his hand, somewhat amused. “Oh it ain’t mine.” And added, after seeing the look on my face, “it’s nobody’s, don’t cha worry. It’s fake, it’s show.”
Fake? “What is this place? They said something about me fighting other legendary warriors, but is it just a show?”
“Not exactly, no, but you do gotta give ‘em a show if you wanna survive out there. Yeah, that it’s. That’s the name of the game: survive and give ‘em a show.” He glanced back down the hallway, “crickey, I think they’re coming for ya. Just remember what I told ya.”
A few seconds later and, sure enough, two guards were at the glass. “2022-5692, 2006-372, you have been chosen.”
”I was just in there!” Steve protested to no avail. They marched us down long hallways, past countless other prisoners, until we finally approached a huge, metal door. It slid open, they pushed us in, and it slammed shut.
Darkness. At first, all I could hear was my own ragged breaths. Then, huge, earth shaking thuds and a rumbling, like a distant thunder washing over us. No… not thunder. Applause.
“Are we going to fight?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. I mean, not each other anyway. They’ve been matching me up with some real big fellers, and now we’ve got you too. Just remember what I told ya.”
Suddenly, the metal door slid up and light blasted into our steel cell. I tried to shirk back, but Steve grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out. “Remember, what I told ya!” He shouts, but it’s barely audible over the roaring of the crowds.
The stadium is so huge I can barely even see all the way to the other side. There are small buildings and rock formations scattered throughout the huge arena. It’s impossible to make out individuals in the crowds; they’re waves of chaos and excitement.
Though one things is discernible: and huge black mass charging towards us. It was bigger than an elephant, but running like a bear. Every stride pounded the earth with incredible force.
Fear. But a familiar fear, like when I’d first fed a lion, or handled a snake, or washed an elephant. There was something comforting in the way the beast moved, the way I recognized it for what it was: another animal. A genetically modified monstrosity of an animal, probably, but an animal nonetheless.
“Go that way!” Steve shouts, pointing in one direction as he sprints away in the other, flailing his arms wildly, whooping and hollering.
The giant bear takes the bait and chooses to go after him. There’s a small structure to might right, something kind of like a playground, but without all the colors. I rush towards it.
Once I reach it, I see Steve found a big rock formation on the other side. He scrambled up the boulders just barely high enough to be out of reach. The bear roars and tries to climb the rocks, but keeps slipping. It won’t last long, though. The beast begins ramming it’s side into the formation, each time sending huge cracks into the rocks. There’s nowhere for Steve to go.
I’m safe, for now, but that wasn’t enough. “Hey!” I shouted, as I chucked a rock at the beast. It didn’t hear me, and the rock didn’t even clear half the distance. I was going to have to get a lot closer.
I’d survived. Now it was time to give ‘em a show. | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | "This really doesn't seem fair." I called towards the luxurious box overlooking the arena, where the aliens dressed in ancient Roman garb presided over the grisly festivities. I don't know why I bothered.
If you were going to kidnap people -- ostensibly great warriors, which made me puzzled as to why *I* had been included -- from various periods in human history, hand them culturally appropriate weapons, and make them fight to the death for your entertainment, then *fairness* probably wasn't high on your list of priorities.
Plus, I don't think they spoke English.
The portcullis opposite me opened. A swarthy warrior with long dark hair, clad in leather armor, bearing a trident in one hand, and a net in the other, strode out onto the blood-stained sand of the alien arena. I took an involuntary step back.
The warrior bellowed a challenge in a language I didn't understand.
"I don't know what that means, but I don't want to fight!" I shouted back.
He ignored me, continuing to stalk forward with a confident sneer.
"Please don't." I pleaded, shifting from foot to foot nervously.
He kept coming.
"I'm not even a warrior! I'm just *some guy.* There's no, uh...*honor* in this, or whatever!" I uselessly insisted to the man, who clearly didn't know my language any better than I knew his.
He didn't stop.
"Let's team up instead?" I offered, desperately, extending my hand in friendship.
He advanced, drawing back his trident. He was not going to shake my hand.
"Come *on!"* I shouted, crossly, resorting to the universal last-ditch argument of my childhood.
Alas, he did not seem amenable to coming on.
So, with a heavy sigh, when he was just a few yards away, I dropped into a Weaver stance, lifted my pistol, and shot him three times in the chest.
I hadn't lied. I wasn't a warrior, or a soldier, or even a cop. But I was from 21st Century Montana, and I knew how to use the weapons of my culture and time period: firearms.
The warrior fell to the sand, writhed for a moment, and then lay still. For some reason, the aliens *cheered.* They were clearly enamored with the trappings of historical human bloodsports, but it was just as clear that the *nuances* of such events escaped them. Two humans enter, one human leaves -- as long as that happened, they were happy.
Like I said, it really didn't seem fair. | **INTERGALACTIC GLADIATORS**
They say the pen is mightier than the sword.
But I’m pretty sure whoever the heck *they* are had never found themselves being charged by a four-hundred-pound warrior wielding the largest sword I’d ever seen, while only being armed with a, you guessed it, a fountain pen.
I didn’t even have time to properly take in the surroundings I suddenly found myself in. I was too busy attempting to keep my head on my shoulders, thank you very much.
I zigged and zagged, pure adrenaline and, yes fear, had my muscle memory pulling out all the old gymnastic rolls, flips and tumbles that I hadn’t done since elementary school. My forty-year-old body was not going to like that in the morning. If there was a morning for me after this.
I dodged another of the giant’s downward slashes that effectively made his sword a guillotine and tried to come up with a way to save my neck, fast.
Think, think – nope, evade, evade!
I couldn’t keep this up for much longer and the Atilla the Hun lookalike staring at me with bloodlust knew it. I was fading fast and from my periphery I could see several other skirmishes coming to a bloody end. What the heck was going –
I tripped.
And Atilla smiled menacingly as he advanced with his sword high above his head, prepared for the killing blow.
Instinctively I raised my arm to protect myself, like that would do anything to stop the steel death coming my way. As the sword arced down towards me, I closed my eyes and cursed the useless pen in my hand. If only I had a shield –
A deafening tha-wump of metal hitting wood resounded above me and reverberated through me. My arm crumpled with the force of impact.
But the sword hadn’t sliced through me.
Astounded, I opened my eyes to see Atilla raging as he tried to pull his embedded sword out of … my shield?
A magnificent shield was strapped to my arm and was so large it covered most of my body. With my foe struggling to free his weapon, I quickly undid the straps and crawled out from under the shield. Pen in hand, I tried to scurry away from Atilla.
But he must’ve realized his hands alone were large enough to squash my head like a grape, because he abandoned the sword and shield and grabbed for me –
He caught my ankle and started to pull me towards him. This wasn’t going to end well for me. Desperate, ready to try anything, I turned the business end of my fountain pen on him and wrote into the air.
And suddenly, Atilla was swallowed up by a large hole beneath him.
Just like that he was gone, and I was a murderer.
Well now, that didn’t sit well with me, so trusting the weird rules of whatever this was, I wrote again, and a pvc pipe emerged from the ground. Satisfied Atilla had air flow, I stood and finally saw where I was.
Think Rome’s Colosseum if it were on a spaceship and had a dome above it that gave an unobstructed view of the galaxy around you.
The stadium seating was packed with tens of thousands of spectators of all different species. And none of them were human.
I was standing in part of the expansive arena floor. And I wasn’t alone.
All around me were the aftermath of one-on-one skirmishes. The victor and the fallen. My fellow victors were looking around with the same dazed expression on their faces when the arena floor flooded with light.
And suddenly we were each caged in by lasers.
I gripped my pen harder in my hand as a loud voice filled the air.
*“Greetings. And welcome to the Intergalactic Gladiator Games!”*
The voice must’ve translated for each individual that heard it, because the spectators all roared responses in their own languages. I didn’t need a translator to know that the crowd wanted more blood. And I didn’t need to touch the laser cage to know I couldn’t get out of that.
But the thing I didn’t know that was bugging me the most was why the heck was I here?
*“Humans! We have brought your greatest warriors from across your times to present your case. Is your species worthy of joining the Empire? Do you have what it takes to walk among us as peers? Or will your worthiest warrior fall, dooming your kind to annihilation?”*
At this point, I had found the speaker. A little blue man with a face that resembled a hippopotamus was holding what I could only presume was a microphone. His voice carried throughout the colosseum.
*“While in the arena, your greatest strength as a warrior is enhanced. This is more for our entertainment than for your advantage. But I digress … Each of you will battle one-on-one until it is clear which warrior class is superior: brains or brawn.”*
Surreptitiously checking out the other “gladiators” on the killing floor with me, I realized that we *were* an odd group. A lot of muscles and true-blooded warriors, mixed in with a lot of nerdy types like me.
*“At which point … the losing class shall be eliminated, and the winning class shall go head-to-head with our greatest warriors to determine whether humans will have a place with us. And if so, what your citizen status will be. Let us begin.”*
The hippo-man made a gurgle in what appeared to be his throat and horns sounded throughout the arena. The lasers enclosing me disappeared and then reappeared, my cage now larger and holding another bloodied victor on the far side of it.
We stared at each other as I quickly tried to think of every fantasy and adventure book I’d ever read. Tried to catalogue defensives and countermoves that I could command with my pen, tried to think of anything to stop this ...
And as my next foe approached, I frantically wrote on the air --
The ground near me shook and rumbled and then Atilla the Hun, guess he wasn't a lookalike after all, was spit out. He stood there immobile for a moment as the advancing foe stalled, perplexed by the new odds.
I took advantage of their confusion and scribbled again, cautiously wording my play and then --
The arena was filled with a gale force wind, like a balloon that was letting out air was suddenly reversed and took in all the air until it was so full it burst.
I shook my head to clear the noise from my ringing ears and looked around:
The remaining human gladiators were now in the stands and the tens of thousands of spectating aliens were in the ring. Hippo-man in the center. The laser cages now kept them in the arena.
As they realized their situation and began roaring in their many tongues, I lifted the pen in my hand, weighing it. It felt different, now that I wasn't in the arena, and I knew without trying that it wouldn't work the same way anymore. But words were still my mightiest weapon. I raised my voice above the din, doubting anyone would hear me, and yet as I spoke they all fell silent.
"Let's try this again, shall we?" I gestured to the killing floor, let the aliens consider their new situation as I looked around at my fellow humans in the stands.
They spanned from across the ages, the greatest warriors humanity had to offer, and almost as one they nodded their agreement. Atilla, next to me, grunted. I turned back to the aliens, "This time, let's see if we can discuss citizenship without bloodshed. Or not, the choice is yours."
​
\~\~\~
*Author's Note: I wasn't happy with the ending and after it bugging me for a day, had to come back with the revision. Hope you enjoy, cheers! - W.A.*
Thank you for reading! For more scribblings, wander over to r/WanderingAnonymous | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I was a doctor. Not a soldier. I didn't hold rifles, or use my hands for combat. I held scalpels, and used my hands to probe the deepest recesses of the human body.
The man in front of me, massive barrel chest heaving, incredible arms, built for crushing, rending, clutched a short sword.
It was explained to me when I arrived; only the greatest warriors were selected. Chosen from history by the size of their body counts. But I was a doctor. Not a warrior. No matter how many times I insisted, I was rebuffed. I was to fight. I was to kill, or I was to die.
I carefully approached the man in front of me. He did not fear me. Why would he? I was small, supple, gentle. He was a beast of a man who had slain dozens. Maybe hundreds. We knew nothing of eachother but what we saw in front of us.
He saw weakness. And he was confident in his strength.
I saw his great barrel chest, I saw the opening between the ribs. I saw his confidence falter as his breath, exploded from the tiny opening I created, piercing a lung. His sword dropped to the ground as his blood did.
His massive fist clamped around my throat and squeezed. For the briefest of moments I thought he would outlast me. But another quick jab, into the other lung, and the rest of his strength faltered. He released me and staggered backwards, falling to his knees.
His barel chest heaved violently as he struggled for air that would not stay long enough to sustain him.
His massive arms struggled to hold him upright, head hung as he gasped for breath.
I was a doctor. I knew every portion of his anatomy, and how to make the suffering linger. Or how to end it quickly. How did these people know me? How did they know that my tools, delicately, and painstakingly handcrafted were as effective as any sword, or rifle throughout history? Who can say. Perhaps years later, long after Mt death someone had found something I missed. Maybe they found my keepsakes. Maybe.
I slowly, methodically moved behind the failing warrior. This soldier from antiquity. I stood behind him as I pulled his head back, and dragged my instrument across the throat. I didn't use much force. I didn't have to. I reached into the cavity and felt the larynx; the trachea; the esophagus.
I clamped down on the stiff cartilage and pulled. I felt the weakened man struggle. I felt him limply try to claw at my arm. I felt the breaking. The tearing. I felt the tissue separate and come away in my hand. I felt the warmth lf his blood, his life oozing down my forearm. The rivulets tickled slightly. Felt sticky.
I stared out at the silenced crowd. The crowd had expected a very fast ending to this show. They had not expected this outcome, however.
Afterall, I was a doctor. Not a warrior. | **INTERGALACTIC GLADIATORS**
They say the pen is mightier than the sword.
But I’m pretty sure whoever the heck *they* are had never found themselves being charged by a four-hundred-pound warrior wielding the largest sword I’d ever seen, while only being armed with a, you guessed it, a fountain pen.
I didn’t even have time to properly take in the surroundings I suddenly found myself in. I was too busy attempting to keep my head on my shoulders, thank you very much.
I zigged and zagged, pure adrenaline and, yes fear, had my muscle memory pulling out all the old gymnastic rolls, flips and tumbles that I hadn’t done since elementary school. My forty-year-old body was not going to like that in the morning. If there was a morning for me after this.
I dodged another of the giant’s downward slashes that effectively made his sword a guillotine and tried to come up with a way to save my neck, fast.
Think, think – nope, evade, evade!
I couldn’t keep this up for much longer and the Atilla the Hun lookalike staring at me with bloodlust knew it. I was fading fast and from my periphery I could see several other skirmishes coming to a bloody end. What the heck was going –
I tripped.
And Atilla smiled menacingly as he advanced with his sword high above his head, prepared for the killing blow.
Instinctively I raised my arm to protect myself, like that would do anything to stop the steel death coming my way. As the sword arced down towards me, I closed my eyes and cursed the useless pen in my hand. If only I had a shield –
A deafening tha-wump of metal hitting wood resounded above me and reverberated through me. My arm crumpled with the force of impact.
But the sword hadn’t sliced through me.
Astounded, I opened my eyes to see Atilla raging as he tried to pull his embedded sword out of … my shield?
A magnificent shield was strapped to my arm and was so large it covered most of my body. With my foe struggling to free his weapon, I quickly undid the straps and crawled out from under the shield. Pen in hand, I tried to scurry away from Atilla.
But he must’ve realized his hands alone were large enough to squash my head like a grape, because he abandoned the sword and shield and grabbed for me –
He caught my ankle and started to pull me towards him. This wasn’t going to end well for me. Desperate, ready to try anything, I turned the business end of my fountain pen on him and wrote into the air.
And suddenly, Atilla was swallowed up by a large hole beneath him.
Just like that he was gone, and I was a murderer.
Well now, that didn’t sit well with me, so trusting the weird rules of whatever this was, I wrote again, and a pvc pipe emerged from the ground. Satisfied Atilla had air flow, I stood and finally saw where I was.
Think Rome’s Colosseum if it were on a spaceship and had a dome above it that gave an unobstructed view of the galaxy around you.
The stadium seating was packed with tens of thousands of spectators of all different species. And none of them were human.
I was standing in part of the expansive arena floor. And I wasn’t alone.
All around me were the aftermath of one-on-one skirmishes. The victor and the fallen. My fellow victors were looking around with the same dazed expression on their faces when the arena floor flooded with light.
And suddenly we were each caged in by lasers.
I gripped my pen harder in my hand as a loud voice filled the air.
*“Greetings. And welcome to the Intergalactic Gladiator Games!”*
The voice must’ve translated for each individual that heard it, because the spectators all roared responses in their own languages. I didn’t need a translator to know that the crowd wanted more blood. And I didn’t need to touch the laser cage to know I couldn’t get out of that.
But the thing I didn’t know that was bugging me the most was why the heck was I here?
*“Humans! We have brought your greatest warriors from across your times to present your case. Is your species worthy of joining the Empire? Do you have what it takes to walk among us as peers? Or will your worthiest warrior fall, dooming your kind to annihilation?”*
At this point, I had found the speaker. A little blue man with a face that resembled a hippopotamus was holding what I could only presume was a microphone. His voice carried throughout the colosseum.
*“While in the arena, your greatest strength as a warrior is enhanced. This is more for our entertainment than for your advantage. But I digress … Each of you will battle one-on-one until it is clear which warrior class is superior: brains or brawn.”*
Surreptitiously checking out the other “gladiators” on the killing floor with me, I realized that we *were* an odd group. A lot of muscles and true-blooded warriors, mixed in with a lot of nerdy types like me.
*“At which point … the losing class shall be eliminated, and the winning class shall go head-to-head with our greatest warriors to determine whether humans will have a place with us. And if so, what your citizen status will be. Let us begin.”*
The hippo-man made a gurgle in what appeared to be his throat and horns sounded throughout the arena. The lasers enclosing me disappeared and then reappeared, my cage now larger and holding another bloodied victor on the far side of it.
We stared at each other as I quickly tried to think of every fantasy and adventure book I’d ever read. Tried to catalogue defensives and countermoves that I could command with my pen, tried to think of anything to stop this ...
And as my next foe approached, I frantically wrote on the air --
The ground near me shook and rumbled and then Atilla the Hun, guess he wasn't a lookalike after all, was spit out. He stood there immobile for a moment as the advancing foe stalled, perplexed by the new odds.
I took advantage of their confusion and scribbled again, cautiously wording my play and then --
The arena was filled with a gale force wind, like a balloon that was letting out air was suddenly reversed and took in all the air until it was so full it burst.
I shook my head to clear the noise from my ringing ears and looked around:
The remaining human gladiators were now in the stands and the tens of thousands of spectating aliens were in the ring. Hippo-man in the center. The laser cages now kept them in the arena.
As they realized their situation and began roaring in their many tongues, I lifted the pen in my hand, weighing it. It felt different, now that I wasn't in the arena, and I knew without trying that it wouldn't work the same way anymore. But words were still my mightiest weapon. I raised my voice above the din, doubting anyone would hear me, and yet as I spoke they all fell silent.
"Let's try this again, shall we?" I gestured to the killing floor, let the aliens consider their new situation as I looked around at my fellow humans in the stands.
They spanned from across the ages, the greatest warriors humanity had to offer, and almost as one they nodded their agreement. Atilla, next to me, grunted. I turned back to the aliens, "This time, let's see if we can discuss citizenship without bloodshed. Or not, the choice is yours."
​
\~\~\~
*Author's Note: I wasn't happy with the ending and after it bugging me for a day, had to come back with the revision. Hope you enjoy, cheers! - W.A.*
Thank you for reading! For more scribblings, wander over to r/WanderingAnonymous | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | "This really doesn't seem fair." I called towards the luxurious box overlooking the arena, where the aliens dressed in ancient Roman garb presided over the grisly festivities. I don't know why I bothered.
If you were going to kidnap people -- ostensibly great warriors, which made me puzzled as to why *I* had been included -- from various periods in human history, hand them culturally appropriate weapons, and make them fight to the death for your entertainment, then *fairness* probably wasn't high on your list of priorities.
Plus, I don't think they spoke English.
The portcullis opposite me opened. A swarthy warrior with long dark hair, clad in leather armor, bearing a trident in one hand, and a net in the other, strode out onto the blood-stained sand of the alien arena. I took an involuntary step back.
The warrior bellowed a challenge in a language I didn't understand.
"I don't know what that means, but I don't want to fight!" I shouted back.
He ignored me, continuing to stalk forward with a confident sneer.
"Please don't." I pleaded, shifting from foot to foot nervously.
He kept coming.
"I'm not even a warrior! I'm just *some guy.* There's no, uh...*honor* in this, or whatever!" I uselessly insisted to the man, who clearly didn't know my language any better than I knew his.
He didn't stop.
"Let's team up instead?" I offered, desperately, extending my hand in friendship.
He advanced, drawing back his trident. He was not going to shake my hand.
"Come *on!"* I shouted, crossly, resorting to the universal last-ditch argument of my childhood.
Alas, he did not seem amenable to coming on.
So, with a heavy sigh, when he was just a few yards away, I dropped into a Weaver stance, lifted my pistol, and shot him three times in the chest.
I hadn't lied. I wasn't a warrior, or a soldier, or even a cop. But I was from 21st Century Montana, and I knew how to use the weapons of my culture and time period: firearms.
The warrior fell to the sand, writhed for a moment, and then lay still. For some reason, the aliens *cheered.* They were clearly enamored with the trappings of historical human bloodsports, but it was just as clear that the *nuances* of such events escaped them. Two humans enter, one human leaves -- as long as that happened, they were happy.
Like I said, it really didn't seem fair. | Alright... Where to begin?
Let's just keep things simple, lest I go in shock again. I'm sure you'll understand what is happening here in a moment, but I'm fully aware the *how* will remain a mystery both to you and me.
Let's just say that time travel is real. At least, it is in the future. Which also makes it real in our time since those in the future can travel to the past and back... Now that I think of it, is that a new time-travel paradox? That it has always existed since the dawn of time?
I'm deviating.
So time-travel exists. Got it? Alright. It won't come as a surprise that not everyone in the future decided to use this technology only for the good of mankind. You know how we humans are, always out for profit and gain if we but get a notion of it being available. Be it found in the past, present or future.
And let me tell you, the future is quite nostalgic to the past for their ideas of entertainment.
*Bread and circuses*, they used to call it in Ancient Rome. When things are looking bleak, don't fix whatever's wrong. Just distract the general populous with bread and blood and they'll love you for it. Not much different from what greedy corporations are doing in what I used to call home; the 21st century.
So they let their time-travel machine scan the annals of humankind. I later learned that they have surprisingly little control over the machine. It just looks for prominent figures that made a name for themselves in battle and transport them here. What that does with aformentioned historical records is beyond me. That's another paradox I won't break my head over.
And now the machine has picked me...
I'm not a warrior.
I never even held a weapon.
I'm just a minimum wage worker, on my third job in two years. Fired every time I tried to unionize left me quite fed up with the system. And now I'm thrown into a fight to the death in some future that I have no business with? It's the same shit all over again.
I'm finding myself in the midst of a sandy arena right now, the cheers, jeers and boos from the crowd echoing all around me. I hate to admit it, but they did a fine good job building an exact replica of the Colosseum. The historical accuracy is on point. There are other warriors around me, a pletora of weapons in their hands. It's a small relief that nobody seems to have guns or other modern weaponry. At least that made it a bit fair.
Not for me though. I'm not a warrior.
There's only one way I'm making it out of here alive.
I need to do the exact same thing I used to do at my previous jobs.
I look for someone who might speak English. I spot a navy SEAL in full combat gear, a knife in his hands. I take a deep breath and step towards him. It's a risky move, but it's my only shot. He seems dubious at first, but once I explain my plan he seems more accepting. Together, we move on to the next unwilling gladiator. And the next, and the next...
Eventually, the entire arena grounds stands together as one man. The jeers of the crowd, having increased during our talks, have reached a crescendo.
*They can boo all they want,* I think satisfied. *They won't be able to stand against the Gladiator Union.*
I'm not a warrior. But I am willing to wage a different kind of battle.
> Thanks for reading, more over at /r/PromptedByDaddy | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | “Are you squeaking with excitement, warrior? I too cannot contain myself. To be chosen for such a glorious event is humbling. To think I get to visit a time where all aliens are united over their desire to see their fellow kind pulled apart in bloody competition, it truly makes me ooze with happiness.” The eight-foot purple alien wiped an oozing blue liquid from its forehead. Its rubbery body wiggling as its four fingered hand made contact. Despite its odd appearance, it seemed confident, wearing a grin as it looked over the various other aliens surrounding it.
“No… it’s my rubber ducky. Sir squeaks a lot. Is this really a fight to the death? I shouldn’t be here; I was just stolen from my home while gathering a few things for my bath. It’s lucky I’m still dressed.” Brent said, the man dressed in a pair of loose baggy green pants and a white top that had a big, printed picture of a toasted piece of bread.
“Rubber ducky? I don’t get it. Is it a weapon?” The alien pressed a finger against the bath toy, only to pull his hand away when it let out a squeak. “Is it going to explode now?”
“Why would it explode? You just put it in the bath and watch it float around. It isn’t dangerous at all.”
“Why bring it then? Do you plan to choke someone with it? Or maybe you plan to deceive them into lowering their guard before you pierce their two hearts with a Halvia.”
“No, that would be awful. Why would I do that? What’s a Halvia, anyway?”
“Why would you? Because it’s a fight to the death. How else will you kill them?” At the Halvia question, the alien reached around their back, gripping a heavy metallic weapon. One that looked like a trident but only had two points rather than three.
“That looks dangerous”
“It is. The weapons made to spear through two hearts, killing the target instantly. Painless, messy, and satisfying to use.” The alien said, close to breaking into an infomercial on the weapon.
“What would you do if the person only has one heart?”
“One heart? What weak race would only have one heart? I doubt anyone like that would be at a place like this. They don’t let the weak in. However, if the creature had three or more hearts, then I would just keep jabbing them until I win.”
As the two stood among the crowd of aliens, names began to get called out. When the alien heard his, he gave Brent a smack on the back before he rushed forward, screaming. The alien bowling over anyone that was in front of him. Soon he had disappeared from view, his exit being followed by the screams and chants of a waiting crowd outside. Brent inched forward, trying to find the source of the voice.
Standing on a small platform above the group was a three-eyed creature with golden skin. They didn’t have any limbs, instead they hovered, moving in a way that was confusing to Brent. When Brent waved his hand to get their attention, they only sighed.
“Let me guess, you aren’t meant to be here?”
“Exactly. I’m not a warrior, I’m just a guy. I don’t have two hearts or anything. I’m only human.” Brent tried to reason with the alien, who was already ready to dismiss him. Their eyes glanced him over before pausing and looking him over once more.
“Huh? A person who actually shouldn’t be here. Never thought that was possible. Sorry for the mix up earthling, may I offer you free tickets to the splash zone? I believe your friend just painted it a delightful shade of red with his weapon.”
“No, I just want to go home. Can you send me and Sir squeaks a lot home? I just want to forget this happened.”
“Don’t worry, we will erase it from your mind. I’ll send you home, but they have to stay.” The alien’s gaze turned to the rubber ducky, focusing on it.
“Why? It’s just some cheap toy I bought.” As the words left Brent’s lips, the rubber ducky rolled off his palm, falling onto the floor. As it landed, its exterior broke open, revealing a small blob of white goo.
The goo swirled on the ground for a moment before building into a ball. This ball continuing to expand until it formed a body, one that stood at the same height as Brent. Once it had shaped itself, it changed color and features, slowly mimicking Brent until he was staring at a clone of himself.
“Guess it’s a good time to reveal myself. I’m Valfor, a member of the Pomian intergalactic army. I was part of the invasion group from Earth, as you can see. Guess I got chosen because of my abilities.”
“Invasion group?”
“Oh, yeah. You Earthlings were killing the planet, so we decided we would kill your kind off and claim the planet as our own. We were running out of space on our homeworld so it only made sense. Nothing personal. I was the one that came up with the rubber ducky plan.”
“The rubber ducky plan?”
“Ah yes, I remember hearing about that.” The three eyed alien said. “That must have been why you were picked. It’s a good plan if I say so myself. You gather their DNA while they bathe and then when your numbers are high enough, you will kill the one that bought you and take over their life, slowly replacing humans with your own kind.”
“A fan of mine? I’m flattered.”
“Wait? Your kind are in all rubber duckies? How close are you to taking over?”
“Maybe a year or two? Depending on how confident we feel. Good luck handling the invasion.” Valfor said as he left the speechless human in his thoughts while he went to prepare for battle.
“Ok, I’ll erase your memory and send you back.” The three eyed alien said as their eye glowed with a golden aura, one that made Brent feel lightheaded. The human’s body floating as he was about to be sent back to his time period.
“WAIT MAYBE DON’T ERASE-“
Suddenly Brent was back at home, standing Infront of an overflowing bathtub. “Must have forgotten about the bath. Can’t believe I let it overflow.” He turned off the taps before looking for Sir squeaks a lot. “Must have dropped him somewhere. Guess I can just buy a new one later.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | Alright... Where to begin?
Let's just keep things simple, lest I go in shock again. I'm sure you'll understand what is happening here in a moment, but I'm fully aware the *how* will remain a mystery both to you and me.
Let's just say that time travel is real. At least, it is in the future. Which also makes it real in our time since those in the future can travel to the past and back... Now that I think of it, is that a new time-travel paradox? That it has always existed since the dawn of time?
I'm deviating.
So time-travel exists. Got it? Alright. It won't come as a surprise that not everyone in the future decided to use this technology only for the good of mankind. You know how we humans are, always out for profit and gain if we but get a notion of it being available. Be it found in the past, present or future.
And let me tell you, the future is quite nostalgic to the past for their ideas of entertainment.
*Bread and circuses*, they used to call it in Ancient Rome. When things are looking bleak, don't fix whatever's wrong. Just distract the general populous with bread and blood and they'll love you for it. Not much different from what greedy corporations are doing in what I used to call home; the 21st century.
So they let their time-travel machine scan the annals of humankind. I later learned that they have surprisingly little control over the machine. It just looks for prominent figures that made a name for themselves in battle and transport them here. What that does with aformentioned historical records is beyond me. That's another paradox I won't break my head over.
And now the machine has picked me...
I'm not a warrior.
I never even held a weapon.
I'm just a minimum wage worker, on my third job in two years. Fired every time I tried to unionize left me quite fed up with the system. And now I'm thrown into a fight to the death in some future that I have no business with? It's the same shit all over again.
I'm finding myself in the midst of a sandy arena right now, the cheers, jeers and boos from the crowd echoing all around me. I hate to admit it, but they did a fine good job building an exact replica of the Colosseum. The historical accuracy is on point. There are other warriors around me, a pletora of weapons in their hands. It's a small relief that nobody seems to have guns or other modern weaponry. At least that made it a bit fair.
Not for me though. I'm not a warrior.
There's only one way I'm making it out of here alive.
I need to do the exact same thing I used to do at my previous jobs.
I look for someone who might speak English. I spot a navy SEAL in full combat gear, a knife in his hands. I take a deep breath and step towards him. It's a risky move, but it's my only shot. He seems dubious at first, but once I explain my plan he seems more accepting. Together, we move on to the next unwilling gladiator. And the next, and the next...
Eventually, the entire arena grounds stands together as one man. The jeers of the crowd, having increased during our talks, have reached a crescendo.
