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[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. | 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. | |
[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. | The bartender poured another round of Blue Andromedan for the pair of men in dirty overalls, then went back to polishing the bar as the two continued trading stories. As far as he was concerned, it was just another twelfth day afternoon in the Main Deck Saloon on Lhasa IV.
“So you came all the way out here because your wife left you?” Asked the mustachioed man in orange coveralls. “Talk about pulling a geographic, that’s 400 light years!”
“I didn’t say she left me, in fact I sorta left her.” The younger man in red coveralls answered, sipping his blue beverage and wincing at the astringent burn. “It was more or less mutual, really. I just didn’t expect her to leave the house and chase me to the helium mine on Luna.”
“Jeez, what did you do to her?” Mustache asked.
“Nothing! Really! I guess I just must have shown her a really good time while we were together.”
“So why did you split up?”
Red Coveralls thought a moment, considering the alien beverage in his glass.
“I guess she was just a bit too clingy, you know?”
“I hear ya. Reminds me of this girl I was with back on Mars, back when I was foreman of the ice mining crew over there. Did I tell you how I got this scar?”
Mustache pointed to a gray-brown stripe of scar tissue above his right eye, as the door behind him swung open, hitting the bulkhead with a dull, metallic thud.
The hooded figure strolled noiselessly to a place at the bar next to the two patrons as Mustache continued his story of the girl on Mars, its diminutive stature erect and supple under a flowing dark robe.
The barkeep finished polishing the other end of the bar, sauntered over to the newcomer, asking “Blue Andro or Solar Fizz? I recommend the Fizz, it’s not made from industrial waste.”
“Fizz.” A smoky, feminine voice answered.
Mustache continued, “and I shit you not, man, she took that mutant marmot by the nose and-…hey, hey buddy are you ok? You just turned white all of a sudden.”
But his drinking companion did not hear him. All he heard was the one word uttered by the hooded newcomer behind him. He turned, slowly as the figure removed its hood, revealing a shock of platinum blonde curls and a face that was so average it was almost picturesquely plain.
Red Coveralls sobered up immediately. “H-how did you find me here?”
The Blonde produced a small metal object from inside her robes. A pistol, old fashioned projectile weapon, possibly from all the way back on earth, and placed it on the bar. She turned to face Red, revealing a small cold sore at the upturned corner of her mouth.
“Hello, honey.” She said. “You gave me something that just won’t go away.” She thumbed back the hammer on the ancient weapon, still resting its bulk upon the aluminum bartop. “Well, I’m here to return the favor.” | I do not have time for this today. I’ve got memos to write and clothes to pick out for the Dyson-sphere inauguration at Cetis Prime and three-hundred of my genefixed-children have asked for a formal audience to discuss their inheritance and now this so-called hoo-mahn shows up with what my HUD says is a look of melodramatic grim determination, demanding satisfaction for “the destruction of my planet, its people, and its future!”
“Yes, yes, my dear, um, person. I understand, you’re quite upset. Excuse me …” My assistant comes in and raises three eye-stalks like *should I call the local Annihilator Corps on his ass?* and I swivel my main optic-sensor at her like *not yet, but stay close*. She gives me some documents to sign and leaves, leaving the sphincter-door open.
“UPSET????” my interface translates his guttural noises into galactic speak, adding intensifiers to denote intense emotion. “Upset?” he sputters, “yeah I’m upset! You assholes destroyed our planet, our moon, all our satellite habitats and even managed to drop some debris on our Mars colony. You killed our entire species!”
“Well, yes, dreadfully sorry, I’m sure. Accidents happen, and it’s not like you were really doing that much, where you? As a spacefaring species I mean. You’d been genetically stable, like, well that,” I point at him, “for almost half a galactic rotation, and only developed electricity and telecommunication in the past 0.000003 percent of that. Not exactly tearing up the sky, were we?” I laugh a gently, trying to draw him in. It doesn’t work.
He goes on. “And me and my buddies manage to steal one of your shuttles, only I survive the trip, fight my way in here, and your assistant, the one who looks like an upside down wedding-cake . . .”
“Astree-D”
“What’”
“Astree-D, that’s her name.”
“Whatever. Your assistant looks up her record on the genocide of humanity, and it turns out it was a clerical error? You were supposed to destroy some other civilization in Proxima Centauri but some intern made a rounding error in the navigational data?”
“Oh, yes. I remember. He got five demerits for that. And had two tentacles cut off. Ugly business.”
“Five demerits.”
“Yes, he was quite heartbroken. But he’s a good boy, from a fine family, so he put his beaks down, grew back his tentacles, and is now in charge of shipping and entertainment in the Galatean sector, I believe.”
He seems confused by this. “What happened to Proxima Centauri?”
“They took advantage of our little, um, mishap, to pay the late fees on the documents they’d borrowed from the Galactic Central Library. So the story has a happy ending. For them, I mean, obviously not for you and your …”
“Family, friends, planet, solar system.”
“Yes, that.”
“And my dog.”
“Your what?” I look up the word on my interface. “Oh, I see, you keep other mammals as companions? How, um, novel.”
“You bastards killed my dog. And now, I am going to kill you!”
The hoo-mahn pulls out a conical object with all kinds of interesting shapes sticking out of it menacingly and points it at me.
“With that?”
“Yes, the biggest, meanest looking gun I could find on my way here!”
“Oh well, I guess I have it coming. Please, go ahead.”
The small primate looks confused—though to be honest he’s looked confused from the start—and pushes down the lever at the back of the machine.
A great ray of light shoots out of it.
When the light subsides, I’m still there, in a single piece. Some smoke is wafting above me.
“Ah, yes, thank you. My clones confiscated all my lighters, thinking that would help me quit, but, you know how it is with will power and all that.”
I take a drag on the rolled-leaf cylinder the hoo-mahn helpfully lit for me. He stands there, looking dumber than before.
“Astree-D, “ I say into the intercom space, “please, do call the Annihilators now.”
The fight and bluster seem to have drained from him.
“You don’t mind if I keep this, do you?” I ask, placing the lighter in my desk’s private cupboard.
The guards come in and drag the person out.
I’m a few decaticks late to the Dyson sphere ceremony, but I don’t mind.
I find it’s important to keep oneself available to all our citizens, even the ones who feel the need to complain about every litle thing. | |
[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. | The twin stars, Eldark and Ildark, shine upon me as they have shone upon my ancestors. Black trees bubble to the surface, glittering, and there's purple smoke on the horizon.
"There are stronger materials, but cephalim is what I grew up with. So it bleeds a little. So what? It never bothered me."
Viluvian carefully threads a silver disk with his two front legs. He has not seen Sol. He knows nothing of what the Earthlings are capable of.
"Is that so?"
"I thought about making the switch, I truly did. But then, you know what? I thought better of it. Tradition is important. Let the others experiment with alien materials. I'm happy with my cephalim."
"I get it."
"You do. Of course you do. Your father never questioned the old ways. He—" Viluvian halts, stares at his disk for a moment. "He was a good lykander. And he would've been proud of you, traveling to distant worlds and whatnot."
"I don't know about that. He didn't exactly wish me well on my journey. Last I saw him, mucous of rage dripped down his face and he told me not to bother coming back."
Viluvian says nothing. He stares up at Ildark and hisses a prayer. "May the wayward find solace."
What would he say if I were to tell him that I left out of fear, and that I returned out of a greater one? I shrug off the idea. After all, I should be happy I managed to escape. There is no use in dwelling on it.
Back at my place of rest I study the alien artifacts I brought home with me. Stone carvings. Wood. An insect frozen in amber. These souvenirs would fetch a good price if I had a mind to sell them. Strangely, I feel that if I parted with them my journey itself would vanish as if it were grains of sand uplifted into the skies above.
It was foolish, but I bought a car. I thought I would make Earth my home. I would live among them, learn their customs; it was such a romantic idea before it all died in my hearts. I left it behind on that cursed planet the same way I did my innocence.
I will never return to that place. That much I can say for certain. The dominant species on Earth, the humans, have been galvanized by eons of warfare against itself. It is a strange history. Lykanders protect themselves, sure, and we have expanded throughout our system with a certain level of aggression. But to imagine millennia of lykanders fighting lykanders ... It makes little sense. How can these humans even trust one another?
The insect in amber spoke to me the second I saw it. There it sits, perfectly still, looking so much like myself. Washed in gold, like our rivers; part of me feels I was meant to have it.
Viluvian would treasure it, I am sure. He is a steadfast friend. He is reliable. If I were to give it to him, he would be sure to keep it safe. It could be a symbol of our friendship, even.
I decide that he is worth it, that I will gift him this alien artifact. Hopefully he will accept it. Some lykanders refuse all attempts at presenting them with objects, they know little of alien customs and this foreign notion of strengthening bonds by exchanging symbolic items is peculiar to the elderly.
Returning to our spot among the bubbling trees I see not Viluvian, but a vessel. With dread, I recognize it. It belongs to precisely those humans I just barely escaped. "Viluvian!"
Three legs. Three beautiful, hairy legs. They are sticking out from underneath the vessel, cramping. Then they are quiet.
"Hey, is that ..."
"I think that's him!"
"Boy, we've been looking all over for you!"
I run. They have come all this way, they have decided to chase me across the stars? No. I will not let them.
Viluvian. I must go back for him.
No. There is no hope for him. His legs ... He has already gone to ylderin. He has joined my father. I look up at Eldark, and I hiss. "May the wayward find solace."
One of the humans wheezes. "Man, I hate these spider-looking ones."
Dressed in their suits they appear even more alien than on their planet. My thoughts return to the moment I saw that insect, frozen in amber. How all my feelings of loneliness and trepidation vanished. How I longed to know more about it, to learn what its existence might have been like. Then a similar creature buzzed about in the air and the salesperson reached for a device and squatted it. Crushed it to death with a careless strike.
"Hey! Spider-man! We just want to talk!"
They are close. Their technology is advanced, their movements uncanny. Do they always feel at home? How can they seem as comfortable here on my home planet as on Earth?
"Let's split up. Spidey's creeping in-between those black geysers shooting out gunk."
I was just a tourist. I did nothing wrong. I visited their home world and I returned. So why are they following me? What are they after?
Crawling up a tree I change the hue of my skin for camouflage. As one of the humans runs past, I jump. It only takes seconds. I pierce his suit and listen to the sweet sound of air abandoning his side.
"W-What are you doing? We just want to talk! I swear ... I ..."
His face turns the color of the smoke off in the distance. "You murdered my friend. You followed me all the way here. And for what?"
My language is in his database. I know he can understand. But he just waves his arms about, and he dies. Useless.
The second one walks carefully, not as nimble as before. Is he scared? Has he finally realized that he has left the comfort of his home?
With Ildark as my witness, I throw myself at him. "State your purpose!" I command.
He falls to the ground, dust flies up into the skies. Bubbles slowly creep skyward right next to us. The human sees his dead comrade, he shakes his head. "We've ... We've been trying to reach you," he says.
I poke the side of his suit. "What for?"
His face turns white, and he opens his mouth wide. Eldark and Ildark shines on his pitiful face.
"We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty." | I do not have time for this today. I’ve got memos to write and clothes to pick out for the Dyson-sphere inauguration at Cetis Prime and three-hundred of my genefixed-children have asked for a formal audience to discuss their inheritance and now this so-called hoo-mahn shows up with what my HUD says is a look of melodramatic grim determination, demanding satisfaction for “the destruction of my planet, its people, and its future!”
“Yes, yes, my dear, um, person. I understand, you’re quite upset. Excuse me …” My assistant comes in and raises three eye-stalks like *should I call the local Annihilator Corps on his ass?* and I swivel my main optic-sensor at her like *not yet, but stay close*. She gives me some documents to sign and leaves, leaving the sphincter-door open.
“UPSET????” my interface translates his guttural noises into galactic speak, adding intensifiers to denote intense emotion. “Upset?” he sputters, “yeah I’m upset! You assholes destroyed our planet, our moon, all our satellite habitats and even managed to drop some debris on our Mars colony. You killed our entire species!”
“Well, yes, dreadfully sorry, I’m sure. Accidents happen, and it’s not like you were really doing that much, where you? As a spacefaring species I mean. You’d been genetically stable, like, well that,” I point at him, “for almost half a galactic rotation, and only developed electricity and telecommunication in the past 0.000003 percent of that. Not exactly tearing up the sky, were we?” I laugh a gently, trying to draw him in. It doesn’t work.
He goes on. “And me and my buddies manage to steal one of your shuttles, only I survive the trip, fight my way in here, and your assistant, the one who looks like an upside down wedding-cake . . .”
“Astree-D”
“What’”
“Astree-D, that’s her name.”
“Whatever. Your assistant looks up her record on the genocide of humanity, and it turns out it was a clerical error? You were supposed to destroy some other civilization in Proxima Centauri but some intern made a rounding error in the navigational data?”
“Oh, yes. I remember. He got five demerits for that. And had two tentacles cut off. Ugly business.”
“Five demerits.”
“Yes, he was quite heartbroken. But he’s a good boy, from a fine family, so he put his beaks down, grew back his tentacles, and is now in charge of shipping and entertainment in the Galatean sector, I believe.”
He seems confused by this. “What happened to Proxima Centauri?”
“They took advantage of our little, um, mishap, to pay the late fees on the documents they’d borrowed from the Galactic Central Library. So the story has a happy ending. For them, I mean, obviously not for you and your …”
“Family, friends, planet, solar system.”
“Yes, that.”
“And my dog.”
“Your what?” I look up the word on my interface. “Oh, I see, you keep other mammals as companions? How, um, novel.”
“You bastards killed my dog. And now, I am going to kill you!”
The hoo-mahn pulls out a conical object with all kinds of interesting shapes sticking out of it menacingly and points it at me.
“With that?”
“Yes, the biggest, meanest looking gun I could find on my way here!”
“Oh well, I guess I have it coming. Please, go ahead.”
The small primate looks confused—though to be honest he’s looked confused from the start—and pushes down the lever at the back of the machine.
A great ray of light shoots out of it.
When the light subsides, I’m still there, in a single piece. Some smoke is wafting above me.
“Ah, yes, thank you. My clones confiscated all my lighters, thinking that would help me quit, but, you know how it is with will power and all that.”
I take a drag on the rolled-leaf cylinder the hoo-mahn helpfully lit for me. He stands there, looking dumber than before.
“Astree-D, “ I say into the intercom space, “please, do call the Annihilators now.”
The fight and bluster seem to have drained from him.
“You don’t mind if I keep this, do you?” I ask, placing the lighter in my desk’s private cupboard.
The guards come in and drag the person out.
I’m a few decaticks late to the Dyson sphere ceremony, but I don’t mind.
I find it’s important to keep oneself available to all our citizens, even the ones who feel the need to complain about every litle thing. | |
[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. | They thought they had wiped us out, turns out they were wrong.
Epsilon prime was our home, we were the first humans to join the galactic federation, they knew nothing of earth.They thought so little of us, so blasé with their technology. We were serfs to them, no better than cattle.
There wasn't one day they didn't go without ripping us off. Killing our women, children or infirm. There was little we could do against their combined strength or their broken justice system. At that time we thought if only one died the rest could survive.
Year after year it went on, exploitation, serfdom, banditry. It wasn't just one of them it was all of them. The Necrotele, Auxins, Teletars and so on so forth. The worst ones were the Eldisterian. Horrible bastards, they used to take some of us and mangle our DNA with that of animals. We were alive, just barely though.
I guess we thought we could survive if only a few of us died to thier malicious ideas. That was just the way it was some of us died, so others could live. Then one day it changed. I guess they got sick of us or maybe it was the Wros Virus, maybe they thought we were responsible for it.
Whatever the case they wiped us all 20 billion of us on Epsilon prime. Glassed the damn planet with so much orbital bombardment that the old extinct volcanoes erupted. Some of us survived in the old obsidian caves, it was just a few million.
After that they left the star system to wither and die, our home with them. Job accomplished or so they thought.
It's been a 150 years since then. But now they know our fury. The burning crusade we call it, 150 years of bloodshed against our enemies. We struck the capitol of their stinking federation. It was a sight to behold millions of rich Xenos burning alive. We took their bodies and marked our ships with a simple message "death to the Xenos Federation".
Then we burned their homeworlds, taking everything we could find. The Black Aces took their children and cooked them for meat.
Now they know if they cross the black line or cross us, they have chosen extinction. There were 45 races in their federation, now there's only 4. No technological or genetic edge will save them if they ever make us serfs again.
Their children's cries fuel our dreams. | I do not have time for this today. I’ve got memos to write and clothes to pick out for the Dyson-sphere inauguration at Cetis Prime and three-hundred of my genefixed-children have asked for a formal audience to discuss their inheritance and now this so-called hoo-mahn shows up with what my HUD says is a look of melodramatic grim determination, demanding satisfaction for “the destruction of my planet, its people, and its future!”
“Yes, yes, my dear, um, person. I understand, you’re quite upset. Excuse me …” My assistant comes in and raises three eye-stalks like *should I call the local Annihilator Corps on his ass?* and I swivel my main optic-sensor at her like *not yet, but stay close*. She gives me some documents to sign and leaves, leaving the sphincter-door open.
“UPSET????” my interface translates his guttural noises into galactic speak, adding intensifiers to denote intense emotion. “Upset?” he sputters, “yeah I’m upset! You assholes destroyed our planet, our moon, all our satellite habitats and even managed to drop some debris on our Mars colony. You killed our entire species!”
“Well, yes, dreadfully sorry, I’m sure. Accidents happen, and it’s not like you were really doing that much, where you? As a spacefaring species I mean. You’d been genetically stable, like, well that,” I point at him, “for almost half a galactic rotation, and only developed electricity and telecommunication in the past 0.000003 percent of that. Not exactly tearing up the sky, were we?” I laugh a gently, trying to draw him in. It doesn’t work.
He goes on. “And me and my buddies manage to steal one of your shuttles, only I survive the trip, fight my way in here, and your assistant, the one who looks like an upside down wedding-cake . . .”
“Astree-D”
“What’”
“Astree-D, that’s her name.”
“Whatever. Your assistant looks up her record on the genocide of humanity, and it turns out it was a clerical error? You were supposed to destroy some other civilization in Proxima Centauri but some intern made a rounding error in the navigational data?”
“Oh, yes. I remember. He got five demerits for that. And had two tentacles cut off. Ugly business.”
“Five demerits.”
“Yes, he was quite heartbroken. But he’s a good boy, from a fine family, so he put his beaks down, grew back his tentacles, and is now in charge of shipping and entertainment in the Galatean sector, I believe.”
He seems confused by this. “What happened to Proxima Centauri?”
“They took advantage of our little, um, mishap, to pay the late fees on the documents they’d borrowed from the Galactic Central Library. So the story has a happy ending. For them, I mean, obviously not for you and your …”
“Family, friends, planet, solar system.”
“Yes, that.”
“And my dog.”
“Your what?” I look up the word on my interface. “Oh, I see, you keep other mammals as companions? How, um, novel.”
“You bastards killed my dog. And now, I am going to kill you!”
The hoo-mahn pulls out a conical object with all kinds of interesting shapes sticking out of it menacingly and points it at me.
“With that?”
“Yes, the biggest, meanest looking gun I could find on my way here!”
“Oh well, I guess I have it coming. Please, go ahead.”
The small primate looks confused—though to be honest he’s looked confused from the start—and pushes down the lever at the back of the machine.
A great ray of light shoots out of it.
When the light subsides, I’m still there, in a single piece. Some smoke is wafting above me.
“Ah, yes, thank you. My clones confiscated all my lighters, thinking that would help me quit, but, you know how it is with will power and all that.”
I take a drag on the rolled-leaf cylinder the hoo-mahn helpfully lit for me. He stands there, looking dumber than before.
“Astree-D, “ I say into the intercom space, “please, do call the Annihilators now.”
The fight and bluster seem to have drained from him.
“You don’t mind if I keep this, do you?” I ask, placing the lighter in my desk’s private cupboard.
The guards come in and drag the person out.
I’m a few decaticks late to the Dyson sphere ceremony, but I don’t mind.
I find it’s important to keep oneself available to all our citizens, even the ones who feel the need to complain about every litle thing. | |
[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. | **Day One**
We searched for survivors across the ruined city. While we're still developing decent infantry weaponry for fighting humans, our current vehicular firepower has no problem crumbling their towers of stone and steel, doing a much more effective job than we could currently do on foot. Thankfully, the humans on the ground don't know this. All we have to do is point a weapon at them and most of them come along as prisoners. To those that put up a fight, well... the butt of a rifle is a universal language.
I found a younger one on its own in the rubble. Odd to see, but not uncommon; war always tears families apart. The child tried to scream, but I shut it up. I hate children. Always too noisy.
Today's the day our unit moves back to home base. We've spent a while at Earth, and the soldiers need to return home to charge back up on concentrated photons. The local star is far too weak for our needs, and our on-board photon reserves are getting drastically low. Not to mention, our cells are full of prisoners ready to do work back home - or, at least, they will be by the time we get there. It's a twenty day trip back to Eridanus, so there's *plenty* of time to whip the humans into shape.
A few of our privates have abandoned their posts and didn't make it back aboard the cruiser in time. Figures as much, plenty of fresh soldiers go into war itching for a chance to kill. Some don't get enough of a fill and stay back. Maybe they'll join up with our planetside scientists to run tests on new anti-human weaponry.
**Day Four**
Something's not right aboard the ship. We should've had a full unit by the time we left, around eighty soldiers. At this morning's count, we had sixty-eight. Even if a few soldiers were left behind, there's *no reason* we should be losing numbers. Nobody's been sick, so where are these people going? I've overheard chatter about some of the privates hearing things in the walls. Maybe it's true, or maybe it's just urban legend made up by one of the sergeants to put the fear of Phos into them.
I don't think it'd hurt to check any crawlspaces, though.
**Day Nine**
Officially ordered a team to search and clear any and all small spaces for possible stowaways. I'm not taking any chances with this one. Humans are beneath us, but that doesn't stop them from being dangerous. I've heard stories about humans just *showing up* in places. Nobody knows how they get there or how they can survive outside of their environment for so long. If it's happening here, I'm putting a stop to it.
While security did their sweep, I did my best to relax in my quarters. I haven't been able to sleep since the thought of a human escaped on this ship entered my mind. I've been properly trained on what to do in such a situation, but training hardly prepares you for the real thing. Real-world scenarios are a lot harder to predict and control. Hopefully, it won't get to that point.
Addendum: Security found no traces of a human on board. They even did a full atmospheric flush of the hullspace. Nothing could've survived that.
**Day Thirteen**
Damn it all, this mission is cursed!
The photon recharger has broken down. Woke up this morning to find it sparking. Engineering says it got a heavy charge somehow, and that fried the electronics. We only have a little more than a week left before we make it home, and something like this has to go wrong. Engineering says it looks like an act of sabotage, so I'll be questioning the crew throughout the week to see who's been sympathizing with vermin.
**Day Sixteen**
We are on high alert. There's something here with us, we know it now. This morning, half of the remaining crew woke up to find the other half dead in their quarters, their throats slit wide open. There's no way a human could've done this, security made sure that a human couldn't have survived the sweep earlier this week.
Procedure is as follows: soldiers are to remain in their quarters as the ship scans each individual room on this vessel for life signs. Any signs outside of living quarters, and the *entire ship* is flushed of air and re-cycles the atmosphere. If one more life sign is found in a living quarter than registered, then that living quarter is also flushed of air. No chances this time. We are going to kill this vermin.
I can feel myself growing weaker without the photon charger. We've cut it beyond close with this human infestation, half of our crew is gone and the other half is weakened. Home is coming soon, though. We only have a few more days before we can see the blue fields of Eridanus again.
**Day Nineteen**
I saw it. I don't know how, but it's alive, and it's still on the ship. The human is *still here with us.* It must've known. Fuck that, it *was* the one that sabotaged the photon recharger. We're just sitting ducks without our strength.
I saw as it mercilessly slaughtered most of the remaining crew. It just *walked up to them* and started slicing them up with a blade from one of the privates that went missing before we made our return. I recognize it, the idiot brought something ornate and stupid from home and now it's being used to kill us. I don't know how it can just *survive* out here with all the things we've done to get rid of it. The Phos-damned thing just won't die!
I hid in a storage closet. It passed by the door and didn't seem to notice me in there. I think I'm the only one left alive. I just have to make it two more days, and then I can find a way to call command and have them blow this ship to kingdom come.
**Day Twenty-One**
I escaped that hell ship, but just barely.
The day prior to my arrival at Eridanus, I found my way up to the bridge and radioed ahead to command to give the order to attack the ship within five minutes of its arrival. I told them that there was a containment breach on-board and that we needed to sacrifice our cruiser for the greater good of our people. I didn't dare tell them it was just a single human that took our ship out. I don't want to live in shame.
It wasn't exactly a lie, either. I made my way to security after contacting command so I could plan my path to the escape pods in my frail state, and what I saw was terrifying: the human had let all the other ones free. Even more terrifying, it was standing next to the child - *its* child. I knew deep down that it was looking for me.
I managed to make it to the escape pod almost without incident. While on the last hallway, however, I accidentally knocked over a fixture and alerted the main human to my presence. It started walking towards me, with the same slow pace it had killed the rest of my crew with. I tripped over myself trying to make it to the escape pod, and I was so sure that I was going to die, but miraculously, I made it. I managed to shut the door in time and locked the human out.
The next few minutes I spent with the human shouting at me, knocking on the window, doing whatever it could to torture me. It was all harrowing, but the worst was when it stood there, silent. I could see the message it sent with its eyes.
"I will hunt you to the end of the galaxy, and you will not be able to stop me."
I jettisoned the escape pod as soon as the cruiser entered Eridanus airspace. Frantically, I grabbed the radio off the escape pod wall and *begged* for command to destroy the ship. Soon enough, my escape pod was rocked with the wave of energy that came with the surefire destruction of everything on board. There was no way anything could've survived that level of destruction...
...yet, here I am, awake in bed in my own house. I know that human is still out there. Deep down, I know that it *somehow* survived. It has to have survived. It's going to chase me down until the day I die. Even now, I hear footsteps. I don't know who they belong to until my wife enters the bedroom. She says something to me, but I don't clearly understand. All I can do is wait until that human shows up again. | I do not have time for this today. I’ve got memos to write and clothes to pick out for the Dyson-sphere inauguration at Cetis Prime and three-hundred of my genefixed-children have asked for a formal audience to discuss their inheritance and now this so-called hoo-mahn shows up with what my HUD says is a look of melodramatic grim determination, demanding satisfaction for “the destruction of my planet, its people, and its future!”
“Yes, yes, my dear, um, person. I understand, you’re quite upset. Excuse me …” My assistant comes in and raises three eye-stalks like *should I call the local Annihilator Corps on his ass?* and I swivel my main optic-sensor at her like *not yet, but stay close*. She gives me some documents to sign and leaves, leaving the sphincter-door open.
“UPSET????” my interface translates his guttural noises into galactic speak, adding intensifiers to denote intense emotion. “Upset?” he sputters, “yeah I’m upset! You assholes destroyed our planet, our moon, all our satellite habitats and even managed to drop some debris on our Mars colony. You killed our entire species!”
“Well, yes, dreadfully sorry, I’m sure. Accidents happen, and it’s not like you were really doing that much, where you? As a spacefaring species I mean. You’d been genetically stable, like, well that,” I point at him, “for almost half a galactic rotation, and only developed electricity and telecommunication in the past 0.000003 percent of that. Not exactly tearing up the sky, were we?” I laugh a gently, trying to draw him in. It doesn’t work.
He goes on. “And me and my buddies manage to steal one of your shuttles, only I survive the trip, fight my way in here, and your assistant, the one who looks like an upside down wedding-cake . . .”
“Astree-D”
“What’”
“Astree-D, that’s her name.”
“Whatever. Your assistant looks up her record on the genocide of humanity, and it turns out it was a clerical error? You were supposed to destroy some other civilization in Proxima Centauri but some intern made a rounding error in the navigational data?”
“Oh, yes. I remember. He got five demerits for that. And had two tentacles cut off. Ugly business.”
“Five demerits.”
“Yes, he was quite heartbroken. But he’s a good boy, from a fine family, so he put his beaks down, grew back his tentacles, and is now in charge of shipping and entertainment in the Galatean sector, I believe.”
He seems confused by this. “What happened to Proxima Centauri?”
“They took advantage of our little, um, mishap, to pay the late fees on the documents they’d borrowed from the Galactic Central Library. So the story has a happy ending. For them, I mean, obviously not for you and your …”
“Family, friends, planet, solar system.”
“Yes, that.”
“And my dog.”
“Your what?” I look up the word on my interface. “Oh, I see, you keep other mammals as companions? How, um, novel.”
“You bastards killed my dog. And now, I am going to kill you!”
The hoo-mahn pulls out a conical object with all kinds of interesting shapes sticking out of it menacingly and points it at me.
“With that?”
“Yes, the biggest, meanest looking gun I could find on my way here!”
“Oh well, I guess I have it coming. Please, go ahead.”
The small primate looks confused—though to be honest he’s looked confused from the start—and pushes down the lever at the back of the machine.
A great ray of light shoots out of it.
When the light subsides, I’m still there, in a single piece. Some smoke is wafting above me.
“Ah, yes, thank you. My clones confiscated all my lighters, thinking that would help me quit, but, you know how it is with will power and all that.”
I take a drag on the rolled-leaf cylinder the hoo-mahn helpfully lit for me. He stands there, looking dumber than before.
“Astree-D, “ I say into the intercom space, “please, do call the Annihilators now.”
The fight and bluster seem to have drained from him.
“You don’t mind if I keep this, do you?” I ask, placing the lighter in my desk’s private cupboard.
The guards come in and drag the person out.
I’m a few decaticks late to the Dyson sphere ceremony, but I don’t mind.
I find it’s important to keep oneself available to all our citizens, even the ones who feel the need to complain about every litle thing. | |
[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. | **Day One**
We searched for survivors across the ruined city. While we're still developing decent infantry weaponry for fighting humans, our current vehicular firepower has no problem crumbling their towers of stone and steel, doing a much more effective job than we could currently do on foot. Thankfully, the humans on the ground don't know this. All we have to do is point a weapon at them and most of them come along as prisoners. To those that put up a fight, well... the butt of a rifle is a universal language.
I found a younger one on its own in the rubble. Odd to see, but not uncommon; war always tears families apart. The child tried to scream, but I shut it up. I hate children. Always too noisy.
Today's the day our unit moves back to home base. We've spent a while at Earth, and the soldiers need to return home to charge back up on concentrated photons. The local star is far too weak for our needs, and our on-board photon reserves are getting drastically low. Not to mention, our cells are full of prisoners ready to do work back home - or, at least, they will be by the time we get there. It's a twenty day trip back to Eridanus, so there's *plenty* of time to whip the humans into shape.
A few of our privates have abandoned their posts and didn't make it back aboard the cruiser in time. Figures as much, plenty of fresh soldiers go into war itching for a chance to kill. Some don't get enough of a fill and stay back. Maybe they'll join up with our planetside scientists to run tests on new anti-human weaponry.
**Day Four**
Something's not right aboard the ship. We should've had a full unit by the time we left, around eighty soldiers. At this morning's count, we had sixty-eight. Even if a few soldiers were left behind, there's *no reason* we should be losing numbers. Nobody's been sick, so where are these people going? I've overheard chatter about some of the privates hearing things in the walls. Maybe it's true, or maybe it's just urban legend made up by one of the sergeants to put the fear of Phos into them.
I don't think it'd hurt to check any crawlspaces, though.
**Day Nine**
Officially ordered a team to search and clear any and all small spaces for possible stowaways. I'm not taking any chances with this one. Humans are beneath us, but that doesn't stop them from being dangerous. I've heard stories about humans just *showing up* in places. Nobody knows how they get there or how they can survive outside of their environment for so long. If it's happening here, I'm putting a stop to it.
While security did their sweep, I did my best to relax in my quarters. I haven't been able to sleep since the thought of a human escaped on this ship entered my mind. I've been properly trained on what to do in such a situation, but training hardly prepares you for the real thing. Real-world scenarios are a lot harder to predict and control. Hopefully, it won't get to that point.
Addendum: Security found no traces of a human on board. They even did a full atmospheric flush of the hullspace. Nothing could've survived that.
**Day Thirteen**
Damn it all, this mission is cursed!
The photon recharger has broken down. Woke up this morning to find it sparking. Engineering says it got a heavy charge somehow, and that fried the electronics. We only have a little more than a week left before we make it home, and something like this has to go wrong. Engineering says it looks like an act of sabotage, so I'll be questioning the crew throughout the week to see who's been sympathizing with vermin.
**Day Sixteen**
We are on high alert. There's something here with us, we know it now. This morning, half of the remaining crew woke up to find the other half dead in their quarters, their throats slit wide open. There's no way a human could've done this, security made sure that a human couldn't have survived the sweep earlier this week.
Procedure is as follows: soldiers are to remain in their quarters as the ship scans each individual room on this vessel for life signs. Any signs outside of living quarters, and the *entire ship* is flushed of air and re-cycles the atmosphere. If one more life sign is found in a living quarter than registered, then that living quarter is also flushed of air. No chances this time. We are going to kill this vermin.
I can feel myself growing weaker without the photon charger. We've cut it beyond close with this human infestation, half of our crew is gone and the other half is weakened. Home is coming soon, though. We only have a few more days before we can see the blue fields of Eridanus again.
**Day Nineteen**
I saw it. I don't know how, but it's alive, and it's still on the ship. The human is *still here with us.* It must've known. Fuck that, it *was* the one that sabotaged the photon recharger. We're just sitting ducks without our strength.
I saw as it mercilessly slaughtered most of the remaining crew. It just *walked up to them* and started slicing them up with a blade from one of the privates that went missing before we made our return. I recognize it, the idiot brought something ornate and stupid from home and now it's being used to kill us. I don't know how it can just *survive* out here with all the things we've done to get rid of it. The Phos-damned thing just won't die!
I hid in a storage closet. It passed by the door and didn't seem to notice me in there. I think I'm the only one left alive. I just have to make it two more days, and then I can find a way to call command and have them blow this ship to kingdom come.
**Day Twenty-One**
I escaped that hell ship, but just barely.
The day prior to my arrival at Eridanus, I found my way up to the bridge and radioed ahead to command to give the order to attack the ship within five minutes of its arrival. I told them that there was a containment breach on-board and that we needed to sacrifice our cruiser for the greater good of our people. I didn't dare tell them it was just a single human that took our ship out. I don't want to live in shame.
It wasn't exactly a lie, either. I made my way to security after contacting command so I could plan my path to the escape pods in my frail state, and what I saw was terrifying: the human had let all the other ones free. Even more terrifying, it was standing next to the child - *its* child. I knew deep down that it was looking for me.
I managed to make it to the escape pod almost without incident. While on the last hallway, however, I accidentally knocked over a fixture and alerted the main human to my presence. It started walking towards me, with the same slow pace it had killed the rest of my crew with. I tripped over myself trying to make it to the escape pod, and I was so sure that I was going to die, but miraculously, I made it. I managed to shut the door in time and locked the human out.
The next few minutes I spent with the human shouting at me, knocking on the window, doing whatever it could to torture me. It was all harrowing, but the worst was when it stood there, silent. I could see the message it sent with its eyes.
"I will hunt you to the end of the galaxy, and you will not be able to stop me."
I jettisoned the escape pod as soon as the cruiser entered Eridanus airspace. Frantically, I grabbed the radio off the escape pod wall and *begged* for command to destroy the ship. Soon enough, my escape pod was rocked with the wave of energy that came with the surefire destruction of everything on board. There was no way anything could've survived that level of destruction...
...yet, here I am, awake in bed in my own house. I know that human is still out there. Deep down, I know that it *somehow* survived. It has to have survived. It's going to chase me down until the day I die. Even now, I hear footsteps. I don't know who they belong to until my wife enters the bedroom. She says something to me, but I don't clearly understand. All I can do is wait until that human shows up again. | The bartender poured another round of Blue Andromedan for the pair of men in dirty overalls, then went back to polishing the bar as the two continued trading stories. As far as he was concerned, it was just another twelfth day afternoon in the Main Deck Saloon on Lhasa IV.
“So you came all the way out here because your wife left you?” Asked the mustachioed man in orange coveralls. “Talk about pulling a geographic, that’s 400 light years!”
“I didn’t say she left me, in fact I sorta left her.” The younger man in red coveralls answered, sipping his blue beverage and wincing at the astringent burn. “It was more or less mutual, really. I just didn’t expect her to leave the house and chase me to the helium mine on Luna.”
“Jeez, what did you do to her?” Mustache asked.
“Nothing! Really! I guess I just must have shown her a really good time while we were together.”
“So why did you split up?”
Red Coveralls thought a moment, considering the alien beverage in his glass.
“I guess she was just a bit too clingy, you know?”
“I hear ya. Reminds me of this girl I was with back on Mars, back when I was foreman of the ice mining crew over there. Did I tell you how I got this scar?”
Mustache pointed to a gray-brown stripe of scar tissue above his right eye, as the door behind him swung open, hitting the bulkhead with a dull, metallic thud.
The hooded figure strolled noiselessly to a place at the bar next to the two patrons as Mustache continued his story of the girl on Mars, its diminutive stature erect and supple under a flowing dark robe.
The barkeep finished polishing the other end of the bar, sauntered over to the newcomer, asking “Blue Andro or Solar Fizz? I recommend the Fizz, it’s not made from industrial waste.”
“Fizz.” A smoky, feminine voice answered.
Mustache continued, “and I shit you not, man, she took that mutant marmot by the nose and-…hey, hey buddy are you ok? You just turned white all of a sudden.”
But his drinking companion did not hear him. All he heard was the one word uttered by the hooded newcomer behind him. He turned, slowly as the figure removed its hood, revealing a shock of platinum blonde curls and a face that was so average it was almost picturesquely plain.
Red Coveralls sobered up immediately. “H-how did you find me here?”
The Blonde produced a small metal object from inside her robes. A pistol, old fashioned projectile weapon, possibly from all the way back on earth, and placed it on the bar. She turned to face Red, revealing a small cold sore at the upturned corner of her mouth.
“Hello, honey.” She said. “You gave me something that just won’t go away.” She thumbed back the hammer on the ancient weapon, still resting its bulk upon the aluminum bartop. “Well, I’m here to return the favor.” | |
[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. | They thought they had wiped us out, turns out they were wrong.
Epsilon prime was our home, we were the first humans to join the galactic federation, they knew nothing of earth.They thought so little of us, so blasé with their technology. We were serfs to them, no better than cattle.
There wasn't one day they didn't go without ripping us off. Killing our women, children or infirm. There was little we could do against their combined strength or their broken justice system. At that time we thought if only one died the rest could survive.
Year after year it went on, exploitation, serfdom, banditry. It wasn't just one of them it was all of them. The Necrotele, Auxins, Teletars and so on so forth. The worst ones were the Eldisterian. Horrible bastards, they used to take some of us and mangle our DNA with that of animals. We were alive, just barely though.
I guess we thought we could survive if only a few of us died to thier malicious ideas. That was just the way it was some of us died, so others could live. Then one day it changed. I guess they got sick of us or maybe it was the Wros Virus, maybe they thought we were responsible for it.
Whatever the case they wiped us all 20 billion of us on Epsilon prime. Glassed the damn planet with so much orbital bombardment that the old extinct volcanoes erupted. Some of us survived in the old obsidian caves, it was just a few million.
After that they left the star system to wither and die, our home with them. Job accomplished or so they thought.
It's been a 150 years since then. But now they know our fury. The burning crusade we call it, 150 years of bloodshed against our enemies. We struck the capitol of their stinking federation. It was a sight to behold millions of rich Xenos burning alive. We took their bodies and marked our ships with a simple message "death to the Xenos Federation".
Then we burned their homeworlds, taking everything we could find. The Black Aces took their children and cooked them for meat.
Now they know if they cross the black line or cross us, they have chosen extinction. There were 45 races in their federation, now there's only 4. No technological or genetic edge will save them if they ever make us serfs again.
Their children's cries fuel our dreams. | The twin stars, Eldark and Ildark, shine upon me as they have shone upon my ancestors. Black trees bubble to the surface, glittering, and there's purple smoke on the horizon.
"There are stronger materials, but cephalim is what I grew up with. So it bleeds a little. So what? It never bothered me."
Viluvian carefully threads a silver disk with his two front legs. He has not seen Sol. He knows nothing of what the Earthlings are capable of.
"Is that so?"
"I thought about making the switch, I truly did. But then, you know what? I thought better of it. Tradition is important. Let the others experiment with alien materials. I'm happy with my cephalim."
"I get it."
"You do. Of course you do. Your father never questioned the old ways. He—" Viluvian halts, stares at his disk for a moment. "He was a good lykander. And he would've been proud of you, traveling to distant worlds and whatnot."
"I don't know about that. He didn't exactly wish me well on my journey. Last I saw him, mucous of rage dripped down his face and he told me not to bother coming back."
Viluvian says nothing. He stares up at Ildark and hisses a prayer. "May the wayward find solace."
What would he say if I were to tell him that I left out of fear, and that I returned out of a greater one? I shrug off the idea. After all, I should be happy I managed to escape. There is no use in dwelling on it.
Back at my place of rest I study the alien artifacts I brought home with me. Stone carvings. Wood. An insect frozen in amber. These souvenirs would fetch a good price if I had a mind to sell them. Strangely, I feel that if I parted with them my journey itself would vanish as if it were grains of sand uplifted into the skies above.
It was foolish, but I bought a car. I thought I would make Earth my home. I would live among them, learn their customs; it was such a romantic idea before it all died in my hearts. I left it behind on that cursed planet the same way I did my innocence.
I will never return to that place. That much I can say for certain. The dominant species on Earth, the humans, have been galvanized by eons of warfare against itself. It is a strange history. Lykanders protect themselves, sure, and we have expanded throughout our system with a certain level of aggression. But to imagine millennia of lykanders fighting lykanders ... It makes little sense. How can these humans even trust one another?
The insect in amber spoke to me the second I saw it. There it sits, perfectly still, looking so much like myself. Washed in gold, like our rivers; part of me feels I was meant to have it.
Viluvian would treasure it, I am sure. He is a steadfast friend. He is reliable. If I were to give it to him, he would be sure to keep it safe. It could be a symbol of our friendship, even.
I decide that he is worth it, that I will gift him this alien artifact. Hopefully he will accept it. Some lykanders refuse all attempts at presenting them with objects, they know little of alien customs and this foreign notion of strengthening bonds by exchanging symbolic items is peculiar to the elderly.
Returning to our spot among the bubbling trees I see not Viluvian, but a vessel. With dread, I recognize it. It belongs to precisely those humans I just barely escaped. "Viluvian!"
Three legs. Three beautiful, hairy legs. They are sticking out from underneath the vessel, cramping. Then they are quiet.
"Hey, is that ..."
"I think that's him!"
"Boy, we've been looking all over for you!"
I run. They have come all this way, they have decided to chase me across the stars? No. I will not let them.
Viluvian. I must go back for him.
No. There is no hope for him. His legs ... He has already gone to ylderin. He has joined my father. I look up at Eldark, and I hiss. "May the wayward find solace."
One of the humans wheezes. "Man, I hate these spider-looking ones."
Dressed in their suits they appear even more alien than on their planet. My thoughts return to the moment I saw that insect, frozen in amber. How all my feelings of loneliness and trepidation vanished. How I longed to know more about it, to learn what its existence might have been like. Then a similar creature buzzed about in the air and the salesperson reached for a device and squatted it. Crushed it to death with a careless strike.
"Hey! Spider-man! We just want to talk!"
They are close. Their technology is advanced, their movements uncanny. Do they always feel at home? How can they seem as comfortable here on my home planet as on Earth?
"Let's split up. Spidey's creeping in-between those black geysers shooting out gunk."
I was just a tourist. I did nothing wrong. I visited their home world and I returned. So why are they following me? What are they after?
Crawling up a tree I change the hue of my skin for camouflage. As one of the humans runs past, I jump. It only takes seconds. I pierce his suit and listen to the sweet sound of air abandoning his side.
"W-What are you doing? We just want to talk! I swear ... I ..."
His face turns the color of the smoke off in the distance. "You murdered my friend. You followed me all the way here. And for what?"
My language is in his database. I know he can understand. But he just waves his arms about, and he dies. Useless.
The second one walks carefully, not as nimble as before. Is he scared? Has he finally realized that he has left the comfort of his home?
With Ildark as my witness, I throw myself at him. "State your purpose!" I command.
He falls to the ground, dust flies up into the skies. Bubbles slowly creep skyward right next to us. The human sees his dead comrade, he shakes his head. "We've ... We've been trying to reach you," he says.
I poke the side of his suit. "What for?"
His face turns white, and he opens his mouth wide. Eldark and Ildark shines on his pitiful face.
"We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty." | |
[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. | **Day One**
We searched for survivors across the ruined city. While we're still developing decent infantry weaponry for fighting humans, our current vehicular firepower has no problem crumbling their towers of stone and steel, doing a much more effective job than we could currently do on foot. Thankfully, the humans on the ground don't know this. All we have to do is point a weapon at them and most of them come along as prisoners. To those that put up a fight, well... the butt of a rifle is a universal language.
I found a younger one on its own in the rubble. Odd to see, but not uncommon; war always tears families apart. The child tried to scream, but I shut it up. I hate children. Always too noisy.
Today's the day our unit moves back to home base. We've spent a while at Earth, and the soldiers need to return home to charge back up on concentrated photons. The local star is far too weak for our needs, and our on-board photon reserves are getting drastically low. Not to mention, our cells are full of prisoners ready to do work back home - or, at least, they will be by the time we get there. It's a twenty day trip back to Eridanus, so there's *plenty* of time to whip the humans into shape.
A few of our privates have abandoned their posts and didn't make it back aboard the cruiser in time. Figures as much, plenty of fresh soldiers go into war itching for a chance to kill. Some don't get enough of a fill and stay back. Maybe they'll join up with our planetside scientists to run tests on new anti-human weaponry.
**Day Four**
Something's not right aboard the ship. We should've had a full unit by the time we left, around eighty soldiers. At this morning's count, we had sixty-eight. Even if a few soldiers were left behind, there's *no reason* we should be losing numbers. Nobody's been sick, so where are these people going? I've overheard chatter about some of the privates hearing things in the walls. Maybe it's true, or maybe it's just urban legend made up by one of the sergeants to put the fear of Phos into them.
I don't think it'd hurt to check any crawlspaces, though.
**Day Nine**
Officially ordered a team to search and clear any and all small spaces for possible stowaways. I'm not taking any chances with this one. Humans are beneath us, but that doesn't stop them from being dangerous. I've heard stories about humans just *showing up* in places. Nobody knows how they get there or how they can survive outside of their environment for so long. If it's happening here, I'm putting a stop to it.
While security did their sweep, I did my best to relax in my quarters. I haven't been able to sleep since the thought of a human escaped on this ship entered my mind. I've been properly trained on what to do in such a situation, but training hardly prepares you for the real thing. Real-world scenarios are a lot harder to predict and control. Hopefully, it won't get to that point.
Addendum: Security found no traces of a human on board. They even did a full atmospheric flush of the hullspace. Nothing could've survived that.
**Day Thirteen**
Damn it all, this mission is cursed!
The photon recharger has broken down. Woke up this morning to find it sparking. Engineering says it got a heavy charge somehow, and that fried the electronics. We only have a little more than a week left before we make it home, and something like this has to go wrong. Engineering says it looks like an act of sabotage, so I'll be questioning the crew throughout the week to see who's been sympathizing with vermin.
**Day Sixteen**
We are on high alert. There's something here with us, we know it now. This morning, half of the remaining crew woke up to find the other half dead in their quarters, their throats slit wide open. There's no way a human could've done this, security made sure that a human couldn't have survived the sweep earlier this week.
Procedure is as follows: soldiers are to remain in their quarters as the ship scans each individual room on this vessel for life signs. Any signs outside of living quarters, and the *entire ship* is flushed of air and re-cycles the atmosphere. If one more life sign is found in a living quarter than registered, then that living quarter is also flushed of air. No chances this time. We are going to kill this vermin.
I can feel myself growing weaker without the photon charger. We've cut it beyond close with this human infestation, half of our crew is gone and the other half is weakened. Home is coming soon, though. We only have a few more days before we can see the blue fields of Eridanus again.
**Day Nineteen**
I saw it. I don't know how, but it's alive, and it's still on the ship. The human is *still here with us.* It must've known. Fuck that, it *was* the one that sabotaged the photon recharger. We're just sitting ducks without our strength.
I saw as it mercilessly slaughtered most of the remaining crew. It just *walked up to them* and started slicing them up with a blade from one of the privates that went missing before we made our return. I recognize it, the idiot brought something ornate and stupid from home and now it's being used to kill us. I don't know how it can just *survive* out here with all the things we've done to get rid of it. The Phos-damned thing just won't die!
I hid in a storage closet. It passed by the door and didn't seem to notice me in there. I think I'm the only one left alive. I just have to make it two more days, and then I can find a way to call command and have them blow this ship to kingdom come.
**Day Twenty-One**
I escaped that hell ship, but just barely.
The day prior to my arrival at Eridanus, I found my way up to the bridge and radioed ahead to command to give the order to attack the ship within five minutes of its arrival. I told them that there was a containment breach on-board and that we needed to sacrifice our cruiser for the greater good of our people. I didn't dare tell them it was just a single human that took our ship out. I don't want to live in shame.
It wasn't exactly a lie, either. I made my way to security after contacting command so I could plan my path to the escape pods in my frail state, and what I saw was terrifying: the human had let all the other ones free. Even more terrifying, it was standing next to the child - *its* child. I knew deep down that it was looking for me.
I managed to make it to the escape pod almost without incident. While on the last hallway, however, I accidentally knocked over a fixture and alerted the main human to my presence. It started walking towards me, with the same slow pace it had killed the rest of my crew with. I tripped over myself trying to make it to the escape pod, and I was so sure that I was going to die, but miraculously, I made it. I managed to shut the door in time and locked the human out.
The next few minutes I spent with the human shouting at me, knocking on the window, doing whatever it could to torture me. It was all harrowing, but the worst was when it stood there, silent. I could see the message it sent with its eyes.
"I will hunt you to the end of the galaxy, and you will not be able to stop me."
I jettisoned the escape pod as soon as the cruiser entered Eridanus airspace. Frantically, I grabbed the radio off the escape pod wall and *begged* for command to destroy the ship. Soon enough, my escape pod was rocked with the wave of energy that came with the surefire destruction of everything on board. There was no way anything could've survived that level of destruction...
...yet, here I am, awake in bed in my own house. I know that human is still out there. Deep down, I know that it *somehow* survived. It has to have survived. It's going to chase me down until the day I die. Even now, I hear footsteps. I don't know who they belong to until my wife enters the bedroom. She says something to me, but I don't clearly understand. All I can do is wait until that human shows up again. | The twin stars, Eldark and Ildark, shine upon me as they have shone upon my ancestors. Black trees bubble to the surface, glittering, and there's purple smoke on the horizon.
"There are stronger materials, but cephalim is what I grew up with. So it bleeds a little. So what? It never bothered me."
Viluvian carefully threads a silver disk with his two front legs. He has not seen Sol. He knows nothing of what the Earthlings are capable of.
"Is that so?"
"I thought about making the switch, I truly did. But then, you know what? I thought better of it. Tradition is important. Let the others experiment with alien materials. I'm happy with my cephalim."
"I get it."
"You do. Of course you do. Your father never questioned the old ways. He—" Viluvian halts, stares at his disk for a moment. "He was a good lykander. And he would've been proud of you, traveling to distant worlds and whatnot."
"I don't know about that. He didn't exactly wish me well on my journey. Last I saw him, mucous of rage dripped down his face and he told me not to bother coming back."
Viluvian says nothing. He stares up at Ildark and hisses a prayer. "May the wayward find solace."
What would he say if I were to tell him that I left out of fear, and that I returned out of a greater one? I shrug off the idea. After all, I should be happy I managed to escape. There is no use in dwelling on it.
Back at my place of rest I study the alien artifacts I brought home with me. Stone carvings. Wood. An insect frozen in amber. These souvenirs would fetch a good price if I had a mind to sell them. Strangely, I feel that if I parted with them my journey itself would vanish as if it were grains of sand uplifted into the skies above.
It was foolish, but I bought a car. I thought I would make Earth my home. I would live among them, learn their customs; it was such a romantic idea before it all died in my hearts. I left it behind on that cursed planet the same way I did my innocence.
I will never return to that place. That much I can say for certain. The dominant species on Earth, the humans, have been galvanized by eons of warfare against itself. It is a strange history. Lykanders protect themselves, sure, and we have expanded throughout our system with a certain level of aggression. But to imagine millennia of lykanders fighting lykanders ... It makes little sense. How can these humans even trust one another?
The insect in amber spoke to me the second I saw it. There it sits, perfectly still, looking so much like myself. Washed in gold, like our rivers; part of me feels I was meant to have it.
Viluvian would treasure it, I am sure. He is a steadfast friend. He is reliable. If I were to give it to him, he would be sure to keep it safe. It could be a symbol of our friendship, even.
I decide that he is worth it, that I will gift him this alien artifact. Hopefully he will accept it. Some lykanders refuse all attempts at presenting them with objects, they know little of alien customs and this foreign notion of strengthening bonds by exchanging symbolic items is peculiar to the elderly.
Returning to our spot among the bubbling trees I see not Viluvian, but a vessel. With dread, I recognize it. It belongs to precisely those humans I just barely escaped. "Viluvian!"
Three legs. Three beautiful, hairy legs. They are sticking out from underneath the vessel, cramping. Then they are quiet.
"Hey, is that ..."
"I think that's him!"
"Boy, we've been looking all over for you!"
I run. They have come all this way, they have decided to chase me across the stars? No. I will not let them.
Viluvian. I must go back for him.
No. There is no hope for him. His legs ... He has already gone to ylderin. He has joined my father. I look up at Eldark, and I hiss. "May the wayward find solace."
One of the humans wheezes. "Man, I hate these spider-looking ones."
Dressed in their suits they appear even more alien than on their planet. My thoughts return to the moment I saw that insect, frozen in amber. How all my feelings of loneliness and trepidation vanished. How I longed to know more about it, to learn what its existence might have been like. Then a similar creature buzzed about in the air and the salesperson reached for a device and squatted it. Crushed it to death with a careless strike.
"Hey! Spider-man! We just want to talk!"
They are close. Their technology is advanced, their movements uncanny. Do they always feel at home? How can they seem as comfortable here on my home planet as on Earth?
"Let's split up. Spidey's creeping in-between those black geysers shooting out gunk."
I was just a tourist. I did nothing wrong. I visited their home world and I returned. So why are they following me? What are they after?
Crawling up a tree I change the hue of my skin for camouflage. As one of the humans runs past, I jump. It only takes seconds. I pierce his suit and listen to the sweet sound of air abandoning his side.
"W-What are you doing? We just want to talk! I swear ... I ..."
His face turns the color of the smoke off in the distance. "You murdered my friend. You followed me all the way here. And for what?"
My language is in his database. I know he can understand. But he just waves his arms about, and he dies. Useless.
The second one walks carefully, not as nimble as before. Is he scared? Has he finally realized that he has left the comfort of his home?
With Ildark as my witness, I throw myself at him. "State your purpose!" I command.
He falls to the ground, dust flies up into the skies. Bubbles slowly creep skyward right next to us. The human sees his dead comrade, he shakes his head. "We've ... We've been trying to reach you," he says.
I poke the side of his suit. "What for?"
His face turns white, and he opens his mouth wide. Eldark and Ildark shines on his pitiful face.
"We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty." | |
[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. | **Day One**
We searched for survivors across the ruined city. While we're still developing decent infantry weaponry for fighting humans, our current vehicular firepower has no problem crumbling their towers of stone and steel, doing a much more effective job than we could currently do on foot. Thankfully, the humans on the ground don't know this. All we have to do is point a weapon at them and most of them come along as prisoners. To those that put up a fight, well... the butt of a rifle is a universal language.
I found a younger one on its own in the rubble. Odd to see, but not uncommon; war always tears families apart. The child tried to scream, but I shut it up. I hate children. Always too noisy.
Today's the day our unit moves back to home base. We've spent a while at Earth, and the soldiers need to return home to charge back up on concentrated photons. The local star is far too weak for our needs, and our on-board photon reserves are getting drastically low. Not to mention, our cells are full of prisoners ready to do work back home - or, at least, they will be by the time we get there. It's a twenty day trip back to Eridanus, so there's *plenty* of time to whip the humans into shape.
A few of our privates have abandoned their posts and didn't make it back aboard the cruiser in time. Figures as much, plenty of fresh soldiers go into war itching for a chance to kill. Some don't get enough of a fill and stay back. Maybe they'll join up with our planetside scientists to run tests on new anti-human weaponry.
**Day Four**
Something's not right aboard the ship. We should've had a full unit by the time we left, around eighty soldiers. At this morning's count, we had sixty-eight. Even if a few soldiers were left behind, there's *no reason* we should be losing numbers. Nobody's been sick, so where are these people going? I've overheard chatter about some of the privates hearing things in the walls. Maybe it's true, or maybe it's just urban legend made up by one of the sergeants to put the fear of Phos into them.
I don't think it'd hurt to check any crawlspaces, though.
**Day Nine**
Officially ordered a team to search and clear any and all small spaces for possible stowaways. I'm not taking any chances with this one. Humans are beneath us, but that doesn't stop them from being dangerous. I've heard stories about humans just *showing up* in places. Nobody knows how they get there or how they can survive outside of their environment for so long. If it's happening here, I'm putting a stop to it.
While security did their sweep, I did my best to relax in my quarters. I haven't been able to sleep since the thought of a human escaped on this ship entered my mind. I've been properly trained on what to do in such a situation, but training hardly prepares you for the real thing. Real-world scenarios are a lot harder to predict and control. Hopefully, it won't get to that point.
Addendum: Security found no traces of a human on board. They even did a full atmospheric flush of the hullspace. Nothing could've survived that.
**Day Thirteen**
Damn it all, this mission is cursed!
The photon recharger has broken down. Woke up this morning to find it sparking. Engineering says it got a heavy charge somehow, and that fried the electronics. We only have a little more than a week left before we make it home, and something like this has to go wrong. Engineering says it looks like an act of sabotage, so I'll be questioning the crew throughout the week to see who's been sympathizing with vermin.
**Day Sixteen**
We are on high alert. There's something here with us, we know it now. This morning, half of the remaining crew woke up to find the other half dead in their quarters, their throats slit wide open. There's no way a human could've done this, security made sure that a human couldn't have survived the sweep earlier this week.
Procedure is as follows: soldiers are to remain in their quarters as the ship scans each individual room on this vessel for life signs. Any signs outside of living quarters, and the *entire ship* is flushed of air and re-cycles the atmosphere. If one more life sign is found in a living quarter than registered, then that living quarter is also flushed of air. No chances this time. We are going to kill this vermin.
I can feel myself growing weaker without the photon charger. We've cut it beyond close with this human infestation, half of our crew is gone and the other half is weakened. Home is coming soon, though. We only have a few more days before we can see the blue fields of Eridanus again.
**Day Nineteen**
I saw it. I don't know how, but it's alive, and it's still on the ship. The human is *still here with us.* It must've known. Fuck that, it *was* the one that sabotaged the photon recharger. We're just sitting ducks without our strength.
I saw as it mercilessly slaughtered most of the remaining crew. It just *walked up to them* and started slicing them up with a blade from one of the privates that went missing before we made our return. I recognize it, the idiot brought something ornate and stupid from home and now it's being used to kill us. I don't know how it can just *survive* out here with all the things we've done to get rid of it. The Phos-damned thing just won't die!
I hid in a storage closet. It passed by the door and didn't seem to notice me in there. I think I'm the only one left alive. I just have to make it two more days, and then I can find a way to call command and have them blow this ship to kingdom come.
**Day Twenty-One**
I escaped that hell ship, but just barely.
The day prior to my arrival at Eridanus, I found my way up to the bridge and radioed ahead to command to give the order to attack the ship within five minutes of its arrival. I told them that there was a containment breach on-board and that we needed to sacrifice our cruiser for the greater good of our people. I didn't dare tell them it was just a single human that took our ship out. I don't want to live in shame.
It wasn't exactly a lie, either. I made my way to security after contacting command so I could plan my path to the escape pods in my frail state, and what I saw was terrifying: the human had let all the other ones free. Even more terrifying, it was standing next to the child - *its* child. I knew deep down that it was looking for me.
I managed to make it to the escape pod almost without incident. While on the last hallway, however, I accidentally knocked over a fixture and alerted the main human to my presence. It started walking towards me, with the same slow pace it had killed the rest of my crew with. I tripped over myself trying to make it to the escape pod, and I was so sure that I was going to die, but miraculously, I made it. I managed to shut the door in time and locked the human out.
The next few minutes I spent with the human shouting at me, knocking on the window, doing whatever it could to torture me. It was all harrowing, but the worst was when it stood there, silent. I could see the message it sent with its eyes.
"I will hunt you to the end of the galaxy, and you will not be able to stop me."
I jettisoned the escape pod as soon as the cruiser entered Eridanus airspace. Frantically, I grabbed the radio off the escape pod wall and *begged* for command to destroy the ship. Soon enough, my escape pod was rocked with the wave of energy that came with the surefire destruction of everything on board. There was no way anything could've survived that level of destruction...
...yet, here I am, awake in bed in my own house. I know that human is still out there. Deep down, I know that it *somehow* survived. It has to have survived. It's going to chase me down until the day I die. Even now, I hear footsteps. I don't know who they belong to until my wife enters the bedroom. She says something to me, but I don't clearly understand. All I can do is wait until that human shows up again. | They thought they had wiped us out, turns out they were wrong.
Epsilon prime was our home, we were the first humans to join the galactic federation, they knew nothing of earth.They thought so little of us, so blasé with their technology. We were serfs to them, no better than cattle.
There wasn't one day they didn't go without ripping us off. Killing our women, children or infirm. There was little we could do against their combined strength or their broken justice system. At that time we thought if only one died the rest could survive.
Year after year it went on, exploitation, serfdom, banditry. It wasn't just one of them it was all of them. The Necrotele, Auxins, Teletars and so on so forth. The worst ones were the Eldisterian. Horrible bastards, they used to take some of us and mangle our DNA with that of animals. We were alive, just barely though.
I guess we thought we could survive if only a few of us died to thier malicious ideas. That was just the way it was some of us died, so others could live. Then one day it changed. I guess they got sick of us or maybe it was the Wros Virus, maybe they thought we were responsible for it.
Whatever the case they wiped us all 20 billion of us on Epsilon prime. Glassed the damn planet with so much orbital bombardment that the old extinct volcanoes erupted. Some of us survived in the old obsidian caves, it was just a few million.
After that they left the star system to wither and die, our home with them. Job accomplished or so they thought.
It's been a 150 years since then. But now they know our fury. The burning crusade we call it, 150 years of bloodshed against our enemies. We struck the capitol of their stinking federation. It was a sight to behold millions of rich Xenos burning alive. We took their bodies and marked our ships with a simple message "death to the Xenos Federation".
Then we burned their homeworlds, taking everything we could find. The Black Aces took their children and cooked them for meat.
Now they know if they cross the black line or cross us, they have chosen extinction. There were 45 races in their federation, now there's only 4. No technological or genetic edge will save them if they ever make us serfs again.
Their children's cries fuel our dreams. | |
[WP] No one knows this, but the Villain is a Therapist by day. One day, the Hero shows up for a session. | Edith stood up from prayer just before the doorbell rang. She limped to the front door, her leg injury still healing from last week. Her overconfidence had nearly gotten her killed, but she was sure she'd get that bastard next time. Today's patient seemed to have a lot of emotional baggage, however, and that was the first thing she wanted to take care of.
She opened the door to see that bastard.
She barely contained her surprise at seeing his face. It was clear that he had been beaten to an inch of his life, with bruises all over; bruises that she'd inflicted. Yet even through the pain, he was still smiling. "Is this Edith?" he asked.
"Indeed I am. Are you Job?" He nodded in affirmation, and she let him into her home.
Home, of course, was not where her lair was. It'd be a stupid thing to pull, anyways: anyone on your last will wouldn't be able to inherit much if it were destroyed in a surgical strike. Most of her days were spent here, living her life or listening to patients. It was only when she felt that injustice had been done that she struck.
Her office was decorated in religious imagery, as if a confessional booth had been expanded to fill a bedroom. She sat down in her chair and pulled out her journal, ready to take notes, while Job slumped into the sofa, removing the mask of cheer and replacing it with an ambivalent expression.
"Please do remember, nothing you say will ever leave this room. They are secrets I will bring to my grave." She could say nothing else, and only waited for Job to speak. She did not expect him to burst into tears.
Job explained that he felt like a failure. Every time he tried to help, someone would get hurt, maybe killed. He had to watch the life leave their eyes as he sat powerless. Every death weighed on him a little more, made it feel a little bleaker, but he bottled it up because he was the only person who could do it.
Behind Edith's stoic face was a mind filled with horror. She remained silent while she came to terms with it. She realized that the person she had hurt was not simply a faceless masked man; that her actions hurt and killed people, and that the consequences of her actions would hurt countless more.
Edith learned that she had committed irredeemable sins.
And Edith wept. | This is a challenge where I'll spend 30-some days writing a micro-story based on a combination of whatever catches my eye at r/writingprompts that day plus the theme of the day as predetermined by a list prebuilt out of my friends' suggestions.
Today's theme is "Will'o'wisps" and the writing prompt is "No one knows this, but the Villain is a Therapist by day. One day, the Hero shows up for a session."
---
This... was a predicament.
Janette Silver's therapist practice was widely known - among the people who needed her services, that is. All of her clients walked away satisfied, finally rid of their deeply seated demons - as well as a solid chunk of their disposable income, but quality costs. Among other things, she guaranteed complete confidentiality - she never talked about her charges with her colleagues, not even changing the names (as that happened to be a rather futile measure with the kinds of cases she got), and she always provided a safe and unmarked location, meaning that even if someone saw the client come in, they wouldn't know that they're perusing a therapist's services.
So of course Robert McDougall came to her. Had she known what he was about to straddle her with, she'd never have accepted the contract - but that's the issue with confidentiality agreements. It was too late to back down now and she had to see it through to the end - for the man she now found out to be her sworn Nemesis' mundane identity was no fool, and if she'd slipped up, he'd know something was up.
Of course, being unable to help the client for the first time in her long career was also an issue.
"...So, uh, I don't know what to do now. He was my everything and now he's gone. Crushed under that falling building. And..."
The problem, of course, was that Janette was a fraud. Well, not *exactly*. She just used her mind control powers - ones that were incredibly useful in the less scrupulous activities she practiced - to get at the crux of the issue and excise it. It was, perhaps, a bit crude, but it did get results - and that's what people wanted. They didn't want something elegant, they wanted to stop feeling pain over the loss of their loved one, they wanted to stop always thinking about how their long-dead parents would react to every choice they make, they wanted to just live normal lives at any cost. And the Silver Therapy Services provided just that.
The man sitting in the chair opposite of her, however, was beyond her help. Oh, not because his case was unique - he'd lost his lover (and sidekick) of two years, not the first time someone has approached her with exactly that problem, complete with her being behind the collapsing building in the first place (she had to cover her getaway somehow, didn't she?). What was different is that if she tried to use any mind trickery on him, it wouldn't work. He was the only person in the whole world who was not affected by it - he'd just see some balls of light float in the air like will'o'wisps, trying to bedazzle him, lead him astray, have him drown in the dark marshes of his own subconscious. And he was the one who wouldn't follow the wisps. She learned that the hard way during their first fight.
"...and that's when I realised I loved him. I- I-"
"Tissue?"
"Yes, please."
The man sobbed for a good few minutes before calming down.
"You mentioned you have a strained relationship with your parents. Can you tell me more about that?"
"Oh, strained is an understatement! They never..."
Besides the confidentiality, another reason Janette didn't talk to other therapists was that she'd be found out immediately as soon as she'd demonstrate her complete and utter lack of relevant knowledge. She never went to a therapist herself (being, in her mind, perfectly well-adjusted), she never attended any courses (why bother?) and the closest the "genius therapist" had to actual understanding of how she was *supposed* to operate were the popular shows about some mentally-damaged young men and women struggling with... whatever the middle class struggled with nowadays. She watched one or two episodes before realising they weren't worth their time.
One thing Mrs. Silver was certain of, however - she was supposed to ask questions. Let the client talk it out, then, when the torrent of words dries out, poke them with a new angle. Somehow that was miraculously supposed to help them realise some important truths and let go of earthly tethers - or something like that. Now if only-
A loud crack snapped her back to reality.
"Oh. Uh. Sorry about the chair. Got a bit carried away here."
She has seemingly zoned out while listening to him tell some boring story about him and his younger brother getting in trouble - and he got a bit too angry. Next time she should pay more attention.
Wait, next time?
"Mr. McDougall, I think that is quite enough for the first session. Do not worry about the damage, the session's fee will more than cover it."
"Okay. I'm really grateful for you help, Mrs. Silver. You've really helped me view some things in a new light."
"Oh, please, it is my job. I just know which questions to ask."
"Well, still. Same time next week? Unless Brainella pulls some kind of stunt again, I should be free."
The woman thought for a few moments.
"I'm sure she won't be any trouble, Mr. McDougall. Even villains should know how important mental health is in this day and age."
"Hope so. See you, then!"
"Goodbye, Mr. McDougall."
As Brainella closed the door behind The Void, she smiled. Easiest money in her life.
But maybe taking some courses just in case would still be a good idea. | |
[WP] No one knows this, but the Villain is a Therapist by day. One day, the Hero shows up for a session. | It was a normal day at work.
Emphasis on the was.
I was doing my thing, listening to my clients worries and all that. I had a new client scheduled for my ten thirty. His first name was Niko.
A little background: I’m a villain. Yep, a full blown villain. I couldn’t really tell you why, I barely know myself, it’s just fun. As a therapist, sometimes I get so much coming at me from so many different people, that I just need to go do crimes, being a villain is my therapy. I’m good at my job, and have been in practice for four years now. The Villainy only started about a month ago. Anywho, back to the topic at hand. Because guess who walked in the damn door?
That’s right! My archenemy of course!
