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[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | "Hey bug!" I say, walking through the door, after getting back from the book store, "I uh, picked up your book from the store, I was unaware you could wrote Novels like this! It is very captivating!"
My husband hurriedly gets off the phone with his boss, Michelle, and looks over at me with shock in his eyes "Uhh... you picked up my book?"
"Well of course I did! I wanted to support my Number One Supporter!"
"Are you sure you want to read that? I mean, you didn't particular enjoy my last writings, are you sure you want to?"
"Well from what I read so far, its very good! I had no idea you wrote romance novels, it feels so real, so genuine, though the topic seems a bit tabue, the whole cheating spouse thing, but it feels so...real, I mean all the other writing was very much like 'fallout meets the last of us meets call of duty" you know?"
"Ah yeah, it just uh, all clicked together, you know? You really don't need to read it, I know how much you hate Romance Novels"
"No! Of course I want to read it! You spent such a long time on it, I need to read it!"
As the week progressed, I sat down, and read it, front to cover, and back again, It just felt so raw, and so realistic, I never knew my husband was such a romantic, but after reading it, I noticed him doing cute little things for me, buying me flowers, taking me shopping, even cooking dinner for me every once in a while! He is such a sweet heart, he may be making up for all of the week nights he had to stay late in the office, or went to the cafe early on the weekends to finish up his book. The more the days go on ,I just fall further into love with him The other day, I noticed his location was off, I think he is getting ready to pop the big question! I ran to the salon to get my Nails done, just in case! I did find it strange however.
The lady's name in the book was Michelle | It wasn't possible. It couldn't be.
As Blaire closed the book, A lost soul, placed it open on her lap and leaned back in the arm chair with a look of utter surprise on her face. She just wanted to support him. That was all. Damien's book had just hit the shelves. She only planned to buy the book...yet here she sat hours later, with the book finished, completely and utterly baffled at how wrong she was.
Years ago he had started writing a book. One about a typical romance and bits of fighting. Back then. when she read a small excerpt, she merely gave him a placating response. In truth, she found the premise and portion she read to be nothing more than drivel. The plot void of any intrigue and the main character dry. She could not have been more wrong.
His book had started off slow, but after the first chapter, Blaire found herself enraptured with the main character, Wittmore, who at first was a boring everyday man, was in fact a half demon investigating a cultish group that intentions were to disrupt the order of the world using dark magic. Wittmore lived by day as a doctor, by night as a hunter and balanced his day life with the night, with both coming to odds at some points and that was only the tip of things. Every chapter after the first had been twist after twist and filled with betrayals, unlikely allies and steamy romance all building up to the finale.
But the last line of the book was even more unexpected than her enjoyment of it. Blaire's lips curved in amusement as her fingers delicately traced over the last lines of the riveting novel.
*To be continued.....*
"What are you doing?" A voice said from behind her.
Startled, Blaire turned abruptly, nearly knocking the book from her lap. "Damien, you're home." She said lowly, pushing a stray hair behind her ear.
"Yeah...it's 9pm, I normally get home this time after work." He said plainly as he took off his jacket and tossed it onto the back of the chair, and walked around to sit across from her. It was then that he noticed the book, his book. He stiffened. "Oh." His eyes dropped down. "So...." He started as sheepishly raised his gaze back to hers.
"Damien, I....well..." She started. How did she even begin to explain. She didn't want to hurt him but didn't want to lie either. "It's much better than I thought."
Damien visibly relaxed. "Oh thank goodness...wait." His head tilted to the side in confusion. "Than you thought? But you said it was good before and just need polishing."
"Well yes, I did say that." Blaire admitted plainly. "To be fair this was much different than what you showed me then. Wittmore is incredible and so captivating. And the plot really reels you in. I can't believe you left it on a cliffhanger. I mean sure one big part of the plot was resolved but what about the link he found to being kidnapped as a child, what did that mean? Where is it going to lead."
"Wait you finished it?" His book, The Enima Wittmore, had only released today.
"Y-Yeah, she replied sheepishly. "I...er...couldn't put it down."
He couldn't help but smile at how animated she was about it. She was so adorable. While it did sting a bit learning she had only been nice about it, her pure interest now made it not feel less so. "I'm glad, but you know you could have just told me. Criticism is important in writing."
She nodded. "I won't next time."
"You just want to know what's gonna happen next."
"Well that's true too."
Damien shifted stood back to his feet and walked over to stand before her.
"Wittmore's captivating, huh?" He teased as he braced his hands on the arms of the chair. "How so? Not more than me I hope."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Of course not." She answered incredulously. "Seriously? he's your character."
He chuckled. "All the more reason why I'm curious."
A sudden realization hit her. The corners of her lips twitched upward. "You're not gonna tell me anything are you?"
"Not even a hint." He whispered before his lips claimed hers. | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | “Love?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Why are explicit details about our sex life in what was supposed to be a young adult novel about unicorns accepting a troubled rhinoceros.”
“Ah. Yes. That. The publisher thought a different direction maybe.”
“This seems a very different direction. Although opportunities for a ‘horny’ joke abound.”
“Very adult of you to refrain.”
“She says, yet abstaining from offering an explanation.”
“She is working on that.”
“He’s listening.”
“The book sucked. I threw together a romance at the last minute to meet a deadline. And they say write what you know so I…”
“Wrote about my ‘magnificent throbbing-‘“
“Okay! So I was in a mood and we’d just gotten back from vacation and we’d had a lot of fun and it very much on my mind and, well, it was all I could come up with.”
“Us? Cast as a mysterious traveler possibly a spy and a disenchanted heiress looking for love?”
“It’s selling very well.”
“I imagine it is, it’s pornography with a dust jacket.”
“You’re for real? Not happy for me? For us?”
“You’re better than this. You’re better than unicorns and rhinos too! You’re as good as Madeline Miller, as Amor Towles, as Richard Powers! You can write like that! Why do you write drivel when you could write that?!”
“So what if I am? So what if this is it? Isn’t this enough? Isn’t this good enough? It’s selling so who cares? The deadline’s met, the thing is published, so who cares?”
“I care that the love of my life is scribbling with crayons on a silly placemat when she could be changing the world!”
“I’m not good enough for you.”
“No. You’re just better than this. It’s not about me. It’s about you treating your enormous talent like you’re somehow unworthy of it.” | Terra was as Creative and persistent, more than most to be honest. It’s these qualities that drive me to her and made me fall in love. Her dream as a child was to change lives, now, it’s to do that through literature. “Change for the now by terra grace”. That’s the book she wrote, an inspirational sort of Novel that might cater to the younger generation, one that had humor, sadness and inspiration written in its pages. After proof reading it I was beyond excited to see it hit the shelves, key word being was.
The day came for the book drop, only available online I naturally preordered one even though she insisted I didn’t. As to why she wanted me not to read it, well at the time I couldn’t imagine, thought she might be embarrassed, but how could she, I already read the first rough copy and loved it, I pushed that thought aside.
The book came in, neatly packaged with a weird medallion taped to it. The medallion had a fist clenching what seemed to be an assault rifle, the words “occidere omnem resistentiam” inscribed across, weird, I don’t remember that at all.
I opened to page 1, “introduction to the fight” in italic read across the top, none of these words looked familiar. As I kept reading I realized something horrible, this wasn’t a motivational book at all, this was a manifesto, a plan, a guide. I realized that she planned to rally and overthrow the existing government and all its sympathizers, this woman, this tame, beautiful soft spoken loving women, was planning mass murder and treason, and it was happening right under my nose.
“I tried to stop you Cody”. It was her, but she was speaking in a cold grey tone, not with love, but with irritation. “You could’ve kept yourself from knowing, and you would’ve been fine, but no, you had to give in to curiousity” she stated. “Why though, why lie to me, deicieve me, did our vows mean nothing”, “no” she said, no emotion in her answer. “I could’ve spared you, you fucked that yo Cody, now you join them”. She pointed the concealed 9mm she kept in her pocket and pointed it at me, and sent a slug through my brain.
I awoke in the hospital about 2 months later, she had tried but failed to kill me. The neighbor heard the shot, called The cops, and the whole operation was seized, she was given life in federal prison for conspiracy of treason, I had to relearn how to walk. 9,567 other members were tried and convicted, bringin down the Largest treason plotting in history. | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | The door slams open as I walk in with a fresh copy of “The Memoir of Beppy”. The love of my life jumps before she whirls in her swivel seat to face me. “Jack, you scared me! I thought-“ She stops as she sees one of her new books in my hand. “Oh, did you pick that up this morning? How sweet!”
“Laura, this is serious. Why is it like this?” I ask seriously. Her smile drops.
“I’m… sorry?”
“Why is it so different?” I ask. She shrugs.
“I mean, I know a story about a dead clown’s not mainstream but-“ I sigh, stopping her. I rub the bridge of my nose and rephrase my question.
“No, why is it not… why is it not so *meh*?” I ask. Laura gives a confused chuckle.
“Um… thank you, I guess?” She says hesitantly.
“No- Laura, I’m being serious here! It’s good! It’s original! It’s entertaining! It’s *fun* to read!” I ramble off, frustrated.
“Okay, I know my drafts weren’t the best, but you didn’t have to-“
“Just tell me what happened, please. I’m half-wondering if you’re really good, and half-wondering if you stole someone’s ideas,” I say. Finally, my girlfriend sighs, and answers my question with a bit of annoyance.
“After you read my draft and told me how you felt about it, I could see you didn’t like it. So, I rewrote the whole thing, from start to finish. Different gags, different styles, goodness, I used a whole different plot,” she explains. “I almost threw it away after I was done because I thought it still wasn’t good, but I figured why not send it over to my interested publisher and see if he liked it. Turns out he loved it.” She crosses her arms and leans back, expecting a reaction from me as I stare at her.
“… You rewrote… almost four hundred pages, in how long?” I ask. She looks up in thought before shrugging.
“Two days,” she says.
“Two da- Two whole days!?” I yell. “You basically took a skeleton of a premise, restarted, and finished it, in two days!?” Laura nods.
“Yes, that’s what I said,” she says with annoyance. I think for a bit before nodding.
“Could I… see your other drafts? One’s you’ve restarted, I mean,” I clarify. She sighs.
“Honey, they’re not any good-“
“Let me read them, please,” I say. She sighs and looks toward her laptop. Pulling them up, she lets me read over her shoulder. As I skim read, it takes about ten minutes before I look at her with amazement. “It says there’s three hundred and seventy two pages here,” I mention.
“Yes?” She says with confusion. “Honey, could you tell me what-“
“Send me more of your drafts, I want to read them before I make dinner tonight,” I say, backing off.
Later, after reading four separate drafts totally redone by my love, I walk over to Laura from my room, who’s watching some crime drama on the television. “Laura,” I say. She looks up and smiles.
“Hey honey! I didn’t see you all afternoon, what-“
“You’re sending these drafts to the publisher tomorrow morning,” I say, sitting next to her and hugging her.
“Uh- what?” She asks.
“Sweetie, your drafts are amazing. It’s like you worked out every single dent in your first draft. I- I love your work,” I say, smiling. I’m so proud of her, I don’t even know how to word it like she would. | Terra was as Creative and persistent, more than most to be honest. It’s these qualities that drive me to her and made me fall in love. Her dream as a child was to change lives, now, it’s to do that through literature. “Change for the now by terra grace”. That’s the book she wrote, an inspirational sort of Novel that might cater to the younger generation, one that had humor, sadness and inspiration written in its pages. After proof reading it I was beyond excited to see it hit the shelves, key word being was.
The day came for the book drop, only available online I naturally preordered one even though she insisted I didn’t. As to why she wanted me not to read it, well at the time I couldn’t imagine, thought she might be embarrassed, but how could she, I already read the first rough copy and loved it, I pushed that thought aside.
The book came in, neatly packaged with a weird medallion taped to it. The medallion had a fist clenching what seemed to be an assault rifle, the words “occidere omnem resistentiam” inscribed across, weird, I don’t remember that at all.
I opened to page 1, “introduction to the fight” in italic read across the top, none of these words looked familiar. As I kept reading I realized something horrible, this wasn’t a motivational book at all, this was a manifesto, a plan, a guide. I realized that she planned to rally and overthrow the existing government and all its sympathizers, this woman, this tame, beautiful soft spoken loving women, was planning mass murder and treason, and it was happening right under my nose.
“I tried to stop you Cody”. It was her, but she was speaking in a cold grey tone, not with love, but with irritation. “You could’ve kept yourself from knowing, and you would’ve been fine, but no, you had to give in to curiousity” she stated. “Why though, why lie to me, deicieve me, did our vows mean nothing”, “no” she said, no emotion in her answer. “I could’ve spared you, you fucked that yo Cody, now you join them”. She pointed the concealed 9mm she kept in her pocket and pointed it at me, and sent a slug through my brain.