*They can boo all they want,* I think satisfied. *They won't be able to stand against the Gladiator Union.*
I'm not a warrior. But I am willing to wage a different kind of battle.
> Thanks for reading, more over at /r/PromptedByDaddy | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I was a doctor. Not a soldier. I didn't hold rifles, or use my hands for combat. I held scalpels, and used my hands to probe the deepest recesses of the human body.
The man in front of me, massive barrel chest heaving, incredible arms, built for crushing, rending, clutched a short sword.
It was explained to me when I arrived; only the greatest warriors were selected. Chosen from history by the size of their body counts. But I was a doctor. Not a warrior. No matter how many times I insisted, I was rebuffed. I was to fight. I was to kill, or I was to die.
I carefully approached the man in front of me. He did not fear me. Why would he? I was small, supple, gentle. He was a beast of a man who had slain dozens. Maybe hundreds. We knew nothing of eachother but what we saw in front of us.
He saw weakness. And he was confident in his strength.
I saw his great barrel chest, I saw the opening between the ribs. I saw his confidence falter as his breath, exploded from the tiny opening I created, piercing a lung. His sword dropped to the ground as his blood did.
His massive fist clamped around my throat and squeezed. For the briefest of moments I thought he would outlast me. But another quick jab, into the other lung, and the rest of his strength faltered. He released me and staggered backwards, falling to his knees.
His barel chest heaved violently as he struggled for air that would not stay long enough to sustain him.
His massive arms struggled to hold him upright, head hung as he gasped for breath.
I was a doctor. I knew every portion of his anatomy, and how to make the suffering linger. Or how to end it quickly. How did these people know me? How did they know that my tools, delicately, and painstakingly handcrafted were as effective as any sword, or rifle throughout history? Who can say. Perhaps years later, long after Mt death someone had found something I missed. Maybe they found my keepsakes. Maybe.
I slowly, methodically moved behind the failing warrior. This soldier from antiquity. I stood behind him as I pulled his head back, and dragged my instrument across the throat. I didn't use much force. I didn't have to. I reached into the cavity and felt the larynx; the trachea; the esophagus.
I clamped down on the stiff cartilage and pulled. I felt the weakened man struggle. I felt him limply try to claw at my arm. I felt the breaking. The tearing. I felt the tissue separate and come away in my hand. I felt the warmth lf his blood, his life oozing down my forearm. The rivulets tickled slightly. Felt sticky.
I stared out at the silenced crowd. The crowd had expected a very fast ending to this show. They had not expected this outcome, however.
Afterall, I was a doctor. Not a warrior. | Alright... Where to begin?
Let's just keep things simple, lest I go in shock again. I'm sure you'll understand what is happening here in a moment, but I'm fully aware the *how* will remain a mystery both to you and me.
Let's just say that time travel is real. At least, it is in the future. Which also makes it real in our time since those in the future can travel to the past and back... Now that I think of it, is that a new time-travel paradox? That it has always existed since the dawn of time?
I'm deviating.
So time-travel exists. Got it? Alright. It won't come as a surprise that not everyone in the future decided to use this technology only for the good of mankind. You know how we humans are, always out for profit and gain if we but get a notion of it being available. Be it found in the past, present or future.
And let me tell you, the future is quite nostalgic to the past for their ideas of entertainment.
*Bread and circuses*, they used to call it in Ancient Rome. When things are looking bleak, don't fix whatever's wrong. Just distract the general populous with bread and blood and they'll love you for it. Not much different from what greedy corporations are doing in what I used to call home; the 21st century.
So they let their time-travel machine scan the annals of humankind. I later learned that they have surprisingly little control over the machine. It just looks for prominent figures that made a name for themselves in battle and transport them here. What that does with aformentioned historical records is beyond me. That's another paradox I won't break my head over.
And now the machine has picked me...
I'm not a warrior.
I never even held a weapon.
I'm just a minimum wage worker, on my third job in two years. Fired every time I tried to unionize left me quite fed up with the system. And now I'm thrown into a fight to the death in some future that I have no business with? It's the same shit all over again.
I'm finding myself in the midst of a sandy arena right now, the cheers, jeers and boos from the crowd echoing all around me. I hate to admit it, but they did a fine good job building an exact replica of the Colosseum. The historical accuracy is on point. There are other warriors around me, a pletora of weapons in their hands. It's a small relief that nobody seems to have guns or other modern weaponry. At least that made it a bit fair.
Not for me though. I'm not a warrior.
There's only one way I'm making it out of here alive.
I need to do the exact same thing I used to do at my previous jobs.
I look for someone who might speak English. I spot a navy SEAL in full combat gear, a knife in his hands. I take a deep breath and step towards him. It's a risky move, but it's my only shot. He seems dubious at first, but once I explain my plan he seems more accepting. Together, we move on to the next unwilling gladiator. And the next, and the next...
Eventually, the entire arena grounds stands together as one man. The jeers of the crowd, having increased during our talks, have reached a crescendo.
*They can boo all they want,* I think satisfied. *They won't be able to stand against the Gladiator Union.*
I'm not a warrior. But I am willing to wage a different kind of battle.
> Thanks for reading, more over at /r/PromptedByDaddy | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | “Are you squeaking with excitement, warrior? I too cannot contain myself. To be chosen for such a glorious event is humbling. To think I get to visit a time where all aliens are united over their desire to see their fellow kind pulled apart in bloody competition, it truly makes me ooze with happiness.” The eight-foot purple alien wiped an oozing blue liquid from its forehead. Its rubbery body wiggling as its four fingered hand made contact. Despite its odd appearance, it seemed confident, wearing a grin as it looked over the various other aliens surrounding it.
“No… it’s my rubber ducky. Sir squeaks a lot. Is this really a fight to the death? I shouldn’t be here; I was just stolen from my home while gathering a few things for my bath. It’s lucky I’m still dressed.” Brent said, the man dressed in a pair of loose baggy green pants and a white top that had a big, printed picture of a toasted piece of bread.
“Rubber ducky? I don’t get it. Is it a weapon?” The alien pressed a finger against the bath toy, only to pull his hand away when it let out a squeak. “Is it going to explode now?”
“Why would it explode? You just put it in the bath and watch it float around. It isn’t dangerous at all.”
“Why bring it then? Do you plan to choke someone with it? Or maybe you plan to deceive them into lowering their guard before you pierce their two hearts with a Halvia.”
“No, that would be awful. Why would I do that? What’s a Halvia, anyway?”
“Why would you? Because it’s a fight to the death. How else will you kill them?” At the Halvia question, the alien reached around their back, gripping a heavy metallic weapon. One that looked like a trident but only had two points rather than three.
“That looks dangerous”
“It is. The weapons made to spear through two hearts, killing the target instantly. Painless, messy, and satisfying to use.” The alien said, close to breaking into an infomercial on the weapon.
“What would you do if the person only has one heart?”
“One heart? What weak race would only have one heart? I doubt anyone like that would be at a place like this. They don’t let the weak in. However, if the creature had three or more hearts, then I would just keep jabbing them until I win.”
As the two stood among the crowd of aliens, names began to get called out. When the alien heard his, he gave Brent a smack on the back before he rushed forward, screaming. The alien bowling over anyone that was in front of him. Soon he had disappeared from view, his exit being followed by the screams and chants of a waiting crowd outside. Brent inched forward, trying to find the source of the voice.
Standing on a small platform above the group was a three-eyed creature with golden skin. They didn’t have any limbs, instead they hovered, moving in a way that was confusing to Brent. When Brent waved his hand to get their attention, they only sighed.
“Let me guess, you aren’t meant to be here?”
“Exactly. I’m not a warrior, I’m just a guy. I don’t have two hearts or anything. I’m only human.” Brent tried to reason with the alien, who was already ready to dismiss him. Their eyes glanced him over before pausing and looking him over once more.
“Huh? A person who actually shouldn’t be here. Never thought that was possible. Sorry for the mix up earthling, may I offer you free tickets to the splash zone? I believe your friend just painted it a delightful shade of red with his weapon.”
“No, I just want to go home. Can you send me and Sir squeaks a lot home? I just want to forget this happened.”
“Don’t worry, we will erase it from your mind. I’ll send you home, but they have to stay.” The alien’s gaze turned to the rubber ducky, focusing on it.
“Why? It’s just some cheap toy I bought.” As the words left Brent’s lips, the rubber ducky rolled off his palm, falling onto the floor. As it landed, its exterior broke open, revealing a small blob of white goo.
The goo swirled on the ground for a moment before building into a ball. This ball continuing to expand until it formed a body, one that stood at the same height as Brent. Once it had shaped itself, it changed color and features, slowly mimicking Brent until he was staring at a clone of himself.
“Guess it’s a good time to reveal myself. I’m Valfor, a member of the Pomian intergalactic army. I was part of the invasion group from Earth, as you can see. Guess I got chosen because of my abilities.”
“Invasion group?”
“Oh, yeah. You Earthlings were killing the planet, so we decided we would kill your kind off and claim the planet as our own. We were running out of space on our homeworld so it only made sense. Nothing personal. I was the one that came up with the rubber ducky plan.”
“The rubber ducky plan?”
“Ah yes, I remember hearing about that.” The three eyed alien said. “That must have been why you were picked. It’s a good plan if I say so myself. You gather their DNA while they bathe and then when your numbers are high enough, you will kill the one that bought you and take over their life, slowly replacing humans with your own kind.”
“A fan of mine? I’m flattered.”
“Wait? Your kind are in all rubber duckies? How close are you to taking over?”
“Maybe a year or two? Depending on how confident we feel. Good luck handling the invasion.” Valfor said as he left the speechless human in his thoughts while he went to prepare for battle.
“Ok, I’ll erase your memory and send you back.” The three eyed alien said as their eye glowed with a golden aura, one that made Brent feel lightheaded. The human’s body floating as he was about to be sent back to his time period.
“WAIT MAYBE DON’T ERASE-“
Suddenly Brent was back at home, standing Infront of an overflowing bathtub. “Must have forgotten about the bath. Can’t believe I let it overflow.” He turned off the taps before looking for Sir squeaks a lot. “Must have dropped him somewhere. Guess I can just buy a new one later.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | **"Thank you, thank you, very good showing from Galactismash the Conqueror."** Blearily, I blinked awake to the sounds of cheering and an announcer's voice. I was lying on my side, face half-buried in sand, trapped within the round walls of... an arena? I pushed myself to my feet; a mechanical behemoth was posing for the crowd, standing over the mangled corpse of a fleshy, draconic beast the size of a truck.
I gulped. Maybe... maybe if I stayed very, *very* still, the monstrous entity wouldn't notice me?
"And for our next combatant... we have the deadliest killer known to humanity. The scourge of the early twenty-first century. He who slays millions with but a single word. I present to you... *George.*"
The crowd went wild as I flinched. *George*? Wait, was he... was he talking about me?
"Now." A spotlight flickered on, a drone swooped down from above, and a black sphere that reminded me vaguely of a microphone protruded from it, extending towards my mouth. "Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself, Scourge of Words?"
"Scourge of... what? No, uh, there's got to be some mistake. My name's *George*, first of all."
"Oh, we know. We know everything about you, George McCapri, greatest genocider in all of history."
"Genocide?" I laughed nervously. "What... no. No, you've got this all wrong. I wouldn't hrut a fly. Well, unless it was—Texas summers, you know? But—that's not—" Was that what this was about? Were these some kind of aliens that *really* hated it when people swatted flies?
"Oh, the numbers don't lie, George. You've killed six billion, two hundred and three million, nine hundred and eighty-one thousand, nine hundred and twenty-two point six eight four three people and counting."
"...point six eight four three? How do I kill six-tenths of a person?" I asked.
"Why, it's as simple as how you make *anyone* die a little. Social media," the announcer said. "George McCapri, you were the single most *prolific* spreader of disinformation and dangerous lies of the twenty-first century. You created four separate conspiracies, two of which grew into open violence; you eroded trust in proven systems, killing billions who bought into scams and lies; you provoked hatred and animosity towards people who had done no wrong, robbing the world of countless talented people; and overall, the deaths traced back to you outnumber that of any human in history save for your ancestors, who regrettably share the burden of your existence. You, George McCapri, killed more people from behind a keyboard than any soldier ever did in the thousands of eons since your death. *You*, Scourge of Words, are the original monster." The drone leaned back, as if giving me time to catch my breath. "And this is your reward."
"GALACTISMASH... HUNGRY." The metal behemoth I had seen earlier turned towards me with a scrape of metal and gears.
"No. No, wait. I just—it was just words. It didn't mean—I didn't—" I scrambled backwards. This had to be a nightmare. I would pinch myself and I'd wake up and be back at my keyboard, waiting for the next person to pay me to stir up some meaningless trouble on the internet. I wouldn't—this couldn't—
"Goodbye, Scourge of Words," the drone murmured. "Let your next life be... less violent than this."
And the last thing I saw was twenty tons of metal bearing down on me, returning a fraction of the deaths and violence I'd caused.
A.N.
Just a silly little one-shot. Check out r/bubblewriters if you enjoyed! | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I was a doctor. Not a soldier. I didn't hold rifles, or use my hands for combat. I held scalpels, and used my hands to probe the deepest recesses of the human body.
The man in front of me, massive barrel chest heaving, incredible arms, built for crushing, rending, clutched a short sword.
It was explained to me when I arrived; only the greatest warriors were selected. Chosen from history by the size of their body counts. But I was a doctor. Not a warrior. No matter how many times I insisted, I was rebuffed. I was to fight. I was to kill, or I was to die.
I carefully approached the man in front of me. He did not fear me. Why would he? I was small, supple, gentle. He was a beast of a man who had slain dozens. Maybe hundreds. We knew nothing of eachother but what we saw in front of us.
He saw weakness. And he was confident in his strength.
I saw his great barrel chest, I saw the opening between the ribs. I saw his confidence falter as his breath, exploded from the tiny opening I created, piercing a lung. His sword dropped to the ground as his blood did.
His massive fist clamped around my throat and squeezed. For the briefest of moments I thought he would outlast me. But another quick jab, into the other lung, and the rest of his strength faltered. He released me and staggered backwards, falling to his knees.
His barel chest heaved violently as he struggled for air that would not stay long enough to sustain him.
His massive arms struggled to hold him upright, head hung as he gasped for breath.
I was a doctor. I knew every portion of his anatomy, and how to make the suffering linger. Or how to end it quickly. How did these people know me? How did they know that my tools, delicately, and painstakingly handcrafted were as effective as any sword, or rifle throughout history? Who can say. Perhaps years later, long after Mt death someone had found something I missed. Maybe they found my keepsakes. Maybe.
I slowly, methodically moved behind the failing warrior. This soldier from antiquity. I stood behind him as I pulled his head back, and dragged my instrument across the throat. I didn't use much force. I didn't have to. I reached into the cavity and felt the larynx; the trachea; the esophagus.
I clamped down on the stiff cartilage and pulled. I felt the weakened man struggle. I felt him limply try to claw at my arm. I felt the breaking. The tearing. I felt the tissue separate and come away in my hand. I felt the warmth lf his blood, his life oozing down my forearm. The rivulets tickled slightly. Felt sticky.
I stared out at the silenced crowd. The crowd had expected a very fast ending to this show. They had not expected this outcome, however.
Afterall, I was a doctor. Not a warrior. | **"Thank you, thank you, very good showing from Galactismash the Conqueror."** Blearily, I blinked awake to the sounds of cheering and an announcer's voice. I was lying on my side, face half-buried in sand, trapped within the round walls of... an arena? I pushed myself to my feet; a mechanical behemoth was posing for the crowd, standing over the mangled corpse of a fleshy, draconic beast the size of a truck.
I gulped. Maybe... maybe if I stayed very, *very* still, the monstrous entity wouldn't notice me?
"And for our next combatant... we have the deadliest killer known to humanity. The scourge of the early twenty-first century. He who slays millions with but a single word. I present to you... *George.*"
The crowd went wild as I flinched. *George*? Wait, was he... was he talking about me?
"Now." A spotlight flickered on, a drone swooped down from above, and a black sphere that reminded me vaguely of a microphone protruded from it, extending towards my mouth. "Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself, Scourge of Words?"
"Scourge of... what? No, uh, there's got to be some mistake. My name's *George*, first of all."
"Oh, we know. We know everything about you, George McCapri, greatest genocider in all of history."
"Genocide?" I laughed nervously. "What... no. No, you've got this all wrong. I wouldn't hrut a fly. Well, unless it was—Texas summers, you know? But—that's not—" Was that what this was about? Were these some kind of aliens that *really* hated it when people swatted flies?
"Oh, the numbers don't lie, George. You've killed six billion, two hundred and three million, nine hundred and eighty-one thousand, nine hundred and twenty-two point six eight four three people and counting."
"...point six eight four three? How do I kill six-tenths of a person?" I asked.
"Why, it's as simple as how you make *anyone* die a little. Social media," the announcer said. "George McCapri, you were the single most *prolific* spreader of disinformation and dangerous lies of the twenty-first century. You created four separate conspiracies, two of which grew into open violence; you eroded trust in proven systems, killing billions who bought into scams and lies; you provoked hatred and animosity towards people who had done no wrong, robbing the world of countless talented people; and overall, the deaths traced back to you outnumber that of any human in history save for your ancestors, who regrettably share the burden of your existence. You, George McCapri, killed more people from behind a keyboard than any soldier ever did in the thousands of eons since your death. *You*, Scourge of Words, are the original monster." The drone leaned back, as if giving me time to catch my breath. "And this is your reward."
"GALACTISMASH... HUNGRY." The metal behemoth I had seen earlier turned towards me with a scrape of metal and gears.
"No. No, wait. I just—it was just words. It didn't mean—I didn't—" I scrambled backwards. This had to be a nightmare. I would pinch myself and I'd wake up and be back at my keyboard, waiting for the next person to pay me to stir up some meaningless trouble on the internet. I wouldn't—this couldn't—
"Goodbye, Scourge of Words," the drone murmured. "Let your next life be... less violent than this."
And the last thing I saw was twenty tons of metal bearing down on me, returning a fraction of the deaths and violence I'd caused.
A.N.
Just a silly little one-shot. Check out r/bubblewriters if you enjoyed! | |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | I was a doctor. Not a soldier. I didn't hold rifles, or use my hands for combat. I held scalpels, and used my hands to probe the deepest recesses of the human body.
The man in front of me, massive barrel chest heaving, incredible arms, built for crushing, rending, clutched a short sword.
It was explained to me when I arrived; only the greatest warriors were selected. Chosen from history by the size of their body counts. But I was a doctor. Not a warrior. No matter how many times I insisted, I was rebuffed. I was to fight. I was to kill, or I was to die.
I carefully approached the man in front of me. He did not fear me. Why would he? I was small, supple, gentle. He was a beast of a man who had slain dozens. Maybe hundreds. We knew nothing of eachother but what we saw in front of us.
He saw weakness. And he was confident in his strength.
I saw his great barrel chest, I saw the opening between the ribs. I saw his confidence falter as his breath, exploded from the tiny opening I created, piercing a lung. His sword dropped to the ground as his blood did.
His massive fist clamped around my throat and squeezed. For the briefest of moments I thought he would outlast me. But another quick jab, into the other lung, and the rest of his strength faltered. He released me and staggered backwards, falling to his knees.
His barel chest heaved violently as he struggled for air that would not stay long enough to sustain him.
His massive arms struggled to hold him upright, head hung as he gasped for breath.
I was a doctor. I knew every portion of his anatomy, and how to make the suffering linger. Or how to end it quickly. How did these people know me? How did they know that my tools, delicately, and painstakingly handcrafted were as effective as any sword, or rifle throughout history? Who can say. Perhaps years later, long after Mt death someone had found something I missed. Maybe they found my keepsakes. Maybe.
I slowly, methodically moved behind the failing warrior. This soldier from antiquity. I stood behind him as I pulled his head back, and dragged my instrument across the throat. I didn't use much force. I didn't have to. I reached into the cavity and felt the larynx; the trachea; the esophagus.
I clamped down on the stiff cartilage and pulled. I felt the weakened man struggle. I felt him limply try to claw at my arm. I felt the breaking. The tearing. I felt the tissue separate and come away in my hand. I felt the warmth lf his blood, his life oozing down my forearm. The rivulets tickled slightly. Felt sticky.
I stared out at the silenced crowd. The crowd had expected a very fast ending to this show. They had not expected this outcome, however.
Afterall, I was a doctor. Not a warrior. | “Are you squeaking with excitement, warrior? I too cannot contain myself. To be chosen for such a glorious event is humbling. To think I get to visit a time where all aliens are united over their desire to see their fellow kind pulled apart in bloody competition, it truly makes me ooze with happiness.” The eight-foot purple alien wiped an oozing blue liquid from its forehead. Its rubbery body wiggling as its four fingered hand made contact. Despite its odd appearance, it seemed confident, wearing a grin as it looked over the various other aliens surrounding it.
“No… it’s my rubber ducky. Sir squeaks a lot. Is this really a fight to the death? I shouldn’t be here; I was just stolen from my home while gathering a few things for my bath. It’s lucky I’m still dressed.” Brent said, the man dressed in a pair of loose baggy green pants and a white top that had a big, printed picture of a toasted piece of bread.
“Rubber ducky? I don’t get it. Is it a weapon?” The alien pressed a finger against the bath toy, only to pull his hand away when it let out a squeak. “Is it going to explode now?”
“Why would it explode? You just put it in the bath and watch it float around. It isn’t dangerous at all.”
“Why bring it then? Do you plan to choke someone with it? Or maybe you plan to deceive them into lowering their guard before you pierce their two hearts with a Halvia.”
“No, that would be awful. Why would I do that? What’s a Halvia, anyway?”
“Why would you? Because it’s a fight to the death. How else will you kill them?” At the Halvia question, the alien reached around their back, gripping a heavy metallic weapon. One that looked like a trident but only had two points rather than three.
“That looks dangerous”
“It is. The weapons made to spear through two hearts, killing the target instantly. Painless, messy, and satisfying to use.” The alien said, close to breaking into an infomercial on the weapon.
“What would you do if the person only has one heart?”
“One heart? What weak race would only have one heart? I doubt anyone like that would be at a place like this. They don’t let the weak in. However, if the creature had three or more hearts, then I would just keep jabbing them until I win.”
As the two stood among the crowd of aliens, names began to get called out. When the alien heard his, he gave Brent a smack on the back before he rushed forward, screaming. The alien bowling over anyone that was in front of him. Soon he had disappeared from view, his exit being followed by the screams and chants of a waiting crowd outside. Brent inched forward, trying to find the source of the voice.
Standing on a small platform above the group was a three-eyed creature with golden skin. They didn’t have any limbs, instead they hovered, moving in a way that was confusing to Brent. When Brent waved his hand to get their attention, they only sighed.
“Let me guess, you aren’t meant to be here?”
“Exactly. I’m not a warrior, I’m just a guy. I don’t have two hearts or anything. I’m only human.” Brent tried to reason with the alien, who was already ready to dismiss him. Their eyes glanced him over before pausing and looking him over once more.
“Huh? A person who actually shouldn’t be here. Never thought that was possible. Sorry for the mix up earthling, may I offer you free tickets to the splash zone? I believe your friend just painted it a delightful shade of red with his weapon.”
“No, I just want to go home. Can you send me and Sir squeaks a lot home? I just want to forget this happened.”
“Don’t worry, we will erase it from your mind. I’ll send you home, but they have to stay.” The alien’s gaze turned to the rubber ducky, focusing on it.
“Why? It’s just some cheap toy I bought.” As the words left Brent’s lips, the rubber ducky rolled off his palm, falling onto the floor. As it landed, its exterior broke open, revealing a small blob of white goo.
The goo swirled on the ground for a moment before building into a ball. This ball continuing to expand until it formed a body, one that stood at the same height as Brent. Once it had shaped itself, it changed color and features, slowly mimicking Brent until he was staring at a clone of himself.
“Guess it’s a good time to reveal myself. I’m Valfor, a member of the Pomian intergalactic army. I was part of the invasion group from Earth, as you can see. Guess I got chosen because of my abilities.”
“Invasion group?”
“Oh, yeah. You Earthlings were killing the planet, so we decided we would kill your kind off and claim the planet as our own. We were running out of space on our homeworld so it only made sense. Nothing personal. I was the one that came up with the rubber ducky plan.”
“The rubber ducky plan?”
“Ah yes, I remember hearing about that.” The three eyed alien said. “That must have been why you were picked. It’s a good plan if I say so myself. You gather their DNA while they bathe and then when your numbers are high enough, you will kill the one that bought you and take over their life, slowly replacing humans with your own kind.”
“A fan of mine? I’m flattered.”
“Wait? Your kind are in all rubber duckies? How close are you to taking over?”
“Maybe a year or two? Depending on how confident we feel. Good luck handling the invasion.” Valfor said as he left the speechless human in his thoughts while he went to prepare for battle.
“Ok, I’ll erase your memory and send you back.” The three eyed alien said as their eye glowed with a golden aura, one that made Brent feel lightheaded. The human’s body floating as he was about to be sent back to his time period.
“WAIT MAYBE DON’T ERASE-“
Suddenly Brent was back at home, standing Infront of an overflowing bathtub. “Must have forgotten about the bath. Can’t believe I let it overflow.” He turned off the taps before looking for Sir squeaks a lot. “Must have dropped him somewhere. Guess I can just buy a new one later.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | |
[WP] Necromancy is Bad because the flood for cheap labor tanks wages and causes mass social upheaval. | It worked. It worked! After years of trying I was finally able to raise my first undead. When it stood up from the table and stared at me blankly, awaiting my commands, I was almost as proud as a father!
Greg didn't seem to like it though. He kept eyeballing me across the room.
"Master Frank?"
"Yes Greg?"
"You said they wouldn't tire."
"I did."
"And they wouldn't eat"
"Correct."
"And they don't need to sleep?"
"Your point, Greg?"
"I suppose they also wouldn't ask for better insurance?"
"I suppose not."
His eyes begin to water up and he faced away from me as his voice started to crack. Never had seen this hunk of a man this vulnerable.
Ugh. How did I let that slip? I need to stop zoning out when I'm focused on work.
"Greg, you have been at my side since the beginning. How many of these attempts ended up with you saving me from these filth?"
"Too many times, master."
"Have I not been at your side when your mother died?" Hope he didn't realize I retrieved her corpse.
"You were, master."
"Why on earth would you think I would replace you?"
Somebody knocked at the door. Greg opened it slowly.
"Hey Greg, hey Master. Greg? What's going on?"
"He made it work Jimmy. He made it work. Now he's going to replace us." Greg burst into tears, sobbing.
"He... what?" Jimmy stared at the undead standing in the room, in disbelief.
"Master Frank? With all due respect why would you replace us sir?"
"I am NOT going to replace you for fucks sake!"
"But you were there when I got married."
"I was."
"You watched the first steps of my son with me."
"I did and I will not replace you with the undead, Jimmy."
Greg exhaled deeply. "He says they don't ask for better insurance."
"What?? I did not!"
"Master, if this is about money, we can take a paycut. We're a family here!"
"I told you this day would come Jimmy. And you didn't believe me."
What? He didn't believe I could do it? Before I could ask Jimmy continued.
"I guess this is then. I suppose he will have to teach them how to garden, gather herbs and steal corpses from the Morgue! What an ass, after all these years. Let's go Greg, I will not stay where I am not wanted."
"Guys, please come back! I never said I didn't want you. Please!" My pleas were in vain.
"Well I always thought it would be Amazon. You know, with their drones and stuff. Anyway, we should find a union rep, before some other asshole automates us out again."
"Let's do that." said Greg, as he put his arm on Jimmy, still sobbing. | Moral issues aside the two kinds of necromancy are resurrected essentially trying to bring back the dead usually it must be done within 10 years of death or bringing back affectively zombies. What are the benefit of using zombies is for the regular temp jobs stress construction put a product behind schedule certain incredibly tedious positions and the like. However issues arise when the more Zumba fied corpses begin to take on jobs outside of incredibly temporary labor staffing in we’re horse stable working in the mines is another controversy it might start reasonably no to undead assisting with lifting material ever they quickly become half the labor force and that’s where we have a real problem with the undead | |
[WP] Over two thousand years ago, a plague wiped out humanity. Elves, and Dwarves claimed the land since. Recently however the corpses of the fallen humans have begun to rise, laying waste to settlements as they seek to reclaim what is rightfully theirs. | The crowds gathered above the monument, a beautiful marble statue showing the one man who was able to pierce the Heart of The Queen Nekbjet- Percival Rash, son of the general who died obtaining the sword. Right in front, where a podium had been erected, stood a man in a white cloak, hood down, to reveal his features.
He was an Elf, his ears protruding outwards from his body at almost a perfect square angle. His hair was white, wrapping up neatly in a ball in his hood. However, the receding hairline proved that he was well past his prime, likely in his 250's. The elf required a cane, and there were signs of the beginnings of wrinkles on his face.
He tapped the microphone twice, as a high pitched squeak emanated from the speakers, hooked up magically, on either side of him.
The crowd, likely around ten thousand in the square, and millions more watching at home, watched with eagerness. There was nobody else gave as much as a peep as King Lucius IV, the most well known, longest lasting King in all of their known existence, spoke.
"Here, in Lilac City, we keep the final words of the Human Armada, wiped out by the destructive plague we now know as The Queen's Choice. We shall recite the words given to us now by those brave heroes who fought for their kin that day."
As he spoke, great billows of red smoke was hurled into the sky, forming the prophetic words that would lead to this very day. A speaker took the microphone from read in a dramatic voice.
>*Beyond my grave lies millions dead. They gave their everything to destroy the Queen.*
>
>*It is important not to follow in their footsteps.*
>
>*Beyond my grave lies each and every untouched soul. They are awake, unable to rest from their anger.*
>
>*It is important not to follow in their footsteps.*
>
>*Beyond my grave lies the sword which can pierce the Heart of The Queen. Every human has failed to wield it.*
>
>*It is important not to follow in their footsteps.*
>
>*Beyond my grave lies nothing but carnage and destruction. We pray that it stays that way.*
>
>*Do not follow in my footsteps.*
>
>*To all the Elves, Dwarves, Flamekin, and Goblins, we make this one humble request.*
>
>*This is a war of Men. Men have Drawn the Sword, and it shall be a Man who Sheathes it.*
As the speaker finished reading, he gave the microphone over to the King once more, and vanished into thin air.
Everyone knew the prophecy by now- it was told to most children when they were little, and was a cultural cornerstone, even hundreds of years later. There had been a buffer zone and massive wall keeping Lilac City, a bustling metropolis with over 4 million people, out of what was called "The Dead Zone." Of course, people had tried to sneak in, but given the literal mile of zone that the Rivetan Kingdom had given themselves to make sure that *nobody* who dared attempt the crossing was allowed to live, it had become a cultural cornerstone of the northwestern part of the world.
With a clearing of his throat, the King once again spoke.