“Go ahead and take a seat Niko.” I said calmly. He was a well known hero, and his personal info had been on the web for a long time. He sat in the couch across from me. “So what brings you here?”
“Well, I’ve been rather frustrated lately.” He said.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yes! This new villain im fighting, y’know shadow?”
“Yeah I’ve heard of her.” I but back a snicker a started to take a sip of my coffee.
“She’s such a bitch!” He said it so abruptly it made me choke on my coffee. “Ah, are you alright?”
“Yeah, my coffee just went down the wrong tube.” I was not expecting to be called a bitch by one of my clients. Niko grabbed one of my pillows from the couch he was sitting on and hugged it. “Go on.” I Said. I did not dare to drink anymore coffee after that
“The other problem is, that I don’t understand why she’s a villain. I can tell most of the time! She could use her teleport power for anything! I just don’t get it! I’ve seen her move children out of the way of her villain friends’ destruction.” He grunted.
“Maybe she was bored?”
“When your bored you read a book!” He snapped. “Sorry. I just don’t understand her.”
“That does sound frustrating.”
“It is! And like, she’s totally hot too!” I raised my eyebrows. “I just, wish I understood her.”
“You can never really understand someone.” I breathed. “You can only understand yourself.”
“I know, I know.”
“Is anything else bothering you?”
“Yes! She’s the only person who I haven’t been able to defeat!” He punched the pillow and immediately ripped a hole in it with his super strength. I raised my eyebrows.
“Here, I’ll sew it up.” I took out my sewing kit and took the pillow from him.
“Y’know, if Shadow was really bored she should just get a tinder or something.” I can’t figure this dude out. “Or get a hobby, Jesus!” I started seeing the pillow shut.
“You can’t control her.”
“Yeah, I know. But still, ugh such a…”
this personal attack went on for about five minutes, I would prefer not to write it all down.
“I get it, she does sound like a terrible person.”
“Exactly.” He sighed “but, it just feels so impulsive to me.” He picked up another pillow. “Villainy is serious, not something to mess around with.” With that his time ran up.
I sighed. Maybe I should pick up a hobby… | This is a challenge where I'll spend 30-some days writing a micro-story based on a combination of whatever catches my eye at r/writingprompts that day plus the theme of the day as predetermined by a list prebuilt out of my friends' suggestions.
Today's theme is "Will'o'wisps" and the writing prompt is "No one knows this, but the Villain is a Therapist by day. One day, the Hero shows up for a session."
---
This... was a predicament.
Janette Silver's therapist practice was widely known - among the people who needed her services, that is. All of her clients walked away satisfied, finally rid of their deeply seated demons - as well as a solid chunk of their disposable income, but quality costs. Among other things, she guaranteed complete confidentiality - she never talked about her charges with her colleagues, not even changing the names (as that happened to be a rather futile measure with the kinds of cases she got), and she always provided a safe and unmarked location, meaning that even if someone saw the client come in, they wouldn't know that they're perusing a therapist's services.
So of course Robert McDougall came to her. Had she known what he was about to straddle her with, she'd never have accepted the contract - but that's the issue with confidentiality agreements. It was too late to back down now and she had to see it through to the end - for the man she now found out to be her sworn Nemesis' mundane identity was no fool, and if she'd slipped up, he'd know something was up.
Of course, being unable to help the client for the first time in her long career was also an issue.
"...So, uh, I don't know what to do now. He was my everything and now he's gone. Crushed under that falling building. And..."
The problem, of course, was that Janette was a fraud. Well, not *exactly*. She just used her mind control powers - ones that were incredibly useful in the less scrupulous activities she practiced - to get at the crux of the issue and excise it. It was, perhaps, a bit crude, but it did get results - and that's what people wanted. They didn't want something elegant, they wanted to stop feeling pain over the loss of their loved one, they wanted to stop always thinking about how their long-dead parents would react to every choice they make, they wanted to just live normal lives at any cost. And the Silver Therapy Services provided just that.
The man sitting in the chair opposite of her, however, was beyond her help. Oh, not because his case was unique - he'd lost his lover (and sidekick) of two years, not the first time someone has approached her with exactly that problem, complete with her being behind the collapsing building in the first place (she had to cover her getaway somehow, didn't she?). What was different is that if she tried to use any mind trickery on him, it wouldn't work. He was the only person in the whole world who was not affected by it - he'd just see some balls of light float in the air like will'o'wisps, trying to bedazzle him, lead him astray, have him drown in the dark marshes of his own subconscious. And he was the one who wouldn't follow the wisps. She learned that the hard way during their first fight.
"...and that's when I realised I loved him. I- I-"
"Tissue?"
"Yes, please."
The man sobbed for a good few minutes before calming down.
"You mentioned you have a strained relationship with your parents. Can you tell me more about that?"
"Oh, strained is an understatement! They never..."
Besides the confidentiality, another reason Janette didn't talk to other therapists was that she'd be found out immediately as soon as she'd demonstrate her complete and utter lack of relevant knowledge. She never went to a therapist herself (being, in her mind, perfectly well-adjusted), she never attended any courses (why bother?) and the closest the "genius therapist" had to actual understanding of how she was *supposed* to operate were the popular shows about some mentally-damaged young men and women struggling with... whatever the middle class struggled with nowadays. She watched one or two episodes before realising they weren't worth their time.
One thing Mrs. Silver was certain of, however - she was supposed to ask questions. Let the client talk it out, then, when the torrent of words dries out, poke them with a new angle. Somehow that was miraculously supposed to help them realise some important truths and let go of earthly tethers - or something like that. Now if only-
A loud crack snapped her back to reality.
"Oh. Uh. Sorry about the chair. Got a bit carried away here."
She has seemingly zoned out while listening to him tell some boring story about him and his younger brother getting in trouble - and he got a bit too angry. Next time she should pay more attention.
Wait, next time?
"Mr. McDougall, I think that is quite enough for the first session. Do not worry about the damage, the session's fee will more than cover it."
"Okay. I'm really grateful for you help, Mrs. Silver. You've really helped me view some things in a new light."
"Oh, please, it is my job. I just know which questions to ask."
"Well, still. Same time next week? Unless Brainella pulls some kind of stunt again, I should be free."
The woman thought for a few moments.
"I'm sure she won't be any trouble, Mr. McDougall. Even villains should know how important mental health is in this day and age."
"Hope so. See you, then!"
"Goodbye, Mr. McDougall."
As Brainella closed the door behind The Void, she smiled. Easiest money in her life.
But maybe taking some courses just in case would still be a good idea. | |
[WP] No one knows this, but the Villain is a Therapist by day. One day, the Hero shows up for a session. | A dual relationship. That's what the ethics committee would label this situation. That's when a therapist has an additional relationship with their client outside the realm of therapy, and in the world of counseling, it's frowned upon. It threatens the client-therapist bond when one of them knows too much about the other from outside circumstances. Ethically, it would be my duty to refer my client to another therapist. And if this were a typical dual relationship situation, such as if he was my neighbor or my sister's boyfriend, I would abide by that ethical standard. But this is so much more.
The young muscular man leans forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, fingers pressed together and his head hanging down. He is an imposing figure at full height, towering above my slight frame, with broad shoulders, huge hands, and thick tree-stump legs. His cut jawline sports a well-maintained brush of scruff, and his brown, messy hair always gives off the impression that he just came out of the shower. He could easily make bank on modeling and showing off. But in this office, when he sits down in that chair across from me, he seems to shrink. His shoulders fold in, his head sags, and he often keeps his eyes down. Kurtis Tecker is not at all the same person that I encounter outside this office.
Outside of this office, he's everything you would expect from a superhero of his reputation: confident, powerful, strong, and unmovable. When Stormguard arrives on a scene of chaos and panic, people rally to him. He lifts cars off of injured passengers, he walks through fires to rescue babies, he flicks off bullets from mobster machine guns like they're rice thrown at a wedding. He's only been in the city for a year and a half, but in that time, the city has fallen in love with him. And I'm not sure I can blame them. Who isn't waiting for a god to save them, someone unphased by the difficulties of life, like in that stupid Bonnie Tyler song?
But who would have guessed that the mighty, invincible Stormguard would walk straight into my office and ask for help? I suppose even gods need someone to talk to sometimes. Of course, he doesn't show up in his ridiculous red and gold cape, so to anyone else, he's just another normal young man. But it wasn't long into the first session that I figured it all out. Sitting in front of me was Stormguard himself.
Kurtis isn't the only one with a mask and another name. Kurtis isn't the only one with abnormal abilities. The sign outside my office might read "Dr. Harold Farris, Ph.D.," but in the darkness of night, I become Mindlock. My telepathic powers are incredibly useful at finding out information no one is supposed to know. And when you know what someone doesn't want you to, you can use that to your advantage.
"It's just... I don't feel seen as who I am, you know?" Kurtis is saying. I nod, letting the statement settle for a bit before responding.
"When you say that you don't feel seen, what do you mean by that?" I ask.
"Well," he sighs. "It's like... people only like me because I'm good at my job. But they don't really care who I am. How I'm doing. What I'm interested in. You know? I have to wear a mask for people to take me seriously, almost, you know?" I do know. I read exactly what he means straight from his mind. He arrived in session two weeks ago, presenting with problems at work, which he lied and said was at a company here in town. I saw through that immediately, of course.
But I also relate. The elite in this city are the most corrupt, morally deficient and selfish people I have ever met, but no one cares. Not unless there's a flashy event to draw their attention to it. That's why Mindlock kidnapped the Mayor two months ago. I anonymously sent the documents indicating his embezzlement schemes to the media a year before that, but the story was squashed. The only way the truth about him was revealed was when Mindlock kidnapped him and the police found him tied up in a warehouse with a cryptic cipher that revealed all of it when solved. It's too bad Stormguard showed up when Mindlock tried to do the same thing to the chief of police. I barely escaped that time.
"You feel like the only way for people to pay attention to you is by doing grand things, acting the way they want you to, but doing that is isolating because you feel like you can't ever be honest with them," I respond.
"Yeah! That's exactly it," he exclaims. "I feel like I'm living two lives. I worry they won't like who I really am because I'm not really who they think I am. They'll be disappointed if they find out. "
Well, he's probably right about that. His swaggering hero persona is nothing more than a character he's playing. I do wonder what would happen to Stormguard if the world found out who he really is? A nervous, depressed young man who struggles to make friends and is afraid of people? Would that be a necessary step if he keeps getting in the way of Mindlock's mission to expose the rotten core of this city?
"Well, let's walk this through. What would happen if they did find out?" I ask.
"I don't know... they would laugh at me. Start... ignoring me." He doesn't say it, but I hear it in his mind. He's thinking about middle school. He was the object of ridicule by some for four years, but most ignored him. He wasn't always the towering behemoth he is today. Back then, he was tiny, and the other kids took advantage of that. He was alone, so alone.
"What would that mean about you if that happened? If they did start making fun of you or ignoring you?"
He hesitates. I already know the answer. It means those things his father said about him all the time would be true. He would be a disappointment. He would be unlovable.
"I guess it would mean..." he trails off, hands balling up into fists.
"It would mean you don't deserve to be loved," I remark softly. He glances up at me, the first time he's looked at me all session. His eyes water with tears. He just nods.
We sit in silence for a moment, letting the room breathe. I feel his mind turning over the statement, replaying the painful scenes where it seemed so true.
"I can relate, a bit," I break in after a while. "We all lead double lives. There's the me that I present to others and it's partially me, but also partially manufactured. I dress in suits because I want to appear put together and in charge, I smile and say hello because I want people to think I'm friendly, I stay late at work because I want to appear hardworking and committed. But then there's the me that I have all to myself, and that me tells me that I'm not put together, I don't have control, I'm not a likeable person, I'm lazy, I'm stupid... on and on and on. For me personally, I feel like a failure when I don't achieve. If something falls apart, it's because I screwed it up somehow. But is that a realistic ideal? Sometimes things just suck and there is nothing else I could have done to change it. But it's hard to cut yourself some slack because we want to make meaning out of those moments in our lives."
"How do you learn to cut yourself some slack?" He asks.
I smile. "Time, and a lot of work."
After he leaves for the day, I sit alone in my office, alone with the dilemma. What to do with this client? I should refer him. I should. But, on the other hand, there is nobody else in the city that can understand him the way I can. I may have accepted him as a client in order to get a leg up in our conflict, but what I found was an extraordinary young man just trying to figure out where he fits. Mindlock will continue his campaign to purge the city of its corruption, and he will cross paths with Stormguard again. But in here, for an hour a week, those masks will go back in the box and all that will be left are Kurtis Tecker and Dr. Harold Farris, two humans connecting and learning together how to make the world a better place. | This is a challenge where I'll spend 30-some days writing a micro-story based on a combination of whatever catches my eye at r/writingprompts that day plus the theme of the day as predetermined by a list prebuilt out of my friends' suggestions.
Today's theme is "Will'o'wisps" and the writing prompt is "No one knows this, but the Villain is a Therapist by day. One day, the Hero shows up for a session."
---
This... was a predicament.
Janette Silver's therapist practice was widely known - among the people who needed her services, that is. All of her clients walked away satisfied, finally rid of their deeply seated demons - as well as a solid chunk of their disposable income, but quality costs. Among other things, she guaranteed complete confidentiality - she never talked about her charges with her colleagues, not even changing the names (as that happened to be a rather futile measure with the kinds of cases she got), and she always provided a safe and unmarked location, meaning that even if someone saw the client come in, they wouldn't know that they're perusing a therapist's services.
So of course Robert McDougall came to her. Had she known what he was about to straddle her with, she'd never have accepted the contract - but that's the issue with confidentiality agreements. It was too late to back down now and she had to see it through to the end - for the man she now found out to be her sworn Nemesis' mundane identity was no fool, and if she'd slipped up, he'd know something was up.
Of course, being unable to help the client for the first time in her long career was also an issue.
"...So, uh, I don't know what to do now. He was my everything and now he's gone. Crushed under that falling building. And..."
The problem, of course, was that Janette was a fraud. Well, not *exactly*. She just used her mind control powers - ones that were incredibly useful in the less scrupulous activities she practiced - to get at the crux of the issue and excise it. It was, perhaps, a bit crude, but it did get results - and that's what people wanted. They didn't want something elegant, they wanted to stop feeling pain over the loss of their loved one, they wanted to stop always thinking about how their long-dead parents would react to every choice they make, they wanted to just live normal lives at any cost. And the Silver Therapy Services provided just that.
The man sitting in the chair opposite of her, however, was beyond her help. Oh, not because his case was unique - he'd lost his lover (and sidekick) of two years, not the first time someone has approached her with exactly that problem, complete with her being behind the collapsing building in the first place (she had to cover her getaway somehow, didn't she?). What was different is that if she tried to use any mind trickery on him, it wouldn't work. He was the only person in the whole world who was not affected by it - he'd just see some balls of light float in the air like will'o'wisps, trying to bedazzle him, lead him astray, have him drown in the dark marshes of his own subconscious. And he was the one who wouldn't follow the wisps. She learned that the hard way during their first fight.
"...and that's when I realised I loved him. I- I-"
"Tissue?"
"Yes, please."
The man sobbed for a good few minutes before calming down.
"You mentioned you have a strained relationship with your parents. Can you tell me more about that?"
"Oh, strained is an understatement! They never..."
Besides the confidentiality, another reason Janette didn't talk to other therapists was that she'd be found out immediately as soon as she'd demonstrate her complete and utter lack of relevant knowledge. She never went to a therapist herself (being, in her mind, perfectly well-adjusted), she never attended any courses (why bother?) and the closest the "genius therapist" had to actual understanding of how she was *supposed* to operate were the popular shows about some mentally-damaged young men and women struggling with... whatever the middle class struggled with nowadays. She watched one or two episodes before realising they weren't worth their time.
One thing Mrs. Silver was certain of, however - she was supposed to ask questions. Let the client talk it out, then, when the torrent of words dries out, poke them with a new angle. Somehow that was miraculously supposed to help them realise some important truths and let go of earthly tethers - or something like that. Now if only-
A loud crack snapped her back to reality.
"Oh. Uh. Sorry about the chair. Got a bit carried away here."
She has seemingly zoned out while listening to him tell some boring story about him and his younger brother getting in trouble - and he got a bit too angry. Next time she should pay more attention.
Wait, next time?
"Mr. McDougall, I think that is quite enough for the first session. Do not worry about the damage, the session's fee will more than cover it."
"Okay. I'm really grateful for you help, Mrs. Silver. You've really helped me view some things in a new light."
"Oh, please, it is my job. I just know which questions to ask."
"Well, still. Same time next week? Unless Brainella pulls some kind of stunt again, I should be free."
The woman thought for a few moments.
"I'm sure she won't be any trouble, Mr. McDougall. Even villains should know how important mental health is in this day and age."
"Hope so. See you, then!"
"Goodbye, Mr. McDougall."
As Brainella closed the door behind The Void, she smiled. Easiest money in her life.
But maybe taking some courses just in case would still be a good idea. | |
[WP] When you die, you can challenge death to a game of skill. But there’s a catch, with each soul absorbed death gains the skills and abilities of the deceased. Lexi practiced relentlessly to be better than anyone who ever lived. | Grim reaper set across the table and leaned his scythe against the wall as Lexi set the pieces up on the board.
Curiously, he asked "Why chess?"
"I don't get much free time. When I do, I play chess." Lexi said nonchalantly.
"You do realize I possess the skills of a thousand grandmasters. Surely, there is something else you are good at, something more niche?"
"Sadly, there isn't." Lexi rubbed her eyes, trying to hide away her tears.
Grim Reaper looked around. It was a one bedroom apartment in poor condition. A small table at the kitchen, a counter that could barely be used by one person at a time. And a small refrigerator. It had some paintings on it.
"You know what, I will let you play white."
Lexi's face lightened up as she thanked him.
She played a terrible opening and already had a good chance of losing the game. As Lexi pondered her next move Grim Reaper glanced at the living room. An old TV with a dvd player. At this day and age. He noticed some cartoons and child movie DVDs. There was an old couch and a small cabinet, a plastic coffee table, and not much else. Everything was clean and neat though.
"Your turn." Grim Reaper made his move. They approached mid game and Grim Reaper had an advantage, clear as day. As his eyes wandered again, Grim Reaper noticed the toy box next to the bedroom door. He couldn't keep his eyes off the sloppy sign. "I love mummy very much."
"Well, this is going swimmingly." Lexi said, as she made her move. Her tone was defiant, yet accepting.
Grim Reaper saw it. It was checkmate in 4 moves. He moved his queen. "Check".
Lexi had no choice but to block it with her knight. She sighed as she moved her piece, and perhaps saw it as well.
Bedroom's door opened. A boy came out, maybe 5 maybe 6 years old.
Boy couldn't sleep, he had nightmares. As Lexi put the boy back to sleep Grim Reaper found himself unable to make his move.
Lexi came back and sat across him. Grim Reaper froze. She looked at him expectingly.
"Will you just get it over with, please."
Grim Reaper felt a sudden ache, where a heart would have been.
"You know Lexi, I picked a better game for you. And in that game, you win."
"What?"
"Him."
Lexi turned around to check on her child. As she turned back, she saw an empty chair. | "Only on one condition. *I* get to decide who goes first."
Well, there went my plan to screw over Death and get back to the hospital I was dying in, or something.
When you die, it turns out, you go to a waiting room. And despite it filling up with two people a second, the queue somehow moved at just the right speed that I'd have a bit of time to think on how to escape.
It turns out the stories were right. You *can* challenge Death to a game of Chess or Dance Dance Revolution, or something I don't know. Any game of skill would work, apparently. It said so on the brochure (*why* are there brochures in the afterlife?). But it also turns out that Death gets the powers of anybody who has died and he has beaten in a game. So you're screwed unless you can think out of the box.
Fortunately I had prepared. There are lots of games that you can win 100% of the time if you know the strategy, so I challenged Death to a game of Misere Nim, where you can take up to 4 straws at a time out of 21 and you want your opponent to pick up the last one. If you go second and ensure your opponent is at a number of straws one more than a multiple of five, you're mathematically certain to win unless –
"Only on one condition. I get to decide who goes first."
Unless that as well. I was about to say unless you do a mistake, but that works too. I wonder who successfully challenged Death to Nim in the past.
Well, time for plan be.
"I'd like to challenge you to build the best house – "
The ground around me turned into a massive open terrain. Next to me were builder's tools and truckloads of bricks, planks and other materials. Death looked at me and said, "That can be arranged."
" – in *Minecraft* I mean. Creative mode, of course. Fifteen minutes, let's say."
"That can also be arranged," Death said, as the open terrain closed into a pair of computers facing opposite each other. I checked the computer. We'd be in the same Minecraft world.
Perfect.
Now is probably a good time to say that I don't *really* play Minecraft that much. But even if I did, there were certainly god builders who had already died before me. But I had a plan.
When the build-off started, I saw Death start working on a huge mansion, a couple hundred blocks away from my build. I built a small bedrock hut.
Then I spawned in a command block. Two, after some thought. I convinced Death to allow commands because "I might want to put ladders on a barrier block" or something like that. I didn't, but that didn't stop Death from turning them on. And that's how I tricked Death himself into letting me back onto Earth.
First of all I waited until there were two minutes left to go. Then I activated both command blocks simultaneously.
The first one was a /kill command. I set it to kill Death's Minecraft player while on a loop, so Death would be stuck: unable to stop me from doing my second command.
The second command block filled a massive region of Death's mansion thing with TNT. After doing it again to another part to ensure the entire mansion was destroyed, I got a flint and steel and flew to the TNT I had placed.
The great thing about Death's computers is that they don't appear to lag at all. So I saw the complete destruction of Death's mansion, with not a block remaining, in real time. When the timer hit five seconds, I broke the first command block and waited. My bedrock hut wasn't the most comfortable home, but given that the entire landscape was completely destroyed it won by default.
Death was not happy with me gaming the system, and in retrospect it could have failed in *so many ways*. But, I had never stated that we couldn't interfere in each other's builds, and apparently that swayed Death to let me back onto Earth. I wouldn't expect it to work a second time, though. | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | The dark queen jumped at the sudden explosions and crashes which had begun rocking her castle, deep within the black hole she had made into her home. The Guardians of Light, freshly defeated not six hours prior, were trapped in stasis cages near her throne. She had been savoring the idea of siphoning their cosmic energies once she had finished ascertaining the locations of their weapons, which had fired off at lightspeed when the girls threw them. "Nyx! What is the meaning of all this racket?!"
"My queen, it appears the Guardians of Light have been chosen, and have already found their way here!"
"Impossible. My castle sits in the center of the darkest star! Who could possibly infiltrate such a space so quickly?!"
No sooner had she finished her sentence than a deafening, screeching roar shattered the door. Standing in the smoking dust and remains of the doorway were five silhouettes. The queen could clearly sense the weapons, but the silhouettes were...different. Larger. Suddenly, one sprouted wings and the dust was blown away.
Standing in front of the dark queen were a band of warriors unlike any she had ever seen. The weapons, glowing with power, had morphed to these warriors' purpose. All steel spikes, tattoos and black leather, two hulking men stood to the fore. They carried large guitars, which were humming with the compressed cosmic energy of the universe they were meant to protect. Behind them, two more burly men stood. One carried a keyboard across his chest, and the other had a set of drums which floated around them. Hovering above them was the fifth, a woman with wings of black iron which launched howling gusts of wind with each beat. Clutched in her hand, she carried the microphone that called to the cosmic entities and granted the Guardians their power.
The queen glanced behind them, at what had been, until recently, her castle. Her minions lay dissipating in the rubble. Nyx, her loyal familiar and servant, was her final weapon. She reached for him, and he became her dark staff.
The two women looked eachother in the eye, and the queen knew she would not be able to monologue while she gathered her strength this time.
The black winged angel raised the microphone to her mouth and growled a single line, sending chills down the queen's spine. "Rip and tear. Until the deed is done." | The Darkness won...
The old scourge of the Enchanted lands crept its way again to battle the mystical forces of the light...
The Light always chose wisely their warriors... Maidens of pure hearts and intentions... Incapable of thinking about murder, blood and entrails...
And they were losing... Hard...
So, without options, the Light chose again...
But, should it repeat its failure against its nigh inmortal enemy? With cutesy motives and ladies?
Pondering for what it felt an eternity; it went against traditions...
And so, it looked...
Further... Further from the mystical (read Asian) lands of South Corea and Japan...
To the cold north...
"GOOOOOOO..."
To sturdier people...
"...WAS A CREATURE BEFORE I CAN STAND..."
To harder feelings (and lyrics)...
"...BEFORE I FORGET..."
... TO THE DEATH METAL...
----
The Darkness wept... For it felt dennied...
"Why didn't I thought this before??" | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | The people of Little Town had long been used to the pattern. First, the sky would darken, and one of their neighbors, now mutated into a grotesque reflection of their own inner turmoil, would cry out for vengeance. Then the Sparkle-Glitter 5 would emerge from somewhere, with earnest defiance and deep concern for the people of Little Town. As dialogue and negotiation inevitably broke down, The Fabulous Mr. Kitty would pop the whole event up into the sky to cut down on property damage, and the fight would begin. The people tried very hard to not think about how their saviors were clearly only in middle school, even as they cheered for their favorite candy-colored musician to clobber the opponent they'd all known for years, another thing they tried hard not to think about.
Sometimes, just sometimes, it wouldn't be a neighbor. Sometimes it would be one of the mutators themselves, grown tired of fruitlessly hurling people at the town, who took the field. When that happened, something had to change. Most times, the girls would find some new reservoir of power within themselves, or there would be a new girl, conveniently stepping up just as one of the current group had to move away, or go to high school. Rarely, Mr. Kitty would bring forth help from somewhere, and while this last resort was always welcome in the moment, it meant destructive fighting on the ground for a few weeks until he recovered. When even that failed, things would get bad. There would be a new sparkle team in time, but until they could be found, the mutator and its clique of vain, vengeful mutates would run amok, taking and destroying until their venal need for imagined vengeance had been sated.
The summer that killed the sparkles was bad. Orgoroth had set himself up as a petty king, turning the City Hall into a rough castle, and the bitter women of the retirement community into his generals. Each took especial delight in tormenting their own families, but spread their hate among all the young. On one particular day, Granny Attitude was screaming at little 4-year old Jessica for not being in school, when she proclaimed, "You're mean! You need to stop being mean or the Sparkles will get you!" Granny attitude backhanded the poor little girl across the street and spat. "The Sparkles are dead," she crowed, "and you need to learn to respect your elders, because they are NEVER coming back." Little Jessica cried softly, holding her bruised cheek as she silently mouthed "Sparkles," over and over again, barely aware of her shattered ribs.
Granny Attitude stalked across the street, eager to finish her tirade, when little Jessica coughed up a black clot, her tiny throat visibly distending for a moment as the knot of squirming blood forced its way out of her mouth and splattered on the pavement. "Look at the mess you're making," Granny snarled, pointing one arthritic finger at the broken girl. "You're going to have to clea.." Her harangue died away as the splotch widened into a perfect circle, the deep red fading to a primordial black swirling with unfamiliar stars. The hole thrummed with energy, and with a sound like none she'd heard before.
A figure faded slowly into existence, fully two meters tall and half as wide. His cold eyes were barely visible through the long, multi-colored hair that hung over his face and down almost to his waist, as if to hide the little heart-shaped guitar he played behind curtains of glittering black and shining pink His thick fingers flew back and forth along the neck of the little instrument, sounding a deadly march, the staccato heartbeat of the underworld itself.
As the bassist finally solidified, two others began to appear behind him, tall, lanky twins with spiked blue and green hair. As one, they raised their cloud-and-angel-wing guitars to the sky and began to play. Granny Attitude clapped her hands to her ears as blistering runs of notes blasted out around them, shattering glass and making something writhe with agony behind the old woman's eyes. They walked forward, passing the bassist and standing on the cracked asphalt.
The twins' dueling solos came to an end as two screams burst from the void. A blonde woman and a bald man, each dressed in a pastel jumpsuit with a pastel microphone, launched from the abyss and into the street, belting out alternating threats and cajolery, one demanding that those responsible for the state of the world submit to judgement, while the other wished for love. All seven of the mutates in Little Town collapsed, puking up their own tainted essences as their master detonated under the sonic assault.
The yawning cthonic pit finally squeezed shut beneath the hulking bassist's feet as they stopped playing, and a very bedraggled Mr. Kitty popped out, landing in a roll. He straightened what remained of his top hat and turned to address Granny Attitude, only to drop his jaw as he saw she'd already been defeated. "Um, well then. Don't do it again.." he said with a sniff before turning to his new, out-sized champions. As he watched, their bodies shrank to a size with which he was more familiar, "You've done very well in putting an end to this threat to Little Town, but you must always be on your guard..." he began, only to trail off into silence as the three boys and two girls ducked into a pizzeria, arguing good-naturedly about who'd have to split a Hawaiian with Cancer Boy. With a sigh, he walked over to little Jessica's body and blew a little dust from his hat onto her broken form, watching solemnly as she faded from reality. "I hope you knew what you were doing, girl."
​
A/N: After considering the prompt, I thought Power Metal would be a better fit. As always, eternally hungry for feedback. | The Darkness won...
The old scourge of the Enchanted lands crept its way again to battle the mystical forces of the light...
The Light always chose wisely their warriors... Maidens of pure hearts and intentions... Incapable of thinking about murder, blood and entrails...
And they were losing... Hard...
So, without options, the Light chose again...
But, should it repeat its failure against its nigh inmortal enemy? With cutesy motives and ladies?
Pondering for what it felt an eternity; it went against traditions...
And so, it looked...
Further... Further from the mystical (read Asian) lands of South Corea and Japan...
To the cold north...
"GOOOOOOO..."
To sturdier people...
"...WAS A CREATURE BEFORE I CAN STAND..."
To harder feelings (and lyrics)...
"...BEFORE I FORGET..."
... TO THE DEATH METAL...
----
The Darkness wept... For it felt dennied...
"Why didn't I thought this before??" | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | It always happened, eventually. Such was the fate of the warriors on the side of light- they were granted powers, but they were mortal. They would age and they would pass their tools and duties onwards.
Not this time.
The monster sent to them was a living nightmare, and an old one at that. It didn't agree to the rules of the conflict between light and dark. It did not care for the objectives of either side, nor the collateral damage. It had one reason to be, and it is with that reason that it marched upon the world. It will bring pain.
The five children stood proud first. They thought to defeat it through love and friendship. It showed them the truth. The world in which friendship and love suffocate under cruelty and greed.
The guitarist fell first, unable to play as she saw the horrors her own grandfather commited in the prison that was unit 731.
The bass player was easy, as it didn't even need to imagine. It mearly brought back what her father did to her, and laughed in delight.
The little red head saw the explosions of white phosphorus with every beat of her magical drum. It only took a minute for her to shove those sticks into her eyes, begging for it to stop. It did not.
It never made it to the keyboard. She died of heart failure, it would seem. No matter. That just meant it had more time to play with the lead singer.
-------------
After Japan fell, the whole world was scrambling to stop this monstrosity. At the time, no one noticed 5 golden UFOs make their way towards a small Finish village.
Everyone noticed them on the way back. But they weren't gold anymore.
The tools were given by the gods of light and music, but they were forged by another. He was a rough god, but a crafty bastard. The god of change knew such events could come, and prepared accordingly. "One day, when the warriors of light are not enough, find soldier of darkness who will fight for the light." Was his las command to his greatest creation.
When the new five appeared, the nightmare smiled, for it thought feeding time came again. It did not notice that the bright pinks and yellows were replaced with grey and crimson. It didn't notice that the hearts were no longer cartoons, but anatomically correct and pumping blood. It didn't notice the plastic and cloth that were replaced with bones and skin.
But the affects were noticed.
When the lead sang, instead of empowering the others, the nightmare felt its own strength draining.
The keyboard played, and instead of distracting magic lights it conjured up the spirits killed by the nightmare. They were strong and they were hateful.
The bass, an instrument of healing, gave the undying army flesh to fight with, all the while mutating the nightmare into shapes it could not control.
As the guitar strings strummed, instead of colorful lightning, came... Something unknown. Something unknowable. Reality itself began to crack under its weight.
When the nightmare saw it, it did something it hadn't done before. Never in its centuries of haunting the minds of mortals, did it scream in fear.
Above all was heard the steady,rhythmic beating of a massive war-drum. It generated a wall, growing stronger with every thump, transforming a protective shield into a nightmarish prison.
The 5 Black-Hearted, as they will be later known, didn't give up their power. They were free of the contract as well, and so they decided. Both sides, the light and the dark, will pay dearly for destroying the lives of so many, so carelessly and so irreparably.
With a nod of their head, The 5 Black-Hearted began their journey to free humanity from a war that wasn't theirs.
-----------------
Read more stuff on r/Talesandsongs
None of it is good, but some is entertaining | The Darkness won...
The old scourge of the Enchanted lands crept its way again to battle the mystical forces of the light...
The Light always chose wisely their warriors... Maidens of pure hearts and intentions... Incapable of thinking about murder, blood and entrails...
And they were losing... Hard...
So, without options, the Light chose again...
But, should it repeat its failure against its nigh inmortal enemy? With cutesy motives and ladies?
Pondering for what it felt an eternity; it went against traditions...
And so, it looked...
Further... Further from the mystical (read Asian) lands of South Corea and Japan...
To the cold north...
"GOOOOOOO..."
To sturdier people...
"...WAS A CREATURE BEFORE I CAN STAND..."
To harder feelings (and lyrics)...
"...BEFORE I FORGET..."
... TO THE DEATH METAL...
----
The Darkness wept... For it felt dennied...
"Why didn't I thought this before??" | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | It always happened, eventually. Such was the fate of the warriors on the side of light- they were granted powers, but they were mortal. They would age and they would pass their tools and duties onwards.
Not this time.
The monster sent to them was a living nightmare, and an old one at that. It didn't agree to the rules of the conflict between light and dark. It did not care for the objectives of either side, nor the collateral damage. It had one reason to be, and it is with that reason that it marched upon the world. It will bring pain.
The five children stood proud first. They thought to defeat it through love and friendship. It showed them the truth. The world in which friendship and love suffocate under cruelty and greed.
The guitarist fell first, unable to play as she saw the horrors her own grandfather commited in the prison that was unit 731.
The bass player was easy, as it didn't even need to imagine. It mearly brought back what her father did to her, and laughed in delight.
The little red head saw the explosions of white phosphorus with every beat of her magical drum. It only took a minute for her to shove those sticks into her eyes, begging for it to stop. It did not.
It never made it to the keyboard. She died of heart failure, it would seem. No matter. That just meant it had more time to play with the lead singer.
-------------
After Japan fell, the whole world was scrambling to stop this monstrosity. At the time, no one noticed 5 golden UFOs make their way towards a small Finish village.
Everyone noticed them on the way back. But they weren't gold anymore.
The tools were given by the gods of light and music, but they were forged by another. He was a rough god, but a crafty bastard. The god of change knew such events could come, and prepared accordingly. "One day, when the warriors of light are not enough, find soldier of darkness who will fight for the light." Was his las command to his greatest creation.
When the new five appeared, the nightmare smiled, for it thought feeding time came again. It did not notice that the bright pinks and yellows were replaced with grey and crimson. It didn't notice that the hearts were no longer cartoons, but anatomically correct and pumping blood. It didn't notice the plastic and cloth that were replaced with bones and skin.
But the affects were noticed.
When the lead sang, instead of empowering the others, the nightmare felt its own strength draining.
The keyboard played, and instead of distracting magic lights it conjured up the spirits killed by the nightmare. They were strong and they were hateful.
The bass, an instrument of healing, gave the undying army flesh to fight with, all the while mutating the nightmare into shapes it could not control.
As the guitar strings strummed, instead of colorful lightning, came... Something unknown. Something unknowable. Reality itself began to crack under its weight.
When the nightmare saw it, it did something it hadn't done before. Never in its centuries of haunting the minds of mortals, did it scream in fear.
Above all was heard the steady,rhythmic beating of a massive war-drum. It generated a wall, growing stronger with every thump, transforming a protective shield into a nightmarish prison.
The 5 Black-Hearted, as they will be later known, didn't give up their power. They were free of the contract as well, and so they decided. Both sides, the light and the dark, will pay dearly for destroying the lives of so many, so carelessly and so irreparably.
With a nod of their head, The 5 Black-Hearted began their journey to free humanity from a war that wasn't theirs.
-----------------
Read more stuff on r/Talesandsongs
None of it is good, but some is entertaining | The dark queen jumped at the sudden explosions and crashes which had begun rocking her castle, deep within the black hole she had made into her home. The Guardians of Light, freshly defeated not six hours prior, were trapped in stasis cages near her throne. She had been savoring the idea of siphoning their cosmic energies once she had finished ascertaining the locations of their weapons, which had fired off at lightspeed when the girls threw them. "Nyx! What is the meaning of all this racket?!"
"My queen, it appears the Guardians of Light have been chosen, and have already found their way here!"
"Impossible. My castle sits in the center of the darkest star! Who could possibly infiltrate such a space so quickly?!"
No sooner had she finished her sentence than a deafening, screeching roar shattered the door. Standing in the smoking dust and remains of the doorway were five silhouettes. The queen could clearly sense the weapons, but the silhouettes were...different. Larger. Suddenly, one sprouted wings and the dust was blown away.
Standing in front of the dark queen were a band of warriors unlike any she had ever seen. The weapons, glowing with power, had morphed to these warriors' purpose. All steel spikes, tattoos and black leather, two hulking men stood to the fore. They carried large guitars, which were humming with the compressed cosmic energy of the universe they were meant to protect. Behind them, two more burly men stood. One carried a keyboard across his chest, and the other had a set of drums which floated around them. Hovering above them was the fifth, a woman with wings of black iron which launched howling gusts of wind with each beat. Clutched in her hand, she carried the microphone that called to the cosmic entities and granted the Guardians their power.
The queen glanced behind them, at what had been, until recently, her castle. Her minions lay dissipating in the rubble. Nyx, her loyal familiar and servant, was her final weapon. She reached for him, and he became her dark staff.
The two women looked eachother in the eye, and the queen knew she would not be able to monologue while she gathered her strength this time.
The black winged angel raised the microphone to her mouth and growled a single line, sending chills down the queen's spine. "Rip and tear. Until the deed is done." | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | "BLÜDRÜSH!"
"Yes, Vöxmörtïs?"
"WHY are you holding a pretty pink scepter with a star on top?!" The band's lead singer started frantically drawing down the blinds on the tour bus windows. "Please tell me you DIDN'T let anyone see you!"
"I did not, Vöxmörtïs." The drummer carefully considered the bejewelled artifact in his hands, watching the pink ribbons drift in an air current that wasn't there.
"We're not on stage, you can just call me Jouko." The singer sank into a chair, exhausted. "Anyway, good."
"You just referred to me by my stage name, I figured that was what we were doing. Also, you have some sort of golden microphone on your bunk."
"WHAT?!" There was a flurry of slightly greasy hair and black denim, after which Jouko once again sank into his chair, this time holding what appeared to be a Shure SM58 that was either encrusted with gemstones or *made of* gemstones—it was difficult to tell. The wiry lattice over the condenser appeared to be glowing.
"This is..."
"Much nicer than we could normally afford, I know. I am also confused."
Jouko experimentally tapped his mic a couple of times and lifted it to his mouth.
"NÖXXATORR DEMANDS HIS GUITAR BACK!" thundered out from elsewhere on the bus.
Jouko winced, and after losing a very quick and very silent game of rock-paper-scissors, shouted back, "NO-ONE CARES, ANTTI. We all have new instruments and it's weird. Get over here."
Their tall guitarist stumbled over to their section of the bus and collapsed into his own chair. He peered at the mic Jouko was holding.
"Nöxxatorr thinks your mic sucks." He started rubbing his fingertips. Last night had been particularly heavy on the solos.
"Vöxmörtïs thinks you can drop the act when we're on the tour bus." The singer looked at his microphone again. "Don't we have a show tonight?"
"We do."
"And our gear has been replaced with Sailor Moon props. Wonderful. Does this town have a music store?"
"Nöxxatorr will Google it."
The guitarist glared at the drummer. "Only Nöxxatorr gets to use his own name."
"Maybe when Nöxxatorr drops the act on the damn bus, we'll respect what he wants. Does anyone care if I plug this in and try it out?"
"Nöxxatorr is only okay with this if you start with some magical girl bullshit," grumbled the guitarist from the other side of his phone.
Jouko laughed. "Fine. That's hilarious. Let's do it. Jarmo, can you grab—you've already grabbed the amp."
"And the mixing board. Blüdrüsh wants to hear your magical girl bullshit under perfect conditions."
"Not you, too." Jouko sighed as his drummer plugged the gear together. "Are we good?"
"We are good."
"Alright, here we go."
Jouko paused, then opened his mouth.
#**"I AM STAR PRINCE JOUKO, AND IN THE NAME OF THE NIGHT SKY, I WILL PUNISH YOU~!"**
The middle of the bus exploded with a column of light in every possible colour, bursting in half.
When Jarmo regained consciousness, he saw that the column of light was still there, about twenty feet away—with the other half of the bus on the other side of it. His singer was suspended fifty feet in the air, his clothes slowly changing into something much brighter. Meanwhile, at the bottom—
"Don't touch it!"
"What?" The guitarist stepped back from the column of light.
"Do you know how fast light has to be traveling to generate force like a laser? Enough to lift up a person?" He stumbled over and stood next to the guitarist. "Did you never wonder why the bad guys never interfered with the transformations in these shows? It's because if you touch light going that fast, your arms will disintegrate."
"Huh."
They both stared at their singer rotating in the column of light for a moment.
"... What do we do now?"
"We need help."
A pause.
"... That was pretty metal, though."
After another moment, the drummer's face lit up.
"That's it!" He turned to his guitarist. "I know who we need."
"The rest of our band?"
"Well, yes. But first—we need **Babymetal**." | (Disclaimer, i got the names from some list of Finnish boy names, i have no clue how accurate any of them are)
The Magical Microphone usually allowed it's user, generally the leader of the group, to sing uplifting songs increasing everyone's power, in Aalto's hands it created sonic shockwaves capable of terraforming the terrain in front of him.
The guitar usually created a dome shield to protect the girls, when Hami strummed it, it generated artillery-like explosive attacks.
The bass was known to create healing pulses, under Leevi's command it summoned legions of ghostly warriors.
The synthesizer normally transformed into a pegasus drawn carriage, with Ramsus at the helm it became a monster truck armed with twin gattling guns and heat seeking missiles (it's ability to fly mysteriously intact.)
The drums, finally, produced concussive soundwaves, except when Tahvo hit them, their power was amplified by dozens.
In mere moments the villainous henchmen where defeated, the evil generals thoroughly run over, and the dark lord traumatised, so much so that the newly rescued girls spent a moment berating the members of "Death by a thousand snowstorms" before thanking them. | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | "Guys...?" said Eric, the band's manager, shyly entering the backstage room. "I think we need to talk."
"I'm sorry," said Tero, the band's lead vocalist. "I know we're late, but we were busy-"
"Fighting a giant turtle monster with tentacles, I know. It was on the news."
"Oh..." Tero glanced away. "Then what's up?"
Eric sighed.
None of the band members seemed to understand the problem. They were all drenched in blood due to the monster they had just slayed, which was pretty metal, but it was ruined by the fact that they did it while wearing colorful Japanese high-school uniforms.
The skirts didn't even fit them. They were meant for petite Japanese girls; not hulking Scandinavian men. Worst of all, a cute cat-like creature now followed them around everywhere, and they all talked to it like it was sentient being.
"It's about this new hobby of yours..." said Eric.
"It's a duty; not a hobby!" said Mathias, the guitarist. "Those poor girls sacrificed themselves in the name of friendship. They're our musical brethren! We can't just ignore that."
"As noble as that sounds," said Eric, "I'm afraid it's starting to affect your work."
Tero squinted. "What? We haven't missed a show yet."
Eric shook his head. "That's not what I meant."
Mathias widened his eyes. "Does our music suck now? I know we haven't done much formal practice, but we fight with our instruments, and I actually feel like we're getting better."
The rest of the band nodded along.
"You don't get it," said Eric. "The problem is more... image focused."
The entire band frowned.
Eric flinched. Despite the odd clothing, they were still magically powered warriors. Eric had to be careful with his words to not piss them off.
"Is it the skirts?" asked Tero.
Eric swallowed down his anxiety. "Kind of..."
Everyone rolled their eyes, moaning.
"It's the current year," said Tero. "We're way past conforming to gender norms!"
"T-that's not what I meant!"
Mathias shook his head, disappointed. "We expected better from you, Eric. This is just prejudiced. We're out here fighting life-or-death battles, saving the world. Do you expect us to let the world be conquered by darkness? Just because we have to dress like little girls?"
Eric hung his head. "I knew you guys would take it this way. Please, just hear me out."
"No," said Tero, "we won't. We're proud to be of this lineage of musicians. Some of the greatest warriors in history come from this tradition. How the fuck is that not metal?"
"Yeah!" said the rest of the band.
"Who cares if death metal usually has a black and white aesthetic!" said Mathias. "We're innovators! Our music is still an authentic expression of hope and despair! Anyone who can't recognize this as metal is a poser, and doesn't deserve to be a fan of ours."
"Yeah!" agreed the entire band, again.
"And we're awesome at it!" said Tero. "We haven't even gotten scratched by a monster!"
"Yeah!"
"It's not about being girly, you idiots!" shouted Eric. "It's the fact that you look like weebs!"
The band members paused, taken aback by the outburst.
"W-what?" asked Tero.
Eric took a moment to compose himself. "Weebs. Everyone thinks you're weebs now."
"Oh no..." gasped Mathias.
"Yeah," said Eric. "I couldn't care less about gender norms. Wear all the skirts you want. My problem is that you're losing your core audience, since everyone thinks that liking your music makes them otakus."
Everyone glanced at each other, nervous. They hadn't thought of it that way.
"Wait," said Tero, "isn't this concert fully packed? Why is that a bad thing?"
Eric motioned everyone over to the stage curtain. "Look for yourselves."
Tero gaped his jaw.
Even Erno, the stoic drummer, couldn't hide his horror.
The entire crowd was full of weebs. Some were cosplaying their favorite characters, others carried around suspiciously sticky bodypillows, and the sounds of people speaking broken Japanese echoed throughout the concert hall.
Tero shivered. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
"Y-yeah..." said Mathias.
"The concert may be packed," said Eric, "but is it really worth it?"
The band quickly decided to give up their powers and never spoke of it again. Their short escapades would fall into legend, however, as the strongest magical warriors in history.
-------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | (Disclaimer, i got the names from some list of Finnish boy names, i have no clue how accurate any of them are)
The Magical Microphone usually allowed it's user, generally the leader of the group, to sing uplifting songs increasing everyone's power, in Aalto's hands it created sonic shockwaves capable of terraforming the terrain in front of him.
The guitar usually created a dome shield to protect the girls, when Hami strummed it, it generated artillery-like explosive attacks.
The bass was known to create healing pulses, under Leevi's command it summoned legions of ghostly warriors.
The synthesizer normally transformed into a pegasus drawn carriage, with Ramsus at the helm it became a monster truck armed with twin gattling guns and heat seeking missiles (it's ability to fly mysteriously intact.)
The drums, finally, produced concussive soundwaves, except when Tahvo hit them, their power was amplified by dozens.
In mere moments the villainous henchmen where defeated, the evil generals thoroughly run over, and the dark lord traumatised, so much so that the newly rescued girls spent a moment berating the members of "Death by a thousand snowstorms" before thanking them. | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | The people of Little Town had long been used to the pattern. First, the sky would darken, and one of their neighbors, now mutated into a grotesque reflection of their own inner turmoil, would cry out for vengeance. Then the Sparkle-Glitter 5 would emerge from somewhere, with earnest defiance and deep concern for the people of Little Town. As dialogue and negotiation inevitably broke down, The Fabulous Mr. Kitty would pop the whole event up into the sky to cut down on property damage, and the fight would begin. The people tried very hard to not think about how their saviors were clearly only in middle school, even as they cheered for their favorite candy-colored musician to clobber the opponent they'd all known for years, another thing they tried hard not to think about.
Sometimes, just sometimes, it wouldn't be a neighbor. Sometimes it would be one of the mutators themselves, grown tired of fruitlessly hurling people at the town, who took the field. When that happened, something had to change. Most times, the girls would find some new reservoir of power within themselves, or there would be a new girl, conveniently stepping up just as one of the current group had to move away, or go to high school. Rarely, Mr. Kitty would bring forth help from somewhere, and while this last resort was always welcome in the moment, it meant destructive fighting on the ground for a few weeks until he recovered. When even that failed, things would get bad. There would be a new sparkle team in time, but until they could be found, the mutator and its clique of vain, vengeful mutates would run amok, taking and destroying until their venal need for imagined vengeance had been sated.
The summer that killed the sparkles was bad. Orgoroth had set himself up as a petty king, turning the City Hall into a rough castle, and the bitter women of the retirement community into his generals. Each took especial delight in tormenting their own families, but spread their hate among all the young. On one particular day, Granny Attitude was screaming at little 4-year old Jessica for not being in school, when she proclaimed, "You're mean! You need to stop being mean or the Sparkles will get you!" Granny attitude backhanded the poor little girl across the street and spat. "The Sparkles are dead," she crowed, "and you need to learn to respect your elders, because they are NEVER coming back." Little Jessica cried softly, holding her bruised cheek as she silently mouthed "Sparkles," over and over again, barely aware of her shattered ribs.
Granny Attitude stalked across the street, eager to finish her tirade, when little Jessica coughed up a black clot, her tiny throat visibly distending for a moment as the knot of squirming blood forced its way out of her mouth and splattered on the pavement. "Look at the mess you're making," Granny snarled, pointing one arthritic finger at the broken girl. "You're going to have to clea.." Her harangue died away as the splotch widened into a perfect circle, the deep red fading to a primordial black swirling with unfamiliar stars. The hole thrummed with energy, and with a sound like none she'd heard before.
A figure faded slowly into existence, fully two meters tall and half as wide. His cold eyes were barely visible through the long, multi-colored hair that hung over his face and down almost to his waist, as if to hide the little heart-shaped guitar he played behind curtains of glittering black and shining pink His thick fingers flew back and forth along the neck of the little instrument, sounding a deadly march, the staccato heartbeat of the underworld itself.
As the bassist finally solidified, two others began to appear behind him, tall, lanky twins with spiked blue and green hair. As one, they raised their cloud-and-angel-wing guitars to the sky and began to play. Granny Attitude clapped her hands to her ears as blistering runs of notes blasted out around them, shattering glass and making something writhe with agony behind the old woman's eyes. They walked forward, passing the bassist and standing on the cracked asphalt.
The twins' dueling solos came to an end as two screams burst from the void. A blonde woman and a bald man, each dressed in a pastel jumpsuit with a pastel microphone, launched from the abyss and into the street, belting out alternating threats and cajolery, one demanding that those responsible for the state of the world submit to judgement, while the other wished for love. All seven of the mutates in Little Town collapsed, puking up their own tainted essences as their master detonated under the sonic assault.
The yawning cthonic pit finally squeezed shut beneath the hulking bassist's feet as they stopped playing, and a very bedraggled Mr. Kitty popped out, landing in a roll. He straightened what remained of his top hat and turned to address Granny Attitude, only to drop his jaw as he saw she'd already been defeated. "Um, well then. Don't do it again.." he said with a sniff before turning to his new, out-sized champions. As he watched, their bodies shrank to a size with which he was more familiar, "You've done very well in putting an end to this threat to Little Town, but you must always be on your guard..." he began, only to trail off into silence as the three boys and two girls ducked into a pizzeria, arguing good-naturedly about who'd have to split a Hawaiian with Cancer Boy. With a sigh, he walked over to little Jessica's body and blew a little dust from his hat onto her broken form, watching solemnly as she faded from reality. "I hope you knew what you were doing, girl."
​
A/N: After considering the prompt, I thought Power Metal would be a better fit. As always, eternally hungry for feedback. | (Disclaimer, i got the names from some list of Finnish boy names, i have no clue how accurate any of them are)
The Magical Microphone usually allowed it's user, generally the leader of the group, to sing uplifting songs increasing everyone's power, in Aalto's hands it created sonic shockwaves capable of terraforming the terrain in front of him.
The guitar usually created a dome shield to protect the girls, when Hami strummed it, it generated artillery-like explosive attacks.
The bass was known to create healing pulses, under Leevi's command it summoned legions of ghostly warriors.
The synthesizer normally transformed into a pegasus drawn carriage, with Ramsus at the helm it became a monster truck armed with twin gattling guns and heat seeking missiles (it's ability to fly mysteriously intact.)
The drums, finally, produced concussive soundwaves, except when Tahvo hit them, their power was amplified by dozens.
In mere moments the villainous henchmen where defeated, the evil generals thoroughly run over, and the dark lord traumatised, so much so that the newly rescued girls spent a moment berating the members of "Death by a thousand snowstorms" before thanking them. | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | It always happened, eventually. Such was the fate of the warriors on the side of light- they were granted powers, but they were mortal. They would age and they would pass their tools and duties onwards.
Not this time.
The monster sent to them was a living nightmare, and an old one at that. It didn't agree to the rules of the conflict between light and dark. It did not care for the objectives of either side, nor the collateral damage. It had one reason to be, and it is with that reason that it marched upon the world. It will bring pain.
The five children stood proud first. They thought to defeat it through love and friendship. It showed them the truth. The world in which friendship and love suffocate under cruelty and greed.
The guitarist fell first, unable to play as she saw the horrors her own grandfather commited in the prison that was unit 731.
The bass player was easy, as it didn't even need to imagine. It mearly brought back what her father did to her, and laughed in delight.
The little red head saw the explosions of white phosphorus with every beat of her magical drum. It only took a minute for her to shove those sticks into her eyes, begging for it to stop. It did not.
It never made it to the keyboard. She died of heart failure, it would seem. No matter. That just meant it had more time to play with the lead singer.
-------------
After Japan fell, the whole world was scrambling to stop this monstrosity. At the time, no one noticed 5 golden UFOs make their way towards a small Finish village.
Everyone noticed them on the way back. But they weren't gold anymore.
The tools were given by the gods of light and music, but they were forged by another. He was a rough god, but a crafty bastard. The god of change knew such events could come, and prepared accordingly. "One day, when the warriors of light are not enough, find soldier of darkness who will fight for the light." Was his las command to his greatest creation.
When the new five appeared, the nightmare smiled, for it thought feeding time came again. It did not notice that the bright pinks and yellows were replaced with grey and crimson. It didn't notice that the hearts were no longer cartoons, but anatomically correct and pumping blood. It didn't notice the plastic and cloth that were replaced with bones and skin.
But the affects were noticed.
When the lead sang, instead of empowering the others, the nightmare felt its own strength draining.
The keyboard played, and instead of distracting magic lights it conjured up the spirits killed by the nightmare. They were strong and they were hateful.
The bass, an instrument of healing, gave the undying army flesh to fight with, all the while mutating the nightmare into shapes it could not control.
As the guitar strings strummed, instead of colorful lightning, came... Something unknown. Something unknowable. Reality itself began to crack under its weight.
When the nightmare saw it, it did something it hadn't done before. Never in its centuries of haunting the minds of mortals, did it scream in fear.
Above all was heard the steady,rhythmic beating of a massive war-drum. It generated a wall, growing stronger with every thump, transforming a protective shield into a nightmarish prison.
The 5 Black-Hearted, as they will be later known, didn't give up their power. They were free of the contract as well, and so they decided. Both sides, the light and the dark, will pay dearly for destroying the lives of so many, so carelessly and so irreparably.
With a nod of their head, The 5 Black-Hearted began their journey to free humanity from a war that wasn't theirs.
-----------------
Read more stuff on r/Talesandsongs
None of it is good, but some is entertaining | (Disclaimer, i got the names from some list of Finnish boy names, i have no clue how accurate any of them are)
The Magical Microphone usually allowed it's user, generally the leader of the group, to sing uplifting songs increasing everyone's power, in Aalto's hands it created sonic shockwaves capable of terraforming the terrain in front of him.
The guitar usually created a dome shield to protect the girls, when Hami strummed it, it generated artillery-like explosive attacks.
The bass was known to create healing pulses, under Leevi's command it summoned legions of ghostly warriors.
The synthesizer normally transformed into a pegasus drawn carriage, with Ramsus at the helm it became a monster truck armed with twin gattling guns and heat seeking missiles (it's ability to fly mysteriously intact.)
The drums, finally, produced concussive soundwaves, except when Tahvo hit them, their power was amplified by dozens.
In mere moments the villainous henchmen where defeated, the evil generals thoroughly run over, and the dark lord traumatised, so much so that the newly rescued girls spent a moment berating the members of "Death by a thousand snowstorms" before thanking them. | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | The people of Little Town had long been used to the pattern. First, the sky would darken, and one of their neighbors, now mutated into a grotesque reflection of their own inner turmoil, would cry out for vengeance. Then the Sparkle-Glitter 5 would emerge from somewhere, with earnest defiance and deep concern for the people of Little Town. As dialogue and negotiation inevitably broke down, The Fabulous Mr. Kitty would pop the whole event up into the sky to cut down on property damage, and the fight would begin. The people tried very hard to not think about how their saviors were clearly only in middle school, even as they cheered for their favorite candy-colored musician to clobber the opponent they'd all known for years, another thing they tried hard not to think about.
Sometimes, just sometimes, it wouldn't be a neighbor. Sometimes it would be one of the mutators themselves, grown tired of fruitlessly hurling people at the town, who took the field. When that happened, something had to change. Most times, the girls would find some new reservoir of power within themselves, or there would be a new girl, conveniently stepping up just as one of the current group had to move away, or go to high school. Rarely, Mr. Kitty would bring forth help from somewhere, and while this last resort was always welcome in the moment, it meant destructive fighting on the ground for a few weeks until he recovered. When even that failed, things would get bad. There would be a new sparkle team in time, but until they could be found, the mutator and its clique of vain, vengeful mutates would run amok, taking and destroying until their venal need for imagined vengeance had been sated.
The summer that killed the sparkles was bad. Orgoroth had set himself up as a petty king, turning the City Hall into a rough castle, and the bitter women of the retirement community into his generals. Each took especial delight in tormenting their own families, but spread their hate among all the young. On one particular day, Granny Attitude was screaming at little 4-year old Jessica for not being in school, when she proclaimed, "You're mean! You need to stop being mean or the Sparkles will get you!" Granny attitude backhanded the poor little girl across the street and spat. "The Sparkles are dead," she crowed, "and you need to learn to respect your elders, because they are NEVER coming back." Little Jessica cried softly, holding her bruised cheek as she silently mouthed "Sparkles," over and over again, barely aware of her shattered ribs.
Granny Attitude stalked across the street, eager to finish her tirade, when little Jessica coughed up a black clot, her tiny throat visibly distending for a moment as the knot of squirming blood forced its way out of her mouth and splattered on the pavement. "Look at the mess you're making," Granny snarled, pointing one arthritic finger at the broken girl. "You're going to have to clea.." Her harangue died away as the splotch widened into a perfect circle, the deep red fading to a primordial black swirling with unfamiliar stars. The hole thrummed with energy, and with a sound like none she'd heard before.
A figure faded slowly into existence, fully two meters tall and half as wide. His cold eyes were barely visible through the long, multi-colored hair that hung over his face and down almost to his waist, as if to hide the little heart-shaped guitar he played behind curtains of glittering black and shining pink His thick fingers flew back and forth along the neck of the little instrument, sounding a deadly march, the staccato heartbeat of the underworld itself.
As the bassist finally solidified, two others began to appear behind him, tall, lanky twins with spiked blue and green hair. As one, they raised their cloud-and-angel-wing guitars to the sky and began to play. Granny Attitude clapped her hands to her ears as blistering runs of notes blasted out around them, shattering glass and making something writhe with agony behind the old woman's eyes. They walked forward, passing the bassist and standing on the cracked asphalt.
The twins' dueling solos came to an end as two screams burst from the void. A blonde woman and a bald man, each dressed in a pastel jumpsuit with a pastel microphone, launched from the abyss and into the street, belting out alternating threats and cajolery, one demanding that those responsible for the state of the world submit to judgement, while the other wished for love. All seven of the mutates in Little Town collapsed, puking up their own tainted essences as their master detonated under the sonic assault.
The yawning cthonic pit finally squeezed shut beneath the hulking bassist's feet as they stopped playing, and a very bedraggled Mr. Kitty popped out, landing in a roll. He straightened what remained of his top hat and turned to address Granny Attitude, only to drop his jaw as he saw she'd already been defeated. "Um, well then. Don't do it again.." he said with a sniff before turning to his new, out-sized champions. As he watched, their bodies shrank to a size with which he was more familiar, "You've done very well in putting an end to this threat to Little Town, but you must always be on your guard..." he began, only to trail off into silence as the three boys and two girls ducked into a pizzeria, arguing good-naturedly about who'd have to split a Hawaiian with Cancer Boy. With a sigh, he walked over to little Jessica's body and blew a little dust from his hat onto her broken form, watching solemnly as she faded from reality. "I hope you knew what you were doing, girl."
​
A/N: After considering the prompt, I thought Power Metal would be a better fit. As always, eternally hungry for feedback. | "BLÜDRÜSH!"
"Yes, Vöxmörtïs?"
"WHY are you holding a pretty pink scepter with a star on top?!" The band's lead singer started frantically drawing down the blinds on the tour bus windows. "Please tell me you DIDN'T let anyone see you!"
"I did not, Vöxmörtïs." The drummer carefully considered the bejewelled artifact in his hands, watching the pink ribbons drift in an air current that wasn't there.
"We're not on stage, you can just call me Jouko." The singer sank into a chair, exhausted. "Anyway, good."
"You just referred to me by my stage name, I figured that was what we were doing. Also, you have some sort of golden microphone on your bunk."
"WHAT?!" There was a flurry of slightly greasy hair and black denim, after which Jouko once again sank into his chair, this time holding what appeared to be a Shure SM58 that was either encrusted with gemstones or *made of* gemstones—it was difficult to tell. The wiry lattice over the condenser appeared to be glowing.
"This is..."
"Much nicer than we could normally afford, I know. I am also confused."
Jouko experimentally tapped his mic a couple of times and lifted it to his mouth.
"NÖXXATORR DEMANDS HIS GUITAR BACK!" thundered out from elsewhere on the bus.
Jouko winced, and after losing a very quick and very silent game of rock-paper-scissors, shouted back, "NO-ONE CARES, ANTTI. We all have new instruments and it's weird. Get over here."
Their tall guitarist stumbled over to their section of the bus and collapsed into his own chair. He peered at the mic Jouko was holding.
"Nöxxatorr thinks your mic sucks." He started rubbing his fingertips. Last night had been particularly heavy on the solos.
"Vöxmörtïs thinks you can drop the act when we're on the tour bus." The singer looked at his microphone again. "Don't we have a show tonight?"
"We do."
"And our gear has been replaced with Sailor Moon props. Wonderful. Does this town have a music store?"
"Nöxxatorr will Google it."
The guitarist glared at the drummer. "Only Nöxxatorr gets to use his own name."
"Maybe when Nöxxatorr drops the act on the damn bus, we'll respect what he wants. Does anyone care if I plug this in and try it out?"
"Nöxxatorr is only okay with this if you start with some magical girl bullshit," grumbled the guitarist from the other side of his phone.
Jouko laughed. "Fine. That's hilarious. Let's do it. Jarmo, can you grab—you've already grabbed the amp."
"And the mixing board. Blüdrüsh wants to hear your magical girl bullshit under perfect conditions."
"Not you, too." Jouko sighed as his drummer plugged the gear together. "Are we good?"
"We are good."
"Alright, here we go."
Jouko paused, then opened his mouth.
#**"I AM STAR PRINCE JOUKO, AND IN THE NAME OF THE NIGHT SKY, I WILL PUNISH YOU~!"**
The middle of the bus exploded with a column of light in every possible colour, bursting in half.
When Jarmo regained consciousness, he saw that the column of light was still there, about twenty feet away—with the other half of the bus on the other side of it. His singer was suspended fifty feet in the air, his clothes slowly changing into something much brighter. Meanwhile, at the bottom—
"Don't touch it!"
"What?" The guitarist stepped back from the column of light.
"Do you know how fast light has to be traveling to generate force like a laser? Enough to lift up a person?" He stumbled over and stood next to the guitarist. "Did you never wonder why the bad guys never interfered with the transformations in these shows? It's because if you touch light going that fast, your arms will disintegrate."
"Huh."
They both stared at their singer rotating in the column of light for a moment.
"... What do we do now?"
"We need help."
A pause.
"... That was pretty metal, though."
After another moment, the drummer's face lit up.
"That's it!" He turned to his guitarist. "I know who we need."
"The rest of our band?"
"Well, yes. But first—we need **Babymetal**." | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | It always happened, eventually. Such was the fate of the warriors on the side of light- they were granted powers, but they were mortal. They would age and they would pass their tools and duties onwards.
Not this time.
The monster sent to them was a living nightmare, and an old one at that. It didn't agree to the rules of the conflict between light and dark. It did not care for the objectives of either side, nor the collateral damage. It had one reason to be, and it is with that reason that it marched upon the world. It will bring pain.
The five children stood proud first. They thought to defeat it through love and friendship. It showed them the truth. The world in which friendship and love suffocate under cruelty and greed.
The guitarist fell first, unable to play as she saw the horrors her own grandfather commited in the prison that was unit 731.
The bass player was easy, as it didn't even need to imagine. It mearly brought back what her father did to her, and laughed in delight.
The little red head saw the explosions of white phosphorus with every beat of her magical drum. It only took a minute for her to shove those sticks into her eyes, begging for it to stop. It did not.
It never made it to the keyboard. She died of heart failure, it would seem. No matter. That just meant it had more time to play with the lead singer.
-------------
After Japan fell, the whole world was scrambling to stop this monstrosity. At the time, no one noticed 5 golden UFOs make their way towards a small Finish village.
Everyone noticed them on the way back. But they weren't gold anymore.
The tools were given by the gods of light and music, but they were forged by another. He was a rough god, but a crafty bastard. The god of change knew such events could come, and prepared accordingly. "One day, when the warriors of light are not enough, find soldier of darkness who will fight for the light." Was his las command to his greatest creation.
When the new five appeared, the nightmare smiled, for it thought feeding time came again. It did not notice that the bright pinks and yellows were replaced with grey and crimson. It didn't notice that the hearts were no longer cartoons, but anatomically correct and pumping blood. It didn't notice the plastic and cloth that were replaced with bones and skin.
But the affects were noticed.
When the lead sang, instead of empowering the others, the nightmare felt its own strength draining.
The keyboard played, and instead of distracting magic lights it conjured up the spirits killed by the nightmare. They were strong and they were hateful.
The bass, an instrument of healing, gave the undying army flesh to fight with, all the while mutating the nightmare into shapes it could not control.
As the guitar strings strummed, instead of colorful lightning, came... Something unknown. Something unknowable. Reality itself began to crack under its weight.
When the nightmare saw it, it did something it hadn't done before. Never in its centuries of haunting the minds of mortals, did it scream in fear.
Above all was heard the steady,rhythmic beating of a massive war-drum. It generated a wall, growing stronger with every thump, transforming a protective shield into a nightmarish prison.
The 5 Black-Hearted, as they will be later known, didn't give up their power. They were free of the contract as well, and so they decided. Both sides, the light and the dark, will pay dearly for destroying the lives of so many, so carelessly and so irreparably.
With a nod of their head, The 5 Black-Hearted began their journey to free humanity from a war that wasn't theirs.
-----------------
Read more stuff on r/Talesandsongs
None of it is good, but some is entertaining | "BLÜDRÜSH!"
"Yes, Vöxmörtïs?"
"WHY are you holding a pretty pink scepter with a star on top?!" The band's lead singer started frantically drawing down the blinds on the tour bus windows. "Please tell me you DIDN'T let anyone see you!"
"I did not, Vöxmörtïs." The drummer carefully considered the bejewelled artifact in his hands, watching the pink ribbons drift in an air current that wasn't there.
"We're not on stage, you can just call me Jouko." The singer sank into a chair, exhausted. "Anyway, good."
"You just referred to me by my stage name, I figured that was what we were doing. Also, you have some sort of golden microphone on your bunk."
"WHAT?!" There was a flurry of slightly greasy hair and black denim, after which Jouko once again sank into his chair, this time holding what appeared to be a Shure SM58 that was either encrusted with gemstones or *made of* gemstones—it was difficult to tell. The wiry lattice over the condenser appeared to be glowing.
"This is..."
"Much nicer than we could normally afford, I know. I am also confused."
Jouko experimentally tapped his mic a couple of times and lifted it to his mouth.
"NÖXXATORR DEMANDS HIS GUITAR BACK!" thundered out from elsewhere on the bus.
Jouko winced, and after losing a very quick and very silent game of rock-paper-scissors, shouted back, "NO-ONE CARES, ANTTI. We all have new instruments and it's weird. Get over here."
Their tall guitarist stumbled over to their section of the bus and collapsed into his own chair. He peered at the mic Jouko was holding.
"Nöxxatorr thinks your mic sucks." He started rubbing his fingertips. Last night had been particularly heavy on the solos.
"Vöxmörtïs thinks you can drop the act when we're on the tour bus." The singer looked at his microphone again. "Don't we have a show tonight?"
"We do."
"And our gear has been replaced with Sailor Moon props. Wonderful. Does this town have a music store?"
"Nöxxatorr will Google it."
The guitarist glared at the drummer. "Only Nöxxatorr gets to use his own name."
"Maybe when Nöxxatorr drops the act on the damn bus, we'll respect what he wants. Does anyone care if I plug this in and try it out?"
"Nöxxatorr is only okay with this if you start with some magical girl bullshit," grumbled the guitarist from the other side of his phone.
Jouko laughed. "Fine. That's hilarious. Let's do it. Jarmo, can you grab—you've already grabbed the amp."
"And the mixing board. Blüdrüsh wants to hear your magical girl bullshit under perfect conditions."
"Not you, too." Jouko sighed as his drummer plugged the gear together. "Are we good?"
"We are good."
"Alright, here we go."
Jouko paused, then opened his mouth.
#**"I AM STAR PRINCE JOUKO, AND IN THE NAME OF THE NIGHT SKY, I WILL PUNISH YOU~!"**
The middle of the bus exploded with a column of light in every possible colour, bursting in half.