I awoke in the hospital about 2 months later, she had tried but failed to kill me. The neighbor heard the shot, called The cops, and the whole operation was seized, she was given life in federal prison for conspiracy of treason, I had to relearn how to walk. 9,567 other members were tried and convicted, bringin down the Largest treason plotting in history. | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | "Regret is the bitchy older sibling of reflection."
Those words screeched from Gary's television as he lounged on his couch; cherry-flavored ice cream rested on his lap as he devoured his favorite television program, Cheaters. He sat in darkness to enhance the glare of the show, scooping greedy spoonfuls of cherries and scheming his dark secrets. The scene was so tranquil until it wasn't.
He heard it before his eyes witnessed it, the thunderous footsteps of his wife storming down the stair to disturb him. She wasted no time kicking his door open, posturing a wide grin with a thick stack of papers in her hand. He cocked his head back and held back a groan.
"Babe, guess what? Your brilliant, gorgeous, and creative wife just got published." She said. Her arms flew like an inflatable tube woman at a car dealership as she flicked on the lights.
The light's glare attacked Gary as he clapped and refocused on the television. "Great job Pani! I'm sorry, I was kind of in the middle of some-"
"I want you to read it." Pani thrust the manuscript at him, stalking him down like a predator. Then, she burst into a sprint as her prey began his escape.
"Never been much of a reader, you know that," Gary said. He jumped over the couch's ledge and paced around her, hoping to slip past her into the staircase.
Nothing doing. Pani nipped his escape attempt in the bud, cutting off his route and closing in on her prey.
"I want you to be the first to read it!" She cupped his hands together and plopped the manuscript into them. "Most men would be honored if their wife held them in such high regard."
"Most men don't hate their wives making them read as much as I."
"Me." She said.
"Exactly. You want to make me feel stupid with your fanciful words and speech."
"Prose."
"See? This is just your way of punishing me for no reason." He paused. "Wait. I'm not even the first to read it. Didn't the publisher have to read it to approve it?"
Pani darted her eyes to the side; she courted with several cheeky remarks before saying, "you're the first who matters to me." She rubbed his slumped shoulders and said, "don't worry, the message in my novel is so clear I know you'll get it.
"You sure? You know how everyone whispers jokes about me? If you ever want to keep a secret from him, just put it in a book. You know the man can't read."
"Yes, but if you ever had a secret for me, I'm sure it'd be on a tv show somewhere."
They both laughed, and Gary caved in, flipping to the first page of the manuscript and reading:
*The green-eyes man was in a band. Stand the green-eyes man said. Cand. Is what the green-eyed man land. Hand is needed for the man to befriend. Wuh-wuh-wuh-sand.*
Gary couldn't believe it. His eyes glossed over, his arms went limp, and his jaw slacked as he processed. That sounds like some shit I'd write. Oh, dear. He looked everywhere he could beside his wife's unguarded eyes as he gathered the right words, the right words to avoid an argument.
"Good." He said.
She stared at him as if he was the god of ignorance. "You've read one page."
He flipped to the end and smacked his fingers. "Mmmmm, mmm, finger-licking good story right here."
"That's cheating! You don't just go to the back of the story!"
"You know I don't like reading."
"You could be great at it if you exercised a little commitment!"
Argument unavoided.
The following two weeks were rough for poor Gary. Pani refused to speak, look at him, or even nag him. The tension in the air was ripe as a Georgia Peach. How a woman of her miniature stature could emit such animosity was the next great wonder of the world, or a great question, something like that. It was a secret she knew, and Gary had his own secret.
He adored his wife with all his heart, yet she wasn't the finest apple in the orchard. She could satisfy hunger pains from time to time, but she lacked that lushness, that utter fulfillment factor you got from biting into a juicy morsel of forbidden fruit. The peaches are always sweeter in someone else's yard, as some would say, or maybe that was just him.
Gary isn't his novelist wife, so let's be straightforward. He was cheating on her.
Almost every month, like clockwork, he'd meet his Mistress - Emma - at a hotel on the third Saturday of the month. Today was that Saturday. When his wife approached him, he was fully prepared to go on another 'purposeless drive' around town. But her words cut through that plan.
"Baby, the Galleria Mall has a 90% off sale on lotion and hand soaps. Do you think you can get some?" She asked.
The Galleria Mall was in Houston. Four hours from their home in San Antonio. A ridiculous distance for lotion, regardless of price, but a chance to get out of the dog house.
"Sure, I wouldn't mind at all! You know I love my Saturday drives anyway."
She wrinkled her nose and kissed him. "Sure do. Thanks, babe."
He hopped in his purple-coated Chevrolet Corvette and marched to the Houston mall, wishing he'd picked a better lie for his Saturday excursions. He'd always hated driving.
Shoppers crammed into the mall, making it nearly impossible to move. The lotion store's line overflew, extending past the Gamestop several stores over. Awkward conversations between image-sensitive women and men who didn't own mirrors occurred.
*I'll just tell her they ran out.* It wasn't much of a lie; surely they'd run out when he made it through the line. He pocketed his hands and whistled the Cheaters tune, eyes scanning the scene.
A lot of beautiful women out were in the mall. Everywhere he looked, he saw nines, tens, elevens out of ten. Everywhere except one location, a cardboard cutout of his wife enshrined with novels.
He walked towards the bookstore - Novels-A-Million- and felt his jaw drop. Young girls were practically fighting to pick up a copy of his wife's novel. *All for a copy of that trash?* There must have been something good in the middle section he skipped.
He wrestled with a Zoomer for one of the last copies, licked his fingers - he's seen it on tv, and turned to page one.
A few things shook him.
Most pressing, his wife's name was in the story. That was different from when he had read the story before. His reading skills weren't that bad.
Pani was a superhero in this story. A magical woman adored by men and women alike. In the story, she fought the forces of evil, all demons of sin.
She fought a demon of pride, lust, and so on. His wife was crazy for sure, so many enem-
He fingered the words on the page, *the demon of adultery, Gary*. Surely a coincidence, he continued to read the story:
*Emma, Gary's dumbass assistant, aided his demonic endeavors. Emma was a bimbo with a robust body, able to bring a grown man to tears. Not from their eyes but from where the sun doesn't shine.*
Gary felt his blood freeze over. Emma? Did she know about her? Flustered, he flipped to the back of the book.
*...and when Gary returned to his little lair, he found it empty with divorce papers on the counter.*
The book escaped his fingers and crashed as he rushed back to his car. He raced home, unlocked the door, and ran to the kitchen. He stopped at the sight of an emptied room. A stack of papers lay on the kitchen counter.
Halfway through the manuscript his wife shared with him, lay divorce papers. | Terra was as Creative and persistent, more than most to be honest. It’s these qualities that drive me to her and made me fall in love. Her dream as a child was to change lives, now, it’s to do that through literature. “Change for the now by terra grace”. That’s the book she wrote, an inspirational sort of Novel that might cater to the younger generation, one that had humor, sadness and inspiration written in its pages. After proof reading it I was beyond excited to see it hit the shelves, key word being was.
The day came for the book drop, only available online I naturally preordered one even though she insisted I didn’t. As to why she wanted me not to read it, well at the time I couldn’t imagine, thought she might be embarrassed, but how could she, I already read the first rough copy and loved it, I pushed that thought aside.
The book came in, neatly packaged with a weird medallion taped to it. The medallion had a fist clenching what seemed to be an assault rifle, the words “occidere omnem resistentiam” inscribed across, weird, I don’t remember that at all.
I opened to page 1, “introduction to the fight” in italic read across the top, none of these words looked familiar. As I kept reading I realized something horrible, this wasn’t a motivational book at all, this was a manifesto, a plan, a guide. I realized that she planned to rally and overthrow the existing government and all its sympathizers, this woman, this tame, beautiful soft spoken loving women, was planning mass murder and treason, and it was happening right under my nose.
“I tried to stop you Cody”. It was her, but she was speaking in a cold grey tone, not with love, but with irritation. “You could’ve kept yourself from knowing, and you would’ve been fine, but no, you had to give in to curiousity” she stated. “Why though, why lie to me, deicieve me, did our vows mean nothing”, “no” she said, no emotion in her answer. “I could’ve spared you, you fucked that yo Cody, now you join them”. She pointed the concealed 9mm she kept in her pocket and pointed it at me, and sent a slug through my brain.
I awoke in the hospital about 2 months later, she had tried but failed to kill me. The neighbor heard the shot, called The cops, and the whole operation was seized, she was given life in federal prison for conspiracy of treason, I had to relearn how to walk. 9,567 other members were tried and convicted, bringin down the Largest treason plotting in history. | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | The door slams open as I walk in with a fresh copy of “The Memoir of Beppy”. The love of my life jumps before she whirls in her swivel seat to face me. “Jack, you scared me! I thought-“ She stops as she sees one of her new books in my hand. “Oh, did you pick that up this morning? How sweet!”
“Laura, this is serious. Why is it like this?” I ask seriously. Her smile drops.
“I’m… sorry?”
“Why is it so different?” I ask. She shrugs.
“I mean, I know a story about a dead clown’s not mainstream but-“ I sigh, stopping her. I rub the bridge of my nose and rephrase my question.
“No, why is it not… why is it not so *meh*?” I ask. Laura gives a confused chuckle.
“Um… thank you, I guess?” She says hesitantly.
“No- Laura, I’m being serious here! It’s good! It’s original! It’s entertaining! It’s *fun* to read!” I ramble off, frustrated.
“Okay, I know my drafts weren’t the best, but you didn’t have to-“
“Just tell me what happened, please. I’m half-wondering if you’re really good, and half-wondering if you stole someone’s ideas,” I say. Finally, my girlfriend sighs, and answers my question with a bit of annoyance.
“After you read my draft and told me how you felt about it, I could see you didn’t like it. So, I rewrote the whole thing, from start to finish. Different gags, different styles, goodness, I used a whole different plot,” she explains. “I almost threw it away after I was done because I thought it still wasn’t good, but I figured why not send it over to my interested publisher and see if he liked it. Turns out he loved it.” She crosses her arms and leans back, expecting a reaction from me as I stare at her.
“… You rewrote… almost four hundred pages, in how long?” I ask. She looks up in thought before shrugging.
“Two days,” she says.
“Two da- Two whole days!?” I yell. “You basically took a skeleton of a premise, restarted, and finished it, in two days!?” Laura nods.
“Yes, that’s what I said,” she says with annoyance. I think for a bit before nodding.
“Could I… see your other drafts? One’s you’ve restarted, I mean,” I clarify. She sighs.
“Honey, they’re not any good-“
“Let me read them, please,” I say. She sighs and looks toward her laptop. Pulling them up, she lets me read over her shoulder. As I skim read, it takes about ten minutes before I look at her with amazement. “It says there’s three hundred and seventy two pages here,” I mention.
“Yes?” She says with confusion. “Honey, could you tell me what-“
“Send me more of your drafts, I want to read them before I make dinner tonight,” I say, backing off.
Later, after reading four separate drafts totally redone by my love, I walk over to Laura from my room, who’s watching some crime drama on the television. “Laura,” I say. She looks up and smiles.
“Hey honey! I didn’t see you all afternoon, what-“
“You’re sending these drafts to the publisher tomorrow morning,” I say, sitting next to her and hugging her.
“Uh- what?” She asks.
“Sweetie, your drafts are amazing. It’s like you worked out every single dent in your first draft. I- I love your work,” I say, smiling. I’m so proud of her, I don’t even know how to word it like she would. | “Love?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Why are explicit details about our sex life in what was supposed to be a young adult novel about unicorns accepting a troubled rhinoceros.”
“Ah. Yes. That. The publisher thought a different direction maybe.”
“This seems a very different direction. Although opportunities for a ‘horny’ joke abound.”
“Very adult of you to refrain.”
“She says, yet abstaining from offering an explanation.”
“She is working on that.”
“He’s listening.”
“The book sucked. I threw together a romance at the last minute to meet a deadline. And they say write what you know so I…”
“Wrote about my ‘magnificent throbbing-‘“
“Okay! So I was in a mood and we’d just gotten back from vacation and we’d had a lot of fun and it very much on my mind and, well, it was all I could come up with.”
“Us? Cast as a mysterious traveler possibly a spy and a disenchanted heiress looking for love?”
“It’s selling very well.”
“I imagine it is, it’s pornography with a dust jacket.”
“You’re for real? Not happy for me? For us?”
“You’re better than this. You’re better than unicorns and rhinos too! You’re as good as Madeline Miller, as Amor Towles, as Richard Powers! You can write like that! Why do you write drivel when you could write that?!”
“So what if I am? So what if this is it? Isn’t this enough? Isn’t this good enough? It’s selling so who cares? The deadline’s met, the thing is published, so who cares?”
“I care that the love of my life is scribbling with crayons on a silly placemat when she could be changing the world!”
“I’m not good enough for you.”