"With this prophecy comes warnings. We have had exactly 1173 years to process this information. Today, after consulting with many neighboring nations, we have concluded that, as nations, races, and as living, sentient creatures, we have neglected our duty to protect others. Today, we will change that."
The crowd cheered madly, as the King took a moment to let them take in exactly what was going down.
"Today, the Kingdom of Rivet, alongside the nation of Cabezalia and all the nations on the continent of Rhodesia, will present the Heroes who will be reclaiming the Lost World once and for all!"
Again, the people cheered. Sure, this was a power play by at least a few unpopular rulers- after all, they'd go down in infamy for this- but it had been something the public had been lambasting Rivet for for the last 2 centuries, and with it, so many of the world's overpopulation, famine, and land dispute issues would be over. There was opportunity again.
The King continued on with his speech, as multiple world leaders, followed by an entourage, would announce a group of champions who were thought to be able to survive such an onslaught, and introduce the leader of the following nation. People were cheering, holding up signs, *all* of it was recorded in full, and people were going crazy.
After the final introductions, the King of Rivet was shown, alongside all 64 heroes who would be taking on this entire continent, on the edge of what would soon be a pointless wall. Behind them, the Lost World. They would reclaim it, and it would be theirs at last.
"And with that, I would like to formally state that the Dead Zone of Lilac City, Rivet, will be formally Opened!"
With an uproar of cheers and yelling, the King pulled a lever in front of him.
This would be the worst mistake he would ever make. | “Are you sure you have this right Eltherel?” Casket asked. He held tight to his hammer scanning the distance.
“I am positive,” Eltherel said. She notched in arrow into her bow and drew it, but nothing shifted to entice her into releasing.
The sun began to dip below the skyline in the distance. The Akhazard Wastes would soon be enshrouded in darkness and be swarming with the creatures from beyond. As though on cue, a bony claw ripped through the ground below Casket. It tried to rip into his ankle, but the sheer width coupled with the boots he wore, left it unable to form a proper hold. Slowly, a skull with glowing red eyes rose from the dirt. Before it had a chance to adjust casket brought his hammer down through the skull. Small white chunks scattered across the ground as the hand fell lifeless once again.
“We need to hurry,” he said. Eltherel whirled around some more. Her eyes scanned and searched for something. Anything.
“Uh huh!” She said. Pointing towards a small rock laying nonchalantly on the ground.
“Oh great. You’ve gone insane,” Casket said as he rested his hammer on the ground and leant on it.
“No no, just, oh whatever.” Eltherel scampered over to the rock and picked it up. As he did, a shimmering shroud parted and softly faded away. Where clear sky had been, a small crumbling tower now stood. The two went in. A candle almost burned to it’s stub flickered on the table in front. A sheet of dust covered everything as the smoke lazily trailed through a gap in the ceiling.
“Nothing,” Eltherel said. Her mouth turned downwards as she bowed her head towards Casket.
“No no. Not nothing.” Casket ducked down and walked under the table and fiddled with some rocks in the wall. After a few minutes a loud click rang out and part of the floor began to drop away. A small ladder lead into the darkness.
“I guess I’m first then,” Casket said.
“If you don’t mind being the eyes,” Eltherel said. Casket rolled his eyes and made his way to the ladder where he began to descend.
One dim candle flowed in the cellar. It did not provide anywhere near enough light to brighten even half the room. Eltherel landed as soft as a marshmallow on the ground next to Casket. Together they crept forward with their weapons drawn.
As they neared what seemed to be the centre of the room, sconces blazed to life around them. At their feet a roughly drawn pentagram of blood was draped across the floor. The two tried to move but found themselves stuck.
“I see some snoopers have been caught,” a muffled voice called out. Eltherel and Casket tried to call back and ask for help as a small passageway nearby opened to reveal a tall elf, around Eltherel’s height. His robes were tattered and ripped, and his skin was hued a dark purple.
“B-brother?” Eltherel said.
The elf bowed. “The one and only.” He chuckled lightly to himself. “I did not expect to see Prince Casket here also mind you. However such an esteemed guest is always welcome.”
“What are you doing Armil?” Eltherel asked with a tear gently carving a path down her cheek.
“Well that is easy to answer. I was tired of the petty squabbles over land of the two high families of the elves and dwarves. So, I created a small, manageable apocalypse.” Armil looked between the two and smiled. He clapped his hands slightly.
“And boy did it work. Look at you two working together. That would not have happened without me.” He winked at them.
“Anyway I wish I could join in the celebrations to come, however I will be a wanted criminal for many years to come. So may you both enjoy the ensuing peace times for as long as you can maintain them.
“I’ll see you around sis.” With that, Armil walked back into the crevice from whence he came. A few snaps could be heard from the other side. As they stopped, Eltherel and Casket found themselves able to break free of whatever spell had held them before.
“I guess we go share the good news,” Casket said.
“Maybe. But we need to prepare for worse.” Eltherel said.
“Sadly you might be right, but let’s not dwell on it,” Casket said. With that, both prince and princess returned to their appropriate kingdom to explain the good news. From that day, no new skeletal warriors seemed to resurrect from the past.
All was well.
Until the monarch’s in power returned to squabbling over borderlands and where rightful claims should be. | |
[WP] Over two thousand years ago, a plague wiped out humanity. Elves, and Dwarves claimed the land since. Recently however the corpses of the fallen humans have begun to rise, laying waste to settlements as they seek to reclaim what is rightfully theirs. | Arnat laughed as he stepped from the tavern. The warm light of its interior spilled into the darkened street, a beacon for any who were out there. It came with out of tune songs, chatter, and more laughter. Being dwarves, their taverns were always the loudest.
His walk was unsteady, copious amounts of alcohol pumping through his body. His spirit was light, as it always was after such an experience. The harvest was bountiful, the goblin tribes quiet, and the elven trade flowed. To Arnat the world was perfect. Nothing could dampen his mood.
As he wandered home, a sharp breeze washed over him. It was cold, enough to make even a dwarf's hardy body shiver. He breathed in, frowning at the smell of fresh dirt. People didn't usually dig at this time of night. Someone might be, but he couldn't understand why, not when there was yet more to be done in the morning.
He sniffed again, the scent coming stronger. But it had an underlying layer this time. Something old, something damp. His hazy mind struggled to place it, the mystery drawing him in. With liquid courage he strode to investigate, determined to find answers. The wind came again, the smell thicker. It seemed to draw him in.
As Arnat drew to the edge of town, he began to hear movement. It came from the source of that smell, a mound nearby. He knew it well, being the burial site. Centuries ago there had been a terrible plague,and the inhabitants here died. They were entombed together, in this mound. But to his disbelieving eyes, the mound shifted, like maggots below rotting skin.
He drew ever closer, struggling to see the source. The sound was coming from everywhere. The smell thick and cloying. It suddenly struck him. It was the smell of rot and decay. His addled mind shouted in alarm, finally realising the danger. But for him, it was far too late.
A skeletal hand thrust from below, clutching his leg. It was joined by more, grasping ahold as he tried to struggle free. He bellowed out in fear, as bony fingers clawed into flesh. Blood began to drip from their grips, falling onto waiting arms.
As his life essence drained onto waiting bones, it changed. It formed into remnants of long decayed organs and muscles, a reversal of their decomposition. They tore into him with deeper fervour, chunks of meat being used to aid this process. Even as he died in horrific agony, they continued to rip him apart, beginning the barest steps of regeneration.
But one was not enough. For only a few had begun their revivication. There were many more, clambering to be returned to life. Their hungering expressions turned to the town, one emthat was unaware of their impending doom. With a single, dominating thought, the dead humans rose, to reclaim their life.
It was an experience that happened all across the lands once owned by humans. They rose from uneasy slumber, the task that had held them complete. The plague had done its job. Now they had to bring themselves back. | “Are you sure you have this right Eltherel?” Casket asked. He held tight to his hammer scanning the distance.
“I am positive,” Eltherel said. She notched in arrow into her bow and drew it, but nothing shifted to entice her into releasing.
The sun began to dip below the skyline in the distance. The Akhazard Wastes would soon be enshrouded in darkness and be swarming with the creatures from beyond. As though on cue, a bony claw ripped through the ground below Casket. It tried to rip into his ankle, but the sheer width coupled with the boots he wore, left it unable to form a proper hold. Slowly, a skull with glowing red eyes rose from the dirt. Before it had a chance to adjust casket brought his hammer down through the skull. Small white chunks scattered across the ground as the hand fell lifeless once again.
“We need to hurry,” he said. Eltherel whirled around some more. Her eyes scanned and searched for something. Anything.
“Uh huh!” She said. Pointing towards a small rock laying nonchalantly on the ground.
“Oh great. You’ve gone insane,” Casket said as he rested his hammer on the ground and leant on it.
“No no, just, oh whatever.” Eltherel scampered over to the rock and picked it up. As he did, a shimmering shroud parted and softly faded away. Where clear sky had been, a small crumbling tower now stood. The two went in. A candle almost burned to it’s stub flickered on the table in front. A sheet of dust covered everything as the smoke lazily trailed through a gap in the ceiling.
“Nothing,” Eltherel said. Her mouth turned downwards as she bowed her head towards Casket.
“No no. Not nothing.” Casket ducked down and walked under the table and fiddled with some rocks in the wall. After a few minutes a loud click rang out and part of the floor began to drop away. A small ladder lead into the darkness.
“I guess I’m first then,” Casket said.
“If you don’t mind being the eyes,” Eltherel said. Casket rolled his eyes and made his way to the ladder where he began to descend.
One dim candle flowed in the cellar. It did not provide anywhere near enough light to brighten even half the room. Eltherel landed as soft as a marshmallow on the ground next to Casket. Together they crept forward with their weapons drawn.
As they neared what seemed to be the centre of the room, sconces blazed to life around them. At their feet a roughly drawn pentagram of blood was draped across the floor. The two tried to move but found themselves stuck.
“I see some snoopers have been caught,” a muffled voice called out. Eltherel and Casket tried to call back and ask for help as a small passageway nearby opened to reveal a tall elf, around Eltherel’s height. His robes were tattered and ripped, and his skin was hued a dark purple.
“B-brother?” Eltherel said.
The elf bowed. “The one and only.” He chuckled lightly to himself. “I did not expect to see Prince Casket here also mind you. However such an esteemed guest is always welcome.”
“What are you doing Armil?” Eltherel asked with a tear gently carving a path down her cheek.
“Well that is easy to answer. I was tired of the petty squabbles over land of the two high families of the elves and dwarves. So, I created a small, manageable apocalypse.” Armil looked between the two and smiled. He clapped his hands slightly.
“And boy did it work. Look at you two working together. That would not have happened without me.” He winked at them.
“Anyway I wish I could join in the celebrations to come, however I will be a wanted criminal for many years to come. So may you both enjoy the ensuing peace times for as long as you can maintain them.
“I’ll see you around sis.” With that, Armil walked back into the crevice from whence he came. A few snaps could be heard from the other side. As they stopped, Eltherel and Casket found themselves able to break free of whatever spell had held them before.
“I guess we go share the good news,” Casket said.
“Maybe. But we need to prepare for worse.” Eltherel said.
“Sadly you might be right, but let’s not dwell on it,” Casket said. With that, both prince and princess returned to their appropriate kingdom to explain the good news. From that day, no new skeletal warriors seemed to resurrect from the past.
All was well.
Until the monarch’s in power returned to squabbling over borderlands and where rightful claims should be. | |
[WP] Over two thousand years ago, a plague wiped out humanity. Elves, and Dwarves claimed the land since. Recently however the corpses of the fallen humans have begun to rise, laying waste to settlements as they seek to reclaim what is rightfully theirs. | Earth in the year 4000 is vastly different than it was two millennia prior.
For one, the humans had died off, on earth at least. Nuclear wars, famine, AI rebellion and a planetary exodus to alpha centauri saw to that.
That wasn't to say that earth was lifeless, oh no. Even nuclear armageddon isn't enough to hold mother nature down, oh it certainly took a while, 1700 years to be exact. But earth is once more a bright little marble.
The humans living in alpha centauri are well aware about earths current climate, but they do not wish to return for many reasons.
The primary reason being that earth is now home to a myriad of sentient races, all currently going through a through a strange mix of a medieval and modern age.
The Akra'nazaann, originating in what was once slavic europe, short, stocky and with a love for gems and technologies left behind by humanity, they are the backbone of this new world, providing industry and banking.
The tian'xhou, graceful, possessing of both ethereal beauty and longevity. Originating from what was once china, the Tian'xhou consider themselves the rightful heirs to humanities legacy. Politicians, orators and soldiers, they are an integral part for the new worlds survival.
The valuuk race is large, brutish, and rather ugly, but possesing hearts of gold under their rugged exterior. They hail from what was once the united states. Unsurprisingly, they have a lot of similarities to the americans. Patriotic, obsessed with guns and other things that go boom, they provide vital military support for the world. Don't underestimate them, they are anything but stupid.
Unfortunately, despite the united front put up by the "federation", not all is well.
One of the primary reasons for humanities exodus was the rogue AI known as 'ARES'.
Ares was designed by the greatest minds of humanity as a combat enchancer for soldiers, connecting through an implant in their brains, these soldiers were the best of the best. Unfortunately, being connected to nearly 2 billion minds cause Ares to go insane.
The alpha centauri humans recall this event as "the mind plague".
In less than an hour, 2 billion super soldiers became ravening beserkers. The death toll was horrendous. Cities were burned, nuclear and biological weapons were launched, and madness enveloped the world, the surviving humans had no choice but to flee. They chose alpha centauri as their new home, many trials awaited them, but that is a story for another time.
With nothing to kill "the corrupted" fell into a slumber, thier implants stopping them from rotting, slowly they were overtaken by nature.
For two thousand years, they slept.
Until by pure chance, and enterprising Akra'nazaan mining team, found a strange device.
And turned it on.... | “Are you sure you have this right Eltherel?” Casket asked. He held tight to his hammer scanning the distance.
“I am positive,” Eltherel said. She notched in arrow into her bow and drew it, but nothing shifted to entice her into releasing.
The sun began to dip below the skyline in the distance. The Akhazard Wastes would soon be enshrouded in darkness and be swarming with the creatures from beyond. As though on cue, a bony claw ripped through the ground below Casket. It tried to rip into his ankle, but the sheer width coupled with the boots he wore, left it unable to form a proper hold. Slowly, a skull with glowing red eyes rose from the dirt. Before it had a chance to adjust casket brought his hammer down through the skull. Small white chunks scattered across the ground as the hand fell lifeless once again.
“We need to hurry,” he said. Eltherel whirled around some more. Her eyes scanned and searched for something. Anything.
“Uh huh!” She said. Pointing towards a small rock laying nonchalantly on the ground.
“Oh great. You’ve gone insane,” Casket said as he rested his hammer on the ground and leant on it.
“No no, just, oh whatever.” Eltherel scampered over to the rock and picked it up. As he did, a shimmering shroud parted and softly faded away. Where clear sky had been, a small crumbling tower now stood. The two went in. A candle almost burned to it’s stub flickered on the table in front. A sheet of dust covered everything as the smoke lazily trailed through a gap in the ceiling.
“Nothing,” Eltherel said. Her mouth turned downwards as she bowed her head towards Casket.
“No no. Not nothing.” Casket ducked down and walked under the table and fiddled with some rocks in the wall. After a few minutes a loud click rang out and part of the floor began to drop away. A small ladder lead into the darkness.
“I guess I’m first then,” Casket said.
“If you don’t mind being the eyes,” Eltherel said. Casket rolled his eyes and made his way to the ladder where he began to descend.
One dim candle flowed in the cellar. It did not provide anywhere near enough light to brighten even half the room. Eltherel landed as soft as a marshmallow on the ground next to Casket. Together they crept forward with their weapons drawn.
As they neared what seemed to be the centre of the room, sconces blazed to life around them. At their feet a roughly drawn pentagram of blood was draped across the floor. The two tried to move but found themselves stuck.
“I see some snoopers have been caught,” a muffled voice called out. Eltherel and Casket tried to call back and ask for help as a small passageway nearby opened to reveal a tall elf, around Eltherel’s height. His robes were tattered and ripped, and his skin was hued a dark purple.
“B-brother?” Eltherel said.
The elf bowed. “The one and only.” He chuckled lightly to himself. “I did not expect to see Prince Casket here also mind you. However such an esteemed guest is always welcome.”
“What are you doing Armil?” Eltherel asked with a tear gently carving a path down her cheek.
“Well that is easy to answer. I was tired of the petty squabbles over land of the two high families of the elves and dwarves. So, I created a small, manageable apocalypse.” Armil looked between the two and smiled. He clapped his hands slightly.
“And boy did it work. Look at you two working together. That would not have happened without me.” He winked at them.
“Anyway I wish I could join in the celebrations to come, however I will be a wanted criminal for many years to come. So may you both enjoy the ensuing peace times for as long as you can maintain them.
“I’ll see you around sis.” With that, Armil walked back into the crevice from whence he came. A few snaps could be heard from the other side. As they stopped, Eltherel and Casket found themselves able to break free of whatever spell had held them before.
“I guess we go share the good news,” Casket said.
“Maybe. But we need to prepare for worse.” Eltherel said.
“Sadly you might be right, but let’s not dwell on it,” Casket said. With that, both prince and princess returned to their appropriate kingdom to explain the good news. From that day, no new skeletal warriors seemed to resurrect from the past.
All was well.
Until the monarch’s in power returned to squabbling over borderlands and where rightful claims should be. | |
[WP] Over two thousand years ago, a plague wiped out humanity. Elves, and Dwarves claimed the land since. Recently however the corpses of the fallen humans have begun to rise, laying waste to settlements as they seek to reclaim what is rightfully theirs. | A Story of Graves.
​
Time and time again I’d pass the graves of humans. Nothing more than a simple cross, if anything marking their final resting place. Buildings crushed the small plot of land, making the graveyard look comically small, like human lifespans. I’d hear stories of the human’s evils, the horrors they committed not only to the elves but to the dwarves, to the orcs, and all other known races, even themselves. Those that told the stories would then glare at me, calling me a demon, halfing, and a multitude of other names. I would yell at them, “Why do you do this? I’m half-elven. I have fey blood running through my veins!” They’d just continue to smile. I knew then that no living thing would ever understand me. This brought a certain kinship to those who rest underground. I sometimes wish I had ended up in one of those graves.
Maybe then I would find peace.
The elves consider themselves the victors in the wars that followed. While they had considered themselves above the rest of the races, they seemed to never notice that they were taking the human’s place. Tightening their grip on a world that has never known freedom. It’s conformity, or die. There’s no in-between. I happen to be in between. That’s why I was trapped, along with the other halfbreeds, mostly half-humans. They tested on us, scalpels, needles, axes, it all became a blur. I wince every time I think about all the people I lost there. I wince knowing the country I’ve known from birth will never accept me.
I wince knowing that I’m different and the only one that can change. Myself, and the world.
I stand here now, breathing hard, the moon rising high in the night sky. The remains of an old human industrial complex litter my surroundings, underneath I know that the old graveyard once stood. In the distance, I can see the floating fey cities, cities where most elves will be watching videos on the holo-net. Likely hellhound videos or Cerberus. We stand amid New Atlantis, one of the many artificial floating cities. I wish they would all tumble into the depths, never to be seen again. That’s not how I play though, I strike from the shadows.
Over the clicking of Feyran weaponry, I hear a gruff voice, like the crushing of reeds fills my ears. “Haleth, we do not need to hurt you. You need only come out!” I swallow my name, Haleth its a token of a past I’ll never forget. I can’t believe the only token they have to remember me by is that horrific name, nothing else, not even hair color. It’s my human features that alert these people to me.
I wear them with pride.
To them, I am a villain. Nobody will ever know my true goals, my true aims. I smile a smile that extends from ear to ear. For a half-elf, I’ve always reminded people of a demon, an orc. Devoid of the the natural elegance that most elves bear around them like a banner, a calling sign, and a sign of class. Maybe it's my beard? I’ll never know, these people were never my home.
For now, I have to escape, I have to run. Because despite the fey believing in peace, they’ll never believe in me. I’m too elven to have died in the plague, too human to fit into this society, too different to fit in anywhere on this planet. I’ll always find solace in the unknown, if I escape I can become a traveler, an emissary of peace. Who knows, maybe I’ll find some other half-breeds?
I still remember my mother, my human parent. It’s a curse to live this long. Three hundred years? For an elf that’s the blink of an eye.
“Greeting Feyrans!” I step out of the shadows, into their lights, I can feel guns being pointed at me, their dials and bullets filled with fey magic. “Have ya missed me Agrador?” The captain stiffens at his name.
“There’s no need for the theatrics Haleth. You were the stain I could never remove. You withstood more testing than any of your counterparts. Do you know? I think I’ve created a monster, I think I’ve really made a devil.” He grins, malicious intent filling his beautiful fey face. Little does he know how true his words ring. “You’re the last one Haleth, Mandic, Alini, Melian. All dead. I was the one who did it. Each time I watched their little faces writhe with pain. In the end, you survived. I can’t quite tell what will kill you, but we can try.
I see the flick of his wrist a fraction too late as the guns open fire. Beating the walls like a nest of angry hornets. One catches my leg, I watch as Feyran magic sifts through my blood, turning my veins dark like the color of pitch. I make it behind an old human billboard. A smiling face, staring back at me. *NO INSURANCE?! NO PROBLEM! CALL T.N.N. BAKERS TODAY!* My wound slowly begins to heal, the reason I had survived so long. My magic, regeneration.
I have plans up my sleeves though, my mind is always turning, always scheming. This time it was easily confused as I heard the low chuckles of my Feyran friends turn to screams. I clutch the small bomb I had fished out of my pocket, fingering the multiple colored straps that line the hand-holds. Do I dare peek? This could be a ruse for all I know. I’ve been in a situation similar before. I wait a moment longer, hearing their screams turn to lowly gurgles. Then everything is quiet, save for the sound of feet. I notice an irregularity in their pattern, like the quiet drunkenness of my caretakers after a night of drinking.
I dare peek.
I flip around the billboard, readying the grenade in hand.
My eyes near bulge from my head. Humans litter the field, their skin covered in a multitude of veins, running through their necks and into the cracks in their bodies. Cracks that make them look like broken porcelain dolls. My voice catches in my throat. Agrador stands on his knees, fear alight in his face. The humans all look at me, I freeze, waiting for them to charge me.
They don’t.
They give me a submissive nod. They’re waiting for something. I don’t know what.
Then it hits me. They’re waiting for orders. I smile while walking toward Agrador. “A devil eh? Well, that is likely a good name for myself.”
He looks at me, then back at the small group of humans littered around him. “No… please. You can’t do this!” If he is killed here, hundreds of years of life will end right here. Joining the thousands that were taken when his comrades died.
I could care less.
“Kill him.”
They do. I turn around hearing the sweet sound of his head hitting the ground. It seems I have my asset to enact revenge on the fey. I might as well begin.
Not in my wildest dreams would I assume that humans would be the ones to save me. From the grave no less.
I smile in my newfound power, its time for humans to retake what was theirs, and I'll be at the top. That's the only way I'll fit in. | “Are you sure you have this right Eltherel?” Casket asked. He held tight to his hammer scanning the distance.
“I am positive,” Eltherel said. She notched in arrow into her bow and drew it, but nothing shifted to entice her into releasing.
The sun began to dip below the skyline in the distance. The Akhazard Wastes would soon be enshrouded in darkness and be swarming with the creatures from beyond. As though on cue, a bony claw ripped through the ground below Casket. It tried to rip into his ankle, but the sheer width coupled with the boots he wore, left it unable to form a proper hold. Slowly, a skull with glowing red eyes rose from the dirt. Before it had a chance to adjust casket brought his hammer down through the skull. Small white chunks scattered across the ground as the hand fell lifeless once again.
“We need to hurry,” he said. Eltherel whirled around some more. Her eyes scanned and searched for something. Anything.
“Uh huh!” She said. Pointing towards a small rock laying nonchalantly on the ground.
“Oh great. You’ve gone insane,” Casket said as he rested his hammer on the ground and leant on it.
“No no, just, oh whatever.” Eltherel scampered over to the rock and picked it up. As he did, a shimmering shroud parted and softly faded away. Where clear sky had been, a small crumbling tower now stood. The two went in. A candle almost burned to it’s stub flickered on the table in front. A sheet of dust covered everything as the smoke lazily trailed through a gap in the ceiling.
“Nothing,” Eltherel said. Her mouth turned downwards as she bowed her head towards Casket.
“No no. Not nothing.” Casket ducked down and walked under the table and fiddled with some rocks in the wall. After a few minutes a loud click rang out and part of the floor began to drop away. A small ladder lead into the darkness.
“I guess I’m first then,” Casket said.
“If you don’t mind being the eyes,” Eltherel said. Casket rolled his eyes and made his way to the ladder where he began to descend.
One dim candle flowed in the cellar. It did not provide anywhere near enough light to brighten even half the room. Eltherel landed as soft as a marshmallow on the ground next to Casket. Together they crept forward with their weapons drawn.
As they neared what seemed to be the centre of the room, sconces blazed to life around them. At their feet a roughly drawn pentagram of blood was draped across the floor. The two tried to move but found themselves stuck.
“I see some snoopers have been caught,” a muffled voice called out. Eltherel and Casket tried to call back and ask for help as a small passageway nearby opened to reveal a tall elf, around Eltherel’s height. His robes were tattered and ripped, and his skin was hued a dark purple.
“B-brother?” Eltherel said.
The elf bowed. “The one and only.” He chuckled lightly to himself. “I did not expect to see Prince Casket here also mind you. However such an esteemed guest is always welcome.”
“What are you doing Armil?” Eltherel asked with a tear gently carving a path down her cheek.
“Well that is easy to answer. I was tired of the petty squabbles over land of the two high families of the elves and dwarves. So, I created a small, manageable apocalypse.” Armil looked between the two and smiled. He clapped his hands slightly.
“And boy did it work. Look at you two working together. That would not have happened without me.” He winked at them.
“Anyway I wish I could join in the celebrations to come, however I will be a wanted criminal for many years to come. So may you both enjoy the ensuing peace times for as long as you can maintain them.
“I’ll see you around sis.” With that, Armil walked back into the crevice from whence he came. A few snaps could be heard from the other side. As they stopped, Eltherel and Casket found themselves able to break free of whatever spell had held them before.
“I guess we go share the good news,” Casket said.
“Maybe. But we need to prepare for worse.” Eltherel said.
“Sadly you might be right, but let’s not dwell on it,” Casket said. With that, both prince and princess returned to their appropriate kingdom to explain the good news. From that day, no new skeletal warriors seemed to resurrect from the past.
All was well.
Until the monarch’s in power returned to squabbling over borderlands and where rightful claims should be. | |
[WP] Over two thousand years ago, a plague wiped out humanity. Elves, and Dwarves claimed the land since. Recently however the corpses of the fallen humans have begun to rise, laying waste to settlements as they seek to reclaim what is rightfully theirs. | Earth in the year 4000 is vastly different than it was two millennia prior.
For one, the humans had died off, on earth at least. Nuclear wars, famine, AI rebellion and a planetary exodus to alpha centauri saw to that.
That wasn't to say that earth was lifeless, oh no. Even nuclear armageddon isn't enough to hold mother nature down, oh it certainly took a while, 1700 years to be exact. But earth is once more a bright little marble.
The humans living in alpha centauri are well aware about earths current climate, but they do not wish to return for many reasons.
The primary reason being that earth is now home to a myriad of sentient races, all currently going through a through a strange mix of a medieval and modern age.
The Akra'nazaann, originating in what was once slavic europe, short, stocky and with a love for gems and technologies left behind by humanity, they are the backbone of this new world, providing industry and banking.
The tian'xhou, graceful, possessing of both ethereal beauty and longevity. Originating from what was once china, the Tian'xhou consider themselves the rightful heirs to humanities legacy. Politicians, orators and soldiers, they are an integral part for the new worlds survival.
The valuuk race is large, brutish, and rather ugly, but possesing hearts of gold under their rugged exterior. They hail from what was once the united states. Unsurprisingly, they have a lot of similarities to the americans. Patriotic, obsessed with guns and other things that go boom, they provide vital military support for the world. Don't underestimate them, they are anything but stupid.
Unfortunately, despite the united front put up by the "federation", not all is well.
One of the primary reasons for humanities exodus was the rogue AI known as 'ARES'.
Ares was designed by the greatest minds of humanity as a combat enchancer for soldiers, connecting through an implant in their brains, these soldiers were the best of the best. Unfortunately, being connected to nearly 2 billion minds cause Ares to go insane.
The alpha centauri humans recall this event as "the mind plague".
In less than an hour, 2 billion super soldiers became ravening beserkers. The death toll was horrendous. Cities were burned, nuclear and biological weapons were launched, and madness enveloped the world, the surviving humans had no choice but to flee. They chose alpha centauri as their new home, many trials awaited them, but that is a story for another time.
With nothing to kill "the corrupted" fell into a slumber, thier implants stopping them from rotting, slowly they were overtaken by nature.
For two thousand years, they slept.
Until by pure chance, and enterprising Akra'nazaan mining team, found a strange device.
And turned it on.... | Arnat laughed as he stepped from the tavern. The warm light of its interior spilled into the darkened street, a beacon for any who were out there. It came with out of tune songs, chatter, and more laughter. Being dwarves, their taverns were always the loudest.
His walk was unsteady, copious amounts of alcohol pumping through his body. His spirit was light, as it always was after such an experience. The harvest was bountiful, the goblin tribes quiet, and the elven trade flowed. To Arnat the world was perfect. Nothing could dampen his mood.
As he wandered home, a sharp breeze washed over him. It was cold, enough to make even a dwarf's hardy body shiver. He breathed in, frowning at the smell of fresh dirt. People didn't usually dig at this time of night. Someone might be, but he couldn't understand why, not when there was yet more to be done in the morning.
He sniffed again, the scent coming stronger. But it had an underlying layer this time. Something old, something damp. His hazy mind struggled to place it, the mystery drawing him in. With liquid courage he strode to investigate, determined to find answers. The wind came again, the smell thicker. It seemed to draw him in.
As Arnat drew to the edge of town, he began to hear movement. It came from the source of that smell, a mound nearby. He knew it well, being the burial site. Centuries ago there had been a terrible plague,and the inhabitants here died. They were entombed together, in this mound. But to his disbelieving eyes, the mound shifted, like maggots below rotting skin.
He drew ever closer, struggling to see the source. The sound was coming from everywhere. The smell thick and cloying. It suddenly struck him. It was the smell of rot and decay. His addled mind shouted in alarm, finally realising the danger. But for him, it was far too late.
A skeletal hand thrust from below, clutching his leg. It was joined by more, grasping ahold as he tried to struggle free. He bellowed out in fear, as bony fingers clawed into flesh. Blood began to drip from their grips, falling onto waiting arms.