When Jarmo regained consciousness, he saw that the column of light was still there, about twenty feet away—with the other half of the bus on the other side of it. His singer was suspended fifty feet in the air, his clothes slowly changing into something much brighter. Meanwhile, at the bottom—
"Don't touch it!"
"What?" The guitarist stepped back from the column of light.
"Do you know how fast light has to be traveling to generate force like a laser? Enough to lift up a person?" He stumbled over and stood next to the guitarist. "Did you never wonder why the bad guys never interfered with the transformations in these shows? It's because if you touch light going that fast, your arms will disintegrate."
"Huh."
They both stared at their singer rotating in the column of light for a moment.
"... What do we do now?"
"We need help."
A pause.
"... That was pretty metal, though."
After another moment, the drummer's face lit up.
"That's it!" He turned to his guitarist. "I know who we need."
"The rest of our band?"
"Well, yes. But first—we need **Babymetal**." | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | The people of Little Town had long been used to the pattern. First, the sky would darken, and one of their neighbors, now mutated into a grotesque reflection of their own inner turmoil, would cry out for vengeance. Then the Sparkle-Glitter 5 would emerge from somewhere, with earnest defiance and deep concern for the people of Little Town. As dialogue and negotiation inevitably broke down, The Fabulous Mr. Kitty would pop the whole event up into the sky to cut down on property damage, and the fight would begin. The people tried very hard to not think about how their saviors were clearly only in middle school, even as they cheered for their favorite candy-colored musician to clobber the opponent they'd all known for years, another thing they tried hard not to think about.
Sometimes, just sometimes, it wouldn't be a neighbor. Sometimes it would be one of the mutators themselves, grown tired of fruitlessly hurling people at the town, who took the field. When that happened, something had to change. Most times, the girls would find some new reservoir of power within themselves, or there would be a new girl, conveniently stepping up just as one of the current group had to move away, or go to high school. Rarely, Mr. Kitty would bring forth help from somewhere, and while this last resort was always welcome in the moment, it meant destructive fighting on the ground for a few weeks until he recovered. When even that failed, things would get bad. There would be a new sparkle team in time, but until they could be found, the mutator and its clique of vain, vengeful mutates would run amok, taking and destroying until their venal need for imagined vengeance had been sated.
The summer that killed the sparkles was bad. Orgoroth had set himself up as a petty king, turning the City Hall into a rough castle, and the bitter women of the retirement community into his generals. Each took especial delight in tormenting their own families, but spread their hate among all the young. On one particular day, Granny Attitude was screaming at little 4-year old Jessica for not being in school, when she proclaimed, "You're mean! You need to stop being mean or the Sparkles will get you!" Granny attitude backhanded the poor little girl across the street and spat. "The Sparkles are dead," she crowed, "and you need to learn to respect your elders, because they are NEVER coming back." Little Jessica cried softly, holding her bruised cheek as she silently mouthed "Sparkles," over and over again, barely aware of her shattered ribs.
Granny Attitude stalked across the street, eager to finish her tirade, when little Jessica coughed up a black clot, her tiny throat visibly distending for a moment as the knot of squirming blood forced its way out of her mouth and splattered on the pavement. "Look at the mess you're making," Granny snarled, pointing one arthritic finger at the broken girl. "You're going to have to clea.." Her harangue died away as the splotch widened into a perfect circle, the deep red fading to a primordial black swirling with unfamiliar stars. The hole thrummed with energy, and with a sound like none she'd heard before.
A figure faded slowly into existence, fully two meters tall and half as wide. His cold eyes were barely visible through the long, multi-colored hair that hung over his face and down almost to his waist, as if to hide the little heart-shaped guitar he played behind curtains of glittering black and shining pink His thick fingers flew back and forth along the neck of the little instrument, sounding a deadly march, the staccato heartbeat of the underworld itself.
As the bassist finally solidified, two others began to appear behind him, tall, lanky twins with spiked blue and green hair. As one, they raised their cloud-and-angel-wing guitars to the sky and began to play. Granny Attitude clapped her hands to her ears as blistering runs of notes blasted out around them, shattering glass and making something writhe with agony behind the old woman's eyes. They walked forward, passing the bassist and standing on the cracked asphalt.
The twins' dueling solos came to an end as two screams burst from the void. A blonde woman and a bald man, each dressed in a pastel jumpsuit with a pastel microphone, launched from the abyss and into the street, belting out alternating threats and cajolery, one demanding that those responsible for the state of the world submit to judgement, while the other wished for love. All seven of the mutates in Little Town collapsed, puking up their own tainted essences as their master detonated under the sonic assault.
The yawning cthonic pit finally squeezed shut beneath the hulking bassist's feet as they stopped playing, and a very bedraggled Mr. Kitty popped out, landing in a roll. He straightened what remained of his top hat and turned to address Granny Attitude, only to drop his jaw as he saw she'd already been defeated. "Um, well then. Don't do it again.." he said with a sniff before turning to his new, out-sized champions. As he watched, their bodies shrank to a size with which he was more familiar, "You've done very well in putting an end to this threat to Little Town, but you must always be on your guard..." he began, only to trail off into silence as the three boys and two girls ducked into a pizzeria, arguing good-naturedly about who'd have to split a Hawaiian with Cancer Boy. With a sigh, he walked over to little Jessica's body and blew a little dust from his hat onto her broken form, watching solemnly as she faded from reality. "I hope you knew what you were doing, girl."
​
A/N: After considering the prompt, I thought Power Metal would be a better fit. As always, eternally hungry for feedback. | "Guys...?" said Eric, the band's manager, shyly entering the backstage room. "I think we need to talk."
"I'm sorry," said Tero, the band's lead vocalist. "I know we're late, but we were busy-"
"Fighting a giant turtle monster with tentacles, I know. It was on the news."
"Oh..." Tero glanced away. "Then what's up?"
Eric sighed.
None of the band members seemed to understand the problem. They were all drenched in blood due to the monster they had just slayed, which was pretty metal, but it was ruined by the fact that they did it while wearing colorful Japanese high-school uniforms.
The skirts didn't even fit them. They were meant for petite Japanese girls; not hulking Scandinavian men. Worst of all, a cute cat-like creature now followed them around everywhere, and they all talked to it like it was sentient being.
"It's about this new hobby of yours..." said Eric.
"It's a duty; not a hobby!" said Mathias, the guitarist. "Those poor girls sacrificed themselves in the name of friendship. They're our musical brethren! We can't just ignore that."
"As noble as that sounds," said Eric, "I'm afraid it's starting to affect your work."
Tero squinted. "What? We haven't missed a show yet."
Eric shook his head. "That's not what I meant."
Mathias widened his eyes. "Does our music suck now? I know we haven't done much formal practice, but we fight with our instruments, and I actually feel like we're getting better."
The rest of the band nodded along.
"You don't get it," said Eric. "The problem is more... image focused."
The entire band frowned.
Eric flinched. Despite the odd clothing, they were still magically powered warriors. Eric had to be careful with his words to not piss them off.
"Is it the skirts?" asked Tero.
Eric swallowed down his anxiety. "Kind of..."
Everyone rolled their eyes, moaning.
"It's the current year," said Tero. "We're way past conforming to gender norms!"
"T-that's not what I meant!"
Mathias shook his head, disappointed. "We expected better from you, Eric. This is just prejudiced. We're out here fighting life-or-death battles, saving the world. Do you expect us to let the world be conquered by darkness? Just because we have to dress like little girls?"
Eric hung his head. "I knew you guys would take it this way. Please, just hear me out."
"No," said Tero, "we won't. We're proud to be of this lineage of musicians. Some of the greatest warriors in history come from this tradition. How the fuck is that not metal?"
"Yeah!" said the rest of the band.
"Who cares if death metal usually has a black and white aesthetic!" said Mathias. "We're innovators! Our music is still an authentic expression of hope and despair! Anyone who can't recognize this as metal is a poser, and doesn't deserve to be a fan of ours."
"Yeah!" agreed the entire band, again.
"And we're awesome at it!" said Tero. "We haven't even gotten scratched by a monster!"
"Yeah!"
"It's not about being girly, you idiots!" shouted Eric. "It's the fact that you look like weebs!"
The band members paused, taken aback by the outburst.
"W-what?" asked Tero.
Eric took a moment to compose himself. "Weebs. Everyone thinks you're weebs now."
"Oh no..." gasped Mathias.
"Yeah," said Eric. "I couldn't care less about gender norms. Wear all the skirts you want. My problem is that you're losing your core audience, since everyone thinks that liking your music makes them otakus."
Everyone glanced at each other, nervous. They hadn't thought of it that way.
"Wait," said Tero, "isn't this concert fully packed? Why is that a bad thing?"
Eric motioned everyone over to the stage curtain. "Look for yourselves."
Tero gaped his jaw.
Even Erno, the stoic drummer, couldn't hide his horror.
The entire crowd was full of weebs. Some were cosplaying their favorite characters, others carried around suspiciously sticky bodypillows, and the sounds of people speaking broken Japanese echoed throughout the concert hall.
Tero shivered. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
"Y-yeah..." said Mathias.
"The concert may be packed," said Eric, "but is it really worth it?"
The band quickly decided to give up their powers and never spoke of it again. Their short escapades would fall into legend, however, as the strongest magical warriors in history.
-------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | It always happened, eventually. Such was the fate of the warriors on the side of light- they were granted powers, but they were mortal. They would age and they would pass their tools and duties onwards.
Not this time.
The monster sent to them was a living nightmare, and an old one at that. It didn't agree to the rules of the conflict between light and dark. It did not care for the objectives of either side, nor the collateral damage. It had one reason to be, and it is with that reason that it marched upon the world. It will bring pain.
The five children stood proud first. They thought to defeat it through love and friendship. It showed them the truth. The world in which friendship and love suffocate under cruelty and greed.
The guitarist fell first, unable to play as she saw the horrors her own grandfather commited in the prison that was unit 731.
The bass player was easy, as it didn't even need to imagine. It mearly brought back what her father did to her, and laughed in delight.
The little red head saw the explosions of white phosphorus with every beat of her magical drum. It only took a minute for her to shove those sticks into her eyes, begging for it to stop. It did not.
It never made it to the keyboard. She died of heart failure, it would seem. No matter. That just meant it had more time to play with the lead singer.
-------------
After Japan fell, the whole world was scrambling to stop this monstrosity. At the time, no one noticed 5 golden UFOs make their way towards a small Finish village.
Everyone noticed them on the way back. But they weren't gold anymore.
The tools were given by the gods of light and music, but they were forged by another. He was a rough god, but a crafty bastard. The god of change knew such events could come, and prepared accordingly. "One day, when the warriors of light are not enough, find soldier of darkness who will fight for the light." Was his las command to his greatest creation.
When the new five appeared, the nightmare smiled, for it thought feeding time came again. It did not notice that the bright pinks and yellows were replaced with grey and crimson. It didn't notice that the hearts were no longer cartoons, but anatomically correct and pumping blood. It didn't notice the plastic and cloth that were replaced with bones and skin.
But the affects were noticed.
When the lead sang, instead of empowering the others, the nightmare felt its own strength draining.
The keyboard played, and instead of distracting magic lights it conjured up the spirits killed by the nightmare. They were strong and they were hateful.
The bass, an instrument of healing, gave the undying army flesh to fight with, all the while mutating the nightmare into shapes it could not control.
As the guitar strings strummed, instead of colorful lightning, came... Something unknown. Something unknowable. Reality itself began to crack under its weight.
When the nightmare saw it, it did something it hadn't done before. Never in its centuries of haunting the minds of mortals, did it scream in fear.
Above all was heard the steady,rhythmic beating of a massive war-drum. It generated a wall, growing stronger with every thump, transforming a protective shield into a nightmarish prison.
The 5 Black-Hearted, as they will be later known, didn't give up their power. They were free of the contract as well, and so they decided. Both sides, the light and the dark, will pay dearly for destroying the lives of so many, so carelessly and so irreparably.
With a nod of their head, The 5 Black-Hearted began their journey to free humanity from a war that wasn't theirs.
-----------------
Read more stuff on r/Talesandsongs
None of it is good, but some is entertaining | "Guys...?" said Eric, the band's manager, shyly entering the backstage room. "I think we need to talk."
"I'm sorry," said Tero, the band's lead vocalist. "I know we're late, but we were busy-"
"Fighting a giant turtle monster with tentacles, I know. It was on the news."
"Oh..." Tero glanced away. "Then what's up?"
Eric sighed.
None of the band members seemed to understand the problem. They were all drenched in blood due to the monster they had just slayed, which was pretty metal, but it was ruined by the fact that they did it while wearing colorful Japanese high-school uniforms.
The skirts didn't even fit them. They were meant for petite Japanese girls; not hulking Scandinavian men. Worst of all, a cute cat-like creature now followed them around everywhere, and they all talked to it like it was sentient being.
"It's about this new hobby of yours..." said Eric.
"It's a duty; not a hobby!" said Mathias, the guitarist. "Those poor girls sacrificed themselves in the name of friendship. They're our musical brethren! We can't just ignore that."
"As noble as that sounds," said Eric, "I'm afraid it's starting to affect your work."
Tero squinted. "What? We haven't missed a show yet."
Eric shook his head. "That's not what I meant."
Mathias widened his eyes. "Does our music suck now? I know we haven't done much formal practice, but we fight with our instruments, and I actually feel like we're getting better."
The rest of the band nodded along.
"You don't get it," said Eric. "The problem is more... image focused."
The entire band frowned.
Eric flinched. Despite the odd clothing, they were still magically powered warriors. Eric had to be careful with his words to not piss them off.
"Is it the skirts?" asked Tero.
Eric swallowed down his anxiety. "Kind of..."
Everyone rolled their eyes, moaning.
"It's the current year," said Tero. "We're way past conforming to gender norms!"
"T-that's not what I meant!"
Mathias shook his head, disappointed. "We expected better from you, Eric. This is just prejudiced. We're out here fighting life-or-death battles, saving the world. Do you expect us to let the world be conquered by darkness? Just because we have to dress like little girls?"
Eric hung his head. "I knew you guys would take it this way. Please, just hear me out."
"No," said Tero, "we won't. We're proud to be of this lineage of musicians. Some of the greatest warriors in history come from this tradition. How the fuck is that not metal?"
"Yeah!" said the rest of the band.
"Who cares if death metal usually has a black and white aesthetic!" said Mathias. "We're innovators! Our music is still an authentic expression of hope and despair! Anyone who can't recognize this as metal is a poser, and doesn't deserve to be a fan of ours."
"Yeah!" agreed the entire band, again.
"And we're awesome at it!" said Tero. "We haven't even gotten scratched by a monster!"
"Yeah!"
"It's not about being girly, you idiots!" shouted Eric. "It's the fact that you look like weebs!"
The band members paused, taken aback by the outburst.
"W-what?" asked Tero.
Eric took a moment to compose himself. "Weebs. Everyone thinks you're weebs now."
"Oh no..." gasped Mathias.
"Yeah," said Eric. "I couldn't care less about gender norms. Wear all the skirts you want. My problem is that you're losing your core audience, since everyone thinks that liking your music makes them otakus."
Everyone glanced at each other, nervous. They hadn't thought of it that way.
"Wait," said Tero, "isn't this concert fully packed? Why is that a bad thing?"
Eric motioned everyone over to the stage curtain. "Look for yourselves."
Tero gaped his jaw.
Even Erno, the stoic drummer, couldn't hide his horror.
The entire crowd was full of weebs. Some were cosplaying their favorite characters, others carried around suspiciously sticky bodypillows, and the sounds of people speaking broken Japanese echoed throughout the concert hall.
Tero shivered. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
"Y-yeah..." said Mathias.
"The concert may be packed," said Eric, "but is it really worth it?"
The band quickly decided to give up their powers and never spoke of it again. Their short escapades would fall into legend, however, as the strongest magical warriors in history.
-------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | It always happened, eventually. Such was the fate of the warriors on the side of light- they were granted powers, but they were mortal. They would age and they would pass their tools and duties onwards.
Not this time.
The monster sent to them was a living nightmare, and an old one at that. It didn't agree to the rules of the conflict between light and dark. It did not care for the objectives of either side, nor the collateral damage. It had one reason to be, and it is with that reason that it marched upon the world. It will bring pain.
The five children stood proud first. They thought to defeat it through love and friendship. It showed them the truth. The world in which friendship and love suffocate under cruelty and greed.
The guitarist fell first, unable to play as she saw the horrors her own grandfather commited in the prison that was unit 731.
The bass player was easy, as it didn't even need to imagine. It mearly brought back what her father did to her, and laughed in delight.
The little red head saw the explosions of white phosphorus with every beat of her magical drum. It only took a minute for her to shove those sticks into her eyes, begging for it to stop. It did not.
It never made it to the keyboard. She died of heart failure, it would seem. No matter. That just meant it had more time to play with the lead singer.
-------------
After Japan fell, the whole world was scrambling to stop this monstrosity. At the time, no one noticed 5 golden UFOs make their way towards a small Finish village.
Everyone noticed them on the way back. But they weren't gold anymore.
The tools were given by the gods of light and music, but they were forged by another. He was a rough god, but a crafty bastard. The god of change knew such events could come, and prepared accordingly. "One day, when the warriors of light are not enough, find soldier of darkness who will fight for the light." Was his las command to his greatest creation.
When the new five appeared, the nightmare smiled, for it thought feeding time came again. It did not notice that the bright pinks and yellows were replaced with grey and crimson. It didn't notice that the hearts were no longer cartoons, but anatomically correct and pumping blood. It didn't notice the plastic and cloth that were replaced with bones and skin.
But the affects were noticed.
When the lead sang, instead of empowering the others, the nightmare felt its own strength draining.
The keyboard played, and instead of distracting magic lights it conjured up the spirits killed by the nightmare. They were strong and they were hateful.
The bass, an instrument of healing, gave the undying army flesh to fight with, all the while mutating the nightmare into shapes it could not control.
As the guitar strings strummed, instead of colorful lightning, came... Something unknown. Something unknowable. Reality itself began to crack under its weight.
When the nightmare saw it, it did something it hadn't done before. Never in its centuries of haunting the minds of mortals, did it scream in fear.
Above all was heard the steady,rhythmic beating of a massive war-drum. It generated a wall, growing stronger with every thump, transforming a protective shield into a nightmarish prison.
The 5 Black-Hearted, as they will be later known, didn't give up their power. They were free of the contract as well, and so they decided. Both sides, the light and the dark, will pay dearly for destroying the lives of so many, so carelessly and so irreparably.
With a nod of their head, The 5 Black-Hearted began their journey to free humanity from a war that wasn't theirs.
-----------------
Read more stuff on r/Talesandsongs
None of it is good, but some is entertaining | The people of Little Town had long been used to the pattern. First, the sky would darken, and one of their neighbors, now mutated into a grotesque reflection of their own inner turmoil, would cry out for vengeance. Then the Sparkle-Glitter 5 would emerge from somewhere, with earnest defiance and deep concern for the people of Little Town. As dialogue and negotiation inevitably broke down, The Fabulous Mr. Kitty would pop the whole event up into the sky to cut down on property damage, and the fight would begin. The people tried very hard to not think about how their saviors were clearly only in middle school, even as they cheered for their favorite candy-colored musician to clobber the opponent they'd all known for years, another thing they tried hard not to think about.
Sometimes, just sometimes, it wouldn't be a neighbor. Sometimes it would be one of the mutators themselves, grown tired of fruitlessly hurling people at the town, who took the field. When that happened, something had to change. Most times, the girls would find some new reservoir of power within themselves, or there would be a new girl, conveniently stepping up just as one of the current group had to move away, or go to high school. Rarely, Mr. Kitty would bring forth help from somewhere, and while this last resort was always welcome in the moment, it meant destructive fighting on the ground for a few weeks until he recovered. When even that failed, things would get bad. There would be a new sparkle team in time, but until they could be found, the mutator and its clique of vain, vengeful mutates would run amok, taking and destroying until their venal need for imagined vengeance had been sated.
The summer that killed the sparkles was bad. Orgoroth had set himself up as a petty king, turning the City Hall into a rough castle, and the bitter women of the retirement community into his generals. Each took especial delight in tormenting their own families, but spread their hate among all the young. On one particular day, Granny Attitude was screaming at little 4-year old Jessica for not being in school, when she proclaimed, "You're mean! You need to stop being mean or the Sparkles will get you!" Granny attitude backhanded the poor little girl across the street and spat. "The Sparkles are dead," she crowed, "and you need to learn to respect your elders, because they are NEVER coming back." Little Jessica cried softly, holding her bruised cheek as she silently mouthed "Sparkles," over and over again, barely aware of her shattered ribs.
Granny Attitude stalked across the street, eager to finish her tirade, when little Jessica coughed up a black clot, her tiny throat visibly distending for a moment as the knot of squirming blood forced its way out of her mouth and splattered on the pavement. "Look at the mess you're making," Granny snarled, pointing one arthritic finger at the broken girl. "You're going to have to clea.." Her harangue died away as the splotch widened into a perfect circle, the deep red fading to a primordial black swirling with unfamiliar stars. The hole thrummed with energy, and with a sound like none she'd heard before.
A figure faded slowly into existence, fully two meters tall and half as wide. His cold eyes were barely visible through the long, multi-colored hair that hung over his face and down almost to his waist, as if to hide the little heart-shaped guitar he played behind curtains of glittering black and shining pink His thick fingers flew back and forth along the neck of the little instrument, sounding a deadly march, the staccato heartbeat of the underworld itself.
As the bassist finally solidified, two others began to appear behind him, tall, lanky twins with spiked blue and green hair. As one, they raised their cloud-and-angel-wing guitars to the sky and began to play. Granny Attitude clapped her hands to her ears as blistering runs of notes blasted out around them, shattering glass and making something writhe with agony behind the old woman's eyes. They walked forward, passing the bassist and standing on the cracked asphalt.
The twins' dueling solos came to an end as two screams burst from the void. A blonde woman and a bald man, each dressed in a pastel jumpsuit with a pastel microphone, launched from the abyss and into the street, belting out alternating threats and cajolery, one demanding that those responsible for the state of the world submit to judgement, while the other wished for love. All seven of the mutates in Little Town collapsed, puking up their own tainted essences as their master detonated under the sonic assault.
The yawning cthonic pit finally squeezed shut beneath the hulking bassist's feet as they stopped playing, and a very bedraggled Mr. Kitty popped out, landing in a roll. He straightened what remained of his top hat and turned to address Granny Attitude, only to drop his jaw as he saw she'd already been defeated. "Um, well then. Don't do it again.." he said with a sniff before turning to his new, out-sized champions. As he watched, their bodies shrank to a size with which he was more familiar, "You've done very well in putting an end to this threat to Little Town, but you must always be on your guard..." he began, only to trail off into silence as the three boys and two girls ducked into a pizzeria, arguing good-naturedly about who'd have to split a Hawaiian with Cancer Boy. With a sigh, he walked over to little Jessica's body and blew a little dust from his hat onto her broken form, watching solemnly as she faded from reality. "I hope you knew what you were doing, girl."
​
A/N: After considering the prompt, I thought Power Metal would be a better fit. As always, eternally hungry for feedback. | |
[WP] Aliens prefer term "prey animals", Humans prefer term "herbivores". A group of alien hunters, hunting on Earth, painfully discovered why. | ”I’m still not sure I understand,” the alien questioned. His two left hands gestured wildly at the horse in front of him. “Why don’t we hunt this one?”
The guide’s mustache twitched, his human eyes inscrutable under that large brimmed hat.
“Cause that’s a horse. We domesticated ‘em. It’s….” He sighed. “It’s ‘cause Betty,” he continued, speaking slowly, “Is a friend.”
The large equine blinked stoically in the alien’s face. He - Squib - blinked back, before the horse returned to passively grazing.
Shrugging, Squib turned away from the lanky beast, and surveyed the landscape beyond them. The collection of residential structures for humans and domesticated prey creatures - “livestock”, as the brochures had described them - was often called a “ranch”, according to his guide. This guide - an older human with leathery skin and hair on his face - was named “Jacks”, and was, so far, quite inscrutable. This “ranch” sat atop a hill in an otherwise heavily wooded area, and the view it afforded its residents was quite breathtaking.
The largest common flora on the planet - “trees” - covered the rolling and jagged landscape around them in a carpet of pointy green. The skies were of a rich blue, the clouds here - free of the taint of pollution or otherwise artificial modification - were the soft white of pure hydrogen-oxygen compounds.
Truly, this must have been the most untouched, natural place on this small planet.
This was the reason for Squib’s visit.
A proud expert on xeno-cultures, it was paramount to his understanding of a society’s evolutionary path for him to experience some of its peoples’ earliest encounters. How would they handle other predator species? How did they interact with their prey species?
While lanky and thin, Squib was proud of the first-hand field experience he had accumulated over his years of research and study, despite his less than imposing physical stature. He had been on numerous hunts over the course of his career. And as such, he had hired Jacks, the “ranch” manager, to assist him in gathering the same experience from earth!
Perhaps he would use one of these archaic human rifles to shoot a “bird”, or a “deer”, or perhaps one of the big ones that Jacks had warned caution of: something called a “moose”. Such a variety of prey species! He could barely contain himself! If opportunity presented itself, he would shoot them all!
“‘Ey,” Jacks called, interrupting his revery. “I need to grab some of the packs and another horse. Keep an eye on Betty, holler if she acts up.”
Squib laughed.
“If the prey beast misbehaves, we’ll take it and call the hunt early!”
Jacks narrowed his eyes, but only shook his head before walking away.
Squib for his part, looked over the ranch once more. To the far end, a few smaller quadrupeds with large yellow eyes and bony protrusions from their heads - they seemed to push each other about, competing for a pile of feed. Not far from them, in another fenced off portion of the land, a larger quadruped - like this “horse”, but slightly shorter and fatter - took water from a large trough. Off toward the periphery of the area, near a small structure, a feathered biped produced clucking noises, and led a troop of smaller, fuzzy copies of itself across the dirt.
In fascination, Squib watched this feathery, orange creature cluck its way across the drive. Its motions were darting, fast, almost twitchy. How strange for its feeding motions to be so darting and exact, whereas most prey he had seen were slower, cautious. After all - it’s not like the flora would avoid the incoming doom!
On and on this orange biped came, closer and closer, with its entourage of peeping, squeaking young - a dozen bright yellow sprites, swarming and bouncing and weaving around their mother’s feet.
As they came within a few meters of him, something caught the hen’s eyes. The movement caught Squib’s as well. An insect - angular, green, with prominent legs. It was huge - colossal, by the alien’s estimation! It must have been the size of the last joint on his outermost finger! Horrifying!
The hen, however, had a different emotional response. She darted over towards the visitor, speeding towards the insect - and within moments it was over. The little hen’s beak grabbed the grasshopper, and with terrible brutality, slammed it into the ground - rubbing her beak along the gravel to break it apart. Within a second or two, the entire insect was gone, fully consumed.
Squib stood silently, horror enveloping his expression.
*What in the name of the primordial gods is this?*
He felt his bile rise, and he fought the urge to vomit. This… This prey thing… Just *ate* another creature!!! Prey!!!
He stood, frozen in shock, as the little ones scrambled to adapt to the change. Their mother had darted away, and confusion filled the empty space. Some of them had scrambled to follow her, some had scattered off, and a few stood still, confused and lost.
Movement again caused the alien’s attention to divert elsewhere. One of the chicks that had scattered from the panic erred towards the tall quadruped nearby - the “Betty”, as Jacks had called it. The creature still grazed passively, its large brown eyes absorbing the surroundings as it worked.
The little biped scrambled, zigging and zagging with no destination in mind.
The “Betty” took two long strides towards it.
The grazing passed over the bright yellow sprite.
And when the grazing passed, the chick was gone.
The Betty picked its head from the ground, still grinding its teeth, working on consuming the efforts of its grazing.
It turned its head towards Squib, its dark eyes simply watching.
The alien screamed. It was a gut wrenching, primordial scream, a reaction to a horror of eldritch capacity, incomprehensible terror.
The horse reacted to the scream as most would - it jerked backwards, its ears going flat in fear and displeasure.
Squib, it would seem, had just enough evolutionary history in common to recognize the indication of a tense or angry earth creature.
When Jacks returned, sprinting across the ranch, he found only Betty, grazing twenty meters from where she’d started, and a foul-smelling trail of liquid to where the alien’s transport had once been.
The rancher’s mustache twitched.
Probably best they hadn’t gone for the moose after all. |
Zu’ak crept towards the beast, his four legs moving through the dry grass almost without sound. This was the first continent visited by the Umari hunters in pursuit of large prey animals. The Humans in this area were welcoming to the Umari, but seemed confused as to why they would be hunting prey animals they called “hippos”
“Do you see it yet?” Clicked Zu’ak
“A mother and calf, grazing on the banks” Hila answered, lowering her telescope. “I wonder why the Humans are so scared of them? They don’t eat meat?”
“Humans are scared of everything” scoffed Zu’ak, peering through his own telescope at the animals. “A beast this size should last us at least a week” he muttered, watching the mother graze on the riverbank. Umari prey were small and fast, living solitary lives. Earth prey was often huge, with members living in groups up to a hundred strong. A kill this size would make Zu’ak a hero; he could already see the headlines: “Zu’ak, hero of Umari”.
The calf had wandered away from its mother, providing an opportunity. They had to act now before it passed. “Now!” Hila hissed, pouncing towards the calf. Zu’ak sprinted towards the mother, spear raised. He must have stepped on a twig, as a loud *crack* rang out across the river. Freezing, Zu’aks eye darted towards Hila, who had captured the calf in a net, dragging it back towards base. For a few seconds, nothing happened.
A shadow fell over the alien, making his blood turn cold. He looked back to where the mother was, but she had disappeared. Turning around, Zu’ak was greeted by a sight that made him soil himself. The mother towered over him, her hot breath on his face. Stumbling backwards, Zu’ak raised his spear and screamed, trying to scare it away.
The hippo lowered its head and let out a bellowing roar, stomping its gigantic feet. Whimpering, Zu’ak retreated as fast as his 4 legs could carry him, the giant enraged prey animal in pursuit. “Retreat!” Screamed Zu’ak, running towards Hila and the calf. “Not without our prize!” Came the strangled reply. The calf was bleating and struggling, making it harder to drag along. “Just leave it!!! Head for the river!!” Zu’ak commanded, grabbing the antennae of his partner as he ran past. Hila howled in pain but followed, leaving the calf in the net.
Diving into the river, Zu’ak activated his suit’s life raft and pulled Hila on board. Coughing and spluttering, the two aliens peered over the side at the river bank, just in time to see the mother reach her calf. Nuzzling her giant head against her baby, the mother looked around, ears flapping and twitching. “I think we are safe” sighed Zu’ak, lying down on the raft as they floated downstream. Hila was panting, her face pale.
“What on Umari Alpha was that?!” She whispered, the fear writ large on her face.
“I’m not sure”
“The prey animals back home would have never-“
“Shush!” Zu’ak hissed, closing a fist. Something was wrong. There was a large chevron of water speeding towards the raft, a shadow below the surface. Hila peered over the edge at the rapidly approaching shadow. “Is that… it can’t be… they’re far to heavy to swim” she said in disbelief as her eye widened. The two Umari began paddling frantically, trying to outrun the two ton beast in their wake.
-
“Sadly, Zu’ak and Hila of Umari Alpha did not return from their planned hunting mission on Earth. The last received transmission was a garbled SOS, with a warning to avoid all prey animals on Earth” the reporter said, her face grave and her antennae lowered in respect. “As of today, all planned trips to Earth have been halted and the Umari Alpha council have imposed a strict galactic quarantine on the solar system surrounding Earth” | |
[WP] Aliens prefer term "prey animals", Humans prefer term "herbivores". A group of alien hunters, hunting on Earth, painfully discovered why. | ”I’m still not sure I understand,” the alien questioned. His two left hands gestured wildly at the horse in front of him. “Why don’t we hunt this one?”
The guide’s mustache twitched, his human eyes inscrutable under that large brimmed hat.
“Cause that’s a horse. We domesticated ‘em. It’s….” He sighed. “It’s ‘cause Betty,” he continued, speaking slowly, “Is a friend.”
The large equine blinked stoically in the alien’s face. He - Squib - blinked back, before the horse returned to passively grazing.
Shrugging, Squib turned away from the lanky beast, and surveyed the landscape beyond them. The collection of residential structures for humans and domesticated prey creatures - “livestock”, as the brochures had described them - was often called a “ranch”, according to his guide. This guide - an older human with leathery skin and hair on his face - was named “Jacks”, and was, so far, quite inscrutable. This “ranch” sat atop a hill in an otherwise heavily wooded area, and the view it afforded its residents was quite breathtaking.
The largest common flora on the planet - “trees” - covered the rolling and jagged landscape around them in a carpet of pointy green. The skies were of a rich blue, the clouds here - free of the taint of pollution or otherwise artificial modification - were the soft white of pure hydrogen-oxygen compounds.
Truly, this must have been the most untouched, natural place on this small planet.
This was the reason for Squib’s visit.
A proud expert on xeno-cultures, it was paramount to his understanding of a society’s evolutionary path for him to experience some of its peoples’ earliest encounters. How would they handle other predator species? How did they interact with their prey species?
While lanky and thin, Squib was proud of the first-hand field experience he had accumulated over his years of research and study, despite his less than imposing physical stature. He had been on numerous hunts over the course of his career. And as such, he had hired Jacks, the “ranch” manager, to assist him in gathering the same experience from earth!
Perhaps he would use one of these archaic human rifles to shoot a “bird”, or a “deer”, or perhaps one of the big ones that Jacks had warned caution of: something called a “moose”. Such a variety of prey species! He could barely contain himself! If opportunity presented itself, he would shoot them all!
“‘Ey,” Jacks called, interrupting his revery. “I need to grab some of the packs and another horse. Keep an eye on Betty, holler if she acts up.”
Squib laughed.
“If the prey beast misbehaves, we’ll take it and call the hunt early!”
Jacks narrowed his eyes, but only shook his head before walking away.
Squib for his part, looked over the ranch once more. To the far end, a few smaller quadrupeds with large yellow eyes and bony protrusions from their heads - they seemed to push each other about, competing for a pile of feed. Not far from them, in another fenced off portion of the land, a larger quadruped - like this “horse”, but slightly shorter and fatter - took water from a large trough. Off toward the periphery of the area, near a small structure, a feathered biped produced clucking noises, and led a troop of smaller, fuzzy copies of itself across the dirt.
In fascination, Squib watched this feathery, orange creature cluck its way across the drive. Its motions were darting, fast, almost twitchy. How strange for its feeding motions to be so darting and exact, whereas most prey he had seen were slower, cautious. After all - it’s not like the flora would avoid the incoming doom!
On and on this orange biped came, closer and closer, with its entourage of peeping, squeaking young - a dozen bright yellow sprites, swarming and bouncing and weaving around their mother’s feet.
As they came within a few meters of him, something caught the hen’s eyes. The movement caught Squib’s as well. An insect - angular, green, with prominent legs. It was huge - colossal, by the alien’s estimation! It must have been the size of the last joint on his outermost finger! Horrifying!
The hen, however, had a different emotional response. She darted over towards the visitor, speeding towards the insect - and within moments it was over. The little hen’s beak grabbed the grasshopper, and with terrible brutality, slammed it into the ground - rubbing her beak along the gravel to break it apart. Within a second or two, the entire insect was gone, fully consumed.
Squib stood silently, horror enveloping his expression.
*What in the name of the primordial gods is this?*
He felt his bile rise, and he fought the urge to vomit. This… This prey thing… Just *ate* another creature!!! Prey!!!
He stood, frozen in shock, as the little ones scrambled to adapt to the change. Their mother had darted away, and confusion filled the empty space. Some of them had scrambled to follow her, some had scattered off, and a few stood still, confused and lost.
Movement again caused the alien’s attention to divert elsewhere. One of the chicks that had scattered from the panic erred towards the tall quadruped nearby - the “Betty”, as Jacks had called it. The creature still grazed passively, its large brown eyes absorbing the surroundings as it worked.
The little biped scrambled, zigging and zagging with no destination in mind.
The “Betty” took two long strides towards it.
The grazing passed over the bright yellow sprite.
And when the grazing passed, the chick was gone.
The Betty picked its head from the ground, still grinding its teeth, working on consuming the efforts of its grazing.
It turned its head towards Squib, its dark eyes simply watching.
The alien screamed. It was a gut wrenching, primordial scream, a reaction to a horror of eldritch capacity, incomprehensible terror.
The horse reacted to the scream as most would - it jerked backwards, its ears going flat in fear and displeasure.
Squib, it would seem, had just enough evolutionary history in common to recognize the indication of a tense or angry earth creature.
When Jacks returned, sprinting across the ranch, he found only Betty, grazing twenty meters from where she’d started, and a foul-smelling trail of liquid to where the alien’s transport had once been.
The rancher’s mustache twitched.
Probably best they hadn’t gone for the moose after all. | Sprax stood shocked at the front of the group, a trembling rifle in it's many hands. If it were to be human, it's heart would be in its throat and stomach dropped out beneath it. It was somehow worse than going on a roller coaster, knowing it had been designed and built by the humans.
Before the group of alien hunters was the tattered remains of their friend- Pefin. Their body chomped in half by the famed hippopotamus. Although their databases had classed this beast as "prey animal" based upon the humans slightly inferior classing system of "herbivore" it was clear they were mistaken greatly.
The group had been "lazing around" waiting for a predator to show up so they could partake in the sport of hunting. It something humans used partake it a lot, though now had been severely limited. Then, the beast had taken Perfin by surprise, diving into the water, like so many others, but having emerged from the water, like a deviled dog. It bared it's yellowing teeth and Perfin, it's leathery body similar to the Xhfarians and shook it's head.
Perfin had been the hardest of them all, and raised their hands up to great in equal measure, but the beast lunged. Splatter and screams had presumed swiftly as their friend was dismembered beyond comprehension. Although still connected by their two spines, the flesh had pulled apart and severed from top to bottom.
Beady eyes met the group; dripping in blood, it took a step forward; its mouth began to swing open once again, but now it's yellow teeth were stained green from Perfin's blue blood. They held their collective breath before the loud rumbling of a jeep bustled in the distance. Atop, their guide and human companion- Steve. Steve was waving his hands frantically, calling for them to run, to hide behind a rock, to not run in a straight line.
The group moved to obey, scrambling limbs, teary eyes, panicked running and the beast loomed above their friend, wearing their blood in pride before returning to its bloat. Sprax got onto the back of the truck, sliding down its back and shaking quietly. Steve didn't crouch down beside it. Instead, he kept his eyes on the river, watching the bloat but knowing if it stampeded towards them, they would have to make a hasty escape.
"Why- why would you claim that that [UNKNOWN VOCABULARY] is a herbivore‽ It- it tore up my friend!“ Sprax looked tearfully up at Steve and pitifully Steve looked down to meet his gave for a moment.
"They'e go'en smar'er my friend. Since the West threw down all those biological weapons at the Chinese mining sites; it's affected all the animals. No longer omnivores, 'stead, they graze the grass we run on. Locals say since the anthrax dwindled their numbers, they learnt, jus' like you or I."
Sprax looked despairingly into their hands, curling up tight as other members of the hunting party made their way into the truck and as the final head count was made, everyone mourned the loss of a brilliant friend. Sprax wondered what other beasts could appear docile, yet wreck so much destruction. | |
[WP] Aliens prefer term "prey animals", Humans prefer term "herbivores". A group of alien hunters, hunting on Earth, painfully discovered why. | At one point, there was one universal truth.
All herbivores are prey, and all carnivores are predators. And omnivores? They do not exist.
This so called truth was the basis of nature on several alien plants, existing as order among the flora and fauna on every world. At least, until humanity and it’s home planet of Earth was discovered. Which promptly flipped the galactic council on its head, scientists of countless alien species clambered over each other at the opportunity of interacting with humans and the animals that existed on their planet- omnivores were unheard of! And prey animals who could also be opportunistic omnivores; eating meat or plants if given the chance to? It was terrifying, unique, and most importantly- impossible.
In the early days as the galactic council discussed general politics and diplomacy with the human race, many disbelieved that humans were true ‘omnivores’ believing them to be herbivores that acted as carnivores. Very quickly, and to their horror they realized that not only did humans enjoy the consumption of both flora and fauna, they weren’t above eating their own kind should food be scarce enough. Not only that, but it was a common trait with species from Earth.
Animals that had too many young to feed would often cannibalize their own offspring in order to have enough nutrients to support those that remained. And whilst it was typically during times of crisis, it was a line no other race had considered crossing even in predator populated planets.
As humanity’s fame rose throughout the universe, so did traffic to the strange planet. Some of the best hunters within their respected galaxies paid an exorbitant amount of money in order to have the chance at hunting the unique fauna that existed on the planet. And many did not survive the trip. As customary amongst prey animals, they developed certain protections that either ward off predators or make it harder in their hunt.
Whether that meant a thick hide, sharp horns, or an insane stamina. There was always something that assisted a prey animal in its survival. However, prey animals fighting the hunters was unheard of- it was that lack of caution that had killed many visiting hunters on Earth. They hadn’t expected the antlers of an elk to gore them, or for a hippopotamus to wrangle their bodies to severed limbs. Elephants, Cassowaries, Bears, Monkeys, Gorilla’s, etc.
Many hunters who had earned their fame amongst the prey planets of differing galaxies assumed that like those worlds, it was simply a leisurely activity. But in actuality, hunting on Earth wasn’t necessarily an easy activity- it was for the thrill, of outsmarting your opponent and luring them into a false sense of security.
To hunt big or dangerous game you not only had to be careful, but equally as deadly. Blending into your surroundings was key, masking obvious scents, and staying downwind from your prey. The alien hunters had assumed wrong, prey is not necessarily weak or lack willed when it comes to hunting. On Earth they quickly learned why there was a reason as to why some animals are classified herbivore, omnivore, or carnivore. Because prey and predator are not always in line with those terms, and these visiting hunters often had to learn the hard way. | Sprax stood shocked at the front of the group, a trembling rifle in it's many hands. If it were to be human, it's heart would be in its throat and stomach dropped out beneath it. It was somehow worse than going on a roller coaster, knowing it had been designed and built by the humans.
Before the group of alien hunters was the tattered remains of their friend- Pefin. Their body chomped in half by the famed hippopotamus. Although their databases had classed this beast as "prey animal" based upon the humans slightly inferior classing system of "herbivore" it was clear they were mistaken greatly.
The group had been "lazing around" waiting for a predator to show up so they could partake in the sport of hunting. It something humans used partake it a lot, though now had been severely limited. Then, the beast had taken Perfin by surprise, diving into the water, like so many others, but having emerged from the water, like a deviled dog. It bared it's yellowing teeth and Perfin, it's leathery body similar to the Xhfarians and shook it's head.
Perfin had been the hardest of them all, and raised their hands up to great in equal measure, but the beast lunged. Splatter and screams had presumed swiftly as their friend was dismembered beyond comprehension. Although still connected by their two spines, the flesh had pulled apart and severed from top to bottom.
Beady eyes met the group; dripping in blood, it took a step forward; its mouth began to swing open once again, but now it's yellow teeth were stained green from Perfin's blue blood. They held their collective breath before the loud rumbling of a jeep bustled in the distance. Atop, their guide and human companion- Steve. Steve was waving his hands frantically, calling for them to run, to hide behind a rock, to not run in a straight line.
The group moved to obey, scrambling limbs, teary eyes, panicked running and the beast loomed above their friend, wearing their blood in pride before returning to its bloat. Sprax got onto the back of the truck, sliding down its back and shaking quietly. Steve didn't crouch down beside it. Instead, he kept his eyes on the river, watching the bloat but knowing if it stampeded towards them, they would have to make a hasty escape.
"Why- why would you claim that that [UNKNOWN VOCABULARY] is a herbivore‽ It- it tore up my friend!“ Sprax looked tearfully up at Steve and pitifully Steve looked down to meet his gave for a moment.
"They'e go'en smar'er my friend. Since the West threw down all those biological weapons at the Chinese mining sites; it's affected all the animals. No longer omnivores, 'stead, they graze the grass we run on. Locals say since the anthrax dwindled their numbers, they learnt, jus' like you or I."
Sprax looked despairingly into their hands, curling up tight as other members of the hunting party made their way into the truck and as the final head count was made, everyone mourned the loss of a brilliant friend. Sprax wondered what other beasts could appear docile, yet wreck so much destruction. | |
[WP] Aliens prefer term "prey animals", Humans prefer term "herbivores". A group of alien hunters, hunting on Earth, painfully discovered why. | Qe Lal stumbled out of his Land Cruiser into the human village, bloodied and maimed, on the two of his legs still worked. "Oh no. MOTHER?!" cried out a child in some Earth language. He feinted from his blood loss before he could remember which.
Miraculously, he regained consciousness. While the humans may not understand Hindari medicine, they managed to stop the bleeding at least. He hardly registered that they had to amputate his back leg. That's not what mattered.
His friends, oh Divines his poor friends. If only they headed the warnings, but no. The laughed at the idea that "herbivores" could be dangerous.
" ***** you *** awake." An old human woman said. Walking into view from behind.
"Of course she's speaking Maa." He thought. English or Swahili he knew well enough, but of course it Maa. "Yes... appears... true" he struggled out in a dazed yet solemn voice.
"**** **** friends not **** ***. What happened?"
" We... hunt... prey. It... not... die..." His voice began to choke out the rudimentary words as he held back tears
The kind old woman sighed and shook her head, briefly embracing the grieving person, before leaving him to himself.
"Kassel... Mevakk... he thought, tears rolling down his head as the reality set in. "DAMNIT! Why didn't we head their warnings? They said not to go after them. They said to wear the red cloths for protection. But we laughed- LAUGHED!" He trough himself back into his laying position in frustration and grief. "'There's no prey that can withstand the electrocution rifles,' We said." Hell even he only wore the protective red garments for the novelty of it, to the ridicule and mockery. Why would they need protection from prey of all things.
It should've been simple. A scared prey animal hiding most of it's heavy, slow body in the water, might even kill of the one around it. But no, not only did it not kill it, the shock did nothing but anger it. "Anger?" He thought. "What kind of prey responds with anger of all things?"
It ran at the group- fast, faster than any animal that size should be capable of. Kassel didn't even have time to react before she was screaming out in agony while being pierced by teeth and crushed in jaws both larger than any prey should.
Then it went for the other two. Mevakk made the mistake of of thinking more shots would do it in and save her. Or did he know the opposite and choose to sacrifice himself to save Qe Lal.
He cried harder at the question. And louder at the sound of their screams of agony.
Either way, he ran. "Coward." He thought. But he made it the the car, which was just fast enough to outspeed the monster, and survive.
He was tired again. And as he gave in to his exhaustion he had one last thought.
"So that's why they won't call them prey." | Sprax stood shocked at the front of the group, a trembling rifle in it's many hands. If it were to be human, it's heart would be in its throat and stomach dropped out beneath it. It was somehow worse than going on a roller coaster, knowing it had been designed and built by the humans.
Before the group of alien hunters was the tattered remains of their friend- Pefin. Their body chomped in half by the famed hippopotamus. Although their databases had classed this beast as "prey animal" based upon the humans slightly inferior classing system of "herbivore" it was clear they were mistaken greatly.
The group had been "lazing around" waiting for a predator to show up so they could partake in the sport of hunting. It something humans used partake it a lot, though now had been severely limited. Then, the beast had taken Perfin by surprise, diving into the water, like so many others, but having emerged from the water, like a deviled dog. It bared it's yellowing teeth and Perfin, it's leathery body similar to the Xhfarians and shook it's head.
Perfin had been the hardest of them all, and raised their hands up to great in equal measure, but the beast lunged. Splatter and screams had presumed swiftly as their friend was dismembered beyond comprehension. Although still connected by their two spines, the flesh had pulled apart and severed from top to bottom.
Beady eyes met the group; dripping in blood, it took a step forward; its mouth began to swing open once again, but now it's yellow teeth were stained green from Perfin's blue blood. They held their collective breath before the loud rumbling of a jeep bustled in the distance. Atop, their guide and human companion- Steve. Steve was waving his hands frantically, calling for them to run, to hide behind a rock, to not run in a straight line.
The group moved to obey, scrambling limbs, teary eyes, panicked running and the beast loomed above their friend, wearing their blood in pride before returning to its bloat. Sprax got onto the back of the truck, sliding down its back and shaking quietly. Steve didn't crouch down beside it. Instead, he kept his eyes on the river, watching the bloat but knowing if it stampeded towards them, they would have to make a hasty escape.
"Why- why would you claim that that [UNKNOWN VOCABULARY] is a herbivore‽ It- it tore up my friend!“ Sprax looked tearfully up at Steve and pitifully Steve looked down to meet his gave for a moment.
"They'e go'en smar'er my friend. Since the West threw down all those biological weapons at the Chinese mining sites; it's affected all the animals. No longer omnivores, 'stead, they graze the grass we run on. Locals say since the anthrax dwindled their numbers, they learnt, jus' like you or I."
Sprax looked despairingly into their hands, curling up tight as other members of the hunting party made their way into the truck and as the final head count was made, everyone mourned the loss of a brilliant friend. Sprax wondered what other beasts could appear docile, yet wreck so much destruction. | |
[WP] Aliens prefer term "prey animals", Humans prefer term "herbivores". A group of alien hunters, hunting on Earth, painfully discovered why. | On their home planet, the first simple beings came from the oceans: the vast swirling currents carrying billions of cells gave way to more complex agglomerations, moving near the water's surface, absorbing the nourishment of two suns. These photosynthetic creatures eventually colonized the tide pools and the rocky beaches beyond; thus, the genesis of landed life. They moved like Earth's slime mold, and began to consume one another alive for additional nutrients.
Over billions of years, they developed into perfect creatures. They were capable of voluntary movement, and they manipulated their environment. They had efficient nervous systems capable of high intelligence, yet low energy consumption; they ran mainly on the sacred light of the two suns, but their light absorption was punctuated and supplemented by the consumption of the plant-fauna that roamed the planet. Hunting was a holy occasion, an ode to the impetus for the complexity of life in their biosphere. It was primal, a far cry from the advanced technology and vast forest-like cities they had molded from the fruits of the ground.
For the highest stratum of society, it was something worthy of great expeditions: a planet was selected, and if deemed suitable, a hunting party boarded a starship and bent spacetime to reach it, pierce its atmosphere, and partake of its plant-fauna.
When Earth was selected, it seemed a perfect mark. It had the same vast, swirling oceans. Its land was covered in greenery, the ground was fertile, the sun was bright, and the clouds were plentiful. The hunting party prayed together as the ship tore the fabric of space; they paid tribute to their prey.
They did not expect the life they found. They had strayed too far from their ship. They watched as tall, hairy beasts, much faster and larger than they, stripped the trees of leaves and grazed on the native grasses. These, truly, were majestic predators, capable of taking plants with ease.
They were eaten and shat out by a moose. The End. | (The following is translated from glorpinax to English for your convenience)
"What kind of sister-loving bum-fuckery is this Clarence?!?!" Earl asked, still trying to shake off the loss of his cousins Tucker and Maurice who moments ago were trampled and mauled by one and a half tonnes of toothy angry mammal. "These carbines ain't doing shit, perfectly capable rend flesh from bone on a dozen sentients our size in no time... But with these beasties our rounds bounce off their hides!?! What business does Prey have being so damn big, so damn fast, can swim and run, and aggression only equivalent to ye sister after I said I'm going hunting instead of on date tonight?".
Earl looked over to Clarence who was only half paying attention to his rant. Clarence was repositioning his red "Make Glorpinor IV great again" hat clearly mulling something over. Whatever he was thinking Earl knew it was going to be good. Clarence was the genius of the family after all.
Clarence turned to Earl grinning his toothless grin "Alright, hold my beer".... | |
[WP] Aliens prefer term "prey animals", Humans prefer term "herbivores". A group of alien hunters, hunting on Earth, painfully discovered why. | Qe Lal stumbled out of his Land Cruiser into the human village, bloodied and maimed, on the two of his legs still worked. "Oh no. MOTHER?!" cried out a child in some Earth language. He feinted from his blood loss before he could remember which.
Miraculously, he regained consciousness. While the humans may not understand Hindari medicine, they managed to stop the bleeding at least. He hardly registered that they had to amputate his back leg. That's not what mattered.
His friends, oh Divines his poor friends. If only they headed the warnings, but no. The laughed at the idea that "herbivores" could be dangerous.
" ***** you *** awake." An old human woman said. Walking into view from behind.
"Of course she's speaking Maa." He thought. English or Swahili he knew well enough, but of course it Maa. "Yes... appears... true" he struggled out in a dazed yet solemn voice.
"**** **** friends not **** ***. What happened?"
" We... hunt... prey. It... not... die..." His voice began to choke out the rudimentary words as he held back tears
The kind old woman sighed and shook her head, briefly embracing the grieving person, before leaving him to himself.
"Kassel... Mevakk... he thought, tears rolling down his head as the reality set in. "DAMNIT! Why didn't we head their warnings? They said not to go after them. They said to wear the red cloths for protection. But we laughed- LAUGHED!" He trough himself back into his laying position in frustration and grief. "'There's no prey that can withstand the electrocution rifles,' We said." Hell even he only wore the protective red garments for the novelty of it, to the ridicule and mockery. Why would they need protection from prey of all things.
It should've been simple. A scared prey animal hiding most of it's heavy, slow body in the water, might even kill of the one around it. But no, not only did it not kill it, the shock did nothing but anger it. "Anger?" He thought. "What kind of prey responds with anger of all things?"
It ran at the group- fast, faster than any animal that size should be capable of. Kassel didn't even have time to react before she was screaming out in agony while being pierced by teeth and crushed in jaws both larger than any prey should.
Then it went for the other two. Mevakk made the mistake of of thinking more shots would do it in and save her. Or did he know the opposite and choose to sacrifice himself to save Qe Lal.
He cried harder at the question. And louder at the sound of their screams of agony.
Either way, he ran. "Coward." He thought. But he made it the the car, which was just fast enough to outspeed the monster, and survive.
He was tired again. And as he gave in to his exhaustion he had one last thought.
"So that's why they won't call them prey." | (The following is translated from glorpinax to English for your convenience)
"What kind of sister-loving bum-fuckery is this Clarence?!?!" Earl asked, still trying to shake off the loss of his cousins Tucker and Maurice who moments ago were trampled and mauled by one and a half tonnes of toothy angry mammal. "These carbines ain't doing shit, perfectly capable rend flesh from bone on a dozen sentients our size in no time... But with these beasties our rounds bounce off their hides!?! What business does Prey have being so damn big, so damn fast, can swim and run, and aggression only equivalent to ye sister after I said I'm going hunting instead of on date tonight?".
Earl looked over to Clarence who was only half paying attention to his rant. Clarence was repositioning his red "Make Glorpinor IV great again" hat clearly mulling something over. Whatever he was thinking Earl knew it was going to be good. Clarence was the genius of the family after all.
Clarence turned to Earl grinning his toothless grin "Alright, hold my beer".... | |
[WP] Aliens prefer term "prey animals", Humans prefer term "herbivores". A group of alien hunters, hunting on Earth, painfully discovered why. | Qe Lal stumbled out of his Land Cruiser into the human village, bloodied and maimed, on the two of his legs still worked. "Oh no. MOTHER?!" cried out a child in some Earth language. He feinted from his blood loss before he could remember which.
Miraculously, he regained consciousness. While the humans may not understand Hindari medicine, they managed to stop the bleeding at least. He hardly registered that they had to amputate his back leg. That's not what mattered.
His friends, oh Divines his poor friends. If only they headed the warnings, but no. The laughed at the idea that "herbivores" could be dangerous.
" ***** you *** awake." An old human woman said. Walking into view from behind.
"Of course she's speaking Maa." He thought. English or Swahili he knew well enough, but of course it Maa. "Yes... appears... true" he struggled out in a dazed yet solemn voice.
"**** **** friends not **** ***. What happened?"
" We... hunt... prey. It... not... die..." His voice began to choke out the rudimentary words as he held back tears
The kind old woman sighed and shook her head, briefly embracing the grieving person, before leaving him to himself.
"Kassel... Mevakk... he thought, tears rolling down his head as the reality set in. "DAMNIT! Why didn't we head their warnings? They said not to go after them. They said to wear the red cloths for protection. But we laughed- LAUGHED!" He trough himself back into his laying position in frustration and grief. "'There's no prey that can withstand the electrocution rifles,' We said." Hell even he only wore the protective red garments for the novelty of it, to the ridicule and mockery. Why would they need protection from prey of all things.
It should've been simple. A scared prey animal hiding most of it's heavy, slow body in the water, might even kill of the one around it. But no, not only did it not kill it, the shock did nothing but anger it. "Anger?" He thought. "What kind of prey responds with anger of all things?"
It ran at the group- fast, faster than any animal that size should be capable of. Kassel didn't even have time to react before she was screaming out in agony while being pierced by teeth and crushed in jaws both larger than any prey should.
Then it went for the other two. Mevakk made the mistake of of thinking more shots would do it in and save her. Or did he know the opposite and choose to sacrifice himself to save Qe Lal.
He cried harder at the question. And louder at the sound of their screams of agony.
Either way, he ran. "Coward." He thought. But he made it the the car, which was just fast enough to outspeed the monster, and survive.
He was tired again. And as he gave in to his exhaustion he had one last thought.
"So that's why they won't call them prey." | On their home planet, the first simple beings came from the oceans: the vast swirling currents carrying billions of cells gave way to more complex agglomerations, moving near the water's surface, absorbing the nourishment of two suns. These photosynthetic creatures eventually colonized the tide pools and the rocky beaches beyond; thus, the genesis of landed life. They moved like Earth's slime mold, and began to consume one another alive for additional nutrients.
Over billions of years, they developed into perfect creatures. They were capable of voluntary movement, and they manipulated their environment. They had efficient nervous systems capable of high intelligence, yet low energy consumption; they ran mainly on the sacred light of the two suns, but their light absorption was punctuated and supplemented by the consumption of the plant-fauna that roamed the planet. Hunting was a holy occasion, an ode to the impetus for the complexity of life in their biosphere. It was primal, a far cry from the advanced technology and vast forest-like cities they had molded from the fruits of the ground.
For the highest stratum of society, it was something worthy of great expeditions: a planet was selected, and if deemed suitable, a hunting party boarded a starship and bent spacetime to reach it, pierce its atmosphere, and partake of its plant-fauna.
When Earth was selected, it seemed a perfect mark. It had the same vast, swirling oceans. Its land was covered in greenery, the ground was fertile, the sun was bright, and the clouds were plentiful. The hunting party prayed together as the ship tore the fabric of space; they paid tribute to their prey.
They did not expect the life they found. They had strayed too far from their ship. They watched as tall, hairy beasts, much faster and larger than they, stripped the trees of leaves and grazed on the native grasses. These, truly, were majestic predators, capable of taking plants with ease.
They were eaten and shat out by a moose. The End. | |
[deleted] | [WP] Burying bodies doesn't actually put the soul to rest it just traps it underground. Now that humanity has been forced to live underground in vast networks to survive they are forced to confront all of these souls. | The drill whined in objection as I continued trying to drive forward. The ground was harder than was ideal and there was some rock but I could see cracks and knew I was making headway. Scans indicated softer earth with some air pockets ahead so if I could press forward just a *little bit* then clearing the rest of the route should be plain sailing.
*Crack!*
The drill surged forward and I finally hit upon the softer soil I'd been promised. But there was a problem.
"Sidney, you're full of shit." I said into my communicator as I clambered out of the driller. "Perfectly researched plans my ass."
The figure ahead stared at me with confusion.
"You can see me?" He asked. "I thought, I thought I'd died."
"Oh, you did. Maybe..." I assessed his style of dress and tried to remember my history lessons from back in school. "Three centuries ago? Or thereabouts. Sorry for disturbing you, the Acclimatisation department should be with you in a week."
"You aren't scared of me. Why aren't you scared of me?"
I raised an eyebrow.
"Should I be? Were you some kinda monster back when you-"
My communicator blared into life and cut me off.
"The plans are fine, Sage. Are you still bitching about that rock? The drill can handle a-"
This time it was my turn to cut him off.
"No, not that. There's a-"
*Crap, what was the most appropriate term? Ghost? Spirit? Untethered? Soul?*
"I mean," I decided, changing tact, "this used to be a graveyard."
"Oh."
*Damned right that's 'oh.'*
"Anyone there?" Sidney asked.
"Right in front of me."
There was a pause and I looked at the spirit apologetically.
"I guess, tell him Acclimatisation will be around at some point soon and then come back to the office."
*Wonderful advice. Certainly couldn't have thought of that myself. Makes perfect sense you earn twice my salary.*
"Um, I guess you heard all that?" I asked the spirit. "Someone will come talk to you in a few days, I'll be going now."
"Wait!" The ghost yelled, though I hadn't so much as turned around yet. "What *is* all of this?"
*Yup, this kinda thing is why I never wanted to work in Acclimatisation. All of what? What can I tell him that won't freak him out? Or scare him? Or make him sob for weeks?*
"We're underground, the surface of the Earth ended up not doing so hot. Or I guess doing too hot. The year's 3073. I work in tunnelling. Um, anything else before I head off?"
I gave him a moment to process. When he was alive the Earth's surface wasn't doing awesome but barely anyone had to live underground. Nowadays literally nobody could live aboveground. It's a lot to deal with, I'd think.
"How can you see me? Are you psychic?"
I burst out laughing before I could stop myself.
"No. Oh, I'm really sorry Mr-"
"I'm Elliot."
"I'm sorry Elliot, it's rude to laugh. So, it turns out that our theory about souls not being about if we bury the body wasn't quite right. They take awhile to manifest and they're not always there but they just can't leave the ground once they're buried. Now nobody can leave the ground we're realising that you guys are still, well, you know. Still sorta here.
You sometimes start off pinned next to your remains but with some, I dunno, I guess it's training, you can move pretty far from them. Not my department though."
Elliot's eyes widened.
"We're still here? All of us?"
"Yeah," I answered, "I think so. Acclimatisation will know better when they-"
"Did your drill break or does it still work?" He asked urgently.
"Break? Oh it's fine. Just turned off."
"Can you drill just a little further? I was buried only a few metres from my wife. It won't be far."
Sidney would be pissed if I opened more graves but Elliot looked so hopeful I couldn't resist. Besides, I wasn't exactly Sid's biggest fan right now. He could deal with the extra paperwork.
"Sure. I guess I can give it a try."
I climbed back into the driller and Elliot shuffled awkwardly to one side. Even though I knew there'd be trouble when I got back I found myself grinning regardless.
"Just a little further." | The soul live forever after death. This much was common knowledge. We were all told as much in the seminary when we first got inducted. The charge was simple, as priests, our job was to help ferry souls to the afterlife. That is, after ritualistic burial & ceremony.
When we first moved underground, I remember fondly, wee twenty years ago, the charge was slightly modified. Now that it would be difficult to bury bodies even further underground, except, of course in cases where it was possible, in cases where it wouldn't, we'd have to cremate the remains.
Lots of studies have been done on the continuity of life after death. There's famous experiments where post cremation, a weight has been found that is unaccounted for by vapors and ash. Videos have been made of silhouettes escaping slyly through narrow openings from within the cremation chamber.
When we first moved underground, us of the seminary schools and those inclined towards the occult were the first ones to be contacted. The contact wasn't direct, at least at first, and it was gradual. But omens of presence underground weren't exactly brand new in the vast cornucopia of lore we had in relation to living underground. It was believed hell was underground. It was believed hell was underground. Souls that lived in limbo were said to live close to their physical remains, refused from both heaven & hell. The Earth was also home to unseen spirits, gnomes, fairies. We didn't believe in all of them, some of us some, some of us others. However the idea wasn't dissimilar to anyone that humanity wasn't entirely lonely underground. Underground where the dead lie.
Phraseology too is a curious phenomenon in language. Looking back it's appalling how something which is so very obvious to all of us now could have been overlooked. It is indeed a failure rather than anything else. A colossal failure and nothing else.
And so I, the head prinip of the seminary of astro dane would like to apologize to all spirits present and past for the perpetuity of the suffering underground.
Might I go to sleep now please? |
[deleted] | [WP] Burying bodies doesn't actually put the soul to rest it just traps it underground. Now that humanity has been forced to live underground in vast networks to survive they are forced to confront all of these souls. | # Soulmage
**It had been a child, once.** But so had all monsters. The ghoul had been buried for so long that its bones had begun to fossilize, the child-skeleton's sightless grin crusted over with mineral deposits laid down over the centuries.
Unfortunately, that didn't make it any less deadly. The ghoul would happily feast on my soul if it got within striking distance—and, judging by the corpses I'd passed on the tunnels here, it had already done the same to a handful of hapless civilians. I'd have to take it out before it could hurt anyone else.
The ghoul was bent over its latest kill, still feasting on the soul fragments of the dead, but I knew it would turn to me as soon as I got close. As far as I knew, ghouls were blind—they didn't have anything remotely resembling eyes, anyway—so I channeled joy from my soul to create a clear, strong ball of light. The stone tunnel quivered with shadows as I snuck closer.
Too close, evidently. The ghoul's skull swiveled towards me (did it have *two* sets of teeth? Did baby skulls normally have that many teeth?) and I swore, holding out one hand. Passion rippled across the surface of my soul, transmuting into a heatwave strong enough to fracture even the half-stone skeleton of the ghoul—
"Are you my mommy?" the ghoul asked, tilting its head.
I hesitated mid-spell, keeping a wary eye on the ghoul. "What?" I dumbly said.
"Are you my mommy?" the ghoul repeated.
That... Cautiously, I lowered my hand. That shouldn't be happening. Ghouls weren't sapient—they didn't have enough of a soul *left* to speak. "No," I warily said. "I am not your mommy."
"I..." The ghoul shivered. "I want my mommy."
Wait. I narrowed my eyes, opening my soulsight. *Ah.* Of course. The thing that had once been a child had been gorging on the souls of others—under the right circumstances, that could give it enough of a soul that it could become... something alive. Not the same entity that the child had been, however many aeons ago they had died, but... something, perhaps, worthy of talking to. "I'm very, very sorry," I carefully said, "but your mommy isn't here. She hasn't been here for... a long, long time."
The ghoul paused.
"I want my mommy back," it repeated, more forcefully this time. Its soul shook, threatening to destabilize, and I backed up.
"Your mommy's gone," I repeated. "It's okay. I can help explain what—"
"I want my mommy back!" And quick as a blur, the ghoul shot towards me. I was ready, though, and I sent a pulse of insecurity into the ground, weakening it, transforming it beneath the ghoul's feet. All the supernatural strength in the world wouldn't do it any good if there wasn't anything for it to push off of—it crashed through the suddenly-unstable stone seconds before I reversed the transformation, entombing it beneath the earth once more.
"I..." Despite being half-buried, the ghoul was still speaking. "I want my mommy," the soul of a long-dead child said.
I stepped forwards. "Shh, shh, shh. It's okay."
"I want my mommy."
"I know."
"I want my mommy."
"You'll see her soon."
I walked as close as I dared to the entombed spirit.
Then I drew forth magic from my soul one last time, sending unbridled, pure heat into the bones of the ghoul.
The ghoul's skeleton fractured, then burned, then reduced to ash and memory.
The soul that had once been a child, set free by the flame, shortly followed.
I knelt by the remnants of the ghoul for a moment longer. Heat wafted up from below, carrying with it the last of the long-dead body.
Then I stood to leave, bringing the corpses the child had made with me.
A.N.
This story is set in the universe of Soulmage. If you liked this piece, consider checking out the rest of these stories [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) | Gareth spat. His saliva was darkly tinted by the soot and dirt, and fell unceremoniously to the tunnel floor. For a few brief moments, he took pause. The rhythmic tapping of picks against stone filled the air, joined by the low hum of the high voltage lines which ran overhead powering the various machinery and lights.
​
"Oi! You, darkwalker! Having a rest? Keep on it, and i'll make sure it's permanent!" Gareth's short reprieve was broken by Grynden, one of the mine's lightborn. His tone was guttural and brutish. He sauntered over towards Gareth, his portly figure bulging against a dirty white shirt and faded blue trousers. He chewed birksroot as he walked, his mouth gnashing and smacking as he moved.
​
"Only reason I don't, is I don't need to hear another one of you darkbloods whining as we bore through the stone. Don't mean I can't get over it though. Try me, boy."
​
Gareth only nodded, averting his eyes so as not to make his resentment any more plain than it already was. He had always had a poor poker face. His mother phrased it more lightly. *With a pure heart, comes a transparent soul.* He missed her dearly. Sometimes, he fantasized about hearing her voice in the stone cracks.
​
Picking up his pick again, he felt the faded wood bear into his cut and worn hands. With great effort he heaved the heavy tool over his shoulder, and slammed it into the stone.
​
*Desma? Sorry - they were out. I checked around back, but no dice ..*
​
Drawing a ragged breath he steadied himself, and struck again.
​
*You PROMISED! You said we could go! It's not fair. You always say the worst thing is lying, and and...*
​
As he persisted, chipping away at the unyielding rockface, he tried to find his inner voice. Peace. Like any of the darkwalkers relegated to be pathmakers who'd lived this long, he'd learned to separate the echoes from his own thoughts. Muddled as they became when born into your mind by the stone voice of the earth.
​
"NO! NO YOU CAN'T! YOU FUCKS! IT - YOU CAN'T!" A voice screamed as if it were right next to Gareth. It's tone was guttural. A wounded animal. Someone beaten, broken, and raw. Gareth closed his eyes, and fought desperately to raise his pick again. However, as his tired muscles worked to bring the tool into striking position once more, he felt a boot slam into his calf.
​
Opening his stormdark eyes, his glance shot to where the impact had come from. A darkwalker probably a year younger than himself flailed against the rough stone and dirt strewn floor, his arms and legs rapidly becoming scratched and bloodied as he writhed.
​
"Foreman! Make the line call! Find him!" A voice from down the tunnel yelled. Footsteps pounded against the hard surface like thunder.
​
Gareth lept into action, letting his pickaxe clatter lifelessly to the ground as he rushed to the boy's aid. Gareth forgot his exhaustion momentarily as he moved, adrenaline coursing through his veins and making his heartbeat pound in his ears. He grappled with the unruly form as the boy began to slam his head repeatedly into the hard ground. A burst of blood shot from the boy's nose as it made a sickening crack.