“No. You’re just better than this. It’s not about me. It’s about you treating your enormous talent like you’re somehow unworthy of it.” | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | "Regret is the bitchy older sibling of reflection."
Those words screeched from Gary's television as he lounged on his couch; cherry-flavored ice cream rested on his lap as he devoured his favorite television program, Cheaters. He sat in darkness to enhance the glare of the show, scooping greedy spoonfuls of cherries and scheming his dark secrets. The scene was so tranquil until it wasn't.
He heard it before his eyes witnessed it, the thunderous footsteps of his wife storming down the stair to disturb him. She wasted no time kicking his door open, posturing a wide grin with a thick stack of papers in her hand. He cocked his head back and held back a groan.
"Babe, guess what? Your brilliant, gorgeous, and creative wife just got published." She said. Her arms flew like an inflatable tube woman at a car dealership as she flicked on the lights.
The light's glare attacked Gary as he clapped and refocused on the television. "Great job Pani! I'm sorry, I was kind of in the middle of some-"
"I want you to read it." Pani thrust the manuscript at him, stalking him down like a predator. Then, she burst into a sprint as her prey began his escape.
"Never been much of a reader, you know that," Gary said. He jumped over the couch's ledge and paced around her, hoping to slip past her into the staircase.
Nothing doing. Pani nipped his escape attempt in the bud, cutting off his route and closing in on her prey.
"I want you to be the first to read it!" She cupped his hands together and plopped the manuscript into them. "Most men would be honored if their wife held them in such high regard."
"Most men don't hate their wives making them read as much as I."
"Me." She said.
"Exactly. You want to make me feel stupid with your fanciful words and speech."
"Prose."
"See? This is just your way of punishing me for no reason." He paused. "Wait. I'm not even the first to read it. Didn't the publisher have to read it to approve it?"
Pani darted her eyes to the side; she courted with several cheeky remarks before saying, "you're the first who matters to me." She rubbed his slumped shoulders and said, "don't worry, the message in my novel is so clear I know you'll get it.
"You sure? You know how everyone whispers jokes about me? If you ever want to keep a secret from him, just put it in a book. You know the man can't read."
"Yes, but if you ever had a secret for me, I'm sure it'd be on a tv show somewhere."
They both laughed, and Gary caved in, flipping to the first page of the manuscript and reading:
*The green-eyes man was in a band. Stand the green-eyes man said. Cand. Is what the green-eyed man land. Hand is needed for the man to befriend. Wuh-wuh-wuh-sand.*
Gary couldn't believe it. His eyes glossed over, his arms went limp, and his jaw slacked as he processed. That sounds like some shit I'd write. Oh, dear. He looked everywhere he could beside his wife's unguarded eyes as he gathered the right words, the right words to avoid an argument.
"Good." He said.
She stared at him as if he was the god of ignorance. "You've read one page."
He flipped to the end and smacked his fingers. "Mmmmm, mmm, finger-licking good story right here."
"That's cheating! You don't just go to the back of the story!"
"You know I don't like reading."
"You could be great at it if you exercised a little commitment!"
Argument unavoided.
The following two weeks were rough for poor Gary. Pani refused to speak, look at him, or even nag him. The tension in the air was ripe as a Georgia Peach. How a woman of her miniature stature could emit such animosity was the next great wonder of the world, or a great question, something like that. It was a secret she knew, and Gary had his own secret.
He adored his wife with all his heart, yet she wasn't the finest apple in the orchard. She could satisfy hunger pains from time to time, but she lacked that lushness, that utter fulfillment factor you got from biting into a juicy morsel of forbidden fruit. The peaches are always sweeter in someone else's yard, as some would say, or maybe that was just him.
Gary isn't his novelist wife, so let's be straightforward. He was cheating on her.
Almost every month, like clockwork, he'd meet his Mistress - Emma - at a hotel on the third Saturday of the month. Today was that Saturday. When his wife approached him, he was fully prepared to go on another 'purposeless drive' around town. But her words cut through that plan.
"Baby, the Galleria Mall has a 90% off sale on lotion and hand soaps. Do you think you can get some?" She asked.
The Galleria Mall was in Houston. Four hours from their home in San Antonio. A ridiculous distance for lotion, regardless of price, but a chance to get out of the dog house.
"Sure, I wouldn't mind at all! You know I love my Saturday drives anyway."
She wrinkled her nose and kissed him. "Sure do. Thanks, babe."
He hopped in his purple-coated Chevrolet Corvette and marched to the Houston mall, wishing he'd picked a better lie for his Saturday excursions. He'd always hated driving.
Shoppers crammed into the mall, making it nearly impossible to move. The lotion store's line overflew, extending past the Gamestop several stores over. Awkward conversations between image-sensitive women and men who didn't own mirrors occurred.
*I'll just tell her they ran out.* It wasn't much of a lie; surely they'd run out when he made it through the line. He pocketed his hands and whistled the Cheaters tune, eyes scanning the scene.
A lot of beautiful women out were in the mall. Everywhere he looked, he saw nines, tens, elevens out of ten. Everywhere except one location, a cardboard cutout of his wife enshrined with novels.
He walked towards the bookstore - Novels-A-Million- and felt his jaw drop. Young girls were practically fighting to pick up a copy of his wife's novel. *All for a copy of that trash?* There must have been something good in the middle section he skipped.
He wrestled with a Zoomer for one of the last copies, licked his fingers - he's seen it on tv, and turned to page one.
A few things shook him.
Most pressing, his wife's name was in the story. That was different from when he had read the story before. His reading skills weren't that bad.
Pani was a superhero in this story. A magical woman adored by men and women alike. In the story, she fought the forces of evil, all demons of sin.
She fought a demon of pride, lust, and so on. His wife was crazy for sure, so many enem-
He fingered the words on the page, *the demon of adultery, Gary*. Surely a coincidence, he continued to read the story:
*Emma, Gary's dumbass assistant, aided his demonic endeavors. Emma was a bimbo with a robust body, able to bring a grown man to tears. Not from their eyes but from where the sun doesn't shine.*
Gary felt his blood freeze over. Emma? Did she know about her? Flustered, he flipped to the back of the book.
*...and when Gary returned to his little lair, he found it empty with divorce papers on the counter.*
The book escaped his fingers and crashed as he rushed back to his car. He raced home, unlocked the door, and ran to the kitchen. He stopped at the sight of an emptied room. A stack of papers lay on the kitchen counter.
Halfway through the manuscript his wife shared with him, lay divorce papers. | “Love?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Why are explicit details about our sex life in what was supposed to be a young adult novel about unicorns accepting a troubled rhinoceros.”
“Ah. Yes. That. The publisher thought a different direction maybe.”
“This seems a very different direction. Although opportunities for a ‘horny’ joke abound.”
“Very adult of you to refrain.”
“She says, yet abstaining from offering an explanation.”
“She is working on that.”
“He’s listening.”
“The book sucked. I threw together a romance at the last minute to meet a deadline. And they say write what you know so I…”
“Wrote about my ‘magnificent throbbing-‘“
“Okay! So I was in a mood and we’d just gotten back from vacation and we’d had a lot of fun and it very much on my mind and, well, it was all I could come up with.”
“Us? Cast as a mysterious traveler possibly a spy and a disenchanted heiress looking for love?”
“It’s selling very well.”
“I imagine it is, it’s pornography with a dust jacket.”
“You’re for real? Not happy for me? For us?”
“You’re better than this. You’re better than unicorns and rhinos too! You’re as good as Madeline Miller, as Amor Towles, as Richard Powers! You can write like that! Why do you write drivel when you could write that?!”
“So what if I am? So what if this is it? Isn’t this enough? Isn’t this good enough? It’s selling so who cares? The deadline’s met, the thing is published, so who cares?”
“I care that the love of my life is scribbling with crayons on a silly placemat when she could be changing the world!”
“I’m not good enough for you.”
“No. You’re just better than this. It’s not about me. It’s about you treating your enormous talent like you’re somehow unworthy of it.” | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | "Regret is the bitchy older sibling of reflection."
Those words screeched from Gary's television as he lounged on his couch; cherry-flavored ice cream rested on his lap as he devoured his favorite television program, Cheaters. He sat in darkness to enhance the glare of the show, scooping greedy spoonfuls of cherries and scheming his dark secrets. The scene was so tranquil until it wasn't.
He heard it before his eyes witnessed it, the thunderous footsteps of his wife storming down the stair to disturb him. She wasted no time kicking his door open, posturing a wide grin with a thick stack of papers in her hand. He cocked his head back and held back a groan.
"Babe, guess what? Your brilliant, gorgeous, and creative wife just got published." She said. Her arms flew like an inflatable tube woman at a car dealership as she flicked on the lights.
The light's glare attacked Gary as he clapped and refocused on the television. "Great job Pani! I'm sorry, I was kind of in the middle of some-"
"I want you to read it." Pani thrust the manuscript at him, stalking him down like a predator. Then, she burst into a sprint as her prey began his escape.
"Never been much of a reader, you know that," Gary said. He jumped over the couch's ledge and paced around her, hoping to slip past her into the staircase.
Nothing doing. Pani nipped his escape attempt in the bud, cutting off his route and closing in on her prey.
"I want you to be the first to read it!" She cupped his hands together and plopped the manuscript into them. "Most men would be honored if their wife held them in such high regard."
"Most men don't hate their wives making them read as much as I."
"Me." She said.
"Exactly. You want to make me feel stupid with your fanciful words and speech."
"Prose."
"See? This is just your way of punishing me for no reason." He paused. "Wait. I'm not even the first to read it. Didn't the publisher have to read it to approve it?"
Pani darted her eyes to the side; she courted with several cheeky remarks before saying, "you're the first who matters to me." She rubbed his slumped shoulders and said, "don't worry, the message in my novel is so clear I know you'll get it.
"You sure? You know how everyone whispers jokes about me? If you ever want to keep a secret from him, just put it in a book. You know the man can't read."
"Yes, but if you ever had a secret for me, I'm sure it'd be on a tv show somewhere."
They both laughed, and Gary caved in, flipping to the first page of the manuscript and reading:
*The green-eyes man was in a band. Stand the green-eyes man said. Cand. Is what the green-eyed man land. Hand is needed for the man to befriend. Wuh-wuh-wuh-sand.*
Gary couldn't believe it. His eyes glossed over, his arms went limp, and his jaw slacked as he processed. That sounds like some shit I'd write. Oh, dear. He looked everywhere he could beside his wife's unguarded eyes as he gathered the right words, the right words to avoid an argument.
"Good." He said.
She stared at him as if he was the god of ignorance. "You've read one page."
He flipped to the end and smacked his fingers. "Mmmmm, mmm, finger-licking good story right here."
"That's cheating! You don't just go to the back of the story!"
"You know I don't like reading."
"You could be great at it if you exercised a little commitment!"
Argument unavoided.
The following two weeks were rough for poor Gary. Pani refused to speak, look at him, or even nag him. The tension in the air was ripe as a Georgia Peach. How a woman of her miniature stature could emit such animosity was the next great wonder of the world, or a great question, something like that. It was a secret she knew, and Gary had his own secret.
He adored his wife with all his heart, yet she wasn't the finest apple in the orchard. She could satisfy hunger pains from time to time, but she lacked that lushness, that utter fulfillment factor you got from biting into a juicy morsel of forbidden fruit. The peaches are always sweeter in someone else's yard, as some would say, or maybe that was just him.
Gary isn't his novelist wife, so let's be straightforward. He was cheating on her.
Almost every month, like clockwork, he'd meet his Mistress - Emma - at a hotel on the third Saturday of the month. Today was that Saturday. When his wife approached him, he was fully prepared to go on another 'purposeless drive' around town. But her words cut through that plan.
"Baby, the Galleria Mall has a 90% off sale on lotion and hand soaps. Do you think you can get some?" She asked.
The Galleria Mall was in Houston. Four hours from their home in San Antonio. A ridiculous distance for lotion, regardless of price, but a chance to get out of the dog house.
"Sure, I wouldn't mind at all! You know I love my Saturday drives anyway."
She wrinkled her nose and kissed him. "Sure do. Thanks, babe."
He hopped in his purple-coated Chevrolet Corvette and marched to the Houston mall, wishing he'd picked a better lie for his Saturday excursions. He'd always hated driving.
Shoppers crammed into the mall, making it nearly impossible to move. The lotion store's line overflew, extending past the Gamestop several stores over. Awkward conversations between image-sensitive women and men who didn't own mirrors occurred.
*I'll just tell her they ran out.* It wasn't much of a lie; surely they'd run out when he made it through the line. He pocketed his hands and whistled the Cheaters tune, eyes scanning the scene.
A lot of beautiful women out were in the mall. Everywhere he looked, he saw nines, tens, elevens out of ten. Everywhere except one location, a cardboard cutout of his wife enshrined with novels.