As his life essence drained onto waiting bones, it changed. It formed into remnants of long decayed organs and muscles, a reversal of their decomposition. They tore into him with deeper fervour, chunks of meat being used to aid this process. Even as he died in horrific agony, they continued to rip him apart, beginning the barest steps of regeneration.
But one was not enough. For only a few had begun their revivication. There were many more, clambering to be returned to life. Their hungering expressions turned to the town, one emthat was unaware of their impending doom. With a single, dominating thought, the dead humans rose, to reclaim their life.
It was an experience that happened all across the lands once owned by humans. They rose from uneasy slumber, the task that had held them complete. The plague had done its job. Now they had to bring themselves back. | |
[WP] “Today was amazing”, you think to yourself. Work went well, and your boss seems to like you. You unlock your door, and your cat eagerly greats you. You find the house you left dirty is spotless, and there’s a delicious freshly cooked meal on the table. The only problem? You live alone. | When I opened the door, Winston came running up to me meowing.
I scooped him in to my arms, and quickly put a finger over his mouth. "Shhh... Winston, you know the rules. You're not even supposed to be in here. You have to quiet down."
I carried him with me to the bathroom, climbed in to the shower and pulled the curtain close. As I held him, I began to whisper to him about how my day had gone. This had become our daily ritual ever since he showed up on my doorstep back in Month 8. I don't know exactly where he'd come from, cats had been forbidden for quite some time. But the warmth of his fur reminded me of my childhood, and frankly, having another living body around was such a relief.
I know Winston doesn't actually understand English, he's a cat after all. But when we hide out in the shower and have our end-of-day chats, it feels like he gets me. In fact, I could swear I saw a smile come across his face as I told him about what I saw today.
Every day, it's the same thing, alarm goes off at 5am, pull on my gray overalls and walk the 1.3 miles to work. I always take the same path, but really, how could you tell. Winston and I call it "Brutalist Alley." It's so bland and monotonous that you almost have to count the buildings so you know when you're at the right spot.
But today, today was different. I had been walking down the path like normal when I passed building 13. From a distance, it looked the exact same as it has for the past 7-and-a-half years. But as I got closer I noticed something. This morning, on the gray concrete was color. Brilliant color. Red, pink, yellow, blue, and greens swirled around in to something beautiful. They were so bright against that drab background that they almost made my eyes hurt. And for a brief moment, my heart leaped in my chest. Is this what joy feels like? I can't remember.
However, by the time I got to building 14, the joy, or whatever that was that I felt, was gone. Because by then the maintenance crew of building 13 had come out loaded to the brim with buckets, sponges and mops, and were quickly at work removing the colors. In fact, on my walk home, you couldn't tell that anything had happened at building 13.
When I finished whispering, I looked down and Winston seemed to understand. He looked sympathetic, almost sad. He took his head and rubbed it against my chin in an attempt to comfort me.
"Thanks, Winston, it means a lot" I whispered. Then as I sat him down, I told him "I'm going to go eat, but remember, you have to stay here. I'll be back when I'm done."
I closed the bathroom door behind me, thankful that amidst all the other monitoring, nobody had any interest in what happens in the bathroom.
As I walked to the eating area, I heard the rumble from the wall, as the door slid open and out popped my daily meal. Today it was baked chicken with potatoes and garden vegetables. Then again, it's always baked chicken, potatoes and vegetables on Day 3. Tomorrow it will be vegetarian lasagna, and on Day 5, it'll be vegetables with rice and fish.
It's not a bad meal. In fact, quite the opposite. It's a perfect serving and it tastes really good too. It's just so predictable.
I take my time eating the meal, because once I'm done, I know I'll have to go attend the weekly community meeting. This week's lesson is supposed to be about supporting the greater good, but I'm sure there'll be some passive talk about law and order. Not that any of us from the community will say anything about building 13, even mentioning that we saw it puts us at risk of being required to attend a week long conference on "normalcy." I can't risk being away from Winston that long. I'd be worried they'd find him.
Speaking of Winston, I slowly move a couple of chunks of chicken off my plate and on to my lap. I need to make sure the sensor detects that I've eaten all my food, or else I'll get less tomorrow. But if I don't save something for Winston, he won't have anything to eat.
I wrap up my meal, and place my dishes back into the feeding chute for them to be whisked away and cleaned by someone somewhere.
I return to the bathroom and see Winston sitting on the sink. I pull out the chicken and set it on the counter. He eats it, but not too quickly. It's as if he's savoring this chance to eat with me. I think he knows how special it is to not eat alone. | Took me a moment to realize the house. I walked through the door, kicked off my shoes, and hung up my bag on the hooks by the door. Georgie, my cat, begging for pets. I picked him up and that’s when it hit me. That smell. It smells like my moms corn bread. Then I notice on the dinning room table is a plate fixed and a loaf of cornbread. I can feel my heart racing. I’m not alone. I begin to slowly look around and notice that my house has been cleaned. Everything is put away and folded. Even my books have been arranged on the shelf.
I felt all the blood in my body rush to my feet. Then my mind racing. Is it him? Did he get out of jail?
3 years ago I had a stalker who broke into my home after 2 years of harassment. He was convicted and sent to prison. I’ve moved across the country and finally felt safe again.
I slowly back up and grab my bag from the hook by the door. Georgie still in my arm. I turn to unlock my door without making a sound. Slowly open my door, and lightly walk out the door. As soon as I was outside I ran. I ran faster than I have ever run before. Georgie digging his claws into me, scared as much as I am. Once I stop I called the emergency line. Operator said the police are on their way. She stays on the line with me as I hesitantly walk back to my apartment.
I arrive at the same time as the officer is exiting my home.
“Ma’am do you know Dorothy Smith?” The officer asks.
“Yes. That’s my mom.” I replied.
Why are they asking me about my mom? Is she okay? Did he do something to her?
“Ma’am could you come inside with me?” He asks gesturing towards my home. My heart is pounding. I nod, and we begin walking up the stairs to my apartment. Each step felt longer and further away from the door. As I walk through the door there she is, my mom.
Laughing it up with the other officer, pouring coffee.
“Mom! What the Hell!” I shouted.
“Oh, honey. Did you call the cops on me? I wanted to surprise you. I know you have been so stressed out with work and studies.” As she was talking, I ran and hugged her.
She flew in to surprise me. | |
[WP] “Today was amazing”, you think to yourself. Work went well, and your boss seems to like you. You unlock your door, and your cat eagerly greats you. You find the house you left dirty is spotless, and there’s a delicious freshly cooked meal on the table. The only problem? You live alone. | I checked the door again. Yep, this is my apartment number. I walk in slowly, holding my cat, gently petting her while she purrs in my arms. I look and see the table in the kitchen/dining room, there is a fresh bouquet on the table in a vase that has these strange markings on it. There is a card.
I go to take the card and it falls to the table, the writing facing up. The words are done in a stylized cursive that is reserved for steampunk or wedding invitations. The card says, 'Good Sir, due to your hectic schedule and dutiful attention to the offspring of our patron, we have been directed to assist you in manners that could affect the offspring.'
'Affect the offspring,' I said quizzically. Hellena jumped onto a chair and meowed at me, licked her lips, and blinked. The white Persian watched me as I looked at the vase again. There were images of cats on pillows, near bowls, all running around. Persons holding plates and bowls standing still and a figure in a chair or throne. The image was sharper than the others as if it was first painted on the vase. The lines are darker, the details sharper and more full. The ears were pointed, the eyes were slitted and the nose that of a cat.
I stepped back, this had to be a prank. Frank from college must have heard about my recent transfer and decided to get me back for the things I did at his bachelor party. I mean, it was a good clean prank, just messaging his fiance/wife that we were intercepting every woman that got near him to keep him honest. He got a little mad with us but took the joke well.
I looked at the card again. Where the signature should be, there was an incredibly small paw print, not drawn or stamped. It was about the size of my pinky nail and was sparkling in the light. I wasn't sure if it was micro-glitter or foil or some other new ink, but it caught my eye and drew me in.
I looked around and my apartment wasn't here, or was I not in my apartment? I blinked several times and then heard footsteps. Hellena meowed and purred and trapesed past me down the dimly lit stone floor. It was almost like concrete, but there were no cuts or seems to prevent cracking, almost like it was made from one solid piece of . . .
'Granite' the feminine voice said 'carried over by ships from Greece and used to build my temples. I would let them use marble, it does not hold heat well and my children adore the warmth of the sun.' As she walked into a light I saw her. Thin, skin of cocoa cream color and smoothness. Her face had some odd features, her ears were slightly larger than they should be for her head and her nose was very small and slightly upturned and flat. Her robe was silk, orange, gold, and grey. There was no cord around her waist, the end of the fabric was lifted over her left shoulder and draped down her shoulder slightly. Hellena stopped and sat beside her as if commanded, and yet cats do not take commands.
'That is correct, Joshua. My children are free to do as they wish and see fit. My granddaughter, multiple generations from me, has done as she wishes, and that wish is to make your life more comfortable.' She stepped toward me and I was enraptured by her grace, her beauty, and her silence. I would have done anything for her.
'All ask is that you care for her as she has cared for you.'
I blinked and was back in my apartment. Was it the flowers? Was there some off-gas that made me hallucinate? Was it the euphoria of the day, the week? I shook my head slightly and went to the kitchen to get some things out of the cupboard for a light snack. There I found container upon container of cat treats, cat food both dry and wet, and bags upon bags of catnip. I checked another and saw the plates and bowls had been replaced by ones with images of cats in all colors and artistic styles. A mug with a cat's front arm and paw as the handle and the words, 'hands off the tail' written on the other side. I looked in the refrigerator and saw the food organized and neat. sandwich meats, fresh vegetables, and sauces. A book was there as well, not cold, a slight chill to the cover, it couldn't have been in here long. It was a recipe book for Mediterranean cuisine and healthy eating.
Hellena padded over to me and rubbed my ankle, she purred and looked up at me. 'MEOW' | Took me a moment to realize the house. I walked through the door, kicked off my shoes, and hung up my bag on the hooks by the door. Georgie, my cat, begging for pets. I picked him up and that’s when it hit me. That smell. It smells like my moms corn bread. Then I notice on the dinning room table is a plate fixed and a loaf of cornbread. I can feel my heart racing. I’m not alone. I begin to slowly look around and notice that my house has been cleaned. Everything is put away and folded. Even my books have been arranged on the shelf.
I felt all the blood in my body rush to my feet. Then my mind racing. Is it him? Did he get out of jail?
3 years ago I had a stalker who broke into my home after 2 years of harassment. He was convicted and sent to prison. I’ve moved across the country and finally felt safe again.
I slowly back up and grab my bag from the hook by the door. Georgie still in my arm. I turn to unlock my door without making a sound. Slowly open my door, and lightly walk out the door. As soon as I was outside I ran. I ran faster than I have ever run before. Georgie digging his claws into me, scared as much as I am. Once I stop I called the emergency line. Operator said the police are on their way. She stays on the line with me as I hesitantly walk back to my apartment.
I arrive at the same time as the officer is exiting my home.
“Ma’am do you know Dorothy Smith?” The officer asks.
“Yes. That’s my mom.” I replied.
Why are they asking me about my mom? Is she okay? Did he do something to her?
“Ma’am could you come inside with me?” He asks gesturing towards my home. My heart is pounding. I nod, and we begin walking up the stairs to my apartment. Each step felt longer and further away from the door. As I walk through the door there she is, my mom.
Laughing it up with the other officer, pouring coffee.
“Mom! What the Hell!” I shouted.
“Oh, honey. Did you call the cops on me? I wanted to surprise you. I know you have been so stressed out with work and studies.” As she was talking, I ran and hugged her.
She flew in to surprise me. | |
[WP] “Today was amazing”, you think to yourself. Work went well, and your boss seems to like you. You unlock your door, and your cat eagerly greats you. You find the house you left dirty is spotless, and there’s a delicious freshly cooked meal on the table. The only problem? You live alone. | When I opened the door, Winston came running up to me meowing.
I scooped him in to my arms, and quickly put a finger over his mouth. "Shhh... Winston, you know the rules. You're not even supposed to be in here. You have to quiet down."
I carried him with me to the bathroom, climbed in to the shower and pulled the curtain close. As I held him, I began to whisper to him about how my day had gone. This had become our daily ritual ever since he showed up on my doorstep back in Month 8. I don't know exactly where he'd come from, cats had been forbidden for quite some time. But the warmth of his fur reminded me of my childhood, and frankly, having another living body around was such a relief.
I know Winston doesn't actually understand English, he's a cat after all. But when we hide out in the shower and have our end-of-day chats, it feels like he gets me. In fact, I could swear I saw a smile come across his face as I told him about what I saw today.
Every day, it's the same thing, alarm goes off at 5am, pull on my gray overalls and walk the 1.3 miles to work. I always take the same path, but really, how could you tell. Winston and I call it "Brutalist Alley." It's so bland and monotonous that you almost have to count the buildings so you know when you're at the right spot.
But today, today was different. I had been walking down the path like normal when I passed building 13. From a distance, it looked the exact same as it has for the past 7-and-a-half years. But as I got closer I noticed something. This morning, on the gray concrete was color. Brilliant color. Red, pink, yellow, blue, and greens swirled around in to something beautiful. They were so bright against that drab background that they almost made my eyes hurt. And for a brief moment, my heart leaped in my chest. Is this what joy feels like? I can't remember.
However, by the time I got to building 14, the joy, or whatever that was that I felt, was gone. Because by then the maintenance crew of building 13 had come out loaded to the brim with buckets, sponges and mops, and were quickly at work removing the colors. In fact, on my walk home, you couldn't tell that anything had happened at building 13.
When I finished whispering, I looked down and Winston seemed to understand. He looked sympathetic, almost sad. He took his head and rubbed it against my chin in an attempt to comfort me.
"Thanks, Winston, it means a lot" I whispered. Then as I sat him down, I told him "I'm going to go eat, but remember, you have to stay here. I'll be back when I'm done."
I closed the bathroom door behind me, thankful that amidst all the other monitoring, nobody had any interest in what happens in the bathroom.
As I walked to the eating area, I heard the rumble from the wall, as the door slid open and out popped my daily meal. Today it was baked chicken with potatoes and garden vegetables. Then again, it's always baked chicken, potatoes and vegetables on Day 3. Tomorrow it will be vegetarian lasagna, and on Day 5, it'll be vegetables with rice and fish.
It's not a bad meal. In fact, quite the opposite. It's a perfect serving and it tastes really good too. It's just so predictable.
I take my time eating the meal, because once I'm done, I know I'll have to go attend the weekly community meeting. This week's lesson is supposed to be about supporting the greater good, but I'm sure there'll be some passive talk about law and order. Not that any of us from the community will say anything about building 13, even mentioning that we saw it puts us at risk of being required to attend a week long conference on "normalcy." I can't risk being away from Winston that long. I'd be worried they'd find him.
Speaking of Winston, I slowly move a couple of chunks of chicken off my plate and on to my lap. I need to make sure the sensor detects that I've eaten all my food, or else I'll get less tomorrow. But if I don't save something for Winston, he won't have anything to eat.
I wrap up my meal, and place my dishes back into the feeding chute for them to be whisked away and cleaned by someone somewhere.
I return to the bathroom and see Winston sitting on the sink. I pull out the chicken and set it on the counter. He eats it, but not too quickly. It's as if he's savoring this chance to eat with me. I think he knows how special it is to not eat alone. | Foster looked at his spotless apartment.
The ragged stacks of books were all cleanly stacked on the TV stand, the stack of unwashed dishes that he'd used for microwaved meals were all gone, replaced with a clean sink and the stacks of plates probably relocated into where it was supposed to be. On the dining table, it was even worse. There was a bowl of spaghetti, displayed like in the movies with parmesan cheese and basil and all that.
"Uh. What?"
Then there came Hellcat, the black-and-white cat that Foster had named after his favorite American naval aircraft. Hellcat looked cleaner by the tenfold, sipping on a bowl of milk and a plate of cat food beside him.
"Hello?" Foster said. His bedroom made a noise, and his throat closed. "Who's there?"
"Wait, I just..." The voice, deep in a familiar manner and having that childish tone to it. "Don't come in! Wait!"
Foster hovered his hand over the doorknob after he found himself at his bedroom's door, when he would need to trudge through clothes and things that he was always too lazy to properly clean up and pick off his floor. The floor itself was even mopped up, with the lack of the dusty feeling around the apartment.
Foster opened the door, and there was a man sitting on Foster's bed, which looked ten times as tidy as he'd last seen it. The man was a head taller than Foster. He wore the same attire Foster last seen him in when he left work for the last time.
Adam Takahashi: Professional overdoer, and master of being too nice for his own good. Of course it was Adam fucking Takahashi.
"Adam, what the hell...?"
"So, the meal was actually takeout. You know I can't cook..."
"No, but--"
"Let me finish." Adam grinned. "This is what I told you about. The surprise."
Adam was Foster's boss. Highlighting the word *was*, as it was Adam's last day at work. They'd always been quite close. Well, the whole team were, but Foster had always felt like Adam was particularly intimate with him. They'd talk about personal things all the time in break time, and Adam was the first to know that Foster was gay.
The day before, Adam had told Foster about a surprise, and Foster was confused at first, but then he forgot about it. Everyone bought Adam a parting gift, and Foster was unfortunate enough to forget that as well. He felt like he was the luckiest person on Earth when Adam just smiled at him and laughed. Today really was an amazing day.
"I hired a couple guys to help out. Also, your mom came over to clean Hellcat, but since I know when you come back, I decided to do your bedroom by myself."
"Wait, you called my mom?" Foster asked. Mom was as overbearing as Adam had always been, and sometimes it'd get annoying.
"Yeah. She wanted to see Hellcat again."
Foster wanted to be pissed at that, yet he couldn't muster any anger at Adam. He sighed.
"But... why?"
"Just a parting gift. I like you, Foster."
Foster felt his heart beat rapidly. "You mean..."
Adam snorted. "I feel like we can date now that we're not in a employer-and-employee relationship."
"Wow."
"So, do you wanna eat together?"
"Spaghetti taken out from Olive Garden, that probably has been sitting there for like five hours?" Foster snarked.
"Yeah, it's been sitting there for a while, but I microwaved it, so it should be good." Adam sighed, looking around the bedroom before he stood up to look at Foster's collection of books for night-reading strewn on his desk. Foster went up and stopped him.
"Nu-uh. No more cleaning. You look like you need ten showers."
Adam chuckled. "It's fine. Just let me--"
"Dinner. Now. We are having."
Adam pouted. "Fine, Yoda."
Foster grinned. "Come on. I got Netflix, we can watch whatever you want."
"Before that, though, I think I forgot to clean something..."
"No, no, no. Dinner." Foster said, pulling on Adam's arm.
Adam smirked. "Oh, I meant your lips. I'm pretty sure the only way I can is with my own."
That fucking smirk and that stupid deep voice. It was no wonder that Adam was team manager. He's hotter than the Sun. Well, boyfriend or not, Foster was sure to have the best night to end the best day. | |
[WP] “Today was amazing”, you think to yourself. Work went well, and your boss seems to like you. You unlock your door, and your cat eagerly greats you. You find the house you left dirty is spotless, and there’s a delicious freshly cooked meal on the table. The only problem? You live alone. | I checked the door again. Yep, this is my apartment number. I walk in slowly, holding my cat, gently petting her while she purrs in my arms. I look and see the table in the kitchen/dining room, there is a fresh bouquet on the table in a vase that has these strange markings on it. There is a card.
I go to take the card and it falls to the table, the writing facing up. The words are done in a stylized cursive that is reserved for steampunk or wedding invitations. The card says, 'Good Sir, due to your hectic schedule and dutiful attention to the offspring of our patron, we have been directed to assist you in manners that could affect the offspring.'
'Affect the offspring,' I said quizzically. Hellena jumped onto a chair and meowed at me, licked her lips, and blinked. The white Persian watched me as I looked at the vase again. There were images of cats on pillows, near bowls, all running around. Persons holding plates and bowls standing still and a figure in a chair or throne. The image was sharper than the others as if it was first painted on the vase. The lines are darker, the details sharper and more full. The ears were pointed, the eyes were slitted and the nose that of a cat.
I stepped back, this had to be a prank. Frank from college must have heard about my recent transfer and decided to get me back for the things I did at his bachelor party. I mean, it was a good clean prank, just messaging his fiance/wife that we were intercepting every woman that got near him to keep him honest. He got a little mad with us but took the joke well.
I looked at the card again. Where the signature should be, there was an incredibly small paw print, not drawn or stamped. It was about the size of my pinky nail and was sparkling in the light. I wasn't sure if it was micro-glitter or foil or some other new ink, but it caught my eye and drew me in.
I looked around and my apartment wasn't here, or was I not in my apartment? I blinked several times and then heard footsteps. Hellena meowed and purred and trapesed past me down the dimly lit stone floor. It was almost like concrete, but there were no cuts or seems to prevent cracking, almost like it was made from one solid piece of . . .
'Granite' the feminine voice said 'carried over by ships from Greece and used to build my temples. I would let them use marble, it does not hold heat well and my children adore the warmth of the sun.' As she walked into a light I saw her. Thin, skin of cocoa cream color and smoothness. Her face had some odd features, her ears were slightly larger than they should be for her head and her nose was very small and slightly upturned and flat. Her robe was silk, orange, gold, and grey. There was no cord around her waist, the end of the fabric was lifted over her left shoulder and draped down her shoulder slightly. Hellena stopped and sat beside her as if commanded, and yet cats do not take commands.
'That is correct, Joshua. My children are free to do as they wish and see fit. My granddaughter, multiple generations from me, has done as she wishes, and that wish is to make your life more comfortable.' She stepped toward me and I was enraptured by her grace, her beauty, and her silence. I would have done anything for her.
'All ask is that you care for her as she has cared for you.'
I blinked and was back in my apartment. Was it the flowers? Was there some off-gas that made me hallucinate? Was it the euphoria of the day, the week? I shook my head slightly and went to the kitchen to get some things out of the cupboard for a light snack. There I found container upon container of cat treats, cat food both dry and wet, and bags upon bags of catnip. I checked another and saw the plates and bowls had been replaced by ones with images of cats in all colors and artistic styles. A mug with a cat's front arm and paw as the handle and the words, 'hands off the tail' written on the other side. I looked in the refrigerator and saw the food organized and neat. sandwich meats, fresh vegetables, and sauces. A book was there as well, not cold, a slight chill to the cover, it couldn't have been in here long. It was a recipe book for Mediterranean cuisine and healthy eating.
Hellena padded over to me and rubbed my ankle, she purred and looked up at me. 'MEOW' | Foster looked at his spotless apartment.
The ragged stacks of books were all cleanly stacked on the TV stand, the stack of unwashed dishes that he'd used for microwaved meals were all gone, replaced with a clean sink and the stacks of plates probably relocated into where it was supposed to be. On the dining table, it was even worse. There was a bowl of spaghetti, displayed like in the movies with parmesan cheese and basil and all that.
"Uh. What?"
Then there came Hellcat, the black-and-white cat that Foster had named after his favorite American naval aircraft. Hellcat looked cleaner by the tenfold, sipping on a bowl of milk and a plate of cat food beside him.
"Hello?" Foster said. His bedroom made a noise, and his throat closed. "Who's there?"
"Wait, I just..." The voice, deep in a familiar manner and having that childish tone to it. "Don't come in! Wait!"
Foster hovered his hand over the doorknob after he found himself at his bedroom's door, when he would need to trudge through clothes and things that he was always too lazy to properly clean up and pick off his floor. The floor itself was even mopped up, with the lack of the dusty feeling around the apartment.
Foster opened the door, and there was a man sitting on Foster's bed, which looked ten times as tidy as he'd last seen it. The man was a head taller than Foster. He wore the same attire Foster last seen him in when he left work for the last time.
Adam Takahashi: Professional overdoer, and master of being too nice for his own good. Of course it was Adam fucking Takahashi.
"Adam, what the hell...?"
"So, the meal was actually takeout. You know I can't cook..."
"No, but--"
"Let me finish." Adam grinned. "This is what I told you about. The surprise."
Adam was Foster's boss. Highlighting the word *was*, as it was Adam's last day at work. They'd always been quite close. Well, the whole team were, but Foster had always felt like Adam was particularly intimate with him. They'd talk about personal things all the time in break time, and Adam was the first to know that Foster was gay.
The day before, Adam had told Foster about a surprise, and Foster was confused at first, but then he forgot about it. Everyone bought Adam a parting gift, and Foster was unfortunate enough to forget that as well. He felt like he was the luckiest person on Earth when Adam just smiled at him and laughed. Today really was an amazing day.
"I hired a couple guys to help out. Also, your mom came over to clean Hellcat, but since I know when you come back, I decided to do your bedroom by myself."
"Wait, you called my mom?" Foster asked. Mom was as overbearing as Adam had always been, and sometimes it'd get annoying.
"Yeah. She wanted to see Hellcat again."
Foster wanted to be pissed at that, yet he couldn't muster any anger at Adam. He sighed.
"But... why?"
"Just a parting gift. I like you, Foster."
Foster felt his heart beat rapidly. "You mean..."
Adam snorted. "I feel like we can date now that we're not in a employer-and-employee relationship."
"Wow."
"So, do you wanna eat together?"
"Spaghetti taken out from Olive Garden, that probably has been sitting there for like five hours?" Foster snarked.
"Yeah, it's been sitting there for a while, but I microwaved it, so it should be good." Adam sighed, looking around the bedroom before he stood up to look at Foster's collection of books for night-reading strewn on his desk. Foster went up and stopped him.
"Nu-uh. No more cleaning. You look like you need ten showers."
Adam chuckled. "It's fine. Just let me--"
"Dinner. Now. We are having."
Adam pouted. "Fine, Yoda."
Foster grinned. "Come on. I got Netflix, we can watch whatever you want."
"Before that, though, I think I forgot to clean something..."
"No, no, no. Dinner." Foster said, pulling on Adam's arm.
Adam smirked. "Oh, I meant your lips. I'm pretty sure the only way I can is with my own."
That fucking smirk and that stupid deep voice. It was no wonder that Adam was team manager. He's hotter than the Sun. Well, boyfriend or not, Foster was sure to have the best night to end the best day. | |
[WP] “Today was amazing”, you think to yourself. Work went well, and your boss seems to like you. You unlock your door, and your cat eagerly greats you. You find the house you left dirty is spotless, and there’s a delicious freshly cooked meal on the table. The only problem? You live alone. | “Oh, Hell no. Mittens, I think we might be haunted,” I said.
Mittens meowed at me and brushed up against my leg. I hadn’t cleaned my home in an addmitandly long time, and the freshly cooked steak in the kitchen was not something I could’ve easily prepared the night before.
“I’d drive away with you, Mittens, but I’m so tired from the commute that I might just have to deal with the ghost,” I said.
Mittens meowed at me again and I went closer to the steak. It could’ve been poisoned for all I know, but I felt a rumble in my stomach and I really didn’t feel like having ramen again. I cut off a piece and cautiously took a bite. The taste was like pure honey in steak form. I wolfed it down. After I finished it, I looked around the room and called out.
“Well whoever made this steak, thank you,” I said. “If this is one of my friends though, could you announce you’re coming next time?”
“Meh, I'm not your friend,” said a voice.
I looked down and nearly choked in my last bit of steak as I saw a short pale creature wearing a loincloth standing in the kitchen washing my plate.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m your fairy godmother. The one that appears when an adult gets overworked and can’t start taking care of themself,” he said.
“You sure don’t look like my fairy godmother,” I said.
“Yeah well, I’ve been here for quite awhile buddy. If you don’t appreciate the meal I can leave,” he said.
“Nonono please stay,” I pleaded. “I don’t have any time to take care of myself anymore. This is exactly what I need right now.”
“Oh piss off. Alright, I’ll stay, but you’d better not be insulting me again,” he said.
I nodded, intimidated, as I looked into his black eyes. I could tell this was the start of a weird, but very beneficial relationship. | Foster looked at his spotless apartment.
The ragged stacks of books were all cleanly stacked on the TV stand, the stack of unwashed dishes that he'd used for microwaved meals were all gone, replaced with a clean sink and the stacks of plates probably relocated into where it was supposed to be. On the dining table, it was even worse. There was a bowl of spaghetti, displayed like in the movies with parmesan cheese and basil and all that.
"Uh. What?"
Then there came Hellcat, the black-and-white cat that Foster had named after his favorite American naval aircraft. Hellcat looked cleaner by the tenfold, sipping on a bowl of milk and a plate of cat food beside him.
"Hello?" Foster said. His bedroom made a noise, and his throat closed. "Who's there?"
"Wait, I just..." The voice, deep in a familiar manner and having that childish tone to it. "Don't come in! Wait!"
Foster hovered his hand over the doorknob after he found himself at his bedroom's door, when he would need to trudge through clothes and things that he was always too lazy to properly clean up and pick off his floor. The floor itself was even mopped up, with the lack of the dusty feeling around the apartment.
Foster opened the door, and there was a man sitting on Foster's bed, which looked ten times as tidy as he'd last seen it. The man was a head taller than Foster. He wore the same attire Foster last seen him in when he left work for the last time.
Adam Takahashi: Professional overdoer, and master of being too nice for his own good. Of course it was Adam fucking Takahashi.
"Adam, what the hell...?"
"So, the meal was actually takeout. You know I can't cook..."
"No, but--"
"Let me finish." Adam grinned. "This is what I told you about. The surprise."
Adam was Foster's boss. Highlighting the word *was*, as it was Adam's last day at work. They'd always been quite close. Well, the whole team were, but Foster had always felt like Adam was particularly intimate with him. They'd talk about personal things all the time in break time, and Adam was the first to know that Foster was gay.
The day before, Adam had told Foster about a surprise, and Foster was confused at first, but then he forgot about it. Everyone bought Adam a parting gift, and Foster was unfortunate enough to forget that as well. He felt like he was the luckiest person on Earth when Adam just smiled at him and laughed. Today really was an amazing day.
"I hired a couple guys to help out. Also, your mom came over to clean Hellcat, but since I know when you come back, I decided to do your bedroom by myself."
"Wait, you called my mom?" Foster asked. Mom was as overbearing as Adam had always been, and sometimes it'd get annoying.
"Yeah. She wanted to see Hellcat again."
Foster wanted to be pissed at that, yet he couldn't muster any anger at Adam. He sighed.
"But... why?"
"Just a parting gift. I like you, Foster."
Foster felt his heart beat rapidly. "You mean..."
Adam snorted. "I feel like we can date now that we're not in a employer-and-employee relationship."
"Wow."
"So, do you wanna eat together?"
"Spaghetti taken out from Olive Garden, that probably has been sitting there for like five hours?" Foster snarked.
"Yeah, it's been sitting there for a while, but I microwaved it, so it should be good." Adam sighed, looking around the bedroom before he stood up to look at Foster's collection of books for night-reading strewn on his desk. Foster went up and stopped him.
"Nu-uh. No more cleaning. You look like you need ten showers."