​
Desperately, Gareth grabbed the boy's head, fighting with all his might to prevent the erratic movement of his neck. However, the meant his limbs were free to move. One arm grabbed Gareth's thigh with an iron intensity, digging its nails deeply into his flesh. His tattered trousers offered little resistance.
​
"Listen! Listen to me, not the lost! Not the stone!" Gareth pleaded as he battled with the manic boy. At this point, though, it was hopeless. By the time someone was acting like this, stonerot had already delved deep into the soft flesh of the mind, hard and unyielding.
​
"I WON'T! SHE'S MINE! I PAID ALREADY, I PAID! I CAN GET MORE, PLEASE!" the boy sobbed.
​
Through the corner of his eye Gareth could make out two figures speeding down the tunnel towards him. Soon, two more pathmakers set about restraining the boy. In a matter of moments, the two new additions secured the arms and legs. Though the boys torso still convulsed violently, the immediate threat was over.
​
Now, a small group came into view. Three more figures rushed forward, though one made only a half hearted attempt at a jog. The piggish waddle of Grynden was unmistakable. Before Grynden could make it to the end of the path, the group had secured the flailed with ropes. Breathless, Gareth finally removed himself from the boy and lay gasping against the dirty stone.
​
The group got the boy to his feet. As they hauled him off down the tunnel, he continued his howling. Reliving the torment of souls long since bound to the rock. Past and present mired and bound into one seamless rush of experiences.
​
Grynden's slow trod finally reached Gareth.
​
"Pick yourself up. I'll give you three minutes on account of you keeping that stoneheaded sod from killing himself. Saved me a bit of.." Grynden's lips formed into disgusted sneer, "a bit of busy work. 'Ate filing paperwork every time a mutt dies."
​
Gareth gritted his teeth, and felt the vein which ran along his wrinked forehead pulsate. With a flash of rage, he pressed his hand into the earth and tried rapidly lifting himself - only to catch Grynden's thick leather boot smash against his lower back sending him breathlessly back into the ground. The portly man chortled, his acrid laugh filling the empty soundscape that moments ago had held the screams of a young boy as his very essence was torn like a loose thread on a sweater.
​
"Remember boy, three minutes. That counted, by the way. Two minutes now."
​
Grynden sauntered off as Gareth lay against the harsh ground, a hot tear of frustration meandering it's way down his face. From his vantage, he could only see the stone wall ahead. It gazed back at him, unrelenting. Waiting to speak its million past, and million truths. Until Gareth might find himself among them. |
[WP] A mentor, who is used to teaching poorly behaved, bratty and insecure teenagers how to be a proper hero, faces their biggest challenge yet. Teaching a mature, well-mannered and mentally stable teenager. | "I don't know what to do with her."
Another sip of stew passes my lips. Hot, comforting, reminding me of winter nights in the highlands, before the skies fell.
My wife nods, breaking a piece from the freshly baked bread. Unleavened, of course. An instructor's pay doesn't leave much in the budget for luxury. And my wife, well, she insists on working for free.
"The other kids--you know how they can be at that age."
She nods again, chewing.
"But it's not just that, the other instructors--Jayla, Marain, especially..." I trail off, look up from my meal "They're just as cruel."
Tara frowns at that, "Why? You keep telling me she's the most promising student since that Helena girl, poor thing. Why would they risk sabotaging that?"
"The same reason the kids do, I think. They look at Chana, they watch how she weaves spells, produces results far beyond her years, the questions she asks that *none of us* have answers for, and they are forced to confront their own limitations, their own weakness. Their fears..."
I trail off again, mind wandering back to the highlands, back to my old bedroom, my mother's screams piercing the smoke drenched air as the fire crept ever closer to my bed.
"Natla," my wife puts her hand on my arm from across the small wooden table, snapping me back to the present moment. Deep concern etched into her gaze as her hazel eyes meet mine, "It's okay."
I smile weakly, putting my hand over hers and nodding. She withdraws her touch and we both return to the meal.
Silence sits heavy between us.
"But it's not just that," I finally say, quieter than before, almost a whisper, "She *knows*, Tara. I don't know *how* she knows, but *she knows*."
Tara's hand-carved spoon stops halfway to her mouth.
"Has she told the others?"
"Of course not, I don't think they'd listen to her anyways."
Tara is quiet for a moment, I can literally *see* her thinking. Sparkling golden threads of magic flitting and flowing around her head as she pulls thoughts from places few of us have ever dared tread. I stare, awestruck as the day I'd first met her.
The lights fade away and she looks at me.
"Pull her from the Academy."
Confusion hits me hard in the gut, as I let my spoon drop into the bowl with a warm sploosh.
"Wait, what, but she's--"
"Have. Her. Pulled."
"But--"
"If you don't do it, I'll do it. But it'll raise eyebrows coming from the Council's High Priestess. Get Jayla or Marain to sign on," she takes another sip of stew, and another bite of bread, "doesn't matter which," she chews between words, her tone muddy with bread. She swallows, "you only need one, and from what you've told me, I think they'll be happy to go along with it."
"Tara, we *need* her. Three years, Tara. *Three years*."
My wife nods solemnly, "Natla, that's precisely *why* you need to pull her. The Academy is only going to slow her down. It's not the right structure."
"But what's the alternative?" exasperation foams within me, "We throw her to the wildlands and say 'good luck, don't die' and then just *hope for the best*?"
"Oh, my dearest Natla," My wife stares *into* me, her gaze cold as winter, determination flashing across her face as she smiles that devilish grin.
"No, Natla. Not the wildlands. I had in mind something far more dangerous."
A cold shiver runs down my spine as I ask a question whose answer I'm not sure I want. "What then?"
Wild, red threads of magic circle her eyes as she answers.
"Me." | #WalkMan & Dr. Doomsday
I stared at the unconscious man through the bars and super suppression field of his cell. He was the only occupant in the super powered wing of the holding cells at the Fortress of Doomitude, and nobody was even sure what his powers were. All we knew about the man was the name Kurt, his self proclaimed title of 'The Manager', and his affiliation with a shadowy organization called 'The Office'.
I crossed my metallic arms, securing them in place with a small magnet built in to the forearms. The unconscious man remained motionless.
How could an entire villainous organization be running in *MY* region without me knowing? If what he had boasted was true, then I had a severe gap in my intelligence network, maybe even a mole or traitor...
I heard footsteps approach me from behind. "Doc", a gruff voice called out in greeting.
"Avatar." I responded. "Or would you prefer to go back to your old name, Hadron?"
The burly ex-hero grunted. "Hadron." He said, as he ran a prosthetic hand over his bald head. "The kiddies tried to 'splain what an 'Avatar' was, turns out it was some fookin' cartoon." He had a bit of stubble poking through the areas that weren't claimed by male pattern baldness, but he had larger concerns than a haircut.
"Hows Steven doing?" I asked, still staring at the unconscious man in the cell.
Both Hadron and Steven had been captured during their last mission, and each had received several stab wounds. Hadron had taken the injuries better than the teenager.
"The lad's gonna be just peachy. WalkMan's still with 'em. That Stacey bloke too." Hadron said, flexing his robotic forearms.
"Stacy identifies as female, and you *will* respect that" I snapped, looking away from the prisoner for the first time. "I will not tolerate that kind of aggression between Doomsquad members."
Hadron held up his hands in mock surrender. "Didn' mean nuthin' by it, boss." He said. "Just not used to that kinda thing, roight?"
I grunted, and turned back to the man in the cell.
"We have a much larger problem, Hadron." I said.
"You got tha' roight" Hadron replied. "How'd we not know about this bloke? This whole 'office' thing?"
Hadron stroked his chin with one robotic hand, accidentally pinching the skin with a thumb joint. He didn't say anything as his blood began to slowly drip from the new wound.
"Prosthetics like ours take time to master." I said. "Perhaps I sent you into the field too early..."
"Oy, we'll have none of that now, yeah?" Hadron said. "I'm a bloody grown-up, I can handle me own self."
I declined to continue the line of conversation. Hadron was indeed a veteran super, and a strong willed Australian man on top of that. Nothing I could tell him would change his outlook.
Another set of footsteps approached from the hallway behind us. Hadron twisted to get a look at the new arrival.
"Oy, WalkMan." He called out. The hero said nothing in response.
"What's this guy's status?" WalkMan asked, taking his place at my right side.
I smirked, trying to hide it from my self-proclaimed nemesis. I had imagined this moment for so long, WalkMan at my right hand side, working on a case together.
"Same as we knew when we tranquilized him." I said. "Name's Kurt, calls himself 'The Manager', claims to be in a secret organization called 'The Office'. And he killed Fred."
WalkMan made a quiet grunting noise. "Fred wasn't in your Doomsquad for more than an hour, max. Yet you still mourn him."
"*EVERY* member of the Doomsquad is my responsibility." I snapped. "No matter how long or short their tenure, they're mine to protect."
WalkMan nodded. "Honorable."
"Indeed." I concurred.
"That is why I'm finally at peace with Steven working for you." WalkMan said, crossing his arms and staring at the man in the cell before us. "He's a good kid, mature for his age, well mannered, mentally stable... Just promise me you'll teach him right, ok?"
I grinned. "You know, WalkMan, you could teach him yourself. You could teach all of the supers here, make sure they understand their powers, use them safely to limit collateral damages..." I paused, gesturing to the man in the cell. "...And help us get to the bottom of this. If there truly is a 'The Office' hiding in plain sight, I'll need all the help I can get to take them down."
WalkMan sighed. "What if we find out that this 'Office' is less evil than your Doomsquad?" He asked.
I cackled. "WalkMan, after all this time, you still think of us as 'evil'?"
WalkMan remained quiet. The silence dragged on for an uncomfortably long time. Hadron shifted his weight restlessly, unsure if he should break the silence or not.
"I'll do it." WalkMan said at last.
I cackled like I had never cackled before. My entire body shook with laughter, and I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek.
"But if you try to harm me or Steven, I will end you." WalkMan said, in a voice as sharp as a professional chef's favorite knife. "If you try to trick me into breaking my morals, I will end you. If you-"
I cut off his self aggrandizing speech by holding up a small box. "Consider this a 'Welcome to the team' gift" I said, grinning so wide that it hurt.
WalkMan gingerly accepted the small box, and opened it without ceremony. Inside lay a robotic finger. Specifically, a right ring finger. The same one I had cut from WalkMan's hand.... twice.
He glanced from the finger to me, a look of concern growing on his face.
"It's not a trick, joke, ploy, scheme, conniving, or any variation of the sort." I said, rattling off the list of synonyms I had looked up earlier online. "It's a genuine prosthetic finger, with some beneficial features that compliment your powers."
WalkMan stared at the gift. Hadron coughed, growing more and more impatient with our conversation.
WalkMan lifted the mechanical digit with his in-tact hand, and placed it on the missing finger's stump. It attached itself flawlessly.
I stuck out my right hand, and cackled once more. "Welcome to the Doomsquad, WalkMan."
WalkMan returned the gesture. I felt his new finger move in synch with the real ones as he grasped my hand in a vice-like handshake.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more.
This is part of a series I'm working on, called 'Nemesis'. You can find all parts in order [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/315796163-nemesis) | |
[WP] A mentor, who is used to teaching poorly behaved, bratty and insecure teenagers how to be a proper hero, faces their biggest challenge yet. Teaching a mature, well-mannered and mentally stable teenager. | At first, the old hag was glad that, for the first time, her newest pupil would be a well mannered boy. He was young, so when she heard the news that a "kid" was coming, she immediately rolled her eyes and went to meditate. In all her years of life, she dealt with bratty kids, so she expected a twelve year old in his emo "I'm sad and evil took over this world" phase, or a "you're a stupid and ugly witch" kid.
The kid was seemingly a slow learner, and to make it more difficult, deaf, for what she had heard from his parents. The mentor didn't think it was a problem, everyone could learn, even if they were disabled. Some weeks before the kid arrived, the mentor tried her best to learn sign language, and being so devoted to her work, she mastered it two days before the kid arrived.
When the boy finally arrived, she was dumbfounded. The kid didn't even run around and touched her weapons, or made some unnecessary comment about her appearance. The kid only stood there, with his arms behind his back waiting for whatever she had to teach him.
In the first five days, the mentor kept her eyes on the kid for the entire day. She was 100% sure the kid would turn out to be a brat.
If he was taking too much time bathing, she would think he was destroying the bathroom. If he was eating slowly, she was sure he would throw up on her bed purposely. (true event, a kid did that once to her and it was worse than any villain could ever do.)
But then, she understood he was just quiet, and finally gave in. The kid still was the same, quiet. Being deaf, he only talked through sign language, since he never heard anything and never learned how to talk. Although, he deeply appreciated the mentor for learning sign language, he still didn't talk that much with her through it.
In trainings, he was the complete opposite of what people said about him. He was slow at the start, but with a bit of encouragement from the mentor, he learned surprisingly fast and was, most likely, the mentor's best student so far.
The kid learned everything so quickly, the mentor herself couldn't comprehend. The mentor thought it was weird to a kid learn so quick, she took years to master everything and the kid would take half the time the mentor took to master it all.
It was so difficult for her to understand, training the kid harder and harder everyday, but he never failed. She was making it difficult and difficult, and even more difficult every time they would train, but the kid never spoke agaisn't it, nor did he fail in any of the tests.
And the kid never did anything bad. He behaved like an angel. Every day. The mentor couldn't help but think this kid was sent by god himself for some kind of test, because she couldn't bring herself to believe someone could be that pure and angelic. Every day, even after she believed he was truly good, she would still keep her eyes on him, waiting for him to strike her with a baseball bat and laugh at her (also a true occurance, this lady has plenty of stories of these demonic creatures called pupils.)
But he never did. There were years of training coming for both of them, the mentor would still have to run a long way to truly understand the kid. Someday, she would learn how to teach children like him. She was glad he was the first well-behaved and quiet kid to train with her, that way, the mentor would be able to learn and grow with that new experience.
• I apologize for any mistakes, i'm not a native english speaker. | #WalkMan & Dr. Doomsday
I stared at the unconscious man through the bars and super suppression field of his cell. He was the only occupant in the super powered wing of the holding cells at the Fortress of Doomitude, and nobody was even sure what his powers were. All we knew about the man was the name Kurt, his self proclaimed title of 'The Manager', and his affiliation with a shadowy organization called 'The Office'.
I crossed my metallic arms, securing them in place with a small magnet built in to the forearms. The unconscious man remained motionless.
How could an entire villainous organization be running in *MY* region without me knowing? If what he had boasted was true, then I had a severe gap in my intelligence network, maybe even a mole or traitor...
I heard footsteps approach me from behind. "Doc", a gruff voice called out in greeting.
"Avatar." I responded. "Or would you prefer to go back to your old name, Hadron?"
The burly ex-hero grunted. "Hadron." He said, as he ran a prosthetic hand over his bald head. "The kiddies tried to 'splain what an 'Avatar' was, turns out it was some fookin' cartoon." He had a bit of stubble poking through the areas that weren't claimed by male pattern baldness, but he had larger concerns than a haircut.
"Hows Steven doing?" I asked, still staring at the unconscious man in the cell.
Both Hadron and Steven had been captured during their last mission, and each had received several stab wounds. Hadron had taken the injuries better than the teenager.
"The lad's gonna be just peachy. WalkMan's still with 'em. That Stacey bloke too." Hadron said, flexing his robotic forearms.
"Stacy identifies as female, and you *will* respect that" I snapped, looking away from the prisoner for the first time. "I will not tolerate that kind of aggression between Doomsquad members."
Hadron held up his hands in mock surrender. "Didn' mean nuthin' by it, boss." He said. "Just not used to that kinda thing, roight?"
I grunted, and turned back to the man in the cell.
"We have a much larger problem, Hadron." I said.
"You got tha' roight" Hadron replied. "How'd we not know about this bloke? This whole 'office' thing?"
Hadron stroked his chin with one robotic hand, accidentally pinching the skin with a thumb joint. He didn't say anything as his blood began to slowly drip from the new wound.
"Prosthetics like ours take time to master." I said. "Perhaps I sent you into the field too early..."
"Oy, we'll have none of that now, yeah?" Hadron said. "I'm a bloody grown-up, I can handle me own self."
I declined to continue the line of conversation. Hadron was indeed a veteran super, and a strong willed Australian man on top of that. Nothing I could tell him would change his outlook.
Another set of footsteps approached from the hallway behind us. Hadron twisted to get a look at the new arrival.
"Oy, WalkMan." He called out. The hero said nothing in response.
"What's this guy's status?" WalkMan asked, taking his place at my right side.
I smirked, trying to hide it from my self-proclaimed nemesis. I had imagined this moment for so long, WalkMan at my right hand side, working on a case together.
"Same as we knew when we tranquilized him." I said. "Name's Kurt, calls himself 'The Manager', claims to be in a secret organization called 'The Office'. And he killed Fred."
WalkMan made a quiet grunting noise. "Fred wasn't in your Doomsquad for more than an hour, max. Yet you still mourn him."
"*EVERY* member of the Doomsquad is my responsibility." I snapped. "No matter how long or short their tenure, they're mine to protect."
WalkMan nodded. "Honorable."
"Indeed." I concurred.
"That is why I'm finally at peace with Steven working for you." WalkMan said, crossing his arms and staring at the man in the cell before us. "He's a good kid, mature for his age, well mannered, mentally stable... Just promise me you'll teach him right, ok?"
I grinned. "You know, WalkMan, you could teach him yourself. You could teach all of the supers here, make sure they understand their powers, use them safely to limit collateral damages..." I paused, gesturing to the man in the cell. "...And help us get to the bottom of this. If there truly is a 'The Office' hiding in plain sight, I'll need all the help I can get to take them down."
WalkMan sighed. "What if we find out that this 'Office' is less evil than your Doomsquad?" He asked.
I cackled. "WalkMan, after all this time, you still think of us as 'evil'?"
WalkMan remained quiet. The silence dragged on for an uncomfortably long time. Hadron shifted his weight restlessly, unsure if he should break the silence or not.
"I'll do it." WalkMan said at last.
I cackled like I had never cackled before. My entire body shook with laughter, and I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek.
"But if you try to harm me or Steven, I will end you." WalkMan said, in a voice as sharp as a professional chef's favorite knife. "If you try to trick me into breaking my morals, I will end you. If you-"
I cut off his self aggrandizing speech by holding up a small box. "Consider this a 'Welcome to the team' gift" I said, grinning so wide that it hurt.
WalkMan gingerly accepted the small box, and opened it without ceremony. Inside lay a robotic finger. Specifically, a right ring finger. The same one I had cut from WalkMan's hand.... twice.
He glanced from the finger to me, a look of concern growing on his face.
"It's not a trick, joke, ploy, scheme, conniving, or any variation of the sort." I said, rattling off the list of synonyms I had looked up earlier online. "It's a genuine prosthetic finger, with some beneficial features that compliment your powers."
WalkMan stared at the gift. Hadron coughed, growing more and more impatient with our conversation.
WalkMan lifted the mechanical digit with his in-tact hand, and placed it on the missing finger's stump. It attached itself flawlessly.
I stuck out my right hand, and cackled once more. "Welcome to the Doomsquad, WalkMan."
WalkMan returned the gesture. I felt his new finger move in synch with the real ones as he grasped my hand in a vice-like handshake.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more.
This is part of a series I'm working on, called 'Nemesis'. You can find all parts in order [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/315796163-nemesis) | |
[WP] A mentor, who is used to teaching poorly behaved, bratty and insecure teenagers how to be a proper hero, faces their biggest challenge yet. Teaching a mature, well-mannered and mentally stable teenager. | “Put your back into it, you maggot!” Sergeant Brisker shouted at the darkly dressed hero-in-training.
“It’s . . . heavy,” the teen said, struggling to lift the truck.
“Is that what you told your mother when she was pinned underneath one last year?”
The teen grit her teeth. “No.”
“What DID you tell her?”
“I was going to save her.”
“Then you did,” Brisker nodded. “What else?”
The truck’s tires rounded out as it began to lift from the ground. “That I was going to avenge my father.”
“Well, you’re not doing so hot on that one, are you? Can’t even lift a truck and you’re gonna fight Helmsplitter? He *throws* trucks—as you and your mom are familiar. So unless you’re planning to avenge your daddy with a strongly worded letter, I suggest you *put your back into it*!”
The girl heaved and the truck complied. It stood vertically for a moment, then fell onto its back. Brisker patted her on the shoulder. “Keep it up. I want that truck on its wheels, then its back, then back on its wheels before you leave.”
She nodded and Brisker walked to the next hero-to-be. A newcomer. He checked his notes. “Well, I’ll be damned, you’ve already got a name. Wonderbread, is that some kind of joke?”
“I believe so, sir. My friends suggested it on account of my personality, sir.”
Brisker looked the boy over. He was dressed for the gym, practical, not an ounce of style. He stood at attention and called him ‘sir’. All quite unorthodox.
“All right. It also says you’re a class 7 brawler, so why don’t we get this over with. Boxing ring or wrestling mat?”
“Whatever you think will be my most effective training grounds, sir.”
“Training?” Brisker chuffed. “I meant for our fight.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“I’m a class 5 brawler. You think you can learn something from someone that much weaker than you?”
“You’re the instructor, sir. I believe I could learn a lot from you.”
“Damnit, you could! But . . .” Brisker couldn’t believe this kid. Usually when someone rolled in with his kind of power he tried to opt out of training, or just start fighting the other heroes to prove themselves. Brisker usually had to kick their ass in the ring to remind them that raw power didn’t always guarantee victory.
“Fine, we’ll skip the fight.” Brisker flipped through his notes, but came upon blank paper almost immediately. “Where’s the rest?”
“The rest of what, sir?”
“Your backstory! Your tragic past, the villains that wronged you, the relatives you’ve lost! There’s usually pages of this stuff. What’s this about community service? Is that for a crime?”
“No, sir. Voluntary.”
“Christ.” Brisker flipped his notebook shut. “How am I supposed to motivate you? Isn’t there anyone you want dead? Some great ideal you want to impress upon the world? Anything?”
“I find progression to be its own reward, sir.”
“All right, I want you out of my sight. Just . . . go do squats until you resent me. Try to form an attachment to another trainee, maybe you can join up with their cause or something. I’ll check on you later.”
“Yes, sir.” Wonderbread lightly jogged to a corner of the gym, waving at the other trainees and hopping over puddles of sweat and tears.
“One of a kind,” Brisker said to himself, shaking his head. “Well, it's been too long since we had a freak in here anyway.” Maybe he’d get lucky and the kid would unnerve some of the trainees into working harder.
Or, hell, maybe he’d rub off on a few of them. | #WalkMan & Dr. Doomsday
I stared at the unconscious man through the bars and super suppression field of his cell. He was the only occupant in the super powered wing of the holding cells at the Fortress of Doomitude, and nobody was even sure what his powers were. All we knew about the man was the name Kurt, his self proclaimed title of 'The Manager', and his affiliation with a shadowy organization called 'The Office'.
I crossed my metallic arms, securing them in place with a small magnet built in to the forearms. The unconscious man remained motionless.
How could an entire villainous organization be running in *MY* region without me knowing? If what he had boasted was true, then I had a severe gap in my intelligence network, maybe even a mole or traitor...
I heard footsteps approach me from behind. "Doc", a gruff voice called out in greeting.
"Avatar." I responded. "Or would you prefer to go back to your old name, Hadron?"
The burly ex-hero grunted. "Hadron." He said, as he ran a prosthetic hand over his bald head. "The kiddies tried to 'splain what an 'Avatar' was, turns out it was some fookin' cartoon." He had a bit of stubble poking through the areas that weren't claimed by male pattern baldness, but he had larger concerns than a haircut.
"Hows Steven doing?" I asked, still staring at the unconscious man in the cell.
Both Hadron and Steven had been captured during their last mission, and each had received several stab wounds. Hadron had taken the injuries better than the teenager.
"The lad's gonna be just peachy. WalkMan's still with 'em. That Stacey bloke too." Hadron said, flexing his robotic forearms.
"Stacy identifies as female, and you *will* respect that" I snapped, looking away from the prisoner for the first time. "I will not tolerate that kind of aggression between Doomsquad members."
Hadron held up his hands in mock surrender. "Didn' mean nuthin' by it, boss." He said. "Just not used to that kinda thing, roight?"
I grunted, and turned back to the man in the cell.
"We have a much larger problem, Hadron." I said.
"You got tha' roight" Hadron replied. "How'd we not know about this bloke? This whole 'office' thing?"
Hadron stroked his chin with one robotic hand, accidentally pinching the skin with a thumb joint. He didn't say anything as his blood began to slowly drip from the new wound.
"Prosthetics like ours take time to master." I said. "Perhaps I sent you into the field too early..."
"Oy, we'll have none of that now, yeah?" Hadron said. "I'm a bloody grown-up, I can handle me own self."
I declined to continue the line of conversation. Hadron was indeed a veteran super, and a strong willed Australian man on top of that. Nothing I could tell him would change his outlook.
Another set of footsteps approached from the hallway behind us. Hadron twisted to get a look at the new arrival.
"Oy, WalkMan." He called out. The hero said nothing in response.
"What's this guy's status?" WalkMan asked, taking his place at my right side.
I smirked, trying to hide it from my self-proclaimed nemesis. I had imagined this moment for so long, WalkMan at my right hand side, working on a case together.
"Same as we knew when we tranquilized him." I said. "Name's Kurt, calls himself 'The Manager', claims to be in a secret organization called 'The Office'. And he killed Fred."
WalkMan made a quiet grunting noise. "Fred wasn't in your Doomsquad for more than an hour, max. Yet you still mourn him."
"*EVERY* member of the Doomsquad is my responsibility." I snapped. "No matter how long or short their tenure, they're mine to protect."
WalkMan nodded. "Honorable."
"Indeed." I concurred.
"That is why I'm finally at peace with Steven working for you." WalkMan said, crossing his arms and staring at the man in the cell before us. "He's a good kid, mature for his age, well mannered, mentally stable... Just promise me you'll teach him right, ok?"
I grinned. "You know, WalkMan, you could teach him yourself. You could teach all of the supers here, make sure they understand their powers, use them safely to limit collateral damages..." I paused, gesturing to the man in the cell. "...And help us get to the bottom of this. If there truly is a 'The Office' hiding in plain sight, I'll need all the help I can get to take them down."
WalkMan sighed. "What if we find out that this 'Office' is less evil than your Doomsquad?" He asked.
I cackled. "WalkMan, after all this time, you still think of us as 'evil'?"
WalkMan remained quiet. The silence dragged on for an uncomfortably long time. Hadron shifted his weight restlessly, unsure if he should break the silence or not.
"I'll do it." WalkMan said at last.
I cackled like I had never cackled before. My entire body shook with laughter, and I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek.
"But if you try to harm me or Steven, I will end you." WalkMan said, in a voice as sharp as a professional chef's favorite knife. "If you try to trick me into breaking my morals, I will end you. If you-"
I cut off his self aggrandizing speech by holding up a small box. "Consider this a 'Welcome to the team' gift" I said, grinning so wide that it hurt.
WalkMan gingerly accepted the small box, and opened it without ceremony. Inside lay a robotic finger. Specifically, a right ring finger. The same one I had cut from WalkMan's hand.... twice.
He glanced from the finger to me, a look of concern growing on his face.
"It's not a trick, joke, ploy, scheme, conniving, or any variation of the sort." I said, rattling off the list of synonyms I had looked up earlier online. "It's a genuine prosthetic finger, with some beneficial features that compliment your powers."
WalkMan stared at the gift. Hadron coughed, growing more and more impatient with our conversation.
WalkMan lifted the mechanical digit with his in-tact hand, and placed it on the missing finger's stump. It attached itself flawlessly.
I stuck out my right hand, and cackled once more. "Welcome to the Doomsquad, WalkMan."
WalkMan returned the gesture. I felt his new finger move in synch with the real ones as he grasped my hand in a vice-like handshake.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more.
This is part of a series I'm working on, called 'Nemesis'. You can find all parts in order [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/315796163-nemesis) | |
[WP] A mentor, who is used to teaching poorly behaved, bratty and insecure teenagers how to be a proper hero, faces their biggest challenge yet. Teaching a mature, well-mannered and mentally stable teenager. | "The world is a cruel, unfair place. My job is to make you even *more* cruel and unfair, so that you can fight back the terrors that haunt us. Be warned, however," I took off my glass eye for dramatic effect. "What you've lost can never be recovered."
Most of the squires either nodded along with determination or remained unimpressed, too jaded by their trauma to care. They looked like a good batch of recruits. I could work with this.
One of them, though, slowly raised his hand, hoping to ask a question.
Everyone widened their eyes and took a step away from the boy, not willing to associate with him.
The squire had a good build for a warrior, but his eyes betrayed a sense of naïveté that was rare among recruits. By my estimation, people like him never lasted more than a week.
I frowned. "What?"
"Should you really be doing that with your eye, sir? Can't it get infected?"
The other recruits started laughing.
Great. A comedian. There's always one of them in the class.
I walked up to him, looming over his head. "You think my missing eye is funny?"
"N-no! Never!"
"Why did you joke about it, then?"
"I didn't! It was a genuine concern!"
"And why, pray tell, would you be worried about me?"
The squire looked away. "Well, uhh... Aren't we supposed to protect people?"
I arched an eyebrow.
The squire flinched.
I sighed. "Get this through your head, you aren't here to save people. Nobody can truly be saved. Your job is to fight monsters. That's it. Leave the self-righteous nonsense for the fairytales. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
"What's your name, son?"
The squire smiled. "It's-"
I smacked him across the face. "Wrong! You're squire thirty-seven! Keep that in mind next time you question me!"
"Yes, sir!"
I paused. The squire didn't react how I expected. They usually scowled, suppressing the urge to fight back, or straight up tried to attack me. This one simply took it. His lip was busted open but his face showed no resentment. I carried on with my introductory speech, never taking my eye off Thirty-Seven. There was something strange about him.
As the first month went by, the recruits started passing the obstacle course with relative ease. That didn't usually happen. Most classes took an entire year to learn it, with plenty of injuries along the way. This year, there hadn't even been a broken bone. Somehow, they quickly learned the location of all the paralysis traps and memorized the optimal route around the flame labyrinth.
I couldn't believe it. They had to be cheating somehow, but no, after monitoring them closely, I realized they were all doing it legitimately. It wasn't until later that I discovered the truth.
Thirty-Seven had organized the squires and encouraged them to share their experiences. As a group, they easily identified all the pitfalls and illusory paths, pooling their knowledge together so that everyone could succeed.
I wanted to snap his neck. The obstacle course was supposed to be a filter. An individual challenge that separated the weak from the strong. Now we had more recruits than normal at this time of the year. I never had to worry about this before.
The squires, being angry teenagers, were always eager to compete with each other. This class was different, and I didn't like it. If an unworthy person were to graduate, they could easily cause more trouble than they're worth.
My solution was simple. Not only did I rearrange the obstacle course, I also made an example of Thirty-Seven by giving him a cursed amulet. It made him five times heavier, barely allowing him to stand straight.
"If you don't pass the obstacle course while wearing that," I said, "you will automatically fail out of the class."
"Y-yes, sir!" he said, falling on his face.
"Furthermore," I turned to the other recruits, "if he actually succeeds, all of *you* will fail."
The squires grew tense.
I smiled. That should keep them in check. Nobody would be willing to help him now. They had all suffered great loss and wanted nothing more than to avenge their families. Thirty-Seven wasn't more important than that.
The next half of the year went by without anything noteworthy occurring. Usually, at this point, the squires approached me with their troubles. It was my favorite part of the process, since I got to bond with the students a little. They saw me as a parental figure, given the fact that they were orphans, and they needed guidance to navigate their inner turmoil.
That didn't happen this time.
I felt rather spurned by them. Nobody entered my office, crying about their dead parents or asking for help with their anger.
And, of course, it was all Thirty-Seven's fault.
Despite the fact that his success would mean their failure, the other squires still saw him as a friend and went to *him* with their troubles; not me. Thirty-Seven was all too happy to listen. I couldn't exactly punish that so I had to contain my rage behind doors. Why were they drawn to him?
I'd never felt more inadequate as a mentor. Thirty-Seven was supposed to have given up by now, but he still tried the obstacle course every day, fighting against the cursed amulet with all his strength. He wasn't close to finishing it, but he seemed to go a little further every day. I had to approach him one day and say:
"Pathetic. At some point, you have to realize you can't avenge your parents. Give up and live a peaceful life. It's what they would've wanted."
Thirty-Seven fell on his knees, panting. The amulet was crushing him. "My... parents... are... alive."
"Your village, then."
"Nope. It's still... standing."
I squinted. "Your siblings?"
Thirty-Seven shook his head. "They're fine."
"Then why the fuck are you here?"
Thirty-Seven raised his gaze with resolve. "To protect them."
"That's not a good excuse. This profession eats people alive. Only those with nothing to lose should walk the path of a hero."
"No!" shouted Thirty-Seven. "Since when does a person need an excuse to do the right thing?"
I needed to hide my shock. The squire's determination felt completely foreign to me. He seemed to overcome the amulet's curse for a brief second. I had never seen something quite like this. It didn't matter, though. Thirty-Seven would be out of my hair eventually.
After a year had passed, their graduation day was on the horizon. Thirty-Seven never gave up. He was incredibly muscular now due to the amulet, but still hadn't passed the obstacle course. It appeared he was going to fail.
To my surprise, on the last day before the deadline, every squire showed up to the obstacle course and cheered on Thirty-Seven.
I didn't understand what possessed them. It didn't make any sense. Didn't they want to graduate?
Thirty-Seven made it to the final part of the obstacle course, rolling around the swinging guillotines and jumping over the pits with grace.
I clenched my fist. He was going to make it.
Then he fell on his face, like usual.
I started laughing. Very few things gave me as much joy as seeing him fail.
And yet, everyone screamed loudly in order to encourage him.
I shook my head. How cruel. They were just indulging their friend in a delusion.
Thirty-Seven, however, let out a guttural shout and rose to his feet yet again, finishing the test with a mighty leap.
The squires went quiet, then exploded with applause.
I facepalmed. An entire class of squires had just flunked the hero course.
After they finished celebrating, Thirty-Seven approached me and said:
"Thank you, sir! I couldn't have grown this strong without you!"
"Sure..." I wanted to die. "Just... leave me alone."
Thirty-Seven shrugged and went back to his friends.
I couldn't fail this entire class. They were some of the finest recruits I'd ever taught. Keeping them from being knights would be a crime against humanity. Together, they could take on any monster. And a big part of that was because of Thirty-Seven's leadership. As I saw them raising him over their shoulders, I couldn't help but feel like I had been wrong all this time.
Maybe, the key to fighting this world wasn't more cruelty. Maybe, just maybe, the answer was kindness all along.
------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | #WalkMan & Dr. Doomsday
I stared at the unconscious man through the bars and super suppression field of his cell. He was the only occupant in the super powered wing of the holding cells at the Fortress of Doomitude, and nobody was even sure what his powers were. All we knew about the man was the name Kurt, his self proclaimed title of 'The Manager', and his affiliation with a shadowy organization called 'The Office'.
I crossed my metallic arms, securing them in place with a small magnet built in to the forearms. The unconscious man remained motionless.
How could an entire villainous organization be running in *MY* region without me knowing? If what he had boasted was true, then I had a severe gap in my intelligence network, maybe even a mole or traitor...
I heard footsteps approach me from behind. "Doc", a gruff voice called out in greeting.
"Avatar." I responded. "Or would you prefer to go back to your old name, Hadron?"
The burly ex-hero grunted. "Hadron." He said, as he ran a prosthetic hand over his bald head. "The kiddies tried to 'splain what an 'Avatar' was, turns out it was some fookin' cartoon." He had a bit of stubble poking through the areas that weren't claimed by male pattern baldness, but he had larger concerns than a haircut.
"Hows Steven doing?" I asked, still staring at the unconscious man in the cell.
Both Hadron and Steven had been captured during their last mission, and each had received several stab wounds. Hadron had taken the injuries better than the teenager.
"The lad's gonna be just peachy. WalkMan's still with 'em. That Stacey bloke too." Hadron said, flexing his robotic forearms.
"Stacy identifies as female, and you *will* respect that" I snapped, looking away from the prisoner for the first time. "I will not tolerate that kind of aggression between Doomsquad members."
Hadron held up his hands in mock surrender. "Didn' mean nuthin' by it, boss." He said. "Just not used to that kinda thing, roight?"
I grunted, and turned back to the man in the cell.
"We have a much larger problem, Hadron." I said.
"You got tha' roight" Hadron replied. "How'd we not know about this bloke? This whole 'office' thing?"
Hadron stroked his chin with one robotic hand, accidentally pinching the skin with a thumb joint. He didn't say anything as his blood began to slowly drip from the new wound.
"Prosthetics like ours take time to master." I said. "Perhaps I sent you into the field too early..."
"Oy, we'll have none of that now, yeah?" Hadron said. "I'm a bloody grown-up, I can handle me own self."
I declined to continue the line of conversation. Hadron was indeed a veteran super, and a strong willed Australian man on top of that. Nothing I could tell him would change his outlook.
Another set of footsteps approached from the hallway behind us. Hadron twisted to get a look at the new arrival.
"Oy, WalkMan." He called out. The hero said nothing in response.
"What's this guy's status?" WalkMan asked, taking his place at my right side.
I smirked, trying to hide it from my self-proclaimed nemesis. I had imagined this moment for so long, WalkMan at my right hand side, working on a case together.
"Same as we knew when we tranquilized him." I said. "Name's Kurt, calls himself 'The Manager', claims to be in a secret organization called 'The Office'. And he killed Fred."
WalkMan made a quiet grunting noise. "Fred wasn't in your Doomsquad for more than an hour, max. Yet you still mourn him."
"*EVERY* member of the Doomsquad is my responsibility." I snapped. "No matter how long or short their tenure, they're mine to protect."
WalkMan nodded. "Honorable."
"Indeed." I concurred.
"That is why I'm finally at peace with Steven working for you." WalkMan said, crossing his arms and staring at the man in the cell before us. "He's a good kid, mature for his age, well mannered, mentally stable... Just promise me you'll teach him right, ok?"
I grinned. "You know, WalkMan, you could teach him yourself. You could teach all of the supers here, make sure they understand their powers, use them safely to limit collateral damages..." I paused, gesturing to the man in the cell. "...And help us get to the bottom of this. If there truly is a 'The Office' hiding in plain sight, I'll need all the help I can get to take them down."
WalkMan sighed. "What if we find out that this 'Office' is less evil than your Doomsquad?" He asked.
I cackled. "WalkMan, after all this time, you still think of us as 'evil'?"
WalkMan remained quiet. The silence dragged on for an uncomfortably long time. Hadron shifted his weight restlessly, unsure if he should break the silence or not.
"I'll do it." WalkMan said at last.
I cackled like I had never cackled before. My entire body shook with laughter, and I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek.
"But if you try to harm me or Steven, I will end you." WalkMan said, in a voice as sharp as a professional chef's favorite knife. "If you try to trick me into breaking my morals, I will end you. If you-"
I cut off his self aggrandizing speech by holding up a small box. "Consider this a 'Welcome to the team' gift" I said, grinning so wide that it hurt.
WalkMan gingerly accepted the small box, and opened it without ceremony. Inside lay a robotic finger. Specifically, a right ring finger. The same one I had cut from WalkMan's hand.... twice.
He glanced from the finger to me, a look of concern growing on his face.
"It's not a trick, joke, ploy, scheme, conniving, or any variation of the sort." I said, rattling off the list of synonyms I had looked up earlier online. "It's a genuine prosthetic finger, with some beneficial features that compliment your powers."
WalkMan stared at the gift. Hadron coughed, growing more and more impatient with our conversation.
WalkMan lifted the mechanical digit with his in-tact hand, and placed it on the missing finger's stump. It attached itself flawlessly.
I stuck out my right hand, and cackled once more. "Welcome to the Doomsquad, WalkMan."
WalkMan returned the gesture. I felt his new finger move in synch with the real ones as he grasped my hand in a vice-like handshake.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more.
This is part of a series I'm working on, called 'Nemesis'. You can find all parts in order [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/315796163-nemesis) | |
[WP] A mentor, who is used to teaching poorly behaved, bratty and insecure teenagers how to be a proper hero, faces their biggest challenge yet. Teaching a mature, well-mannered and mentally stable teenager. | “Put your back into it, you maggot!” Sergeant Brisker shouted at the darkly dressed hero-in-training.
“It’s . . . heavy,” the teen said, struggling to lift the truck.
“Is that what you told your mother when she was pinned underneath one last year?”
The teen grit her teeth. “No.”
“What DID you tell her?”
“I was going to save her.”
“Then you did,” Brisker nodded. “What else?”
The truck’s tires rounded out as it began to lift from the ground. “That I was going to avenge my father.”
“Well, you’re not doing so hot on that one, are you? Can’t even lift a truck and you’re gonna fight Helmsplitter? He *throws* trucks—as you and your mom are familiar. So unless you’re planning to avenge your daddy with a strongly worded letter, I suggest you *put your back into it*!”
The girl heaved and the truck complied. It stood vertically for a moment, then fell onto its back. Brisker patted her on the shoulder. “Keep it up. I want that truck on its wheels, then its back, then back on its wheels before you leave.”
She nodded and Brisker walked to the next hero-to-be. A newcomer. He checked his notes. “Well, I’ll be damned, you’ve already got a name. Wonderbread, is that some kind of joke?”
“I believe so, sir. My friends suggested it on account of my personality, sir.”
Brisker looked the boy over. He was dressed for the gym, practical, not an ounce of style. He stood at attention and called him ‘sir’. All quite unorthodox.
“All right. It also says you’re a class 7 brawler, so why don’t we get this over with. Boxing ring or wrestling mat?”
“Whatever you think will be my most effective training grounds, sir.”
“Training?” Brisker chuffed. “I meant for our fight.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“I’m a class 5 brawler. You think you can learn something from someone that much weaker than you?”
“You’re the instructor, sir. I believe I could learn a lot from you.”
“Damnit, you could! But . . .” Brisker couldn’t believe this kid. Usually when someone rolled in with his kind of power he tried to opt out of training, or just start fighting the other heroes to prove themselves. Brisker usually had to kick their ass in the ring to remind them that raw power didn’t always guarantee victory.
“Fine, we’ll skip the fight.” Brisker flipped through his notes, but came upon blank paper almost immediately. “Where’s the rest?”
“The rest of what, sir?”
“Your backstory! Your tragic past, the villains that wronged you, the relatives you’ve lost! There’s usually pages of this stuff. What’s this about community service? Is that for a crime?”
“No, sir. Voluntary.”
“Christ.” Brisker flipped his notebook shut. “How am I supposed to motivate you? Isn’t there anyone you want dead? Some great ideal you want to impress upon the world? Anything?”
“I find progression to be its own reward, sir.”
“All right, I want you out of my sight. Just . . . go do squats until you resent me. Try to form an attachment to another trainee, maybe you can join up with their cause or something. I’ll check on you later.”
“Yes, sir.” Wonderbread lightly jogged to a corner of the gym, waving at the other trainees and hopping over puddles of sweat and tears.
“One of a kind,” Brisker said to himself, shaking his head. “Well, it's been too long since we had a freak in here anyway.” Maybe he’d get lucky and the kid would unnerve some of the trainees into working harder.
Or, hell, maybe he’d rub off on a few of them. | # Soulmage
**"The first thing you have to understand about magic is that it isn't all flashy,"** Jiaola said. "Sure, some mages might be able to blow up buildings or tear rifts between worlds, but magic is more than that."
"I know, Jiaola," I whispered. I took a sip from my cup, letting the savory drink warm my throat. The small, rented room in the attic of an inn wasn't quite home, but... home wasn't really somewhere I wanted to be reminded of right now, anyway.
"...right. Sorry." Jiaola scratched his head awkwardly. "Most of the time, when the odd kid came over to learn more about magic, it was some rebel who thought they'd learn how to bully people better. Old habits die hard."
"Yeah, well, so did Iola after I shrank him to death." I met Jiaola's eyes. "I'm not here to learn how to kill people better, Jiaola. I'm done with fighting."
Jiaola hesitated. "I... oh. I'm sorry. I just assumed that, after everything, you'd... want to learn to defend yourself. For the next time."
I shook my head. "What next time, Jiaola? I killed Iola because he was fucking insane, and he was too strong to stop in any other way. But now I'm safe. I'm away from the war. I don't want to be a soldier."
"Then what do you want to be?"
I spread my arms out in a helpless shrug. "That's why I'm here, Jiaola. I *know* that magic is more than violence. But I... I don't know what else it is. I just want to learn how to be... something new."
And Jiaola smiled.
"You're a lot wiser than I was at your age," Jiaola said.
I waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah, insert self-deprecating comment here. You're a magic carpenter—I'm sure you know a thing or two about using magic to help people, instead of hurt them."
"I do," Jiaola said, holding out a hand. "And if I'm right, then so do you."
I blinked. "I... what?"
"Do you want me to show you how?"
I nodded.
"Then take my hand," Jiaola said, "and let's begin."
A.N.
This story is set in the world of Soulmage. If you want to read the full story, check it out [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) | |
[WP] A mentor, who is used to teaching poorly behaved, bratty and insecure teenagers how to be a proper hero, faces their biggest challenge yet. Teaching a mature, well-mannered and mentally stable teenager. | "The world is a cruel, unfair place. My job is to make you even *more* cruel and unfair, so that you can fight back the terrors that haunt us. Be warned, however," I took off my glass eye for dramatic effect. "What you've lost can never be recovered."
Most of the squires either nodded along with determination or remained unimpressed, too jaded by their trauma to care. They looked like a good batch of recruits. I could work with this.
One of them, though, slowly raised his hand, hoping to ask a question.
Everyone widened their eyes and took a step away from the boy, not willing to associate with him.
The squire had a good build for a warrior, but his eyes betrayed a sense of naïveté that was rare among recruits. By my estimation, people like him never lasted more than a week.
I frowned. "What?"
"Should you really be doing that with your eye, sir? Can't it get infected?"
The other recruits started laughing.
Great. A comedian. There's always one of them in the class.
I walked up to him, looming over his head. "You think my missing eye is funny?"
"N-no! Never!"
"Why did you joke about it, then?"
"I didn't! It was a genuine concern!"
"And why, pray tell, would you be worried about me?"
The squire looked away. "Well, uhh... Aren't we supposed to protect people?"
I arched an eyebrow.
The squire flinched.
I sighed. "Get this through your head, you aren't here to save people. Nobody can truly be saved. Your job is to fight monsters. That's it. Leave the self-righteous nonsense for the fairytales. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
"What's your name, son?"
The squire smiled. "It's-"
I smacked him across the face. "Wrong! You're squire thirty-seven! Keep that in mind next time you question me!"
"Yes, sir!"
I paused. The squire didn't react how I expected. They usually scowled, suppressing the urge to fight back, or straight up tried to attack me. This one simply took it. His lip was busted open but his face showed no resentment. I carried on with my introductory speech, never taking my eye off Thirty-Seven. There was something strange about him.
As the first month went by, the recruits started passing the obstacle course with relative ease. That didn't usually happen. Most classes took an entire year to learn it, with plenty of injuries along the way. This year, there hadn't even been a broken bone. Somehow, they quickly learned the location of all the paralysis traps and memorized the optimal route around the flame labyrinth.
I couldn't believe it. They had to be cheating somehow, but no, after monitoring them closely, I realized they were all doing it legitimately. It wasn't until later that I discovered the truth.
Thirty-Seven had organized the squires and encouraged them to share their experiences. As a group, they easily identified all the pitfalls and illusory paths, pooling their knowledge together so that everyone could succeed.
I wanted to snap his neck. The obstacle course was supposed to be a filter. An individual challenge that separated the weak from the strong. Now we had more recruits than normal at this time of the year. I never had to worry about this before.
The squires, being angry teenagers, were always eager to compete with each other. This class was different, and I didn't like it. If an unworthy person were to graduate, they could easily cause more trouble than they're worth.
My solution was simple. Not only did I rearrange the obstacle course, I also made an example of Thirty-Seven by giving him a cursed amulet. It made him five times heavier, barely allowing him to stand straight.
"If you don't pass the obstacle course while wearing that," I said, "you will automatically fail out of the class."
"Y-yes, sir!" he said, falling on his face.
"Furthermore," I turned to the other recruits, "if he actually succeeds, all of *you* will fail."
The squires grew tense.
I smiled. That should keep them in check. Nobody would be willing to help him now. They had all suffered great loss and wanted nothing more than to avenge their families. Thirty-Seven wasn't more important than that.
The next half of the year went by without anything noteworthy occurring. Usually, at this point, the squires approached me with their troubles. It was my favorite part of the process, since I got to bond with the students a little. They saw me as a parental figure, given the fact that they were orphans, and they needed guidance to navigate their inner turmoil.
That didn't happen this time.
I felt rather spurned by them. Nobody entered my office, crying about their dead parents or asking for help with their anger.
And, of course, it was all Thirty-Seven's fault.
Despite the fact that his success would mean their failure, the other squires still saw him as a friend and went to *him* with their troubles; not me. Thirty-Seven was all too happy to listen. I couldn't exactly punish that so I had to contain my rage behind doors. Why were they drawn to him?
I'd never felt more inadequate as a mentor. Thirty-Seven was supposed to have given up by now, but he still tried the obstacle course every day, fighting against the cursed amulet with all his strength. He wasn't close to finishing it, but he seemed to go a little further every day. I had to approach him one day and say:
"Pathetic. At some point, you have to realize you can't avenge your parents. Give up and live a peaceful life. It's what they would've wanted."
Thirty-Seven fell on his knees, panting. The amulet was crushing him. "My... parents... are... alive."
"Your village, then."
"Nope. It's still... standing."
I squinted. "Your siblings?"
Thirty-Seven shook his head. "They're fine."
"Then why the fuck are you here?"
Thirty-Seven raised his gaze with resolve. "To protect them."
"That's not a good excuse. This profession eats people alive. Only those with nothing to lose should walk the path of a hero."
"No!" shouted Thirty-Seven. "Since when does a person need an excuse to do the right thing?"
I needed to hide my shock. The squire's determination felt completely foreign to me. He seemed to overcome the amulet's curse for a brief second. I had never seen something quite like this. It didn't matter, though. Thirty-Seven would be out of my hair eventually.
After a year had passed, their graduation day was on the horizon. Thirty-Seven never gave up. He was incredibly muscular now due to the amulet, but still hadn't passed the obstacle course. It appeared he was going to fail.
To my surprise, on the last day before the deadline, every squire showed up to the obstacle course and cheered on Thirty-Seven.
I didn't understand what possessed them. It didn't make any sense. Didn't they want to graduate?
Thirty-Seven made it to the final part of the obstacle course, rolling around the swinging guillotines and jumping over the pits with grace.
I clenched my fist. He was going to make it.
Then he fell on his face, like usual.
I started laughing. Very few things gave me as much joy as seeing him fail.
And yet, everyone screamed loudly in order to encourage him.
I shook my head. How cruel. They were just indulging their friend in a delusion.
Thirty-Seven, however, let out a guttural shout and rose to his feet yet again, finishing the test with a mighty leap.
The squires went quiet, then exploded with applause.
I facepalmed. An entire class of squires had just flunked the hero course.
After they finished celebrating, Thirty-Seven approached me and said:
"Thank you, sir! I couldn't have grown this strong without you!"
"Sure..." I wanted to die. "Just... leave me alone."
Thirty-Seven shrugged and went back to his friends.
I couldn't fail this entire class. They were some of the finest recruits I'd ever taught. Keeping them from being knights would be a crime against humanity. Together, they could take on any monster. And a big part of that was because of Thirty-Seven's leadership. As I saw them raising him over their shoulders, I couldn't help but feel like I had been wrong all this time.
Maybe, the key to fighting this world wasn't more cruelty. Maybe, just maybe, the answer was kindness all along.
------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | # Soulmage
**"The first thing you have to understand about magic is that it isn't all flashy,"** Jiaola said. "Sure, some mages might be able to blow up buildings or tear rifts between worlds, but magic is more than that."
"I know, Jiaola," I whispered. I took a sip from my cup, letting the savory drink warm my throat. The small, rented room in the attic of an inn wasn't quite home, but... home wasn't really somewhere I wanted to be reminded of right now, anyway.
"...right. Sorry." Jiaola scratched his head awkwardly. "Most of the time, when the odd kid came over to learn more about magic, it was some rebel who thought they'd learn how to bully people better. Old habits die hard."
"Yeah, well, so did Iola after I shrank him to death." I met Jiaola's eyes. "I'm not here to learn how to kill people better, Jiaola. I'm done with fighting."
Jiaola hesitated. "I... oh. I'm sorry. I just assumed that, after everything, you'd... want to learn to defend yourself. For the next time."
I shook my head. "What next time, Jiaola? I killed Iola because he was fucking insane, and he was too strong to stop in any other way. But now I'm safe. I'm away from the war. I don't want to be a soldier."
"Then what do you want to be?"
I spread my arms out in a helpless shrug. "That's why I'm here, Jiaola. I *know* that magic is more than violence. But I... I don't know what else it is. I just want to learn how to be... something new."
And Jiaola smiled.
"You're a lot wiser than I was at your age," Jiaola said.
I waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah, insert self-deprecating comment here. You're a magic carpenter—I'm sure you know a thing or two about using magic to help people, instead of hurt them."
"I do," Jiaola said, holding out a hand. "And if I'm right, then so do you."
I blinked. "I... what?"
"Do you want me to show you how?"
I nodded.
"Then take my hand," Jiaola said, "and let's begin."
A.N.
This story is set in the world of Soulmage. If you want to read the full story, check it out [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) | |
[WP] You've heard of the Monkey Paw - a magical item that grants wishes but extracts a huge cost with often horrifying consequences. But you'd never heard of a Cat's Whisker, an equally magical item that grants wishes at the cost of your pride. You're holding one in your hand now... | Unearthing the silken strand, I knew I'd found the relic.
I held it firmly, and announced my first wish.
"I wish to be a millionaire!"
Suddenly my phone began to buzz. I could only stare in confusion as many, many notifications from an app called "only fans" filled my screen. Clicking on one I saw a video me exposing myself bare for all the world to see, and all the world it must be as thousands of people began sending money in a bid for my attention. I'd become wealthy beyond compare, but any semblance of dignity and privacy had been stripped from me.
So the wishes came with a cost, knowing this I made my next wish,
-Writings hard, I'm gonna leave this here, if someone wants to continue it they can. | [Poem]
My cat Gigi came the other day.
Gave me a whisker and walked away
I don’t know what to do with the gift I got
So I held it tight and thought: money, oh money, lots and lots
Imagine my surprise at a million bucks
No catch, no check, just my luck
I went to cash it right away,
But something felt different right away
I ain’t feeling happy, as they say
Bought a new house, no dice, still is trash
I sat down with a sigh, still depressed.
So I wanted to try something else.
So I decided to wish for a lot of fame.
Yeah buddy I want everyone to know my name
They came right away, the ‘graphers, the paparazzi
But still my heart is still kind of knotty
Dunno why but I threw the whisker away
Went inside, and don’t know why, but everything went back to the same.
I have everything now that I need
And it is enough to plant a single seed.
That money doesn’t buy everything.
Yeah, no need for all that bling…
***
Still on that rapping spree. r/SimbaKingdom for more. | |
[WP] The bandits thought this village would be easy to raid, little did they know the old Hero had retired here. | "Until today, thanks to you, I have not had to kill anyone for almost fifteen years."
Gil scrabbled backwards as he tried to get away from the man advancing on him. It has looked so easy. A small village, no parish guards, almost certainly no gold to be worthwhile, but more than enough food and beer to get them through the winter.
Plus some farmers daughters (and sons- Urzaak might have have been a she-ork, but she enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh as much as the next man) for entertainment.
So they had come charging in just after the crack of dawn, waving swords and threatening to cut them down if they didn't comply.
And this old man had come striding out from behind one of the cottages.
He didn't look like much- weathered skin, balding, beard almost lost to gray, paunch, and armed with just a wood axe.
Urzaak had been the first to die, when she came swaggering up to him intent on beating him to death with her mace. She never even got a chance to raise her weapon.
Gil didn't see the man move, but one moment Urzaak was alive, the next the side of her neck was split open with a single stroke of the old man's axe.
Four of the lads closest to the man had charged him- and died.
Three more had heard the fighting and came running. They had died immediately thereafter.
Realizing that they were in over their heads, Gil had called for the band to retreat. He had turned to run when he had felt the prickle of magic on his skin right before lightning had struck them down.
He had gotten caught at the edge of the blast, which was why he was still alive, the only one of his band still alive.
And that was why he was trying to crawl away as fast as he could from this very unassuming old man.
"W-who are you?" Gil rasped as the man loomed over him.
"Aselfirrth Ulafsson." answered the old man as he hefted his axe.
Before the head of the axe split his skull, Gil felt absolute terror at the fact that he had tried to raid the village that Aselfirrth Ulafsson, Scourge of Dragons, had decided to retire. | Olknay was working on his hobby when a knock came to the door... sighing, he answers the door to be greeted by his neighbour, Ferla. "Yes, Ferla? What would you like help with? I'm tired these days." "I know, Olknay, and I'm so sorry to bother you. But bandits just came to the village, they're raiding our community funds as we speak! Please stop them!"
Olknay sighs, again. "I have no strength left to stop them... but maybe I can intimidate them enough for us to negotiate." He heads to his 'hero closet' and retrieves his sword. "Never thought I'd pick this up again..."
The bandits were quickly going through the money, grabbing as much as they could, when one of them says "Hey, look! Some old man wants to tell us off!" They all look at the retired hero, and begin to laugh until he draws his sword. "I hope you know who I am... for your sake." Most of the bandits stare confused, but one of them has a look of shock.
"Those engravings... are you the hero of legend?" Olknay smiles. "Indeed I am. I may be an old man, but I've seen my fair share of battles. Any of you want to challenge me?" The bandits look at each other, while Olknay looks at the loot. Doesn't seem like they got much... "Get out of here, NOW!" he snarls. The bandits waste no time in taking off, and the hero sits down, catching his breath, as the village patriarch goes through the funds.
"Seems like we may need to make a few cutbacks to our spending... but thankfully they didn't get a lot." He turns to me. "Thank you, Olknay. I know just holding that sword must take a lot out of you nowadays, yet you still made the effort." Olknay simply responds, "this is my village now, too. I wouldn't want anything to happen." | |
[WP] "I'm retired. RETIRED. I saved the world once. I'm not doing it again. I'll kill the next messenger you send." | There was a hesitant knock at the door. Snatching up my sword, I snarled. I'd told them I'd kill the next messenger, and killing people always put me in a bad mood. Throwing the door open, I brought the sword around in a forceful swing.
"Ah—" It was a sharp high-pitched scream, that cut off in the middle. Roaring, I changed the trajectory of the swing, at the last minute. My sword thudded into the door frame, slicing through the wood. Hands shaking, I let it go, staring down at the girl in front of me. She couldn't have been more than ten years old.
"What the he—" I stopped myself, I wasn't supposed to swear in front of children. A stupid side effect of being a hero. The girl frowned up at me, obviously aware of what I'd been going to say.
"I have a message—"
"They sent a kid. A kid!" Interrupting her, I wrenched the sword out of the doorframe. "They sent a blasted kid. I said I'd kill the next messenger they sent, and they sent a child!" Walking back inside the house, I sensed her following me. Heightened awareness didn't go away when you retired.
"That's why." She said, her voice still a little shaky. Heck, I was still shaking. Those words stopped me in my tracks as they sank into my brain.
"That's why?" I repeated, turning to look at her. "What *exactly* do you mean?"
Closing the door behind her, she moved to the table in the center of the room. She perched on the edge of the chair, swinging her feet through the air. She was so tiny, that she couldn't reach the floor. Sudden rage swirled through me, but all I could do at the moment was tighten my hands on the sword hilt.
"Well, they figured you probably wouldn't kill a child. So, they sent me."
"They figured. *Probably*. And what if I had killed you?" I asked. She shrugged.
"I'm not worth much. Just an orphan. More of a burden on the kingdom's resources. So it wouldn't be a great loss."
My heart broke. The anger seeped into the cracks, turning from a bright flare to deep-rooted cold ice. I clenched my teeth, making sure the words I wanted to say were appropriate for a child's ears before I opened my mouth.
"I saved their world once before. Do you know what I did? How many people I killed so that their world could go on? So that they could continue to treat orphans like second-hand citizens. Oh, sure they don't treat me like that anymore... except here they are doing it. Manipulating me, sending children to do their dirty work."
She raised placating hands, shaking her head.
"It's all right, I don't mind. At least I would have been doing something useful for once—"
"No. NO! That is it!" I jammed my sword back into its sheath, picking up my adventuring bag. I kept it packed out of nostalgia, but now it would be useful again. "Come on."
Gesturing to the girl, I strode out of the house and down the garden path. She scampered after me, having to take three steps for every one of mine.
"You're going to slay the monster?" She asked, breathlessly. Feeling guilty, I slowed, letting her catch up.
"Yes," I said tersely, turning left down the road.
"But you're going the wrong way. That leads to the city."
I looked down at her, knowing my smile would be anything but comforting.
"Like I said. I'm going to slay the monster." | "But the Grand Imposer!"
"Imposer-Shmozer!" I waved my hand at the poor boy, walking back towards my garden. "Send The Silver Sword Knight!"
"Sliced by The Golden Sword Samuri."
"Miss Morning-Star!"
"Crushed by Night Moon."
"Erm... The Cannibal Kid?"
"Ate by--"
"Stop right there. I get it."
He perked up, "So you're coming to save the world!?"
"Hell No!" I spat out some chewing root. "I'm too damn old!"
"But you're the most powerful wizard to ever live!"
"Come here boy, listen to this." He came close as I lifted one leg off the ground. I held it between my hands and lightly rocked my foot back and forth to produce a *click-click* sound. "Hear that shit?"
"Just noisy knees."
"It's called arthritis Richard!"
He threw up his hands with a dramatic face, "Oh okay, so the greatest wizard in the world also has arthritis, big whoop."
"Not a big whoop," I bent down to do a squat but was stopped by a humungous ***CRACK*** sound from my back. "But a big pain in the ass!"
I kept walking but Richard wouldn't give, following me with a focused face. "Can you at least cast a curse on him or something."
"Abra-kadabra. Great, now fuck off."
"You've done that last time. I'm not falling for it again."
I chuckled, "*Can't believe you fell for the ole abr--*"
"Summons?" He said, interrupting me. "Maybe summon something?"
"Oh I'll summon something for you," I lifted my leg and ripped the largest fart of my adult life. "How about that monster?"
"You're reprehensible!" Richard said while backing up and covering his nose. "I can't believe you were the hero of old times!"
"Never meet your heroes bub, now would you politely hit the road?" He hesitated slightly, but finally shook his head and walked away with a muggy attitude.
As soon as he was out of site I went out to my old shed and opened the door. "Alright you fucking riot, it's good to come on out."
The Grand Imposer followed out of the door, head to toe in his *Super Intimating Black armor* or whatever the hell they called it. "Gee uncle," He said while rubbing his neck. "This is an awfully weird prank."
We walked back to the house to eat dinner. "Those bastards are going to stop paying the hero tax if they don't have something to be scared of, and arthritis care isn't cheap!"
He shook his head, "You're weird grandpa."
I looked him up and down, "Says the dweeb wearing black armor... Kids these days..." | |
[WP] Sorcerers draw mana from a personal source, such as raging storms, campfires, murky swamps, etc. and that source affects the spells available to them. You possess the gift of sorcery but you feel no attraction to any traditional source, so you wander and seek that which will ignite your powers. | "Why haven't you packed? We're leaving in 30 minutes! Hurry up!" Mom's yelling, again. Another trip, another try, another disappointment.
We've been doing this every year, ever since my eldest brother started growing his own firewood during a family camping trip. I was only two at the time, so I don't remember the excitement. Then my eldest sister made fish fly just two years later on a beach trip.
Since then, my parents have been adamant about going to as many different locations as possible to make my other big brother, sister and me magical, too. We've been around the world twice already. Sister found her gift on a farm tour. Brother got his in a desert. Mom and dad cheered, like always, but sounded less thrilled that time.
We're going to a volcano park this time. Not the first time. Dad's ready to give up, but mom's too invested in her "magical mama" persona. She wants an ALL sorcerers family, no exceptions. So, off to another repeat destination we go. Just in case I missed something the first time.
I've heard her rant many times. She calls me a late bloomer in public, in tune with a rare kind of enviroment we haven't visited yet. In private, I'm the black sheep, a waste of money, the loser child, the talentless disappointment of the family. Dad never defends me. He knows better. They all know better.
I take out my bag from the closet. I never unpacked after the last trip. Only washed the dirty ones and put everything back. One set of hiking clothes, one set of swimwear, one set of thermal underwear, one jacket and shorts and t-shirts for everywhere else. Hygiene products are always ready, too.
"At least you were fast" mom mumbles as I come down. I show her my passport and travel wallet before tucking them under my shirt. She just nods and points to the car. My siblings are staying home, again. No, wait, younger big brother is in the car.
"What's up?" I ask him.
He shrugs. "Volcano park was cool"
In the airport, everything is a mess. Announcements cite bad weather in other airports. People are mad, mom included.
"Why the heck do WE have to wait? We're not even GOING to the Canaries!" She's never been this mad before.
It feels... odd being here. All these shouting and nagging and grumpy people. The chaos, the inconsistent complaints, the demands for someone else in charge! And I'm feeling like I'm...
"Hey, Bradley? How did you feel in the desert?" I ask my brother.
"Huh?" He looks up from his phone. "Dunno, like I was home? Um, you ok?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You're smiling. You never smile on a trip"
Suddenly, a horde of gate agents, customer service reps and airline staff and custims officers materialize into the terminal. They have notepads, tablets, tiny desks and radios ready to use. Every complaining traveler gets a smiling, personal agent to listen to their woes. They smile, explain, compromise, compensate, some even break down and cry. So many people to just, yell at.
Mom's going full steam at a gate agent. Dad and Bradley are stunned.
I can't stop laughing. I've never felt lighter in my whole life! This is Awesome!
Mom runs out of steam. She's all out of complaints. And the gate agent vanishes into thin air.
"H-honey? What did that... agent tell you?" Dad asks.
"Hmm? Oh, I don't remember. Let's get in line, baggage check will take a while" Mom's completely calm now.
"Dad, look" Bradley says. "None of the staff have legs!"
They both look at me.
"I think I know, what I want to do with my life" I grin at them both. | “So what exactly is your source master?” asked Zari, Argona's new disciple.
“hmmm such questions are considered impolite to ask of a mage, it would be too easy to corner a mage and kill him should you figure out his source. In fact, this is precisely how the Archmage Jonathan Stonehaven was killed.” Argona said to Zari while nodding to the grass beneath their feet “You see, as an earthen mage, he was known to always cast his spells on fertile land where trees could be found in abundance and flowers would bloom.”
“so you mean to say that he was caught in a barren land and killed there?” asked Zari.
“no, killing an Archmage is not that easy. When you reach that level, you will be powerful enough to cast even without your source being around you. It is said that an Archmage changes nature itself when he casts a spell.”
“then how was he killed if he was that strong?” Zari wondered, confused.
“by his anti-source. You see, the Archmage loved a specific type of flower that grew around his hometown. Such feelings and upringing affects our magic, and so his conduit was plant life in general but he was at his strongest around Sun Flowers. Of course, nobody knew this back then but his closest relatives and loved ones. Or at least that's what they thought”
“then what of this thing you called anti-source, Master?”
“it is a rare thing and not all mages have it. But if, for example, your source was fire, then water would be your anti-source. This is why you rarely see fire mages travel by sea. When you are surrounded by your anti-source, it is almost impossible to do magic. This is how the Archmage was killed. You see, he himself didn't know that he had an anti-source because a plant usually doesn't have an opposite. But the assassins haired to kill him discovered a plant that was later called Night Shadow. It had the opposite properties of Sun Flowers and they managed to use it to kill the Archmage.”
“I see... So there is such dangers to the source. I didn't know that” Zari said while considering this new knowledge.
“do not worry about it Zari. You are a long way from needing to worry about anti-source. First we have to figure out your source” laughed Argona while he lead his disciple deeper into the forest.
“But master, it's been three months now and we still haven't found anything that works” complained Zari while he moved tree branch out of his way.
“what do you mean? We had much progress during this period. Didn't you find out that you are affected by water?”
“yes. But it was party tricks at best. I could not even make a leaf drown or a metal float. Didn't you say that this was the minimum requirement for a water mage apprentice?” Zari said while he remembered how he felt the leaf's resistance. It was very frustrating to finally have a clue about his magic only to end up at a dead end.
“And this is why we came here!” Argona stopped and pointed at the waterfall in front of them. It was enormous with trees surrounding it from both sides and a constant rainbow visible to them.
“but how is this any different than a river or an ocean? I think the sea would be more viable than this”
“true, but this waterfall is different. You can't feel it much at your current level but the mana here is strong. I believe that there is a mana vein somewhere around this area.”
“Mana vein?”
“not now! Just start the mana circulation that I've taught you. You should be able to do more than what we did at the river last time”
Zari did as instructed and drew in the mana to his body. With the mana fueling his magic, he tried to rise a stone from the depths of the waters. He was vaguely able to sense the stone moving inside the water but couldn't bring it to the surface.
“how is it?” asked Argona.
“I can feel it and move it around a bit but I can't bring it to the surface.”
“I see. Well, don't think about it too much. We will eventually find your source” Argona said consolingly. Suddenly, he heard a movement from the trees and spun around, summoning a light bow and shooting an ephemeral arrow into the sound. A shout was echoed from that location and they heard curses from several places around them. They were surrounded.
“hide!” Master Argona screamed at him while shooting his arrows at seemingly random locations. Zari just froze there, unable to process what's happening. How could they be ambushed like this? Who would dare attack his master? He was one of the seven! And yet they were still attacked?
He was shaken off his musings because of a knife that pierced his master's shoulder, blood tricking from the wound. But what alarmed him most was the fact that the knife was aimed at him! Apparently, the assassins were trying to kill him too!