He walked towards the bookstore - Novels-A-Million- and felt his jaw drop. Young girls were practically fighting to pick up a copy of his wife's novel. *All for a copy of that trash?* There must have been something good in the middle section he skipped.
He wrestled with a Zoomer for one of the last copies, licked his fingers - he's seen it on tv, and turned to page one.
A few things shook him.
Most pressing, his wife's name was in the story. That was different from when he had read the story before. His reading skills weren't that bad.
Pani was a superhero in this story. A magical woman adored by men and women alike. In the story, she fought the forces of evil, all demons of sin.
She fought a demon of pride, lust, and so on. His wife was crazy for sure, so many enem-
He fingered the words on the page, *the demon of adultery, Gary*. Surely a coincidence, he continued to read the story:
*Emma, Gary's dumbass assistant, aided his demonic endeavors. Emma was a bimbo with a robust body, able to bring a grown man to tears. Not from their eyes but from where the sun doesn't shine.*
Gary felt his blood freeze over. Emma? Did she know about her? Flustered, he flipped to the back of the book.
*...and when Gary returned to his little lair, he found it empty with divorce papers on the counter.*
The book escaped his fingers and crashed as he rushed back to his car. He raced home, unlocked the door, and ran to the kitchen. He stopped at the sight of an emptied room. A stack of papers lay on the kitchen counter.
Halfway through the manuscript his wife shared with him, lay divorce papers. | It was a miricale that John got a book publishing deal. I don't how he pulled it off, but for whatever reason. I'm so happy for him.
He told me it was his dream to publish a book. I already had an idea of what he was writing about. The style he was going for wasn't my cup of tea.
I like books that are sweet, filled with love, and have happy endings. That kind that pulls your heart, filling your stomach with butterflies.
His style was more dark, it pulls you in for a ride your not ready for. It left sprinkles of sweetness in the story, but it felt liked it was forced in.
I didn't want to read what he wrote. I told him how it made me feel and eventually he stop giving me a draft.
It wasn't until a year later when he published his book.
I forgot about it. I wouldn't have remember if it wasn't for my coworker. Sally ranted to me that it was the most tear-jerking, disgusting and the most romantic srory she has ever read. I ask for the name of the book. She told me the name and author of the book.
I recongnize the author, it was my husbands pen name.
I asked Sally if I should read the book too. She was hesitant. She was pondering on the decision. She told me yes, but ready your heart.
After work, I stopped by the bookstore and asked for the book. The librarian nodded and retrive it for me. I grabbed the book from her hands. As i head for the door the librarian told me, "Be ready for the wonderful tale." I just waved back and walked off.
I wanted to read before i got home. I wanted to know what John wrote. I don't like theae kinds of books. But for my husband, I'll read it.
I don't have words to describe what I just read. From this however, I learned a lot of things about John. The way he weaved his words into my soul, crushing it and sooting it at the same time. About the ugliness and the beauty of it. I also know how he got the publishing job.
My legs are shaking, am I really scared to go back home? To meet John?
I was left with a question from the book, why? The book didn't answer it.
I'll meet John to get that answered.
I made it home the smell of the food penetrated my nose with an alluring aroma. John was in the kitchen, making dinner ready for tonight.
"Welcome home, your just in time for dinner. Foods hot and ready." John was smiling like he always does, it has another meaning after reading the book.
"Hey John... i read your book."
John paused in place. His face is not in view, i can't tell what he is thinking.
I asked him " Was everything in the book true?"
"Yes."
"All the stuff about your coworkers?"
"Yes."
"John if you needed help, I could've-"
"No."
"But why John!?"
John refused to show me his emotion, he brought out a bag and dig around in it before pulling out a book. The exact book I had in my hand. He handed it to me.
"John I already read-"
the cover was diffrent. It didn't have the words of the title nor did it have his pen name. All it said was:
To Janet,
My Loving Wife
I carefully grabbed the book and start reading.
I got lost in it, it was sweet, every word in the page it filled with love, not only I got the the butterflies, I got the tinglies too. The little girl inside me was jumping with joy. The story was about me and John living happly ever after. A tear left me with joy.
"This is the reason why. I wanted to tell my love about you. I didn't want anyone else finding out about how much I love you. I learned it was embarrasing for me to tell that in public. I wanted you to know anyway. I wasn"t gping to give it to you half-washed. I waited till it was ready, till you were ready. To accept all of me."
I couldn't help but to accept him. He made me very happy.
My only wish is that I didn't know why he kept his mouth so clean.
-Jack Rock | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | When I bought this book, I didn't know what I expected. It certainly wasn't this, though.
When Angela told me she had managed to get a publishing deal for the book she wrote and I helped edit, I was ecstatic for her. She had managed to achieve her dream, after all.
But this was... Well, it was crap. Nothing like what she wrote in the first place. I felt bad for her now, money or no money. It sure feels hollow when dreams are fulfilled in seemingly the worst way possible...
It was as if someone took her story, removed all evidence of good writing, then turned it into yet another vapid teen romance book about a vampire! The characters were renamed, story aspects that made it make sense before were removed and replaced nonsense, and many dialogs were edited heavily in a way that made the characters seem more juvenile... The only part that stayed true to form was the sex scenes, bizarrely, though they lacked the previous immaculate romantic context.
"This fucking sucks" I said to myself, finishing the first few chapters while sitting in the bookstore parking lot. "I hope Angie isn't too disappointed"
When I got home, I thought about how to ask her delicately about the travesty that was her book, but it seems my brain got ahead of me before I could think it through all the way.
"Honey, why is your book trashier than a dumpster fire now"?
I probably could have worded that better.
"Excuse me?"
Yup, judging by her sudden glare, I definitely could have worded it better.
"Yeeah, what's with the vampire nonsense and the suddenly awful dialog?“
Maybe I shouldn't have doubled down but my dumbass ADHD brain was on a roll tonight
"Vampire nonsense? What? Give me that"
Luckily, that seemed to catch her attention.
I quickly handed her the book before she could try to rip it out of my hands.
After a few minutes of reading, I swear I could see the veins in her face like she was some kind of cartoon character.
"It seems I have to take another look at that publishing contract."
As she spoke through a clenched jaw, her expression was simultaneously pained and enraged like someone hit a baboon with a whiffle bat as hard as they could. I backed away a bit. This wasn't good.
"Uhh...anything I can help you with?"
I was pretty lost at how to handle this and definitely did not want to be lashed out at. I tried the safe option.
"If you could make me a drink and start dinner I'd appreciate it. I have a contract to read, a lawyer to call and an angry letter to write"
"Yes ma'am! Happy to help! Ummm... Good luck with that?“
She rubbed her temples and sighed loudly.
"...just shut up and get me that drink before you dig yourself a hole"
"Okay!"
I smiled at her as cheerfully as possible And that was that. I stifled my private chuckle as she groaned at me again.
I really do hope she gets this works out. I forsee a looong week ahead of me. | sitting on the couch, i pick the book up, flipping it over and smiling at my husband face on the back, the cover look different then I remember, but i shrug it off. I only ever saw the finished cover once. I flipped the page open and start to read but to my surprise, it was different. the sweet and kind words that my husband show me was replace with an different language, one i didn’t know. “i swore i pick up the english verison.” i look at it and stare, i could read it perfectly. “okay; weird.” i shake my head, wondering if i was daydreaming, i was suck into the book, each word flowing through my brain, i lost track of time, suddenly it was yank out of my head and i met my husband eyes.
“nonono!” my husband shirked. “we have an deal! if i write the book!-“
“we will leave your wife alone,” my body mocked, standing up. i tried to move but couldn’t. i was stuck. “we did, she still here.” my husband take an step back. “we have an deal! give me my wife back or i-“
“i’ll what?” my body mock, picking up the book before hitting my husband hard in the head. “you really thought we was going let you and your wife live on as human?” | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | ‘We are closing this store and This is the only one that is left’ the elderly man said, adjusting his glasses with one hand, while whipping the dust off with the other. I was hesitant to buy that book. I love reading books, especially so when I travel. And I would be on a flight for the next 16 hours. Even that couldn’t convince me to buy this book.
I again asked him if he was sure that this was the one that is left and pleaded him to check the stock. He let out a slight whiff out his nose and said ‘No, this is what we have, everything else is sold out and people are not buying this at even half the price’.
Ouch that was painful to hear. I still didn’t wanna buy the book. Not that hated the book or the author. Quite the contrary, loved the author and was married to her. I’ve read the manuscript hundreds of time, when she was writing it.
I’d Helped proof read it and was proud of myself that I could point out some improvements in the book. Wife encouraged me and was amused at my findings like how you encourage and hype up kids doing some activity so that you can
keep them occupied. I didn’t care and was living it up.
It was supposed to be her life story or should I say ‘our life story’. The book is an autobiography and transcribes the story of how she went from an extremely introverted girl with braces and pigtails to the current ultra successful boss lady, leading a startup worth a couple billions.
Of course I had a role to play, with us being very much in love since college. She did include a chapter about us and how love encouraged her to be bold and daring.
Well with my flight out of this shit hole airport departing soon and only this store being the only one open, I had to but this book else have to make conversation with fellow passengers. Yuck.
I bought it in a hurry and thought I’d read it one more time and rekindle our college romance. We are very much in love but it’s quite not the same. You see marriage has this effect on couples, the spark slowly dies and you start taking things for granted. Reminiscing the old romance would do some good to the marriage.
I waited till the flight was in the air and has reached a stable height, to open the book. I sort a breezed through the first few chapters with them being quite the same, except for some rephrasing of sentences.
I wondered at the speed in which I’m skimming through, reading half from memory, I’d be done in an hour and had to sit idly for the remainder.
But, the fifth chapter had some interesting changes. It had a few more characters in college that I don’t seem to recall. We had the same friends groups, but don’t seem to remember anyone by the name of Julian Saw. Maybe one of her acquaintances or some random passer by who used to wave at her.
The character seemed to take more and more prominence in the latter chapters. ‘He taught me how to love myself’, ‘Being with him was like having a cold fire burning through my veins’. For some reason this chapter seemed to be more like a porno novel than something about inspirational leader.
When the reviews came out first, I was confused as a number of them were saying that ‘the only thing the author inspires you to do is to be incredulously and uncontrollably horny’. She said it was about our romantic angle that got criticism. I’d felt guilty for sometime, but hey it was her decision to include it.
Now I know what those reviewers really meant. I thought Saw was a figment of her imagination. But it got wilder, more and more characters got introduced and I recognised some of the names. Ian Haley. The Ian Haley, who was a prominent investor in her startup and her mentor. The way she’d written her having graphic sex with him made bike rise up my throat. He was more than Twice her age.
Oh boy, it didn’t stop there. There were others many many others. All having graphic sex with her during the years she was working hard in her startup. She’s started her company 5 years after we’d gotten married. That means all of this was her charting on me, atleast in her mind.
I was ducking pissed, wanted to confront her on these. But that’ll have to wait another 14 hours.
There was no mention of me or our college romance. The final chapter had a single mention of me. It ended on a “funny” note, saying that ‘my poor husband doesn’t know this and let’s keep it that way’.
I’d lost it and let out a loud whiff that’d woken up a few other passengers. The audacity to name me and shame me on her book. Took me for an idiot and playing me for all these years. I felt my world came crashing down.
I hurried through the baggage collection and went home with a rage in my face that should’ve gotten me arrested for looking like a homicidal maniac.
There she was composed as ever in her couch, with a co-worker who she mentioned was the longest of them all and whom she’d keep as a pet forever.
She came into the kitchen to hug me. I calmed myself, picked up the knife from the kitchen. I Hugged her | sitting on the couch, i pick the book up, flipping it over and smiling at my husband face on the back, the cover look different then I remember, but i shrug it off. I only ever saw the finished cover once. I flipped the page open and start to read but to my surprise, it was different. the sweet and kind words that my husband show me was replace with an different language, one i didn’t know. “i swore i pick up the english verison.” i look at it and stare, i could read it perfectly. “okay; weird.” i shake my head, wondering if i was daydreaming, i was suck into the book, each word flowing through my brain, i lost track of time, suddenly it was yank out of my head and i met my husband eyes.
“nonono!” my husband shirked. “we have an deal! if i write the book!-“
“we will leave your wife alone,” my body mocked, standing up. i tried to move but couldn’t. i was stuck. “we did, she still here.” my husband take an step back. “we have an deal! give me my wife back or i-“
“i’ll what?” my body mock, picking up the book before hitting my husband hard in the head. “you really thought we was going let you and your wife live on as human?” | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | I have to admit, seeing my partner’s novel in colourful, glossy piles in the windows of the biggest bookshop in the city felt good. He’d been working on it for more than two years, while I paid the bills, and when he’d sent it away to a big publisher, the arrival of a massive, £50,000 advance cheque had been amazing.