Adam chuckled. "It's fine. Just let me--"
"Dinner. Now. We are having."
Adam pouted. "Fine, Yoda."
Foster grinned. "Come on. I got Netflix, we can watch whatever you want."
"Before that, though, I think I forgot to clean something..."
"No, no, no. Dinner." Foster said, pulling on Adam's arm.
Adam smirked. "Oh, I meant your lips. I'm pretty sure the only way I can is with my own."
That fucking smirk and that stupid deep voice. It was no wonder that Adam was team manager. He's hotter than the Sun. Well, boyfriend or not, Foster was sure to have the best night to end the best day. | |
[WP] “Today was amazing”, you think to yourself. Work went well, and your boss seems to like you. You unlock your door, and your cat eagerly greats you. You find the house you left dirty is spotless, and there’s a delicious freshly cooked meal on the table. The only problem? You live alone. | “Oh, Hell no. Mittens, I think we might be haunted,” I said.
Mittens meowed at me and brushed up against my leg. I hadn’t cleaned my home in an addmitandly long time, and the freshly cooked steak in the kitchen was not something I could’ve easily prepared the night before.
“I’d drive away with you, Mittens, but I’m so tired from the commute that I might just have to deal with the ghost,” I said.
Mittens meowed at me again and I went closer to the steak. It could’ve been poisoned for all I know, but I felt a rumble in my stomach and I really didn’t feel like having ramen again. I cut off a piece and cautiously took a bite. The taste was like pure honey in steak form. I wolfed it down. After I finished it, I looked around the room and called out.
“Well whoever made this steak, thank you,” I said. “If this is one of my friends though, could you announce you’re coming next time?”
“Meh, I'm not your friend,” said a voice.
I looked down and nearly choked in my last bit of steak as I saw a short pale creature wearing a loincloth standing in the kitchen washing my plate.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m your fairy godmother. The one that appears when an adult gets overworked and can’t start taking care of themself,” he said.
“You sure don’t look like my fairy godmother,” I said.
“Yeah well, I’ve been here for quite awhile buddy. If you don’t appreciate the meal I can leave,” he said.
“Nonono please stay,” I pleaded. “I don’t have any time to take care of myself anymore. This is exactly what I need right now.”
“Oh piss off. Alright, I’ll stay, but you’d better not be insulting me again,” he said.
I nodded, intimidated, as I looked into his black eyes. I could tell this was the start of a weird, but very beneficial relationship. | *Apologies in advance. I’m too tired to write out the whole story in my head right now, so here’s the bullet points.*
Alone? You have a cat.
This is clearly a shifter you saved when their animal form got stuck in a drain pipe because they dropped their phone and shifted to go after it.
They *were* going to just slip a $20 to you for the help, but after being bundled in your jacket and hauled back to your place, they kinda felt bad for you. House a mess, bills piled up, note on the fridge calendar stating you’d gotten fired yesterday.
After a gentle bath with a kick-ass massage, some praises for what a good, brave kitty they were, and a good snack, you tucked them into a makeshift cat bed made of fluffy towels.
While you were sleeping, they made a few calls to some friends.
You got an email the next morning for a working interview and thought “why not?”
While at work the shifter cleaned your place as an extra thank you for the spa treatment. Now they’re just curious if you can keep your life together and, with nothing better to do, have taken on the role of your background guardian.
Edit: possible romance story?
Edit 2: Definitely comedy, but *attempts* at romance while shifter acts as the protective, grumpy grandpa and "accidentally" scares away the bad eggs in various comedic ways while you wonder why you can't keep any relationships alive? But somehow your friends from work always show up for a movie/game night right after you've been dumped and you never have time to mope about another ex for too long? | |
[WP] Going from evil to good is a rough transition, especially since no one trusts you. You decided to break bread with some cookies. | The door closed softly behind me. I bolted for the gardens as echoes of raucous laughter carried down the halls behind me. I felt droplets of frozen tears begin to fall from my face begin to fall as I escaped the main building.
I laid the platter of cookies that had been so unceremoniously denied as worthwhile to the side of me as I buried my face in my hands. The small crystalline droplets clinked softly onto the pavement below me.
I was so lost in my own thoughts I didn’t notice Whispers approach from behind me. When she cleared her throat softly, I jumped to my feet and quickly wiped at my face.
“Sorry. I’ll leave.”
“Why would I want that? Sit,” she said. I did as told.
“What brings you to the garden?” She said.
“I like it here.” Whispers looked into my eyes. Her eyes were a beautiful chestnut brown and as she rolled them, they picked up the gold of the late afternoon sun.
“I saw how Infiniman and the others treated you, you know?” The platter grated along the concrete as she pushed it back. She crawled over and laid my head on her shoulder as she wrapped an arm around my body. “It will get easier. With time. What they did was… unfair at best. Downright cruel at worst. Until they see your true colours, I’ll be here for you,” she said.
She then began muttering some words I couldn’t understand. The grass in front waved in response sending ripples towards the large maple tree that towered above the garden. The leaves almost waved in response. After a few seconds, a small bird fluttered from the tree and plucked a light blue hyacinth from a nearby bush. It flew over to Whispers and dropped it in her hand before returning to it’s perch. The wren continued to stare at me as other birds circled around it, also eyeing me off.
As I stared back, I could feel Whispers at work in my hair.
“Perfect,” she said after a few seconds. “It suits your eyes.” She chuckled lightly.
“You’ll be a wonderful member for the team Cold Heart,” she said as she rubbed my back.
I tried to hold back more tears, but the floodways opened and the crystal droplets began to fall yet again. Whispers softly caught them in the palm of her other hand and rattled them around softly.
“Do you mind if I keep some? They are really pretty.” I shook my head softly.
“Excellent.” She placed a few in a small pocket before throwing the rest out into the garden. The golden sun now shone like a mosaic through the lower branches of the maple tree and with the added sparkle of the teardrops it glistened heavenly.
I smiled for the first time since I’d joined the team. I felt Whispers smile as well. My smile widened as I heard her crunch into one of the cookies I’d made.
“Mmm mmm. These are really good. I’ll need the recipe,” she said.
“Or I can cook a new batch, just for you,” I whispered back. Her head jumped off mine and she stared down at me. A light tint of red slowly filled her cheeks as she returned to resting on me.
“I’d love that,” she said as she held me closer. | The city's former greatest villain arrived at the school board meeting with a plate of cookies. It was her turn to bring the snacks, after all.
As she went to put the plate on the table, a nearby wall exploded, and The Atomic Bomber, the city's resident hero, smacked the plate out of her hands.
"Nobody will touch your EVIL cookies. I'm sure they're filled with mind control hallucinogenics!"
"First of all, the CIA already proved that you can't do 'mind control' with hallucinogenics. Secondly, I do don't any of that anymore. They're just chocolate chip. I didn't even put in nuts, since so many people seem to be allergic these days."
Doctor Demented wondered if perhaps changing her name would make a difference, but after twenty years, she really didn't want to change it. After all, if the city's biggest hero is called "The Atomic Bomber", is "Doctor Demented" really so bad? | |
[WP] Going from evil to good is a rough transition, especially since no one trusts you. You decided to break bread with some cookies. | I'm no supervillain. But people still treat me like one.
Maybe I deserved it, you know. I admit it. I killed that man. I shouldn't have. I was just seventeen. And I did thirty-five years for it. I been in twice longer than I been out.
He wasn't a pleasant man. Bruno, that was his name. He had a bakery down on Haimes. Sold bread, he did, fresh bread, cakes, biscuits, cookies, the lot, and he ran the shop with his son. I don't remember his name, that son. I don't remember.
Bruno's shop had old locks. They were easy to pick. And back then there were no cameras, you just went in at night and if you were quiet, no one would know. I would go in, maybe once a fortnight, or whenever we were short on food, and I'd nick a crate of bread. Nothing too big, mind, just one of them smaller crates. If there's a crate of cookies, I take that instead. Thing about cookies - they don't get old fast, 'specially during winter. And they're small and full of sugar. Kids love them, and when food is low, you don't need a lot of cookie to get going. When you're hungry you take what you can get.
For a few months it was fine. Then one day the back door lock was changed. I shoulda known the game was up. I shoulda gone someplace else that night, but I didn't. I just said to myself, last one, Sammy, last one, and then somewhere else. So I picked it and went in just the same.
Bruno was there waiting. He had a gun, a big one, and he pointed it at me. He'd been watching me break in from the upstairs window, he said. Been watching you for weeks. The police were on their way, he said. They'd catch me and put me in jail for sure.
I couldn't let that happen. If it were just me, I wouldn't care, but it wasn't. I couldn't go to jail, so I told Bruno I was sorry and that I'd go and never come back. He said no. Trash like me don't deserve a second chance, he said. He came closer just to spit on my feet.
So I charged at him. I hit the gun away. He still tried to shoot me. Bang, bang. It went over my shoulder, like this, and my ears hurt. I tried to make him let go. I pushed him to the floor, and we went down together, and then I hit him. He was still holding the gun, so I hit him again. I wanted him to let go. He kept trying to shoot. Bang, bang, bang, bang. I got shot, here on the side of my arm. Here. You can see the scar. And here too, on my side. I got shot twice.
There was a lot of blood. I was scared, I wanted him to stop. So I hit him, and I kept hitting him, until he stopped shooting. There was a noise when his head hit the concrete. It's a horrible noise. I can hear it, now. Next thing I knew, he stopped fighting, and he let go of me and he started to do weird things. His hands came up to here, and it was bent like this. I don't think he wanted to do it. I remember his eyes. They were open wide, like he was scared. There was a lot of blood. But he wasn't fighting anymore, so I up and ran.
My house was close, just ten minutes away. But there was a lot of blood, and I wasn't feeling good, so it took longer. It was midnight so there was few people. I got in the front door and Izzie was there sitting on the floor. Izzie, we have to go, I tell her, Daddy done a bad thing. We have to go, we have to go. She was crying. She wanted her blanket, so I took it, and we went.
I drove. I was meaning to get away from the town, far away. Anywhere away. I wasn't thinking straight. My head was light and Izzie kept crying. She wanted her mama. I kept saying that mama isn't here anymore, but she kept crying. Only the blanket calmed her down. She held on to it the whole way.
The cops got us first though. The neighbours must have heard the shots, because the roads were full of cars with flashing red and blue lights. Stop, they were shouting. I shoulda stopped. I didn't. I was thinking of Izzie, if I'd went to jail, she has no one left. So I put the car to reverse and I drove.
Then the cops started to shoot. Pop pop pop pop. Behind me, Izzie started to scream. Pop pop pop pop. I stopped the car. Don't shoot, I was shouting. Don't shoot. There's a kid. I'll stop. I'll stop. Don't shoot.
The cops pulled me out of the car. I was on the ground, they put on the cuffs, but I couldn't see Izzie. I couldn't hear her neither. I was shouting, Izzie, Izzie, but she didn't come out. Izzie, where are you, are you okay. And then the cop carries out her b- blanket from the car and it's- it's covered in blood, too much blood, and I couldn't hear her. I tried to get up, tried to look for her, but the cops wouldn't let me, they pinned me to the ground and put a taser on me.
They wouldn't even let me see her body before they brought me away.
It's-
It's not Bruno's fault. It's me. I should have done different, so many things different. But it's too late now. It's too late for him. Too late for her. Too late for me.
Yes, it is. You don't know what it's like. I'm out of jail now, people call me free, but I'm not, really. I moved back home, but there's no jobs. I tell them my name, they take my papers, and they say good, good, then they never speak to me again. People talk like they're saints but they're not really. They act like there's a second chance, but there ain't. Nobody needs a fifty-year-old jailed for murder and who can't do nothing but bake.
Yeah, bake. Learned it in prison, I did. They had a program, for rehab. When I saw it, I knew I had to. For Bruno, see. It felt like something I had to do, to make up for what I did. It felt right. So I did it.
This year I got lucky. Won me a small amount in the sweepstakes. So I rent a small place here at home, see, set up a place of my own. And I bake. I sell bread, cakes, biscuits, cookies, the lot, and I run the shop myself. I get up at four in the morning and I run it till ten at night.
Thirty-five years, and home hasn't changed much. Streets are the same. People grow up but people stay the same. There's still kids on the street. Teenagers without a home, without a job. I see them. I see myself.
I don't lock my shop at night. If someone needs food, they can come in and take it. Sure, they all think they're being sneaky, but I know they come. Every night I make goddamn sure to bake a fresh batch of cookies and set it out back for them. See, the thing about cookies - they don't get old fast, 'specially during winter. And they're small and full of sugar. Kids love them, and when food is low, you don't need a lot of cookie to get going.
When you're hungry, you take what you can get. | The city's former greatest villain arrived at the school board meeting with a plate of cookies. It was her turn to bring the snacks, after all.
As she went to put the plate on the table, a nearby wall exploded, and The Atomic Bomber, the city's resident hero, smacked the plate out of her hands.
"Nobody will touch your EVIL cookies. I'm sure they're filled with mind control hallucinogenics!"
"First of all, the CIA already proved that you can't do 'mind control' with hallucinogenics. Secondly, I do don't any of that anymore. They're just chocolate chip. I didn't even put in nuts, since so many people seem to be allergic these days."
Doctor Demented wondered if perhaps changing her name would make a difference, but after twenty years, she really didn't want to change it. After all, if the city's biggest hero is called "The Atomic Bomber", is "Doctor Demented" really so bad? | |
[WP] Going from evil to good is a rough transition, especially since no one trusts you. You decided to break bread with some cookies. | I'm no supervillain. But people still treat me like one.
Maybe I deserved it, you know. I admit it. I killed that man. I shouldn't have. I was just seventeen. And I did thirty-five years for it. I been in twice longer than I been out.
He wasn't a pleasant man. Bruno, that was his name. He had a bakery down on Haimes. Sold bread, he did, fresh bread, cakes, biscuits, cookies, the lot, and he ran the shop with his son. I don't remember his name, that son. I don't remember.
Bruno's shop had old locks. They were easy to pick. And back then there were no cameras, you just went in at night and if you were quiet, no one would know. I would go in, maybe once a fortnight, or whenever we were short on food, and I'd nick a crate of bread. Nothing too big, mind, just one of them smaller crates. If there's a crate of cookies, I take that instead. Thing about cookies - they don't get old fast, 'specially during winter. And they're small and full of sugar. Kids love them, and when food is low, you don't need a lot of cookie to get going. When you're hungry you take what you can get.
For a few months it was fine. Then one day the back door lock was changed. I shoulda known the game was up. I shoulda gone someplace else that night, but I didn't. I just said to myself, last one, Sammy, last one, and then somewhere else. So I picked it and went in just the same.
Bruno was there waiting. He had a gun, a big one, and he pointed it at me. He'd been watching me break in from the upstairs window, he said. Been watching you for weeks. The police were on their way, he said. They'd catch me and put me in jail for sure.
I couldn't let that happen. If it were just me, I wouldn't care, but it wasn't. I couldn't go to jail, so I told Bruno I was sorry and that I'd go and never come back. He said no. Trash like me don't deserve a second chance, he said. He came closer just to spit on my feet.
So I charged at him. I hit the gun away. He still tried to shoot me. Bang, bang. It went over my shoulder, like this, and my ears hurt. I tried to make him let go. I pushed him to the floor, and we went down together, and then I hit him. He was still holding the gun, so I hit him again. I wanted him to let go. He kept trying to shoot. Bang, bang, bang, bang. I got shot, here on the side of my arm. Here. You can see the scar. And here too, on my side. I got shot twice.
There was a lot of blood. I was scared, I wanted him to stop. So I hit him, and I kept hitting him, until he stopped shooting. There was a noise when his head hit the concrete. It's a horrible noise. I can hear it, now. Next thing I knew, he stopped fighting, and he let go of me and he started to do weird things. His hands came up to here, and it was bent like this. I don't think he wanted to do it. I remember his eyes. They were open wide, like he was scared. There was a lot of blood. But he wasn't fighting anymore, so I up and ran.
My house was close, just ten minutes away. But there was a lot of blood, and I wasn't feeling good, so it took longer. It was midnight so there was few people. I got in the front door and Izzie was there sitting on the floor. Izzie, we have to go, I tell her, Daddy done a bad thing. We have to go, we have to go. She was crying. She wanted her blanket, so I took it, and we went.
I drove. I was meaning to get away from the town, far away. Anywhere away. I wasn't thinking straight. My head was light and Izzie kept crying. She wanted her mama. I kept saying that mama isn't here anymore, but she kept crying. Only the blanket calmed her down. She held on to it the whole way.
The cops got us first though. The neighbours must have heard the shots, because the roads were full of cars with flashing red and blue lights. Stop, they were shouting. I shoulda stopped. I didn't. I was thinking of Izzie, if I'd went to jail, she has no one left. So I put the car to reverse and I drove.
Then the cops started to shoot. Pop pop pop pop. Behind me, Izzie started to scream. Pop pop pop pop. I stopped the car. Don't shoot, I was shouting. Don't shoot. There's a kid. I'll stop. I'll stop. Don't shoot.
The cops pulled me out of the car. I was on the ground, they put on the cuffs, but I couldn't see Izzie. I couldn't hear her neither. I was shouting, Izzie, Izzie, but she didn't come out. Izzie, where are you, are you okay. And then the cop carries out her b- blanket from the car and it's- it's covered in blood, too much blood, and I couldn't hear her. I tried to get up, tried to look for her, but the cops wouldn't let me, they pinned me to the ground and put a taser on me.
They wouldn't even let me see her body before they brought me away.
It's-
It's not Bruno's fault. It's me. I should have done different, so many things different. But it's too late now. It's too late for him. Too late for her. Too late for me.
Yes, it is. You don't know what it's like. I'm out of jail now, people call me free, but I'm not, really. I moved back home, but there's no jobs. I tell them my name, they take my papers, and they say good, good, then they never speak to me again. People talk like they're saints but they're not really. They act like there's a second chance, but there ain't. Nobody needs a fifty-year-old jailed for murder and who can't do nothing but bake.
Yeah, bake. Learned it in prison, I did. They had a program, for rehab. When I saw it, I knew I had to. For Bruno, see. It felt like something I had to do, to make up for what I did. It felt right. So I did it.
This year I got lucky. Won me a small amount in the sweepstakes. So I rent a small place here at home, see, set up a place of my own. And I bake. I sell bread, cakes, biscuits, cookies, the lot, and I run the shop myself. I get up at four in the morning and I run it till ten at night.
Thirty-five years, and home hasn't changed much. Streets are the same. People grow up but people stay the same. There's still kids on the street. Teenagers without a home, without a job. I see them. I see myself.
I don't lock my shop at night. If someone needs food, they can come in and take it. Sure, they all think they're being sneaky, but I know they come. Every night I make goddamn sure to bake a fresh batch of cookies and set it out back for them. See, the thing about cookies - they don't get old fast, 'specially during winter. And they're small and full of sugar. Kids love them, and when food is low, you don't need a lot of cookie to get going.
When you're hungry, you take what you can get. | The door closed softly behind me. I bolted for the gardens as echoes of raucous laughter carried down the halls behind me. I felt droplets of frozen tears begin to fall from my face begin to fall as I escaped the main building.
I laid the platter of cookies that had been so unceremoniously denied as worthwhile to the side of me as I buried my face in my hands. The small crystalline droplets clinked softly onto the pavement below me.
I was so lost in my own thoughts I didn’t notice Whispers approach from behind me. When she cleared her throat softly, I jumped to my feet and quickly wiped at my face.
“Sorry. I’ll leave.”
“Why would I want that? Sit,” she said. I did as told.
“What brings you to the garden?” She said.
“I like it here.” Whispers looked into my eyes. Her eyes were a beautiful chestnut brown and as she rolled them, they picked up the gold of the late afternoon sun.
“I saw how Infiniman and the others treated you, you know?” The platter grated along the concrete as she pushed it back. She crawled over and laid my head on her shoulder as she wrapped an arm around my body. “It will get easier. With time. What they did was… unfair at best. Downright cruel at worst. Until they see your true colours, I’ll be here for you,” she said.
She then began muttering some words I couldn’t understand. The grass in front waved in response sending ripples towards the large maple tree that towered above the garden. The leaves almost waved in response. After a few seconds, a small bird fluttered from the tree and plucked a light blue hyacinth from a nearby bush. It flew over to Whispers and dropped it in her hand before returning to it’s perch. The wren continued to stare at me as other birds circled around it, also eyeing me off.
As I stared back, I could feel Whispers at work in my hair.
“Perfect,” she said after a few seconds. “It suits your eyes.” She chuckled lightly.
“You’ll be a wonderful member for the team Cold Heart,” she said as she rubbed my back.
I tried to hold back more tears, but the floodways opened and the crystal droplets began to fall yet again. Whispers softly caught them in the palm of her other hand and rattled them around softly.
“Do you mind if I keep some? They are really pretty.” I shook my head softly.
“Excellent.” She placed a few in a small pocket before throwing the rest out into the garden. The golden sun now shone like a mosaic through the lower branches of the maple tree and with the added sparkle of the teardrops it glistened heavenly.
I smiled for the first time since I’d joined the team. I felt Whispers smile as well. My smile widened as I heard her crunch into one of the cookies I’d made.
“Mmm mmm. These are really good. I’ll need the recipe,” she said.
“Or I can cook a new batch, just for you,” I whispered back. Her head jumped off mine and she stared down at me. A light tint of red slowly filled her cheeks as she returned to resting on me.
“I’d love that,” she said as she held me closer. | |
[WP] You're the last follower of a long forgotten god who can no longer recruit new faithful. Once you die they will "die" too, so weak as they are they do what they can to extend your life, overstepping the usual boundaries between worshipper and deity. | “Here’s your Yuengling,” Jess said, placing the beer on the table.
Startled from her thoughts, her companion smiled up at her. “Thank you dear.”
Jess slid into the booth opposite her. “Of all the brews, why do you stick with this one? There’s an indie renaissance happening. You should try something new.”
Her companion regarded the can before her. “This is one of the oldest drinks this young country can provide. I’d like to savor it.”
Jess fell quiet at that, eyeing the woman across from her before taking a sip of her IPA. “What are you going by now?”
“Laranna.”
“Cute name.”
“I thought so, too. And yourself?”
“I thought that Jess would suit me nicely.”
“That’s a shame. I rather enjoyed Olivia.”
Jess smirked in memory. “Different time and place.”
They allowed the sounds of the bar to fill the space between them. Music blared a little louder than was comfortable, and on a sound system with a little too much grain. The patrons raised their voices over it to be heard until there wasn’t an inch of space in the restaurant devoid of noise. All save the pocket of silence that engulfed their table.
“I’m a little surprised to see you so soon,” Jess said at last. “It’s only been, what, a few dozen years?”
Laranna nodded slowly. “Thirty-nine.”
“What is it this time?”
“The first inklings of cancer.”
“Again?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Jess took another swig of her drink and wiped her mouth. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
Laranna nodded and reached across the table with both hands. Jess slid her palms easily into the other woman’s and closed her eyes just as a wave of energy hit her, making her jolt. Nothing felt different when they let go of each other.
“I don’t care how much time passes, I’ll never get used to that,” Jess grumbled.
“I’m sorry.”
Jess waved the apology away. “Are you going to stay long this time? We could go see a movie.”
Laranna frowned uncertainly. “I don’t—”
“Hi there, ready to order?”
Jess and Laranna both turned as a waitress stepped up to the table with notepad in hand and a pasted-on smile. Her nametag read “Sam.”
When Laranna said nothing, Jess said, “One plate of nachos and two hot dogs, please.”
Sam nodded, writing each down.
Jess side-eyed Laranna. “Would you help me with something, miss?”
Laranna’s gaze sharpened. “Jess, don’t.”
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“What would it take for me to convince you that you were in the presence of divinity?”
Sam frowned in puzzlement. “Divinity?”
“Yep.”
An uncertain smile crept up Sam’s face. “Like God?”
“You betcha.” Jess smiled.
Sam chuckled. “I don’t know, turn water into wine? Cure my aching feet?”
Jess motioned to Laranna. Laranna fixed Jess with an incredulous look and shook her head, mouthing, “No.” Jess motioned again, and with a roll of her eyes Laranna said to Sam, “May I see your hand, dear?”
“Why?”
“I’d like to thank you. For helping us with our food.”
Sam’s expression turned wary as she looked between Jess and Laranna, but she kept her professional smile as she reached her hand out. Laranna took it with both hands, cupping it gently while staring up at the waitress.
Moments passed. Sam coughed. “Ma’am?”
Laranna blinked and flushed before retracting her hands.
Sam regarded Laranna for a short while. “I’ll go get your food,” she said flatly before stepping away, undoubtedly on her way to tell the other staff about the two weirdos at table seven.
“You need to stop doing that,” Laranna whispered.
“I can’t,” Jess said, taking a longer drag from her drink.
Laranna closed her eyes and hung her head.
Jess eyed her. “You know… If a moment comes tonight when her feet stop hurting, in the instant she recognizes that the pain is gone, she might briefly think, ‘gee, that’s odd. Could there have been more to that woman than I thought?’”
Laranna looked back up.
“And while she’s thinking that,” Jess continued, “maybe, just maybe, the smallest bit of belief might find its way into her. And when that happens maybe her feet will hurt even less, and she’ll think again, ‘ok, this is *really* weird.’ And again she may start to believe.”
“Tis a fool’s hope,” Laranna said softly.
“Good thing I’m an idiot.”
Laranna blinked, then burst out a laugh. Jess smiled. “We’re both idiots,” Laranna said.
Jess raised her drink. “To us fools.”
Laranna smiled and clinked her glass. “To us.”
They both drank. Jess said, “Still want to see that movie?”
Laranna nodded. “I’d like that.” | He looked at me with a strange, sad smile. We had been meeting like this for thousands of years now for him to perform the live giving ritual, so I knew him as well as somebody could know another. It didn’t take me long, then, to put together what was bothering the old deity. “They’ve found me, haven’t they? The other gods.” All it took was one look in his ancient eyes to find my answer. “So, what happens now?” All that was managed was a croaking “The end” before he burst into a body wracking sob fest. “They’ve hated me for so long…” I thought back to all those years ago when we had formed our plan, hiding me away in this cave so the others wouldn’t use me to kill him as he desperately sought to avoid what now seemed inevitable. I searched the familiar visage once again, hoping for another clue to his thoughts as he continued to mourn. But all I could see was heartache, a being wearied from centuries of running. If he had only not fallen in love with the wrong mortal all those years ago, been disgraced and cursed to never be worshiped again… but what was done was done. Neither of us knew how I had managed to be immune to his curse. He suspected his mother’s intervention, but could never ask her without risking her or me being punished. He slowly started to regain his composure, his sobs slowing to hiccups. “I think… there is nothing more to be done. We cannot stop the coming fight. The Council will have already dispatched our executioners.” His hiccups stopped as his face became thoughtful. “I hope you know how grateful…” “Stop.” He stood up and walked over to the other side of the ritual fire and clasped my hands in his. “No other god has ever had as good a friend.” I returned his warm smile with one of my own as I saw my sudden resolve be mirrored in his eyes. We would face the coming end together, as we had faced everything else the last few thousand years. | |
Credits to u/Hyranic | [WP] Humanity discovers the reason aliens always seem to try and invade the United States. It turns out that the five pointed star is a symbol of unspeakable evil in galactic society. And the United States proudly displays fifty of them. | "So… let me get this straight. The five-pointed star is a symbol of evil in the galactic community?"
"Yes, Mr President. And your flag displays fifty of them. That is a 'massive no-no', to put it in your terms."
"And your 'invasions' are really missions to fight evil?"
"You can say that is the case, Mr President."
"So how do we solve the problem?"
"Maybe try redesigning the flag?"
"But that would require congressional support."
"I'm sure the senators and congresspeople would rather America not be invaded anymore…"
"Alright then, I'll ask my staffers to come up with a replacement."
"I hope we meet again in more favourable terms, Mr President."
"Likewise, Mr… "
"Oh. My name is Oop. Just Oop is enough."
"Okay then, thank you Mr Oop."
(Oop turns to his fleet) "Okay boys, the president has agreed to change his flag. Next stop: Brazil!" | "Do you understand the severity of your crimes, human?"
President Joe Biden gave the group of foreign visitors a blank stare then laughed.
"Gee willickers, you guys got some funny looking faces."
"Shoot him."
And just like that, President Biden became the first of many casualties that day.
"Attack!"
The formation of intruders swarmed the White House grounds, quickly erradicating anyone and anything in there way. They were a bulky group. There average height was about 7-8 feet tall and were built like linebackers. They all had flurouscent dark blue skin and long faces with huge noses.
"Put me down!"
"Take him to the brig."
A disheveled Hunter Biden was being detained by two alien guards. He had just discovered the death of his father and wasn't taking to it very well.
"I'll kill you all! I'm not telling you sh—"
The bigger of the two guards wacked Hunter in the back of the head with his club and he was unconcious within seconds.
***
"I have a reason to believe your father is a member of FiveStar. Is this correct?"
"What the notebook company? I had one in middleschool."
"I will not hesitate to kill you Mr. Biden. We all know your father is a pawn. We also have reason to believe you worked alongside your father in the development of FiveStar and have plans to overtake the galaxy."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Take him away."
"You won't get away with this, blue face."
"Racist and resiliant. Take him to chamber 5. Meathammer is waiting for him there..." |
Credits to u/Hyranic | [WP] Humanity discovers the reason aliens always seem to try and invade the United States. It turns out that the five pointed star is a symbol of unspeakable evil in galactic society. And the United States proudly displays fifty of them. | "I'm here on a fact finding mission." explained Ambassador Garthonax from across the table. "I have a controversial theory that the stars on your flag don't represent unspeakable evil."
"No, it merely represents the way we've seperated our country into 50 'states'" explained the president.
"Ah so it's all been a big misunderstanding!" exclaimed Ambassador Garthonax, excitedly tapping on his holographic data pad "Just a strange outlier in cultural symbolism."
"Indeed it seems so," responded the president. "I am glad you came down to clear the situation. We of course are happy to welcome any and all galactic visitors with peace."
"Yes of course, it will take me a while to convince them. Many will think this a deception on your part, but I told them from the start that the initial notion was ludicrous!" Nodded Garthonax "To take the life of even *one* intelligent being is an act so vile, any governing body forced to do so wears a star in shame for eternity as pennance. Could you even imagine if a governing body had taken *fifty* lives?" | "Do you understand the severity of your crimes, human?"
President Joe Biden gave the group of foreign visitors a blank stare then laughed.
"Gee willickers, you guys got some funny looking faces."
"Shoot him."
And just like that, President Biden became the first of many casualties that day.
"Attack!"
The formation of intruders swarmed the White House grounds, quickly erradicating anyone and anything in there way. They were a bulky group. There average height was about 7-8 feet tall and were built like linebackers. They all had flurouscent dark blue skin and long faces with huge noses.
"Put me down!"