But then, when he saw the blood of his master, something changed within him, he got excited for some reason and felt like he could destroy this whole area if he wished. He lifted his hand, entranced, and was able to draw the blood to himself.
The blood swirled around him in circles, protecting him and empowering him. Suddenly, he was able to see red shapes within the forest and with a flick of his finger, they exploded! More and more of the crimson liquid was drawn to him, a ball forming around him, it grew larger until it stopped suddenly.
At first he was confused, but then he felt exhausted, and the blood sphere exploded around him, splashing blood in a wide circle. Looking around, he found that he was the only one standing. His master was lying on the ground, pale and cold. Dead. | |
[WP] Sorcerers draw mana from a personal source, such as raging storms, campfires, murky swamps, etc. and that source affects the spells available to them. You possess the gift of sorcery but you feel no attraction to any traditional source, so you wander and seek that which will ignite your powers. | The snake oil salesman knew how to put on a show. He'd tell of his travels, how he'd ventured to the furthest reaches to procure bottles and bottles of this lifesaving elixir. "Protect ye from swords and sorcerers", he'd always say, with a wink and a grin. Though, sorcery was a sore subject for him.
The quiet days were the ones that haunted the salesman. He liked the noise, liked the crowd. Every town brought new hope for him, but also new disappointment. Whatever gift he'd once possessed...no science could awaken it. But he loved the sciences, finding out how things worked. It felt right to him. So he chased it down.
The salesman had heard rumor of innovation in a seedy little backwater town, supposedly once the seat of power (decades before his time). So his cart clattered on down the road, bottles of watered-down molasses clinking together in wood boxes stuffed with straw. The people of Kingshaven were smarter than he anticipated. News of his scams couldn't have traveled this far, so he'd have to up his game for a more discerning clientele. He set on down the road, looking to see if the local apothecary had any use for him.
The sound stopped him dead in his tracks. A hiss, like a kettle but more forceful. He felt the tug, that same tug the sciences had pulled him with. The salesman looks around for the source. Clouds billow out of a nondescript wood building with a massive door.
He tried to squint through the door. Inside, a massive brass statue, flanked with scaffolding. "That's not right" he thought.
The hiss began again, and the salesman watched intently. A crowd of men from a region the Salesman had never ventured spoke a language he didn't speak. Loudly, shouting as they clambered up and down the steel beams containing the towering statue.
The salesman's breath disappeared from his lungs as he saw steam radiating outward from specially cut joints. Parts slid together, brass being melted and joined in ways the salesman couldn't dream of. The statue lifted its arm.
The salesman's heart was pounding. Something had awoken in him. He tried to discern what kind of science or magic had caused life to be breathed into the statue. Through the noise, the salesman kept picking up on a single word.
Mecha. | They said it would be a spark.
The gift of sorcery is one known to all. Even if they could not channel the power stored within the world, the influence of those who could is about as ignorable as the rising of the sun. There's no denying it; magic exists, and people can channel it.
I should be one of those people.
My father found his muse working in his shop, whittling a small toy for one of the village children, granting him powers in shaping matter and, if he ever felt the need to, the spark of life. My mother's spark ignited on the field of battle; she was a soldier, and her gift of healing expressed itself in the forms of sealing wounds and protective barriers. Together, they, under any other condition, would have produced an heir capable of wondrous things; shaping life, shaping earth, shaping the village they lived in for the better.
But I just don't feel anything.
I've been trying everything that sprung to mind for years, both under my parents and as I found my way. I served my father in his workshop and my mother in her clinic since I could read, and I felt nothing. The feeling continued even as I matured, as I enlisted, as I served years in foreign lands, as I moved to the big city and built a life for myself on my own after I returned.
I know that I'm not worthless by any metric, be it society, my country, or my parents. I've mended wounds, built tools, protected my homeland. And yet the flame of magic sealed in my heart remained unlit, as cold as a stone soaked in the rain.
Who could I blame? Nobody but myself. My bloodline had a power that I could not indulge in. I felt betrayed. By the world, by myself, by nobody, by everybody.
I knew I would be second class. Always confined to the *plebs*, incapable of discovering the beautiful mysteries locked just beyond reach that many could touch without breaking a sweat. I knew it, and yet I did not accept it. This world had more to offer than what I had, and I would have it, one way or another.
One day, I knew I would have it.
Waking up, there was an odd spring in my step. I had no reason to feel that way; it was a day that would end like any other. Work, relax, sleep, a routine I had long since mastered.
I felt different; energized, like lightning coursing through wire. I blinked, and I appeared at my workplace in an instant. It struck me for the first time in that moment.
I never had a spark. There wasn't a single muse of mine, no well to tap. I had long since accepted that as being a sign of "deficiency"; I had no moment of realization, so I couldn't use magic. My false belief stopped me, a reverse placebo effect stopping my power in its tracks.
It wasn't tapping into a well, it was a pump into a whole ocean. A torrent stood within my grasp, confined by my will and my will alone. Who else could grasp this power, let alone knew of it? I was alone. Completely uncontested, peerless in strength and ability, the universe mine to mold like soft clay.
My path was clear. My course of action was clear. I knew what I had to do; the first use of *true* strength is in display, and I planned for a grand show. | |
[WP] Sorcerers draw mana from a personal source, such as raging storms, campfires, murky swamps, etc. and that source affects the spells available to them. You possess the gift of sorcery but you feel no attraction to any traditional source, so you wander and seek that which will ignite your powers. | "Why haven't you packed? We're leaving in 30 minutes! Hurry up!" Mom's yelling, again. Another trip, another try, another disappointment.
We've been doing this every year, ever since my eldest brother started growing his own firewood during a family camping trip. I was only two at the time, so I don't remember the excitement. Then my eldest sister made fish fly just two years later on a beach trip.
Since then, my parents have been adamant about going to as many different locations as possible to make my other big brother, sister and me magical, too. We've been around the world twice already. Sister found her gift on a farm tour. Brother got his in a desert. Mom and dad cheered, like always, but sounded less thrilled that time.
We're going to a volcano park this time. Not the first time. Dad's ready to give up, but mom's too invested in her "magical mama" persona. She wants an ALL sorcerers family, no exceptions. So, off to another repeat destination we go. Just in case I missed something the first time.
I've heard her rant many times. She calls me a late bloomer in public, in tune with a rare kind of enviroment we haven't visited yet. In private, I'm the black sheep, a waste of money, the loser child, the talentless disappointment of the family. Dad never defends me. He knows better. They all know better.
I take out my bag from the closet. I never unpacked after the last trip. Only washed the dirty ones and put everything back. One set of hiking clothes, one set of swimwear, one set of thermal underwear, one jacket and shorts and t-shirts for everywhere else. Hygiene products are always ready, too.
"At least you were fast" mom mumbles as I come down. I show her my passport and travel wallet before tucking them under my shirt. She just nods and points to the car. My siblings are staying home, again. No, wait, younger big brother is in the car.
"What's up?" I ask him.
He shrugs. "Volcano park was cool"
In the airport, everything is a mess. Announcements cite bad weather in other airports. People are mad, mom included.
"Why the heck do WE have to wait? We're not even GOING to the Canaries!" She's never been this mad before.
It feels... odd being here. All these shouting and nagging and grumpy people. The chaos, the inconsistent complaints, the demands for someone else in charge! And I'm feeling like I'm...
"Hey, Bradley? How did you feel in the desert?" I ask my brother.
"Huh?" He looks up from his phone. "Dunno, like I was home? Um, you ok?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You're smiling. You never smile on a trip"
Suddenly, a horde of gate agents, customer service reps and airline staff and custims officers materialize into the terminal. They have notepads, tablets, tiny desks and radios ready to use. Every complaining traveler gets a smiling, personal agent to listen to their woes. They smile, explain, compromise, compensate, some even break down and cry. So many people to just, yell at.
Mom's going full steam at a gate agent. Dad and Bradley are stunned.
I can't stop laughing. I've never felt lighter in my whole life! This is Awesome!
Mom runs out of steam. She's all out of complaints. And the gate agent vanishes into thin air.
"H-honey? What did that... agent tell you?" Dad asks.
"Hmm? Oh, I don't remember. Let's get in line, baggage check will take a while" Mom's completely calm now.
"Dad, look" Bradley says. "None of the staff have legs!"
They both look at me.
"I think I know, what I want to do with my life" I grin at them both. | They said it would be a spark.
The gift of sorcery is one known to all. Even if they could not channel the power stored within the world, the influence of those who could is about as ignorable as the rising of the sun. There's no denying it; magic exists, and people can channel it.
I should be one of those people.
My father found his muse working in his shop, whittling a small toy for one of the village children, granting him powers in shaping matter and, if he ever felt the need to, the spark of life. My mother's spark ignited on the field of battle; she was a soldier, and her gift of healing expressed itself in the forms of sealing wounds and protective barriers. Together, they, under any other condition, would have produced an heir capable of wondrous things; shaping life, shaping earth, shaping the village they lived in for the better.
But I just don't feel anything.
I've been trying everything that sprung to mind for years, both under my parents and as I found my way. I served my father in his workshop and my mother in her clinic since I could read, and I felt nothing. The feeling continued even as I matured, as I enlisted, as I served years in foreign lands, as I moved to the big city and built a life for myself on my own after I returned.
I know that I'm not worthless by any metric, be it society, my country, or my parents. I've mended wounds, built tools, protected my homeland. And yet the flame of magic sealed in my heart remained unlit, as cold as a stone soaked in the rain.
Who could I blame? Nobody but myself. My bloodline had a power that I could not indulge in. I felt betrayed. By the world, by myself, by nobody, by everybody.
I knew I would be second class. Always confined to the *plebs*, incapable of discovering the beautiful mysteries locked just beyond reach that many could touch without breaking a sweat. I knew it, and yet I did not accept it. This world had more to offer than what I had, and I would have it, one way or another.
One day, I knew I would have it.
Waking up, there was an odd spring in my step. I had no reason to feel that way; it was a day that would end like any other. Work, relax, sleep, a routine I had long since mastered.
I felt different; energized, like lightning coursing through wire. I blinked, and I appeared at my workplace in an instant. It struck me for the first time in that moment.
I never had a spark. There wasn't a single muse of mine, no well to tap. I had long since accepted that as being a sign of "deficiency"; I had no moment of realization, so I couldn't use magic. My false belief stopped me, a reverse placebo effect stopping my power in its tracks.
It wasn't tapping into a well, it was a pump into a whole ocean. A torrent stood within my grasp, confined by my will and my will alone. Who else could grasp this power, let alone knew of it? I was alone. Completely uncontested, peerless in strength and ability, the universe mine to mold like soft clay.
My path was clear. My course of action was clear. I knew what I had to do; the first use of *true* strength is in display, and I planned for a grand show. | |
[WP] Sorcerers draw mana from a personal source, such as raging storms, campfires, murky swamps, etc. and that source affects the spells available to them. You possess the gift of sorcery but you feel no attraction to any traditional source, so you wander and seek that which will ignite your powers. | Have you ever felt like you were broken? It’s how I’ve felt ever since I was selected. My parents were so proud. Of course they would be since I came from such a prestigious family. Two old bloodlines of magic power, with a rich history. A rich history from our families point of view, there were plenty of families that thought very differently.
It all didn’t matter to me when I was chosen, magic was interesting but not something I had been yearning for. What I wanted didn’t matter because, not only was I a sorcerer but, I was going to be quite a powerful one according to the testers. A few choice words saying that I was meant for great things and suddenly my life was no longer my own. Training the body, training the mind, training, training, training. Suddenly everything in my life became for one purpose, unlocking whatever special gift I would have in order to lead my family.
My gift never appeared, I was not drawn to fire, that which could consume everything in its path. I was not drawn to water, a vital support of all life. No natural element had any resonance with me. My teachers were at first confused and then later frustrated, my family was furious. At first they claimed I wasn’t trying hard enough, too focused with doodling in books rather than working to hone my natural gifts. Too busy daydreaming.
For years the punishments would continue until finally they all started to ignore me. Great promise became a great disappointment. My family left me alone with tutors until finally last night my father came to me and said they would no longer be wasting any of the family funds on me. Someone who could not generate any magic was not someone that was needed in the family at all. They were going to send me away, an exile.
I was actually fine with it. Having a normal life meant having my own life. There was no love held for my family. I think he expected me to bawl or weep at his feet or even beg. No, instead I was hurriedly packing my things excited to be able to leave our keep and go into the world. There were so many places that I wanted to go. Things that I wanted to do for myself.
It’s how I now find myself here, sitting in a small room with very little furnishings. A room that I’m not sure I’ll be able to afford for too long. None of it really mattered though because finally I had something that I had longed for. In front of me was an easel and some paints. Art was considered a luxury in my family, something for those who were actually practicing with their powers. I could often make doodles out of sight but painting. That required money and supplies that I was never able to hide from my family. I didn’t even know what I wanted to paint. At that moment I simply wanted to feel the brush against the campus.
I guess that’s when it happened, when I finally made the first stroke I felt something inside of me. It was like a warm energy was suddenly flowing through me from my arm to the brush. Before I knew it I had painted a picture of a bird, so free flying above me on the days when I was forced to train outside but there behind the canvas was the bird, hovering in the air | I'm kind of a new writer so any criticisms are welcome. I kind if feel my story is a bit meh since im not too good at writing yet
Most sorcerers are capable of learning spells after a few days of practice but not me. After I reached my adult years I wanted to try to learn magic but just couldn’t. For months I have been trying to find a way how to do the easiest spell known as the whirling ball. The more experienced sorcerers have told me to imagine my mana and air spinning at the palm of my hand to form but I just can’t picture it for some reason. Eventually, I gave up and went out to search for any masters that could possibly help me find out why I can't cast a spell. Many great magicians also had difficulty casting spells until they found someone who fit their learning style. But even the masters I went to couldn’t help me. They told me that perhaps I don't truly have any sorcerer blood within me and that I may just be a normal person. But that couldn’t be true, my mother use to cast spells all the time to help her plants grow faster. So I decided that maybe I should just go to the doctor to see if there could be any biological reasons why I can't cast spells. After going over medical procedures he discovered that I had been diagnosed with aphantasia which is why I can't cast spells despite being of sorcerer descent. Most spells require a mix of knowledge and imagination, imagination is what I was lacking. For damn near a year I’ve been trying to cast a spell and what's been stopping me is a condition I never learned I had until now. | |
[WP] Sorcerers draw mana from a personal source, such as raging storms, campfires, murky swamps, etc. and that source affects the spells available to them. You possess the gift of sorcery but you feel no attraction to any traditional source, so you wander and seek that which will ignite your powers. | The boy thought his trouble had ended when the two men threw him out onto the Academy doorsteps. However, unbeknownst to him, the trouble had only just begun.
The world was cruel to those without magic; and even worse to those who had the mark of mana and could not be settled into the academies of the great lords of fire, earth, sea, and air. A wizard without a source of mana was as unnatural to the arcane world as a demon lurking in the lights and hopes of heaven. That was why the boy had come to the Academy: to beg for help and training, to beg for a family and brotherhood when he had known nothing but dirt and dust his whole life.
But the Academy would not take anyone without a source of mana. To them, he was nothing more than just a parlour trick, with a mark obtained through devilish means; and for that, they said he deserved to be thrown back into the sewer.
The boy was good at crawling after all. He had crawled through most of the main city to reach the Academy, to scurry like a rat beneath those born in life with mana and wealth. And so, the boy crawled again, as fast as he could to the wall to regain his balance and composure after the two men had thrown him out like the magicless carcass that he was. He did not make it very far.
“You’re a fucking fraud,” yelled the man as he kicked the boy in the stomach. “Where did you get that mark if you can’t even use magic?”
The other man laughed as he lit up his pipe with nothing more than the snap of his fingers. A son of fire. The next snap sent an ember straight for the boy's leg, and the two snaps after that took out half the boy's face and left a puddle of charred blood and skin behind.
The boy crawled back again to the wall, screaming in pain, or so he thought. He could not tell anymore except his mouth was open and his throat felt dry. The boy fumbled for his boot and reached for a knife. The thing could barely be called a knife, it was more akin to a lockpick or a cheap piece of metal good for skinning apples . He held it out in front of him, gripping it tightly like a giant broadsword.
The first man laughed loudly and clapped twice into the air. Before the boy could react he felt a punch of gust knock him in the stomach and it sent him flying into the wall. A son of air.
The boy coughed up blood. It went everywhere, the ground, his hand, and even onto his knife.
For a moment, perhaps it was the shock, the world began to slow down. He never imagined he would get far on his journey, it seemed almost fitting his life would end in the alleyway just beyond the Academy: the street, after all, was where he was found as a babe.
The boy coughed up more blood, and now his world began to speed up again. The blood did something he did not expect it would: it began to circle him in the air. It started to spread on his clothes and knife, turning the small piece of metal into a large crimson sword. The drops of blood rushed around to the boy’s head, healing his wounds, and then it returned into him, coming back to its unholy home.
The two men looked at each other.
“Impossible,” they tried to say, but it was too late. The boy had lunged himself at them faster than an arrow through the air, and had impaled the son of fire with his newfound crimson sword.
Blood began to pour out of the fire lord’s chest and before the other man could clap, the boy turned to him and with a mere thought the red blood had turned into an axe and sent the hands of the air lord flying into the night. His head soon followed.
The boy fell to the floor, his hands and knees on the ground. He couldn’t help it, he crawled in shock and elation. Soon, a smile began to tear itself out from the tightened skin around his solemn cold face.
Blood was his mana, and blood was everywhere in this godforsaken world. | I'm kind of a new writer so any criticisms are welcome. I kind if feel my story is a bit meh since im not too good at writing yet
Most sorcerers are capable of learning spells after a few days of practice but not me. After I reached my adult years I wanted to try to learn magic but just couldn’t. For months I have been trying to find a way how to do the easiest spell known as the whirling ball. The more experienced sorcerers have told me to imagine my mana and air spinning at the palm of my hand to form but I just can’t picture it for some reason. Eventually, I gave up and went out to search for any masters that could possibly help me find out why I can't cast a spell. Many great magicians also had difficulty casting spells until they found someone who fit their learning style. But even the masters I went to couldn’t help me. They told me that perhaps I don't truly have any sorcerer blood within me and that I may just be a normal person. But that couldn’t be true, my mother use to cast spells all the time to help her plants grow faster. So I decided that maybe I should just go to the doctor to see if there could be any biological reasons why I can't cast spells. After going over medical procedures he discovered that I had been diagnosed with aphantasia which is why I can't cast spells despite being of sorcerer descent. Most spells require a mix of knowledge and imagination, imagination is what I was lacking. For damn near a year I’ve been trying to cast a spell and what's been stopping me is a condition I never learned I had until now. | |
[WP] Sorcerers draw mana from a personal source, such as raging storms, campfires, murky swamps, etc. and that source affects the spells available to them. You possess the gift of sorcery but you feel no attraction to any traditional source, so you wander and seek that which will ignite your powers. | The boy thought his trouble had ended when the two men threw him out onto the Academy doorsteps. However, unbeknownst to him, the trouble had only just begun.
The world was cruel to those without magic; and even worse to those who had the mark of mana and could not be settled into the academies of the great lords of fire, earth, sea, and air. A wizard without a source of mana was as unnatural to the arcane world as a demon lurking in the lights and hopes of heaven. That was why the boy had come to the Academy: to beg for help and training, to beg for a family and brotherhood when he had known nothing but dirt and dust his whole life.
But the Academy would not take anyone without a source of mana. To them, he was nothing more than just a parlour trick, with a mark obtained through devilish means; and for that, they said he deserved to be thrown back into the sewer.
The boy was good at crawling after all. He had crawled through most of the main city to reach the Academy, to scurry like a rat beneath those born in life with mana and wealth. And so, the boy crawled again, as fast as he could to the wall to regain his balance and composure after the two men had thrown him out like the magicless carcass that he was. He did not make it very far.
“You’re a fucking fraud,” yelled the man as he kicked the boy in the stomach. “Where did you get that mark if you can’t even use magic?”
The other man laughed as he lit up his pipe with nothing more than the snap of his fingers. A son of fire. The next snap sent an ember straight for the boy's leg, and the two snaps after that took out half the boy's face and left a puddle of charred blood and skin behind.
The boy crawled back again to the wall, screaming in pain, or so he thought. He could not tell anymore except his mouth was open and his throat felt dry. The boy fumbled for his boot and reached for a knife. The thing could barely be called a knife, it was more akin to a lockpick or a cheap piece of metal good for skinning apples . He held it out in front of him, gripping it tightly like a giant broadsword.
The first man laughed loudly and clapped twice into the air. Before the boy could react he felt a punch of gust knock him in the stomach and it sent him flying into the wall. A son of air.
The boy coughed up blood. It went everywhere, the ground, his hand, and even onto his knife.
For a moment, perhaps it was the shock, the world began to slow down. He never imagined he would get far on his journey, it seemed almost fitting his life would end in the alleyway just beyond the Academy: the street, after all, was where he was found as a babe.
The boy coughed up more blood, and now his world began to speed up again. The blood did something he did not expect it would: it began to circle him in the air. It started to spread on his clothes and knife, turning the small piece of metal into a large crimson sword. The drops of blood rushed around to the boy’s head, healing his wounds, and then it returned into him, coming back to its unholy home.
The two men looked at each other.
“Impossible,” they tried to say, but it was too late. The boy had lunged himself at them faster than an arrow through the air, and had impaled the son of fire with his newfound crimson sword.
Blood began to pour out of the fire lord’s chest and before the other man could clap, the boy turned to him and with a mere thought the red blood had turned into an axe and sent the hands of the air lord flying into the night. His head soon followed.
The boy fell to the floor, his hands and knees on the ground. He couldn’t help it, he crawled in shock and elation. Soon, a smile began to tear itself out from the tightened skin around his solemn cold face.
Blood was his mana, and blood was everywhere in this godforsaken world. | It's been years now, driving across the country with my cat and my van. Years of seeking out the thing that would make everything click for me- that's how they describe it, anyways. A 'click'. Like the final puzzle piece falling into place.
I started out at 18. I'm 25 now. Seven years. Seven years of part time retail jobs to get by, seven years of van repairs and vet bills and fatigue. My family calls me sometimes, to ask if I've found it yet. The answer is always no. If I answer at all, that is. Their disappointment is always palpable. My sister who found her strength in song at 12, and my brother who found his powers at 21 (a late bloomer) on the day of his first trial court case.
The storm I screamed in at 16 did nothing. The child I saved at 19 did nothing. The book I wrote (but never published) at 21 did nothing. "So much potential" they would always tell me. I had so much potential for so much greatness. Each 'victory' left me with a hollow taste in my mouth, and ash on the tongue of those who loved me the most.
Tonight is different. He looks down at me with honey-colored eyes, and brushes the tears from my cheek with his thumb, and I feel something begin to unravel deep within me, unfurling itself from around my bones- it's a tension I've always felt, yet seldom recognized. I've been crying for what feels like days. Out of frustration and anger. Not good enough. Never good enough. When do I get my chance?
He parts the lips I've pressed mine to time and time again, the lips that always whisper soft assurances. He seems to be searching for the words. Then, he pulls me close. I'm tight against his body, the space between us atoms. Somehow it doesn't feel close enough. I twist my hands up in the back of his shirt, clinging to him. I feel his breath against my ear as he murmurs words that shatter me.
"You have always been enough. You are enough."
And then, something clicks. | |
[WP] You are a truly pathetic villain. Ordinary police regularly overpowers you and heroes do not even bother fighting you. Yet the villains still allow you to remain among their ranks, because you are just so goddamn likeable. | jacob was more tense than he had ever been
he had finally managed to get to the back of the bank, with his ability to make himself completely silent, not a single noise coming from him.
he kept sneaking around, hiding in places the guards wouldn’t check. he’d been trough this place enough times to know that. eventually, he got to the vault door. this is the furthest he’s ever gotten! he excitedly puts his new gadget on the vault door, a circular laser cutter he got from the villain base. it started cutting a perfect circle into the vault door. classic dan, everything had to be perfect with his gadgets.
eventually, the small noise the laser cutter made stopped, and jacob pushed the hole out of the vault door. the alarms immediately went off. jacob quickly put another laser cutter on the other side of the vault wall to get out, and while it was cutting, he grabbed as much money as his bag could carry. this was it! his first succesfull robbery! even just the thought of telling the rest of the group that he finally succeeded made him excited.
the laser finally stops cutting, and jacob quickly pushes the circular wall out and walks trough, to the hallway, where he was surrounded by guards, who didn’t even bother to point their guns at him
“aw come on! how did you guys know i was gonna come out on this side?” jacob sighed, dropping his money bag and raising his hands
“this is the closest hallway to the exit” one of the guards said. “we figured you wouldn’t go trough the main vault door on your way out.”
“sorry jacob, but not this time. you got further than ever though, we should strengthen security!” the second guard exclaimed, trying to cheer jacob up a bit
“thanks david. yeah i guess i’m getting better” a small smile returned to jacobs face”
jacob then got escorted outside by the guards, where a woman with a plant outfit waited for him
“we’ll just give him to you, violet vine” the guard said to her. “you’ll probably take him anyway”
“saves me some effort” the woman said, while jacob walked over to her. “i’ll see you later, ted and ken!” jacob said, before he got eaten by a plant, pulled into the ground, and transported back to the villain base where he found himself in the main room along with a few other supervillains.
the room was big, there were multiple tables with seats, biljard tables, ping pong tables, table football, even arcade machines. there was also a kitchen there, with a refrigerator full of all the food a villain would need. lastly, in the back of the room there were some beds for those who couldn’t go to their normal homes anymore.
the only other people there were the 3 villains called the triplets. they were playing cards around a table.
“hey jacob! how’d it go?” one of them asked once they saw jacob. “good actually! i got to the vault this time, i even got out of it! they were waiting for me on the other side though.” jacob replied.
“well you’ll get em next time for sure!” another one of the triplets said.
“you said that the last few times as well”
“and you’ve made progress since the last few times, haven’t you?”
jacob smiled. “well i guess you’re right. who knows, maybe i will get them next time.”
jacob walked to one of the arcade machines and started playing, he tried his best to hide it, but it was obvious that he wasn’t feeling happy.
the woman, who got called violet vine by the guards earlier, walked next to jacob.
“i heard that you’re starting to make a name for yourself in the city”
“…”
“its true. although not for your power. people look up to you!”
“hehe, good one.”
“no really, you show what villainry is all about. no matter how much you fail, you keep trying. you won’t give up. if you ask me, thats your real super power”
jacob sighed
“its getting difficult to keep going. maybe i’m just not cut out to be a villain”
“don’t say that, you’re a great villain! one day, you’ll be able to rob all the banks in town! you just need some more practise.”
“i don’t know… its starting to feel impossible”
the two stayed silent for a bit, while jacob continued playing the arcade game
“well, whatever you choose to do with your power, just know that you’re always welcome here”
jacob stayed silent a bit longer, before smiling weakly
“thanks violet. i’ll keep it in mind” | Part 1 - Prologue
I sat in silence as the pigs placed regular cuffs on me, after my most recent failed attempt at acting sober while intoxicated in public. I sighed, thinking back to my old life, in my previous city... Everyone feared me.
Shaking my head, I had one foot in the car, I looked back up at the clouds, contemplating whether I made the right decision to run away and start a new life, where no one knew who I was, or the past crimes I committed. Violence, destruction, devastation... The cries beneath my feet from bystanders, screaming for anyone to save them.
With the entire hero populace exterminated and the remaining villains, quaking in fear of me, wondering if I would turn on them, I decided to create a new identity and flee. Now I'm just a "powerless" villainess, living a new life... But... I am not happy. I deserve to be... Happy.
"Alright, Abby, get in the car." Officer Jones pushed me into the back seat of his car before closing the door. I stared at the floor in silence.
Officer Jones sat in the driver's seat as he turned on the ignition. "So, Abby... This is like, your fourth crime of the week. Some people never learn, sheesh."
Anger started to bubble up inside me. "You're all the same..."
"Excuse me?" Officer Jones focused on the road ahead. "Didja say something, smart alec?"
"You all think your f*cking hot shots! With your fancy, but meaningless titles! You don't protect and serve people! You protect and serve the property and the rich! As do these so-called 'superheroes', I'll show all of you! It's high time I take back my throne as the people's true protector!" I roared at the top of my lungs. "For the last five years, I've been seen as the most likable villainess! It's time to change..." | |
[WP] You are a truly pathetic villain. Ordinary police regularly overpowers you and heroes do not even bother fighting you. Yet the villains still allow you to remain among their ranks, because you are just so goddamn likeable. | "Uhh, Officer?" I asked peering around the two or so guards that were currently guiding me somewhere, I wonder if I should be offended that I was uncuffed. Sure, I couldn't do much, but, I could still... actually no, I really couldn't do much. My power was one that only worked if people accepted it and no subtle bullshit could get around that. It was honestly to the point where I was thinking about giving up on being an officer.
​
"Hmm?" The large man-rhino grunted as he looked back at me, he was easily bulky enough that he could shove me into the wall with one hand. If I was made of sturdier stuff then he'd likely be able to push me through said wall. Made sense that a supe like him would be working as a guard here.
​
"Isn't it dark out? shouldn't I be in my cell?" Normally I'd be glad to be out and about, but part of me wondered if I was going to survive the night. After all I had been broken out of prison at least 20 times by the league so maybe they'd just decide to kill me rather than provoke another mass breakout.
​
"You're a security risk." The Normal looking human guard looked back at me and smiled. "All the prisoners like you, hell most of the guards want to be on your patrol route, and that's no fun to manage."
​
"Uhh," I scratched the back of my head. I really didn't get it, most people just asked me to use my power, even the guards did, but was that really such a big deal?
​
The door opened up and I was greeted with flashing lights, a line of heavily amrored guards all standing in the courtyard surrounding... was that The Supereme's Helijet? Oh god, she came in person, I was out of the league for sure.
​
I caught a glimpse of her, she was here in person, a small smile on her ashen face. A beside her... beside was was her arch-enemy, the hero known as Perseverance.
​
"Dee!" Supereme, spread her arms out wide causing the guards to jump as she beckoned me too her, her red eyes glowing in the moonlight. "Good to see you again."
​
"Ohh, uhh, like wise Ma'am." Her being centuries old, the leader of the league as well as the ruler of her own sovereign country made addressing her a bit difficult. "Sorry for the inconvenience."
​
She simply shrugged. "Oh, it's quite already, it's actually become something of a game for me, but now then, are you ready to go?"
​
Was I going to be killed?
​
"Yes?" I asked with a question mark as I looked towards Perseverance, who was almost glaring at me, that or that was how he always looked at people.
​
"Excellent, now, then, we'll be having the usual members back at the Island, They're quite eager to get started." She turned and gestured for me to follower her on board her ship. "Many of them have cleared their schedules as well just for this so I'm afraid we really can't delay, but, I'm sure you must be tired, so let me know if you need a rest."
​
The inside of the Helijet was more lavish than any hotel and I could all but feel myself relaxing as I sunk into one of the plush red cushions. Supereme sat across from me in her own chair.
​
"I'm fine, a bath, a bit a food, and a quick nap and I'll be able to start."
​
"Excellent." She smiled and rubbed her fingers together. "By the way, I'm sure you must know of Perseverance."
​
I watched in horror as the hero sat down next to me, his small frown persisting as he glared at Supereme. "Uhh... no, uhh, why is he here Ma'am?"
​
It was Perseverance that answered, his frown breaking as the helijet door closed and we began to move. He looked at me with exasperation, his shoulders slacked. "Game nights with the heroes sucks! Everyone is a rules lawyer, and we spend most of the time arguing and scheduling is a complete mess and no one wants to be the DM!"
​
"Oh." I stared at him for a moment. "So you want to join us?"
​
"Just for the game!" He coughed and corrected his composure. "And this is just as a trial."
​
"Exactly!" Supereme snapped her fingers and winked at me. "If you're up for it, why not give Perseverance a taste of your power?"
​
I gave a small nod and placed my finger on my temple and took in a long steady breath.
​
"Roll for Initiative."
​
Apparently, being the best DM in the world had a lot of perks. | Part 1 - Prologue
I sat in silence as the pigs placed regular cuffs on me, after my most recent failed attempt at acting sober while intoxicated in public. I sighed, thinking back to my old life, in my previous city... Everyone feared me.
Shaking my head, I had one foot in the car, I looked back up at the clouds, contemplating whether I made the right decision to run away and start a new life, where no one knew who I was, or the past crimes I committed. Violence, destruction, devastation... The cries beneath my feet from bystanders, screaming for anyone to save them.
With the entire hero populace exterminated and the remaining villains, quaking in fear of me, wondering if I would turn on them, I decided to create a new identity and flee. Now I'm just a "powerless" villainess, living a new life... But... I am not happy. I deserve to be... Happy.
"Alright, Abby, get in the car." Officer Jones pushed me into the back seat of his car before closing the door. I stared at the floor in silence.
Officer Jones sat in the driver's seat as he turned on the ignition. "So, Abby... This is like, your fourth crime of the week. Some people never learn, sheesh."
Anger started to bubble up inside me. "You're all the same..."
"Excuse me?" Officer Jones focused on the road ahead. "Didja say something, smart alec?"
"You all think your f*cking hot shots! With your fancy, but meaningless titles! You don't protect and serve people! You protect and serve the property and the rich! As do these so-called 'superheroes', I'll show all of you! It's high time I take back my throne as the people's true protector!" I roared at the top of my lungs. "For the last five years, I've been seen as the most likable villainess! It's time to change..." | |
[WP] You are a truly pathetic villain. Ordinary police regularly overpowers you and heroes do not even bother fighting you. Yet the villains still allow you to remain among their ranks, because you are just so goddamn likeable. | Bars of the window and some of the wall surrounding it flew away and the cold instantly blew into the small cell I was held in, my usual spot. The cell was on the third floor and the Dearan was there hovering in the air with his hands crossed over his chest.
"Fourth time this month..." He said shaking his head.
"It is what is..." I said walking towards the opening in the wall. "That officer Rodrigo got me again."
"You really gotta stop doing this." He said stepping in my cell and turning around so I could hop on his back. I got to admit getting carried like this did feel a little bit humiliating but I did get to fly and it never got old.
We kept silent for most of the flight, what was there even to say that hasn't been said already? Halfway thru I noticed he wasn't taking me home.
"Hey I don't want to be rude, but you are not taking me home, so where are we going?" I asked.
"The Big Guy wants to talk to you," so I am taking you to our headquarters.
"The Big Guy, what? Why? That can't be good for me." Anxiety shoot thru me at the mere mention of his name.
"I don't know mate, he contacted me directly and told me to get you out and straight to him." He had to yell it to me, due to the wind.
The Big Guy aka Paralyze was top of the food chain, probably the biggest villain in the past decade, he pretty much-controlled half of the City, and the Heros couldn't do jack shit about it. And he was the Big Guy in every sense of the word both metaphorical and physical, with over 7ft and muscles on muscles he was a sight to behold, and his powers were as terrifying as him. On top of all the physical powers, super strength, durability, and inhumane speed, he could paralyze some with his stare. He would make his opponents completely frozen and unable to move a muscle. Rumor was that after making them paralyze he would just smash people's heads in, brutal staff.
If you are wondering about my powers, or should I say power, as singular, at first it seems cool. I can teleport. Well when I discovered my powers back in high school 8 years ago, I was on top of the world. I went to rob a back that same night. But I quickly found out that my powers had serious limitations. I could teleport only short distances around 7-8 meters. Well, no problem, I would just wait for the bank to close and hop in the building, walk to the safe, hop in, and do the reverse, and viola I would be rich. Well, it didn't work out like that. While robbing a bank I turned on a silent alarm and police was waiting on me as I teleported out. I smiled as they ran towards me and teleported a short distance away. Another officer charged me at my new location, I envisioned the new position I wanted to be in, but before I teleported he tackled me with full force and we fell to the ground. And that's how I found out I only had limited charges, so to say, each day, and to this day I still haven't figured out how many. Sometimes I can teleport almost hundreds of times, sometimes only a few, and my power has abandoned me in the most crucial times more than I can count now. And when they do, I am just a regular guy in his twenties with a beer belly and not-so-great physical shape and no fighting skills.
We quickly arrived at their headquarters and Dearan left me at the entrance. He told me he had some other things to tend to and that Silver Fox would take me to the big guy.
The guards at the door this night were Peter and Will, really cool guys and probably a better villains than me by just being guards here they contributed more than me to this whole villain bussines.
"Hey guys, how's it going?" I said as I approached them.
"Ooo, hey jumpy," Will said, they liked to call me that. "Well same old same old, boring as always, we are guarding a building full of super-powered villains as if someone is insane enough to attack here."
"Well, you never know," I said and teleported behind him. I stole his gun and pointed it at teo of them. "Hands in the air, this is a robbery!"
They looked shocked for a second and then bursted out laughing. I rolled the pistol down and gave it back to Will.
"Silver Fox is waiting for me, where is she?" I asked.
"Ye, ye, she is at the lounge area." He said still chuckling. "Going to see the Big Guy this late, are you in some sort of trouble?"
"When am I not?" I said smiling and turned towards the door.
"Never change, Jumpy, never change" They yelled after me.
I know they laugh behind my back, but honestly, I don't care, never really did. They can think what they want about me, but I was still liked by most and I was pretty satisfied with my life all around, outside this major thing of being a shitty villain.
I walked past dozens of villains on my way to the lounge, they all had something to say to me, most of them teasing me, and I gave them appropriate responses. As I walked into the lounge there she was, sitting on the sofa in the right corner going over her phone. Her long peppery hair was tied in a tight ponytail and she was always wearing black, with several silver details including a belt, boots, hair tie, and so on. She was one of the few people that I truly wanted to respect me, but she like almost all of them, thought of me as a joke, somewhat of this castle's jester.
She put her phone down as I approached and gave me a sincere smile.
"How have the police been treating you on this fine evening?" She said.
"Ohh, you know, same as always, the best spot in the whole city to get a good night's sleep and a Michelin type of meal. 5 stars as always." I said returning a smile.
She brought me to the elevator that went straight to the Big Guy's office, well more of a whole apartment than an office. I was there only a few times, once as part of a tour with the newer villains and a few times when I was fetching something for the man himself, but never alone and never have I been called directly there. She put her hand on the scanner next to the elevator and it turned blipped, turned green and the door opened.
"This is as far as I go, he said only you." Silver Fox said.
I nodded and entered the elevator. This whole night was weird, what didnhe want from me? Have I finally been caught one too many times? Did my endeavors stop being funny and I am just an embarrassment to them now? Anxiety arose in me as fast as the elevator reached the top floor. The door opened and there he was in his recognizable black tank top smoking a cigar with a glass of, surprisingly wine, in his hand.
"Come sit, we have a lot to talk about..."
Edit: [Part 2 posted below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/x00qbk/wp_you_are_a_truly_pathetic_villain_ordinary/im8ny7v)
Edit 2: [Part 3 Posted as a reply to Part 2.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/x00qbk/wp_you_are_a_truly_pathetic_villain_ordinary/im9ih68)
[Edit 3: Part 4 is out now!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/x00qbk/comment/imauxd8/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
[Edit 4: Part 5 is out, in 2 reply's as it was more than 10k characters.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/x00qbk/z/imbcmpm) | "Another day and another failure."
I grimaced as a police officer cuffed my hands.
"Now, stay down if you know what's good for you," the officer told me.
"Yes, sir," I sniffled. It was hard not to get discouraged.
Not far from us were two super individuals clashing in the air. Their conflict sent shockwaves all around. Everyone in the vicinity would be wise to abandon everything and run away.
"We should probably move," I said to the officer.
"What was that?!" the officer said in a panic. Brave as he was, he seemed new to all of this.
"We'll be mince meat if we stay any longer," I said as debris fell a couple meters from us.
"You're right..." he dragged me up and pushed me to run.
"Where do you think you're going with my lab rat?"
We looked around and saw a woman with short green hair and glasses. She was Snake Verde, a villain. Her name was Olivia.
Due to fear, the officer pulled his gun and tried to point it at her. In doing so, his head left his body. His head fell to the ground before his neck spewed blood. It was a magnificent cut.
"You didn't have to kill him..." I said as I crouched to grab the officer's head.
"The first two words I wanted to hear from you is a thank you," Olivia huffed as she walked past me and the officer's corpse.
"Forgive my colleague, sir," I placed the officer's head on top of his neck and started to heal him.
"Will you hurry up?" Olivia said, tapping her feet in annoyance.
"I will, miss. It was a clean cut so it should be an easy fix."
"Glad you can understand the prowess of my skill," she said. She seemed happy.
A second later, the officer's eyes opened.
"Huh! What just happened?!" he looked around in a panic before settling his sights on us. He tried to pull for his gun, but I grabbed it as I was healing him.
"Think of it as payment for your neck," I said as I dangle the gun.
"You!" the officer paused. "Sorry, I don't know your name."
That stung.
"It's okay," I tossed away his gun and placed my cuffed hands in front of him. "Do you mind? I don't want to keep asking my colleague for favors."
"Huh? Why should I-" his face suddenly went pale. I looked back and saw Olivia with a threatening look. "Of course!" he undid my cuffs.
"Do take care, officer," I nodded at him and he took it as a signal to run away from us with all his might.
"I could've taken care of those cuffs, you know," Olivia said.
"I know, I just didn't want to bother you some more since you've already saved me."
"That so," Olivia sighed. "I wouldn't be bothered by something like that," she said quietly.
I smiled. "I'll keep that in mind and thank you. I didn't get a chance to say it earlier."
"Don't eavesdrop on me," she said in a panic. "and you're welcome," she said timidly.
Even though Olivia is the type of person who would cut someone's head off at the first instance of defiance, she was also pretty sweet.
We began to walk away from the two super individuals whose clash seemed to be escalating.
"That battle-freak, how long is she going to play around," Olivia said, looking at the sky.
I looked to where she was looking and saw the two super individuals now stuck in a power struggle. They were pushing each other back while flying in the air.
One was the hero Rock Face and the other was the villain Hawk Rossa. Her name was Helen.
"This is so dumb," Olivia scratched her head. "Hey, lab rat, call out that birdbrain, we need to leave."
"Okay," I swallowed my breath. "Hawk! We're leaving!"
With that, Helen let go of Rock Face and flew to his side. Her sudden stop caused him to fly forward non-stop till he crashed in a building.
Helen flew towards us, a big smile on her face.
"This is why I keep telling them that the sky is my domain," she looked at me. "Hey there! Glad to know you're still kicking," she went to hug me. Her big stature had my feet hanging in the air.
"Don't crush her, we're here to save her, remember," Olivia said.
"My bad," she let go of me. "You should've heard Snake when you were gone. She was like 'I need to save my best friend' or something like that."
"Would you kindly shut up," Olivia said. She was fiddling with her phone. "I'm reporting to our boss."
A second later, a hologram came out from the phone.
"Is she okay?!" it was our boss, Cat Nera. Her name was Catherine.
"Hello there, boss. Thanks for sending Snake and Hawk to save me," I said.
"Don't mention it, sweetie," Catherine said, she sounded like a mom. "I'll give you three the day off, so be sure to treat Rat with some good R and r, okay?"
"Roger, boss," Helen said. She seemed happy at the prospect of an early day off.
"Yea, yea," Olivia said. She was trying her best to hide a smile.
"Do take care, ladies," with that the hologram went off.
"You heard the woman, let's go for some rest and relaxation," Olivia said.
"Let's go grab something to eat first," Helen said. "Well, before that," she looked at Olivia and they both smiled.
They turned to me and said, "Welcome back, Luca."
I felt tears forming in my eyes. Pathetic as I maybe, I am a villain at heart, and together with them is where I belong. | |
[WP] You’ve been sent to rescue a princess, only she doesn’t seem to want to be rescued. She tries to evade you and fight back. | I learned a long time ago not to have expectations. As such, when the king and queen gave me the mission of saving their kidnapped daughter, my friend of almost fifteen years, I wasn't focused on much except the task at hand. But it still managed to take a turn I wasn't expecting.
It was midday after a heavy rain when I had finally made it to the fortress where Princess Olivia was being held. A massive structure carved from black stone with no discernable exterior defenses, which most likely meant the real security was all inside. Joy. I had my horse Siegfried come to a stop, readied my sword and shield as I hopped out of the saddle, and pushed open the giant wooden doors that led into the fortress.
It was dead quiet inside, with a staircase that led up to an area directly above the entrance and no wall decor or furniture except for a tiny dinner table with a chessboard. As I was walking around looking for any sign Olivia was even here, I heard the distinctive *click* of a crossbow being readied. I managed to whip my shield around just in time, causing the bolt to splinter against it before it could connect with my shoulder.
Now, this is where things took a turn. As I lowered my shield and prepared for a fight, I looked up at the staircase and saw that Olivia was the one who had shot at me. As she fiddled with the crossbow, I sheathed my sword and called out, "What the hell, Olivia?! Why'd you shoot at me?!"
Olivia stopped what she was doing and looked at me in surprise. "Annemarie?!"
I took my helmet off to reveal my short, choppy auburn hair and scar running from my cheek to my neck. "Yes, it's me. Now please put down the weapon, I'm here to take you home."
Olivia's eyes went wide in abject terror as she dropped her weapon. Right before bolting for the upper level, she screamed, "NO! I can't go back! Just leave!"
"Olivia, wait!" I dropped my weaponry as I chased after her. I couldn't have cared less about my duties at that moment; all I could see was that Olivia was scared for her life. *Nobody* scares my Olivia and lives to tell the tale.
I managed to get up to the second floor quickly enough to catch Olivia throwing herself into a supply closet and locking the door. I approached quietly, not wanting to make her any more upset than she already was, and gently knocked on the door. "Olivia, I can tell you're scared of something," I said in the softest voice I could muster. "You know me. You know I don't have it in me to hurt you or even think of hurting you. Please, tell me what's wrong."
No sound came from the other side of the door. Slowly, Olivia pushed open the door and hesitantly stepped outside. I noticed she had taken off her top, but then I saw what she had been hiding underneath it, and my blood started to boil over.
Bruises. Purple fist-sized marks all over her chest, stomach, and back. I shook in barely contained rage as I asked, "Who did this to you?"
Olivia began to tear up. "Eight months ago, my father went out to negotiate with a neighboring territory. He claimed they reached an agreement, but the truth is my father caved immediately, offering the prince regent my hand in marriage in exchange for their help. My fiancee, he's careful. Hits me in places nobody except him and his maids would even be able to see. I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran. But now you're here, which means they probably know where I am, and I'll have to-have to-"
Olivia couldn't even finish her sentence before crashing into my chest and sobbing deeply. I held her tenderly as a hurricane of righteous fury spun inside of me. They traded her like cattle to some monster who treated her like scum? No. I would not accept this.
"I'm not taking you back," I said to my princess. "I'm going to find some place else, where they won't find either of us, and leave your father to deal with the fallout of his spinelessness as he should have."
Olivia pulled away from me and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Annemarie, I can't let you do that! What about your oath? You swore to defend the kingdom from all her enemies-"
"And right now, the only enemies in this story are your bastard fiancee and your coward of a father. If he gave you away so easily, how could he be trusted with an entire kingdom?" As I tucked a strand of Olivia's hair behind her ear, I followed up with , "Besides, I love you far more than I care about maintaining an oath."
Olivia stared into my eyes so deep I thought she was trying to take a look at my soul. "You love me?"
The realization of what I had just said hit me like a cannonball. "Uh-well, yes, but it's the kind of love that-"
Olivia held a finger to my lips and gently shushed me. "Don't say anything. Just prove it."
Then, we leaned into each other and kissed like we were standing at the altar ourselves. And five years after that day, we actually were. | (Part of an after action report made by Althor The Bastard, King's Justicar and Hero-Protector of the Realm)
"-once we had breached the door to the chamber where the Princess was being kept, we did entry.
Upon entry, Princess Therra immediately began casting spells at us and shrieking that she did not want to leave. We subdued her, made her safe, and were preparing her for transport when I realized that something wasn't right.
Captain of the Guard: How so?
Althor: it was the spells the Princess used. They were non-lethal. If Gazzin the Clever had managed to seduce her to his cause, she would have been trying to flense the flesh from our bones.
Captain of the Guard: I see. Continue.
Althor: So I ordered the team mage, Betty the Singed, to check the Princess for magic. She did, and reported that she detected runic magic. Thinking it was put into the Princess's clothes, I had the female members of the team disrobe the Princess while we watched the door and the window.
Captain of the Guard: Well done on protecting the Princess's
Althor: Thank you. Upon disrobing the Princess, Betty reported that there were runic arrays tattooed into the Princess's skin. I told the team to hold position, and went back to Gazzin's lab, and after a brief search, located his soul anchor.
I then retrieved the soul anchor, went back to the Princess's chamber, and directed Betty to portal us to the Wizard Dave, where I asked her to remove the arrays.
After a fortnight, Dave was able to remove the arrays. She was also kind enough to put us up for the duration, and we helped out with the chores around her tower.
Captain of the Guard: That explains why the Palace recieved a bill for 750,000 gold pieces or the Minister of Revenue's testicles.
Althor: Yes sir. Also, the Wizard Dave wants to know if you're free for Autumnstide.
Captain of the Guard: Oh! I'll let her know that I am, thank you.
Althor: you're welcome.
Captain of the Guard: and the soul anchor?
Althor: After discussing it with me, the Wizard Dave decided that the best course of action was to transform it into a sterling silver butt plug, which we gave to Uzzark the Flamboyant.
Captain: Althor, just because an Orc likes to wear colorful clothes and sing, does not mean that he's gay-
Althor: I am aware of that , sir. I was the best man at his wedding. However, he and his wife are fans of buttplay, and since Gazzin is both a repressed prude, *and* a raging speciesist, we figured that this was the most appropriate course of action.
Captain of the Guard: I'll pass that along to the King and Queen.
Althor: I'm sure Their Majesties will find it as hilarious as Dave and I did. | |
[WP] Every year on January 1st, the world falls into a great sleep, every living being falls asleep for 24 hours, then wakes up with no explanation. One year, someone wakes up... | \[WP\] Every year on January 1st, the world falls into a great sleep, every living being falls asleep for 24 hours, then wakes up with no explanation. One year, someone wakes up...
Tomorrow’s the sleep day. Like everyone that doesn’t feel like getting exposure, sun burn, or eaten by some animal, I’m home. Everyone without a home goes to a dedicated sleep day shelters. I’ve had a nice night, but the weird day is here again. Science, at least so far, has no idea, sleep day has been studied for decades, but since 1983 every January the first all humans fall asleep for exactly twenty-four hours. The first was a disaster. A global catastrophe that would come to reshape the planet. Ships broke apart on shorelines. Planes fell from the sky. Cars burned on the roads.
Over a million died that day, or night, sleep day starts on midnight PT, UTC -7. Somewhere around one point six million deaths is the best estimate for ‘83, mostly from fire burning out of control, but we don’t know. We were slow to learn. In 1984 nearly that many died again. As the years rolled on, less and less of us die, but we’re no closer to knowing why. It happens, we’ve adapted. January the second has become party day, no matter the time zone. The world gets together and hosts a full twenty-four-hour party, the bill’s on the government of each country, with a backup UN fund. World’s biggest disaster, world’s biggest party. What could be more human than that.
Just five minutes to go. I check my door lock, no idea why. No-one’s awake to come in. I feed my cat Lucy two full meals and top up his water, he stretches and saunters over, eating his fill. No, we don’t know why other mammals are not affected, sleep day is uniquely human. The one-minute alarm is sent over all media. I get into bed, lie on my side in sleep day pose, it’s even taught in schools now, so we don’t injure ourselves. Or swallow our own tongues. My phone’s clock clicks to 00:00. Guess it’s a little fast. I lie and watch the clock, I don’t move. 00:01 00:02 00:03
Alight, what the fuck. How’s my phone this far out? Do I move now? Not worth the risk. Many people die every year through heart attack, brain aneurysms, whatever, just by sleeping wrong. 00:04 00:05 00:06 Something is really wrong. Did the sleep happen? It’s so quiet, but then it is always silent just before the sleep. I sit up.
Walking out to the lounge I pat Lucy. He chirrups and arches his back into my hand. I look out of my apartment window, three floors up and down onto Knight Street. It’sa four lane road going North South in Vancouver. Nothing is moving, aside from a family of skunks waddling across the road, a seagull whips past the window. “Hey Google, Roku on.” The TV turns on. It’s just a screen displaying the sleep day timer. +08:23 The timer keeps ticking up as I watch it. All channels show the same timer. It’s vital all humans are on the same page, we look out for each other, or dying in a fire is way too easy.
“I’ve … got to know.” I say to Lucy. He’s not interested. I get dressed and pull on my boots. There’s no-one in the corridor. I take the stairs, just in case the lift breaks down. In the lobby is a man and a kid. Sprawled out, the man looks like he’s banged his head pretty good as he fell holding onto his kid. He’s not bleeding though. I go over to the emergency wall locker, next to the hose reel a multi packs of sleep day mattresses. I pull out two, pull the cords, they self inflate. I pick up the kid, place he on the mattress in sleep pose, cover her legs with a mylar blanket. I roll the guy onto the other mattress and do the same for him.
It hits me as I push open the complex’s street door and leave the building, it has happened. Sleep day is on right now. But somehow. Somehow, I’m awake. What do I do? superhero this? Save some lives? Steal, get rich? Joyride a Ferrari? I have no clue. Maybe a mix of all of them. For now, I just walk North, heading for the 1A and then East Broadway, the centre of Vancouver. I’m a few blocks down when something waddles around a corner right in front of me.
“Oooo. I’ve got a live one.” It’s a five-foot pangolin looking creature in an blue overall. It’s holding a tablet in a hand with brightly painted nails. Her pocket has the word Doreen sewn onto it in embossed cursive letters.
“Ah!” I yell, jump, and slump as my legs give way. A quick crab walk backwards gains me another meter away from it. A voice comes out of the pad in response to Doreen.
‘Say again, uh, Doreen?’
“It’s a live one. Walking around. Scuttling maybe? It made a noise!” Doreen hasn’t moved. As she stares at me, I start to feel a little self-conscious and stand up.
‘That’s impossible. Are you staring at one of their screens? An, uh, wait, advert?’
“Look. I’ve told you twice already. It’s a live one. Awake. Doing things. What is not to understand? Look.” Doreen holds the pad up, a light comes on, I’m guessing she’s videoing me. I get an overwhelming urge to wave and smile. I’m not sure if it is social conditioning or shock. I wave and giggle slightly, it sounds weird even to me.
‘What the very dickens! That’s not supposed to happen.’
“I know, right.” Doreen replies.
‘In fact it has never happened before! Is it violent?’
“No. It’s just standing. Looking…strange.”
“Uh, hi, I’m Remy.” I say. As far as first contact phrases go, it is bottom of the barrel. What else was I going to say though?
“It’s a Remy.” Doreen repeats.
‘Remy, right. I’m sending a squad over.’
“That’s probably for the best.” Doreen stares at me. After a few seconds, she rocks foot to foot, uses one long multicoloured nail to scratch her … nose. This is ridiculous. I’m being socially awkward with a … I don’t know what. Doreen smells great, cinnamon, it’s a fresh scent. I don’t know if it is just them or all their species smells the same.
“So, Doreen, what’s going on?” I ask, taking a step forward. Doreen leans a little more forward, like I’m suddenly interesting.
“Oh. Did you understand all of, that?” she gestures at her tablet, she means the conversation between her and whoever was at the other end of the conversation.
“Yeah. It seems you’re speaking English, somehow.”
“It’s the cool language to learn. I’m wonderful at it. Erm. Sorry, ah, Remy. I didn’t mean to just talk about you like that, it was kinda rude.”
“That’s OK. I’m really confused, though. What’s …happening?” I gesture around me, Doreen looks at me, a little confused. I mime going to sleep.
“Oh. Right. The census. We’re doing a census. We do it to a different planet every day. All the crèche planets, that is – see?” She turns around, and gestures to the back of her overall. In large printed block capitals the words ‘CENSUS SQUAD 4-34567-651’ glow in a dull orange. She turns back around and grins.
“Ehh. Yes, I see, but … what?” We’ve closed the space between us. Now we’re talking, both wondering what to do next.
“We, ah, we put them to sleep, right? Count them, see how they are developing. You know.” A large sphere distorts behind Doreen, it grows swiftly, twists in a way that hurts my brain to think about, and there is a platform hovering above just the road. It has six more pangolin creatures on it, one steps forward, carefully walking down a small ramp to the road surface.
“Doreen, I have so many questions.” I say. She nods.
“We’ve got time.” They reply.
“Remy, correct?” The approaching pangolin asks.
“Yes You are?”
“I’m Blanche. I think we can answer each other's questions. Would you mind coming with me? I’ll bring you back before we restart them all, of course.” I consider this, they seem polite, but it’s still a risk. Yet, I’ve got to know.
“Sure.” I say, heading toward the platform, into a cloud of cinnamon scent.
\~\~\~ If you would like to read more of my stories, [see here](https://www.reddit.com/user/ukeewoman/comments/xr0dq0/links_to_all_my_reddit_stories/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3). \~\~\~ | **THE STRAWBERRIES WERE BLUE THIS YEAR.** But they were just as big and just as shiny as the years before. And even tastier! At least according to his friend, they were. He himself was still suspicious of the color.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Gayle. The fur around his flat muzzle was stained blue. "Blue, red, polka-dot--it's all the same! Just close yer eyes and you'll never know the difference."
"But *why* is it blue?" asked Gus. He stood against it with his paws and sniffed cautiously. It definitely *smelled* like a strawberry, and a tasty one at that. But it was still so...*blue*. And the seeds were yellow! Yellow seeds! Who had heard? "Aren't you just a little bit curious?"
His friend's tiny mouth munched in rapid circles. "Curious?" he said sloppily. "Grateful is more like it. Every year I worry the strawberries won't come, and every year I'm relieved to see them sitting here when we wake up. It is a blessing! A Feast Day miracle! It's certainly bad luck or something to decline a gift such as this. You're probably going to insult some god if you don't eat one."
"Perhaps," Gus agreed, although he had little belief in gods. "...I just wish it wasn't so...*blue*."
"Look around you! It's not stopping anyone else!" And indeed the other guinea pigs were enjoying the celebration, even teasing one another about the blue coloring on their faces and paws. "Do they look sick to you? Does anyone else look alarmed? See. This is why you can't be happy. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop, never allowing yourself to live in the moment."
Still, Gus hesitated. "Maybe if you were more cautious about what you eat, you wouldn't be so sick all the time." It was a harsh point, but also no secret. His friend had nearly every disease in the world. He was missing an eye and both his back legs. His fur fell off in clumps. He was always coughing up big wads of lung snot, and he stank so bad that none of the females wanted to mate with him.
Gayle was incensed by the comment. He stormed over in frustration on only two paws, his torso dragging behind him. "Fine! If you won't eat it, I will. Go hungry tonight. And good luck enjoying your post-Feast Day hibernation on an empty stomach!"
Gus let his friend eat the blue thing, and he felt no regret. He did, however, have trouble sleeping that night, just as Gayle predicted. Every year the strawberries come--heavy and bountiful and as big as their big heads--and every year he and his friends and family would feast so hard and so long they would all pass out for nearly one full day and two full nights.
He scrunched up into his sleeping ball as tight as he could, but sleep simply did not come. The others were snoring loudly, some piled right on top of the others, too lethargic to bother finding their own bed spots. Hours passed for Gus.
...and then a shaking, like an earthquake. A split formed in the sky, like straight lightning that went sideways instead of down. Then light, as bright and total as noonday. Gus turned his face away from the sudden brilliance.
He ventured a peek, and he wished he hadn't. The entire sky was broken open like an egg. Instead of stars, there were gods towering in the high cosmos, gazing down upon the world. At first Gus was awestruck, and then he felt a terror he never imagined possible.
He tried to wake his friend, but Gayle was so deep asleep he was practically comatose. As were all the others. Even as Gus screamed and kicked and ran over them in panic, it was as futile as trying to raise the dead.
A hand fell from the heavens, blue and smooth and clawless and larger than anything Gus had ever seen. It abducted Tina...and then returned for Alex and baby Simone, then the twins. One by one, the others were pulled up into blinding whiteness of space. Once his crippled friend was snatched--still snoring--Gus was the only one left. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The gods were all encompassing. His heart was beating so fast it hummed in his chest.
The beings looked down upon him and made godsounds to each other. He hoped they were going to let him be. He closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, ashamed of himself for not eating the strawberry, promising that if he ever made it out of this, he'd eat anything the gods left him, no matter what color it was or how bad it smelled or tasted.
But his prayers went unanswered, because a god hand came down and pulled him up into their realm, imprisoning him in a cage where he could bear witness to the horror of their omnipotent sadism.
Gus watched with huge black eyes as the gods impaled Skinny Thomas with clear veins and stole his blood. Agatha Mae--his childhood crush, pregnant with a full litter--was sliced open at the belly, and her pups were adopted by the gods, the small things still wet and curled and furless. And Gayle...oh, god, *Gayle*.
Gayle was on a smooth stone, belly up. Two of the gods were playing with him. One was cutting open his side, draining him of all his blue, and the other was cutting open...his head. Using a very tiny claw, the god took off the peak of Gayle's scalp as easy as a hat. The god placed the bloody cap to the side. And where it had been was something...white. And mushy. Like a clump of maggots. It had a pulse to it, and Gus instinctually knew that whatever it was, it WAS *Gayle.* The soul of him. The thing that persisted once you die. The thing that goes to the afterlife. The thing only ghosts and gods can see.
As they played with the slimy soul of Gayle, another god snuck up behind Gus and stung him in the back of the neck. Before the scream could even leave his lips, he was in the darkness of a dreamless sleep. When he awoke, it was morning.
The sky had returned. The others were awake and doing their morning chores, cleaning up from the feast. And even Gayle was already up and about. He was standing over him, grinning.
"I told you, you would offend the gods."
It was then that Gus realized how his friend was standing: on all *four* legs.
"How did y--"
And then the second horror hit, because he recognized whose legs they were. His own. And before he could scream, Gus coughed up a cannonball of phlegm, just like Gayle would do.
...it was blue. | |
[WP] When humans got to space, we learned very quickly that precious minerals weren’t so precious when there were entire asteroids made of the stuff. You saw the REAL market, and sell something only Earth has that everyone wants: Shrubberies. | "Ni!"
"Ni!"
Such was our greeting at our shop, the Botanists Who Say "Ni!". We weren't knights, so we didn't use the title due to laws against stolen valor. It was a pretty serious issue, so the punishments were severe. Of course, so was the punishment of stealing. Our shop was high-end, meaning that we had the best security to prevent our greenhouses and shops from being raided by thieves and arsonists.
We did not sell our wares just for decoration. Many produced fruit, which was also sold at our shop. Some had to be imported from Earth, while others could grow on-site in indoor greenhouses and plantations. Generally, the fruits were less expensive than the shrubberies, but they still fetched a pretty penny.
While our clientele was mainly rich nobles, rulers, and ambassadors, we did also sell to museums and conservatories to at least preserve the plants. Soon, we began living large, expanding our shops to handle many things, including fashioning bouquets. We also began selling drinks, including smoothies, juices, and teas. We never went too big or decided to dominate the market. However, our approaches were very unique as we catered to the middle class as well as the upper class. We also donated food and supplies to shelters for the homeless and refugees, causing public opinion to be mainly positive. However, we just stayed where we were. This was a good place to stay. And that was quite fine by us. | My first law of business states that hard money is good money. A far devation from the normalised philosophy of flying to the word beyond and violently destroying a floating rock, so that the government may build another ship to fight its battles to acquire said flying rock.
"I don't get what you sell sir"
"Shrubberies" I shouted. The most valuable resource, the only resource only found on earth that the rich have an insane desire to cover their properties In.
"I thought the pollution ruined the fertility of the earth?"
"Only that of the sellouts" I replied condescendingly "those who let an overweight pig build a steel behemoth in their backyard. To extract the last diamonds for the snobby rich living along the coast, who have never even heard of global warming"
However many diamond deposits they got their grubby little fingers on it was never enough however when I had grown a few shrubs and sold them the the city
I was gleaming with joy. A young enterprising young genius who now sat in the same office the oil tycoons once did, the same chair the men who now live in board rooms frantically screaming at secretaries lowering their prices a bit lower than the Last competitor leaving each other in the dust.
Who knew plants would become the key to the high life huh? | |
[WP] When humans got to space, we learned very quickly that precious minerals weren’t so precious when there were entire asteroids made of the stuff. You saw the REAL market, and sell something only Earth has that everyone wants: Shrubberies. | "Welcome to *Ericaceae Station!"* Lena said, cheerfully, as the Zolodai ambassador lumbered onto the main concourse of the large trading station in orbit around Luna.
The Zolodai lowered his shaggy-furred head so it was level with Lena's. She reached up and gently scratched the sort fur on the sides of the sloth-like Zolodai's head, and the alien in turn ran one of his long hooked claws delicately through her own braided locks. Ritualized mutual grooming was as fundamental to polite social interaction among the Zolodai as handshakes were for humans.
This greeting ritual accomplished, Lena gestured the ambassador forward and walked beside him as he made his way onto the concourse in his ponderous way. His people, she knew, were minimalists, when it came to verbal communication, so she spared her hirsute guest the usual spiel explaining the layout of the station, and allowed him to experience it for himself.
They passed down a row of fragrant bayberry shrubs, which he sniffed at curiously, and rows of hydroponically grown holly bushes, which didn't seem to interest him. When they reached the long, narrow cranberry pond, he placed his broad, flat face close to the water and glanced at her. Lena, recalling a gesture she'd learned in xeno-diplomatic training, hooked her fingers to resemble the shape of a Zolodai's claws, and lifted them to her open mouth -- indicating that the ambassador was welcome to sample the berries.
Without further prompting, the large alien slurped up a hefty mouthful of the berries from the water, chewed thoughtfully, and then gave a slight head bob -- mild approval, Lena believed. They continued to the next row of bushes, which the ambassador sniffed, and then slowly passed a claw through, revealing them as holograms.
Lena smiled. That usually got a response, as all of the other plants on the concourse were, well, *plants.* She readied herself for the next step.
"Why?" the ambassador asked, speaking for the first time.
"These holograms," Lena explained. "Are of *Vaccinium membranaceum* -- which we call the black mountain huckleberry. We have no actual specimens on-station."
"Extinct?" the ambassador inquired.
She shook her head. "Oh no, it's very much extant. It's just that huckleberries have resisted all attempts at domestication and artificial cultivation, even on our homeworld -- artificially grown plants simply don't bear fruit, for reasons we still don't understand. We've set aside large swathes of wilderness as natural huckleberry cultivation preserves, and done everything we can to encourage their growth, but even so it's very difficult to keep up with demand for the fruit of these little shrubs."
The ambassador blinked. "Why demand?"
Lena had been waiting for this. She reached into her pocket, and withdrew a handful of dried huckleberries, offering them to the ambassador. The hulking alien delicately scooped them up in his claws, and then into his mouth.
The Zolodai's eyes went wide as he tasted the tiny fruit. Though Lena was trained not to read human emotional responses into those of aliens, she was sure the tears brimming in the ambassador's eyes were a positive sign.
"We...will trade for these." the Zolodai said, hoarsely.
Lena grinned. "I'm sure we can work something out." | My first law of business states that hard money is good money. A far devation from the normalised philosophy of flying to the word beyond and violently destroying a floating rock, so that the government may build another ship to fight its battles to acquire said flying rock.
"I don't get what you sell sir"
"Shrubberies" I shouted. The most valuable resource, the only resource only found on earth that the rich have an insane desire to cover their properties In.
"I thought the pollution ruined the fertility of the earth?"
"Only that of the sellouts" I replied condescendingly "those who let an overweight pig build a steel behemoth in their backyard. To extract the last diamonds for the snobby rich living along the coast, who have never even heard of global warming"
However many diamond deposits they got their grubby little fingers on it was never enough however when I had grown a few shrubs and sold them the the city
I was gleaming with joy. A young enterprising young genius who now sat in the same office the oil tycoons once did, the same chair the men who now live in board rooms frantically screaming at secretaries lowering their prices a bit lower than the Last competitor leaving each other in the dust.
Who knew plants would become the key to the high life huh? | |
[WP] When humans got to space, we learned very quickly that precious minerals weren’t so precious when there were entire asteroids made of the stuff. You saw the REAL market, and sell something only Earth has that everyone wants: Shrubberies. | "Ni!"
"Ni!"
Such was our greeting at our shop, the Botanists Who Say "Ni!". We weren't knights, so we didn't use the title due to laws against stolen valor. It was a pretty serious issue, so the punishments were severe. Of course, so was the punishment of stealing. Our shop was high-end, meaning that we had the best security to prevent our greenhouses and shops from being raided by thieves and arsonists.
We did not sell our wares just for decoration. Many produced fruit, which was also sold at our shop. Some had to be imported from Earth, while others could grow on-site in indoor greenhouses and plantations. Generally, the fruits were less expensive than the shrubberies, but they still fetched a pretty penny.
While our clientele was mainly rich nobles, rulers, and ambassadors, we did also sell to museums and conservatories to at least preserve the plants. Soon, we began living large, expanding our shops to handle many things, including fashioning bouquets. We also began selling drinks, including smoothies, juices, and teas. We never went too big or decided to dominate the market. However, our approaches were very unique as we catered to the middle class as well as the upper class. We also donated food and supplies to shelters for the homeless and refugees, causing public opinion to be mainly positive. However, we just stayed where we were. This was a good place to stay. And that was quite fine by us. | Shruberries are the most precious species on the universe, they are only observed on earth, something about it's unique characteristics pleases any species, it's color and shape are still a mystery, somehow the plant is capable of adapting itself to the environment even after harvested, until it uses all it's energy and is no longer materialized.
They are rare due to the conditions it encounters, the world has changed do to the pollution we caused to earth while running for space, we were really living and creating a world for robots to clean up while we were gone, as if we would all go and no soul would be left on earth.
After the very first were gone things kept the same, each day somebody dreamed on going to the stars, we forgot how things were moving. When we realized, our forests were destroyed, shrunk by half, farms turned into deserts, dust clouds ran the air, the rain was acid, and somehow, Scruberries were capable of resisting all this. When we first found it on the Amazon, they didn't even know if it was poisonous, during research humans learned it's importance and value.