Bill had done most of the work, but I’d done my bit: it was one of our rituals to read a few pages together, every Sunday afternoon and discuss the character, plot, and future developments. Bill preferred it that way. I left him alone for the rest of the week as he said he could concentrate better that way. In a little office he rented. No distraction.
I’d been looking forward to getting my hands on the first copy and I’d been queuing since 8 a.m., waiting for the shop to open. Bill was going to be so surprised when he got home tonight. I have to say, I was very surprised that the publisher didn’t give him an advance copy , if only to proof read it, but what do I know about publishing? Maybe they do it all by email these days? Well they’re paying, so I guess they get to call the shots.
There’d been a big publicity campaign, telling people how good the novel is. Transformational, one called it. Bill’s been giving interviews and telling people how it’s all based on his own life experiences. There’s been so much hype that the queue to buy it snaked round the block. I’m so proud…
My heart skipped a beat as the bookshop staff unlocked the door and the crowd surged forward, which caught me by surprise. They’re so keen! Still, I’d made sure I was near the head of the queue. I had to get a copy today! Bill’s first published novel!
At twenty quid, it wasn’t cheap, but it’s all money in Bill’s pocket, and from the way the crowd were buying the copies, they would be sold out soon!
I hugged my precious copy to my chest and made my way to the checkout.
“I’ve heard it’s brilliant!!” The cashier was bubbling with enthusiasm. “Best erotic fantasy since Fifty Shades! Better, even!”
“Erotic fantasy? But I thought it was a mystery novel…”
“Oh no. It’s about a bored husband who manages to sleep with every woman under the age of 70 in his entire street! He tells his wife he’s writing a novel, but sets up a shag-pad and gets to it…
I didn’t need an imagination to know what “it” was.
I put the book back on the shelf. No point in letting Bill know that I knew. I dare say I’ll be able to pick up a copy in a few months as evidence in the divorce courts. I can wait. Half of a just published author’s assets aren’t much. But half of a multimillion selling author’s assets are something else entirely. | sitting on the couch, i pick the book up, flipping it over and smiling at my husband face on the back, the cover look different then I remember, but i shrug it off. I only ever saw the finished cover once. I flipped the page open and start to read but to my surprise, it was different. the sweet and kind words that my husband show me was replace with an different language, one i didn’t know. “i swore i pick up the english verison.” i look at it and stare, i could read it perfectly. “okay; weird.” i shake my head, wondering if i was daydreaming, i was suck into the book, each word flowing through my brain, i lost track of time, suddenly it was yank out of my head and i met my husband eyes.
“nonono!” my husband shirked. “we have an deal! if i write the book!-“
“we will leave your wife alone,” my body mocked, standing up. i tried to move but couldn’t. i was stuck. “we did, she still here.” my husband take an step back. “we have an deal! give me my wife back or i-“
“i’ll what?” my body mock, picking up the book before hitting my husband hard in the head. “you really thought we was going let you and your wife live on as human?” | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | As I finish the book, I am confused by what I just read. I have to double check the cover a few times to make absolutely sure that I picked up the right book? Could this really be the right book? The draft that I read was a self-help book about how to organize your life and find inner peace through organization. It didn't have any mention of any dragons. And it certainly didn't have any male dragon on male dragon erotica.
I start thinking about what this could mean. Is this her way of saying that she is unsatisfied? Does she want me to dress like a dragon? If she does would I be willing to do it? I don't know, I guess I could.... Sounds like a hell of a costume. Where do I even go for such a thing.
Maybe I am overthinking it. Maybe she doesn't want me to dress up at all. Maybe it is something else. I remember how vividly she described the dragons. How they had length and girth and veins. The monstrosity and power of the size. You know what, never mind. I'm gonna go with that she wants me to dress up as a dragon. Final answer. That is definitely it and nobody is going to change my mind. And if anyone even whispers "male fragility" I swear I will go slap city on you.
Sighing, I realize that the truth is I am just going to have to talk to her. Why would she hide this from me? Why is this a completely different book from what she said she was writing? And why did the one dragon breathe fire up the other dragon's bunghole?
I hear the garage and know that she has arrived.
I approached her with a smile and held the book up signaling that I bought it.
She smiles back but questions why I bought it when I've already read it at home.
I tell her the final draft was significantly different from the version I read.
She tells me the editor probably made a few final edits.
I tell her that she should try opening it up if she hasn't already.
And she does. At first there was confusion. Then shock. Then anger.
She is on the phone with her editor, her publicist, her agent. She is yelling about the smut that ended up in her book. There is confusion all around. Nobody knows how it happened. And the main thing that I think is that I guess I painted my balls green for nothing. | sitting on the couch, i pick the book up, flipping it over and smiling at my husband face on the back, the cover look different then I remember, but i shrug it off. I only ever saw the finished cover once. I flipped the page open and start to read but to my surprise, it was different. the sweet and kind words that my husband show me was replace with an different language, one i didn’t know. “i swore i pick up the english verison.” i look at it and stare, i could read it perfectly. “okay; weird.” i shake my head, wondering if i was daydreaming, i was suck into the book, each word flowing through my brain, i lost track of time, suddenly it was yank out of my head and i met my husband eyes.
“nonono!” my husband shirked. “we have an deal! if i write the book!-“
“we will leave your wife alone,” my body mocked, standing up. i tried to move but couldn’t. i was stuck. “we did, she still here.” my husband take an step back. “we have an deal! give me my wife back or i-“
“i’ll what?” my body mock, picking up the book before hitting my husband hard in the head. “you really thought we was going let you and your wife live on as human?” | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | He pleaded with me as I packed my suitcase. "It's doesn't mean anything. It's just fiction."
"Based heavily on your actual life," I spat, tossing several shirts into my luggage. "And you and I both know that's bullshit because if it was just fiction, you would've shown me the real pages you wrote. Instead of just stroking my ego to keep me quiet."
I'd been so proud of him when he'd gotten the book deal. I knew how many years he'd spent trying to make it as a writer, all the novels he'd left unfinished, all the rejection letters he'd got. I'd comforted him after every single one. Until finally an offer letter.
When I asked to read the book, he hesitated. It went over my head then, the way his eyes flooded with fear when I asked to read a couple pages. I just thought he was heady with champagne. He e-mailed them to me a few days later. Truthfully I was impressed but surprised the publishers had gone for it. His writing was beautiful, it always was. The characters were pulled straight from life. He might've changed a few names but clear as day I recognized his mother, his friends, his brothers. Even me. He'd included bits and pieces of our story, only the good parts which I was grateful for, even though deep down I felt it left the book without much conflict.
Little did I know, I'd only gotten the friends and family version.
"Did you really think, I wouldn't find out? That no one would find out?" I yelled. "That I am so easily appeased and illiterate that I wouldn't buy my own fiance's book?"
He sighed, ashamed. "I... didn't think it would matter."
I scoffed. "You didn't think it would matter that you tore me shreds in your book?"
"I changed the names!" he desperately reminded me. "It's not like anyone knows that it's you!"
"EVERYONE KNOWS THAT IT'S ME!" I roared. "WHO ELSE IS IT SUPPOSED TO BE?!"
I'd picked up a copy of the book yesterday, practically giddy when I saw it displayed front and center at our favorite bookstore. That giddiness turned to horror when I actually started reading it. He'd written about everything. Every single detail I shared with him in confidence. My parents, my depression, my mistakes... my assault. Raw and exaggerated, it was all out there for everyone to see.
And, see they did. Suddenly all the hushed whispers and side glances I'd been getting at work and from friends made sense.
He begged me to stay but I refused. I couldn't spend another night in the apartment, looking at his face. If I could've fit the last three years in the suitcase and taken it with me, I would've. I settled for a couple of outfits, some shoes and what was left of my dignity.
As I stood in the elevator waiting for it descend to the ground floor, I ruminated on all the times he'd kissed me on the forehead and called me his muse.
I used to think it was a compliment. | sitting on the couch, i pick the book up, flipping it over and smiling at my husband face on the back, the cover look different then I remember, but i shrug it off. I only ever saw the finished cover once. I flipped the page open and start to read but to my surprise, it was different. the sweet and kind words that my husband show me was replace with an different language, one i didn’t know. “i swore i pick up the english verison.” i look at it and stare, i could read it perfectly. “okay; weird.” i shake my head, wondering if i was daydreaming, i was suck into the book, each word flowing through my brain, i lost track of time, suddenly it was yank out of my head and i met my husband eyes.
“nonono!” my husband shirked. “we have an deal! if i write the book!-“
“we will leave your wife alone,” my body mocked, standing up. i tried to move but couldn’t. i was stuck. “we did, she still here.” my husband take an step back. “we have an deal! give me my wife back or i-“
“i’ll what?” my body mock, picking up the book before hitting my husband hard in the head. “you really thought we was going let you and your wife live on as human?” | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | As I finish the book, I am confused by what I just read. I have to double check the cover a few times to make absolutely sure that I picked up the right book? Could this really be the right book? The draft that I read was a self-help book about how to organize your life and find inner peace through organization. It didn't have any mention of any dragons. And it certainly didn't have any male dragon on male dragon erotica.
I start thinking about what this could mean. Is this her way of saying that she is unsatisfied? Does she want me to dress like a dragon? If she does would I be willing to do it? I don't know, I guess I could.... Sounds like a hell of a costume. Where do I even go for such a thing.
Maybe I am overthinking it. Maybe she doesn't want me to dress up at all. Maybe it is something else. I remember how vividly she described the dragons. How they had length and girth and veins. The monstrosity and power of the size. You know what, never mind. I'm gonna go with that she wants me to dress up as a dragon. Final answer. That is definitely it and nobody is going to change my mind. And if anyone even whispers "male fragility" I swear I will go slap city on you.
Sighing, I realize that the truth is I am just going to have to talk to her. Why would she hide this from me? Why is this a completely different book from what she said she was writing? And why did the one dragon breathe fire up the other dragon's bunghole?
I hear the garage and know that she has arrived.
I approached her with a smile and held the book up signaling that I bought it.
She smiles back but questions why I bought it when I've already read it at home.
I tell her the final draft was significantly different from the version I read.
She tells me the editor probably made a few final edits.
I tell her that she should try opening it up if she hasn't already.
And she does. At first there was confusion. Then shock. Then anger.
She is on the phone with her editor, her publicist, her agent. She is yelling about the smut that ended up in her book. There is confusion all around. Nobody knows how it happened. And the main thing that I think is that I guess I painted my balls green for nothing. | When I bought this book, I didn't know what I expected. It certainly wasn't this, though.
When Angela told me she had managed to get a publishing deal for the book she wrote and I helped edit, I was ecstatic for her. She had managed to achieve her dream, after all.
But this was... Well, it was crap. Nothing like what she wrote in the first place. I felt bad for her now, money or no money. It sure feels hollow when dreams are fulfilled in seemingly the worst way possible...
It was as if someone took her story, removed all evidence of good writing, then turned it into yet another vapid teen romance book about a vampire! The characters were renamed, story aspects that made it make sense before were removed and replaced nonsense, and many dialogs were edited heavily in a way that made the characters seem more juvenile... The only part that stayed true to form was the sex scenes, bizarrely, though they lacked the previous immaculate romantic context.
"This fucking sucks" I said to myself, finishing the first few chapters while sitting in the bookstore parking lot. "I hope Angie isn't too disappointed"
When I got home, I thought about how to ask her delicately about the travesty that was her book, but it seems my brain got ahead of me before I could think it through all the way.
"Honey, why is your book trashier than a dumpster fire now"?
I probably could have worded that better.
"Excuse me?"
Yup, judging by her sudden glare, I definitely could have worded it better.
"Yeeah, what's with the vampire nonsense and the suddenly awful dialog?“
Maybe I shouldn't have doubled down but my dumbass ADHD brain was on a roll tonight
"Vampire nonsense? What? Give me that"
Luckily, that seemed to catch her attention.
I quickly handed her the book before she could try to rip it out of my hands.
After a few minutes of reading, I swear I could see the veins in her face like she was some kind of cartoon character.
"It seems I have to take another look at that publishing contract."
As she spoke through a clenched jaw, her expression was simultaneously pained and enraged like someone hit a baboon with a whiffle bat as hard as they could. I backed away a bit. This wasn't good.
"Uhh...anything I can help you with?"
I was pretty lost at how to handle this and definitely did not want to be lashed out at. I tried the safe option.
"If you could make me a drink and start dinner I'd appreciate it. I have a contract to read, a lawyer to call and an angry letter to write"
"Yes ma'am! Happy to help! Ummm... Good luck with that?“
She rubbed her temples and sighed loudly.
"...just shut up and get me that drink before you dig yourself a hole"
"Okay!"
I smiled at her as cheerfully as possible And that was that. I stifled my private chuckle as she groaned at me again.