"Take him to the brig."
A disheveled Hunter Biden was being detained by two alien guards. He had just discovered the death of his father and wasn't taking to it very well.
"I'll kill you all! I'm not telling you sh—"
The bigger of the two guards wacked Hunter in the back of the head with his club and he was unconcious within seconds.
***
"I have a reason to believe your father is a member of FiveStar. Is this correct?"
"What the notebook company? I had one in middleschool."
"I will not hesitate to kill you Mr. Biden. We all know your father is a pawn. We also have reason to believe you worked alongside your father in the development of FiveStar and have plans to overtake the galaxy."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Take him away."
"You won't get away with this, blue face."
"Racist and resiliant. Take him to chamber 5. Meathammer is waiting for him there..." |
Credits to u/Hyranic | [WP] Humanity discovers the reason aliens always seem to try and invade the United States. It turns out that the five pointed star is a symbol of unspeakable evil in galactic society. And the United States proudly displays fifty of them. | I guess it's true: the exception proves the rule.
For the past thirty years, the United States has been constantly targeted by alien invaders. It felt like every day, there was a new crop circle in Kansas, the White House never stood longer than two weeks at a time, and there were more cranes than skyscrapers on the Manhattan skyline. The rest of the world, however, felt almost completely untouched. London and Edinburgh were going about business as usual, Amsterdam was doing better than ever, and Moscow was free to parade around as if the attacks were some kind of proof of Russian superiority.
It was always a new group of aliens, too. One fleet came in a bunch of flying saucers with lasers, like something out of a black and white movie. The next fleet were a bunch of flying bricks that dropped carpet bombs. Then came a swarm of insectoid vessels armed with heat-seeking missiles. And like clockwork, a new fleet would come along every seven or eight months, almost like they were taking turns.
We've adapted since those early days. The President now lives in the Gold House, shielded from all manner of attacks by a layer of yellow-orange metal, and a fleet of warships sits ready in Long Island Sound to blast UFOs out of the sky. But there was no guarantee our preparations would hold out, so there was still a lot of pressure to stop the invasions.
That's where I came in.
"I need you to figure out what the aliens are up to." the President told me, "Have your men gather every single piece of data there is to find. Leave no stone unturned. If you find any information about what's going on, report it to me immediately."
"Yes, Mr. President." I said.
And that's exactly what I did. I had my team gather reports on every single alien attack thus far, and began seeking out common factors. I started by looking at the list of locations attacked. New York, Los Angeles, Dallas, Orlando, Beijing, New Orleans...
"Hang on a second." I said, "Beijing? I thought American cities were the only targets."
I took another look at the list, sure that I had misread something. But Beijing was on the list, as was Sydney, Caracas, Tegucigalpa, and even Panama City. Sure, America had the most attacks on record, ten times more than Australia or Honduras. But it turned out we weren't the only ones after all. I set the list aside and opened my laptop. I typed out a quick memo.
"Seek common factors between the following nations.
* United States of America
* People's Republic of China
* Commonwealth of Australia
* Republic of Honduras
* Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela
* Republic of Panama
Alongside any other nations that are subject to extraterrestrial assault in the future."
It was the stars. The _fucking. Stars._
For decades, the United States has been the main target of alien attacks... because we have fucking five-pointed stars on our flag. How the fuck does that even happen? Sure, the pentagram has some shady connotations. But how did Earth become the only planet in the galaxy where the five-pointed star *isn't* some kind of hate symbol?
"Well," the President said, "at least there's some good news in this. Perhaps we can end the attacks, at least for a while."
"But this can't be a sustainable solution." I said, "The five-pointed star is such a universal symbol in our culture, there's no way we could retire it forever."
"No. But I think I have an idea for how we can clear up the confusion. It's gonna take a lot of help, but I think we can count on getting the help we need."
Once we explained the situation to our allies in Europe, they were, indeed, *very* inclined to help us out. If five-pointed stars were the offending element, then if the aliens ever discovered the Flag of the European Union...
An emergency summit was held at the UN, and the President put forward the plan.
"An unfortunately common occurrence in our world," he said, "is the misappropriation of long-standing cultural symbols as emblems of hatred, violence, and discrimination. The *swastika* was a symbol for peace before the Nazis used it in their flag. Symbols that are sacred to Christians and Norse pagans have been known to suffer similar fates. We do not know if the five-pointed star was once an innocent symbol like these, but whatever the case may be, we must show our neighbors that the same symbol can mean different things to different people. That is why I call upon you today, representatives of all the worlds' nations, to join us in this project. If there are any cultural symbols of your people that have been misappropriated by evil or reclaimed from evil users, then I ask you to illustrate this fact, in a way that even an alien could understand. Show them that a symbol can be used to represent something good, even if it has also been used to represent the evilest things you can imagine.
I cannot promise that our message will be understood correctly. I cannot promise that the attacks will end. But if there is only one thing will bring peace back to our galaxy, then I know this message will be it."
And now I stand, watching as a rocket ship launches from Cape Canaveral, carrying a payload that could dictate the future of our planet. A satellite, loaded with a collection of images showing the duality of iconography. Symbols of love juxtaposed with hateful misuses. There was no way to know if the aliens would recognize the peaceful gesture, or interpret it as a sign of further aggression. The satellite carries no star branding, however, so we shouldn't have to worry about any confusion on *that* front.
For over thirty years, the people of Earth have looked to the sky with dread, not knowing when the next attack would come. But now, if only for a moment, maybe we can look to the sky with hope.
---
Kinda took a turn there, ngl. | First, they took out North Korea. Only problem was the South Koreans took their land back, so after that, they focused their attentions on China. And, of course, the ROC took their mainland back. So, they went East. And what did they find? The USA, flying their flag of 50 stars and 13 stripes. For some reason, they ignored Hawaii and went straight to the mainland. We did have some aliens with us to help combat against extraterrestrial attacks, however these were something we hadn't seen before.
Each one knew our language. Those tall, furry humanoids resembling wolves, foxes, dogs, cats, rabbits, and more knew each of our languages and spoke them perfectly. Their armor varied from soldier to soldier, helmets included. Each one carried an energy pistol, but they preferred to use an energy sword. Each one had their thin, rod-shaped blade vary in color, from orange to violet to cyan and brown. Some had crimson blades, however we could change the color of our saber blades, so we greeted them with a sea of red saber blades when we fought them.
Turns out, a few of them also had red blades. I was attacked by one of their soldiers, a chimera, who had fox, wolf, and tiger features mixed. I took her saber, pointing both hers and mine at her chest, starting to interrogate her. "Why did you invade us?"
She scoffed. "It was just supposed to be us stunning you and taking you prisoner so you could see your starred empire crumble." I shook my head, trying not to facepalm. "The United States of America is a democracy! Not an empire, a democracy!" I shit you not, she growled at me. "Then why the fuck do you have fifty stars of war on your flag?!"
"THEY REPRESENT OUR FIFTY STATES! Not war, not death, but our states and capitals! Hell, the 13 stripes on our flag represent the 13 colonies the US started out as, not blood and bone!" She was dumbfounded. "Y-you do have aliens in America, do you?" I nodded. "Yes, but we know jack about any started empires that you're talking about!"
She sighed, firing a white flare into the sky before taking her saber back and shutting it off. I shut mine off as well. The battle and war was over. "The five-pointed star was a symbol used by the Bleeding Darkness. It was an empire of terrorists that wiped out whole civilizations before we could stop them. We reversed the damage done by them, but...the fear was still there." She looked at me, her amber, watery eyes revealing that she had seen some shit.
"Oh...." I looked at her, taking off my helmet. "So what happens now?" She sighed. "Reparations, alliances, possibly some things taken to court. We'll just have to wait and see." |
Credits to u/Hyranic | [WP] Humanity discovers the reason aliens always seem to try and invade the United States. It turns out that the five pointed star is a symbol of unspeakable evil in galactic society. And the United States proudly displays fifty of them. | `[GALACTIC COMMUNIQUE] [DO NOT IGNORE] In accordance with Galactic Charter Fi-Contega we are extending an offer of acceptance to your fledgling species. After reviewing your achievements, we desire to include you into the "Milky Way" co-operation group. Please send a representative from graphical region "ESTADOS UNIDOS" that bears the authority to enter a diplomatic treaty on behalf of "The Earth".`
I swear everything about it felt like a SPAM message. All our details were slightly off, and felt crammed in like a bad game of ad-libs; Lying without context in some out-world joke. If the media didn't swoop on it the way it had, I wouldn't have even given it a second thought. But it was odd, the point that the pundits kept sharp, thrusting into the community at every chance. The unavoidable, almost damning point that every person on the planet received that message in an email, text message, and in-app pop up at the exact same moment *globally....* Yeah, that point, as odd as anything we've seen, didn't really shock me the way it seemed to shock others.
I, along with a group on the internet, had figured it all out. There were state actors meaning to spread panic, wanting us to feel like *they* were the ones to protect us, like *they* deserve the tax dollars for getting us all wrapped up into another big lie. How terribly, disgustingly fucking wrong we were.
See, we were all trolls then. Like the jackasses before us, we were joking %100 percent of the time and lived to get a rise out of people who were living their lives too seriously. That's why I still don't understand.... I mean... Why me? There's no way that I was the first to reply... But that's exactly what I did. The text I deleted, but I still had a copy of it when it hit one of my alt accounts. I tried my best "galactic communique" speak and nominated myself for the offworld adventure.
`[CHARTER RESPONSE] [OPEN IMMEDIATELY] It is with great authority and humility to your awesome power that I contemplate acceptance to the "Milky Way" co-operation group. I will command our beings to produce a vessel to bring me to the council. Please send schematics for inter-stellar travel at your soonest convenience, so we may leverage this understanding to bring our union about more hastily. Love, Captain Duggie.`
I thought I was sooooo funny. DON'T THESE PEOPLE CHECK REFERENCES?!?
​
No sooner had I hit send than I found myself standing in the stars. I was well dressed, neatly shaven, hell, I looked like *The Great Gastby*. Standing on a glass floor with stars below, stars above, and only a robotic belhop at a mahogany desk push the magnificent beauty into the background.
'Welcome Sir Duggie! Can I get you anything before we begin?"
Surely I'm dreaming. Or tripping? Maybe I've hit my head? Better to go with it, I decide.
"Yes a Red Stripe please." I don't know why I expected confusion, because a moment later a bottle that may have been straight out of a Jamaican ice chest was produced by the belhop. I took a sip and smiled. "Aren't you going to take my bags?"
"Very funny sir! Please step this way, the committee would like to meet you."
*That's* when things started to get weird.
See, I was pretty sure I was hallucinating at this point, so my behavior is that of someone who just discovered they were dreaming and begins to go Lucid. They do things they would never and I mean *never* do in real life, like slap the pope or jump off a bridge to practice flying. That should, hopefully, explain some of the terribly awful things I did in my next few moments.
​
I step through a curtain and in an instant I'm in *the* galactic congress room from Star Wars. I looked around for the usual Jedi faces, but all I saw were other humans. Some wore strange paint and some had stretched ear-lobes, but nothing I hadn't seen on Earth. I chuckled, sipped my beer and tapped loudly on a little microphone protruding from the pod I found myself standing in.
Stooping over it like I was dedicating a Karaoke ballad to my new fiancé, I said "Where's Jabba?" and looked widely around the impressive chamber. I laughed wretchedly at the silence, spilling about half of the Red Stripe (the half I hadn't drunk) over the edge of my pod. A member took the silence from me, before I completely hung myself with it, but his words were like nothing I would have dreamt, which still chills me to my spine.
"Silence!" His command rang through the hollow, seemingly infinite chamber and left behind exactly what he decreed. I suddenly felt very awake, but not quite convinced this isn't a joke. "You bear the mark of Pal-tir and it is clear among all civilized galactic societies that this mark seals within it the *spirit* of Pal-tir that you have so blatantly demonstrated since your arrival. Do you deny this fact?"
After a moment of deliberation, I determined my best response would feign ignorance.
"Uhhhhh..... What?" Still clutching my empty beer bottle I felt it get cold and heavy once more in my hands. Suddenly, over the part I lovingly call "Ye' Olde Mouth-Hole" I saw the symbol of Pal-tir burning hot white. It was a star! *These space-freaks hate our star?* I thought to myself before the plasma-heat of the star flooded the glass, and on into my hand. I dropped the bottle where I stood, and it shattered into the floor of the pod. I was now standing naked, barefooted among the bottle shards daring not to move. I still felt no shame, much as one does in a dream.
"You have seen with your own eyes our power. If you want our attacks on Earth to cease, you must remove the symbol of Pal-tir from your seals of leadership. Do you understand?" shouted a different member.
"You were attacking us? I didn't even notice." This sent the room into a Fury. The hologram that made them appear human began to crack around its edges, showing an encyclopedia of monsters mid-tantrum. It reminded me of the way some kids (and adults) on Earth acted when they were told no. It was actually pretty disgusting, which is probably why I said what I did.
"Alright listen here. That "Pap-tean" thing you guys are all puckered over is something we call a 'star' and HERE IN AMERICA it means FREEDOM! Today you want us to change the little pointy thing you don't like, Then what? No more Red Stripe? You gonna tell us we can't shoot off fireworks? Listen. You do you and leave us the fuck alone, how 'bout it?"
​
In the next instant, I found myself waking up in bed in the White House next to the First Lady and a note scribbled on a bar napkin that read "Dear Captain Duggie, We're Through Asking Nicely..." That's how it all happened. I swear! | First, they took out North Korea. Only problem was the South Koreans took their land back, so after that, they focused their attentions on China. And, of course, the ROC took their mainland back. So, they went East. And what did they find? The USA, flying their flag of 50 stars and 13 stripes. For some reason, they ignored Hawaii and went straight to the mainland. We did have some aliens with us to help combat against extraterrestrial attacks, however these were something we hadn't seen before.
Each one knew our language. Those tall, furry humanoids resembling wolves, foxes, dogs, cats, rabbits, and more knew each of our languages and spoke them perfectly. Their armor varied from soldier to soldier, helmets included. Each one carried an energy pistol, but they preferred to use an energy sword. Each one had their thin, rod-shaped blade vary in color, from orange to violet to cyan and brown. Some had crimson blades, however we could change the color of our saber blades, so we greeted them with a sea of red saber blades when we fought them.
Turns out, a few of them also had red blades. I was attacked by one of their soldiers, a chimera, who had fox, wolf, and tiger features mixed. I took her saber, pointing both hers and mine at her chest, starting to interrogate her. "Why did you invade us?"
She scoffed. "It was just supposed to be us stunning you and taking you prisoner so you could see your starred empire crumble." I shook my head, trying not to facepalm. "The United States of America is a democracy! Not an empire, a democracy!" I shit you not, she growled at me. "Then why the fuck do you have fifty stars of war on your flag?!"
"THEY REPRESENT OUR FIFTY STATES! Not war, not death, but our states and capitals! Hell, the 13 stripes on our flag represent the 13 colonies the US started out as, not blood and bone!" She was dumbfounded. "Y-you do have aliens in America, do you?" I nodded. "Yes, but we know jack about any started empires that you're talking about!"
She sighed, firing a white flare into the sky before taking her saber back and shutting it off. I shut mine off as well. The battle and war was over. "The five-pointed star was a symbol used by the Bleeding Darkness. It was an empire of terrorists that wiped out whole civilizations before we could stop them. We reversed the damage done by them, but...the fear was still there." She looked at me, her amber, watery eyes revealing that she had seen some shit.
"Oh...." I looked at her, taking off my helmet. "So what happens now?" She sighed. "Reparations, alliances, possibly some things taken to court. We'll just have to wait and see." |
Credits to u/Hyranic | [WP] Humanity discovers the reason aliens always seem to try and invade the United States. It turns out that the five pointed star is a symbol of unspeakable evil in galactic society. And the United States proudly displays fifty of them. | “What the hell is this?” growled the President of the United States, obviously annoyed at being woken up at this ungodly hour just to read a report.
“Sir, at 2352hrs Eastern Standard time, USAF intercepted and brought down an unidentified object over Dawson Springs, Kentucky,” answered the military general, his myriad of medals and ribbons adorning his immaculate uniform reflecting in the dim lighting of the President’s kitchen where the group had gathered. “Elements from Fort Campbell including the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment secured the crash site and attempted to ascertain the identity of the intruders.”
“And?” asked the President, sitting down at the dining table with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “Who was it? The Russians? The Chinese? North Koreans?”
The general gulped and looked around at the other military advisers and aides in the room, all of whom shuffled uneasily on their feet and avoided eye contact.
“What the hell,” whispered the President under his breath, noticing the reactions to his entourage. “What’s going on here? This some sort of joke?”
“Not a joke sir unfortunately,” stated the CIA director from a darkened corner of the room as all eyes turned to him, his bespectacled face dimly lighted by the light of the cigarette he was smoking. “Everything’s on the report.”
The President stared incredulously at the man, then back at the report. With his reading glasses propped up low on his nose, he sighed loudly and started silently scanning the pages of the hastily prepared report in front of him.
**REPORT ON DAWSON SPRINGS INCIDENT**
*AT 2352HRS ET, 07/27/2022, UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT SPOTTED ON RADAR OVER KENTUCKY. JETS SCRAMBLED FOR INTERCEPT. REPEATED ATTEMPTS TO HAIL IGNORED.*
The President eyed the blurry photo clipped to the side of the page: A small saucer shaped vehicle flying through the air. He shifted uneasily in his seat and continued reading.
*ORDER GIVEN TO BRING DOWN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AT 0003HRS ET, 07/28/2022. JETS FIRED AT 0004HRS ET AND BROUGHT DOWN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT NEAR DAWSON SPRINGS, KENTUCKY. NEAREST ARMY ELEMENTS ON STANDBY ARRIVED AT CRASH SITE AT 0029HRS ET. CRASH SITE SECURED. IDENTIFIED 4 CASUALTIES AMONG CRASH. 3 DEAD 1 WOUNDED. UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AND OCCUPANTS BROUGHT TO NEARBY CIA BLACKSITE.*
The President took a sip of his coffee.
*CRASH MATERIALS ARRIVED AT BLACKSITE AT 0237HRS ET. PRELIMINARY FINDINGS INDICATE UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AND OCCUPANTS NOT NATIVE TO EARTH.*
The President nearly spat out his coffee. He read and reread the line again, refusing to believe that that was what the report said.
*INTERROGATION OF WOUNDED UNIDENTIFIED EXTRATERRESTRIAL BEING CONDUCTED BY CIA AT 0352HRS. INTERROGATION CONCLUDED AT 0423HRS. DUE TO LANGUAGE BARRIER, SOME WORDS MAY BE LOOSELY TRANSLATED. KEY POINTS ASCERTAINED ARE AS FOLLOWS:*
*1. EXTRATERRESTRIAL BEING IS KNOWN AS A MA’SLYUM (NAME OF SPECIFIC ENTITY OR NAME OF SPECIES? UNKNOWN.) FROM INTERGALACTIC(?) ALLIANCE KNOWN AS THE KIKOMIRA.*
*2. PURPOSE OF VISIT WAS RECONNOITER OF EARTH. SPEAKS BASIC ENGLISH BECAUSE HAVE BEEN STUDYING EARTH CULTURE FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS. CLAIMED CRASH WAS BECAUSE OF EQUIPMENT FAILURE PREVENTING ESCAPE FROM EARTH ATMOSPHERE.*
*3. HEART RATE ELEVATED THROUGHOUT INTERROGATION AT ALMOST INHUMAN LEVELS. OBSERVATIONS OF BODY LANGUAGE INDICATE SUBJECT IS TERRIFIED. SUGGEST CUTTING SHORT INTERROGATION.*
*4. ASKED SUBJECT ABOUT INTENTIONS FOR EARTH. SUBJECT REVEALED INTERGALACTIC ALLIANCE FORMED SOLELY TO CONTAIN HUMANITY. WORDS TRANSLATED INCLUDE CONTAINMENT, INTERGALACTIC THREAT AND PROTECTION OF UNIVERSE. REFERENCE TO HUMANS ALMOST BIBLICAL IN NATURE.*
*5. NAME FOR HUMANS LOOSELY TRANSLATED TO SUNEATER. SUBJECT REFERRED TO FLAG OF UNITED STATES. CLAIMED EACH STAR REPRESENTED ONE SUN CONSUMED. CLAIMED THEIR SPECIES DISCOVERED MESSAGE AMONG THE STARS CLAIMING LONG DEAD AND ADVANCED INTERGALACTIC CIVILISATION HAD MANAGED TO BEAT BACK SUNEATERS AND CONTAIN THEM ON EARTH AFTER COSTLY WAR THAT DESTROYED ENTIRE STAR SYSTEMS AND LEFT TRILLIONS DEAD. USE OF UNKNOWN SUPERWEAPON MANAGED TO MINDWIPE AND DEVOLVE SUNEATER SPECIES TO BASE FORM. MESSAGE WARNED FUTURE CIVILISATIONS TO CONTINUE MONITORING AND CONTAINMENT OF SUNEATER THREAT AS SUNEATERS VIRTUALLY UNKILLABLE IN PRIME FORM AND SUPERWEAPON EFFECTS WILL WEAR OFF OVER TIME.*
*6. SUBJECT ASKED WHETHER THE KIKOMORA IS PLANNING ATTACK. SUBJECT CLAIMED LONG DEAD CIVILISATION RECOMMENDED NOT TO ENGAGE SUNEATER THREAT. CLAIMS THAT ONCE ENGAGED, SUNEATERS WILL REVERT TO THEIR PRIME FORMS AND END THE UNIVERSE AS THEY KNOW IT. CURRENT DOCTRINE INDICATES APPEASEMENT AND WORSHIP OF SUNEATERS RECOMMENDED ONCE SUNEATERS REVERT TO PRIME FORM.*
*IT IS THE ADVICE OF THIS RESEARCHER THAT IF TRUE, RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE CONVENING OF THE UNITED NATIONS AND FURTHER STUDY OF OURSELVES AS A SPECIES IS WARRANTED.* | First, they took out North Korea. Only problem was the South Koreans took their land back, so after that, they focused their attentions on China. And, of course, the ROC took their mainland back. So, they went East. And what did they find? The USA, flying their flag of 50 stars and 13 stripes. For some reason, they ignored Hawaii and went straight to the mainland. We did have some aliens with us to help combat against extraterrestrial attacks, however these were something we hadn't seen before.
Each one knew our language. Those tall, furry humanoids resembling wolves, foxes, dogs, cats, rabbits, and more knew each of our languages and spoke them perfectly. Their armor varied from soldier to soldier, helmets included. Each one carried an energy pistol, but they preferred to use an energy sword. Each one had their thin, rod-shaped blade vary in color, from orange to violet to cyan and brown. Some had crimson blades, however we could change the color of our saber blades, so we greeted them with a sea of red saber blades when we fought them.
Turns out, a few of them also had red blades. I was attacked by one of their soldiers, a chimera, who had fox, wolf, and tiger features mixed. I took her saber, pointing both hers and mine at her chest, starting to interrogate her. "Why did you invade us?"
She scoffed. "It was just supposed to be us stunning you and taking you prisoner so you could see your starred empire crumble." I shook my head, trying not to facepalm. "The United States of America is a democracy! Not an empire, a democracy!" I shit you not, she growled at me. "Then why the fuck do you have fifty stars of war on your flag?!"
"THEY REPRESENT OUR FIFTY STATES! Not war, not death, but our states and capitals! Hell, the 13 stripes on our flag represent the 13 colonies the US started out as, not blood and bone!" She was dumbfounded. "Y-you do have aliens in America, do you?" I nodded. "Yes, but we know jack about any started empires that you're talking about!"
She sighed, firing a white flare into the sky before taking her saber back and shutting it off. I shut mine off as well. The battle and war was over. "The five-pointed star was a symbol used by the Bleeding Darkness. It was an empire of terrorists that wiped out whole civilizations before we could stop them. We reversed the damage done by them, but...the fear was still there." She looked at me, her amber, watery eyes revealing that she had seen some shit.
"Oh...." I looked at her, taking off my helmet. "So what happens now?" She sighed. "Reparations, alliances, possibly some things taken to court. We'll just have to wait and see." |
Credits to u/Hyranic | [WP] Humanity discovers the reason aliens always seem to try and invade the United States. It turns out that the five pointed star is a symbol of unspeakable evil in galactic society. And the United States proudly displays fifty of them. | “What the hell is this?” growled the President of the United States, obviously annoyed at being woken up at this ungodly hour just to read a report.
“Sir, at 2352hrs Eastern Standard time, USAF intercepted and brought down an unidentified object over Dawson Springs, Kentucky,” answered the military general, his myriad of medals and ribbons adorning his immaculate uniform reflecting in the dim lighting of the President’s kitchen where the group had gathered. “Elements from Fort Campbell including the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment secured the crash site and attempted to ascertain the identity of the intruders.”
“And?” asked the President, sitting down at the dining table with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “Who was it? The Russians? The Chinese? North Koreans?”
The general gulped and looked around at the other military advisers and aides in the room, all of whom shuffled uneasily on their feet and avoided eye contact.
“What the hell,” whispered the President under his breath, noticing the reactions to his entourage. “What’s going on here? This some sort of joke?”
“Not a joke sir unfortunately,” stated the CIA director from a darkened corner of the room as all eyes turned to him, his bespectacled face dimly lighted by the light of the cigarette he was smoking. “Everything’s on the report.”
The President stared incredulously at the man, then back at the report. With his reading glasses propped up low on his nose, he sighed loudly and started silently scanning the pages of the hastily prepared report in front of him.
**REPORT ON DAWSON SPRINGS INCIDENT**
*AT 2352HRS ET, 07/27/2022, UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT SPOTTED ON RADAR OVER KENTUCKY. JETS SCRAMBLED FOR INTERCEPT. REPEATED ATTEMPTS TO HAIL IGNORED.*
The President eyed the blurry photo clipped to the side of the page: A small saucer shaped vehicle flying through the air. He shifted uneasily in his seat and continued reading.
*ORDER GIVEN TO BRING DOWN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AT 0003HRS ET, 07/28/2022. JETS FIRED AT 0004HRS ET AND BROUGHT DOWN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT NEAR DAWSON SPRINGS, KENTUCKY. NEAREST ARMY ELEMENTS ON STANDBY ARRIVED AT CRASH SITE AT 0029HRS ET. CRASH SITE SECURED. IDENTIFIED 4 CASUALTIES AMONG CRASH. 3 DEAD 1 WOUNDED. UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AND OCCUPANTS BROUGHT TO NEARBY CIA BLACKSITE.*
The President took a sip of his coffee.
*CRASH MATERIALS ARRIVED AT BLACKSITE AT 0237HRS ET. PRELIMINARY FINDINGS INDICATE UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AND OCCUPANTS NOT NATIVE TO EARTH.*
The President nearly spat out his coffee. He read and reread the line again, refusing to believe that that was what the report said.
*INTERROGATION OF WOUNDED UNIDENTIFIED EXTRATERRESTRIAL BEING CONDUCTED BY CIA AT 0352HRS. INTERROGATION CONCLUDED AT 0423HRS. DUE TO LANGUAGE BARRIER, SOME WORDS MAY BE LOOSELY TRANSLATED. KEY POINTS ASCERTAINED ARE AS FOLLOWS:*
*1. EXTRATERRESTRIAL BEING IS KNOWN AS A MA’SLYUM (NAME OF SPECIFIC ENTITY OR NAME OF SPECIES? UNKNOWN.) FROM INTERGALACTIC(?) ALLIANCE KNOWN AS THE KIKOMIRA.*
*2. PURPOSE OF VISIT WAS RECONNOITER OF EARTH. SPEAKS BASIC ENGLISH BECAUSE HAVE BEEN STUDYING EARTH CULTURE FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS. CLAIMED CRASH WAS BECAUSE OF EQUIPMENT FAILURE PREVENTING ESCAPE FROM EARTH ATMOSPHERE.*
*3. HEART RATE ELEVATED THROUGHOUT INTERROGATION AT ALMOST INHUMAN LEVELS. OBSERVATIONS OF BODY LANGUAGE INDICATE SUBJECT IS TERRIFIED. SUGGEST CUTTING SHORT INTERROGATION.*
*4. ASKED SUBJECT ABOUT INTENTIONS FOR EARTH. SUBJECT REVEALED INTERGALACTIC ALLIANCE FORMED SOLELY TO CONTAIN HUMANITY. WORDS TRANSLATED INCLUDE CONTAINMENT, INTERGALACTIC THREAT AND PROTECTION OF UNIVERSE. REFERENCE TO HUMANS ALMOST BIBLICAL IN NATURE.*
*5. NAME FOR HUMANS LOOSELY TRANSLATED TO SUNEATER. SUBJECT REFERRED TO FLAG OF UNITED STATES. CLAIMED EACH STAR REPRESENTED ONE SUN CONSUMED. CLAIMED THEIR SPECIES DISCOVERED MESSAGE AMONG THE STARS CLAIMING LONG DEAD AND ADVANCED INTERGALACTIC CIVILISATION HAD MANAGED TO BEAT BACK SUNEATERS AND CONTAIN THEM ON EARTH AFTER COSTLY WAR THAT DESTROYED ENTIRE STAR SYSTEMS AND LEFT TRILLIONS DEAD. USE OF UNKNOWN SUPERWEAPON MANAGED TO MINDWIPE AND DEVOLVE SUNEATER SPECIES TO BASE FORM. MESSAGE WARNED FUTURE CIVILISATIONS TO CONTINUE MONITORING AND CONTAINMENT OF SUNEATER THREAT AS SUNEATERS VIRTUALLY UNKILLABLE IN PRIME FORM AND SUPERWEAPON EFFECTS WILL WEAR OFF OVER TIME.*
*6. SUBJECT ASKED WHETHER THE KIKOMORA IS PLANNING ATTACK. SUBJECT CLAIMED LONG DEAD CIVILISATION RECOMMENDED NOT TO ENGAGE SUNEATER THREAT. CLAIMS THAT ONCE ENGAGED, SUNEATERS WILL REVERT TO THEIR PRIME FORMS AND END THE UNIVERSE AS THEY KNOW IT. CURRENT DOCTRINE INDICATES APPEASEMENT AND WORSHIP OF SUNEATERS RECOMMENDED ONCE SUNEATERS REVERT TO PRIME FORM.*
*IT IS THE ADVICE OF THIS RESEARCHER THAT IF TRUE, RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE CONVENING OF THE UNITED NATIONS AND FURTHER STUDY OF OURSELVES AS A SPECIES IS WARRANTED.* | `[GALACTIC COMMUNIQUE] [DO NOT IGNORE] In accordance with Galactic Charter Fi-Contega we are extending an offer of acceptance to your fledgling species. After reviewing your achievements, we desire to include you into the "Milky Way" co-operation group. Please send a representative from graphical region "ESTADOS UNIDOS" that bears the authority to enter a diplomatic treaty on behalf of "The Earth".`
I swear everything about it felt like a SPAM message. All our details were slightly off, and felt crammed in like a bad game of ad-libs; Lying without context in some out-world joke. If the media didn't swoop on it the way it had, I wouldn't have even given it a second thought. But it was odd, the point that the pundits kept sharp, thrusting into the community at every chance. The unavoidable, almost damning point that every person on the planet received that message in an email, text message, and in-app pop up at the exact same moment *globally....* Yeah, that point, as odd as anything we've seen, didn't really shock me the way it seemed to shock others.