News spread to the universe about a plant so unique like no other. That was the first time the riches decided to come back to visit earth, life here was still breathing, even among all pollution. | |
[WP] When humans got to space, we learned very quickly that precious minerals weren’t so precious when there were entire asteroids made of the stuff. You saw the REAL market, and sell something only Earth has that everyone wants: Shrubberies. | "Welcome to *Ericaceae Station!"* Lena said, cheerfully, as the Zolodai ambassador lumbered onto the main concourse of the large trading station in orbit around Luna.
The Zolodai lowered his shaggy-furred head so it was level with Lena's. She reached up and gently scratched the sort fur on the sides of the sloth-like Zolodai's head, and the alien in turn ran one of his long hooked claws delicately through her own braided locks. Ritualized mutual grooming was as fundamental to polite social interaction among the Zolodai as handshakes were for humans.
This greeting ritual accomplished, Lena gestured the ambassador forward and walked beside him as he made his way onto the concourse in his ponderous way. His people, she knew, were minimalists, when it came to verbal communication, so she spared her hirsute guest the usual spiel explaining the layout of the station, and allowed him to experience it for himself.
They passed down a row of fragrant bayberry shrubs, which he sniffed at curiously, and rows of hydroponically grown holly bushes, which didn't seem to interest him. When they reached the long, narrow cranberry pond, he placed his broad, flat face close to the water and glanced at her. Lena, recalling a gesture she'd learned in xeno-diplomatic training, hooked her fingers to resemble the shape of a Zolodai's claws, and lifted them to her open mouth -- indicating that the ambassador was welcome to sample the berries.
Without further prompting, the large alien slurped up a hefty mouthful of the berries from the water, chewed thoughtfully, and then gave a slight head bob -- mild approval, Lena believed. They continued to the next row of bushes, which the ambassador sniffed, and then slowly passed a claw through, revealing them as holograms.
Lena smiled. That usually got a response, as all of the other plants on the concourse were, well, *plants.* She readied herself for the next step.
"Why?" the ambassador asked, speaking for the first time.
"These holograms," Lena explained. "Are of *Vaccinium membranaceum* -- which we call the black mountain huckleberry. We have no actual specimens on-station."
"Extinct?" the ambassador inquired.
She shook her head. "Oh no, it's very much extant. It's just that huckleberries have resisted all attempts at domestication and artificial cultivation, even on our homeworld -- artificially grown plants simply don't bear fruit, for reasons we still don't understand. We've set aside large swathes of wilderness as natural huckleberry cultivation preserves, and done everything we can to encourage their growth, but even so it's very difficult to keep up with demand for the fruit of these little shrubs."
The ambassador blinked. "Why demand?"
Lena had been waiting for this. She reached into her pocket, and withdrew a handful of dried huckleberries, offering them to the ambassador. The hulking alien delicately scooped them up in his claws, and then into his mouth.
The Zolodai's eyes went wide as he tasted the tiny fruit. Though Lena was trained not to read human emotional responses into those of aliens, she was sure the tears brimming in the ambassador's eyes were a positive sign.
"We...will trade for these." the Zolodai said, hoarsely.
Lena grinned. "I'm sure we can work something out." | Shruberries are the most precious species on the universe, they are only observed on earth, something about it's unique characteristics pleases any species, it's color and shape are still a mystery, somehow the plant is capable of adapting itself to the environment even after harvested, until it uses all it's energy and is no longer materialized.
They are rare due to the conditions it encounters, the world has changed do to the pollution we caused to earth while running for space, we were really living and creating a world for robots to clean up while we were gone, as if we would all go and no soul would be left on earth.
After the very first were gone things kept the same, each day somebody dreamed on going to the stars, we forgot how things were moving. When we realized, our forests were destroyed, shrunk by half, farms turned into deserts, dust clouds ran the air, the rain was acid, and somehow, Scruberries were capable of resisting all this. When we first found it on the Amazon, they didn't even know if it was poisonous, during research humans learned it's importance and value.
News spread to the universe about a plant so unique like no other. That was the first time the riches decided to come back to visit earth, life here was still breathing, even among all pollution. | |
[WP] Most super heroes' powers are powered by good emotions like hope, love or joy. Yours are powered by pure, unbridled hatred. | A cross burned in front of the house.
I could see most of them, a dozen or so, standing in their white robes and hoods. They just stood there, for now, letting that cross burn to savor the moment.
Wasn't like anyone would stop them: not the family inside the house, not the neighbors, and especially not the police. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if the sheriff himself was leading this posse.
The hate coming off of them burned as hot as the cross: I knew, same as everyone like me knew, how much they hated people like us. Some say they're just scared of us, as if being scared gave you the right to hurt others. Some say they're just misunderstood or ignorant, or anxious that we'll take their jobs or their farms or their girls.
*Bullshit*. That bunch might have a hundred reasons for what they did, reasons that they told themselves so they could sleep at night amd reasons they told in their churches to make it sit well with God, but I knew it just came down to one thing: hate.
Hate's why they were there tonight, like they'd been on so many other farms on so many other nights. Hate's why their leader stepped up to the house, carrying the same torch he lit the cross with, and threw it at the window. Hate's why the others set up by the doors with whips and clubs, ready to beat bloody anyone that ran out once the house caught fire.
And hate's why I stepped out of the dark of night and why my footsteps made the ground tremble. Hate's why their fires went out when I breathed in, the flames streaming to my mouth and nose and lighting me up inside like burning coal. Hate's why I breathed out the flame, its red scar arcing through the air to set their robes burning and char their flesh to the bone beneath.
They turned to me screaming, uncomprehending, bleeding sudden pain and misery they had always inflicted but never experienced. They saw me and some, braver or dumber than the others, charged at me with their clubs and their whips and their hate.
They didn't last long, and neither did those who ran. None of that possee would be home by morning, and none of them would light another cross on fire tomorrow night nor ever again.
When I was done they were just ashes in the wind. Some say that we should turn the other cheek, or endure till the troubles pass. Some, but not me: when someone hates you that much, they'll only stop when you turn their hate back on them. The more they hate, the hotter they'll burn, and I'm just fine with that.
Twelve of them tonight, and who knows how many tomorrow, but I won't stop until they do. I'll go on for as long as they keep hating.
The house, and the family in it, were safe. | No one paid attention as Jane got on the bus. There was no reason to. Just another set of business casual clothes and an expressionless face.
She looked around, but there were no seats available. Typical. She idly played with her phone. Her earbuds didn't fit right, and she had to keep pushing one back in. The silicone squeaked faintly in her ear every time she did so.
Finally a song she liked came on. *After years of waiting, nothing-* PING, PING, PING, back-to-back text messages interrupted it. Looking at her screen, she saw it was her supervisor. One of her coworkers had called in sick. The only other help desk employee on the schedule for today. Half of the department was out for 2 weeks of quarantine. Despite having a job that could be easily done from home, they were required to come in to the office. The results were predictable.
Not only would Jane be operating solo today, but she'd be teaching a class. The director of IT thought it was important to have a continuous training program. And as the bottom of the ladder, help desk got saddled with the work.
Jane shuddered with anger, before she calmed herself back down. Two hours locked in a room helping the helpless, teaching to the unreachable. And then to head back to her cube, to get yelled at by people who had deleted their entire hard drive by mistake.
The bus pulled up to the next stop. Only one person got on. The music played on in her ears. *And you realize you're looking, looking in the wrong place.*
Over her earbuds, Jane hears someone shrieking. She looks up. The newest passenger was holding out an open backpack and a gun. Passengers were emptying their pockets into the bag as he walked past.
Jane started shaking with rage again. The mugger, mistaking it for fear, angrily waved to the bag. "I don't have all day, bitch! Money and phone, in the bag!"
Jane slowly reached out towards the gun. The bullets tore into her shirt, but she felt nothing but rage and hatred. Hatred for this man, for everyone on this overcrowded bus, her sick coworker, the braindead users, for every detail of her life since graduation.
As she closed her hand, she felt steel and bone give way. The remaining bullets in the gun detonated from the pressure. The mugger and several bystanders fell down, bleeding from shrapnel wounds.
And all Jane could hear was the incessant drone of the music. *I'm a reasonable man, get off my case, get off my case, get off my case.* | |
[WP] Most super heroes' powers are powered by good emotions like hope, love or joy. Yours are powered by pure, unbridled hatred. | By nature, I'm not a hateful person. I like seeing the good in people, and they like to see the good in me.
I don't know what takes over when he shows up.
You hear about the other masked vigilantes that pop up around the city, they're powered by their need to do right in this world. They want to protect the innocent, inspire hope and compassion. These heroes need to be a beacon to strive towards, and that's incredibly noble. Their powers, I think in part, derive from that. Quasar had that light beam that knocked people out, Fortune Soldier had that whole shield gimmick. Even the darker heroes like Night Terror, for all the shit they put people through, never killed anyone.
I'd love to be like that, to believe that ultimately a person could change his ways for the better if he lost to a hero like that. But, like that old pulp hero once said...I've seen what lurks in the hearts of men. At a certain point, "human" is a little generous. Vicious, bloodthirsty psychopaths can get awfully far in the right cities. They just trade in the dirty hoodies and switchblades for three-piece suits and quill pens, which they use to wipe out entire swathes of starving children before lunchtime.
I listen in on the meetings that lead up to these murders, these massacres. Entire lives destroyed by a show of hands. But they don't know that HE is also there, also watching.
At night, He takes over. And in the morning, there's one less hand, and they can't complete that vote. The Tribune would brand me a psychopath, a villain, a being of fire and hatred that must be snuffed out. But He's thorough. Efficient. And in some odd way, I'm grateful for him.
Golden City's known throughout the globe as a beacon of the free world, and they say the heroes are the reason why. But the heroes only treat the symptoms. To rid itself of disease, the body needs to burn it out.
Which is a service I'm more than happy to provide. | "We have to, he's too powerful," said the Spandex avenger, her power granted by her hope. Most people considered that hope to be that the spandex would hold together while fighting with people who could shoot lasers out of their eyes, but to each her own.
"No, he will taint the name of the Super Forever Buddies forever," said Captain Forever, who's love of all people had one obvious exception.
"Tut Tut, foolish heros," said Death Lord, the Lord of Death. "You have no chance against my Death Powers!"
"We get it, you are death," groaned Spandex Avenger, "We have to use the neckbeard."
"Maximum OverSteve would agree with me!"
"Maximum OverSteve is dead," said the Spandex Avenger.
"Fine," groaned Captain Forever, "Broneyman, you are up."
"Why does no one like me," asked Broneyman, the super hero who's powers were entirly my little pony themed. Creppily so.
"You just take a little getting used to," said the Spanex Avenger, sighing. "My eyes are up here."
"I'm sorry, its just... " began Broneyman and she shook her head.
"I know, there's a My Little Pony store behind me, I was trying to get in your line of sight so you couldn't see it," she said sadly.
"Unleash him already," groaned CAptain Forever. Losing his leg was really bothering him.
"Fine," said Spandex Avenger, "Death Lord thinks Pootie Pie is fat."
"What the hell does that mean," asked the 320 lb neckbeard.
"Pinkie pie," groaned Captain Forever, "He said she was fat."
The world shook as Broneyman's eyes turned black.
Death Lord paused, pointed his hand at Broneyman and activated his power of live and death. The green field surrounded Broneyman and attempted to snuff out his life force.
"My life cannot be extinguished until Pinkie Pie is avenged," he screamed, launching up the fourty feet into the air before striking Death Lord once. The lord of death flew through the nearest skyscraper, and the next, and the next.
Shaking his head from the impact, Death Lord looked down. "Am I in central park? I was in queens?"
"None who besmirch my love may live," said Broneyman.
"I didn't say anything about her," was the last thing that Death Lord managed to say before Broneyman hit him with all the caged fury that a brony could muster. Death Lord slammed into the ground and kept going.
"Say hi to the core of the earth for me," said Broneyman. Of course, who he said it to was debatable. Striking someone hard enough to knock them into the core of the planet was impractical for the people who were standing nearby.
"Again," said Captain Forever.
"We'll just blame Death Lord," said the Spandex Avenger. | |
[WP] You are a hero that has a well-known rivalry with a villain that goes back for years. A second villain shows up, and you have been fighting them secretly. The first villain finds out, and it is portrayed exactly like an affair. | As the city lay in ruins, I could only pant as I looked around in melancholy. The once tall city skyliner has now been rendered into complete rubble. The bustling city square filled to the brim with farmers’ markets and bonanzas, now squashed and filled with destroyed fruit and instruments. The parliament that stood strong as the face of justice? Pounded into bits.
I sighed, grabbing my spear as I stood up, my body battered and bruised, but not broken. My original outfit by now has been rendered into shreds, my chest bleeding as numerous chunks of my own armour started to fall out. Above me, a cackle reverberated throughout the darkened sky, overcast in a blanket of clouds and lightning.
“Oh how the great paladin has fallen hm?~~ Not so divine now, are you?~~” I looked up, my grip on my spear starting to loosen. A woman, dressed scantily, only chuckled as she seemed to play lackadaisically in the sky, her demonic tail seemingly wagging in glee. Both voluptuous in nature, and dangerously seductive, she can be easily mistaken for a succubus.
But that’s no succubus.
“Quit your games, Azazel. First you fell out of heaven and now you keep terrorising this city whenever you see fit. I was lucky I even managed to get everyone evacuated in time” I flared in response, kicking up a piece of rubble before filming it at her.
“Well that’s because you are so pure, it was only right I see that you are corrupted to become my own slave~~” Azazel wagged her fingers, flicking the rubble by the side as numerous magic circles formed around her. “And now, with you here in such a sorry state, I can finally claim your soul for *my* own use”
“You can ask Hypnos, because the only possible way you can do that is in your dreams” I spat on the floor, gripping my spear in final act of defiance. Recently chosen to be the defender of Earth, I received my mantle when I was a mere salaryman who lived paycheck to paycheck. Now, I’m about to die to the queen of hell.
What a life huh.
“Oh I absolutely will be dreaming about this victory, see you~~” The magic circles started to glow, only to be cut short as a laser seemed to cut through them, and into me as I barely blocked the attack with the remaining chunks of my armour. “What?!”
Turning around, Azazel could only see a swarm of robots, flying about as a screen opened up before us, revealing an old man dressed in a rather extravagant lab coat. “Ahhh, the famous King of Humans, reduced to such a sorry state. Just what I needed.”
“Oh, Doctor Fear now is not the time” I sighed, shooing the screen away. “Can’t you see-“
“What’s the meaning of this?!” I widened my eyes in shock, turning to Azazel, who barrelled into me in response. “Why are you on Alias-basis?!” | My fire clashes against Hydra's freezing jets. Normally, I fight Crash, who uses electrical powers, but Hydra has proved a villain of equal measure to him, so I've been alternating who I fight each evening. Just as I've backed Hydra against the wall, I hear a shout. "PYRO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Uh-oh... Crash sounds angry... he jumps down, the air crackling around him. "Crash! I can explain-" "Don't" he responds. "I'm furious, Pyro!" I gulp, prepared for a shock of lightening, especially painful since I'm soaked... but Crash grins. "You *know* I'm better than Hydra! I need to show him how it's done! Hydra, you can make his night more satisfying than this! Let's f\*ck Pyro over together!" Both Hydra and I grin with Crash - looks like this evening just got more fun! Hot, wet *and* electrifying! Of course they're not gonna take turns; I have to entertain them both at the same time! | |
[WP] A popular trope is that humans are space orcs. The 'hold my beer' species. However when we finally joined the galactic community, to our horror we found that we were the mature ones. That we were the Vulcans and everyone else was chaotic humanity, as it were. | "Today you all embark on your first mission with your newly assigned crew. Orders await you on your ships in airlock seventeen. Good luck!" The Commander gave the salute of the Glatic Federation, signaling the end of the assembly and the end of the new officers' graduation day.
"Glory and Peace for All!" A hundred voices said, accompanied by the thunder of two hundred boots moving to the proper posture.
Paul fell back to a relaxed posture and took what felt like his first breath in an hour. He had just graduated from the Glatic Academy and to his surprise he had been named a Captain of a new crew of fresh graduates. He was the first human to graduate from the academy after his race's appearance on the glatic stage. He still didn't know why he was chosen as a Captain. In the crew that had left Earth he was a lowly Petty Officer, and then only just barely passing the qualifications required for that role. He felt woefully unprepared to lead an exploration crew.
Around him his classmates - now colleges - chattered and moved off towards the airlock. Paul turned to follow the crowd and found Zatory walking towards him, two of his four arms raised in greeting.
"Paul! You made it! But of course you did. You're a *human* after all. Teacher's pet and all that." Said Zatory, punching Paul lightly on the arm several times and laughing, dancing lightly like a boxer back home on Earth would.
"Hey Zatory. Congratulations to you too. What crew are you on?" Paul asked his friend.
"Ever serious!" Zatory reached up and pulled Paul's cap askew with a wink. "Crew fourty five. I'm an engineer! What about you? Or did they promote you right to Senior Command?"
"I'm on crew seven. Captain." Paul said, fixing his cap and dodging his friend's attempts to muss his hair in the brief moment the cap was off.
"CAPTAIN!" Zotroy shouted, grinding to a halt. "Captain! Paulie that's my human! My little human, all grown up and commanding a crew!" Zatory jumped on him, nearly knocking them both over as he hugged the much smaller Paul with all four arms.
Paul could feel his face burning, but he was thankful for his friend's praise all the same. Being the only human at the academy had been lonely at first, but Zat was one of the few people to befriend Paul. Everyone else thought he was too serious to be friends with. But Zat didn't seem to care about that, or anything really, he was carefree about most things like that. They were opposites many ways, Paul was quiet where Zat was not, and Paul usually felt awkward around others where Zat could talk to anyone about anything without a care in the world. He was glad to have a friend like Zat.
The two friends continued along. Zat chatted jovially, joking about the day's events. Little about the day had been what Paul expected, but little about the academy had been what he expected either. The Federation was much more casual than similar organizations on Earth were. After six Sol months in the academy Paul came to understand why humans had quickly developed a reputation as serious, stern, and logical.
"Ok this is my stop." Zat waved at a ship they were passing. "Good luck out there!" He waved at Paul and started walking toward the ship. A few paces away he turned and yelled more loudly than necessary, "And you better write me lots of letters Paulie! Everyday! I'll be heartsbroken if you don't! Bye! Miss you already!" Zat pretended to wipe away tears as he waved.
"I'll write if you do! Good luck out there!" Paul waved at his friend with a laugh and continued on toward his ship.
He could see it ahead, the curve of the airlock deck bringing it into view long before he reached it. He straightened his cap and cravat, and checked that his jacket was zipped up. He wanted to look capable and prepared. He tried to think of what to say to his new crew, but nothing he thought of sounded appropriate and his heart was pounding in his throat anyway. Before he could come up with anything his feet brought him to the ship.
Before the sleek silvery vessel stood five other people. Two Zoldovians, like Zat, with their four arms and grayish skin. One female Atian, her leathery tentacles a bright purple hue. And two Uduri, both with reddish skin and brightly polished, curved facial horns.
"Ah so we got the Human." Said one of the Uduri, noticing Paul's approach.
"Hi, yes. I've been assigned to crew seven. My name is Paul, and I've been assigned -"
"Captain Human! We know. You must be excited! We're excited!" The larger Zoldovian said, clapping two sets of hands. One of the Uduri slapped Paul on the back, sending his cap flying and knocking the wind out of him. Paul caught the hat and tried to catch his breath again and the crew gathered closer around him.
"Right." Said Paul feeling as if his introduction didn't go quite as he'd hoped. Before he could figure out how to proceed one of his new crew members spoke.
"Ah, we're just giving you a hard time Cap! 'S all good!" Said the Atian. "You humans are a hoot. Anyway, I'm Keilie."
"Zool." Said the big Zoldovian.
"Zanider, at your service." Was the smaller Zoldovian's introduction.
"Urg and Gor." Said the Uduri who had spoken first to Paul, indicating themselves and their companion.
Paul began to salute when the crew broke out in laughter.
"Ya don't need to do that if the Commander ain't around. We'd all salute ourselves to death otherwise." Choked Zainder, whiping at his eyes.
"This aught'a be a good time. Common Cap, let's get out there." Zool grabbed Paul's arm and began to drag him towards the ship.
"Glory and Gold!" Chanted the crew as they piled into the ship, playfully editing the Federation's slogan.
Paul allowed himself a laugh and joined in on the chant as the crew dragged him aboard their ship. Maybe this Captain thing wouldn't be so hard after all. | When we first made contact, before we could establish treaties and trade relations. Before we could generally Do A Diplomacy.
We had to start by drawing shapes in the sand, metaphorically speaking. We needed to learn each other's language so we could communicate and, prior to that, we needed to understand each other's world view.
We faced a surprising challenge. We could not get them to understand the concept of War. Not because they were so egalitarian and cooperative that they couldn't comprehend it. On the contrary. We explained cooperation with the precision of quantum physics, and they understood it about as intuitively. But they understood it.
We couldn't explain war to them, for the same reason you can't explain water to a fish. Why give a name to a state of conflict when that is the only state that exists? Might as well just call it the universe. | |
[WP] A popular trope is that humans are space orcs. The 'hold my beer' species. However when we finally joined the galactic community, to our horror we found that we were the mature ones. That we were the Vulcans and everyone else was chaotic humanity, as it were. | "What is going on here?" Ethan's gaze swept over the what was left of the mess hall, taking in the the carnage with a quickly growing expression of incredulity.
The debris in the right-hand corner shifted as a three-foot tall being with four arms and furry, green skin managed to slide out.
"We were just having some fun with those new flashy things you brought from Earth. Xavier said you wouldn't mind," Xandra pouted.
Ethan's eyes bulged, but the recently accused Xavier didn't seem to notice as he maneuvered his way out from underneath the table that had lodged in the wall across from Xandra. He was similar in appearance to his sister but had purple fur.
"Come on Xandra, why do you always have to snitch?" Xavier whined.
Ethan stared at the two, then finally found his voice.
"You set off fireworks? INDOORS?! What were you thinking, you could have been KILLED!" He shouted.
Ethan was about to continue his tirade, but then remembered the two beings had, until very recently, been raised on a class 2 planet, nearly devoid of any real danger or cause for alarm. Compare that to his own home planet's class 15 designation, and maybe there was a reason these two never seemed to recognize a Bad Idea when they saw it.
Ethan took a calming breath as he noticed the two looking nervously at him.
"Listen," he said more gently, "I'm sorry for shouting, I was just very worried. That was a very dangerous thing to do and one or both of you could have been seriously hurt. Let's get you to the medbay to make sure you're both alright."
As they started heading out of the ruined mess hall, Ethan added, a bit more firmly, "Afterwards, we're going to have a long talk about fire safety."
Edit: spelling, on mobile with big thumbs | When we first made contact, before we could establish treaties and trade relations. Before we could generally Do A Diplomacy.
We had to start by drawing shapes in the sand, metaphorically speaking. We needed to learn each other's language so we could communicate and, prior to that, we needed to understand each other's world view.
We faced a surprising challenge. We could not get them to understand the concept of War. Not because they were so egalitarian and cooperative that they couldn't comprehend it. On the contrary. We explained cooperation with the precision of quantum physics, and they understood it about as intuitively. But they understood it.
We couldn't explain war to them, for the same reason you can't explain water to a fish. Why give a name to a state of conflict when that is the only state that exists? Might as well just call it the universe. | |
[WP] A popular trope is that humans are space orcs. The 'hold my beer' species. However when we finally joined the galactic community, to our horror we found that we were the mature ones. That we were the Vulcans and everyone else was chaotic humanity, as it were. | "What is going on here?" Ethan's gaze swept over the what was left of the mess hall, taking in the the carnage with a quickly growing expression of incredulity.
The debris in the right-hand corner shifted as a three-foot tall being with four arms and furry, green skin managed to slide out.
"We were just having some fun with those new flashy things you brought from Earth. Xavier said you wouldn't mind," Xandra pouted.
Ethan's eyes bulged, but the recently accused Xavier didn't seem to notice as he maneuvered his way out from underneath the table that had lodged in the wall across from Xandra. He was similar in appearance to his sister but had purple fur.
"Come on Xandra, why do you always have to snitch?" Xavier whined.
Ethan stared at the two, then finally found his voice.
"You set off fireworks? INDOORS?! What were you thinking, you could have been KILLED!" He shouted.
Ethan was about to continue his tirade, but then remembered the two beings had, until very recently, been raised on a class 2 planet, nearly devoid of any real danger or cause for alarm. Compare that to his own home planet's class 15 designation, and maybe there was a reason these two never seemed to recognize a Bad Idea when they saw it.
Ethan took a calming breath as he noticed the two looking nervously at him.
"Listen," he said more gently, "I'm sorry for shouting, I was just very worried. That was a very dangerous thing to do and one or both of you could have been seriously hurt. Let's get you to the medbay to make sure you're both alright."
As they started heading out of the ruined mess hall, Ethan added, a bit more firmly, "Afterwards, we're going to have a long talk about fire safety."
Edit: spelling, on mobile with big thumbs | "Today you all embark on your first mission with your newly assigned crew. Orders await you on your ships in airlock seventeen. Good luck!" The Commander gave the salute of the Glatic Federation, signaling the end of the assembly and the end of the new officers' graduation day.
"Glory and Peace for All!" A hundred voices said, accompanied by the thunder of two hundred boots moving to the proper posture.
Paul fell back to a relaxed posture and took what felt like his first breath in an hour. He had just graduated from the Glatic Academy and to his surprise he had been named a Captain of a new crew of fresh graduates. He was the first human to graduate from the academy after his race's appearance on the glatic stage. He still didn't know why he was chosen as a Captain. In the crew that had left Earth he was a lowly Petty Officer, and then only just barely passing the qualifications required for that role. He felt woefully unprepared to lead an exploration crew.
Around him his classmates - now colleges - chattered and moved off towards the airlock. Paul turned to follow the crowd and found Zatory walking towards him, two of his four arms raised in greeting.
"Paul! You made it! But of course you did. You're a *human* after all. Teacher's pet and all that." Said Zatory, punching Paul lightly on the arm several times and laughing, dancing lightly like a boxer back home on Earth would.
"Hey Zatory. Congratulations to you too. What crew are you on?" Paul asked his friend.
"Ever serious!" Zatory reached up and pulled Paul's cap askew with a wink. "Crew fourty five. I'm an engineer! What about you? Or did they promote you right to Senior Command?"
"I'm on crew seven. Captain." Paul said, fixing his cap and dodging his friend's attempts to muss his hair in the brief moment the cap was off.
"CAPTAIN!" Zotroy shouted, grinding to a halt. "Captain! Paulie that's my human! My little human, all grown up and commanding a crew!" Zatory jumped on him, nearly knocking them both over as he hugged the much smaller Paul with all four arms.
Paul could feel his face burning, but he was thankful for his friend's praise all the same. Being the only human at the academy had been lonely at first, but Zat was one of the few people to befriend Paul. Everyone else thought he was too serious to be friends with. But Zat didn't seem to care about that, or anything really, he was carefree about most things like that. They were opposites many ways, Paul was quiet where Zat was not, and Paul usually felt awkward around others where Zat could talk to anyone about anything without a care in the world. He was glad to have a friend like Zat.
The two friends continued along. Zat chatted jovially, joking about the day's events. Little about the day had been what Paul expected, but little about the academy had been what he expected either. The Federation was much more casual than similar organizations on Earth were. After six Sol months in the academy Paul came to understand why humans had quickly developed a reputation as serious, stern, and logical.
"Ok this is my stop." Zat waved at a ship they were passing. "Good luck out there!" He waved at Paul and started walking toward the ship. A few paces away he turned and yelled more loudly than necessary, "And you better write me lots of letters Paulie! Everyday! I'll be heartsbroken if you don't! Bye! Miss you already!" Zat pretended to wipe away tears as he waved.
"I'll write if you do! Good luck out there!" Paul waved at his friend with a laugh and continued on toward his ship.
He could see it ahead, the curve of the airlock deck bringing it into view long before he reached it. He straightened his cap and cravat, and checked that his jacket was zipped up. He wanted to look capable and prepared. He tried to think of what to say to his new crew, but nothing he thought of sounded appropriate and his heart was pounding in his throat anyway. Before he could come up with anything his feet brought him to the ship.
Before the sleek silvery vessel stood five other people. Two Zoldovians, like Zat, with their four arms and grayish skin. One female Atian, her leathery tentacles a bright purple hue. And two Uduri, both with reddish skin and brightly polished, curved facial horns.
"Ah so we got the Human." Said one of the Uduri, noticing Paul's approach.
"Hi, yes. I've been assigned to crew seven. My name is Paul, and I've been assigned -"
"Captain Human! We know. You must be excited! We're excited!" The larger Zoldovian said, clapping two sets of hands. One of the Uduri slapped Paul on the back, sending his cap flying and knocking the wind out of him. Paul caught the hat and tried to catch his breath again and the crew gathered closer around him.
"Right." Said Paul feeling as if his introduction didn't go quite as he'd hoped. Before he could figure out how to proceed one of his new crew members spoke.
"Ah, we're just giving you a hard time Cap! 'S all good!" Said the Atian. "You humans are a hoot. Anyway, I'm Keilie."
"Zool." Said the big Zoldovian.
"Zanider, at your service." Was the smaller Zoldovian's introduction.
"Urg and Gor." Said the Uduri who had spoken first to Paul, indicating themselves and their companion.
Paul began to salute when the crew broke out in laughter.
"Ya don't need to do that if the Commander ain't around. We'd all salute ourselves to death otherwise." Choked Zainder, whiping at his eyes.
"This aught'a be a good time. Common Cap, let's get out there." Zool grabbed Paul's arm and began to drag him towards the ship.
"Glory and Gold!" Chanted the crew as they piled into the ship, playfully editing the Federation's slogan.
Paul allowed himself a laugh and joined in on the chant as the crew dragged him aboard their ship. Maybe this Captain thing wouldn't be so hard after all. | |
[WP] Your kind has conquered countless worlds. Your aren't particularly strong, but you have a dirty trick up your sleeve. One which is currently being thwarted for one simple reason. Out of every species you've fought, humans are the only one that doesn't typically eat random crap off the ground. | There were We, stumped for the first time in millenia.
We'd landed on this squallid blue rock, thinking it ripe for conquest. Hitchhiking on stellar particles, we entered their atmosphere, immediately taken aback by just how *teeming* it was with life. How *feculent* it all was, with a good number of well inferior rivals to break apart and assimilate, and millions upon millions of hosts to take root within and germinate.
It didn't make sense, Our situation. Technological wonderlands had fallen in Our grasp, become one with Our glory. Wastelands had turned to rich hotbeds for Our spread, with Us spreading Our seed within the brain-cases of their dominant species, usurping their power by simply becoming them.
But not here. It was puzzling, to an extreme extent.
These "humans" as We had learned, they would... *"Cook"* nutrients. Heat it to an absurd degree, often intermingled with toxic vegetation or this absolutely *vile* creation of theirs - "alcohol" - to make it more palatable and digestible to themselves. Sources of nutrition We would have thought utterly inedible were not just savoured by them - they were *domesticated* to improve on their yield and make them ever more resistant to Our advances. Fruit with waxy hides and arsenic-laden seeds, and an acidic flesh - and this was a delicacy!
But that wasn't even the end of it. No, seeing as the "humans" lacked any grooming methods to speak of like shedding their skin or mucus, they'd instead think up the most deranged concoctions: "soap" could dissolve away Our outer shells, the aforementioned "alcohol" would utterly *annihilate* the unprepared with its ungodly searing - and those two were the lesser of such measures they'd take against Us and Our lesser kin. "Disinfectant"? Hellfire made manifest. "Hydroperoxide"? Utter malice in its sizzling, chemical malevolence.
We hardly found a method of entry, not to speak of actual efficient infection. How does one invade a corpulence which is apparently regularly injected with *Our dead kin*, just so it can prepare its defenses when one of them would arrive? How do You evade an immune system bolstered by chemicals galore that drive those infernal, gluttonous cells to a feeding frenzy for specifically Yourself?
When We finally *did* infect someone and take them over proper, we were horrified by the results. Decontamination, isolation, quarantine and study. Meticulous and systematic efforts to wrest away control from Us, to purge Us from the "human" and rend apart Our being.
It took an age for Us, but We finally took control to ask them: "Why? Why are you so different? Why do you not submit, why do you fight so against Us?"
Their answer was simply: "We are doctors. You are a disease. Your existence is our antithesis, and we cannot abide it."
The hellish planet can fester on its own, without Our influence, for as long as it likes. We've grown sick of it - so let it be without Our gift of oneness.
We shall find another to add to Ourself instead. | "what did you do then? How did you control them all? How so fast?"
"Well I was going to study them, but it took like 5 minutes on their 2-d holodeck. Their food comes from all over and has standards, but these guys are water based. They pour it in all day every day. Plastic in their water makes its way into every single human creature!"
"This was a 10x pay job, you can't fake it like that asteroid you 'liberated'"
"I'm serious though, I split up the nanobot army and dumped it into their oceans. I was out of the solar system before it spread, and the job was done before I woke up from my nap!"
"But they can see it, do they not fear it?"
"They don't understand it, they don't care unless something tells them to care. It's good we got there first. Any vagabond with a functional tin can could show up there and be a god. Now they'll be safe until our master is ready for them" | |
[WP] Your kind has conquered countless worlds. Your aren't particularly strong, but you have a dirty trick up your sleeve. One which is currently being thwarted for one simple reason. Out of every species you've fought, humans are the only one that doesn't typically eat random crap off the ground. | Sitting alone in the waiting room outside Captain Tein’s office, Sa’thoth fidgeted nervously with his research. They had arrived at 63.567, -901.673, by 5.002 earlier this cycle, to a world full of resources, and a species just beginning its journey into space.
Captain Tein, as shown time and again, would explain to the counsel that these humans, as they called themselves, posed a threat. A grave threat. Mostly a grave threat if they actually knew how valuable some of their resources were and what a wonderful trading partner they would make to several species that Sa’thoth knew. The Dal would prosper more though because the Dal knew what they wanted.
“Two cycles Telgor!” Sa’thoth flinched in his seat at the venom that Captain Tein had for his first mate. Telgor was a well-respected strategist, second in command, and leader in his own right. The issue was that he was wrong.
The plan had been standard. Distribute food, mildly to significantly poisoned, on the path of leaders and figureheads throughout this planet with the intent of disrupting this world's government. Fairly simple but any good plan could be condensed down into its fundamentals by any effective strategist.
Sa’thoth had warned them before it might not work.
Sa’thoth had been demoted to Assistant Researcher, Grade Three because of his persistence.
Sa’thoth had had his food rations cut when the demotion did not properly motivate him.
Now, Sa’thoth sat, waiting uncomfortably as hundreds of trillions of credits were being accounted for on the other side of the shockingly thin sliding door. Captain Tein was not happy. Sa’thoth didn’t know if that was good or bad for him as he only had a partial plan to help Captain Tein in his predicament.
Captain Tein’s Assistant, Bo, sat stonefaced behind his desk and that man wasn’t going to be helpful to Sa’thoth at all. Bo was meticulous but antisocial. A perfect receptionist for a Captain with too many Dal that wanted his attention.
“You will give me solutions Telgor!” the captain yelled again.
“And that’s probably your cue,” Bo exclaimed, the fact that he was feigning interest was hard not to notice.
Sa’thoth took a long breath in but instead of calming him, the fact that he was shaking as hard as he was bothered him more. He needed to show strength. Maturity. By the shells he was hatched from, this was Sa’thoth’s chance to make a name for himself.
The little two-foot, three-inch, forty-pound lizard waddled around his seat to collect his things before heading toward the door. Grabbing his tail and squeezing it tightly for a second, Sa’thoth shook his head and decided he was brave. Terrified but what is bravery if not doing what you should in the face of terror? Captain Tein was probably going to rip Sa’thoth’s newly grown, green little tail off… again but that’s fine. Sa’thoth thought to himself that he would just have to spend ship rotations in the med bay. He’d still make a name for himself.
“Sa’thoth!” Telgor yelled.
“I can’t do this,” Sa’thoth whimpered to himself as he turned away from Captain Tein’s door.
“Not an option,” Bo muttered to himself.
Two things happened simultaneously, first was Sa’thoth was lifted off the floor of the ship by a gravity lift and second was the door to Captain Tein’s office opened with a loud hiss. Or maybe it was Sa’thoth that hissed. No, he was pretty sure the small whine that was made was him. Either way, Sa’thoth was floated into the room and passed a smiling Bo in a couple of heartbeats.
“Your plan involves this weak-shelled, gross little slimball?” Captain Tein asked Telgor even before Sa’thoth was placed gently in front of the very colourful green and yellow Captain and his strong, dark green Second. Looking at Sa’thoth, Captain Tein gave a deep and powerful command of, “Speak.”
“Yes-Sir Your-Worthyness, I-found-a-reference-to-their-mythology-thing-and… umm… they,” Sa’thoth wasn’t sure if this would help him or hurt him, “These creatures, they umm, they clean their food sirs.”
“What?” Captain Tein and Telgor said in unison.
“Their mythology sirs,” Sa’thoth quickly got into what he had found, “they… are very particular about what they eat.”
“Why?” Captain Tein asked, now sounding rather confused. No species cared about what they eat. If it was food, they ate it.
“Ah, yes, see,” Sa’thoth stumbled over his words as he grabbed his work, “Humans, as they call themselves, have not eradicated contagions yet.”
“I thought you said these creatures had weak immune systems,” Captain Tein growled at Telgor.
“They do,” Sa’thoth answered for Telgor to his own horror, “They have adapted to it though. They set their food on fire, freeze it in a cold box, salt it, dry it, and most of all, only eat the holy parts of their prey.”
“What are holy parts?” Telgor asked.
“No idea,” Sa’thoth admitted, “Probably ones that don’t kill them.”
“So we have an entire species, no an entire weak-shelled planet filled with thin-scaled morons and we can’t poison them?” Captain Tein asked loudly.
“Well, no,” Sa’thoth admitted but added, “common folk have a source of sustenance that is considered potentially tainted already but it is not considered worthy of their elite.”
“And what’s this sustenance called?” Telgor asked.
“Commonly referred to as, umm,” Sa’thoth suddenly wasn’t sure of the name and had to check. Finding it, he read out his notes, “Street meat. It has regional names with varying degrees of contamination. Chipot-”
“I don’t care,” Captain Tein interrupted, “How does this help?”
“Well, Sa’thoth?” Telgor asked loudly when Sa’thoth didn’t answer.
“I… umm,” Sa’thoth tried his best to think but grabbed his tail in fear, “Well if their food supply isn’t an option… then… maybe contaminating their drinking fluid would work?”
Captain Tein didn’t seem impressed but Telgor glanced around the room in thought.
“They regularly drink poison though,” Sa’thoth hedged, “and eat it for entertainment. Ethyl alcohol, capsaicin, menthol-”
“Shut it, Sa’thoth,” Telgor interrupted, “before you waste what little use you have.”
“Sorry-sir,” Sa’thoth snapped to attention. Was that a compliment? From the Telgor?
“What are you thinking Telgor?” Captain Tein asked impatiently.
“Well, sir, you aren’t going to like it,” Telgor explained, “And I’ll have to go over Sa’thoth’s notes myself but we may have to just make a treaty with them.”
“Are you going soft on me Telgor?” Captain Tein hissed.
“No sir,” Telgor responded quickly, “With this new information, it may not be wise to spend any more resources risking a potential partner when the prize we want isn’t achievable. We can’t have war with a fledgling society.”
“True,” Captain Tein quietly admitted before nodding to himself and explaining, “Queen U’lan wouldn’t expect it of us to make a treaty either. Diplomacy may be a stripe in my favour.”
“May even stop her from calling our ship,” Telgor muttered to himself, “the Unbreedables.”
“What?” Sa’thoth scoffed. The Queen, glory to her rule, would never say something so vile. Would she? Wait, was Sa’thoth considered unbreedable?
“Fold Sa’thoth into your team,” Captain Tein instructed.
“That’s quite a promotion sir,” Telgor scoffed, glancing at Sa’thoth’s incredibly happy face.
“You shouldn’t have said something classified then,” Captain Tein explained, turning to his monitor and turning it back on, “Or let an assistant researcher learn more than you had as your Captain’s Commanding Strategist.”
“Sir,” Telgor scoffed.
“Or rebuked his claims early in our mission,” Captain Tein continued before looking up at Telgor and saying, “Take a sample from him, he may be an Unbreedable but at least on your team, you can all pretend to be.”
Both were pushed out of the room, without another word by use of the mag lift. It was a humiliating way to be kicked out of Captain Tein’s office but Sa’thoth didn’t care. He was getting a promotion, a big one at that, probably a new living quarter, and breeding rights! He had always dreamed he’d get there one day but never at the young age of fifty-three.
“So?” Sa’thoth asked excitedly, looking over at Telgor, “What do I do?”
“Pack your shell and scales and meet me in Wing 3-23,” Telgor explained.
“I’ve never been to floor three,” Sa’thoth whispered to himself but looked up sheepishly at Telgor and asked, “And the other thing? Umm, do I go to the med bay or-”
Sa’thoth heard a horrible tearing noise as Telgor interrupted Sa’thoth’s rambling question in the least pleasant way he could. As Telgor walked away without another word, he swung Sa’thoth’s now detached tail so that it wouldn’t dirty his uniform. Though in quite a bit of pain, Sa’thoth nodded in Telgors direction.
“Glad to be of service,” Sa’thoth whimpered, wishing he could comfort himself but knowing not to touch where his tail had been. | "what did you do then? How did you control them all? How so fast?"
"Well I was going to study them, but it took like 5 minutes on their 2-d holodeck. Their food comes from all over and has standards, but these guys are water based. They pour it in all day every day. Plastic in their water makes its way into every single human creature!"
"This was a 10x pay job, you can't fake it like that asteroid you 'liberated'"
"I'm serious though, I split up the nanobot army and dumped it into their oceans. I was out of the solar system before it spread, and the job was done before I woke up from my nap!"
"But they can see it, do they not fear it?"
"They don't understand it, they don't care unless something tells them to care. It's good we got there first. Any vagabond with a functional tin can could show up there and be a god. Now they'll be safe until our master is ready for them" | |
[WP] Your kind has conquered countless worlds. Your aren't particularly strong, but you have a dirty trick up your sleeve. One which is currently being thwarted for one simple reason. Out of every species you've fought, humans are the only one that doesn't typically eat random crap off the ground. | It was a quiet evening. The planet's single star had disappeared below the horizon leaving a slowly fading glow. To Ther'ok's multilensed eyes, it was prismatic and ethereal. A blanket of gossamer rainbow dragging night across the
sky. She allowed herself a moments' distraction, then returned to the task at hand. *There will be plenty of time for sight-seeing once this world is conquered* she mused. In truth, 'conquered' was a dramatic description for a well oiled procedure, so practiced and refined that it's results were considered a foregone conclusion.
Ther'ok considered the calendar displayed on her suit's HUD with a secondary eye. It had been seven Imperial egg cycles since the submission cocoons had landed on this world; a full twenty of this planet's orbits. Ther'ok absently stroked the barrel of her ceremonial energy rifle with the setae of her auxiliary forelimb. The weapon was ancient, and had likely never been, or ever would be, fired. She sighed in resignation, her respiratory orifices producing a low whistle that was audible even outside of her suit. A notification appeared on her HUD.
"What troubles you, sister-of-my-division?"
"What troubles me is that I am stuck here, with a weapon so old it would have been embarrassing to carry before this planet's species learned to walk. What troubles me, is I am stuck *here*, starring at trees when I could be *out there* being welcomed with open arms by the hu-mes, or whatever they call themselves!"
"Hu-*mans*," Meloo corrected. "Perhaps they didn't want the hu-mans to be kept waiting too long?" Text didn't have the nuance of more direct forms of communication, but Ther'ok didn't need it to recognize the mockery in Meloo's reprimand.
"I don't oversleep *that* much."
"Enough to get the 'priviledge' of forest sentry duty on Conquest Day." The comment was followed by an emojii signifying mirth.
"I still think Jeval'a made that up." Ther'ok countered. "Anyway, might I remind you that you're stuck here with me."
"I *asked* for this duty" Meloo replied. "Celebrations are tedious. Anyway, *Commander* Jeval'a can make up whatever the hell she wants. She does have full operational oversight."
"Operational oversight my thorax," Ther'ok snorted. "The submission cocoons did all the real work. The mammals will be falling over each other to please her." The thought of a bunch of hairy quadrupeds tripping over themselves in front of her rigid commander was almost funny enough to forget the freeze dried rations Ther'ok would be having at the end of the watch, instead of the celebratory offerings undoubtedly served those who stepped more carefully through Jeval'a's domain.
"About the submission cocoons . . . were any deployed on this landmass?" asked Meloo.
"Of course," said Ther'ok, "It was a, 'Full saturation deployment.'" she quoted while mimicing Jeval'a's starched posture as she sent the message. If Meloo noticed, she gave no sign.
"You're sure? There was no omission?"
"Of course not! You know this better than I." As Ther'ok typed, she turned, facing Meloo on the far side of the forest clearing, and raised her forelimbs in consternation. She was going to follow with *Why are you asking me?* but the words died before she could type them.
There were many ways for a Sister to communicate; text, audible, sign language. The oldest of these was body language. It was primitive, it's vocabulary primordial. It could only be used to communicate the most rudimentary of emotions, but it was easy to understand. Meloo's body language was not that of a sister teasing; it was of a sister being hunted.
"Then where are all the scitterlings?" Meloo's text, combined with her postured, dripped dread. In any other context, Ther'ok might have dismissed the question, but Meloo's fear was too apparent to ignore. *It's also a good question.* Ther'ok realized.
"Could they . . . simply not have reached here?" Ther'ok suggested weakly, knowing the answer before she finished typing the question.
"It's been *seven cycles* since the cocoons arrived. Once released, scitterlings can fully integrate with a biosphere in half that time. They should be *everywhere*."
"But if there are no scitterlings . . ."
"Then the hu-mans wouldn't have the parasite." Meloo finished for her. The unprecedented implication hung between them. Ther'ok wrote first.
"We have to tell Jeval'a the humans are unpacified."
Across the clearing, Meloo signalled acknowledgement. For a few moments she seemed frozen, too far away for Ther'ok to see the rapid movements of her auxiliary limbs and mandibles as she communicated with their superiors. *Could the coccoons have failed in transit?* Ther'ok wondered? It was unheard of, yet here they stood, not a scitterling as far as her eyes or suit sensors could see. *Perhaps a virus, or mayb-* Her thought was interrupted by a flurry of movement.
Meloo, with the speed only a sister is capable of, was sprinting towards their patrol craft. The armored legs of her environmental suit tore up the soft loam of the forest in a mossy spray. The speaker in Ther'ok's suit crackled to life; Meloo was breaching patrol protocol to communicate verbally.
"I can't get through!" Meloo clicked.
"What? How? Are the other teams suffering a similar malfunction?" Ther'ok demanded, alarmed at Meloo's sudden disregard for doctrine.
"I can't get through to *anyone*!" Meloo replied, the normally measured cadence of her speech rising in a panicked staccato.
"But that would require . . ." Ther'ok's mind raced, trying to put impossible pieces together into some intelligible whole. "They would have to be jamming . . . " Finally, understanding dawned upon Ther'ok.
"Oh dear empress, they knew we were coming." | "what did you do then? How did you control them all? How so fast?"
"Well I was going to study them, but it took like 5 minutes on their 2-d holodeck. Their food comes from all over and has standards, but these guys are water based. They pour it in all day every day. Plastic in their water makes its way into every single human creature!"
"This was a 10x pay job, you can't fake it like that asteroid you 'liberated'"
"I'm serious though, I split up the nanobot army and dumped it into their oceans. I was out of the solar system before it spread, and the job was done before I woke up from my nap!"
"But they can see it, do they not fear it?"
"They don't understand it, they don't care unless something tells them to care. It's good we got there first. Any vagabond with a functional tin can could show up there and be a god. Now they'll be safe until our master is ready for them" | |
[WP] Your kind has conquered countless worlds. Your aren't particularly strong, but you have a dirty trick up your sleeve. One which is currently being thwarted for one simple reason. Out of every species you've fought, humans are the only one that doesn't typically eat random crap off the ground. | I am the Conqueror of Worlds. My kind has conquered countless worlds, and for one simple reason: we are not bound by the same limitations as other species. We are not limited by our strength or our size. We are not limited by our lack of wings or claws.
No, we are limited only by our imagination and our ingenuity.
But now, we face a new challenge. A species whose diet is made up of things that are grown and bred. A species that has not the need to walk around with its mouth open, masticating loudly and expectorating at a moment's notice.
You humans, you are the first species we've fought that doesn't do that. And in a way, it is a relief. We cannot sneak up on you, as we have upon other species. You cannot be distracted by our taunts and our baiting, as were other species.
You are at least smart enough to know that there is no free food on the ground. You have too much self-respect to eat random crap off the ground. And that is why you stand before us, now. You are the first species we've fought that we have not defeated out of hand.
On countless planets we've crushed armies, broken cities, and taken what we wanted. But this time, here on this world, at least, you have stopped us.
Perhaps you don't realize how special you are. Perhaps you don't realize how rare it is for one species to fight off our grand armada. But that is what you've done. You've fought us off.
Therefore, I, the Conqueror of Worlds, the Supreme Commander, the Deity of Destruction, the Archfiend of All Worlds, the Ultimate One, declare the Earth to be a sovereign planet of its own.
I have seen many species die. I have seen many worlds destroyed, and the survivors enslaved, or worse. All of that might have happened here, but it did not. So perhaps it's not you who won. Maybe it's your children, or their children, or some yet more distant generation. Maybe the victory is theirs.
But before we go, we offer this to you as a token of friendship and peace: A single cookie for you to savor. Go ahead. Eat it and enjoy the spoils of your victory. We also have chips. And soda. Eat.
***
For more stories check our r/greypuffin | "what did you do then? How did you control them all? How so fast?"
"Well I was going to study them, but it took like 5 minutes on their 2-d holodeck. Their food comes from all over and has standards, but these guys are water based. They pour it in all day every day. Plastic in their water makes its way into every single human creature!"
"This was a 10x pay job, you can't fake it like that asteroid you 'liberated'"
"I'm serious though, I split up the nanobot army and dumped it into their oceans. I was out of the solar system before it spread, and the job was done before I woke up from my nap!"
"But they can see it, do they not fear it?"
"They don't understand it, they don't care unless something tells them to care. It's good we got there first. Any vagabond with a functional tin can could show up there and be a god. Now they'll be safe until our master is ready for them" | |
[WP] Your kind has conquered countless worlds. Your aren't particularly strong, but you have a dirty trick up your sleeve. One which is currently being thwarted for one simple reason. Out of every species you've fought, humans are the only one that doesn't typically eat random crap off the ground. | It was a quiet evening. The planet's single star had disappeared below the horizon leaving a slowly fading glow. To Ther'ok's multilensed eyes, it was prismatic and ethereal. A blanket of gossamer rainbow dragging night across the
sky. She allowed herself a moments' distraction, then returned to the task at hand. *There will be plenty of time for sight-seeing once this world is conquered* she mused. In truth, 'conquered' was a dramatic description for a well oiled procedure, so practiced and refined that it's results were considered a foregone conclusion.
Ther'ok considered the calendar displayed on her suit's HUD with a secondary eye. It had been seven Imperial egg cycles since the submission cocoons had landed on this world; a full twenty of this planet's orbits. Ther'ok absently stroked the barrel of her ceremonial energy rifle with the setae of her auxiliary forelimb. The weapon was ancient, and had likely never been, or ever would be, fired. She sighed in resignation, her respiratory orifices producing a low whistle that was audible even outside of her suit. A notification appeared on her HUD.
"What troubles you, sister-of-my-division?"
"What troubles me is that I am stuck here, with a weapon so old it would have been embarrassing to carry before this planet's species learned to walk. What troubles me, is I am stuck *here*, starring at trees when I could be *out there* being welcomed with open arms by the hu-mes, or whatever they call themselves!"
"Hu-*mans*," Meloo corrected. "Perhaps they didn't want the hu-mans to be kept waiting too long?" Text didn't have the nuance of more direct forms of communication, but Ther'ok didn't need it to recognize the mockery in Meloo's reprimand.
"I don't oversleep *that* much."
"Enough to get the 'priviledge' of forest sentry duty on Conquest Day." The comment was followed by an emojii signifying mirth.
"I still think Jeval'a made that up." Ther'ok countered. "Anyway, might I remind you that you're stuck here with me."
"I *asked* for this duty" Meloo replied. "Celebrations are tedious. Anyway, *Commander* Jeval'a can make up whatever the hell she wants. She does have full operational oversight."
"Operational oversight my thorax," Ther'ok snorted. "The submission cocoons did all the real work. The mammals will be falling over each other to please her." The thought of a bunch of hairy quadrupeds tripping over themselves in front of her rigid commander was almost funny enough to forget the freeze dried rations Ther'ok would be having at the end of the watch, instead of the celebratory offerings undoubtedly served those who stepped more carefully through Jeval'a's domain.
"About the submission cocoons . . . were any deployed on this landmass?" asked Meloo.
"Of course," said Ther'ok, "It was a, 'Full saturation deployment.'" she quoted while mimicing Jeval'a's starched posture as she sent the message. If Meloo noticed, she gave no sign.
"You're sure? There was no omission?"
"Of course not! You know this better than I." As Ther'ok typed, she turned, facing Meloo on the far side of the forest clearing, and raised her forelimbs in consternation. She was going to follow with *Why are you asking me?* but the words died before she could type them.
There were many ways for a Sister to communicate; text, audible, sign language. The oldest of these was body language. It was primitive, it's vocabulary primordial. It could only be used to communicate the most rudimentary of emotions, but it was easy to understand. Meloo's body language was not that of a sister teasing; it was of a sister being hunted.
"Then where are all the scitterlings?" Meloo's text, combined with her postured, dripped dread. In any other context, Ther'ok might have dismissed the question, but Meloo's fear was too apparent to ignore. *It's also a good question.* Ther'ok realized.
"Could they . . . simply not have reached here?" Ther'ok suggested weakly, knowing the answer before she finished typing the question.
"It's been *seven cycles* since the cocoons arrived. Once released, scitterlings can fully integrate with a biosphere in half that time. They should be *everywhere*."
"But if there are no scitterlings . . ."
"Then the hu-mans wouldn't have the parasite." Meloo finished for her. The unprecedented implication hung between them. Ther'ok wrote first.
"We have to tell Jeval'a the humans are unpacified."
Across the clearing, Meloo signalled acknowledgement. For a few moments she seemed frozen, too far away for Ther'ok to see the rapid movements of her auxiliary limbs and mandibles as she communicated with their superiors. *Could the coccoons have failed in transit?* Ther'ok wondered? It was unheard of, yet here they stood, not a scitterling as far as her eyes or suit sensors could see. *Perhaps a virus, or mayb-* Her thought was interrupted by a flurry of movement.
Meloo, with the speed only a sister is capable of, was sprinting towards their patrol craft. The armored legs of her environmental suit tore up the soft loam of the forest in a mossy spray. The speaker in Ther'ok's suit crackled to life; Meloo was breaching patrol protocol to communicate verbally.
"I can't get through!" Meloo clicked.
"What? How? Are the other teams suffering a similar malfunction?" Ther'ok demanded, alarmed at Meloo's sudden disregard for doctrine.
"I can't get through to *anyone*!" Meloo replied, the normally measured cadence of her speech rising in a panicked staccato.
"But that would require . . ." Ther'ok's mind raced, trying to put impossible pieces together into some intelligible whole. "They would have to be jamming . . . " Finally, understanding dawned upon Ther'ok.
"Oh dear empress, they knew we were coming." | Sitting alone in the waiting room outside Captain Tein’s office, Sa’thoth fidgeted nervously with his research. They had arrived at 63.567, -901.673, by 5.002 earlier this cycle, to a world full of resources, and a species just beginning its journey into space.
Captain Tein, as shown time and again, would explain to the counsel that these humans, as they called themselves, posed a threat. A grave threat. Mostly a grave threat if they actually knew how valuable some of their resources were and what a wonderful trading partner they would make to several species that Sa’thoth knew. The Dal would prosper more though because the Dal knew what they wanted.
“Two cycles Telgor!” Sa’thoth flinched in his seat at the venom that Captain Tein had for his first mate. Telgor was a well-respected strategist, second in command, and leader in his own right. The issue was that he was wrong.
The plan had been standard. Distribute food, mildly to significantly poisoned, on the path of leaders and figureheads throughout this planet with the intent of disrupting this world's government. Fairly simple but any good plan could be condensed down into its fundamentals by any effective strategist.
Sa’thoth had warned them before it might not work.
Sa’thoth had been demoted to Assistant Researcher, Grade Three because of his persistence.
Sa’thoth had had his food rations cut when the demotion did not properly motivate him.
Now, Sa’thoth sat, waiting uncomfortably as hundreds of trillions of credits were being accounted for on the other side of the shockingly thin sliding door. Captain Tein was not happy. Sa’thoth didn’t know if that was good or bad for him as he only had a partial plan to help Captain Tein in his predicament.
Captain Tein’s Assistant, Bo, sat stonefaced behind his desk and that man wasn’t going to be helpful to Sa’thoth at all. Bo was meticulous but antisocial. A perfect receptionist for a Captain with too many Dal that wanted his attention.
“You will give me solutions Telgor!” the captain yelled again.
“And that’s probably your cue,” Bo exclaimed, the fact that he was feigning interest was hard not to notice.
Sa’thoth took a long breath in but instead of calming him, the fact that he was shaking as hard as he was bothered him more. He needed to show strength. Maturity. By the shells he was hatched from, this was Sa’thoth’s chance to make a name for himself.
The little two-foot, three-inch, forty-pound lizard waddled around his seat to collect his things before heading toward the door. Grabbing his tail and squeezing it tightly for a second, Sa’thoth shook his head and decided he was brave. Terrified but what is bravery if not doing what you should in the face of terror? Captain Tein was probably going to rip Sa’thoth’s newly grown, green little tail off… again but that’s fine. Sa’thoth thought to himself that he would just have to spend ship rotations in the med bay. He’d still make a name for himself.
“Sa’thoth!” Telgor yelled.
“I can’t do this,” Sa’thoth whimpered to himself as he turned away from Captain Tein’s door.
“Not an option,” Bo muttered to himself.
Two things happened simultaneously, first was Sa’thoth was lifted off the floor of the ship by a gravity lift and second was the door to Captain Tein’s office opened with a loud hiss. Or maybe it was Sa’thoth that hissed. No, he was pretty sure the small whine that was made was him. Either way, Sa’thoth was floated into the room and passed a smiling Bo in a couple of heartbeats.
“Your plan involves this weak-shelled, gross little slimball?” Captain Tein asked Telgor even before Sa’thoth was placed gently in front of the very colourful green and yellow Captain and his strong, dark green Second. Looking at Sa’thoth, Captain Tein gave a deep and powerful command of, “Speak.”
“Yes-Sir Your-Worthyness, I-found-a-reference-to-their-mythology-thing-and… umm… they,” Sa’thoth wasn’t sure if this would help him or hurt him, “These creatures, they umm, they clean their food sirs.”
“What?” Captain Tein and Telgor said in unison.
“Their mythology sirs,” Sa’thoth quickly got into what he had found, “they… are very particular about what they eat.”
“Why?” Captain Tein asked, now sounding rather confused. No species cared about what they eat. If it was food, they ate it.
“Ah, yes, see,” Sa’thoth stumbled over his words as he grabbed his work, “Humans, as they call themselves, have not eradicated contagions yet.”
“I thought you said these creatures had weak immune systems,” Captain Tein growled at Telgor.
“They do,” Sa’thoth answered for Telgor to his own horror, “They have adapted to it though. They set their food on fire, freeze it in a cold box, salt it, dry it, and most of all, only eat the holy parts of their prey.”
“What are holy parts?” Telgor asked.
“No idea,” Sa’thoth admitted, “Probably ones that don’t kill them.”
“So we have an entire species, no an entire weak-shelled planet filled with thin-scaled morons and we can’t poison them?” Captain Tein asked loudly.
“Well, no,” Sa’thoth admitted but added, “common folk have a source of sustenance that is considered potentially tainted already but it is not considered worthy of their elite.”
“And what’s this sustenance called?” Telgor asked.
“Commonly referred to as, umm,” Sa’thoth suddenly wasn’t sure of the name and had to check. Finding it, he read out his notes, “Street meat. It has regional names with varying degrees of contamination. Chipot-”
“I don’t care,” Captain Tein interrupted, “How does this help?”
“Well, Sa’thoth?” Telgor asked loudly when Sa’thoth didn’t answer.
“I… umm,” Sa’thoth tried his best to think but grabbed his tail in fear, “Well if their food supply isn’t an option… then… maybe contaminating their drinking fluid would work?”
Captain Tein didn’t seem impressed but Telgor glanced around the room in thought.
“They regularly drink poison though,” Sa’thoth hedged, “and eat it for entertainment. Ethyl alcohol, capsaicin, menthol-”
“Shut it, Sa’thoth,” Telgor interrupted, “before you waste what little use you have.”
“Sorry-sir,” Sa’thoth snapped to attention. Was that a compliment? From the Telgor?
“What are you thinking Telgor?” Captain Tein asked impatiently.
“Well, sir, you aren’t going to like it,” Telgor explained, “And I’ll have to go over Sa’thoth’s notes myself but we may have to just make a treaty with them.”
“Are you going soft on me Telgor?” Captain Tein hissed.
“No sir,” Telgor responded quickly, “With this new information, it may not be wise to spend any more resources risking a potential partner when the prize we want isn’t achievable. We can’t have war with a fledgling society.”
“True,” Captain Tein quietly admitted before nodding to himself and explaining, “Queen U’lan wouldn’t expect it of us to make a treaty either. Diplomacy may be a stripe in my favour.”
“May even stop her from calling our ship,” Telgor muttered to himself, “the Unbreedables.”
“What?” Sa’thoth scoffed. The Queen, glory to her rule, would never say something so vile. Would she? Wait, was Sa’thoth considered unbreedable?
“Fold Sa’thoth into your team,” Captain Tein instructed.
“That’s quite a promotion sir,” Telgor scoffed, glancing at Sa’thoth’s incredibly happy face.
“You shouldn’t have said something classified then,” Captain Tein explained, turning to his monitor and turning it back on, “Or let an assistant researcher learn more than you had as your Captain’s Commanding Strategist.”
“Sir,” Telgor scoffed.
“Or rebuked his claims early in our mission,” Captain Tein continued before looking up at Telgor and saying, “Take a sample from him, he may be an Unbreedable but at least on your team, you can all pretend to be.”
Both were pushed out of the room, without another word by use of the mag lift. It was a humiliating way to be kicked out of Captain Tein’s office but Sa’thoth didn’t care. He was getting a promotion, a big one at that, probably a new living quarter, and breeding rights! He had always dreamed he’d get there one day but never at the young age of fifty-three.
“So?” Sa’thoth asked excitedly, looking over at Telgor, “What do I do?”
“Pack your shell and scales and meet me in Wing 3-23,” Telgor explained.
“I’ve never been to floor three,” Sa’thoth whispered to himself but looked up sheepishly at Telgor and asked, “And the other thing? Umm, do I go to the med bay or-”
Sa’thoth heard a horrible tearing noise as Telgor interrupted Sa’thoth’s rambling question in the least pleasant way he could. As Telgor walked away without another word, he swung Sa’thoth’s now detached tail so that it wouldn’t dirty his uniform. Though in quite a bit of pain, Sa’thoth nodded in Telgors direction.
“Glad to be of service,” Sa’thoth whimpered, wishing he could comfort himself but knowing not to touch where his tail had been. | |
[WP] Your kind has conquered countless worlds. Your aren't particularly strong, but you have a dirty trick up your sleeve. One which is currently being thwarted for one simple reason. Out of every species you've fought, humans are the only one that doesn't typically eat random crap off the ground. | It was a quiet evening. The planet's single star had disappeared below the horizon leaving a slowly fading glow. To Ther'ok's multilensed eyes, it was prismatic and ethereal. A blanket of gossamer rainbow dragging night across the
sky. She allowed herself a moments' distraction, then returned to the task at hand. *There will be plenty of time for sight-seeing once this world is conquered* she mused. In truth, 'conquered' was a dramatic description for a well oiled procedure, so practiced and refined that it's results were considered a foregone conclusion.
Ther'ok considered the calendar displayed on her suit's HUD with a secondary eye. It had been seven Imperial egg cycles since the submission cocoons had landed on this world; a full twenty of this planet's orbits. Ther'ok absently stroked the barrel of her ceremonial energy rifle with the setae of her auxiliary forelimb. The weapon was ancient, and had likely never been, or ever would be, fired. She sighed in resignation, her respiratory orifices producing a low whistle that was audible even outside of her suit. A notification appeared on her HUD.
"What troubles you, sister-of-my-division?"
"What troubles me is that I am stuck here, with a weapon so old it would have been embarrassing to carry before this planet's species learned to walk. What troubles me, is I am stuck *here*, starring at trees when I could be *out there* being welcomed with open arms by the hu-mes, or whatever they call themselves!"
"Hu-*mans*," Meloo corrected. "Perhaps they didn't want the hu-mans to be kept waiting too long?" Text didn't have the nuance of more direct forms of communication, but Ther'ok didn't need it to recognize the mockery in Meloo's reprimand.
"I don't oversleep *that* much."
"Enough to get the 'priviledge' of forest sentry duty on Conquest Day." The comment was followed by an emojii signifying mirth.
"I still think Jeval'a made that up." Ther'ok countered. "Anyway, might I remind you that you're stuck here with me."
"I *asked* for this duty" Meloo replied. "Celebrations are tedious. Anyway, *Commander* Jeval'a can make up whatever the hell she wants. She does have full operational oversight."
"Operational oversight my thorax," Ther'ok snorted. "The submission cocoons did all the real work. The mammals will be falling over each other to please her." The thought of a bunch of hairy quadrupeds tripping over themselves in front of her rigid commander was almost funny enough to forget the freeze dried rations Ther'ok would be having at the end of the watch, instead of the celebratory offerings undoubtedly served those who stepped more carefully through Jeval'a's domain.
"About the submission cocoons . . . were any deployed on this landmass?" asked Meloo.
"Of course," said Ther'ok, "It was a, 'Full saturation deployment.'" she quoted while mimicing Jeval'a's starched posture as she sent the message. If Meloo noticed, she gave no sign.
"You're sure? There was no omission?"
"Of course not! You know this better than I." As Ther'ok typed, she turned, facing Meloo on the far side of the forest clearing, and raised her forelimbs in consternation. She was going to follow with *Why are you asking me?* but the words died before she could type them.
There were many ways for a Sister to communicate; text, audible, sign language. The oldest of these was body language. It was primitive, it's vocabulary primordial. It could only be used to communicate the most rudimentary of emotions, but it was easy to understand. Meloo's body language was not that of a sister teasing; it was of a sister being hunted.
"Then where are all the scitterlings?" Meloo's text, combined with her postured, dripped dread. In any other context, Ther'ok might have dismissed the question, but Meloo's fear was too apparent to ignore. *It's also a good question.* Ther'ok realized.
"Could they . . . simply not have reached here?" Ther'ok suggested weakly, knowing the answer before she finished typing the question.
"It's been *seven cycles* since the cocoons arrived. Once released, scitterlings can fully integrate with a biosphere in half that time. They should be *everywhere*."
"But if there are no scitterlings . . ."
"Then the hu-mans wouldn't have the parasite." Meloo finished for her. The unprecedented implication hung between them. Ther'ok wrote first.
"We have to tell Jeval'a the humans are unpacified."
Across the clearing, Meloo signalled acknowledgement. For a few moments she seemed frozen, too far away for Ther'ok to see the rapid movements of her auxiliary limbs and mandibles as she communicated with their superiors. *Could the coccoons have failed in transit?* Ther'ok wondered? It was unheard of, yet here they stood, not a scitterling as far as her eyes or suit sensors could see. *Perhaps a virus, or mayb-* Her thought was interrupted by a flurry of movement.
Meloo, with the speed only a sister is capable of, was sprinting towards their patrol craft. The armored legs of her environmental suit tore up the soft loam of the forest in a mossy spray. The speaker in Ther'ok's suit crackled to life; Meloo was breaching patrol protocol to communicate verbally.
"I can't get through!" Meloo clicked.
"What? How? Are the other teams suffering a similar malfunction?" Ther'ok demanded, alarmed at Meloo's sudden disregard for doctrine.
"I can't get through to *anyone*!" Meloo replied, the normally measured cadence of her speech rising in a panicked staccato.
"But that would require . . ." Ther'ok's mind raced, trying to put impossible pieces together into some intelligible whole. "They would have to be jamming . . . " Finally, understanding dawned upon Ther'ok.
"Oh dear empress, they knew we were coming." | "So, Oooaaauuu, how is it going?"
First Claimer sighed at this question. Of course, Vessel Commander have a right to know about status of ongoing operations, but his timing is just obnoxious. Why he questions Oooaaauuu during his lunch break? Like, isn't working hours exist for, well, work?
"We are only getting started. My teams already planted a few of ghwbs, here and there, to try to lure first targets. They should be finishing right about now. Don't get all nervous now, Eeeaaauuu, all will be fine"
All this time Vessel Commander slithered across the room from wall to wall, don't even trying to hide his anxiety. First Claimer was, to be honest, perplexed by this reaction - Eeeaaauuu was a veteran of Claiming Campaigns, and this one was pretty standard so far. Local dominant species even didn't have any kind of space armaments despite high level industrialisation. So, worrying about it was absurd.
"You see, my friend, I just decided to look into Scout Reports about this planet.... And something bothers me the wrong way. Are you sure ghwbs will work here? I scimmed through a bit of their dominant tribes culture and I think we made a big mistake"
"Don't think about - your job is to be sure sailors will not get drunk out of boredom. Mine is to be sure this operation proceeds smooth... Oh?"
First Claimer's communicator suddenly started ringing. Everyone on his team knows that Oooaaauuu shouldn't be bothered on his lunch time, unless it is something really urgent. He decided to respond, and before he could greet an unfortunate intern who decided to ask a question, a worried voice started talking:
"First Claimer, your presence is urgent in Operational Den! Like, right now! Forget about your lunch and slither here!"