I really do hope she gets this works out. I forsee a looong week ahead of me. | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | I have to admit, seeing my partner’s novel in colourful, glossy piles in the windows of the biggest bookshop in the city felt good. He’d been working on it for more than two years, while I paid the bills, and when he’d sent it away to a big publisher, the arrival of a massive, £50,000 advance cheque had been amazing.
Bill had done most of the work, but I’d done my bit: it was one of our rituals to read a few pages together, every Sunday afternoon and discuss the character, plot, and future developments. Bill preferred it that way. I left him alone for the rest of the week as he said he could concentrate better that way. In a little office he rented. No distraction.
I’d been looking forward to getting my hands on the first copy and I’d been queuing since 8 a.m., waiting for the shop to open. Bill was going to be so surprised when he got home tonight. I have to say, I was very surprised that the publisher didn’t give him an advance copy , if only to proof read it, but what do I know about publishing? Maybe they do it all by email these days? Well they’re paying, so I guess they get to call the shots.
There’d been a big publicity campaign, telling people how good the novel is. Transformational, one called it. Bill’s been giving interviews and telling people how it’s all based on his own life experiences. There’s been so much hype that the queue to buy it snaked round the block. I’m so proud…
My heart skipped a beat as the bookshop staff unlocked the door and the crowd surged forward, which caught me by surprise. They’re so keen! Still, I’d made sure I was near the head of the queue. I had to get a copy today! Bill’s first published novel!
At twenty quid, it wasn’t cheap, but it’s all money in Bill’s pocket, and from the way the crowd were buying the copies, they would be sold out soon!
I hugged my precious copy to my chest and made my way to the checkout.
“I’ve heard it’s brilliant!!” The cashier was bubbling with enthusiasm. “Best erotic fantasy since Fifty Shades! Better, even!”
“Erotic fantasy? But I thought it was a mystery novel…”
“Oh no. It’s about a bored husband who manages to sleep with every woman under the age of 70 in his entire street! He tells his wife he’s writing a novel, but sets up a shag-pad and gets to it…
I didn’t need an imagination to know what “it” was.
I put the book back on the shelf. No point in letting Bill know that I knew. I dare say I’ll be able to pick up a copy in a few months as evidence in the divorce courts. I can wait. Half of a just published author’s assets aren’t much. But half of a multimillion selling author’s assets are something else entirely. | ‘We are closing this store and This is the only one that is left’ the elderly man said, adjusting his glasses with one hand, while whipping the dust off with the other. I was hesitant to buy that book. I love reading books, especially so when I travel. And I would be on a flight for the next 16 hours. Even that couldn’t convince me to buy this book.
I again asked him if he was sure that this was the one that is left and pleaded him to check the stock. He let out a slight whiff out his nose and said ‘No, this is what we have, everything else is sold out and people are not buying this at even half the price’.
Ouch that was painful to hear. I still didn’t wanna buy the book. Not that hated the book or the author. Quite the contrary, loved the author and was married to her. I’ve read the manuscript hundreds of time, when she was writing it.
I’d Helped proof read it and was proud of myself that I could point out some improvements in the book. Wife encouraged me and was amused at my findings like how you encourage and hype up kids doing some activity so that you can
keep them occupied. I didn’t care and was living it up.
It was supposed to be her life story or should I say ‘our life story’. The book is an autobiography and transcribes the story of how she went from an extremely introverted girl with braces and pigtails to the current ultra successful boss lady, leading a startup worth a couple billions.
Of course I had a role to play, with us being very much in love since college. She did include a chapter about us and how love encouraged her to be bold and daring.
Well with my flight out of this shit hole airport departing soon and only this store being the only one open, I had to but this book else have to make conversation with fellow passengers. Yuck.
I bought it in a hurry and thought I’d read it one more time and rekindle our college romance. We are very much in love but it’s quite not the same. You see marriage has this effect on couples, the spark slowly dies and you start taking things for granted. Reminiscing the old romance would do some good to the marriage.
I waited till the flight was in the air and has reached a stable height, to open the book. I sort a breezed through the first few chapters with them being quite the same, except for some rephrasing of sentences.
I wondered at the speed in which I’m skimming through, reading half from memory, I’d be done in an hour and had to sit idly for the remainder.
But, the fifth chapter had some interesting changes. It had a few more characters in college that I don’t seem to recall. We had the same friends groups, but don’t seem to remember anyone by the name of Julian Saw. Maybe one of her acquaintances or some random passer by who used to wave at her.
The character seemed to take more and more prominence in the latter chapters. ‘He taught me how to love myself’, ‘Being with him was like having a cold fire burning through my veins’. For some reason this chapter seemed to be more like a porno novel than something about inspirational leader.
When the reviews came out first, I was confused as a number of them were saying that ‘the only thing the author inspires you to do is to be incredulously and uncontrollably horny’. She said it was about our romantic angle that got criticism. I’d felt guilty for sometime, but hey it was her decision to include it.
Now I know what those reviewers really meant. I thought Saw was a figment of her imagination. But it got wilder, more and more characters got introduced and I recognised some of the names. Ian Haley. The Ian Haley, who was a prominent investor in her startup and her mentor. The way she’d written her having graphic sex with him made bike rise up my throat. He was more than Twice her age.
Oh boy, it didn’t stop there. There were others many many others. All having graphic sex with her during the years she was working hard in her startup. She’s started her company 5 years after we’d gotten married. That means all of this was her charting on me, atleast in her mind.
I was ducking pissed, wanted to confront her on these. But that’ll have to wait another 14 hours.
There was no mention of me or our college romance. The final chapter had a single mention of me. It ended on a “funny” note, saying that ‘my poor husband doesn’t know this and let’s keep it that way’.
I’d lost it and let out a loud whiff that’d woken up a few other passengers. The audacity to name me and shame me on her book. Took me for an idiot and playing me for all these years. I felt my world came crashing down.
I hurried through the baggage collection and went home with a rage in my face that should’ve gotten me arrested for looking like a homicidal maniac.
There she was composed as ever in her couch, with a co-worker who she mentioned was the longest of them all and whom she’d keep as a pet forever.
She came into the kitchen to hug me. I calmed myself, picked up the knife from the kitchen. I Hugged her | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | As I finish the book, I am confused by what I just read. I have to double check the cover a few times to make absolutely sure that I picked up the right book? Could this really be the right book? The draft that I read was a self-help book about how to organize your life and find inner peace through organization. It didn't have any mention of any dragons. And it certainly didn't have any male dragon on male dragon erotica.
I start thinking about what this could mean. Is this her way of saying that she is unsatisfied? Does she want me to dress like a dragon? If she does would I be willing to do it? I don't know, I guess I could.... Sounds like a hell of a costume. Where do I even go for such a thing.
Maybe I am overthinking it. Maybe she doesn't want me to dress up at all. Maybe it is something else. I remember how vividly she described the dragons. How they had length and girth and veins. The monstrosity and power of the size. You know what, never mind. I'm gonna go with that she wants me to dress up as a dragon. Final answer. That is definitely it and nobody is going to change my mind. And if anyone even whispers "male fragility" I swear I will go slap city on you.
Sighing, I realize that the truth is I am just going to have to talk to her. Why would she hide this from me? Why is this a completely different book from what she said she was writing? And why did the one dragon breathe fire up the other dragon's bunghole?
I hear the garage and know that she has arrived.
I approached her with a smile and held the book up signaling that I bought it.
She smiles back but questions why I bought it when I've already read it at home.
I tell her the final draft was significantly different from the version I read.
She tells me the editor probably made a few final edits.
I tell her that she should try opening it up if she hasn't already.
And she does. At first there was confusion. Then shock. Then anger.
She is on the phone with her editor, her publicist, her agent. She is yelling about the smut that ended up in her book. There is confusion all around. Nobody knows how it happened. And the main thing that I think is that I guess I painted my balls green for nothing. | ‘We are closing this store and This is the only one that is left’ the elderly man said, adjusting his glasses with one hand, while whipping the dust off with the other. I was hesitant to buy that book. I love reading books, especially so when I travel. And I would be on a flight for the next 16 hours. Even that couldn’t convince me to buy this book.
I again asked him if he was sure that this was the one that is left and pleaded him to check the stock. He let out a slight whiff out his nose and said ‘No, this is what we have, everything else is sold out and people are not buying this at even half the price’.
Ouch that was painful to hear. I still didn’t wanna buy the book. Not that hated the book or the author. Quite the contrary, loved the author and was married to her. I’ve read the manuscript hundreds of time, when she was writing it.
I’d Helped proof read it and was proud of myself that I could point out some improvements in the book. Wife encouraged me and was amused at my findings like how you encourage and hype up kids doing some activity so that you can
keep them occupied. I didn’t care and was living it up.
It was supposed to be her life story or should I say ‘our life story’. The book is an autobiography and transcribes the story of how she went from an extremely introverted girl with braces and pigtails to the current ultra successful boss lady, leading a startup worth a couple billions.
Of course I had a role to play, with us being very much in love since college. She did include a chapter about us and how love encouraged her to be bold and daring.
Well with my flight out of this shit hole airport departing soon and only this store being the only one open, I had to but this book else have to make conversation with fellow passengers. Yuck.
I bought it in a hurry and thought I’d read it one more time and rekindle our college romance. We are very much in love but it’s quite not the same. You see marriage has this effect on couples, the spark slowly dies and you start taking things for granted. Reminiscing the old romance would do some good to the marriage.
I waited till the flight was in the air and has reached a stable height, to open the book. I sort a breezed through the first few chapters with them being quite the same, except for some rephrasing of sentences.
I wondered at the speed in which I’m skimming through, reading half from memory, I’d be done in an hour and had to sit idly for the remainder.
But, the fifth chapter had some interesting changes. It had a few more characters in college that I don’t seem to recall. We had the same friends groups, but don’t seem to remember anyone by the name of Julian Saw. Maybe one of her acquaintances or some random passer by who used to wave at her.
The character seemed to take more and more prominence in the latter chapters. ‘He taught me how to love myself’, ‘Being with him was like having a cold fire burning through my veins’. For some reason this chapter seemed to be more like a porno novel than something about inspirational leader.
When the reviews came out first, I was confused as a number of them were saying that ‘the only thing the author inspires you to do is to be incredulously and uncontrollably horny’. She said it was about our romantic angle that got criticism. I’d felt guilty for sometime, but hey it was her decision to include it.
Now I know what those reviewers really meant. I thought Saw was a figment of her imagination. But it got wilder, more and more characters got introduced and I recognised some of the names. Ian Haley. The Ian Haley, who was a prominent investor in her startup and her mentor. The way she’d written her having graphic sex with him made bike rise up my throat. He was more than Twice her age.
Oh boy, it didn’t stop there. There were others many many others. All having graphic sex with her during the years she was working hard in her startup. She’s started her company 5 years after we’d gotten married. That means all of this was her charting on me, atleast in her mind.
I was ducking pissed, wanted to confront her on these. But that’ll have to wait another 14 hours.
There was no mention of me or our college romance. The final chapter had a single mention of me. It ended on a “funny” note, saying that ‘my poor husband doesn’t know this and let’s keep it that way’.
I’d lost it and let out a loud whiff that’d woken up a few other passengers. The audacity to name me and shame me on her book. Took me for an idiot and playing me for all these years. I felt my world came crashing down.
I hurried through the baggage collection and went home with a rage in my face that should’ve gotten me arrested for looking like a homicidal maniac.
There she was composed as ever in her couch, with a co-worker who she mentioned was the longest of them all and whom she’d keep as a pet forever.
She came into the kitchen to hug me. I calmed myself, picked up the knife from the kitchen. I Hugged her | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | He pleaded with me as I packed my suitcase. "It's doesn't mean anything. It's just fiction."
"Based heavily on your actual life," I spat, tossing several shirts into my luggage. "And you and I both know that's bullshit because if it was just fiction, you would've shown me the real pages you wrote. Instead of just stroking my ego to keep me quiet."
I'd been so proud of him when he'd gotten the book deal. I knew how many years he'd spent trying to make it as a writer, all the novels he'd left unfinished, all the rejection letters he'd got. I'd comforted him after every single one. Until finally an offer letter.
When I asked to read the book, he hesitated. It went over my head then, the way his eyes flooded with fear when I asked to read a couple pages. I just thought he was heady with champagne. He e-mailed them to me a few days later. Truthfully I was impressed but surprised the publishers had gone for it. His writing was beautiful, it always was. The characters were pulled straight from life. He might've changed a few names but clear as day I recognized his mother, his friends, his brothers. Even me. He'd included bits and pieces of our story, only the good parts which I was grateful for, even though deep down I felt it left the book without much conflict.
Little did I know, I'd only gotten the friends and family version.
"Did you really think, I wouldn't find out? That no one would find out?" I yelled. "That I am so easily appeased and illiterate that I wouldn't buy my own fiance's book?"
He sighed, ashamed. "I... didn't think it would matter."