I, along with a group on the internet, had figured it all out. There were state actors meaning to spread panic, wanting us to feel like *they* were the ones to protect us, like *they* deserve the tax dollars for getting us all wrapped up into another big lie. How terribly, disgustingly fucking wrong we were.
See, we were all trolls then. Like the jackasses before us, we were joking %100 percent of the time and lived to get a rise out of people who were living their lives too seriously. That's why I still don't understand.... I mean... Why me? There's no way that I was the first to reply... But that's exactly what I did. The text I deleted, but I still had a copy of it when it hit one of my alt accounts. I tried my best "galactic communique" speak and nominated myself for the offworld adventure.
`[CHARTER RESPONSE] [OPEN IMMEDIATELY] It is with great authority and humility to your awesome power that I contemplate acceptance to the "Milky Way" co-operation group. I will command our beings to produce a vessel to bring me to the council. Please send schematics for inter-stellar travel at your soonest convenience, so we may leverage this understanding to bring our union about more hastily. Love, Captain Duggie.`
I thought I was sooooo funny. DON'T THESE PEOPLE CHECK REFERENCES?!?
​
No sooner had I hit send than I found myself standing in the stars. I was well dressed, neatly shaven, hell, I looked like *The Great Gastby*. Standing on a glass floor with stars below, stars above, and only a robotic belhop at a mahogany desk push the magnificent beauty into the background.
'Welcome Sir Duggie! Can I get you anything before we begin?"
Surely I'm dreaming. Or tripping? Maybe I've hit my head? Better to go with it, I decide.
"Yes a Red Stripe please." I don't know why I expected confusion, because a moment later a bottle that may have been straight out of a Jamaican ice chest was produced by the belhop. I took a sip and smiled. "Aren't you going to take my bags?"
"Very funny sir! Please step this way, the committee would like to meet you."
*That's* when things started to get weird.
See, I was pretty sure I was hallucinating at this point, so my behavior is that of someone who just discovered they were dreaming and begins to go Lucid. They do things they would never and I mean *never* do in real life, like slap the pope or jump off a bridge to practice flying. That should, hopefully, explain some of the terribly awful things I did in my next few moments.
​
I step through a curtain and in an instant I'm in *the* galactic congress room from Star Wars. I looked around for the usual Jedi faces, but all I saw were other humans. Some wore strange paint and some had stretched ear-lobes, but nothing I hadn't seen on Earth. I chuckled, sipped my beer and tapped loudly on a little microphone protruding from the pod I found myself standing in.
Stooping over it like I was dedicating a Karaoke ballad to my new fiancé, I said "Where's Jabba?" and looked widely around the impressive chamber. I laughed wretchedly at the silence, spilling about half of the Red Stripe (the half I hadn't drunk) over the edge of my pod. A member took the silence from me, before I completely hung myself with it, but his words were like nothing I would have dreamt, which still chills me to my spine.
"Silence!" His command rang through the hollow, seemingly infinite chamber and left behind exactly what he decreed. I suddenly felt very awake, but not quite convinced this isn't a joke. "You bear the mark of Pal-tir and it is clear among all civilized galactic societies that this mark seals within it the *spirit* of Pal-tir that you have so blatantly demonstrated since your arrival. Do you deny this fact?"
After a moment of deliberation, I determined my best response would feign ignorance.
"Uhhhhh..... What?" Still clutching my empty beer bottle I felt it get cold and heavy once more in my hands. Suddenly, over the part I lovingly call "Ye' Olde Mouth-Hole" I saw the symbol of Pal-tir burning hot white. It was a star! *These space-freaks hate our star?* I thought to myself before the plasma-heat of the star flooded the glass, and on into my hand. I dropped the bottle where I stood, and it shattered into the floor of the pod. I was now standing naked, barefooted among the bottle shards daring not to move. I still felt no shame, much as one does in a dream.
"You have seen with your own eyes our power. If you want our attacks on Earth to cease, you must remove the symbol of Pal-tir from your seals of leadership. Do you understand?" shouted a different member.
"You were attacking us? I didn't even notice." This sent the room into a Fury. The hologram that made them appear human began to crack around its edges, showing an encyclopedia of monsters mid-tantrum. It reminded me of the way some kids (and adults) on Earth acted when they were told no. It was actually pretty disgusting, which is probably why I said what I did.
"Alright listen here. That "Pap-tean" thing you guys are all puckered over is something we call a 'star' and HERE IN AMERICA it means FREEDOM! Today you want us to change the little pointy thing you don't like, Then what? No more Red Stripe? You gonna tell us we can't shoot off fireworks? Listen. You do you and leave us the fuck alone, how 'bout it?"
​
In the next instant, I found myself waking up in bed in the White House next to the First Lady and a note scribbled on a bar napkin that read "Dear Captain Duggie, We're Through Asking Nicely..." That's how it all happened. I swear! |
Credits to u/Hyranic | [WP] Humanity discovers the reason aliens always seem to try and invade the United States. It turns out that the five pointed star is a symbol of unspeakable evil in galactic society. And the United States proudly displays fifty of them. | “What the hell is this?” growled the President of the United States, obviously annoyed at being woken up at this ungodly hour just to read a report.
“Sir, at 2352hrs Eastern Standard time, USAF intercepted and brought down an unidentified object over Dawson Springs, Kentucky,” answered the military general, his myriad of medals and ribbons adorning his immaculate uniform reflecting in the dim lighting of the President’s kitchen where the group had gathered. “Elements from Fort Campbell including the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment secured the crash site and attempted to ascertain the identity of the intruders.”
“And?” asked the President, sitting down at the dining table with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “Who was it? The Russians? The Chinese? North Koreans?”
The general gulped and looked around at the other military advisers and aides in the room, all of whom shuffled uneasily on their feet and avoided eye contact.
“What the hell,” whispered the President under his breath, noticing the reactions to his entourage. “What’s going on here? This some sort of joke?”
“Not a joke sir unfortunately,” stated the CIA director from a darkened corner of the room as all eyes turned to him, his bespectacled face dimly lighted by the light of the cigarette he was smoking. “Everything’s on the report.”
The President stared incredulously at the man, then back at the report. With his reading glasses propped up low on his nose, he sighed loudly and started silently scanning the pages of the hastily prepared report in front of him.
**REPORT ON DAWSON SPRINGS INCIDENT**
*AT 2352HRS ET, 07/27/2022, UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT SPOTTED ON RADAR OVER KENTUCKY. JETS SCRAMBLED FOR INTERCEPT. REPEATED ATTEMPTS TO HAIL IGNORED.*
The President eyed the blurry photo clipped to the side of the page: A small saucer shaped vehicle flying through the air. He shifted uneasily in his seat and continued reading.
*ORDER GIVEN TO BRING DOWN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AT 0003HRS ET, 07/28/2022. JETS FIRED AT 0004HRS ET AND BROUGHT DOWN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT NEAR DAWSON SPRINGS, KENTUCKY. NEAREST ARMY ELEMENTS ON STANDBY ARRIVED AT CRASH SITE AT 0029HRS ET. CRASH SITE SECURED. IDENTIFIED 4 CASUALTIES AMONG CRASH. 3 DEAD 1 WOUNDED. UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AND OCCUPANTS BROUGHT TO NEARBY CIA BLACKSITE.*
The President took a sip of his coffee.
*CRASH MATERIALS ARRIVED AT BLACKSITE AT 0237HRS ET. PRELIMINARY FINDINGS INDICATE UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT AND OCCUPANTS NOT NATIVE TO EARTH.*
The President nearly spat out his coffee. He read and reread the line again, refusing to believe that that was what the report said.
*INTERROGATION OF WOUNDED UNIDENTIFIED EXTRATERRESTRIAL BEING CONDUCTED BY CIA AT 0352HRS. INTERROGATION CONCLUDED AT 0423HRS. DUE TO LANGUAGE BARRIER, SOME WORDS MAY BE LOOSELY TRANSLATED. KEY POINTS ASCERTAINED ARE AS FOLLOWS:*
*1. EXTRATERRESTRIAL BEING IS KNOWN AS A MA’SLYUM (NAME OF SPECIFIC ENTITY OR NAME OF SPECIES? UNKNOWN.) FROM INTERGALACTIC(?) ALLIANCE KNOWN AS THE KIKOMIRA.*
*2. PURPOSE OF VISIT WAS RECONNOITER OF EARTH. SPEAKS BASIC ENGLISH BECAUSE HAVE BEEN STUDYING EARTH CULTURE FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS. CLAIMED CRASH WAS BECAUSE OF EQUIPMENT FAILURE PREVENTING ESCAPE FROM EARTH ATMOSPHERE.*
*3. HEART RATE ELEVATED THROUGHOUT INTERROGATION AT ALMOST INHUMAN LEVELS. OBSERVATIONS OF BODY LANGUAGE INDICATE SUBJECT IS TERRIFIED. SUGGEST CUTTING SHORT INTERROGATION.*
*4. ASKED SUBJECT ABOUT INTENTIONS FOR EARTH. SUBJECT REVEALED INTERGALACTIC ALLIANCE FORMED SOLELY TO CONTAIN HUMANITY. WORDS TRANSLATED INCLUDE CONTAINMENT, INTERGALACTIC THREAT AND PROTECTION OF UNIVERSE. REFERENCE TO HUMANS ALMOST BIBLICAL IN NATURE.*
*5. NAME FOR HUMANS LOOSELY TRANSLATED TO SUNEATER. SUBJECT REFERRED TO FLAG OF UNITED STATES. CLAIMED EACH STAR REPRESENTED ONE SUN CONSUMED. CLAIMED THEIR SPECIES DISCOVERED MESSAGE AMONG THE STARS CLAIMING LONG DEAD AND ADVANCED INTERGALACTIC CIVILISATION HAD MANAGED TO BEAT BACK SUNEATERS AND CONTAIN THEM ON EARTH AFTER COSTLY WAR THAT DESTROYED ENTIRE STAR SYSTEMS AND LEFT TRILLIONS DEAD. USE OF UNKNOWN SUPERWEAPON MANAGED TO MINDWIPE AND DEVOLVE SUNEATER SPECIES TO BASE FORM. MESSAGE WARNED FUTURE CIVILISATIONS TO CONTINUE MONITORING AND CONTAINMENT OF SUNEATER THREAT AS SUNEATERS VIRTUALLY UNKILLABLE IN PRIME FORM AND SUPERWEAPON EFFECTS WILL WEAR OFF OVER TIME.*
*6. SUBJECT ASKED WHETHER THE KIKOMORA IS PLANNING ATTACK. SUBJECT CLAIMED LONG DEAD CIVILISATION RECOMMENDED NOT TO ENGAGE SUNEATER THREAT. CLAIMS THAT ONCE ENGAGED, SUNEATERS WILL REVERT TO THEIR PRIME FORMS AND END THE UNIVERSE AS THEY KNOW IT. CURRENT DOCTRINE INDICATES APPEASEMENT AND WORSHIP OF SUNEATERS RECOMMENDED ONCE SUNEATERS REVERT TO PRIME FORM.*
*IT IS THE ADVICE OF THIS RESEARCHER THAT IF TRUE, RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE CONVENING OF THE UNITED NATIONS AND FURTHER STUDY OF OURSELVES AS A SPECIES IS WARRANTED.* | It was baffling when the United States was the first nation to be attacked. Every time. Not a good thing for the society in question, destabilising in many cases really. Difficult to keep order and act reasonable when the nation is often under attack.
Usually it turned out to be just some small group that wrecked untold havoc before getting defeated by sheer numbers and gumption, but this time was different. This time it wasn't just some scavengers, or random invaders with seemingly no real reason to attack. It wasn't a small attack. This fleet blackened out the sky with ships. This invasion wasn't a ragtag group, it was a full scale multi-interstellar empire attack coordinated on the total and utter obliteration of the concept of the United States of America. More than 40 other countries, most predominant amongst them the People's Republic of China, was also at the same time invaded. There seemed to be no real rhyme or reason to the attacks. But this time, it was the end. The United States, disharmonious and rotten from the inside-out, was in no real state to repel any attack, and even if they had been a unified and stable country, they couldn't have amounted to more than a token effort against the enemy. Even the might atomic arsenal was quickly and efficiently disabled as the US government decided to take the planet down with them, and had all of their missiles and bombers disassembled by remote drones from the alien ships. Soon enough, the US, and a large amount of other nations around the planet, were under a military occupation by an alien force. The remaining free nations of Earth, having not been targeted despite providing military support to the nations in question, scrambled to create a more cohesive and united world government to provide a combined defence against a possible future alien invasion.
The new Alliance of Free Earth, was based on a mix between an EU-style political/economic union, and a WWII style Western Allies. One command structure, one unified world military, desperately reverse-engineering stolen alien tech in a hasty bid to ensure that the remaining nations could provide effective resistance against the extra-terrestrial threat. Beyond that, the AFE Army also kept order in many of the nations that had collapsed following the sudden blow to international trade, or had already been teetering on the edge of collapse anyway, such as warlord-controlled region once known as Russia. The new Alliance was economically and politically dominated by three arising powers within it. The East-African Federation, providing a beacon of structure and stability to the African continent, where many nations had been occupied by the alien invaders. The India-Japan Co-Defensive Agreement, which had swept up much of the Pacific and South-East Asia after the collapse of China and America. And the weakened but still functional European Union, which had managed to receive a few submarines carrying alien technology from the US before the government went completely insane.
But the question remained, why had the invasion stopped. Large swaths of the planet had been occupied, though only the United States seemed to be undergoing a harsh occupation. Refugees that manage to escape over the Mexican or Canadian borders, tell of mass re-education camps where the American identity is being wiped away, of massive child-care facilities where human children, taken from their parents, are indoctrinated into the alien culture. This contrasts with nearly every other nation occupied. People who've fled from China or Burkina Faso only reports the eradication of the previous political and economic leadership, reports say that otherwise, the occupied areas of Earth experience quite tolerable conditions for a military occupation. Some places are even being improved environmentally and developmentally. And the aliens have built strange machines in some of the occupied areas, or so the AFE spy satellites say, that coincide with a sudden and inexplicable reversal of climate change. Only in the United States are cities being torn down, only in the United States are vast areas of farmland being turned into wilderness. Only in the US, are there countless of reports of human deaths.
Eventually, as things settle down, the Alliance of Free Earth tries to reach out to the alien invaders. To open negotiations, to learn something, to establish diplomatic relations, anything really. The leaders of the Alliance thinks that the more they know about the aliens, the better they can fight them. Surprisingly, the aliens are quite open to the idea of opening relations. Very much so. It actually does work out pretty well. Except for one thing. Whenever the diplomats attempt to find out the why of the invasion, they're met with an answer from the aliens that's always the same. It's a variant of ''*It is obvious why we liberated those areas of your world.*'' And they don't elaborate. It's not until the AFE manages to negotiate an opening of the occupied territories, barring the former United States, that there seems to be a pattern forming. The areas are clean, healthy, full of humans and surprisingly some aliens who seem to be living in harmony. A human goes to dinner with his office mates, some of which are insectile or vaguely amphibian, some of which are vaguely humanoid, but definitely not humans. The cities are green and look like they were designed by people who are rather entranced by the solarpunk aesthetic. A man and what looks like a moth twice his size are on a date in a large café. All of this comes from a scene in Havana, the capital of the Autonomous Zone of Cuba. But strangely, there are no signs of the old Cuban flag, the Estrella Solitaria.
Except in a museum. A museum of Cuban history, which has a new exhibit about the war. Strangely, the singular star on the flag has been removed. And that's when the rest of humanity finally finds out about the five-pointed star.
Tens of thousands of years ago, when the galactic community was young and everything was wild, a group of planets united under a banner with just such a star on it. And together they began a thousand year war that burned planets, butchered countless trillions, destroyed stars, sacrificed millions every day to uncaring monstrous and immortal eaters, who required a constant stream of fresh flesh to remain alive. It was known as the Aeon of Blood, and the nameless empire that united under this five-pointed star used to burn it into the surface of captured planets. It became the symbol of universal evil, as it took generations after generations of constant unending and brutal war to fight the nameless empire of evil back to their homeworlds and collapse the stars those worlds orbited into black holes, because that was the only way that this ancient force of unspeakable evil could ever be destroyed. And even then, millions of ships guard these black holes, just beyond the event horizon; In case anything ever manages to escape them. Something does, rarely, but it happens. No one is quite certain how the forces of evil, who have been struck from all records to render them nameless and weak, have managed to survive getting consumed by black holes, but something remains. Something evil, vile, and horrendous. Something that can still affect the outside.
Sometimes it's an ancient weapon, sometimes its a barely functional ship piloted by the dead still trying to break the blockade, but sometimes its a signal. A signal of untold evil that is sent to some primitive world, infecting the locals, making them take the symbol of the five-pointed star upon themselves and begin to conquer their world, in the hopes of one day freeing the forces of the five-pointed star. That is why the United States, who had a star-spangled banner carrying fifty of those, was always attacked first. It explains why every nation with a five-pointed star on them was attacked and occupied. When the alien diplomats of the Galactic Concord are confronted by AFE diplomats, they are shocked. They had thought that it had been quite obvious. They occupied every nation with a five-pointed star on their flag in order not to risk anything. They had come across primitive nations on other worlds before where the five-pointed star had been used innocently, but judging from American history, and especially recent reactionary insanity, the Galactic Concord, and all those various rogue traders, mercenaries, pirates, scavengers, and others who had attacked Earth in the past, an infection was likely. They had figured that the various garrisons in other nations, their various forced puppet-governments, and their insane leadership made it obvious to the rest of planet Earth that the US had to be put down as a rabid animal should.
The AFE declined to comment on the fact that they'd just sort of not ever thought of that, and just let the USA do what it wanted. In hindsight, with their manipulations of countless governments, their cultural hegemony, their various warcrimes, the horrid way the US treated its own citizens, the way the US had gained economic primacy because of the world wars, the leadership of the AFE felt that maybe they should have been a little more vigilant. Then some older leaders reminded the younger ones that being vigilant during the age of the ''Pax Americana'' was a good way to experience the old self-inflicted double-shotgun blasts to the back of the head that had been one of the more common methods the US had used to remove people who stood against their agenda back in the day. The AFE then quietly redirected their efforts on freeing every nation on Earth, to focusing primarily on freeing everything else other than the former US. |
[WP] War is the bread and butter of your people, so you were taken aback when the enemy saved your life. Cheated of a Good Death, you awake in a human field hospital and treated better here than back amongst your peers. Here, they even remember your name. Your loyalty drastically shifts... | "Why?" I asked, my mandibles clicking and clacking in my people's tongue.
The apes, these... human's, as they call themselves, fiddled with the devices they were using to translate my language, seeming to think they missheard me.
"Why... what?" They asked, speaking into a larger device on the table between us.
"Why did you treat my wounds? Why do you keep me alive, and treat me this way?" I couldn't hide the angry tone in my voice, picked up and emulated by their translators most likely.
They looked amongst themselves before answering. "Even if you are a prisoner of war, you should be treated as a person, human or not."
"I am a soldier of the Antyrian Empire, a servant of the queen meant to be an expendable soldier, so why are you treating me as if I was one of your wounded?" I couldn't figure out what their angle was, or why they seemed to be so willing to help me, regardless of what they say.
"Because everyone deserves a chance to live, regardless of who they are." One of them, a female I think, told me as sbe stepped closer. "You may be a soldier, but you still have your own life."
I.. I wasn't sure what to say about that. At least, at first. "I... I want to repay you. You're soldiers are great champions, and you are great doctors." I looked into her eyes. "Tell your superiors that I'll make a deal."
They seemed shocked, but one of them still rushed off, most likely to tell their leader at this 'hospital'. Some time later, I began talking to their military officers, pointing out the weaknesses of my people's weapons, hoping for one thing: thebday that my brothers and sisters can all feel the treatment that the humans gave me, the 'kindness' that they showed me. I hope that day can be soon, but... I of all people know just how long a war can last. | Orcs always fight. It's all we know, from the moment of our birth, often to the moment of our death. Our lives are built around fighting. As a young orc, I was always fighting. For more food, for the best weapons and armor, for prestige or status. There are many reasons to fight. In the Ribbon, the ancient ancestral homeland of all Orcs, fighting is so constant that we rarely have a moment to ourselves.
Reflection, tranquility, peace, these things are alien to Orcs. As are many other things, like kindness, sharing, emotional honesty, even the subtleties of complicated language, we Orcs often go our whole lives without knowing. Orcs lie, threaten, and, rarely, bargain. This is Orc language, in a nutshell.
When I awoke in a human hospital, days after the partial conquest of my homeland, I wasn’t mad. No. Mad doesn't begin to describe my emotions at the time. I was ferocious. I was a berserker in rage. I tore that wing of the hospital apart. Then the human guards came with their strange weapons. There were loud booms, as there were before, on the battlefield that day. I went down, hard. Again. The second time I awoke, it was in a cell. I was still in a hospital bed, but the door was barred. The walls were stone. I was alone. I was so weak. And thirsty.
I called out for help, expecting none. Of course. What Orc would expect help from a human, when his own people never would help him? But help came. The doctor, in his white coat. The nurses in black dresses. They gave me water. Food. And not just the crap Orcs eat. Good food. Cooked. Cooked well, and with spices. I got to know one of the nurses quite well, over the next few days and weeks.
Her name was Elizabeth. She was beautiful. And the way she laughed, nearly brought a tear to my eye. We became friends. Then lovers. When I was well enough to leave the hospital, she offered to let me stay with her. It broke my heart to turn her down, but I had to join the Army. All most Orcs know is fighting, but there are various forms of fighting. I'm well-versed in all of them, including war. Plus, what kind of Orc would I be if I let the humans have all our lands?
King James is going to conquer the Ribbon, and we Orcs are going to go extinct. Unless, of course, we can learn to live with the humans. I guess that's the point of the war. | |
[WP] War is the bread and butter of your people, so you were taken aback when the enemy saved your life. Cheated of a Good Death, you awake in a human field hospital and treated better here than back amongst your peers. Here, they even remember your name. Your loyalty drastically shifts... | **PART 1**
A dozen plasma rifles pointed at the fortified door, popping up from behind makeshift barricades and peeking around pillars. Bright sparkles rained down onto the polished metal floor from an ever increasing glowing red line in the door. Amidst the focussed firepower, one pistol wielding defender paced between the walls with his head held high. He knew his orders: defend the fortress or die trying. It seemed it would have to be the latter - at least he would be able to complete that task.
“I don’t have to tell you how this will end, but take comfort in knowing that we will soon see eachother again in the Halls of the Fallen.” He glimpsed at the door and continued: “I expect you each to take at least five of them with you. They will pay dearly for this final chamber.”
The line almost met itself at the top of the door. The officer stopped pacing and aimed at this door, his arm outstretched like a steel beam.
“Death to the humans!”
A war-cry rang through the room as the line completed its journey. The piece of reinforced door fell inward, already getting punctured by a hail of glittering orb-like projectiles, and soon the response came in the form of a torrent of orange flashes.
Whether it was a few minutes or just a couple of seconds, the officer couldn’t say. But in the end he found himself slumped against the back wall, his pistol gone and his men dead. In his dazed state he slowly ran his fingers along his natural carapace and concluded his vitals had not been hit. But there came one of those humans, undoubtedly for the coup de grâce. The officer watched as the human leveled the weapon at his face. He was ready to leave this plane of existence, where war and violence held sway. He’d seen and done his fair share and had earned his place in the Halls.
A white light washed over him, blinding him, but instead of long dead warriors greeting him, nothing happened.
“This one is still alive!” the human called out and flicked the flashlight on his weapon back off. Another human came up as his consciousness left him.
He opened his eyes in a small cubicle with walls made of tarp and a light affixed to the ceiling that emitted a blue glow. His first impressions of the Halls were not good, but perhaps this was a sort of practical joke they played on new arrivals. The blue light was quite soothing at least. He laid on something soft, and was covered with white cloth. He peeled the cloth away with one hand and uncovered some peculiarities: his other hand was manacled to an iron rod and he did not wear his decorated warrior attire. Instead, his body was wrapped in thick cloth. One of the tarp walls parted and in stepped what he understood to be a female human carrying a tray, followed by a male one with a clipboard. On his head rested a cap with a single silver star in the middle
He recoiled as the realization hit him.
“You denied me a warrior's death, honourles cur!” he hissed at his captors.
The woman stopped and looked at the man, who exclaimed something and fished a device out of his fatigues that he strapped around his forehead.
“Beg your pardon, could you repeat that?” the human said in the tongue of the officer’s species, the Zami.
“You should have killed me. I thought one thing you and us could agree on was that soldiers deserve a good death. What now? Are you going to torture me? Parade me around the capital of your home planet?” The officer quickly scanned the room for something to fight with.
“Heavens no! We are just here to check up on you, and talk, if your strength allows it.” The human nodded at the woman, who then tentatively inched around the bed, watching the officer with a hint of fear in her eyes, and placed the tray on a table next to him. She jumped back before he could even think of making a grab at her. Instead he inspected the contents of the tray - filled with treats and delicacies from home, amazingly.
“How did you get this?” he demanded from the woman, who seemed to be half-swallowed by the tarp behind her.
“Ah, her expertise is in the nutritions of your kind,” the man responded and turned his head to the woman. “I’ll take it from here.”
The woman arched an eyebrow and the man grumbled something as he fingered the device on his forehead. He exchanged a quick word and the woman left in a hurry. The officer picked up the tray and hovered it close to face. It looked and smelled like the real stuff, at least, from what he could remember. This was the stuff that was reserved for the Zami elites. The last time he had something similar was before he was sent out on his assignment, which could now more aptly be described as a suicide mission. He was allowed to have some during his briefings at the Capital Ship, where the fleet admiral had graciously allowed him and his colleagues a taste from his well kept stores. Perhaps it was like something a jailor gives to the condemned on the day of reckoning. | My eyes did not shoot open, full of potent rage. My face did not remain caked in the dried blood that proved I had fought well. These were just the images in my dreams, the ways I was told that waking up in battle should be if I was unlucky enough to wake up at all.
Instead my awakening was in a docile lull, surrounded by those who cared about me far more than I them. I cared only of their deaths, of their peoples enslavement at the hands of mine, of winning. A woman peered over my bed as my eyes drifted open. Pretty, a soft face with sharp eyes and finely drawn lines. If I wasn't so dazed I would have choked her till she turned blue.
"Awake I see. Your people recover fast" her words drifted in and out of my consciousness, as if she spoke to me from underwater. Then she turned to another body, another nurse maybe. "Dorian is awake. What now?"
Surely she would plant a knife in my neck. Would put a rifle to my chest and pull until I'd stopped moving. They would be pulling for longer than they had the strength to do and would find me ok, then find themselves corpses. But they did not. "Keep him here until we are sure he's well. Then we can let him back.", was all the other replied. *A trap*. *A trick*. We killed their people by the pile and laughed as we did, yet here in this tent I was being told I would be released. Under my sheet I reached down my leg in search of the blade my people held dear, trying my best to keep my arm flat beneath. Then, after a moment, my hand met its grip. *Fools*. Fools. Empathetic, compassionate fools who remembered things like names and traits other than those that suited warriors.
Outside the sounds of war machines grew. Metal shells erupting into shrapnel and fire. Cannons and slugs punching holes through metal as if it wasn't even there. Inside the tent the nurses didnt even duck at the sounds. Maybe they had once, but now they just continued their work as if it were a regular day. Tending to broken men that looked to me with fear.
"Dorian. You'll be going back soon. We'll put you as far into your line as we can." her voice was sweet but callous, with a hint of something buried deeper. A coldness maybe. A hatred. I would not blame her. The losers of such crusades always learned to hate. And there were a lot of losers.
I grabbed her by the wrist, my hand engulfing her small frame whole. Soft, was the only word I could think. "I will stay, if you'd have me."
And she smiled to me. | |
[WP] War is the bread and butter of your people, so you were taken aback when the enemy saved your life. Cheated of a Good Death, you awake in a human field hospital and treated better here than back amongst your peers. Here, they even remember your name. Your loyalty drastically shifts... | Among my people, the words for *war* and *life* are the same. I will not hammer out the tired wisdom of that polysemy for you. You know better than most. You have seen it with your own eyes. You have felt it buck in your shoulder with each trigger pull, or heave in your shoulders with each tear shed for the fallen. But despite your enigmatic empathy, we are the same, your kind and mine. Or so I thought, for so long. It is only now I see you are *better.*
After one cycle of life, my kindred was thrown into its first crucible. Still young, still soft, we cleaned our weapons in our ship bays and listened to the drumbeat of war. Against the Vitrolian Annex, we were told there could be no quarter. None given, none received. We put their nests to flame and crushed the writhing maggots of their young in our armored claws. They captured our wounded and let their larvae feed on my maimed brethren from inside-out.
After the second cycle of my life, the blooded among us were dispatched to bring peace to the Cold Stars. Knowing what you know of our definitions of *war* and *life,* I should imagine you can guess what word shares its shape with *peace.* We did as instructed. And once the wasteland arcologies of the Cold Star Kin had been consecrated into haunted mausoleums, we departed on howling void ships that burnt the atmosphere to its constituent molecules. The flames we lit immolated even the ghosts of those worlds, until only aether and ash remained.
Ten cycles passed before I ascended to the Exemplarship, and our tribal empire was given its first and noblest challenge. The *sapiens* of Grug, called human in their tongue, *your* tongue. Understand, we had never faced true warriors before we faced you. We had never faced any worthy of our blades. And whatever you may think yourselves—lovers, thinkers, artists—you are *warriors.*
In the Oort Cloud skirmishes, your hit-and-run tactics devastated our fleets. Intrigued we were by this impudence, but we adapted. We surrendered the time-honored tradition of invitation-battle to fight you where tactical need dictated. When you first unleashed your soulless soldiers of quantum intelligence on the red sands of your seed world, Mars, we saw this as a mark of honor rather than desperation. It was not that you feared to fight us, for we knew of your war-kin's excellence by reputation. But we had not yet proven our worth to you; you would not deign to fight us with your own flesh and blood, nor sully your weapons with our ichor.
Oh, how our blood blazed at this challenge. How it *burned!* When first we sailed to your crown world of gray skies and acid seas—when first we reddened your own sands with your own oxygenous blood—the purity of our pleasure made our skin sing. Your warrior caste, perfected through gene-science and engrammatic indoctrination, hardened by powered carapace that rivalled the strength of our most venerable blooded, trained in the waging of war as if it were a science rather than a passion, cut us down just as quickly as they fell.