The call was hang up. It was his second in command, Uuuaaaiii - usually a very polite, professional lady. If she acted like this, is was really urgent.
"I think we both should go, eh?"
Said Eeeaaauuu with a worried look in his eyes. Oooaaauuu nodded, and started slithering to Operational Den, leaving his lunch behind.
***
OD was in uproar. Apparently, whole Claiming team was here, even those who had no shifts tonight. When Uuuaaaiii saw them enter, she waved to them:
"Over here! You need to see this"
Glancing at each other, First Claimer and Vessel Commander slithered to the terminal, were worried Uuuaaaiii stood.
On the monitor there was nothing particularly special - one of the big cities of this world, a busy day with a lot of individuals going on their business. The only thing that took Oooaaauuu attention was a placed ghwb.
"Well, that is the problem? To me, it seems like is going by the book"
"This is a recording, Oh the High One. Just watch"
Letting this rudness slide, First Claimer continued to watch the video. When the curious thing happened - one human, in the uniform and with some kind of tool picked up ghwb and... Tossed it in some kind of bin.
"Whaa... What?"
From the reports, he knew these bins were used as trash collectors. For Great Sages sake, why they tossed in it ghwb?!
"And that is not all"
After that, Uuuaaaiii started to show other locations - different continents, different tribes, different cities, different methods - but the result was the same.
Ghwb was counted as trash and tossed aside.
"How.... How could this happen! They are supposed to have the best, the most attractive smell respective to their species! Why they are desposing of it!?!"
"I may know the answer"
To everyone's surprise, this was said by Vessel Commander. He took out his pad from the pouch and started searching something on it.
"You see, while I don't doubt our Scouts, or our Researchers, or our Craftskols, I think this time they overlooked a big aspect - that this species is very heavily biased towards looks, not the smell. You would say that they are not the first one this way, true. But this particular instance is... A bit more intricate. Oh, found it"
With triumphant look on his face, he turned his pad to Oooaaauuu and Uuuaaaiii. On it, was a picture of ghwb.
"You probably thinking that is your regular ghwb. But that is picture from locals world wide network. Curious how it looks so similarly to ghwb, isn't it? Well, the thing is - they use this image too... picture their excrements.
On the pad was a regular ghwb - a spiral object of brown color. And if the same image was used by locals as picture for excrements, when...
"We... We tried to feed them crap?!"
Someone, probably some intern, said the thing that was in everyone minds. Everyone stood silent, no one knew that to say. Finally, the First Claimer spoke:
"The design of ghwb is perfection! It was made in this way for 100% result! We can't easily change it! What should we do with it?!"
Vessel Commander put his pad back into the pouch and looked into the eyes of First Claimer:
"I don't know. After all, I am responsible only for that sailors don't drink too much. It is yours to be sure that this operation proceeds smoothly."
After that, Vessel Commander left the Operation Den, while feeling of despair slowly rose in the First Claimer, the High one Oooaaauuu, who felt as a cornered utk. | |
[WP] Your kind has conquered countless worlds. Your aren't particularly strong, but you have a dirty trick up your sleeve. One which is currently being thwarted for one simple reason. Out of every species you've fought, humans are the only one that doesn't typically eat random crap off the ground. | I am the Conqueror of Worlds. My kind has conquered countless worlds, and for one simple reason: we are not bound by the same limitations as other species. We are not limited by our strength or our size. We are not limited by our lack of wings or claws.
No, we are limited only by our imagination and our ingenuity.
But now, we face a new challenge. A species whose diet is made up of things that are grown and bred. A species that has not the need to walk around with its mouth open, masticating loudly and expectorating at a moment's notice.
You humans, you are the first species we've fought that doesn't do that. And in a way, it is a relief. We cannot sneak up on you, as we have upon other species. You cannot be distracted by our taunts and our baiting, as were other species.
You are at least smart enough to know that there is no free food on the ground. You have too much self-respect to eat random crap off the ground. And that is why you stand before us, now. You are the first species we've fought that we have not defeated out of hand.
On countless planets we've crushed armies, broken cities, and taken what we wanted. But this time, here on this world, at least, you have stopped us.
Perhaps you don't realize how special you are. Perhaps you don't realize how rare it is for one species to fight off our grand armada. But that is what you've done. You've fought us off.
Therefore, I, the Conqueror of Worlds, the Supreme Commander, the Deity of Destruction, the Archfiend of All Worlds, the Ultimate One, declare the Earth to be a sovereign planet of its own.
I have seen many species die. I have seen many worlds destroyed, and the survivors enslaved, or worse. All of that might have happened here, but it did not. So perhaps it's not you who won. Maybe it's your children, or their children, or some yet more distant generation. Maybe the victory is theirs.
But before we go, we offer this to you as a token of friendship and peace: A single cookie for you to savor. Go ahead. Eat it and enjoy the spoils of your victory. We also have chips. And soda. Eat.
***
For more stories check our r/greypuffin | "So, Oooaaauuu, how is it going?"
First Claimer sighed at this question. Of course, Vessel Commander have a right to know about status of ongoing operations, but his timing is just obnoxious. Why he questions Oooaaauuu during his lunch break? Like, isn't working hours exist for, well, work?
"We are only getting started. My teams already planted a few of ghwbs, here and there, to try to lure first targets. They should be finishing right about now. Don't get all nervous now, Eeeaaauuu, all will be fine"
All this time Vessel Commander slithered across the room from wall to wall, don't even trying to hide his anxiety. First Claimer was, to be honest, perplexed by this reaction - Eeeaaauuu was a veteran of Claiming Campaigns, and this one was pretty standard so far. Local dominant species even didn't have any kind of space armaments despite high level industrialisation. So, worrying about it was absurd.
"You see, my friend, I just decided to look into Scout Reports about this planet.... And something bothers me the wrong way. Are you sure ghwbs will work here? I scimmed through a bit of their dominant tribes culture and I think we made a big mistake"
"Don't think about - your job is to be sure sailors will not get drunk out of boredom. Mine is to be sure this operation proceeds smooth... Oh?"
First Claimer's communicator suddenly started ringing. Everyone on his team knows that Oooaaauuu shouldn't be bothered on his lunch time, unless it is something really urgent. He decided to respond, and before he could greet an unfortunate intern who decided to ask a question, a worried voice started talking:
"First Claimer, your presence is urgent in Operational Den! Like, right now! Forget about your lunch and slither here!"
The call was hang up. It was his second in command, Uuuaaaiii - usually a very polite, professional lady. If she acted like this, is was really urgent.
"I think we both should go, eh?"
Said Eeeaaauuu with a worried look in his eyes. Oooaaauuu nodded, and started slithering to Operational Den, leaving his lunch behind.
***
OD was in uproar. Apparently, whole Claiming team was here, even those who had no shifts tonight. When Uuuaaaiii saw them enter, she waved to them:
"Over here! You need to see this"
Glancing at each other, First Claimer and Vessel Commander slithered to the terminal, were worried Uuuaaaiii stood.
On the monitor there was nothing particularly special - one of the big cities of this world, a busy day with a lot of individuals going on their business. The only thing that took Oooaaauuu attention was a placed ghwb.
"Well, that is the problem? To me, it seems like is going by the book"
"This is a recording, Oh the High One. Just watch"
Letting this rudness slide, First Claimer continued to watch the video. When the curious thing happened - one human, in the uniform and with some kind of tool picked up ghwb and... Tossed it in some kind of bin.
"Whaa... What?"
From the reports, he knew these bins were used as trash collectors. For Great Sages sake, why they tossed in it ghwb?!
"And that is not all"
After that, Uuuaaaiii started to show other locations - different continents, different tribes, different cities, different methods - but the result was the same.
Ghwb was counted as trash and tossed aside.
"How.... How could this happen! They are supposed to have the best, the most attractive smell respective to their species! Why they are desposing of it!?!"
"I may know the answer"
To everyone's surprise, this was said by Vessel Commander. He took out his pad from the pouch and started searching something on it.
"You see, while I don't doubt our Scouts, or our Researchers, or our Craftskols, I think this time they overlooked a big aspect - that this species is very heavily biased towards looks, not the smell. You would say that they are not the first one this way, true. But this particular instance is... A bit more intricate. Oh, found it"
With triumphant look on his face, he turned his pad to Oooaaauuu and Uuuaaaiii. On it, was a picture of ghwb.
"You probably thinking that is your regular ghwb. But that is picture from locals world wide network. Curious how it looks so similarly to ghwb, isn't it? Well, the thing is - they use this image too... picture their excrements.
On the pad was a regular ghwb - a spiral object of brown color. And if the same image was used by locals as picture for excrements, when...
"We... We tried to feed them crap?!"
Someone, probably some intern, said the thing that was in everyone minds. Everyone stood silent, no one knew that to say. Finally, the First Claimer spoke:
"The design of ghwb is perfection! It was made in this way for 100% result! We can't easily change it! What should we do with it?!"
Vessel Commander put his pad back into the pouch and looked into the eyes of First Claimer:
"I don't know. After all, I am responsible only for that sailors don't drink too much. It is yours to be sure that this operation proceeds smoothly."
After that, Vessel Commander left the Operation Den, while feeling of despair slowly rose in the First Claimer, the High one Oooaaauuu, who felt as a cornered utk. | |
[WP] Your power is reinforcement, adding a sword to another sword increases it's power by 1%. Due to a lack of swords, you kept reinforcing a pebble. | So there I was, on an actual battlefield. I hadn’t realized how completely terrifying combat was, standing there looking across the plain at hundreds or thousands of enormous armored figures, each roaring battle cries and shaking weapons that would do awful things to our small bodies once they arrived, had done to so many of the soldiers in front of us. The whole thing seemed like a descent into madness.
But it probably deserves some explaining how I got here.
I am, that is I was, a shepherd. I liked it: I watched over the flock, made sure they didn’t overgraze, and protected them from wolves. I like to think I was pretty good at it. I slung pebbles at the wolves when they emerged from the forest edges, they’d realize there were easier meals, and we’d part ways.
One winter, though, there was some kind of blight that affected our town and the surroundings. My neighbors were tense, conversations strained, and many of my flock needed to be butchered for our survival. We needed greater range to find good grazing opportunities, which often took us far from the town.
And the wolves apparently experienced their own great hungers, for the first one stung by a pebble came on instead of retreating. The second was equally undeterred, and I knew my crooked staff would do nothing at all to stop them from taking the flock. Tears began to stream from my eyes as I realized that both the flock and I would likely die here. All I could do was try to deter them in the ways that had worked before.
In my haste, I gathered up a handful of pebbles from my pouch. They felt strange in my hand, moving somehow, and I took my gaze away from the wolves to check if I’d picked up bugs or something instead. In that instant, they were each upon a sheep, and the bleating cries of agony that swiftly stopped refocused my attention. The remainder of the flock had scattered, leaving their two victims and me.
I loaded, swirled, and loosed, exactly as I had done so many times.
This pebble did not spin bruisingly off the wolf’s hide, but bit deep into its skull. The wolf fell, unmoving next to its prey. Its companion, too busy slaking its relentless hunger to notice, fell to the next throw after I grabbed another handful.
It was only later, after I’d retrieved the flock and gathered some help from the town, that we realized the wolves each had one puncture wound. My friends were more interested in the wolf pelts, since those would be valuable to the traveling merchants that irregularly came to town.
As it turns out, we did manage to get some valuable hides off those wolves, but I distinctly remembered grabbing a handful of sling stones in a panic for each throw. Over the next few days, I learned that, somehow, I could fuse two stones into one. The new stone looked the same, but it hit much harder with the same throw, somehow.
I also learned that I could combine multiple stones, but I had to order the combinations. This was difficult to keep track of for long sequences of combinations, because the stones didn’t look any different after combination, but sufficient combinations resulted in stones that could pierce old oaks.
I also found that the effects of combination only acted once. After slinging a stone through one of the oaks and retrieving it, the next throw shattered it against the same oak.
Several years passed with my flock safe under my care, until the rumblings of war reached our town. We found ourselves drafted and sent to the front lines, where we faced terrifying foes: huge men, armed and armored, with their leader standing head and shoulders above any of these monsters, who ground through the ranks of conscripts ahead of us with practiced, brutal efficiency.
I looked among my fellows and I knew that we’d been sent here to die. The lines on either side of us were already retreating. My knees were shaking so badly that it was all I could do just to stand up, and not a one of us was in better shape.
The monster of monsters ahead of us parted his men with a snarled order, and stepped forward. Once clearly in view, I could see that he was wearing a wolf pelt over his armor. Oddly, this calmed me, like a reed suddenly lifting its head after the breeze passes.
On the march to the battlefield, I had gathered many stones. Most we had used to strike birds on the wing and small game to supplant the meager rations the army supplied us, but the rest I had spent feverishly combining, keeping special track of them until I had enough pouches that each of my town’s forces could carry a pouch full of heavily combined stones. I’d gotten a lot of laughs about stockpiling stones, since the army had issued us bronze-tipped spears and arrows, but I’d carried the sack with my meticulously sorted pouches for the whole march.
As I calmed, I dropped the sack and began pulling pouches of stones out. I passed them left and right, with my fellows taking them woodenly, still gripped with their fear. I told them to watch, and have a little trust, as I stepped forward to meet the behemoth.
The enormous warrior laughed at me, pointing and guffawing along with his fellows, as I dropped my bronze spear and discarded my short bow. The fear was with me, but it curiously blew through me without ever landing in my bones the way it had before. He slapped his grey-armored chest and stood waiting, obviously inviting me to take my best shot though we shared no language.
I loaded, swirled, and loosed, exactly I had done so other times. | (1/3)
The round curvature of the rock in my hand made me shudder, as if I was about to regurgitate after having had attempted to swallow a pebble of the same size. I turn it around in my hand, feeling it's sleek gray skin vibrate the senses that were in contact with him.
My body resettled, and the world returned to me.
I sat there again, on the ground, holding my pet in my hand. He was my favorite person in the whole world, but they all think he's just a rock. I named him Gilad, after my favorite chimichanga brand, and he was the size of a (smaller) type of chicken egg. He glimmered purple in the sun at angles, if you squinted, but he was usually a milky gray.
All around me, people were shouting and screaming at each other. I'm usually grateful for the noise, because that'd mean they wouldn't care to notice me and Gilad. I just sit down on the sidewalk of cemented stones and rest my old sneakers on the wood chips with Gilad, my only friend, and try to talk to him. But usually, he'd be too hungry.
My teachers noticed at first and tried to get me to play with the others. Some of them were loud. Probably because they had already developed their own powers. Sometimes, they think they're so cool.
I don't actually care; about them or what they can do; as long as they leave me alone. And apparently, it looks like the teachers do encourage me to be alone. Maybe they think I'm developing an ability or something cool like everyone else, so they're giving me my space. Or maybe they just don't care.
But it all started when I found Gilad. It was when my mom and dad disappeared and my home was covered with hundreds and thousands of rocks on their bed, the living room carpet, kitchen floor and counters, and everywhere actually. But for some reason, there was only a handful of piles resting near the drains of my bathtub and sink. The toilet was completely covered in pebbles, and stuffed inside to replaced the water. It was crazy and it all smelled really bad.
I was so hungry and wondered where my mom and dad went. I was so, so hungry when night came, and I had to sleep alone for the first time in my house, with the rocks. But I wasn't truthfully alone. Honest! I was surrounded by rocks. Though I was still so hungry and it still smelled so bad.
I didn't sleep long that night. But thankfully, he came home. My body tingled and vibrated when I talked to him, my only friend. And oddly, the more time we talked with each other, the less rocks there were in my house.
The door had knocked. And it scared me. It came out of nowhere! And me and Gilad were struck silent and afraid. Then again. It knocked again. And again. I couldn't breathe. I was so scared. I couldn't breathe.
No– I don't want to think about that. What happened after that though...? Oh, right. It turned out the knocking came from some very suspicious but friendly policemen. I wasn't hungry anymore! | |
[WP] "And that is why, no human would ever risk their life to save another." "Firefighters." "Huh?" "Firefighters disprove everything you spent the last ten minutes going on about." | Klortho stared at me, his compound eyes glistening in the dim light of the bar. His mandibles vibrated as he spoke.
"I don't follow, John. What do firefighters have to do with anything I just said?"
"Well, firefighters spend every day risking their lives to save others."
"And?"
"What do you mean, 'and?' That's it. Firefighters are an example of humans risking their lives to save one another."
"That simply isn't true. Why would firefighters be an example of that?"
"...Are you doubting that firefighters risk their lives, every day, rushing into burning buildings to save people from fires?"
"No, no, that's perfectly fine."
"Well, what are you on about then? Firefighters risk their lives for others, and firefighters are definitely humans, so there are humans that risk their lives for others."
Klortho looked at me expectantly.
"....no way, seriously?"
"Mostly Astorians, some Betalux here and there. You really didn't notice?"
"That's ridiculous. My neighbor Ted is a volunteer firefighter. You saying he's not a human?"
Klortho sighed as he took a deep sip from his drink.
"Listen, John. You ever see Ted bark at a duck?"
"Well... come to think of it, I have, but I don't see how-"
"Are there two wooden clothespins hung near the front of his house? Like on a power cable or other tall object?"
"...No way, really?"
"You should ask him sometime. Astorians are real chatty folk. Strictly prohibited from talking about this kind of stuff, of course, unless you bring it up first."
"Well, okay. Even assuming that every single firefighter on Earth is an alien, there's still all kinds of professions that involve risking their lives to save others. Bodyguards, police officers, soldiers. They can't all be aliens, can they?"
Klortho sighed again.
"...Can they?"
"Barkeep, another nectar ale. It's going to be a long night..." | Adeimantus walks into a bar and tells the firefighters they only do their jobs for glory; nobody would sacrifice themselves for righteous ideals like good or justice.
"And that is why, no human would ever risk their life to save another."
"Huh?" Finally replied a firefighter. "We disprove everything you spent the last ten minutes going on about."
"Yet you also have a passion for injustice: you do all kinds of things in your daily lives that go against this claimed honorable self-sacrificial delusion of glory for yourself.
- So prove it," says Adeimantus.
The firefighters took another drink against their own discretion, they were drunk and out too much money. Their children and loved ones missed them. But they felt warm. | |
[WP] "And that is why, no human would ever risk their life to save another." "Firefighters." "Huh?" "Firefighters disprove everything you spent the last ten minutes going on about." | "And that is why no human would ever risk their life to save another."
Gil'zecth stood at the bar looking at the gathered beings. As one of the high caste Fe'lo(*click*), it was only natural for them to look up at his wisdom when he deign to share it. However, "Firefighters."
Every visual sensory organ focused on the lone human having a drink.
"What?"
"Firefighters disprove everything you've spent the last ten minutes rambling on about. There's also doctors without borders, police, soldiers. Hell, humans have been recognized by the Federation as the go to people for search and rescue. And there's humans who risk their lives to save seemingly insignificant creatures and even plants."
The man stood. Like all humans, he was a massive wall of meat that towered over every other race. Absolutely thuggish, with small minds that went hand in hand with their animalistic nature, "see, our reputation for being batshit terrifying monsters isn't entirely undeserved. Unstoppable, insatiable, destructive."
Gil'zecth didn't like how the human paced slowly towards him as he spoke. The human never raised his voice above their normal speaking level as he pressed on, "we nuked ourselves to the stone age twice. It's because of our destructive nature that we willingly throw ourselves into danger for each other. Every life is precious to us humans. Because we are all to aware of how easily it can be snuffed out. For all your enlightenment, for all your research, you will never understand the duality of humans."
The human pulled his wallet out and placed a large stack of bills on the counter and made for the door, "drinks on me." | Adeimantus walks into a bar and tells the firefighters they only do their jobs for glory; nobody would sacrifice themselves for righteous ideals like good or justice.
"And that is why, no human would ever risk their life to save another."
"Huh?" Finally replied a firefighter. "We disprove everything you spent the last ten minutes going on about."
"Yet you also have a passion for injustice: you do all kinds of things in your daily lives that go against this claimed honorable self-sacrificial delusion of glory for yourself.
- So prove it," says Adeimantus.
The firefighters took another drink against their own discretion, they were drunk and out too much money. Their children and loved ones missed them. But they felt warm. | |
[WP] "And that is why, no human would ever risk their life to save another." "Firefighters." "Huh?" "Firefighters disprove everything you spent the last ten minutes going on about." | "And that is why, no human would ever risk their life to save another."
"Firefighters."
"Huh?"
"Firefighters disprove everything you spent the last ten minutes going on about."
Zeus blinks a few times at Hades. He'd be the first to admit that, after the fall of Ancient Greece, Zeus hadn't spent much time paying attention to humans. The new group of people don't pray to him, don't sacrifice anything to him. And he's happy about it! It has been so relaxing since they've branched out to things such as science and astrology. But they still have to do their jobs. And Hades still deals with the dead. Zeus chases down his brother who is walking away.
"What do you mean, Firefighters?"
" Police too, but not as much. Nurses and doctors also run a pretty high risk. I mean sure, there are plenty corrupt people in all groups of people, but that true with everything."
"But they don't actually die!" Hades stops in his tracks.
"They don't actually die? Zeus, they jump into burning buildings, sometimes to save animals! They risk their lives every single day. They have homes and families! But they come out, anyway."
"They are not good people! Humans are corrupt and cruel!"
"Says the God who is known for his cruelty! Alright, listen. If I can show you a time in history that humans showed one **ounce** of compassion, will you admit that they can be good?"
"Fine." Zeus reluctantly agrees. Hades leads the way to a podium. Placed upon it is a large dish with glowing, blue liquid swirling in it. Hades waves his hand. In the bowl, a scene appears. There's a group of large buildings. with two standing above the rest. "Where are we?"
"New York. September 11, 2001."
​
Zeus slowly looks up.
"How many?"
"2,977. 343 Firefights. That original number also includes the passenger of the fourth plane."
"Four? I only saw the three crashes."
"The passengers broke through the door of the last plane and crashed it in a field, killing all on board. They think it was headed to the White House." Hades leans against the bowl and looks at Zeus. "Well? Do you really think every human has nothing but corruption and hatred in their hearts? Do you really think that there is not one good person among the billions?"
"I concede. However, it is notable that it is only in times of darkness their true light shines."
"But, when it does, it shines brighter than any shadow." | Adeimantus walks into a bar and tells the firefighters they only do their jobs for glory; nobody would sacrifice themselves for righteous ideals like good or justice.
"And that is why, no human would ever risk their life to save another."
"Huh?" Finally replied a firefighter. "We disprove everything you spent the last ten minutes going on about."
"Yet you also have a passion for injustice: you do all kinds of things in your daily lives that go against this claimed honorable self-sacrificial delusion of glory for yourself.
- So prove it," says Adeimantus.
The firefighters took another drink against their own discretion, they were drunk and out too much money. Their children and loved ones missed them. But they felt warm. | |
[WP] in Hell due to budgets cuts, most of the punishments go from terrible to just annoying | " Okay architects we need to come up with a plan. The gas bills are huge and this place needs some new torture plans.... Come on Billy did you really need that much wax? I mean, look at this, Susan, why do you need to drown them in FRESH water every time?"
" Hygene reasons my lord. The millenials will not be tortured in unproper conditions. A law passed in 2016. We are not allowed to torture them with dirty or used water."
" What about bees. Why do they have to be electronic Jax? "
" The real ones are too afraid to work with humans sir. The humans are driving them extinct so they refuse any contact. "
" Ok. But these bills are ourageous demons! We do not get paid that much! How can we torture these guys? "
" We could teach more demons how to break bones. That is cheap." Mike said.
"Yeah!" A bunch of demons agreed.
"Nonono. I feel like that would be a step backwards. We've been breaking bones since the first men walked the Earth. Think outside the box!" Lucifer said.
" Sir may I propose something? " a skinny, shy demon with a high pitched voice cried.
" Why not Xanna. What do you propose?"
" Sir, my lord we could use their weakness to torture them. Lie that we give them computers to play and their screen appear as loading. Forever. Give them just a pinch of internet to load a youtube page but it never loads up. "
The other demons laughed but Lucifer thought for a moment.
" what about the people that lived before the millenials?"
" Sir we could take the worst annoyances of the centuries and use them against the people. "
" I see. So you propose to psychologically torture them. Will this generate as much pain as the torture we used until now? We can not afford any more losses or we will be shut down."
Shaking, the small demon searched his bag for papers.
" If I did the calculation right, sir, we will generate 3 times more pain. You see. The people who were tortured for thousands of years do not respond to lava or wax anymore. But we can create an infinite loop of psychological torture scenarios sir. A lot of new pain coming sir."
5 years later:
"Xanna, you are officially a commandant of Hell. Thanks to you, many of our hard working demons could take a well-deserved vacation to Earth. Our pits are working better than ever and the humans basically torture themselves!" | Satan looked over the bills before wiping them off the table. The imp of the hour scurried around to pick them up. The human population had exploded overwhelming hell's resources. Just the added employment costs would bankrupt hell in a matter of centuries. Something would have to be cut. His salary, hell no, pun intended. Employee count, no, hell was strained enough as it was. Rent, if only.
Imp, hurry up! Satan boomed at the little red creature. The imp picked up the last scraps of thankfully fireproof paper, placed it on his desk, and shuffled back waiting for the next order. As if on comedic queue, a black of hot air knocked one bill onto the ground. The imp audibly sighed, picked up the bill, and added to the stack once again.
A metaphorical torch lit up over Satan's head. He picked up that scrap of paper and thew it to the ground on purpose. Again the imp scraped it up. Satan repeating the act a second then a third. The imp seemed more distressed at this inconvenience even at a fraction of the effort than when the entire stack was swept off. The punishments department. They would be getting a few changes.
Punishments had played by the same playbook since the beginning. Poking with sticks, boiling alive, the usual. When Satan informed them of the changes, there was at first outrage. But as the numbers came in, they had to admit the idea was brilliant. Pits of lava and rings of fire were expensive and the punishments required significant demonpower. Now hell was full of broken printers, incomplete puzzles, crooked paintings, and more annoyances over literal pain. The overall suffering had actually increased at a fraction of the cost. | |
[WP] Awakened by the squeaking at 3am, you see a kid swinging on the nearby swing from your window. You were just turning around, thinking about what to do, your pet cat speaks, "Close the window. You don't want it to see you." |
I never liked cats.
I was a dog person. Grew up with dogs, would happily get on the floor when I went over to my sister's house and roll around with her dogs, just having a grand old time. Just my luck I fell for someone who didn’t like dogs, but loved cats. What you do for love, am I right?
So we moved in, got married, and got two cats. I won’t say I hated them, but they weren't my favorite critters, and they were not overly fond of me. Well one of them anyway. The black one, Pukey, was a stray before we got her, and as near as we could tell was possibly abused by someone. Didn’t even see her the first month, the only proof she existed was an empty food bowl, fresh mess in the cat box, and cat puke somewhere in the house, every morning.
We thought a friend might calm her down, so we got a tortoiseshell kitten, named Alex. Seemed to work, at least the puke wasn’t in my shoes regularly anymore. The cats had sorta got in a routine, until the kid came along. Alex tolerated her, but the skittish black cat would let her get two pets in then scamper under the bed. I used to tell the girl that she didn’t have to worry about monsters in the house, that the cats checked under her bed every night, remembering what my sister went through with her kids. How little I knew.
It was early october. The kiddo loved halloween, the first weekend of the month we’d been out decorating the house. My wife had gone out of town for a few days, for a friend's wedding, due to school we couldn’t all go, and I didn’t know her friends really. It was the first time she’d left us alone, and was sort of worried as I dropped her off at the airport.
“We’ll be fine, I’ve taken her down to the coast for days before with my sister, and I can cook better than you do.”
My wife just smirked, “fat lot of good that does when all she’ll eat is Mac and Cheese.” the kid was in that stage, if it wasn’t for goldfish crackers and Kraft dinner she’d starve.
Still, she told me to watch the cats. I’m usually the one that fed them anyway, and often woke up with Pukey perched on my chest for some odd reason. Damn cat.
Went back home, then picked up the kiddo from school. We had a fun afternoon, before a dinner of what else, Mac and cheese. At least she was getting old enough at 7 to take her own bath and get dressed. The weather was weird that night, kind of a heavy, low overcast that looked ominous, though nothing was on the radar according to the weather.
Put the kid in bed, she never had much of a problem falling asleep most nights. I was feeling a bit out of it myself, so after taking care of some reports for work, I shut down my computer and went to bed myself.
I’m not sure what time it was when I first heard it. We have a big wooden playset in the back, it’s a lot better than the metal swing set I had as a kid. Which is why the squeak was strange. It sounded just like the one we had back when I was young, the rusted non galvanized metal chain links on the swing making a loud ‘crreek’ every five seconds or so.
It sounded like a swing…but her’s had nylon rope instead of chains. Worrying someone had gotten into the garage I rolled quietly out of bed, visions of catalytic converter thieves dancing in my head. If only. I glanced out the bedroom window, no, the garage door was closed, and there was a kid on the swing, slowly rocking back and forth. I leaned forward when sharp kitty teeth grabbed my hand semi-gently, Alex’s five pound weight pulling back on my hand.
“Oww! Dammit cat-” I started to yell, as Pukey leapt up, grabbing the window shade and pulling it down quickly.
“Quiet!” the black cat hissed , her ears back. “Don’t let it see you!”
It was at this point that I debated whether I had lost my marbles entirely. But Alex was growling, something the normally laid back tortoiseshell never did, and Pukey was peering under the shade of the window, while outside, the squeaking paused, then resumed. “What the hell?” I muttered, rubbing my hand, she’d gotten me just enough to draw a bit of blood, but not enough to really penetrate the skin.
I wasn’t the only one muttering, the black cat seemed to be quietly cursing. “..when the woman had gone, of course it would come now..”
When Alex spoke, I decided if I was crazy, I’d at least better pay attention. “What do we do? It’s stronger than we are!” the younger cat cried.
The black cat’s tail whipped back and forth, poofed even more than the last time I attempted to take her to the vet. “We stay quiet, home is protected. It will move on by dawn.”
“Uh, what will move on by dawn? And why can I understand you?”
“You don’t want to know, it is best if the name of such things are not spoken.” Pukey replied.
“I’ll take your word for it.” I told her. My gut was screaming as well now that I was fully awake that there was some threat, I turned towards the closet towards the gun safe in there.
Alex snorted. “Those will not help against such as that thing, man.”
For some reason the cat annoyed me “so what will? And I have a name you know”
The black cat seemed to laugh “so do I, yet you call me Pukey.”
“Well, you never told us your name, and you do puke all over the house…”
“...point. I was wild, the dry food you serve gives me tummy trouble.”
“Hey, we’ve tried dried food, wet food, canned, fresh, all natural, grain free, the 30 dollar a bag stuff, the cheap stuff…none of it made a difference!” Talking or not, cats were still annoying “and what will work against whatever that is?” I asked as I opened the safe.
Alex rolled her eyes “Stuff you don’t have, Claws, teeth, cold iron-” the cat stopped, green eyes blinking wide as I pulled it out. I’d gotten rid of a lot of stuff from my SCA days, but for some reason getting rid of the sword I’d gotten in Germany seemed like a bad idea. Never knew why. “Like this?”
Pukey seemed to grin at the other cat “I told you this one may not be completely useless.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I replied, despite the fact I hadn’t even touched this blade in over a decade. Like falling off a bicycle. Hopefully. “So what do we do?”
The black cat peered out of the windowshade again, the squeaking continuing. “We sit put until dawn. If that catches a scent you won’t be completely unprotected at least.”
Logical. As much as my instincts told me to protect, especially with my daughter sleeping down the hall-I knew enough to know I was in over my head. If the cats said wait it out we would. “Should I call my wife?” I asked, glancing over to my phone. “Or the cops?”
“She is too far from here to be of help..and the other, less than help-” There was a familiar thud from down the hall and all three of us froze. The girl was up, probably wanting some water. Which was normal for her many nights. And I could hear the rapid thumps of her feet as she ran through the house, towards the kitchen. darn kid had two speeds, on and off sometimes. Unfortunately, we were not the only ones who heard that-as if a switch had been thrown, the squeaking stopped and the wind began to pick up.
“DOGSPIT!” Pukey cursed, her claws out. Alex was already moving, her own claws scrabbling to get a grip on the hardwood floor, what once seemed comical at times now scared me. I had problems moving as well, it was as if a great oppressive weight was pushing against the house, and everything in it. “Get her to her bed!” The black cat cried as she rounded the corner to the back doors, the sliding glass panes that I never really liked, but my mother in law insisted on putting in. The kid was standing there staring at something out in the back yard as I scooped her up, running back down the hall into her room. The kid’s room always had lights in it, stars on the ceiling, a Pinky Pie nightlight, and there was a purple glow coming from the bed frame itself that I didn’t remember installing. The kid squealed as I tossed her in Alex scrambling up on the bed rails, poofed out to twice her size. “Ok, we’re safe here!” the young cat panted.”the beds protected” I could hear the sound of breaking glass and desperate yowling coming from the kitchen.
I was intelligent enough, and known as a pretty smart guy. But I did also have a reputation of times doing something that wasn’t ‘smart.’ I gave my daughter a quick hug “Stay with Alex” I told her. She was too spooked to argue, Alex on the other hand..
“Are you nuts! Get back here!” she yowled as I ran back through the house, gripping the blade tight. As I entered the kitchen, there was something, the colors were wrong, as were the shapes, and a black blur was doing its best to slow it down. I could feel it reaching for me as well as I swung, hoping I remembered enough. It connected, then everything went black.
Lights woke me up, and chattering. I opened one eye, the kitchen was a wreck, the neighbor was there, as were paramedics who were working on me, and the police-along with a good size portion of a tree that had come through the plate glass window. A freak windstorm the Police said, there were trees down across the region, and several deaths. The lady next door reassured my daughter that I’d be ok, it was just some cuts, and said she’d called my wife as well-but she’d already known something was wrong, and was on her way back home. I knew I’d never hear the end of it from my wife if I didn’t let them check me out, the neighbor said she’d watch the kiddo. Both cats kept winding their way back and forth around the kiddos' feet until they picked up the stretcher to cart me to the ambulance. When Pukey jumped up , the old black cat a bit scratched up herself. She headbutted me..then with a hork, puked on the side of the stretcher. I could swear she grinned as the paramedic cussed. That cat’s getting tuna tonight. | "Can it, Tabs," I reply aloud. Tablet ignores me, as always, the fact that I occasionally hear her voice in my head notwithstanding.
I watch the kid. I can't look away. Back and forth, and back again, and again, and again... It's a boy I think, but I can't be sure. Maybe 10 or 11. Not small, but not a teen. Still, I can't be sure about gender, because 'his' clothing is draped on him, tattered pale cloth, lifted by the air, flowing as it can, following his motion, so that it seems to paint a cloudy frame for his form against the dim sky.
The boy is lit somehow, perhaps by shafts from a distant street lamp that find their way through the thick trees that wrap my home, keeping distance from my silent neighbors.
He looks at me. ...Oh.
Quietly, compelled, I pad barefoot the path to the darkened door at the back of the house, out onto the grass, and on to stand where his feet pass close by as he swings on and on. I do not want this, but I am not in control. I am observer now, aware only of this boy, and of my breath, which I feel I must force in and out, as though it would cease if I did not will it to continue.
The rag clad boy stills his legs, slowly the arc of the swing diminishes. He stands and steps to face me, grinning slightly, but then letting his lips part to reveal a fine set of white teeth, each ending in a gleaming point -- a gleam that sparks, like, now, his eyes. And I cannot move. I can no longer drive my breath. My chest goes dead. My vision closes down until I see only his face, then his mouth, and at last, as the mouth opens wide, I see only the wet shine of a lone incisor. | |
[WP] Awakened by the squeaking at 3am, you see a kid swinging on the nearby swing from your window. You were just turning around, thinking about what to do, your pet cat speaks, "Close the window. You don't want it to see you." |
I never liked cats.
I was a dog person. Grew up with dogs, would happily get on the floor when I went over to my sister's house and roll around with her dogs, just having a grand old time. Just my luck I fell for someone who didn’t like dogs, but loved cats. What you do for love, am I right?
So we moved in, got married, and got two cats. I won’t say I hated them, but they weren't my favorite critters, and they were not overly fond of me. Well one of them anyway. The black one, Pukey, was a stray before we got her, and as near as we could tell was possibly abused by someone. Didn’t even see her the first month, the only proof she existed was an empty food bowl, fresh mess in the cat box, and cat puke somewhere in the house, every morning.
We thought a friend might calm her down, so we got a tortoiseshell kitten, named Alex. Seemed to work, at least the puke wasn’t in my shoes regularly anymore. The cats had sorta got in a routine, until the kid came along. Alex tolerated her, but the skittish black cat would let her get two pets in then scamper under the bed. I used to tell the girl that she didn’t have to worry about monsters in the house, that the cats checked under her bed every night, remembering what my sister went through with her kids. How little I knew.
It was early october. The kiddo loved halloween, the first weekend of the month we’d been out decorating the house. My wife had gone out of town for a few days, for a friend's wedding, due to school we couldn’t all go, and I didn’t know her friends really. It was the first time she’d left us alone, and was sort of worried as I dropped her off at the airport.
“We’ll be fine, I’ve taken her down to the coast for days before with my sister, and I can cook better than you do.”
My wife just smirked, “fat lot of good that does when all she’ll eat is Mac and Cheese.” the kid was in that stage, if it wasn’t for goldfish crackers and Kraft dinner she’d starve.
Still, she told me to watch the cats. I’m usually the one that fed them anyway, and often woke up with Pukey perched on my chest for some odd reason. Damn cat.
Went back home, then picked up the kiddo from school. We had a fun afternoon, before a dinner of what else, Mac and cheese. At least she was getting old enough at 7 to take her own bath and get dressed. The weather was weird that night, kind of a heavy, low overcast that looked ominous, though nothing was on the radar according to the weather.
Put the kid in bed, she never had much of a problem falling asleep most nights. I was feeling a bit out of it myself, so after taking care of some reports for work, I shut down my computer and went to bed myself.
I’m not sure what time it was when I first heard it. We have a big wooden playset in the back, it’s a lot better than the metal swing set I had as a kid. Which is why the squeak was strange. It sounded just like the one we had back when I was young, the rusted non galvanized metal chain links on the swing making a loud ‘crreek’ every five seconds or so.
It sounded like a swing…but her’s had nylon rope instead of chains. Worrying someone had gotten into the garage I rolled quietly out of bed, visions of catalytic converter thieves dancing in my head. If only. I glanced out the bedroom window, no, the garage door was closed, and there was a kid on the swing, slowly rocking back and forth. I leaned forward when sharp kitty teeth grabbed my hand semi-gently, Alex’s five pound weight pulling back on my hand.
“Oww! Dammit cat-” I started to yell, as Pukey leapt up, grabbing the window shade and pulling it down quickly.
“Quiet!” the black cat hissed , her ears back. “Don’t let it see you!”
It was at this point that I debated whether I had lost my marbles entirely. But Alex was growling, something the normally laid back tortoiseshell never did, and Pukey was peering under the shade of the window, while outside, the squeaking paused, then resumed. “What the hell?” I muttered, rubbing my hand, she’d gotten me just enough to draw a bit of blood, but not enough to really penetrate the skin.
I wasn’t the only one muttering, the black cat seemed to be quietly cursing. “..when the woman had gone, of course it would come now..”
When Alex spoke, I decided if I was crazy, I’d at least better pay attention. “What do we do? It’s stronger than we are!” the younger cat cried.
The black cat’s tail whipped back and forth, poofed even more than the last time I attempted to take her to the vet. “We stay quiet, home is protected. It will move on by dawn.”
“Uh, what will move on by dawn? And why can I understand you?”
“You don’t want to know, it is best if the name of such things are not spoken.” Pukey replied.
“I’ll take your word for it.” I told her. My gut was screaming as well now that I was fully awake that there was some threat, I turned towards the closet towards the gun safe in there.
Alex snorted. “Those will not help against such as that thing, man.”
For some reason the cat annoyed me “so what will? And I have a name you know”
The black cat seemed to laugh “so do I, yet you call me Pukey.”
“Well, you never told us your name, and you do puke all over the house…”
“...point. I was wild, the dry food you serve gives me tummy trouble.”
“Hey, we’ve tried dried food, wet food, canned, fresh, all natural, grain free, the 30 dollar a bag stuff, the cheap stuff…none of it made a difference!” Talking or not, cats were still annoying “and what will work against whatever that is?” I asked as I opened the safe.
Alex rolled her eyes “Stuff you don’t have, Claws, teeth, cold iron-” the cat stopped, green eyes blinking wide as I pulled it out. I’d gotten rid of a lot of stuff from my SCA days, but for some reason getting rid of the sword I’d gotten in Germany seemed like a bad idea. Never knew why. “Like this?”
Pukey seemed to grin at the other cat “I told you this one may not be completely useless.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I replied, despite the fact I hadn’t even touched this blade in over a decade. Like falling off a bicycle. Hopefully. “So what do we do?”
The black cat peered out of the windowshade again, the squeaking continuing. “We sit put until dawn. If that catches a scent you won’t be completely unprotected at least.”
Logical. As much as my instincts told me to protect, especially with my daughter sleeping down the hall-I knew enough to know I was in over my head. If the cats said wait it out we would. “Should I call my wife?” I asked, glancing over to my phone. “Or the cops?”
“She is too far from here to be of help..and the other, less than help-” There was a familiar thud from down the hall and all three of us froze. The girl was up, probably wanting some water. Which was normal for her many nights. And I could hear the rapid thumps of her feet as she ran through the house, towards the kitchen. darn kid had two speeds, on and off sometimes. Unfortunately, we were not the only ones who heard that-as if a switch had been thrown, the squeaking stopped and the wind began to pick up.
“DOGSPIT!” Pukey cursed, her claws out. Alex was already moving, her own claws scrabbling to get a grip on the hardwood floor, what once seemed comical at times now scared me. I had problems moving as well, it was as if a great oppressive weight was pushing against the house, and everything in it. “Get her to her bed!” The black cat cried as she rounded the corner to the back doors, the sliding glass panes that I never really liked, but my mother in law insisted on putting in. The kid was standing there staring at something out in the back yard as I scooped her up, running back down the hall into her room. The kid’s room always had lights in it, stars on the ceiling, a Pinky Pie nightlight, and there was a purple glow coming from the bed frame itself that I didn’t remember installing. The kid squealed as I tossed her in Alex scrambling up on the bed rails, poofed out to twice her size. “Ok, we’re safe here!” the young cat panted.”the beds protected” I could hear the sound of breaking glass and desperate yowling coming from the kitchen.
I was intelligent enough, and known as a pretty smart guy. But I did also have a reputation of times doing something that wasn’t ‘smart.’ I gave my daughter a quick hug “Stay with Alex” I told her. She was too spooked to argue, Alex on the other hand..
“Are you nuts! Get back here!” she yowled as I ran back through the house, gripping the blade tight. As I entered the kitchen, there was something, the colors were wrong, as were the shapes, and a black blur was doing its best to slow it down. I could feel it reaching for me as well as I swung, hoping I remembered enough. It connected, then everything went black.
Lights woke me up, and chattering. I opened one eye, the kitchen was a wreck, the neighbor was there, as were paramedics who were working on me, and the police-along with a good size portion of a tree that had come through the plate glass window. A freak windstorm the Police said, there were trees down across the region, and several deaths. The lady next door reassured my daughter that I’d be ok, it was just some cuts, and said she’d called my wife as well-but she’d already known something was wrong, and was on her way back home. I knew I’d never hear the end of it from my wife if I didn’t let them check me out, the neighbor said she’d watch the kiddo. Both cats kept winding their way back and forth around the kiddos' feet until they picked up the stretcher to cart me to the ambulance. When Pukey jumped up , the old black cat a bit scratched up herself. She headbutted me..then with a hork, puked on the side of the stretcher. I could swear she grinned as the paramedic cussed. That cat’s getting tuna tonight. | *Squeak, squeak.* My eyes fluttered open. I broke out into a yawn, and checked my phone for the time.
*Squeak, squeak.* The incessant squeaking grated against my ears. It was 3am, who would be on the swing at a time like this?
*Squeak, squeak.* I peeked through the curtains only for Callie to jump at me and try to bat my face away from the window, with her furry, white, little paws, saying "Close the window. You don't want it to see you."
*Squeak, squeak.* Wait, did my cat talk to me? I stepped back, staring at my cat, scrutinizing every detail for anything different. Was it just a hallucination, a fleeting trace of a dream? "Lady, you're awake. This is real. I need you to listen to me."
*Squeak, squeak.* No way. I tried to count the fingers on my right hand. 5. I had heard it is hard to count when dreaming, but I had no trouble here. "Relax, breathe." I softly whispered to myself. Regardless of whether I was dreaming or not, listening to the talking cat was a smart idea. Definitely a smart one.
*Squeak, squeak.* So I turned to my Calico, my little companion, and asked "Callie? What's going on?" I didn't even know if I was talking to Callie, or if my cat had perhaps been possessed. She'd always been a little clever, but never like this. After a moment, she responded "Think back to what you saw before I jumped at you. That is not a human child. You're lucky it didn't catch you looking at it."
*Squeak, squeak.* She was right, what little I saw, seemed vaguely in the shape of a kid on a swing, but thinking of it again, it seemed warped, distorted, like I was looking at something that was trying to cramp itself into a human shape. Oh god, what is happening? Why is this happening? I felt a gentle, fluffy warmth settle on my lap. Callie. "You'll be fine, just listen to me. As long as you hear that continuous squeaking, you're safe. And as long as it doesn't see you, you're safe as well. But if you stop hearing the swing, close your eyes and shut your ears and stay still, and it will ignore you, assuming it is targeting you and not anyone else."
*Squeak, squeak.* "Wha- What happens of whoever that thing targets? And how can you talk? How do you even know this? Are you even Callie?" My rising panic was made apparent by my quivering voice. I tried to calm down, I just had to do what the cat said. But what if it was lying? I couldn't trust it either!
"You're right, I'm not Callie. I'm a different being, using your pet as a vessel. And don't worry, you'll get Callie back unharmed when this is over. Please trust me. That child is also being used as a vessel by our enemy, but it's struggling to get used to the new body. If it fails, it will seek anoth... The squeaking stopped, stay still and shut your senses out, quick!" With the realisation, an overwhelming feeling of dread washed over me, nearly paralysing me, but I instinctively curled into a ball and covered myself. I hoped that my erratic breathing or whimpers would not betray me.
I couldn't hear Callie. Only the sound of my breathing and my heartbeat, that had long slowed down as my emotions calmed. I didn't know how long I stayed curled up like this, but my body ached and my mouth felt dry. But I did not dare move, even a little. How much longer would I stay like this? "Lady, you can move now. We need to hurry." I felt my cat pawing at my leg, and slowly turned towards it, hesitating on opening my eyes, lest it be a trick of some sort. But I had to. It was my cat, or whatever was possessing her, still there. Definitely not a dream. I got off the bed and sighed, feeling the stiffness of my body, and turned to the cat. "Is it over? Please tell me it's over." I knew it wasn't. It wouldn't have asked me to hurry if it was. But I hoped that I was wrong.
*Squeak, squeak.* I shivered hearing that sound again, and any hope I may have had went crashing down. "Sadly, we lost pioneer Delta, and with it, your neighbour it was trying to protect. We'll need to run away, and fast, before the enemy finds more vessels to spread through."
*Squeak, squeak.* "And don't, ever, look back." | |
No matter what drugs, alcohol, or substances you consume you will always be sober. Would you use this for the good of society? Or abuse it to control others? | [WP] Your superpower is you are always sober | [Critique Encouraged, I need to improve my writing:]
What does it mean, to be high on something? To feel a rush in your blood, to lose yourself in the sensation, and experience the eventual crash. I wouldn’t know.
Bars are fascinating places. And it’s not because of the stench of alcohol in the air, or the dimly lit atmosphere: it’s the people that inhabit the space.
Twirling the whiskey to hear the clank of the ice against the glass, I listened quietly to the drunk mumbling of my friend. No matter how much i drink, I couldn’t ever reach that state. He was rambling about his recent breakup, collapsing onto the counter. I listened carefully to everything he was saying, even though I perhaps could never relate to the contents.
I felt a brush against my shoulder, it was the hair of a conventionally attractive lady. Perhaps I would’ve fallen head over heels for her, and asked to talk to her about this chance meeting.
Before I felt even the slightest tingling in my heart, the feeling was gone. I was left without any urge to pursue her.
I glance towards the TV she was watching, the football players reaching a touchdown, the audience held their breaths… I can’t help but feel a sense of jealousy. The people who could chase something and lose themselves in it, whether it is towards fame, wealth, or love. And I was left out of the limelight, never breathing the enthusiasm from the air.
I watch my friend strike up a conversation with the lady, a genuine smile on both their faces. I felt happy for him. Perhaps I couldn’t even have the luxury of being intoxicated in the feeling of spite.
The door squeaks open, the throng of people marching forwards, all chasing their own highs.
I, with only this curse of mine by my side.
Walk the opposite way. | One use i can think of is [developing your tastebuds](https://theneatglass.com/academy/the-power-of-smell/) and olfactory senses to a fine degree, learning and memorizing all the different tastes of additives, roofies and other substances and simply go to parties and gatherings to help out people.
If you go to parties with high drug usage, you can taste-test the drugs and verify if the sellers are honest or if they cut their product.
any mixture of the above would also allow you to build your own drug empire by being able to always oneup and test your oppositions.
dangers to the latter include but are not limited to being disposed of by the myriad of other cartels or alphabet agencies. |
[WP] The knights the king sends to your lair to rescue the princess or to recover some lost treasure are becoming worse and worse with every one of them. You hear another one outside proclaiming "Dragon you are... evil and... bad and... bad and... evil...". You dread this encounter already. | Jewel-encrusted ceremonial jade bowl, early 3rd Dynasty of the Elven city-state of Na-Treminoiel, pictographs depicting the victory of the Elven Rangers over an invading force of goblins can be found on the side. Fair condition. Collection of various coins from the Harrowing Age, Dwarven make, ranging from bronze to platinum in metals, depicts the royal signet of King Ha'Rumman Tethys on both sides. Wine aged in oaken barrels, placed in glass bottles; Not drinkable as lead has been used as the sweetener, but still has monetary value as humans don't know that lead is dangerous yet. Ok. That's about it. I note down into my stone tablets that the count of my hoard has been completed after the recent disturbance. Always a bother really. Some human knight comes and tries to challenge me, kill me secretly, or just steal my treasures. I'd worry a lot more if I couldn't smell them from five miles away. It's not that humans smell bad conceptually, but they bathe maybe once a year. Yuck. And the quality has really fallen in recent time.
The last one was perhaps a little clever, covering himself in dirt, sheep's wool, and rubbing himself over a few sheep. But he should have realised that few sheep willingly go close to a dragon's lair. Except my cousin Erthyerigard, she hoards the best sheep in the realm, and they're quite comfortable around her. Had to go and check it out when I smelled sheep in my cave. Turns out it was a dirty, unkempt human. And he got dirt and human muck all over my treasures. At least the bastard didn't touch the aged cheese. I'd have to pay the dwarves for damaged goods if he did. It's an excellent way to earn money. Let some cheese age in a closed-off part of your lair for a few years, and get paid for it. And money is an excellent way to get books, wines, cheeses for private use, smoked ham, soft silk pillows with real goose-down for one's nest, and other fine things. A dragon doesn't live on raw meat and roots dug up from the ground after all. Well, I suppose I could, but that would be absolutely horrid.
I figured its because of that princess. I told her it was a bad idea to have me pick her up from her tower and let her run off with that cute witch. Told her it was a better idea that I just distract the king and all of his knights while the witch flies up to the castle on the broomstick, allowing them to fly away. But no, she had to pay me extra for the big ol' service. Had to get the whole ''kidnapped by a dragon, oh cruel fate'' thing going. Of course I couldn't say no to real sapphires on a tiara made from electrum. And I just couldn't say no to her in any case, I mean, she and the witch makes a great couple. They've got a cottage over on the next mountain where they are living together, cursing people, turning dukes, counts, and princes into various woodland critters. I know I can't go out for a snack these days without asking the animal I've caught if it used to be a noble. Though they're usually rare animals that the witch and the princess have noted are threatened due to the hunting traditions of the nobility. Besides that, they're real good neighbours.
Of course, with the king sending out his knights after me, it isn't all fun. While I am reading the latest Dwarven Noir novel ''The Glodglodssonsson Conspiracy'' by Trisu of clan Ironmace, I can smell a smell. Like the distant smell of an animal only worse. It is quite clearly a human being, that I can of course make out. Putting down my reading, I head out towards the cave entrance. And I can hear him now. ''*Dragon! You are... evil and... bad and... bad and... evil...!*'' Wow. The noble brotherhood of knights has really gone downhill. I dread the boredom and possibly the terrible smell of this encounter. I mean, is it too much to ask that humans use animal fat and ash to make a primitive form of soap, and bathe more than once a year? Honestly, the latest knights sent after me were barely more than scoundrels and thugs, but sending a squeaky voiced... small... knight. A child. That's not a grown man. By my sire and dam, that is a human child in armour far too big for it. Is the king serious? Then again he was a drunken besotted fool who couldn't seem to keep his advisors from arranging the accidental deaths of all of his sons and planning the marriage of his only daughter to one of their cronies in the neighbouring kingdom. He might have killed his advisors in a fit of drunken rage, or maybe he doesn't care as much about his escaped daughter anymore. Rather than merely incinerating the squeaky little human thing, I move faster than the scared thing can comprehend, removing its blade and armour without harming the poor little guy.
To his credit, he doesn't seem to be fainting. He is without armour and only in his clothes, without a weapon, and still he stands defiant. Is he too dense to frighten? Using the inherent magic that exists within every dragon, I probe his mind. It is in fact not stupid. Merely incredibly ill-used. This human could be quite clever, if trained and taught. The son of a lesser noble, sent out on a token quest, yes, I read his memory so easily that I read details that he couldn't even begin to fathom with his current lack of any form of education or training. The king was dying from poison before the boy even left. The advisors are done waiting, and done trying. The king dies, one of the nobles takes over, one who has an agreement with the corrupt advisors. Royalty comes not truly from blood. That's just a story people tell. Royalty comes from command, from inner strength, from determined will and purity of intent. And he was willing to fight a dragon to save someone. Brave, kind, untaught but that can be fixed, and even a little ambitious. Those who save princesses usually wind up marrying them, though this one would rather remain unmarried. Perhaps, it is time to do a little charity.
The human, just a brave lad, tries to charge at me with his fists. It's... cute. And ineffectual. I let the little human tire himself out, after which I take him inside. I clean the human, which takes a lot longer than I'd imagine. But well worth it when he no longer smells like solidified milk. Then I dress him in fine clothes, that I have previously scavenged from the various nobles turned into critters that seem to be so common around here. And as his energy return, as he wants to begin fighting, I begin sending into his little weak and untrained mind signals. It is only something one can do with animals and humans who have never had much time to think, or have been forced to cease to think by others. Those around the boy have always looked down on cleverness and thinking. Brute force was always enough, and in emulating his brethren and father, his mind is not as great as it could have been. But it'll do. The signals make him calm. Make him able to listen. He was sent here to die, but instead he shall receive the greatest gifts in the universe. An education, and a destiny. Dragons can do that, we can mark people with appropriate destinies. Burn a future into their souls. And since the leadership of the kingdom is going to hell fairly soon, I think I should make this brave little boy who dared to stand up to a dragon, and tried to fight one with his bare hands; A king.
As magic flows into him, through me, he changes a little. His path becomes clearer. His mind is freed from the foolish notions of those who have sent him to die. His eyes open in a very wide fashion. I think I shall... wait can dragons even legally adopt non-orphans? Well, he has seemingly always had potential and he has a future now, so I'm keeping him. ''**Well then, my little student, do you still seek my death?**'' He remembers it, but now he can once more think critically. ''*No... You are a dragon. You are big and strong and can spray fire upon a hunnerd knights. I can't see how I was supposed to kill you and rescue the princess. I don't think anyone in the whole kingdom could kill you on their lonesome.*'' I smile, revealing a long set of deadly sharp teeth. ''**Well, my little student, the princess is not here, she is currently living happily on her own with a dear friend. And it's hundred, not hunnerd.**'' He nods, gravely. ''**I see that there is much you will need to learn to become a true knight. Now however, you must be hungry after the long trek up the mountain, let me take you to the kitchen. I think you'll enjoy my take on a venison burger.**'' Once more, he nods, and allows me to pick him up as I carry him further into my lair and down to the kitchen. I saw it clearly in his memory, that since his own father disregards him as weak and frail, and how he was sent to die, he will have no loyalties to his old life. Not now that I've torn down the barriers in his mind that humans create to protect themselves from the painful truth. He will learn. He will live. And he will one day probably save his kingdom from corruption and ruin. Quite frankly, this is probably easier to deal with, than waiting for the stinky stupid humans down in the valleys to stop mucking their kingdom up.
Besides, if I can teach him proper cleanliness, and better manners, then once he rules the kingdom, maybe I can get more visitors who don't try to rob me or smell like they've taken a bath in the local cesspool. Would be an excellent change of pace.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | I am Bogganogga, and I am a dragon.
It is not a simple task, sleeping on a bed made of gold. My . . . fascination, I suppose, with gold is far greater than a human could comprehend. Alas, I will try my best to explain it: Imagine, little human, that you lived in a world with only a few trees left. Trees, as you know, make the air that you breathe. I want you to imagine that new trees stopped growing, leaving only a few trees left in the world. What do you think would happen?
If you had a tree, you would be protective of it. If you didn't have a tree, you would quest to obtain one. Just that, one might not be enough. If you are wise, like me, you would create a secret lair to store your trees, venturing out only to acquire more.
I do not need gold to survive, physically, but that is the best way that I can explain it in terms your tiny human brain might understand. This is why I rest on my hoard of gold. Certainly not because it is comfortable --- I cannot tell you the number of times I have rolled in my sleep onto a pointy scabbard, or have had chalices suction to my belly. But, this is the price I pay for happiness.
You may say that humans desire gold as well, that your kind understands my fascination. I know this to be false, evidenced by my experience with your raiding parties that have attempted to steal from me. I have seen the fear in their eyes moments before my breath melted their armor, permanently affixing molten metal to scorched skin. I have seen them flee as I tear their companions limb from limb. If your kind desired the gold as much as I do, as much as they desire taking their next breath, there would not be fear in their eyes, but determination.
. . .
Goodwynn tied her long, white hair back and adjusted the collar of her robe. The palace was bigger than she had imagined. It was also colder, too. Ghostly, even. Stories of the vivacious parties that had once occurred at Castle Elemar were hard for her to picture as she stood in the foyer. It was sort of like meeting your childhood hero and being let down when you realize they weren't what you imagined.
Goodwynn Goodspell's career had largely been as a white mage. Thanks to the patriarchy, female mages had limited career opportunities that were determined acceptable. Goodwynn had spent the last 35 years of her life practicing healing magics, specifically from dragon-fire burns. She was a sort of specialist in her field and-- although she was a woman in an egocentric male-dominated world-- had gained great renown. Whenever there was a dragon attack, she was the first mage summoned. 35 years of healing cattle from burns or gouges, removing molten armor from flesh and, more recently, even reviving the recently departed. 35 years of the most grueling work imaginable, and now. . .
The doors to the foyer opened and King Daniel walked through them. He was short, chunky, and had a balding head. This was the first time Goodwynn had ever seen him without his crown, which he had apparently foregone for this impromptu meeting. She had requested an audience with the king several hours ago. It was mid-afternoon, now, and it appeared he had just woken up. Goodwynn kneeled as he approached.
"Goodwynn Goodspell," the King said, stifling a yawn, "what can you do for me?"
"I can stop Bogganogga from ever leaving his cave again, my lord."
The King's eyebrows raised. "Year after year, I have lost my best knights who were attempting to do just that." He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "You know this, as you have healed those who have returned. But, do you know the number of men that I have lost in that cave, those who never returned?"
"Aye." Goodwynn said, rising to her feet. "That is, actually, part of my plan."
. . .
Elemar was . . . financially distressed, to say the least. The Kingdom was plagued by a dragon-- Bogganogga-- who had attacked and plundered the royal treasury 2 years ago. Not to mention the attacks on local livestock had greatly diminished their food supply and export trade. It had been 2 long, hard years, and the King supposed he had many more years like them still to come.
King Daniel had grown accustomed to sleeping in when he could. Sort of like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand, he figured Elemar's creditors could not reach him in his royal chamber. It was around noon when he was awoken by a servant with the message that Goodwynn Goodspell was at the castle requesting his presence. She had already been waiting for a few hours, apparently.
The King sighed. He was just SO comfortable in his bed. He did not want to go meet with some mage for god knows what purpose.
The King sighed. "Tell her I will meet with her shortly."
. . .
Goodwynn and the King walked down to the dungeons below Elemar. The King was saying something about, "Not my ideal Sunday afternoon", but Goodwynn had mostly tuned him out as they opened the door to the warden's office.
"My lord." The warden said, kneeling quickly. The warden was a large man, perhaps 6'7", with ivory white skin. He had a shock of black hair and a clean-cut face. His outfit was entirely made of black leather.
"Joshuel," The King signaled the warden to rise with a wave of his hand. "We need a body. Do you have any that have been long overdue for disposal?"
Joshuel smiled sheepishly. "Admittedly I do, my lord. Several, even. My apologies."
*He was certainly a strange man.* Goodwynn thought, *but I suppose his profession requires a certain breed.*
Joshuel led the King and Goodwynn through the dungeons to the chambers with the overdue corpses. The smell was horrendous. The King quickly left after instructing Joshuel to oversee Goodwynn's experiment and to report back to him as soon as it was complete.
Goodwynn pinched her nose with one hand and started waving the other in the air. Her outstretched hand began to leave a green contrail in its wake. "This may take a few tries." Goodwynn said to Joshuel.
"I don't mind," Joshuel reassured her. "Will be pretty cool to see, if you can do it."
. . .
The body stood up and looked around. Joshuel clapped his hands. "Wow!" he said, "Bravo!"
"Uhm, uhh..." the body kept repeating, over and over again as it began shuffling around the cell.
*The brain must be mostly rotted.* Goodwynn thought. *For this to work, I might need a body that's slightly more fresh.*
"Ok, Joshuel." Goodwynn said to the warden. "Can you kill him again?"
"Sure, glad to." Joshuel said, opening the door to the cell.
Joshuel walked over to the body and snapped its neck. The body fell to the floor and stopped moving. For a moment, anyways.
Joshuel had walked out of the cell and shut the door behind him as the body's head swiveled around on its neck, making a grotesque crunching noise.
"UHM..." the body said loudly. That made even Joshuel grimace.
"Do you have any that are slightly more fresh?" Goodwynn asked. "This one is too far gone. I need some that can talk, at least a little."
. . .
Hour after hour, the humans have raided. Night after sleepless night, they keep coming. It is like a bad dream on repeat.
"Dragon you are... evil and... bad and... bad and... evil..." they say. I cannot explain how, but the humans have changed. They seem to grow weaker by the day, yet they no longer show that same fear they once did. I know not the reason.
It is not difficult to kill them. It is not difficult to drag them out of my cave so their stench does not taint my precious gold. But it is difficult to do it so often. I have not slept in months. I am unable to venture from my cave, for the fear this horde of knights will steal from me if I do. I have no solution, no answer to this bother. It is as if I am dying from these suffocating gnats.
I am Bogganogga, and I am tired. | |
[WP] God believes in "tough love", and that only through suffering can Man find greatness. Other species, whose deities have raised them with actual love and affection, try and help Humanity through it's trauma. | History determines, without much prejudice the future of a people. Humanity's case is not different. Hated by their own God, they hav become the embodiment of hatred itself, their very biology twisting towards this dreadful path. From their muscles responding and growing due to physical trauma, to their stories obsessed with a masochistic suffering--what they refer to the Heroes Journey and narrative conflict-- to their very memory itself. Negativity.
It is their negative emotion that has made them feared across the universe, especially by the Die-Vorr people. We now turn our attention to the Die-Vorr's god Sun-O preparing to meet with humanity's God the night before his arrival in Heaven.
Sun-O was a simple god. He loved to see his people flourish, and gave them a limited free will to love. By design they would love him and by design they would be happy. In a sense, he kind of understood the other god. How boring love could be, when granted so easily. Nonetheless, Sun-O had forseen full freedoms curse--the ability to hate him and hate each other. And the very possible schism that would be made if bad things were to happen simply because he did not intervene. He could also feel how horrible he would feel if anyone suffered unnecessarily.
So it made him question what type of god would he [meet.](https://meet.iN) In his chambers, He laid with his species women on a soft wool bed under beautiful velvet silk. Two his his left, Two to his right, they slept so softly.The low hum of their breathing, and the lifting and lowering of their chests. He was glad he'd designed them this way, but never tried to put too much precision in the process. Always tried to leave some things just up to chance. He wondered if the other God slept with his women too.
Sun-O got up, and walked naked out of his chambers. As he went to his study, there was a small figure, about half his size inspecting the pulsing walls with a frightened gaze of curiosity and, of course fear. Sun-O spoke.
"Are you having trouble sleeping Joseph?" Sun-O said.
Joseph turned around and immediately shielded his eyes. "Sun-O, you, ah...you're naked."
"I am," Sun-O said proudly. "It's a sign of respect here to be naked in ones house. You make yourself vulnerable to them, and trust their home to protect you on Die-Vorr."
"I am not familiar with the, ah, practice. I wish to keep my clothes on," Joseph almost murmured. Sun-O's eyes widened. What a straightforward display of disrespect. Nonetheless, Sun-O tempered himself. He was human. It wasn't his fault he was like this.
"Of course. Keep them on." He stepped closer to Joseph. Joseph stiffened, looking at Sun-O. Sun-O was twice his height, a man that looked more akin to a fish than human. Fish scaled skin, and gills just under his two sets of armpits. He wore nothing, with what Joseph assumed to be his manly parts hanging out, shoulder level to him. Joseph smelt him--he smelt like the female military escorts. Joseph gulped and decided to tell him what he was here for.
"I have called upon my God. He will be here any time soon." Joseph said looking at the pulsing blue walls of Sun-O's study. "He will arrive and take me back home."
"Why didn't he take you back earlier?"
"A test," He said. Joseph's shoulders had squared up now. Yes, a test.
"A test? Isn't this God omnipotent? If he knows everything, shouldn't he already know the results of the test?"
Joseph flinched. His voice carried annoyance. "I could say the same for you. Youn know everything that goes on here."
"True, but everything that goes on here is lovely. And, I can switch it on and off. Just to experience the moment...But in this case, is the moment your suffering?"
"Whatever do you mean Sun-O?"
"He's playing coy. Leaving you to what he should suppose is a hostile god. Leaving you to stay with us, where we don't know how to please you or feed you properly. All so he can watch you squirm. How is that not making the moment, the ectasy your suffering?"
Joseph pondered the question for a second. Then, his eyes brightened with a response. "Nothing is anything without suffering. Without the opposite of peace, war, peace would mean nothing."
Sun-O almost laughed. He couldn't help himself. How brainwashed do you have to be to beleive that only suffering gives meaning to happiness? How much suffering is required to understand how to smile? Sun-O would have kept laughing, until he felt the conciousness of hundreds in his Castle die out at once. He felt the embers of their souls he crafted fade from omnipotence recollection. What? He turned his omnipotence on, his eyes frantically moving in his sockets. God? He--he's here?
*JOSEPH!* A voice from beyond spoke to Sun-O. He could hear it within his own head. Joseph smiled. Is this God?
"Yes, my Lord?"
*YOU HAVE DONE WELL TO CAPTURE THE FALSE GOD.*
Capture?
*I will now take you and the false god back, to be punished in Heaven.*
"My Lord, whatever did I do to be punished with him?"
*YOU--(SHIT)--YOU WILL KNOW ONCE WE GET TO HEAVEN!*
Sun-O was scared. For the first time in millenia, scared of a God he'd only known for a minute? A God only 6000 years old? The fuck?
Their bodies began to fade before them, and slowly their vision stirred white and revealed to them Heaven--a divine city unlike any other.
(Hey everyone, kind of rushed this as a first draft. The Climax is a mess, wish I had time to edit it but I have to study. Hope you enjoyed it, even a little bit! Also edited the beginning a little. It was supposed to be a dialogue with Sun-O's servants but turned out to be something very different.) | This is the kind of hope that man gives himself when going through trauma. It’s not about the reason behind this suffering, the learning because of it or sometimes it’s just that - suffering.
But it’s about the hope that they are climbing towards greatness. Greatness - concept created by Man and hoping to achieve it through God. Man gets so entangled in this concept that he tries to reason this suffering through inane hypothesis about somehow being superior to other species in a sense that his trauma is bigger than the rest.
Again, with mankind, it is never about the trauma, the suffering, but this wild concept of achieving greatness. | |
[WP] You're a superhero, and you're about to fight your nemesis... At least, you thought you were, but they took half an hour to show up, and they were still in their pajamas. As they approached, you held your guard up, only for them to stand motionless, staring at the floor, and say "I need a hug." | I joked we were more like sparring partners than arch-nemeses, but of course it was more serious than that.
It had started out simply enough, really. My team (the Carbines) came up against their team (Red Monarchs), I had a classic longsword and they had a rapier. I was faster than any unpowered human, but their weapon and fighting style made up for that when compared to my own, especially with their damn perception interference. Obviously the two sword users fought each other. Do you think I wanted to tussle with Ragnar when I had Cometfist for that shit?
The thing is, Rapier was good. Later I found out their villain name was Fencer, and appropriately they mostly took on the role of smuggling pharmaceuticals to sell for cheap to families who couldn't afford, you know, $400 for a dose of Insulin. We suspected they might have gone into this for personal reasons, and I couldn't help but grudgingly respect what they were doing. Even if they were profiting off of it, it was still helping people in need. The hero community quietly flagged them as a low priority threat. Their sword-play was anything but unthreatening, however. Do you know how hard it is to block a rapier thrust with a longsword when you're not entirely sure where it's coming from?
I got lucky the first time. Their duel with me turned out to be their first time in costume (and my second), they got distracted by an explosion around the tankier fighters, and I twisted my blade to cause a disarm. I could see the fear in their eyes, then, as they realized the mistake they had made. Then their team gave the order to retreat, there was some kind of flash, and in another second Fencer was running away, with their sword in their hand. One of their other teammates picked them up, and I don't know why, but I called out.