I scoffed. "You didn't think it would matter that you tore me shreds in your book?"
"I changed the names!" he desperately reminded me. "It's not like anyone knows that it's you!"
"EVERYONE KNOWS THAT IT'S ME!" I roared. "WHO ELSE IS IT SUPPOSED TO BE?!"
I'd picked up a copy of the book yesterday, practically giddy when I saw it displayed front and center at our favorite bookstore. That giddiness turned to horror when I actually started reading it. He'd written about everything. Every single detail I shared with him in confidence. My parents, my depression, my mistakes... my assault. Raw and exaggerated, it was all out there for everyone to see.
And, see they did. Suddenly all the hushed whispers and side glances I'd been getting at work and from friends made sense.
He begged me to stay but I refused. I couldn't spend another night in the apartment, looking at his face. If I could've fit the last three years in the suitcase and taken it with me, I would've. I settled for a couple of outfits, some shoes and what was left of my dignity.
As I stood in the elevator waiting for it descend to the ground floor, I ruminated on all the times he'd kissed me on the forehead and called me his muse.
I used to think it was a compliment. | ‘We are closing this store and This is the only one that is left’ the elderly man said, adjusting his glasses with one hand, while whipping the dust off with the other. I was hesitant to buy that book. I love reading books, especially so when I travel. And I would be on a flight for the next 16 hours. Even that couldn’t convince me to buy this book.
I again asked him if he was sure that this was the one that is left and pleaded him to check the stock. He let out a slight whiff out his nose and said ‘No, this is what we have, everything else is sold out and people are not buying this at even half the price’.
Ouch that was painful to hear. I still didn’t wanna buy the book. Not that hated the book or the author. Quite the contrary, loved the author and was married to her. I’ve read the manuscript hundreds of time, when she was writing it.
I’d Helped proof read it and was proud of myself that I could point out some improvements in the book. Wife encouraged me and was amused at my findings like how you encourage and hype up kids doing some activity so that you can
keep them occupied. I didn’t care and was living it up.
It was supposed to be her life story or should I say ‘our life story’. The book is an autobiography and transcribes the story of how she went from an extremely introverted girl with braces and pigtails to the current ultra successful boss lady, leading a startup worth a couple billions.
Of course I had a role to play, with us being very much in love since college. She did include a chapter about us and how love encouraged her to be bold and daring.
Well with my flight out of this shit hole airport departing soon and only this store being the only one open, I had to but this book else have to make conversation with fellow passengers. Yuck.
I bought it in a hurry and thought I’d read it one more time and rekindle our college romance. We are very much in love but it’s quite not the same. You see marriage has this effect on couples, the spark slowly dies and you start taking things for granted. Reminiscing the old romance would do some good to the marriage.
I waited till the flight was in the air and has reached a stable height, to open the book. I sort a breezed through the first few chapters with them being quite the same, except for some rephrasing of sentences.
I wondered at the speed in which I’m skimming through, reading half from memory, I’d be done in an hour and had to sit idly for the remainder.
But, the fifth chapter had some interesting changes. It had a few more characters in college that I don’t seem to recall. We had the same friends groups, but don’t seem to remember anyone by the name of Julian Saw. Maybe one of her acquaintances or some random passer by who used to wave at her.
The character seemed to take more and more prominence in the latter chapters. ‘He taught me how to love myself’, ‘Being with him was like having a cold fire burning through my veins’. For some reason this chapter seemed to be more like a porno novel than something about inspirational leader.
When the reviews came out first, I was confused as a number of them were saying that ‘the only thing the author inspires you to do is to be incredulously and uncontrollably horny’. She said it was about our romantic angle that got criticism. I’d felt guilty for sometime, but hey it was her decision to include it.
Now I know what those reviewers really meant. I thought Saw was a figment of her imagination. But it got wilder, more and more characters got introduced and I recognised some of the names. Ian Haley. The Ian Haley, who was a prominent investor in her startup and her mentor. The way she’d written her having graphic sex with him made bike rise up my throat. He was more than Twice her age.
Oh boy, it didn’t stop there. There were others many many others. All having graphic sex with her during the years she was working hard in her startup. She’s started her company 5 years after we’d gotten married. That means all of this was her charting on me, atleast in her mind.
I was ducking pissed, wanted to confront her on these. But that’ll have to wait another 14 hours.
There was no mention of me or our college romance. The final chapter had a single mention of me. It ended on a “funny” note, saying that ‘my poor husband doesn’t know this and let’s keep it that way’.
I’d lost it and let out a loud whiff that’d woken up a few other passengers. The audacity to name me and shame me on her book. Took me for an idiot and playing me for all these years. I felt my world came crashing down.
I hurried through the baggage collection and went home with a rage in my face that should’ve gotten me arrested for looking like a homicidal maniac.
There she was composed as ever in her couch, with a co-worker who she mentioned was the longest of them all and whom she’d keep as a pet forever.
She came into the kitchen to hug me. I calmed myself, picked up the knife from the kitchen. I Hugged her | |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | As I finish the book, I am confused by what I just read. I have to double check the cover a few times to make absolutely sure that I picked up the right book? Could this really be the right book? The draft that I read was a self-help book about how to organize your life and find inner peace through organization. It didn't have any mention of any dragons. And it certainly didn't have any male dragon on male dragon erotica.
I start thinking about what this could mean. Is this her way of saying that she is unsatisfied? Does she want me to dress like a dragon? If she does would I be willing to do it? I don't know, I guess I could.... Sounds like a hell of a costume. Where do I even go for such a thing.
Maybe I am overthinking it. Maybe she doesn't want me to dress up at all. Maybe it is something else. I remember how vividly she described the dragons. How they had length and girth and veins. The monstrosity and power of the size. You know what, never mind. I'm gonna go with that she wants me to dress up as a dragon. Final answer. That is definitely it and nobody is going to change my mind. And if anyone even whispers "male fragility" I swear I will go slap city on you.
Sighing, I realize that the truth is I am just going to have to talk to her. Why would she hide this from me? Why is this a completely different book from what she said she was writing? And why did the one dragon breathe fire up the other dragon's bunghole?
I hear the garage and know that she has arrived.
I approached her with a smile and held the book up signaling that I bought it.
She smiles back but questions why I bought it when I've already read it at home.
I tell her the final draft was significantly different from the version I read.
She tells me the editor probably made a few final edits.
I tell her that she should try opening it up if she hasn't already.
And she does. At first there was confusion. Then shock. Then anger.
She is on the phone with her editor, her publicist, her agent. She is yelling about the smut that ended up in her book. There is confusion all around. Nobody knows how it happened. And the main thing that I think is that I guess I painted my balls green for nothing. | I have to admit, seeing my partner’s novel in colourful, glossy piles in the windows of the biggest bookshop in the city felt good. He’d been working on it for more than two years, while I paid the bills, and when he’d sent it away to a big publisher, the arrival of a massive, £50,000 advance cheque had been amazing.
Bill had done most of the work, but I’d done my bit: it was one of our rituals to read a few pages together, every Sunday afternoon and discuss the character, plot, and future developments. Bill preferred it that way. I left him alone for the rest of the week as he said he could concentrate better that way. In a little office he rented. No distraction.
I’d been looking forward to getting my hands on the first copy and I’d been queuing since 8 a.m., waiting for the shop to open. Bill was going to be so surprised when he got home tonight. I have to say, I was very surprised that the publisher didn’t give him an advance copy , if only to proof read it, but what do I know about publishing? Maybe they do it all by email these days? Well they’re paying, so I guess they get to call the shots.
There’d been a big publicity campaign, telling people how good the novel is. Transformational, one called it. Bill’s been giving interviews and telling people how it’s all based on his own life experiences. There’s been so much hype that the queue to buy it snaked round the block. I’m so proud…
My heart skipped a beat as the bookshop staff unlocked the door and the crowd surged forward, which caught me by surprise. They’re so keen! Still, I’d made sure I was near the head of the queue. I had to get a copy today! Bill’s first published novel!
At twenty quid, it wasn’t cheap, but it’s all money in Bill’s pocket, and from the way the crowd were buying the copies, they would be sold out soon!
I hugged my precious copy to my chest and made my way to the checkout.
“I’ve heard it’s brilliant!!” The cashier was bubbling with enthusiasm. “Best erotic fantasy since Fifty Shades! Better, even!”
“Erotic fantasy? But I thought it was a mystery novel…”
“Oh no. It’s about a bored husband who manages to sleep with every woman under the age of 70 in his entire street! He tells his wife he’s writing a novel, but sets up a shag-pad and gets to it…
I didn’t need an imagination to know what “it” was.
I put the book back on the shelf. No point in letting Bill know that I knew. I dare say I’ll be able to pick up a copy in a few months as evidence in the divorce courts. I can wait. Half of a just published author’s assets aren’t much. But half of a multimillion selling author’s assets are something else entirely. | |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | I was born with the power to turn anything into a bowl of soup. No matter the object, it would turn into enough soup to fit perfectly into a standard bowl. I could even choose the type. The other superheros always mocked me for it.
"Turning stuff into soup? That's useless!"
"What are you going to do against a villain, turn their weapon into soup?"
"You're never going to be a useful superhero."
I could never make friends because they thought I was stupid. What was I going to do, give them soup? Yeah they didn't appreciate that. They found me boring and useless.
But when it was announced that a meteor was going to hit Earth and cause mass death and destruction, the other heroes panicked. They had the power to fight villains or each other, but not the power to stop a meteor. They were at a loss, but I knew that it was my time to shine.
As I approached the predicted sight of impact, I saw people running. I even saw some so-called "heroes" who bragged that they could solve any problem, call their mom crying. Not me though, because as I got to the sight of impact, the massive meteor barreling down towards me did not change my manor at all. In fact, it even reassured me that no one would think that I am stupid anymore.
As the meteor hit the atmosphere, that's when I started. I put down my bowl right as my feet as I started the process. I concentrated on the meteor and started to change it. The red-black surface reminded me of tomato soup, so I decided to make a meteor turned tomato soup.
As the soup fell perfectly into the bowl, everyone looked at me with awe. They praised me for saving the Earth! Some of the heroes who ridiculed me apologized for how they treated me. I was just happy I got some really good soup. | I had always been an outcast, even among the other superheros. Everyone else had flashy abilities like flight or super strength, while my power was to make anything into perfectly cooked soup. I was constantly mocked and ridiculed.
I heard the news that a massive meteor was headed straight for Earth. The other heroes were in a frenzy, trying to come up with a plan to save the day. I, on the other hand, felt strangely calm. I knew that my power was the only one that could stop the meteor. So I headed off to the impact zone, bowl in hand.
When I arrived, I saw that the meteor was only minutes away from hitting the ground. I concentrated and willed the meteor to turn into soup. Suddenly, the meteor began to shimmer and distort, and before long, it had transformed into a steaming bowl of soup.
The other heroes were in shock. They had never seen anyone do something like that before. I had finally been able to prove myself and show them that my power was something to be respected.
But then, I noticed something strange. The soup had an odd taste and a faint, putrid smell. I took a closer look and saw that there were strange, unrecognizable objects floating in the soup.
It was only then that I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. The objects in the soup were pieces of the meteor, and the meteor had been made up of toxic material. I had unknowingly created a deadly soup that would have catastrophic consequences for the world. | |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | I wanted to be cool. I wanted to be part of the in super crowd. I applied to the super league of super heroes. S.L.O.S.H laughed at me when I demonstrated my power. I turned a glass of water into soup. I placed the glass of water inside my bowl, used my power, and presented them with the perfect bowl of potato and leek soup. They laughed.
"Water into soup, I'm soo impressed. Hahahaha. Yeah we have a spot for you... in the cafeteria. Hahaha. Get lost mighty Lunch Lady"
It's like none of them had noticed the glass changed to soup too. I only chose the glass of water because it was the first thing I saw. Maybe it would have been more impressive if I had used the table they sat behind, or one of their chairs.
I gave up on my dreams to a golden member of S.L.O.S.H., but I took their advice to become a lunch lady. Not in their sacred halls, but somewhere I was needed and appreciated. I started up stone soup.
Most assumed the name was in reference to the old children's story; A community coming together to feed everyone. I didn't dispute it. It allowed the charity to raise money for more than just soup. Only I knew that whatever soup I made, in limitess amounts, was actually *stone* soup. I'd thought about using trash, but I couldn't in good conscience use actual rubbish and waste products to make food.
I was never going to be a superhero in the grand sense, but I was a hero to hundreds each day. That should have been enough.
One day I watched the news. For once they weren't talking about S.L.O.S.H members stopping bank robberies, or a bus load of kids saved from crashing into the river. Today it was a meteorite headed to Earth. No one could stop it, not even Meteorman which was ironic.
"What's on the menu today Rosemary?" Asked my assistant as they wandered in. Clearly they hadn't seen the news.