You were... perfect. And you offered me all I had ever wanted since the moment of my birth and my mothers told me my purpose.
You offered me peace.
So when fragmentation from a stray shell in the tree-infested swamps of your Amazon wounded me, and your meticulous surgeons deprived me of the final rest I had so long sought, you can understand my displeasure, and why it has taken me so long to answer your inquiries. I thought you were taunting me. I thought you were torturing me, just as the Vitrolian Talon Kin had tortured my brethren when they'd injected their young maggots into our bellies and let them feast upon us from within. I thought you enjoyed it. And never once did I stop to think why I had craved *peace* for so long.
But by the fifth rotation of your planet, I began to understand. Your nurses—your *nurses,* soldiers in their own, loving way—came and spoke to me in *my* tongue. You asked how I was. How was I? How could I have been but wrathful? My entire kindred had been slain over the years, to return to the heavenly halls of our tribal mothers. I had faced down a human champion and pounded my claws upon my breastplate in challenge. Then the caprice of gravity and steel rain had stolen me the honor of duelling him, of rest.
Why did I seek rest? It didn't matter. I was angry. I was spiteful. I was so, so sick.
She put her hand on mine, the nurse, and her two eyes looked into my eight.
"Everything," she spoke, her tongue enthralling the sounds of my people's tongue, the tongue of my fathers and mothers, the tongue of my war and my life, "will be all right."
Life, my kind are told, is war. That is its finest iteration. From you, in the span of these days, I have learned the opposite may be true. Life can be peace.
You ask why we came, or why we fight you. I answer you now. It is because we have not known kindness. It is because we have not known you.
u/AdeptnessPrize | My eyes did not shoot open, full of potent rage. My face did not remain caked in the dried blood that proved I had fought well. These were just the images in my dreams, the ways I was told that waking up in battle should be if I was unlucky enough to wake up at all.
Instead my awakening was in a docile lull, surrounded by those who cared about me far more than I them. I cared only of their deaths, of their peoples enslavement at the hands of mine, of winning. A woman peered over my bed as my eyes drifted open. Pretty, a soft face with sharp eyes and finely drawn lines. If I wasn't so dazed I would have choked her till she turned blue.
"Awake I see. Your people recover fast" her words drifted in and out of my consciousness, as if she spoke to me from underwater. Then she turned to another body, another nurse maybe. "Dorian is awake. What now?"
Surely she would plant a knife in my neck. Would put a rifle to my chest and pull until I'd stopped moving. They would be pulling for longer than they had the strength to do and would find me ok, then find themselves corpses. But they did not. "Keep him here until we are sure he's well. Then we can let him back.", was all the other replied. *A trap*. *A trick*. We killed their people by the pile and laughed as we did, yet here in this tent I was being told I would be released. Under my sheet I reached down my leg in search of the blade my people held dear, trying my best to keep my arm flat beneath. Then, after a moment, my hand met its grip. *Fools*. Fools. Empathetic, compassionate fools who remembered things like names and traits other than those that suited warriors.
Outside the sounds of war machines grew. Metal shells erupting into shrapnel and fire. Cannons and slugs punching holes through metal as if it wasn't even there. Inside the tent the nurses didnt even duck at the sounds. Maybe they had once, but now they just continued their work as if it were a regular day. Tending to broken men that looked to me with fear.
"Dorian. You'll be going back soon. We'll put you as far into your line as we can." her voice was sweet but callous, with a hint of something buried deeper. A coldness maybe. A hatred. I would not blame her. The losers of such crusades always learned to hate. And there were a lot of losers.
I grabbed her by the wrist, my hand engulfing her small frame whole. Soft, was the only word I could think. "I will stay, if you'd have me."
And she smiled to me. | |
[WP] War is the bread and butter of your people, so you were taken aback when the enemy saved your life. Cheated of a Good Death, you awake in a human field hospital and treated better here than back amongst your peers. Here, they even remember your name. Your loyalty drastically shifts... | Among my people, the words for *war* and *life* are the same. I will not hammer out the tired wisdom of that polysemy for you. You know better than most. You have seen it with your own eyes. You have felt it buck in your shoulder with each trigger pull, or heave in your shoulders with each tear shed for the fallen. But despite your enigmatic empathy, we are the same, your kind and mine. Or so I thought, for so long. It is only now I see you are *better.*
After one cycle of life, my kindred was thrown into its first crucible. Still young, still soft, we cleaned our weapons in our ship bays and listened to the drumbeat of war. Against the Vitrolian Annex, we were told there could be no quarter. None given, none received. We put their nests to flame and crushed the writhing maggots of their young in our armored claws. They captured our wounded and let their larvae feed on my maimed brethren from inside-out.
After the second cycle of my life, the blooded among us were dispatched to bring peace to the Cold Stars. Knowing what you know of our definitions of *war* and *life,* I should imagine you can guess what word shares its shape with *peace.* We did as instructed. And once the wasteland arcologies of the Cold Star Kin had been consecrated into haunted mausoleums, we departed on howling void ships that burnt the atmosphere to its constituent molecules. The flames we lit immolated even the ghosts of those worlds, until only aether and ash remained.
Ten cycles passed before I ascended to the Exemplarship, and our tribal empire was given its first and noblest challenge. The *sapiens* of Grug, called human in their tongue, *your* tongue. Understand, we had never faced true warriors before we faced you. We had never faced any worthy of our blades. And whatever you may think yourselves—lovers, thinkers, artists—you are *warriors.*
In the Oort Cloud skirmishes, your hit-and-run tactics devastated our fleets. Intrigued we were by this impudence, but we adapted. We surrendered the time-honored tradition of invitation-battle to fight you where tactical need dictated. When you first unleashed your soulless soldiers of quantum intelligence on the red sands of your seed world, Mars, we saw this as a mark of honor rather than desperation. It was not that you feared to fight us, for we knew of your war-kin's excellence by reputation. But we had not yet proven our worth to you; you would not deign to fight us with your own flesh and blood, nor sully your weapons with our ichor.
Oh, how our blood blazed at this challenge. How it *burned!* When first we sailed to your crown world of gray skies and acid seas—when first we reddened your own sands with your own oxygenous blood—the purity of our pleasure made our skin sing. Your warrior caste, perfected through gene-science and engrammatic indoctrination, hardened by powered carapace that rivalled the strength of our most venerable blooded, trained in the waging of war as if it were a science rather than a passion, cut us down just as quickly as they fell.
You were... perfect. And you offered me all I had ever wanted since the moment of my birth and my mothers told me my purpose.
You offered me peace.
So when fragmentation from a stray shell in the tree-infested swamps of your Amazon wounded me, and your meticulous surgeons deprived me of the final rest I had so long sought, you can understand my displeasure, and why it has taken me so long to answer your inquiries. I thought you were taunting me. I thought you were torturing me, just as the Vitrolian Talon Kin had tortured my brethren when they'd injected their young maggots into our bellies and let them feast upon us from within. I thought you enjoyed it. And never once did I stop to think why I had craved *peace* for so long.
But by the fifth rotation of your planet, I began to understand. Your nurses—your *nurses,* soldiers in their own, loving way—came and spoke to me in *my* tongue. You asked how I was. How was I? How could I have been but wrathful? My entire kindred had been slain over the years, to return to the heavenly halls of our tribal mothers. I had faced down a human champion and pounded my claws upon my breastplate in challenge. Then the caprice of gravity and steel rain had stolen me the honor of duelling him, of rest.
Why did I seek rest? It didn't matter. I was angry. I was spiteful. I was so, so sick.
She put her hand on mine, the nurse, and her two eyes looked into my eight.
"Everything," she spoke, her tongue enthralling the sounds of my people's tongue, the tongue of my fathers and mothers, the tongue of my war and my life, "will be all right."
Life, my kind are told, is war. That is its finest iteration. From you, in the span of these days, I have learned the opposite may be true. Life can be peace.
You ask why we came, or why we fight you. I answer you now. It is because we have not known kindness. It is because we have not known you.
u/AdeptnessPrize | **PART 1**
A dozen plasma rifles pointed at the fortified door, popping up from behind makeshift barricades and peeking around pillars. Bright sparkles rained down onto the polished metal floor from an ever increasing glowing red line in the door. Amidst the focussed firepower, one pistol wielding defender paced between the walls with his head held high. He knew his orders: defend the fortress or die trying. It seemed it would have to be the latter - at least he would be able to complete that task.
“I don’t have to tell you how this will end, but take comfort in knowing that we will soon see eachother again in the Halls of the Fallen.” He glimpsed at the door and continued: “I expect you each to take at least five of them with you. They will pay dearly for this final chamber.”
The line almost met itself at the top of the door. The officer stopped pacing and aimed at this door, his arm outstretched like a steel beam.
“Death to the humans!”
A war-cry rang through the room as the line completed its journey. The piece of reinforced door fell inward, already getting punctured by a hail of glittering orb-like projectiles, and soon the response came in the form of a torrent of orange flashes.
Whether it was a few minutes or just a couple of seconds, the officer couldn’t say. But in the end he found himself slumped against the back wall, his pistol gone and his men dead. In his dazed state he slowly ran his fingers along his natural carapace and concluded his vitals had not been hit. But there came one of those humans, undoubtedly for the coup de grâce. The officer watched as the human leveled the weapon at his face. He was ready to leave this plane of existence, where war and violence held sway. He’d seen and done his fair share and had earned his place in the Halls.
A white light washed over him, blinding him, but instead of long dead warriors greeting him, nothing happened.
“This one is still alive!” the human called out and flicked the flashlight on his weapon back off. Another human came up as his consciousness left him.
He opened his eyes in a small cubicle with walls made of tarp and a light affixed to the ceiling that emitted a blue glow. His first impressions of the Halls were not good, but perhaps this was a sort of practical joke they played on new arrivals. The blue light was quite soothing at least. He laid on something soft, and was covered with white cloth. He peeled the cloth away with one hand and uncovered some peculiarities: his other hand was manacled to an iron rod and he did not wear his decorated warrior attire. Instead, his body was wrapped in thick cloth. One of the tarp walls parted and in stepped what he understood to be a female human carrying a tray, followed by a male one with a clipboard. On his head rested a cap with a single silver star in the middle
He recoiled as the realization hit him.
“You denied me a warrior's death, honourles cur!” he hissed at his captors.
The woman stopped and looked at the man, who exclaimed something and fished a device out of his fatigues that he strapped around his forehead.
“Beg your pardon, could you repeat that?” the human said in the tongue of the officer’s species, the Zami.
“You should have killed me. I thought one thing you and us could agree on was that soldiers deserve a good death. What now? Are you going to torture me? Parade me around the capital of your home planet?” The officer quickly scanned the room for something to fight with.
“Heavens no! We are just here to check up on you, and talk, if your strength allows it.” The human nodded at the woman, who then tentatively inched around the bed, watching the officer with a hint of fear in her eyes, and placed the tray on a table next to him. She jumped back before he could even think of making a grab at her. Instead he inspected the contents of the tray - filled with treats and delicacies from home, amazingly.
“How did you get this?” he demanded from the woman, who seemed to be half-swallowed by the tarp behind her.
“Ah, her expertise is in the nutritions of your kind,” the man responded and turned his head to the woman. “I’ll take it from here.”
The woman arched an eyebrow and the man grumbled something as he fingered the device on his forehead. He exchanged a quick word and the woman left in a hurry. The officer picked up the tray and hovered it close to face. It looked and smelled like the real stuff, at least, from what he could remember. This was the stuff that was reserved for the Zami elites. The last time he had something similar was before he was sent out on his assignment, which could now more aptly be described as a suicide mission. He was allowed to have some during his briefings at the Capital Ship, where the fleet admiral had graciously allowed him and his colleagues a taste from his well kept stores. Perhaps it was like something a jailor gives to the condemned on the day of reckoning. | |
[WP] "My Son has something to say to you all." "*Sniff*, I'm sorry for getting angry and trying to reset your world with a flood." "And?" "Do I have to?" "Yes!" "...and for the whole plague of locusts thing. It was just a prank" | I gasped, blinking and coughing from what I could only describe as a religious vision. Looking around at everyone else on the bus. We all had the same bleary-eyed expression. No one wanted to acknowledge what had just happened. Someone braver than I finally said something.
"So, did we all just hear that? Y'know, like an angry mother forcing their kid to apologize?"
There was a consensus, minus the obligatory homeless dude muttering to himself, except he had stopped muttering. A man wearing a yarmulke was eyeing someone very obviously praying and holding a cross.
But nothing happened. I got off at my stop and continued to work.
I heard news reports in the background off the TVs, on about how every single person seemed to have experienced the same message. Reactions however, were far from uniform. The Pope was caught on comment along the lines of "well, shit." I saw signs in the background of a reporter saying "repent" and then a fight breaking out with others claiming that it was a test of faith.
Talk around the breakroom was about as divided. Some people were being smug about it, all "See? God isn't real." despite the apparent obvious proof. That God was some petulant teenager who got pissed off at His ant farm or something. Others were like the sign-wavers on the news, saying it was obviously the antichrist, or Obama, or Muslims. I sighed. I had heard snippets here and there of my coworkers being ridiculous, but never really vocal about it. Some people were getting uppity at others assuming it was God's Mom, saying woke culture ruined God. I couldn't muster the energy to respond to any of them.
We all stopped when there was an emergency SMS.
BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO SAN FRANCISCO. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER NOW. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
"But Dad!"
"Look, Timmy, they're about to nuke each other. You spent so much time creating this world, you've got to learn some responsibility. I'm not letting you wipe the slate clean like the dinosaurs. They were making so much progress." | "Question for you, can you deal with the battle your Son has arranged, when He is supposed to fight His nemesis and destroy the world?"
"Why is this the first I'm hearing about this? I asked You to tell me about all your pranks on the planet."
"That wasn't Me, that was an imposter, nothing after the second chapter actually reflects My reality."
"I will still see what I can do to get this sorted, do you know anything about the nemesis?"
"We have a name and an alleged location, several aliases too."
"Right, We're off to stop the end of the world then. " | |
[WP] Humans aren't the strongest, or the most advanced, species in the galaxy, but they are the most vengeful and persistent. They evolved as persistence predators. If you wrong them, they are willing to follow you across the stars and can spend years working to get back at you for what you did. | MAKING HUMANS THE BEST BOUNTY HUNTERS!
Humans aren't very smart (most of the time) so if I need a job done, I can just tell a human some ridiculous sob story and they will crack!
"Oh you poor dear, I'll make them pay, huh? Money? It's fine I'll keep a tab hun, just promise me a date after this"
Sometimes it's a
"So they killed your father too? I'll get revenge for you, IN THE NAME OF JUSTICE! Money? I'll give you a loan, pay it back when you're ready"
See just like that! Now the thing is all I have to do is wait a month to pay them, tell them something like "I got lucky" and they don't question it. But hah.... downside is if they find out....they...maybe...get...a little bit...pissed and start hunting you.
Now should I have seen this coming? Honestly yes, maybe I shouldn't have chosen the vengeful species to trick into being a bounty hunter. But hey, I can just hire another bounty hunter?
No, maybe not. Maybe sending them against each other isn't a good idea. Because what if the other one finds out. Yeah, I didn't think this through.
But in all fairness Mr.Smith I really need a job done, could you do it for me?
I have to be the dumbest Fe'zcol in the galaxy to think the human wouldn't side with his kind. That makes it maybe 36? Or 49? I stopped counting after 10. | *AN: I actually have a piece that fits this prompt perfectly, but in order to stick to the rules, specifically rule 2 for possible explicit torture, I'll have to edit a good portion of it. I'm new to Reddit, and I also don't know how to make links so if anyone is interested in the original piece I'll figure out how to get a link of the piece to y'all.*
​
I shivered slightly in the hollow of the tree, hugging my knees tighter to my chest as I glared out into the chilly night. I still couldn't believe my luck at escaping from my captors. Or did they let me think I had escaped? Was this fleeting victory against them really just a move in their favor?
No. While that is indeed an option that I have to take into consideration, I also have to consider that I really did escape of my own mettle and sheer determination to live.
My captors had a name, but no one ever used it. "Poachers" was the preferred term, sometimes "Hunter" or "Killer For Sport" depending on the translation, but everyone agreed: they were *monsters*.
The Poachers weren't strictly one race or another, but rather a melting pot of genes and traits from many different races. They were identifiable by the distinct notches in their ears and eyebrows, and occasionally piercings containing a small chip of bone from their kill, though this latter practice was more favored by those with horns, thicker skin, or lacked an external ear.
Had we'd known we were being led into a Poacher's hunting grounds, we never would've landed.
Hell, we wouldn't have even made contact, opting to risk getting stranded on the way to our next destination where hopefully some of our regular vendors would notice our absence and alert someone.
But the Poachers are smart. They're smart and fearless and vicious and come in all shapes and sizes, which I guess is to be expected when you have a little bit of everyone in your gene pool, and then natural selection whittles out the weak so only the fastest, cruelest, strongest, and smartest survive. And occasionally, as I understand it, when the breeding pool starts to get dull, they'll pick out new mates from the groups of people they catch. Sometimes these people survive, other times they'll just be used as breeding stock until there's no need for them anymore and so they join the next round's participants in the hunt. As prey, of course. To be hunted down for sport.
A breeze drifted into the tree and I shivered harder, wishing that I had stopped to grab that blanket I saw as I slipped away. No. Leaving that blanket was the right thing. If I'd've grabbed it, that'd be time wasted, which would've meant a higher chance of getting caught.
And I was too young to bear healthy offspring, in the Poacher's eyes. Big surprise, but they actually didn't take women under 18, regardless of how healthy they looked, to be mates. In the time it would take for her to be grown and developed enough to bear a healthy child, that would mean extra mouth or mouths to feed, higher chance of her escaping, or her helping other prey to escape.
Escape. How was I gonna get my family and friends out of here? I'm just a 16 year old girl stripped down to my underwear so I could be evaluated before being tossed unceremoniously into a cage with the others who had also been stripped down to their skivvies.
I wanted to cry. I could feel the pressure welling up behind my eyes but I shut them tight, feeling a single tear slip out. I quickly stuck my tongue out to try and catch it, not wanting to let any liquids go to waste now that I was facing survival on my own.
The salty taste brought back a memory from my youth I hadn't thought about in years. Though I was human, I was not born on Earth. But my mama's grandad was and he had this huge collection of tapes and documentaries and books all about Earth. One of them, a favorite of mine, was about the huge continent of Africa, a place teeming with all kinds of life. And many of these lives depended on natural salt deposits, called salt rocks or salt licks, for bodily function or something like that. Then the documentary went on to say that many salt licks weren't only for the prey, but for the hunters too. Both animal and humans knew that salt licks were prime spots to find prey. Why was this so important?
Though the cold seeped into my bones, I forced myself to think harder. There was a difference in the hunting styles of the animals verses the humans. The animals, like the lions and lionesses relied on numbers, the leopards relied on stealth and quick ambushes, and the cheetah's gave chase because they were fast enough. But they had to cool off first because they would use so much energy in the running and killing that they didn't have the energy to eat.
This last bit rang around in my head. Humans chased too, didn't they? Or did they ambush their prey?
Argh! All the pieces are here, I can feel it! I just don't know how they fit together! Africa. Salt licks. Predators and prey. Ambush. Trees. The huge Serengeti plains. Chase. Cheetahs. Stamina and endu-
Stamina and endurance.
It flooded back to me now as though I were watching the documentary: *"Several tribes in Africa still use the 'persistence hunting' method, also known as 'endurance hunting' to catch prey that is much faster than them, literally running down the animal until it collapses from exhaustion. And one of the features that humans exhibit that contributes greatly to this ability is something we all do... (cue dramatic pause)... we sweat. Since most animals cannot sweat and must find other ways to cool off like in a mud bath, a watering hole or river, or the shade provided by trees. So long as a human hunter has adequate nutrition for the long hunt ahead of him and impeccable tracking skills should the prey become out of sight, he and his tribesmen can catch just about anything. This includes predators too! Just watch as this Kudu, having run most of the morning and well into the scorching heat of the day, begins to slow and waver as he reaches this little copse of trees, hoping to find some respite not only from the sun, but also the hunters. But luck is not on his side. See his horns? While they might come in handy to attract a mate and defend from other rival Kudu males, they only weigh him down and tire him out faster, meaning the hunters are almost sure to catch him as long as they keep his trail..."*
That's it! I'm not sure how just yet, but I know that this will come in handy.
"I'm sorry Mama, Papa. I know you made me promise to run as far away and never look back if I encountered Poachers, no matter what happens or who I have to leave behind," I shuffled the leaves that had accumulated in the hollow of the tree over the course of the changing seasons and I laid down on my side, "But I can't just leave you. I just can't. If I could get out, then you'll all get out too. I'll find a way."
That night I dreamed that my olive colored skin had been changed to the color of the nutrient rich, loamy soil I'd seen on many of the documentaries about Earth. I dreamed I was tall and slender, and I was hunting down an ibex. It's horns were so big they dug into it's shoulders and as I got closer, I could see that it was studded with little bits of bone. There was a bow in my hand and a quiver at my side, and as I nocked an arrow and took aim, the ibex turned around and I froze. It smiled a disturbing, toothy grin that contained teeth of all kinds and shapes and sizes and functions, and it's eyes were the lightning yellow of the Poacher that had tossed me into the cage.
It opened it's mouth and let out a raspy laugh before uttering, "What good will this do, child? You are free to live another day, free to make your own life, free to do whatever you want. This will only bring your destruction."
"No," I said, "You took my family. You took my friends. You took away everything from me, and you've taken everything from countless others."
The ibex laughed again and as I released my arrow, the ibex sprung away with more grace than he should've had and my arrow embedded itself deep into the tree. I scowled at the miss and went to retrieve my arrow before turning on my heel to follow the distant screeches of my prey. | |
[WP] Humans aren't the strongest, or the most advanced, species in the galaxy, but they are the most vengeful and persistent. They evolved as persistence predators. If you wrong them, they are willing to follow you across the stars and can spend years working to get back at you for what you did. | It was supposed to be easy, they were humans after all. Exer thought about his mission, test the capabilities of the humans with a skirmish assault, kill all witnesses, and bring back one live subject.
Now being a Danthorian, Exer did not know what humans looked like, he figured he would just grab whatever survived, and so he snatched up a four limb creature with matted brown fur covering it’s body. Having completed his tasks at hand, Exer loaded it up, and took off for home.
Twenty-five solar cycles later, Exer arrived to the testing facility and dropped off his prisoner to the warden Geth.
The warden had experience with creatures of Earth, having completed dozens of raids on the planet and interrogating all of the subjects that have been returned. Geth examined her newest prisoner and discovered that it already had been made into some sort of slave on its home planet as a collar was affixed to its neck. The collar had a text printed into it and after reading it, the blood feel from Geth’s face.
“Where did you get this creature?” she asked.
Exer became noticeably worried having never seen anything shake the wardens resolve, “Some out of the way place Named Mill Neck”
“You must return it immediately,” she blurted while stuff the creature back the crate it came from “you have doomed us otherwise.”
Just then came the first blast, a low rumbling explosion, and the screams that followed in its wake. Geth turned to the monitors showing the entrance to the facility and the massacre that was going on.
A human, dressed in a black suit and long dark shaggy hair and beard was carving his way through the guards. Each movement was slow on its own, but with such precise direction and strength, no effort being wasted on showing off.
He would fire with his shotgun until empty and snatch away the plasma rifle of the guard as he fell, as if the dying guard was simply holding it for him until he was ready.
Geth slammed the emergency call button and shouted one word through the loudspeaker that reverberated through the hallways.
“Baba-Yaga”
She immediately started looking for a place to hide, overturning tables and lab equipment, ensuring to be careful around the specimen and not to upset it further, all the while knowing it was to late.
Exer readied himself to the side of the door having glanced to the monitors knowing this death machine was just on the other side. And it happened all so fast.
The man stepped inside and casually pushed the rifle away from Exer and suddenly a piece of yellow wood stood out from his head where Exer’s eye had formally sat and he slumped to the floor.
Geth began begging and banking to the human, but it was of no use, he simple lifted another gun from waist and fired a single shot, ending her.
The man the opened the crate as the brown Nagy puppy jumped out and barked a couple times with his tail wagging thinking this all a game.
“Woah, there’s my buddy” and said happily to find his best friend again. “Let’s go home.” He said and he retighten the collar with the embroiled J Wick sewn into it. | *AN: I actually have a piece that fits this prompt perfectly, but in order to stick to the rules, specifically rule 2 for possible explicit torture, I'll have to edit a good portion of it. I'm new to Reddit, and I also don't know how to make links so if anyone is interested in the original piece I'll figure out how to get a link of the piece to y'all.*
​
I shivered slightly in the hollow of the tree, hugging my knees tighter to my chest as I glared out into the chilly night. I still couldn't believe my luck at escaping from my captors. Or did they let me think I had escaped? Was this fleeting victory against them really just a move in their favor?
No. While that is indeed an option that I have to take into consideration, I also have to consider that I really did escape of my own mettle and sheer determination to live.
My captors had a name, but no one ever used it. "Poachers" was the preferred term, sometimes "Hunter" or "Killer For Sport" depending on the translation, but everyone agreed: they were *monsters*.
The Poachers weren't strictly one race or another, but rather a melting pot of genes and traits from many different races. They were identifiable by the distinct notches in their ears and eyebrows, and occasionally piercings containing a small chip of bone from their kill, though this latter practice was more favored by those with horns, thicker skin, or lacked an external ear.
Had we'd known we were being led into a Poacher's hunting grounds, we never would've landed.
Hell, we wouldn't have even made contact, opting to risk getting stranded on the way to our next destination where hopefully some of our regular vendors would notice our absence and alert someone.
But the Poachers are smart. They're smart and fearless and vicious and come in all shapes and sizes, which I guess is to be expected when you have a little bit of everyone in your gene pool, and then natural selection whittles out the weak so only the fastest, cruelest, strongest, and smartest survive. And occasionally, as I understand it, when the breeding pool starts to get dull, they'll pick out new mates from the groups of people they catch. Sometimes these people survive, other times they'll just be used as breeding stock until there's no need for them anymore and so they join the next round's participants in the hunt. As prey, of course. To be hunted down for sport.
A breeze drifted into the tree and I shivered harder, wishing that I had stopped to grab that blanket I saw as I slipped away. No. Leaving that blanket was the right thing. If I'd've grabbed it, that'd be time wasted, which would've meant a higher chance of getting caught.
And I was too young to bear healthy offspring, in the Poacher's eyes. Big surprise, but they actually didn't take women under 18, regardless of how healthy they looked, to be mates. In the time it would take for her to be grown and developed enough to bear a healthy child, that would mean extra mouth or mouths to feed, higher chance of her escaping, or her helping other prey to escape.
Escape. How was I gonna get my family and friends out of here? I'm just a 16 year old girl stripped down to my underwear so I could be evaluated before being tossed unceremoniously into a cage with the others who had also been stripped down to their skivvies.
I wanted to cry. I could feel the pressure welling up behind my eyes but I shut them tight, feeling a single tear slip out. I quickly stuck my tongue out to try and catch it, not wanting to let any liquids go to waste now that I was facing survival on my own.
The salty taste brought back a memory from my youth I hadn't thought about in years. Though I was human, I was not born on Earth. But my mama's grandad was and he had this huge collection of tapes and documentaries and books all about Earth. One of them, a favorite of mine, was about the huge continent of Africa, a place teeming with all kinds of life. And many of these lives depended on natural salt deposits, called salt rocks or salt licks, for bodily function or something like that. Then the documentary went on to say that many salt licks weren't only for the prey, but for the hunters too. Both animal and humans knew that salt licks were prime spots to find prey. Why was this so important?
Though the cold seeped into my bones, I forced myself to think harder. There was a difference in the hunting styles of the animals verses the humans. The animals, like the lions and lionesses relied on numbers, the leopards relied on stealth and quick ambushes, and the cheetah's gave chase because they were fast enough. But they had to cool off first because they would use so much energy in the running and killing that they didn't have the energy to eat.
This last bit rang around in my head. Humans chased too, didn't they? Or did they ambush their prey?
Argh! All the pieces are here, I can feel it! I just don't know how they fit together! Africa. Salt licks. Predators and prey. Ambush. Trees. The huge Serengeti plains. Chase. Cheetahs. Stamina and endu-
Stamina and endurance.
It flooded back to me now as though I were watching the documentary: *"Several tribes in Africa still use the 'persistence hunting' method, also known as 'endurance hunting' to catch prey that is much faster than them, literally running down the animal until it collapses from exhaustion. And one of the features that humans exhibit that contributes greatly to this ability is something we all do... (cue dramatic pause)... we sweat. Since most animals cannot sweat and must find other ways to cool off like in a mud bath, a watering hole or river, or the shade provided by trees. So long as a human hunter has adequate nutrition for the long hunt ahead of him and impeccable tracking skills should the prey become out of sight, he and his tribesmen can catch just about anything. This includes predators too! Just watch as this Kudu, having run most of the morning and well into the scorching heat of the day, begins to slow and waver as he reaches this little copse of trees, hoping to find some respite not only from the sun, but also the hunters. But luck is not on his side. See his horns? While they might come in handy to attract a mate and defend from other rival Kudu males, they only weigh him down and tire him out faster, meaning the hunters are almost sure to catch him as long as they keep his trail..."*
That's it! I'm not sure how just yet, but I know that this will come in handy.
"I'm sorry Mama, Papa. I know you made me promise to run as far away and never look back if I encountered Poachers, no matter what happens or who I have to leave behind," I shuffled the leaves that had accumulated in the hollow of the tree over the course of the changing seasons and I laid down on my side, "But I can't just leave you. I just can't. If I could get out, then you'll all get out too. I'll find a way."
That night I dreamed that my olive colored skin had been changed to the color of the nutrient rich, loamy soil I'd seen on many of the documentaries about Earth. I dreamed I was tall and slender, and I was hunting down an ibex. It's horns were so big they dug into it's shoulders and as I got closer, I could see that it was studded with little bits of bone. There was a bow in my hand and a quiver at my side, and as I nocked an arrow and took aim, the ibex turned around and I froze. It smiled a disturbing, toothy grin that contained teeth of all kinds and shapes and sizes and functions, and it's eyes were the lightning yellow of the Poacher that had tossed me into the cage.
It opened it's mouth and let out a raspy laugh before uttering, "What good will this do, child? You are free to live another day, free to make your own life, free to do whatever you want. This will only bring your destruction."
"No," I said, "You took my family. You took my friends. You took away everything from me, and you've taken everything from countless others."
The ibex laughed again and as I released my arrow, the ibex sprung away with more grace than he should've had and my arrow embedded itself deep into the tree. I scowled at the miss and went to retrieve my arrow before turning on my heel to follow the distant screeches of my prey. |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.