"Hey! Good duel!"
They looked back. I knew they had heard me, and they gave a tiny reactionary nod.
The second time we fought, they were the ones that got lucky. An explosion sent me clear flying and I blacked out. When I opened my eyes, Fencer stood over me, blade leveled. I relaxed, raised my hands in surrender. "You got me.'
A second passed, they tilted their head, and sighed. Fencer lowered their blade and offered me a hand up, and I gladly obliged. The fighting between our teams was... over there, somewhere.
"You're not bad yourself,' they admitted. 'I thought I was good at feinting, especially with my power, but you're better than anyone else at seeing through them."
"Naw,' I admit. 'I'm just fast and use wide enough sweeps that I can redirect to where you're actually attacking. You've gotten enough scores on me to prove that your redirects are damn good.' It was true, there was a number of slashmarks across my sides and limbs from where I had just barely managed to turn a stab to slide across my flesh instead of directly into it. I suspected even then they weren't trying to seriously injure me, otherwise they would have been aiming for deeper in my torso and would have already caused some serious wounds.
Pleased, Fencer nodded and smiled. 'Then you might want to get better armor.' Their gaze turned towards where our teams were fighting, which seemed to be finally quieting down. 'I'm supposed to capture you, but if I do that, they're not going to let you have your sword, and I suspect our next mission will be much more boring.' They offered a hand. 'Agree to let everyone think you escaped?"
That was years ago. Of course, we both got upgrades since then. They got richer, got better equipment for taking on other heroes and villains.. I got recognized and promoted, had a tinker design a suit that let me move freely but gave me much better protection than the spandex I had been wearing, took out a few real problems in the villain community. But somehow, whenever Fencer and I dueled again, it was back to basics. No fancy upgrades or equipment, just good ol' fashioned swordplay. News noticed the special treatment we were giving each other - teammates too. Mine were just happy I was locking down a versatile and dangerous villain, I don't know what theirs' said.
That was until tonight. Tonight, without Fencer guarding their backs, I was able to actually support my teammates in fighting them. I still didn't want to touch Ragnar but by time I had taken out Carstein and freed up Ashblood and Simeon, the rest of my team had turned the tides. For the first time, we managed to capture everyone. Everyone except Fencer.
Their team was just as confused as mine, and so with some trepidation, my team floated off with the captured villains without me. Five minutes passed, and the rain started to come down. I ducked into what little cover this rooftop offered, and waited, shivering.
Thirty minutes. Finally, a figure with a familiar sword appears, teleporting on the rooftop. I raise my own, ready to fight, but slowly lower it. They can't even face me, staring at the ground. Are they in their goddamn pajamas?
"I need a hug,' they say. I don't even know if they intended for me to hear it. For a moment, I stand there awkwardly, before I realize what I have to do. In a flash I have my arms wrapped around them - and although at first it is stiff, they return the embrace and we genuinely hold each other.
A long moment passes, their face buried in my shoulder, but no sound coming out. Finally, they lift their head. "I'm sorry - I, I don't even know you that well. I-' 'It's ok,' I say, cutting them off. 'Say what you need to. I'm here.' They nod a couple of times, and slowly pull away. 'Thank you. I, uh, I'm sure you know I smuggle drugs, mostly insulin, because of the fucking pharmacies and the doctors - but with proper care and drugs, my father thought he could still live a nice, healthy life. And he did, until yesterday. And I- I did everything -' Their hands balled into fists. 'And it still wasn't enough."
I pull them into another hug, and they relent. "I'm so sorry,' I said softly. 'Come on, let's get you out of this rain." They silently nod their assent, and together we fly away. | "I need a hug," she said, staring at the floor.
"What?" I said, momentarily dropping my fighting stance and lowering my hands.
She was clearly surrendering the battle to me. I had never seen her like this before. Her usual vitriol and hate were just gone. Where was the villain who had been antagonizing me for so long? Who was this shell of a person standing before me?
"I didn't know who else to go to," she said softly. She brought the thick sleeve of her pajama top to her face and wiped a single tear away.
"I... I don't understand," I stammered. Was this a trick? "Come on, fight me!" I urged, refusing to offer her my empathy.
"Please," she begged, her voice cracking.
This surely had to be a trick. "Prepare to meet your end, Fire Witch!"
"It's Gemma," she said softly. "My name is Gemma."
In all the years she spent antagonizing me she had only ever gone by her professional villain title. I had never heard the name she was given before she became the Fire Witch. For whatever reason, hearing her reveal this intimate detail led me to believe she might be genuine.
"Gemma," I said, the name unfamiliar on my tongue, "what's going on?"
Upon being asked, she burst into tears. "I really need a hug," she mumbled through sobs.
At that moment I saw my nemesis in a completely different light. She was a *person* underneath the costume, the powers, and the ego. And today, she wasn't wearing her costume.
So, against my better judgment I crossed what would have been our battlefield and I took her into my arms. She was a wisp of a waif that seemed to disappear in my embrace. I felt her body relax into me, as if she was finally releasing a long exhale. I could smell her hair, she smelled like rosemary and roses. Her spindly arms wrapped around my ribcage and she held onto me as if I would slip away. She rested her head against the crook of my neck and I felt her breath on my skin.
"Gemma," I whispered. "It's going to be okay."
"Tell me your name," she replied urgently. "Let me know you beyond being the Violet Crusader."
"It's Cleo," I said softly.
She pulled away from our hug, the tears drying on her face. "Thanks, Cleo," she said, smiling.
I blushed seeing her smile and hearing my name on her lips. I turned away from her before she could notice. "You're welcome," I mumbled. But as I turned away from her, she grabbed my hand. My cheeks singed redder.
"You're a true friend," she added.
"I'm not your friend," I blurted out, uncomfortable with her sudden familiarity. I dropped her hand.
I glanced at her and saw silent tears running down her cheeks. "I know," she breathed, her voice barely making it through her tears. "I know." | |
[WP] You're a superhero, and you're about to fight your nemesis... At least, you thought you were, but they took half an hour to show up, and they were still in their pajamas. As they approached, you held your guard up, only for them to stand motionless, staring at the floor, and say "I need a hug." | There are two kinds of arch-enemy in the hero-villain system. The first is someone who is a direct antithesis to the other; for instance, the idealistic inventor who believes power is best used to help others contrasted against the brutal warlord who thinks power grants them the right to treat others how they want. Then there are people who have similar abilities but vastly different upbringings. Superiority and I fell in the latter camp.
She and her boyfriend Leadhead had been equally big pains in my ass since I made my debut as Dynamic, but Leadhead was about as clever and interesting as the name would imply. Superiority on the other hand, I felt a kinship with. Both of our fighting styles mixed wrestling with krav maga, we both had the ability to get stronger (I could enter a form where I grew steadily more powerful for the next ten minutes and Superiority got stronger based on her level of confidence), and most importantly, we both fought like we knew what it was like to not have the strength to do so. But I never would have expected how far our kinship would go.
I was in an abandoned warehouse doing one hand pushups, bored out of my skull. Superiority had left a note outside Legion headquarters with an address and a message telling me to come alone if I wanted to save the hostage. And by note, I meant 'message graffitied on the side of a car that had been crashed into a tree' outside Legion headquarters. When I got to the warehouse and nothing happened, my instincts recognized it as a trap. But when half an hour had passed without anything happening, I didn't know what to make of it.
I hit six hundred pushups when I heard a door open. I jumped up and got in a fighting stance as I said, "Finally! Seriously, who makes someone wait half an hour to... what the hell are you wearing?"
Superiority had shown up in a pair of pink pajama pants and a baggy tie-dye shirt with hair that looked like it hadn't been brushed since last year, with the right half of her face behind several strands of the giant frizzy monster. Superiority walked up to me without a word. As my stance softened, she looked down at the floor and said, "I need a hug."
"Superiority, I'm not doing anything until you tell me where the hostage is."
Superiority looked at me and pulled her hair away. There was a giant shiner over her right eye. With a shaky voice, Superiority replied, "It's me. I'm the hostage."
I felt like I had watched a puppy just get kicked. As Superiority fell to her knees, I moved in and embraced her without a second thought. I began slowly rubbing my hand up and down her back to comfort her as she began sobbing. "It's okay, it's okay. Just let it out. I'm right here." After I let her cry for a few minutes, I asked "Did Leadhead do this to you?
Superiority let out a pained squeak of confirmation. "Last week, we got scammed on a job, got paid way less than we were promised. Leadhead said it was my fault and we started arguing and then he...he hit me. Started yelling at me and mocking me, said without him I'd just be the same girl trying to throw herself off the roof I was when he found me."
"Superiority, I am so sorry."
"Haru. My name is Haru."
"Okay, Haru. My name is Elizabeth."
Haru sniffled. "I didn't know who else to go to, so I reached out to you. I'm just... I'm really scared, Elizabeth."
I remembered that the Praetor had been talking about how he helped his former enemy Antaeus start over as a hero in Greece.
"Hey Haru? I think I have an idea."
(TO BE CONTINUED) | I keep my eyes on him. He wants me to come over... and give him a hug? That's too suspicious... I glance him over and smile. "Alright" I say, as I release the energy I had been holding. He looks up at me, opens his arms. Just as he's about to close them around me, I use the energy I was secretly building up to paralyse him. He instantly falls to the ground, his blade now sticking out his sleeve.
"DAMMIT! How did you know?"
"Metal likes to give off a glint" I sneer. "I really didn't mean to mock you when I said that, but... it's difficult not to... cute duck pyjama's?"
He goes bright red as he realises his current predicament. "Please, just... kill me... take my life and throw me into a ditch or something... please..."
I always wear an under-suit, so after taking a quick photo, I take off my main suit and put it on him. "I'll take you back with me to my place. I live alone. Once you recover from my spell, you can get yourself changed. Before trying anything clever..."
"I saw. Way to blackmail me, dude."
"Hey, whatever it takes to keep you from getting away from me." I proceed to pick him up and make our way back to my place, knowing he's one mistake away from internet humiliation... | |
[WP] You're a superhero, and you're about to fight your nemesis... At least, you thought you were, but they took half an hour to show up, and they were still in their pajamas. As they approached, you held your guard up, only for them to stand motionless, staring at the floor, and say "I need a hug." | ABC NEWS Article: Sunbae the well known Hero had announced and confirmed the exsitance of a lover.
I sighed. "Maybe that interview wasn't a good idea..I let that slip. Maybe I can make a statement saying it was a joke...or..somthing.."
I stood on the cold concrete roof of the building, arms crossed and foot tapping. I was growing impatient and anxious. He was almost an hour late! Did he not want to meet up today..? He usually would be here staring down with his gloomy aura and mysterious appearance. For starters since this is my first time being here, appearing were the infamous RedHood hangs out, he is usually already here by the time I find him.
I've already ruled the possibility of him living here. In this tall red bricked apartment building, but at the same time I can't help but feel off. Not only was he not showing, but now that I've had time to think I feel like an idiot for not noticing the details.
Pacing back and forth I wonder if he had just gone ahead and done something else. Maybe he was somewhere else in the city! Right! You can't expect a Villian to be in the same place every time..maybe he's somewhere else because he knows I know! No..I'm just over thinking it..right?
Another 20 minutes..
Suddenly I heard a creak, and the rooftop door opened. I turned towards the sound, "Finally yo-" I started out only to be surprised and give in to silence. He looked the Villian up and down. "You um.."
"Shut up." He growled through his clenched teeth. He breathed out heavily. It was if those stairs had already stolen all his energy. No, I didn't even hear him come up the stairs. He blankly stared through mask, his exhaustion obvious.
After the long pause of Silence I finally blurted out- "why are you in Duck Pajamas? Your only wearing your cloak and mask.."
"Its laundry day..they were wet."
"You have fire magic..you could've dried them."
He averted his eyes, nervously trying to think of another excuse after being already caught in a lie.
"I..couldn't find them."
"Sounds more like a question. Why do you keep lying? Is this apart of your villian scheme?"
"N- .." He paused. "Uhhh- yea! You saw right through me..aw damm.." He went silent again. It was almost if he wasn't there.
I sighed. "Your paler then usual. Did you even get any food or sleep in you?"
"I think the only thing that's in me at this point is redbull, Ramen and spite." He replied.
I couldn't help but notice that he kept nodding off. My stance and energy wore down, I relaxed and walked toward him. He looked up and me and flinched when stopped. Two feet apart now.
"No tricks. I promise." His expression dropped to a slight shock.
"Can you even breathe in this?" I said leaning down. He looked up at me. Yes, surprise surprise- I'm taller then the Villian. I'm five foot nine. He's just an inch and a half shorter then I.
"Did you stay up all night reading Fanfics about us?"
He glared at him but his face twisted to a smirk. "Maybe I did."
A moment of Silence passed.
I pulled him into a hug, I slide my arm around him and held his head against my chest. He felt hesitant, but eventually wrapped his arms around me and relaxed.
"I hate you.."
"Love you too darling.." | I keep my eyes on him. He wants me to come over... and give him a hug? That's too suspicious... I glance him over and smile. "Alright" I say, as I release the energy I had been holding. He looks up at me, opens his arms. Just as he's about to close them around me, I use the energy I was secretly building up to paralyse him. He instantly falls to the ground, his blade now sticking out his sleeve.
"DAMMIT! How did you know?"
"Metal likes to give off a glint" I sneer. "I really didn't mean to mock you when I said that, but... it's difficult not to... cute duck pyjama's?"
He goes bright red as he realises his current predicament. "Please, just... kill me... take my life and throw me into a ditch or something... please..."
I always wear an under-suit, so after taking a quick photo, I take off my main suit and put it on him. "I'll take you back with me to my place. I live alone. Once you recover from my spell, you can get yourself changed. Before trying anything clever..."
"I saw. Way to blackmail me, dude."
"Hey, whatever it takes to keep you from getting away from me." I proceed to pick him up and make our way back to my place, knowing he's one mistake away from internet humiliation... | |
[WP] You're a superhero, and you're about to fight your nemesis... At least, you thought you were, but they took half an hour to show up, and they were still in their pajamas. As they approached, you held your guard up, only for them to stand motionless, staring at the floor, and say "I need a hug." | My battles with Starflower were normally much more intense, regardless of the weather or banality of our antagonism. Her goons had already shown up and taken hostages, but their confusion grew as their leader hadn't shown up. They knew they were outmtched without her, so they released the people with apologies - mostly because the super insurance paid really well for injuries and being held hostage the longer it took to be rescued.
As the minions were milling around, I approached Theodore, her lead Hench. He nodded to me apologetically, and held his hand out to me. His psychotically deep voice rumbled out, startling the animals around. "Sorry about this Firestorm, she was supposed to be here, with us laying the groundwork for your battle. I've already paid up, so there shouldn't be any claims this time. Cash."
I grunted - I was missing my Emily's recital for this? "I get it, Theo, just be more-" I was interrupted by something I hadn't expected to see; Starflower in her pyjamas....*with my logo on*? What the hell was going on?
She lifted her face to me, and her eyes were bloodshot; her barely moving forwards, and a look I had never seen before. A hollowness behind her eyes, a loss of drive and a desire for comfort clear on her face.
"I need...someone....who understands. To hold me. To tell me it'll be fine." I looked at Theodore, who looked to me, then to his boss, and back to me. We shrugged, and played Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who would get the job. An absurdity, but, well, neither of us were really equipped for this.
I was wary of her, due to our antagonism, but my duty won out. I lifted gently off the ground using my powers, and floated to my nemesis. She whispered to me, clearly not wanting her henchmen and goons to hear.
"They killed them. They killed my boy and mom. 'Just another drive-by,' the police said. But I know better. There were traces left at the scene. Psychomancy."
I felt my heart bleed for her, and reached around. She seemed much more frail and small than in our battles. I whispered close to her ear. "By the Greatness, I'm sorry. I liked Matthew, for a villain. Talented and forthright. Had some good ideas, too. Emily will be devastated." I felt a tear pricking my eye, and for a second, the mask came off.
I didn't care. We'd developed a sort of kinship, and Starflower had been there when my own parents went Full Megalo. Now it was time for me to return the favor.
I needed to speak with Fear O Mona, and Dominix, and fast. | I keep my eyes on him. He wants me to come over... and give him a hug? That's too suspicious... I glance him over and smile. "Alright" I say, as I release the energy I had been holding. He looks up at me, opens his arms. Just as he's about to close them around me, I use the energy I was secretly building up to paralyse him. He instantly falls to the ground, his blade now sticking out his sleeve.
"DAMMIT! How did you know?"
"Metal likes to give off a glint" I sneer. "I really didn't mean to mock you when I said that, but... it's difficult not to... cute duck pyjama's?"
He goes bright red as he realises his current predicament. "Please, just... kill me... take my life and throw me into a ditch or something... please..."
I always wear an under-suit, so after taking a quick photo, I take off my main suit and put it on him. "I'll take you back with me to my place. I live alone. Once you recover from my spell, you can get yourself changed. Before trying anything clever..."
"I saw. Way to blackmail me, dude."
"Hey, whatever it takes to keep you from getting away from me." I proceed to pick him up and make our way back to my place, knowing he's one mistake away from internet humiliation... | |
[WP] You're a superhero, and you're about to fight your nemesis... At least, you thought you were, but they took half an hour to show up, and they were still in their pajamas. As they approached, you held your guard up, only for them to stand motionless, staring at the floor, and say "I need a hug." | My battles with Starflower were normally much more intense, regardless of the weather or banality of our antagonism. Her goons had already shown up and taken hostages, but their confusion grew as their leader hadn't shown up. They knew they were outmtched without her, so they released the people with apologies - mostly because the super insurance paid really well for injuries and being held hostage the longer it took to be rescued.
As the minions were milling around, I approached Theodore, her lead Hench. He nodded to me apologetically, and held his hand out to me. His psychotically deep voice rumbled out, startling the animals around. "Sorry about this Firestorm, she was supposed to be here, with us laying the groundwork for your battle. I've already paid up, so there shouldn't be any claims this time. Cash."
I grunted - I was missing my Emily's recital for this? "I get it, Theo, just be more-" I was interrupted by something I hadn't expected to see; Starflower in her pyjamas....*with my logo on*? What the hell was going on?
She lifted her face to me, and her eyes were bloodshot; her barely moving forwards, and a look I had never seen before. A hollowness behind her eyes, a loss of drive and a desire for comfort clear on her face.
"I need...someone....who understands. To hold me. To tell me it'll be fine." I looked at Theodore, who looked to me, then to his boss, and back to me. We shrugged, and played Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who would get the job. An absurdity, but, well, neither of us were really equipped for this.
I was wary of her, due to our antagonism, but my duty won out. I lifted gently off the ground using my powers, and floated to my nemesis. She whispered to me, clearly not wanting her henchmen and goons to hear.
"They killed them. They killed my boy and mom. 'Just another drive-by,' the police said. But I know better. There were traces left at the scene. Psychomancy."
I felt my heart bleed for her, and reached around. She seemed much more frail and small than in our battles. I whispered close to her ear. "By the Greatness, I'm sorry. I liked Matthew, for a villain. Talented and forthright. Had some good ideas, too. Emily will be devastated." I felt a tear pricking my eye, and for a second, the mask came off.
I didn't care. We'd developed a sort of kinship, and Starflower had been there when my own parents went Full Megalo. Now it was time for me to return the favor.
I needed to speak with Fear O Mona, and Dominix, and fast. | ABC NEWS Article: Sunbae the well known Hero had announced and confirmed the exsitance of a lover.
I sighed. "Maybe that interview wasn't a good idea..I let that slip. Maybe I can make a statement saying it was a joke...or..somthing.."
I stood on the cold concrete roof of the building, arms crossed and foot tapping. I was growing impatient and anxious. He was almost an hour late! Did he not want to meet up today..? He usually would be here staring down with his gloomy aura and mysterious appearance. For starters since this is my first time being here, appearing were the infamous RedHood hangs out, he is usually already here by the time I find him.
I've already ruled the possibility of him living here. In this tall red bricked apartment building, but at the same time I can't help but feel off. Not only was he not showing, but now that I've had time to think I feel like an idiot for not noticing the details.
Pacing back and forth I wonder if he had just gone ahead and done something else. Maybe he was somewhere else in the city! Right! You can't expect a Villian to be in the same place every time..maybe he's somewhere else because he knows I know! No..I'm just over thinking it..right?
Another 20 minutes..
Suddenly I heard a creak, and the rooftop door opened. I turned towards the sound, "Finally yo-" I started out only to be surprised and give in to silence. He looked the Villian up and down. "You um.."
"Shut up." He growled through his clenched teeth. He breathed out heavily. It was if those stairs had already stolen all his energy. No, I didn't even hear him come up the stairs. He blankly stared through mask, his exhaustion obvious.
After the long pause of Silence I finally blurted out- "why are you in Duck Pajamas? Your only wearing your cloak and mask.."
"Its laundry day..they were wet."
"You have fire magic..you could've dried them."
He averted his eyes, nervously trying to think of another excuse after being already caught in a lie.
"I..couldn't find them."
"Sounds more like a question. Why do you keep lying? Is this apart of your villian scheme?"
"N- .." He paused. "Uhhh- yea! You saw right through me..aw damm.." He went silent again. It was almost if he wasn't there.
I sighed. "Your paler then usual. Did you even get any food or sleep in you?"
"I think the only thing that's in me at this point is redbull, Ramen and spite." He replied.
I couldn't help but notice that he kept nodding off. My stance and energy wore down, I relaxed and walked toward him. He looked up and me and flinched when stopped. Two feet apart now.
"No tricks. I promise." His expression dropped to a slight shock.
"Can you even breathe in this?" I said leaning down. He looked up at me. Yes, surprise surprise- I'm taller then the Villian. I'm five foot nine. He's just an inch and a half shorter then I.
"Did you stay up all night reading Fanfics about us?"
He glared at him but his face twisted to a smirk. "Maybe I did."
A moment of Silence passed.
I pulled him into a hug, I slide my arm around him and held his head against my chest. He felt hesitant, but eventually wrapped his arms around me and relaxed.
"I hate you.."
"Love you too darling.." | |
[WP] Three months ago the world woke up to the news that all nuclear weapons from all countries had misteriously disappeared without trace. A man shows up to your apartment and claims he just discovered how you did it. You sit down and listen to his almost accurate theory. | "*...and with recent invasion of Greece by Turkey, the battleground that is Europe enters a new phase. In other news, Nigera has annexed Chad, with the President of Nigeria having this to say -*"
I turned down the TV as a knock sounded at the door. I frowned. My penthouse suite was hard to access, for a variety of reasons, both mundane and magical. I shrugged.
"Come in," I called, my voice a low timbre, like the sounds of rocks grinding against each other.
A short man entered, a thin face partially hidden by a mop of black hair. "I'm here to challenge you!" he said, his voice reedy and thin.
I stretched lazily. "Do you know who I am?" I said, with a vicious grin.
The man flinched. "Of course, Lord Ares. I'm not afraid of you!"
That was clearly a lie, but the attempt at bravado was amusing so I didn't call him on it.
"And yet you still challenge me?" I wondered. "Why?"
"I know what you did," whispered the man. "The nukes, it was you! Wasn't it?"
I grinned at him.
"Why?" he snapped. "You're the God of War!"
"Exactly," I said, the smile fading from my face. "I'm the God of *War*. Not peace. Who knew mutually assured destruction would be such a deterrent? Before nukes, the world was drowning in a tide of glorious battle. I merely brought that noble tradition back."
The man readied himself. "The I challenge you! If I win, undo what you've done. Give us our weapons back!"
I tilted my head curiously. "And if you lose?"
"Then I die."
I felt the thrill in my body rise, the anticipation of battle beating a study pulse throughout my limbs. This is what I was born for, why I existed. Humanity might have forgotten the joy of bloodshed in their era of petty skirmishes, but now I would show them true war.
My eyes narrowed, my voice deepening to low rumble. "Let's begin." | [Poem]
Certain childhood stories haunt me
My grandpa's stories from the Navy
How he walked through Nagasaki
Only days after the bomb
There was a Japanese mechanic
Who'd worked on ships in the Atlantic
And in serviceable English
Explained the horrors it had done.
It all came rushing back to me
When I flipped on the TV
To find a Smurf, once KGB
Claim that he might kill everyone
I had no idea what I could do,
But I knew I somehow had to
Before the Smurf managed to boop
The button with his little arms.
Sadly, I had no luck to speak of
and declared I'd simply give up
Until my cat knocked off a strange book
I'd never seen called Sailor Ho.
Ho was a Chinese civil servant
During the time of Spring and Autumn
A man at his final wits end
Who was sailing off to croak
But In a fit of ennui and torpor
And exotic particle disorder
Sailor Ho was somehow borne
To the root reality below
And he sails the timeless nothing
Which turns out to be quite something
Or perhaps it really doesn't
Only Sailor Ho would know
Now I can't tell you how I found him
That's proprietary information
But the bombs are gone
And Sailor Ho is back to sailing nothing never no
(As an aside, it is so fun to write these weird poems. Also. the part about grandpa is true.) | |
[WP] You work food delivery service in the middle of a zombie apocalypse | \*Ding\*
The app on my phone alerts me to a delivery nearby, family of four, ravenous. Unfortunately, downtown. But hey it's surge hours and no one knows downtown like I do.
Gunning the throttle on my newest find, a Ducati Punagali V4 R, fire-truck red, I head to the pickup address. These people have it down like clockwork. I pass through the safety check, flashing my delivery credentials to the guards who move the barricades immediately. They have a reputation to maintain "Always fresh, Always on time" and I'm there best driver.
The package is loaded on my bike in seconds, a pat on the shoulders lets me know its secured and my wheels tear into the concrete as I speed off in a haze of sound and smoke. The HUD on my helmet shows me the best and most recent drone surveyed course to avoid clusters, herds or dangerous encampments. I grin and turn off map tracking.
No one knows my routes, and that's how I stay on top. The countdown for delivery flashes yellow reminding me there are only 15 minutes left to fulfill the contract. Plenty of time. I weave around solo walkers, lurching just behind me as I rev past at speeds too fast for them to react.
My knees scrape the ground as I lean into each turn but my reinforced pads cushion and deaden the impact, my helmet flashes red as I near my destination, just a minute ahead of time. I stop in the alley just outside of the drop off point and watch.
Sounds of gunfire shatter the silence and ricochet between the long abandoned buildings of a once booming downtown city center. Muzzle flashes break through the shadows of shattered windows and voices can be heard descending from higher floors. Must be a rescue op.
A large horde is gathering below, draw by the gunfire and screams of desperate rescue team members. I grab my delivery cooler and stand ready just inside the shadow of the alley, the counter flashing before counts down 5.....4.....3......2.....1.
I hurl the contents of my cooler all across the asphalt, brains rolling and tumbling free while I rev my engine to get the hordes attention. The shambling mass moves almost as one as the scent of fresh brains meets them. They scramble ferociously over one another trying to reach the brains, tearing at each other, the rescue team completely forgotten.
A side-door is kicked open and a group carrying what seems to be a child on a gurney, burst into the alley and head in the opposite direction, smoke in the distance clearly indicating a high-priority retrieval. My cash app pings me, showing the direct deposit of a happy customer.
Five-Stars, and a bonus. Nice.
Another food delivery complete. I leisurely ride back to the main outpost, still thinking how strange to use that many resources for a kid. I wonder if the rumors were true.... | I thought people would learn after Covid that workers need to be paid more. Yet, here I am in the middle of 2030 as a grubhub driver. I also ubereats as well. Neither pay hazard pay!
Some routes are not worth it. Take today as an example. Generally, you want to tip a dollar for every two miles. Not this guy. No, he tipped me one dollar. I had to travel 14 miles. I took it anyways, hoping he would tip me cash included.
I had to take the highway, which made my route slower because dozens of zombies are waiting for someone to wreck there. Pity the soul who loses gas there, I make sure to up my tank before taking the highway. Sometimes I hope for a cute guy or girl to wreck there so I can rescue them. It's quite lonely this year.
After taking the closet exit that Waze will allow me to take, I gun it to the guy's house. I'm running late, but only by a few minutes. I ring the doorbell, and I hear a some thuds on the other side.
My mind is fantazing again. What if it's a cute guy with a jawline? Or maybe it's a kind stranger who will tip me in cash. Man, my life sucks if these dreams are what I want in life. Unfortunately, the door swung open and my eyes didn't like what they were seeing.
A redneck with a handgun, undersized shirt, and wearing boxers. He eyed me with the dumbfounded customer look that hit me millions of times. Then he started,
"You're late." I attempted to hand him the pizza, but he rudely snatched it out of my hands. He opens the box, sifting through it as if I had personally made the pizza myself then slammed the door.
You know what happens next. Anyone who works in retail deals with it. My phone dinged when I got to the car. A one star review for me. I could taste the anger in my tounge. I got out of my car and knocked loudly. He opens it, the same look that pisses me off. I yell at him,
"You know that's my money right there!?"
"The pizza sucks."
"I didn't make the pizza."
"So?"
"So? I drove 14 miles for you and you refunded my tip."
Slam. The prick closed the door, nearly hitting my nose. I got back into my car, bawling. It was humiliating. My ride home was depressing. Till a zombie smacks my window.
I slowed down to let the zombie follow me. Meals on wheels I thought. I arrived back at the man's house, zombie in tow. I lept out of my vehicle and grabbed a rock out of his driveway. I got back in time and got as close to the house as I possibly could. Then I hit my hand on the steering wheel.
Honk!
The door opens and the zombie sees the easier target.
I roll down my window, launch the rock at this forehead. He tried grabbing the gun but it's too late. I played baseball. | |
[WP] Two powerful wizards are in the middle of a heated argument... staff or wand? you must take a side and justify why it is better. | This wasn't the first heated argument I'd come across between Kate and Emmet. As soon as Kate introduced the phrase "useless tosser" I started inching towards the door and by the time Emmet had suggested to Kate that "I have absolutely no idea how you got into this school" I was only one foot away but unfortunately this was exactly when they noticed me and Kate said the most dreaded phrase.
"Come on, settle this."
*So, so close!*
"I don't even really know..." I said and then added, "I guess I think they're both good?"
"Right, but if you had to choose just one?" Emmet pressed.
I sighed and thought about it. I just wanted this argument to be over.
"Staff, I guess."
"Why?" Kate asked as Emmet grinned smugly.
"Um, it's bigger?"
Kate laughed forcefully.
"Typical bloody man. A wand can be taken anywhere. A staff needs one hand free just to carry it whereas my wand lives in it's wrist holster easily and conveniently."
She whipped out her wand to show me with practiced ease.
"Could you do that with a staff? Emmet isn't even holding his staff *in an argument about it's superiority,* doesn't that tell you something?"
Kate was jabbing her wand at me almost threateningly as she made this point so I gingerly took it out of her hand and placed it beside me.
"Sure, wand then. Yeah, you've convinced me. Wand."
Emmet shook his head at me patronisingly.
"A wand? Really? You're telling me that if Edgar the Broken stormed the academy you'd grab a *wand* to defend yourself? A stick that can barely amplify your magical energies up to twice the strength they are naturally at? A staff had the power of *thirteen* wands, you know. Thirteen! But sure, I bet your little wand would scare Edgar right off."
"Stop it!" Kate exclaimed. "He's already decided. The question wasn't 'which would defeat Edgar' anyway, it was a question of which one is better. And if Edgar did storm the academy then most people have their wands on their person, whereas staffs rarely leave the dormitory due to being cumbersome, clunky-"
"Oh yeah? Funny how 'he's already decided' didn't apply when he was on *my* side. You worried that an actual logical argument might persuade him as easily as your pathetic little wrist strap thingy? Or were you going to try and convince him some other way?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? It's not my fault he only agreed with you because-"
"SHUT UP!" I yelled.
The room was suddenly, blissfully silent. I don't yell. Not usually.
"You're both *so annoying.* And I was trying to blend in, collect information and keep my head down."
A frown flickered on Kate's face at my odd phrasing but Emmet hadn't caught it yet.
"I don't know what I'd use in a fight against Edgar but if I was sent as a spy to wait in the academy for further orders then I bet I'd know what tool he would insist I brought with me. So go on, aren't you going to ask me? Wand or staff?"
Kate looked at her wand on the table next to me and knew she couldn't reach it in time. Emmet had finally caught on, the dense bastard.
"Ask me." I insisted.
"Which-" Emmet began at the same time that Kate lunged forward.
Two shots rang out across the common room.
"Gun." I answered. | “Don’t make me debate on this again, Geriffis, it’s like the difference between a handgun and a rifle, it depends on the circumstance,” Aerefiel replied.
Geriffis sighed, “Come on! You never let me argue with you!”
Aerefiel shook his head, “When you have a good platform to stand on, I will debate with you.”
Geriffis scoffed, “You’re just afraid to lose.”
“You really want to play it that way? Fine, take a side, let’s do this,”
“Wand.”
“Alright then I’m staff. A staff is like a rifle. It has more range. A good wizard can eliminate his target before they even approach, able to end a battle before it begins.”
“But a wand can be concealed, a staff telegraphs your weapon. You have no advantage if you’re jumped.”
“And do you think anyone would jump a wizard with a staff?”
“Yes, staves aren’t optimal and short ranges.”
“Not as an arcane focus, sure, but as a weapon, they work grand.”
“So only if you have martial training they’re better, that’s conditional. You can’t base an argument on that.”
“And how exactly is a wand better?”
“Think about your own comparison with rifles verses handguns. Most people carry handguns because they require less skill, they’re better in a broader range of scenarios, and they can be concealed.”
“So if a wizard lacks skill, choose a wand, if they don’t, take a rifle. Assassins use rifles, thieves use handguns. We’re wizards, are we to settle for mediocre?”
“You can’t carry multiple staves without difficulty. If you’re disarmed or your weapon breaks, you are left vulnerable.”
“But it can’t be used against you, fewer wizards are skilled with staves. Is I disarm your wand, I have a new weapon to use against you.”
“But I can also have a backup wand. You’re not making the grand argument you think you are.”
“Power. Staves channel arcane energy better.”
“Still, that ain’t going to do much in close combat.”
“Really? I can unleash a thunderstrike from the sky, you can only give me a shock. You can whisper a phrase to influence someone’s mind but I can boom my voice and make a whole legion bow to me knees. Power is not something to take lightly.”
“Show me then,” Geriffis drew his wand and smirked, his opponent did the same with his staff. Their wizard’s duel would settle this once and for all. | |
[WP] Two powerful wizards are in the middle of a heated argument... staff or wand? you must take a side and justify why it is better. | "Ok, after much thought about the pros and cons of both staffs and wands, and consideration for my own wellbeing, I've decided. The answer is yes."
"What?" Grinblok the Eternal Light screamed.
"Ask a random farmer you said. Just what I'd expect of someone who thinks a twig is the best magic weapon." Replied Zoploq of the endless isles.
"Let me explain. The answer is yes because both staffs and wands the the best magical instrument depending on the situation. Wands are small, easy to make, carry, and aim. They can make quick gestures and don't take up much space. But they can easily be lost, aren't very impressive, and can't cast powerful spells. Meanwhile staffs are intimidating, can wield far greater power allowing for the casting of stronger spells, and can be used as a melee weapon or walking stick. But they are a pain to carry around, to replace, and take far too long to cast common spells. So just use whatever instrument you want, they're both solid B-tier magical tools."
Grinblok: Excellent reasoning my. . . Wait! What do you mean B-tier magical weapons?
"Just that enchanted swords, guitars, umbrellas, phones, flutes, can all also be used to cast spells while still having other uses."
Zoploq: Fair enough. | Easy - Staff. Because it is multi-purpose.
You can walk with it, hit things with it, channel magic through it, use it to hold your bundle or a lamp, poke stuff from a safer distance, extend it out to help pull something or someone. And if you need both hands, you can stick it in the ground.
Also: if you would ever fall into a small rift, you can use the staff sideways and attempt halting the fall.
And if you get swept by a river, it can also help.
A staff is superior.
A wand is just a puny short staff. | |
[WP] Among the ranks of the knights you are considered unstoppable. Unbeatable. The greatest warrior to have ever lived. Your secret is that you a unique weapon, one forged to send hails of burning lead at your foes... its a shotgun. You carry a shotgun. | The Knights were always very finicky about me using the weapon close to them but really, it was common chivalry to be close to the enemies for a proper duel. Each of the Captains had gotten to choose a single weapon to be made, the 1st chose a crossbow, a fitting weapon for a such slow and calculating man. The 2nd captain chose a series of explosives, that really highlighted her explosive temper. The 3rd had picked a very simple weapon, a sword and shield made of the strongest steel, carved with his family's crest. The 4th captain requested a large scythe to go along with his delusional fantasies of being the reaper to his enemies. As for me, the weapon I chose was of a design an old friend had showed me. A cannon designed to be carried that shot lead rain and decimated enemies. Damned if I know where she got the idea but I decided to test her idea and make the weapon, it took the longest to make but it was worth the wait. I was always lagging behind the other captains but now with the "shotgun" as my friend named it, I was leagues above the others. The first battle we had with our new weapons ended in such a way that the enemies begged for mercy after the first attack. This shotgun really does unleash hell upon my enemies. I bring victory and terror to every battlefield I step onto and every battle ends with the enemies fleeing with their tails between their legs, if they're even left with legs to run with. My weapon really does make me giddy with excitement for every battle. | William John arther the second was no normal knight of these times he was in fact a time traveler from the future ! When he was sent back in time he realized he did not want to be some lazy roller sitting on his ass all day he wanted to be a royal knight right there in the action
He gathered a gang of primitive inventors of the times and teached them how to invent bullets,guns,superior Armour and fighting techniques he soon gathered and enormous army of knights clad in armour an carrying m15's foot soldiers carrying rifel's,machine guns and hand guns .
He himself was the most well armed carrying two desert eagles an AK 47 and of course his infamous pump shotgun. William conquered the greatest of civilizations ancient Rome and Greece the Aztec not stopping until he had essentially taken over the world! He even helped shape these ancient society's to better more advanced learning from every major mistake made by man up until his original time. He built the strongest of economy's which raised the overall average happiness of the people of the world preventing the dark ages! William was so well loved his people threw out there own king and declaring him king of the world! So there he sat now and old man on his throne looking over his kingdom reminiscing on his many adventures with his wife there beside him and his children playing beneath them none of them knowing that he was no medieval man but THE TIME TRAVELING KNIGHT WHO BECAME KING OF THE WORLD! | |
[WP] Among the ranks of the knights you are considered unstoppable. Unbeatable. The greatest warrior to have ever lived. Your secret is that you a unique weapon, one forged to send hails of burning lead at your foes... its a shotgun. You carry a shotgun. | Life is fun.
It's unexpected, too. I didn't like the unexpected when my mafioso brother tried to force a shotgun barrel down my throat for some meth bag I didn't steal, but hey, I'm alive.
One second the bastard was about to end my life, the next one? I heard a cuckoo cry and smelled ozone and boom! I'm standing in a satanic circle, watched in awe by dudes in spandex suits.
The first thing I did when coming to this world was to get the shotgun out of my mouth. The second thing was to remove my brother's hands from the handle and pump, and the third thing was to freak out as the spandex dudes started calling me a hero or something.
Spandex dudes, it turned out, were the King's Magic Court. During my stay at the castle in which bizarrely mundane administrative work was involved to register me as a new citizen of the Third Kingdom of Man, I learned a few things about this world.
First, I wasn't dreaming. Transmigration was a real thing. I was officially bestowed the title of Wandering Hero by the Court. Classes and Magic were also a thing, although the latter was considered exceedingly rare in the Kingdoms of Man because of humans poor natural talent to manipulate mana.
The spandex dudes apparently had one-in-a-million magic talents and had to go through a very rigorous process and training before integrating the King's Court. I was told I could choose a class right in the beginning but that I probably wouldn't be able to do magic. It sucked.
Anyways, I was led to an altar and my class selection went as such :
[ Hero Classes ] such as [ Divine Warrior ], [ Divine Archer ], [ Divine Healer ] or [ Divine Craftsman ].
And finally, [ Unusual Classes ] such as [ Beast Tamer ], [ Friend of The Forest ] or [ Replicator ].
When I asked around, everyone I talked to was surprised I got this many choices. Apparently, other transmigrated heroes only got three, one Hero Class and two Rare ones, which were downgrade versions of the other Hero ones. Retelling my selection in front of the Court was difficult. For some reason, the nobles kept asking me to repeat what were the last Unusual Classes. Some spandex dude with some weirdly suave voice finally came to my side and whispered to my ear that The Forest was not actually a forest, but rather some kind of obfuscated being that could only be thought of and talked about as "The Forest" among Mages.
The thing was like an SCP on drugs. Non-magic people would immediately forget its name and description after they were told about it and while Mages who have met it can recall its existence, they can't remember what it looks like. He said that despite its weird taste in humans and its secrecy, it was recognized by mages as one of the most benevolent beings on the planet.
A slippery one. Frustrated with the nobles who still insisted I repeat after I explained to them that I did and they simply couldn't remember, I just let that class out and talked about the [ Replicator ]. That got a few raised brows. It was an Unusual magic class that was about temporarily duplicating small objects. Useless to anyone who wasn't a conman, thief or assassin at heart, supposedly.
So, I pondered. Quite hard, actually. The Hero Classes were doubtlessly super strong, but I also kind of liked the mindfuckery of The Forest. I was pretty certain that there were certain unique benefits associated with it. Else it wouldn't be Unusual, would it?
Then my eyes fell onto the shotgun and I started grinning like a madman.
Someone booed among the spandex dudes and they all followed suite on my way out of the class selection for some reason and I gave them the middle finger. Transmigration and magic, baby! I was so excited. I was tasked to kill the Demon Lord by the King, who said he would help me do whatever-the-fuck-I-want-as-long-as-it-isn't-illegal afterwards, including building a small castle for me and let me be set for life on gold pieces.
Suave Spandex guy, who didn't boo, decided to come with. He led the way to the Demon Lord's Castle with an army of Paladins. It was some sort of multi-leveled dungeon filled with deadly traps and an army of demon. At first, I didn't get to shoot any demon because the paladins were tasked to clean up the place. Suave Spandex Guy and I were then supposed to try to kill the First Floor Boss and retreat if things went to shit.
At some point, some kind of wide-scale demon magic happened and I lost my away along with a group of injured paladins. We arrived in an empty hallway and decided to wait for the others. I met a demon who looked like a horned minotor there. By chance, my shotgun was already cocked and I shot the demon point-blank in the head before it started speaking. The first shot simply blasted its face off and the second one was boosted by paladins' blessings and decapitated it, sending the minotaur disfigured head rolling on the ground.
The paladins informed me it was the First Floor Boss and while his role was introductory to me, he was apparently recognized as vicious and undefeated in battle. It got the paladins pumped up to see a century-old enemy of mankind finally defeated and their cries of joy alerted others, who then regrouped with us.
Anyways, Suave Spandex Guy attached a chain around our arms so that we wouldn't lose our way again. I duplicated a thousand bullets and a spare shotgun that I used instead of the original and we (I) started blasting through the rest of the dungeon.
This was how Suave Spandex Guy (I don't really know his name, he didn't seem to mind when I called him that during the fight against the others Floor Bosses) and I, the [ Replicator ] Hero saved the world. The fight against the Demon Lord was quite anticlimactic. He was a human sized Demon wearing a cloak and a crown of gold. His ability to teleport was tricky to deal with but I think The Forest came in the fight at some point and paralyzed him in place. I can't remember what The Forest looked like.
I shot the Demon Lord in the head and heard a cry about someone's spandex getting wet. I'm sure Suave Spandex Guy who was standing next to me was the only spandex dude present in the crusade, and he was pretty clean in my opinion, so I may have heard wrong. The Demon Lord died like that. The world was saved in an afternoon and I was offered melons, gold and a castle. | William John arther the second was no normal knight of these times he was in fact a time traveler from the future ! When he was sent back in time he realized he did not want to be some lazy roller sitting on his ass all day he wanted to be a royal knight right there in the action
He gathered a gang of primitive inventors of the times and teached them how to invent bullets,guns,superior Armour and fighting techniques he soon gathered and enormous army of knights clad in armour an carrying m15's foot soldiers carrying rifel's,machine guns and hand guns .
He himself was the most well armed carrying two desert eagles an AK 47 and of course his infamous pump shotgun. William conquered the greatest of civilizations ancient Rome and Greece the Aztec not stopping until he had essentially taken over the world! He even helped shape these ancient society's to better more advanced learning from every major mistake made by man up until his original time. He built the strongest of economy's which raised the overall average happiness of the people of the world preventing the dark ages! William was so well loved his people threw out there own king and declaring him king of the world! So there he sat now and old man on his throne looking over his kingdom reminiscing on his many adventures with his wife there beside him and his children playing beneath them none of them knowing that he was no medieval man but THE TIME TRAVELING KNIGHT WHO BECAME KING OF THE WORLD! | |
[WP] Among the ranks of the knights you are considered unstoppable. Unbeatable. The greatest warrior to have ever lived. Your secret is that you a unique weapon, one forged to send hails of burning lead at your foes... its a shotgun. You carry a shotgun. | Known as the mighty Flash Warrior of the North, I readied my revolver. I knew I had to conserve my decent ammo for the nightmare at the top of the tower. However, I had enough bullets to deal with all its goons on my own. So all I did to prepare was put on my goggles, and get ready to save my home.
The first floor was full to the brim with little 'Brain Suckles'. These tiny little jellyfish things, that cause violent pain and start controlling your body if they see you. But with a few well-executed shots, none of the remaining foes dared mess with me. I went up the ladder to the next floor.
Didn't expect to come across two dragons. Upon closer inspection, I was dealing with an ice dragon and a fire dragon. They never got to show that off, however. One shot with the Colt Python in my hand was enough to kill the ice one, and two was enough for the fire one. Moving the bodies away, I head up to the next floor.
Oh geez. This tower looked way taller on the outside. But here I was, standing supposedly face-to-face with a circular, 9-foot tall demon with rainbow eyes and protruding tentacles. Boasting a wide, toothy grin, it lashed out at me. Thinking quick, I pulled out the revolver and shot it. The place where I expected it to scream out in agony never stopped smiling, and instead the bottom part opened up, revealing sticky flesh and a floating blue orb inside. Sensing my chance, I pulled out my secret weapon: The Shotgun. With one swift shot to what seemed to be its weak point, the cosmic being cried out in terror, when it suddenly changed colors. All the blue turned to yellow, all the white turned to red. Attacking me with powerful spells, it closed its mouth and returned to the form I used to know. I, however, was getting tired of the fight and used my weapon the way it was designed to be used: with rapid-fire. This eldritch being stood no chance against the powerful incendiary rains of metal that violently shot from my weapon. And the rest... is history. | William John arther the second was no normal knight of these times he was in fact a time traveler from the future ! When he was sent back in time he realized he did not want to be some lazy roller sitting on his ass all day he wanted to be a royal knight right there in the action
He gathered a gang of primitive inventors of the times and teached them how to invent bullets,guns,superior Armour and fighting techniques he soon gathered and enormous army of knights clad in armour an carrying m15's foot soldiers carrying rifel's,machine guns and hand guns .
He himself was the most well armed carrying two desert eagles an AK 47 and of course his infamous pump shotgun. William conquered the greatest of civilizations ancient Rome and Greece the Aztec not stopping until he had essentially taken over the world! He even helped shape these ancient society's to better more advanced learning from every major mistake made by man up until his original time. He built the strongest of economy's which raised the overall average happiness of the people of the world preventing the dark ages! William was so well loved his people threw out there own king and declaring him king of the world! So there he sat now and old man on his throne looking over his kingdom reminiscing on his many adventures with his wife there beside him and his children playing beneath them none of them knowing that he was no medieval man but THE TIME TRAVELING KNIGHT WHO BECAME KING OF THE WORLD! | |
[WP] Among the ranks of the knights you are considered unstoppable. Unbeatable. The greatest warrior to have ever lived. Your secret is that you a unique weapon, one forged to send hails of burning lead at your foes... its a shotgun. You carry a shotgun. | You know what the great thing about having a gun in a world of bows and swords? You’re a lot more deadly than anyone else.
Do you also know what the downside is? It’s that you’re also a hell of a peacock out on the battlefield, and trust me, you never want to be a peacock out on a battlefield, especially against the army of the greatest military kingdom of the world, besides yours, of course.
“I could use some help here!” I yell out to my companions on the ground, urging them to pay more attention to our bow armed enemies taking scarily close shots at me. Seeing as how I’m taking out half of their foes, I find it terribly rude that they’re not returning the favour.
“Oh fuck off, mechanical marksman! We’re kind of dealing with some shit over here, too!” My favourite red haired associate, Ronan, screeches at me as he majestically clubs an opponent to death with the blunt of his sword. I’m not exactly an expert on that type of weapon, but I don’t think that’s how your supposed to use it.
“I’m sorry Minthe! I can’t help either, you’re gonna have to fight on your own!” My politer comrade, Asa, yells as he throws another wave of magic at his rivals. Knocking about 50 back into their brethren meant to bolster their numbers about a football field away.
I sighed, reloading my firearm as quickly as I could, looks like I was on my own; as always. | William John arther the second was no normal knight of these times he was in fact a time traveler from the future ! When he was sent back in time he realized he did not want to be some lazy roller sitting on his ass all day he wanted to be a royal knight right there in the action
He gathered a gang of primitive inventors of the times and teached them how to invent bullets,guns,superior Armour and fighting techniques he soon gathered and enormous army of knights clad in armour an carrying m15's foot soldiers carrying rifel's,machine guns and hand guns .
He himself was the most well armed carrying two desert eagles an AK 47 and of course his infamous pump shotgun. William conquered the greatest of civilizations ancient Rome and Greece the Aztec not stopping until he had essentially taken over the world! He even helped shape these ancient society's to better more advanced learning from every major mistake made by man up until his original time. He built the strongest of economy's which raised the overall average happiness of the people of the world preventing the dark ages! William was so well loved his people threw out there own king and declaring him king of the world! So there he sat now and old man on his throne looking over his kingdom reminiscing on his many adventures with his wife there beside him and his children playing beneath them none of them knowing that he was no medieval man but THE TIME TRAVELING KNIGHT WHO BECAME KING OF THE WORLD! | |
[WP] Among the ranks of the knights you are considered unstoppable. Unbeatable. The greatest warrior to have ever lived. Your secret is that you a unique weapon, one forged to send hails of burning lead at your foes... its a shotgun. You carry a shotgun. | I didn't want to be here. I miss my shitty apartment, my trash-ass Toyota Corolla, my minimum-wage job that barely paid the bills. I miss my bitchy neighbors, my pets that shit on the floor every fucking day no matter what I did. The perpetual pillar of filth and squalor which grew in my kitchen week after week as I neglected to clean dishes.
I miss being a ***loser***.
The only reason I HAVE the shotgun is because I was ready to paint my bathroom walls with my brains. I'd never even used a gun before. But in a flash I was on a mideval battlefield with some fancy asshole on a horse swinging a longsword at me. Honestly, it's still a blur... in a hot second I was standing over the corpse of a king as his army tore ass away in terror.
The following months were surreal. All of the fame and adulation I always wished for. Blowjobs on tap from chicks miles out of my league, the finest fabrics and liquor in the known realm, my own fucking CASTLE... and all I've had to do is rack the fucking shotgun a handful of times. Imagine walking down the street and just being given a roasted turkey leg. On top of the world, right?
Wrong.
Everyone... everything... reeks. There's no toilet paper. No handsoap. No electricity. No running water. No toothbrushes. EVERYTHING IS FILTHY. My favorite concubine died a few days ago, and my wisest advisors are saying it's because she didn't honor god appropriately. This shit sucks. I live in perpetual fear of cholera; only ossasionally does that terror get supplanted by the knowledge that I have but one more shell for the boomstick. I'm vaguely aware that there is gunpowder available in "the orient" but all of the expeditions I've sent to find it have gone missing.
I would trade all of this in a fucking heartbeat to get some fast food and shitpost on the internet. I miss my life of quiet desperation. Ten thousand days of financial strangulation are better than perpetually wondering if today is the day that you get heartworms or tuberculosis or some other shit that medical science could easily solve. | William John arther the second was no normal knight of these times he was in fact a time traveler from the future ! When he was sent back in time he realized he did not want to be some lazy roller sitting on his ass all day he wanted to be a royal knight right there in the action
He gathered a gang of primitive inventors of the times and teached them how to invent bullets,guns,superior Armour and fighting techniques he soon gathered and enormous army of knights clad in armour an carrying m15's foot soldiers carrying rifel's,machine guns and hand guns .
He himself was the most well armed carrying two desert eagles an AK 47 and of course his infamous pump shotgun. William conquered the greatest of civilizations ancient Rome and Greece the Aztec not stopping until he had essentially taken over the world! He even helped shape these ancient society's to better more advanced learning from every major mistake made by man up until his original time. He built the strongest of economy's which raised the overall average happiness of the people of the world preventing the dark ages! William was so well loved his people threw out there own king and declaring him king of the world! So there he sat now and old man on his throne looking over his kingdom reminiscing on his many adventures with his wife there beside him and his children playing beneath them none of them knowing that he was no medieval man but THE TIME TRAVELING KNIGHT WHO BECAME KING OF THE WORLD! | |
[WP] Among the ranks of the knights you are considered unstoppable. Unbeatable. The greatest warrior to have ever lived. Your secret is that you a unique weapon, one forged to send hails of burning lead at your foes... its a shotgun. You carry a shotgun. | The Knights were always very finicky about me using the weapon close to them but really, it was common chivalry to be close to the enemies for a proper duel. Each of the Captains had gotten to choose a single weapon to be made, the 1st chose a crossbow, a fitting weapon for a such slow and calculating man. The 2nd captain chose a series of explosives, that really highlighted her explosive temper. The 3rd had picked a very simple weapon, a sword and shield made of the strongest steel, carved with his family's crest. The 4th captain requested a large scythe to go along with his delusional fantasies of being the reaper to his enemies. As for me, the weapon I chose was of a design an old friend had showed me. A cannon designed to be carried that shot lead rain and decimated enemies. Damned if I know where she got the idea but I decided to test her idea and make the weapon, it took the longest to make but it was worth the wait. I was always lagging behind the other captains but now with the "shotgun" as my friend named it, I was leagues above the others. The first battle we had with our new weapons ended in such a way that the enemies begged for mercy after the first attack. This shotgun really does unleash hell upon my enemies. I bring victory and terror to every battlefield I step onto and every battle ends with the enemies fleeing with their tails between their legs, if they're even left with legs to run with. My weapon really does make me giddy with excitement for every battle. | I look around, searching for the source of the noise just as the knights of the grey kingdom spring forth. An ambush in broad daylight? At the Red Knights? Sweet Queen, they have a death wish.
I lock eyes with one of my knights and we spring forward in opposite directions. Good, just as we practiced, they don't know my secret, they never see me fight only that I win. I always win.
I corner one of the Greys into the thick covering of trees. Just as he springs forth with his sword, I almost feel sorry for the guy. He is faced with my shotgun pointed right at his chest. The biggest reason for all my conquests isn't that i have a gun, something that fires silent shards of metal into unsuspecting knights, thieves, and mythical beings alike. But it's the element of surprise, they don't know what this can do, they don't fear what they don't understand, no one ducks, no one runs, no one hides behind the shield casually hung across their shoulders. as the bullet enters the Grey, he looks up, confused and falls. i take a deep sigh, knock one of my arrows, and aim it at the bullet wound.
just as i sheath my gun and quiver i hear a rustling behind me, i reach for the shotgun but just as i turn around my heart crawls up my throat, and the red of the emblem on his breastplate shines like blood. It's not that i haven't killed a Red before to protect my ass, it's just that this Red wasn't just another Red, he has been my companion since birth, we've trained together, fought together, he has had my back since before we could walk. All the memories flash as if happening for the first time, and the emotions well up in my chest, just waiting to spill over. He looks into my eyes, resigned. As I load my gun, he puts his hand on the royal emblem and drops his head. He knows what this gun can do, he knows what I can do, he doesn't run, he doesn't shout "Hey! the Ol mighty Red is a liar and a conman. The honorable Red has no honor in victories" Instead he sits there waiting, his shoulders quivering with tears he has not spilled since we were toddlers.
I watch the golden of his beautiful head drench in blood, I turn back, slowly stripping away every bone, every vein, every shed of humanity from my soul, as I trot back to the other knights. | |
[WP] Among the ranks of the knights you are considered unstoppable. Unbeatable. The greatest warrior to have ever lived. Your secret is that you a unique weapon, one forged to send hails of burning lead at your foes... its a shotgun. You carry a shotgun. | Life is fun.
It's unexpected, too. I didn't like the unexpected when my mafioso brother tried to force a shotgun barrel down my throat for some meth bag I didn't steal, but hey, I'm alive.
One second the bastard was about to end my life, the next one? I heard a cuckoo cry and smelled ozone and boom! I'm standing in a satanic circle, watched in awe by dudes in spandex suits.
The first thing I did when coming to this world was to get the shotgun out of my mouth. The second thing was to remove my brother's hands from the handle and pump, and the third thing was to freak out as the spandex dudes started calling me a hero or something.
Spandex dudes, it turned out, were the King's Magic Court. During my stay at the castle in which bizarrely mundane administrative work was involved to register me as a new citizen of the Third Kingdom of Man, I learned a few things about this world.
First, I wasn't dreaming. Transmigration was a real thing. I was officially bestowed the title of Wandering Hero by the Court. Classes and Magic were also a thing, although the latter was considered exceedingly rare in the Kingdoms of Man because of humans poor natural talent to manipulate mana.
The spandex dudes apparently had one-in-a-million magic talents and had to go through a very rigorous process and training before integrating the King's Court. I was told I could choose a class right in the beginning but that I probably wouldn't be able to do magic. It sucked.
Anyways, I was led to an altar and my class selection went as such :
[ Hero Classes ] such as [ Divine Warrior ], [ Divine Archer ], [ Divine Healer ] or [ Divine Craftsman ].
And finally, [ Unusual Classes ] such as [ Beast Tamer ], [ Friend of The Forest ] or [ Replicator ].
When I asked around, everyone I talked to was surprised I got this many choices. Apparently, other transmigrated heroes only got three, one Hero Class and two Rare ones, which were downgrade versions of the other Hero ones. Retelling my selection in front of the Court was difficult. For some reason, the nobles kept asking me to repeat what were the last Unusual Classes. Some spandex dude with some weirdly suave voice finally came to my side and whispered to my ear that The Forest was not actually a forest, but rather some kind of obfuscated being that could only be thought of and talked about as "The Forest" among Mages.
The thing was like an SCP on drugs. Non-magic people would immediately forget its name and description after they were told about it and while Mages who have met it can recall its existence, they can't remember what it looks like. He said that despite its weird taste in humans and its secrecy, it was recognized by mages as one of the most benevolent beings on the planet.
A slippery one. Frustrated with the nobles who still insisted I repeat after I explained to them that I did and they simply couldn't remember, I just let that class out and talked about the [ Replicator ]. That got a few raised brows. It was an Unusual magic class that was about temporarily duplicating small objects. Useless to anyone who wasn't a conman, thief or assassin at heart, supposedly.
So, I pondered. Quite hard, actually. The Hero Classes were doubtlessly super strong, but I also kind of liked the mindfuckery of The Forest. I was pretty certain that there were certain unique benefits associated with it. Else it wouldn't be Unusual, would it?
Then my eyes fell onto the shotgun and I started grinning like a madman.
Someone booed among the spandex dudes and they all followed suite on my way out of the class selection for some reason and I gave them the middle finger. Transmigration and magic, baby! I was so excited. I was tasked to kill the Demon Lord by the King, who said he would help me do whatever-the-fuck-I-want-as-long-as-it-isn't-illegal afterwards, including building a small castle for me and let me be set for life on gold pieces.
Suave Spandex guy, who didn't boo, decided to come with. He led the way to the Demon Lord's Castle with an army of Paladins. It was some sort of multi-leveled dungeon filled with deadly traps and an army of demon. At first, I didn't get to shoot any demon because the paladins were tasked to clean up the place. Suave Spandex Guy and I were then supposed to try to kill the First Floor Boss and retreat if things went to shit.
At some point, some kind of wide-scale demon magic happened and I lost my away along with a group of injured paladins. We arrived in an empty hallway and decided to wait for the others. I met a demon who looked like a horned minotor there. By chance, my shotgun was already cocked and I shot the demon point-blank in the head before it started speaking. The first shot simply blasted its face off and the second one was boosted by paladins' blessings and decapitated it, sending the minotaur disfigured head rolling on the ground.
The paladins informed me it was the First Floor Boss and while his role was introductory to me, he was apparently recognized as vicious and undefeated in battle. It got the paladins pumped up to see a century-old enemy of mankind finally defeated and their cries of joy alerted others, who then regrouped with us.
Anyways, Suave Spandex Guy attached a chain around our arms so that we wouldn't lose our way again. I duplicated a thousand bullets and a spare shotgun that I used instead of the original and we (I) started blasting through the rest of the dungeon.
This was how Suave Spandex Guy (I don't really know his name, he didn't seem to mind when I called him that during the fight against the others Floor Bosses) and I, the [ Replicator ] Hero saved the world. The fight against the Demon Lord was quite anticlimactic. He was a human sized Demon wearing a cloak and a crown of gold. His ability to teleport was tricky to deal with but I think The Forest came in the fight at some point and paralyzed him in place. I can't remember what The Forest looked like.
I shot the Demon Lord in the head and heard a cry about someone's spandex getting wet. I'm sure Suave Spandex Guy who was standing next to me was the only spandex dude present in the crusade, and he was pretty clean in my opinion, so I may have heard wrong. The Demon Lord died like that. The world was saved in an afternoon and I was offered melons, gold and a castle. | I look around, searching for the source of the noise just as the knights of the grey kingdom spring forth. An ambush in broad daylight? At the Red Knights? Sweet Queen, they have a death wish.
I lock eyes with one of my knights and we spring forward in opposite directions. Good, just as we practiced, they don't know my secret, they never see me fight only that I win. I always win.
I corner one of the Greys into the thick covering of trees. Just as he springs forth with his sword, I almost feel sorry for the guy. He is faced with my shotgun pointed right at his chest. The biggest reason for all my conquests isn't that i have a gun, something that fires silent shards of metal into unsuspecting knights, thieves, and mythical beings alike. But it's the element of surprise, they don't know what this can do, they don't fear what they don't understand, no one ducks, no one runs, no one hides behind the shield casually hung across their shoulders. as the bullet enters the Grey, he looks up, confused and falls. i take a deep sigh, knock one of my arrows, and aim it at the bullet wound.
just as i sheath my gun and quiver i hear a rustling behind me, i reach for the shotgun but just as i turn around my heart crawls up my throat, and the red of the emblem on his breastplate shines like blood. It's not that i haven't killed a Red before to protect my ass, it's just that this Red wasn't just another Red, he has been my companion since birth, we've trained together, fought together, he has had my back since before we could walk. All the memories flash as if happening for the first time, and the emotions well up in my chest, just waiting to spill over. He looks into my eyes, resigned. As I load my gun, he puts his hand on the royal emblem and drops his head. He knows what this gun can do, he knows what I can do, he doesn't run, he doesn't shout "Hey! the Ol mighty Red is a liar and a conman. The honorable Red has no honor in victories" Instead he sits there waiting, his shoulders quivering with tears he has not spilled since we were toddlers.
I watch the golden of his beautiful head drench in blood, I turn back, slowly stripping away every bone, every vein, every shed of humanity from my soul, as I trot back to the other knights. | |
[WP] Among the ranks of the knights you are considered unstoppable. Unbeatable. The greatest warrior to have ever lived. Your secret is that you a unique weapon, one forged to send hails of burning lead at your foes... its a shotgun. You carry a shotgun. | Known as the mighty Flash Warrior of the North, I readied my revolver. I knew I had to conserve my decent ammo for the nightmare at the top of the tower. However, I had enough bullets to deal with all its goons on my own. So all I did to prepare was put on my goggles, and get ready to save my home.
The first floor was full to the brim with little 'Brain Suckles'. These tiny little jellyfish things, that cause violent pain and start controlling your body if they see you. But with a few well-executed shots, none of the remaining foes dared mess with me. I went up the ladder to the next floor.
Didn't expect to come across two dragons. Upon closer inspection, I was dealing with an ice dragon and a fire dragon. They never got to show that off, however. One shot with the Colt Python in my hand was enough to kill the ice one, and two was enough for the fire one. Moving the bodies away, I head up to the next floor.
Oh geez. This tower looked way taller on the outside. But here I was, standing supposedly face-to-face with a circular, 9-foot tall demon with rainbow eyes and protruding tentacles. Boasting a wide, toothy grin, it lashed out at me. Thinking quick, I pulled out the revolver and shot it. The place where I expected it to scream out in agony never stopped smiling, and instead the bottom part opened up, revealing sticky flesh and a floating blue orb inside. Sensing my chance, I pulled out my secret weapon: The Shotgun. With one swift shot to what seemed to be its weak point, the cosmic being cried out in terror, when it suddenly changed colors. All the blue turned to yellow, all the white turned to red. Attacking me with powerful spells, it closed its mouth and returned to the form I used to know. I, however, was getting tired of the fight and used my weapon the way it was designed to be used: with rapid-fire. This eldritch being stood no chance against the powerful incendiary rains of metal that violently shot from my weapon. And the rest... is history. | I look around, searching for the source of the noise just as the knights of the grey kingdom spring forth. An ambush in broad daylight? At the Red Knights? Sweet Queen, they have a death wish.
I lock eyes with one of my knights and we spring forward in opposite directions. Good, just as we practiced, they don't know my secret, they never see me fight only that I win. I always win.
I corner one of the Greys into the thick covering of trees. Just as he springs forth with his sword, I almost feel sorry for the guy. He is faced with my shotgun pointed right at his chest. The biggest reason for all my conquests isn't that i have a gun, something that fires silent shards of metal into unsuspecting knights, thieves, and mythical beings alike. But it's the element of surprise, they don't know what this can do, they don't fear what they don't understand, no one ducks, no one runs, no one hides behind the shield casually hung across their shoulders. as the bullet enters the Grey, he looks up, confused and falls. i take a deep sigh, knock one of my arrows, and aim it at the bullet wound.
just as i sheath my gun and quiver i hear a rustling behind me, i reach for the shotgun but just as i turn around my heart crawls up my throat, and the red of the emblem on his breastplate shines like blood. It's not that i haven't killed a Red before to protect my ass, it's just that this Red wasn't just another Red, he has been my companion since birth, we've trained together, fought together, he has had my back since before we could walk. All the memories flash as if happening for the first time, and the emotions well up in my chest, just waiting to spill over. He looks into my eyes, resigned. As I load my gun, he puts his hand on the royal emblem and drops his head. He knows what this gun can do, he knows what I can do, he doesn't run, he doesn't shout "Hey! the Ol mighty Red is a liar and a conman. The honorable Red has no honor in victories" Instead he sits there waiting, his shoulders quivering with tears he has not spilled since we were toddlers.
I watch the golden of his beautiful head drench in blood, I turn back, slowly stripping away every bone, every vein, every shed of humanity from my soul, as I trot back to the other knights. | |
[WP] Among the ranks of the knights you are considered unstoppable. Unbeatable. The greatest warrior to have ever lived. Your secret is that you a unique weapon, one forged to send hails of burning lead at your foes... its a shotgun. You carry a shotgun. | You know what the great thing about having a gun in a world of bows and swords? You’re a lot more deadly than anyone else.
Do you also know what the downside is? It’s that you’re also a hell of a peacock out on the battlefield, and trust me, you never want to be a peacock out on a battlefield, especially against the army of the greatest military kingdom of the world, besides yours, of course.
“I could use some help here!” I yell out to my companions on the ground, urging them to pay more attention to our bow armed enemies taking scarily close shots at me. Seeing as how I’m taking out half of their foes, I find it terribly rude that they’re not returning the favour.
“Oh fuck off, mechanical marksman! We’re kind of dealing with some shit over here, too!” My favourite red haired associate, Ronan, screeches at me as he majestically clubs an opponent to death with the blunt of his sword. I’m not exactly an expert on that type of weapon, but I don’t think that’s how your supposed to use it.
“I’m sorry Minthe! I can’t help either, you’re gonna have to fight on your own!” My politer comrade, Asa, yells as he throws another wave of magic at his rivals. Knocking about 50 back into their brethren meant to bolster their numbers about a football field away.
I sighed, reloading my firearm as quickly as I could, looks like I was on my own; as always. | I look around, searching for the source of the noise just as the knights of the grey kingdom spring forth. An ambush in broad daylight? At the Red Knights? Sweet Queen, they have a death wish.
I lock eyes with one of my knights and we spring forward in opposite directions. Good, just as we practiced, they don't know my secret, they never see me fight only that I win. I always win.
I corner one of the Greys into the thick covering of trees. Just as he springs forth with his sword, I almost feel sorry for the guy. He is faced with my shotgun pointed right at his chest. The biggest reason for all my conquests isn't that i have a gun, something that fires silent shards of metal into unsuspecting knights, thieves, and mythical beings alike. But it's the element of surprise, they don't know what this can do, they don't fear what they don't understand, no one ducks, no one runs, no one hides behind the shield casually hung across their shoulders. as the bullet enters the Grey, he looks up, confused and falls. i take a deep sigh, knock one of my arrows, and aim it at the bullet wound.
just as i sheath my gun and quiver i hear a rustling behind me, i reach for the shotgun but just as i turn around my heart crawls up my throat, and the red of the emblem on his breastplate shines like blood. It's not that i haven't killed a Red before to protect my ass, it's just that this Red wasn't just another Red, he has been my companion since birth, we've trained together, fought together, he has had my back since before we could walk. All the memories flash as if happening for the first time, and the emotions well up in my chest, just waiting to spill over. He looks into my eyes, resigned. As I load my gun, he puts his hand on the royal emblem and drops his head. He knows what this gun can do, he knows what I can do, he doesn't run, he doesn't shout "Hey! the Ol mighty Red is a liar and a conman. The honorable Red has no honor in victories" Instead he sits there waiting, his shoulders quivering with tears he has not spilled since we were toddlers.
I watch the golden of his beautiful head drench in blood, I turn back, slowly stripping away every bone, every vein, every shed of humanity from my soul, as I trot back to the other knights. |
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