"The biggest batch of stone soup ever. I'm thinking something cool and refreshing, Gazpacho or chilled cucumber perhaps. I just have to go out and get the ingredients."
I grabbed my largest pot and my testing bowl, before I turned back and said
"It's going to taste out of this world" | I had always been an outcast, even among the other superheros. Everyone else had flashy abilities like flight or super strength, while my power was to make anything into perfectly cooked soup. I was constantly mocked and ridiculed.
I heard the news that a massive meteor was headed straight for Earth. The other heroes were in a frenzy, trying to come up with a plan to save the day. I, on the other hand, felt strangely calm. I knew that my power was the only one that could stop the meteor. So I headed off to the impact zone, bowl in hand.
When I arrived, I saw that the meteor was only minutes away from hitting the ground. I concentrated and willed the meteor to turn into soup. Suddenly, the meteor began to shimmer and distort, and before long, it had transformed into a steaming bowl of soup.
The other heroes were in shock. They had never seen anyone do something like that before. I had finally been able to prove myself and show them that my power was something to be respected.
But then, I noticed something strange. The soup had an odd taste and a faint, putrid smell. I took a closer look and saw that there were strange, unrecognizable objects floating in the soup.
It was only then that I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. The objects in the soup were pieces of the meteor, and the meteor had been made up of toxic material. I had unknowingly created a deadly soup that would have catastrophic consequences for the world. | |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | When I had turned that bastard into a steaming bowl of Campbell’s chicken and stars, they called me insane. No one cared about why I had done it. They were too hung up on the fact that I had eaten him. “It’s just soup,” I reminded them. After all, it was.
I won’t bother you with the details. Just know that he wanted to be inside me, so I gave him exactly that.
Now, after ten long years of holding me…now, they need me. I’ve had an easy enough time in prison and, later, the institution, I’ll admit. Nobody wants to become a steaming bowl of bisque or chowder. I get it. But what I can’t forgive so easily is that no one saw my side until now. Now that they need me, they’re ready to lift my sentence, but can they clear my name? Call me a murderer, a cannibal even, but don’t ever call me crazy.
So here I stand, in this wide, open field under the stars, surrounded by my “handlers”. The massive meteor grows closer by the second, and things are getting about as hot as hotpot, right now, but I’m perfectly calm. The ceramic bowl feels warm in my hands.
I look up at the blazing sky, debating. | I had always been an outcast, even among the other superheros. Everyone else had flashy abilities like flight or super strength, while my power was to make anything into perfectly cooked soup. I was constantly mocked and ridiculed.
I heard the news that a massive meteor was headed straight for Earth. The other heroes were in a frenzy, trying to come up with a plan to save the day. I, on the other hand, felt strangely calm. I knew that my power was the only one that could stop the meteor. So I headed off to the impact zone, bowl in hand.
When I arrived, I saw that the meteor was only minutes away from hitting the ground. I concentrated and willed the meteor to turn into soup. Suddenly, the meteor began to shimmer and distort, and before long, it had transformed into a steaming bowl of soup.
The other heroes were in shock. They had never seen anyone do something like that before. I had finally been able to prove myself and show them that my power was something to be respected.
But then, I noticed something strange. The soup had an odd taste and a faint, putrid smell. I took a closer look and saw that there were strange, unrecognizable objects floating in the soup.
It was only then that I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. The objects in the soup were pieces of the meteor, and the meteor had been made up of toxic material. I had unknowingly created a deadly soup that would have catastrophic consequences for the world. | |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | So, two things about supes:
One, you can never tell how, exactly, their powers are going to work.
Two, there's no minimum intelligence requirement.
The world hangs in the balance. I'm speed dialing every fucking supe I can think of; my supercomputer is running the simulations. Every combination of known powers, limitations, and side effects is battling to the death with everything we know about that damned meteor - not nearly enough. Never enough. It's clearly not a regular hunk of space rock. It's fucking *pink.*
Sixteen, by my reckoning, are terrified that it's made out of exactly the stuff that renders them powerless. One is just offended, for some insane reason, and won't engage. He's an asshole anyway. I wasn't banking on him.
Some of them went off-world. I hope they never live that down. They probably will.
Souperman stands, implacable, unflappable, bowl in hand. I check the waiting list. He wasn't even on it. That makes me feel better. If he had been, well... to be honest, I'd have quietly removed him. I'm not catching flak in the post-apocalypse for having put off testing the one idiot who was willing to be brave.
Matter. Energy. Inertia. Entropy. It's different for every supe, not just for every power. Some speedsters get excited and try going from zero to a thousand in less than a second. Death By Physics. It's less common now, but still a classic entry. Others, meanwhile, play by the rules, run the tests, do the work, and then discover that they would have been fine regardless. Some supes can lift buildings effortlessly. Others discover that they can't magically ignore torque and shear. They end up tearing a hunk out, which usually causes a collapse. Some of them end up going through the floor instead of lifting anything at all. Time stoppers get frozen. Invisible dudes can't see. The list goes on. Life just isn't fair.
That's my whole business model. If not all of them are going to be smart and careful, then somebody has to be for them. I can't tell you how many times I've heard some variation on the theme that my own superpower is common sense. It's infuriating, but the money's green, so I don't bitch.
The computer pings yellow, which is better than red, but it's too late. Out of curiosity, I glance at the combination. I chuckle; I never would have thought of it. Constructing the database and the program had been a good idea. That's my thing. I have good ideas, and then I do the fucking work.
I wait for a few moments, holding my breath. When the world doesn't end, I exhale. I wasn't planetside, of course. I'm not a fucking idiot. Still, it's my home. I'd have missed it.
I go to the feeds and watch in slo-mo. I see the whole spectrum. The audio is pre-filtered, but the raw stuff is available if I need it. The computer perceives and processes even more. Its previous task was deprioritized.
The feeds never went out - no catastrophic impact or temperature spike. They recorded everything. It's an ugly sight, but I examine the footage closely enough to confirm.
I update the entry for Souperman. I feel a pang of guilt - far less than if he'd been on the waiting list, but still something. I think of all the other supes who might've helped him out. Maybe they could've carted him around the cosmos a bit, letting him turn lakes, then seas, then oceans on dead worlds into soup. Heck, mountains too, I guess. Whole continents, maybe. There's no telling how powerful he could've become. If it had been gold or something else sexy instead of soup, they probably would've.
I know that none of them will feel it. Guilt doesn't get you anywhere in this game.
Anyway, here it is. It's as complete as it's ever going to get. I don't have the budget to send supes out hunting extradimensional space for traces of matter and energy - everything that used to be that hurtling meteor, but then suddenly wasn't.
*Souperman, b. Eugene Constance Forbes 1993, p. 2012, d. 2025. Power: the ability to turn anything into any amount of any kind of soup. Temperature of soup hard-linked to soup type. Power allows displacement of all excess matter and energy, possibly total annihilation. Ability to add or conjure mass and/or energy unclear. Cause of death: acute, catastrophic power overexertion. Died saving the planet Earth from a likely extinction level event: strange meteor.*
Yes, "strange meteor" is its own entry. I look at it for a minute on my screen. I shrug, and click to customize. *Really, really big strange pink meteor.* That's better. That's a little dig at some of the cowards, and that one insane asshole.
The phone rings. I pick it up. It's a different asshole - one that pays well.
"Yikes," he says.
I preemptively bite my tongue.
"Not enough chicken soup in the world to cure that, huh?"
These fucking guys. | I had always been an outcast, even among the other superheros. Everyone else had flashy abilities like flight or super strength, while my power was to make anything into perfectly cooked soup. I was constantly mocked and ridiculed.
I heard the news that a massive meteor was headed straight for Earth. The other heroes were in a frenzy, trying to come up with a plan to save the day. I, on the other hand, felt strangely calm. I knew that my power was the only one that could stop the meteor. So I headed off to the impact zone, bowl in hand.
When I arrived, I saw that the meteor was only minutes away from hitting the ground. I concentrated and willed the meteor to turn into soup. Suddenly, the meteor began to shimmer and distort, and before long, it had transformed into a steaming bowl of soup.
The other heroes were in shock. They had never seen anyone do something like that before. I had finally been able to prove myself and show them that my power was something to be respected.
But then, I noticed something strange. The soup had an odd taste and a faint, putrid smell. I took a closer look and saw that there were strange, unrecognizable objects floating in the soup.
It was only then that I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. The objects in the soup were pieces of the meteor, and the meteor had been made up of toxic material. I had unknowingly created a deadly soup that would have catastrophic consequences for the world. | |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | Superpowers, superheroes, no matter what sort of titles they placed on themselves they were powerless in the moment it mattered most. As the massive rock that was Earth's undoing approached all they could do was stare. Stare as it grew closer, shadowing the spot at our feet. Stare as it mocked them, showing us how truly powerless they were in this moment. But not me.
I felt even worse for Bino-scope, his power of super-sight had allowed him to catch the meteor long before even the scientists and their telescopes. He had been staring all day since, now the corners of his eyes dried and reddened. But I did not worry.
*The shadow grew larger at our feet*
As Earth's finest stared up in fear, fully suited and bulging with muscles, I did not need to look. I only needed to think of lunch. Of what type of soup I wanted today. Chicken noodle? Lentil? Mom always made a great lentil. Mine never came out quite as good though.
From my utility belt I carefully selected a bowl I liked most, a perfect vessel for the occasion; handcrafted by a shopkeeper whose storefront I'd saved by turning a runaway vehicle into a delicious egg drop. I held it out in two hands to ensure a good grip as the massive rock grew closer. Suddenly the stares of the other heroes burned through me like a hot cup of cheddar broccoli.
"And what is that meant to do, soup boy?" a voice boomed, carried out from Earth's greatest hero. Even near our doom I was mocked.
"It's Souperior, Magnus. You know that. You all do!" I yelled over to the crowd of heroes, now staring. "Now grab a bowl or get out of my way."
A few chuckled, some hung their heads in disappointment, and others, the worst ones, held looks of sympathy on their faces.
"Ok *Souperior*, what's the bowl for? Humor me in Earth's last moments."
The shadow from the space rock now engulfed the city whole. Above the meteor screamed, yelling through the atmosphere and letting its presence be impossible to ignore. On the streets was chaos: civilians ran to any semblence of safety, cars careened through crowds of traffic, and the heroes, they just watched onward with wide eyes.
I looked up to Magnus, and by extension to all of the others.
"The bowl? Well of course, it's for soup."
Just as the Earth's doom intended to strike down from above I reached up, resting my palm against its rocky surface. In the moment I channeled all my thoughts into one purpose: *Gazpacho*, and the meteor replied, fighting back with all of its weight. For a moment it was a stalemate. My soupy willpower against the great stones.
But then I felt a weight lift from my arms, and to my right Magnus suddenly stood, muscles in his arms bulging through his copper spandex. The asphalt cracked at his feet as he helped hold the weight aloft.
With both of our might the meteor stood no chance. My hand pushed up through, past the rocky exterior and into a cold gazpacho. Then Magnus delivered the death blow, a mega-ton punch splitting the stone exterior open and sending the cold soup bursting forth and high up into the sky.
For a moment there was silence. The gaggle of various costumed heroes watched with mouths agape as red clouds formed in the sky. Magnus was the first to approach, holding out a bloodied hand.
"May I have a bowl, hero?"
Then one by one they followed, each taking a bowl from my belt and awaiting the soupy rain. | I had always been an outcast, even among the other superheros. Everyone else had flashy abilities like flight or super strength, while my power was to make anything into perfectly cooked soup. I was constantly mocked and ridiculed.
I heard the news that a massive meteor was headed straight for Earth. The other heroes were in a frenzy, trying to come up with a plan to save the day. I, on the other hand, felt strangely calm. I knew that my power was the only one that could stop the meteor. So I headed off to the impact zone, bowl in hand.
When I arrived, I saw that the meteor was only minutes away from hitting the ground. I concentrated and willed the meteor to turn into soup. Suddenly, the meteor began to shimmer and distort, and before long, it had transformed into a steaming bowl of soup.
The other heroes were in shock. They had never seen anyone do something like that before. I had finally been able to prove myself and show them that my power was something to be respected.
But then, I noticed something strange. The soup had an odd taste and a faint, putrid smell. I took a closer look and saw that there were strange, unrecognizable objects floating in the soup.
It was only then that I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. The objects in the soup were pieces of the meteor, and the meteor had been made up of toxic material. I had unknowingly created a deadly soup that would have catastrophic consequences for the world. | |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | I wanted to be cool. I wanted to be part of the in super crowd. I applied to the super league of super heroes. S.L.O.S.H laughed at me when I demonstrated my power. I turned a glass of water into soup. I placed the glass of water inside my bowl, used my power, and presented them with the perfect bowl of potato and leek soup. They laughed.
"Water into soup, I'm soo impressed. Hahahaha. Yeah we have a spot for you... in the cafeteria. Hahaha. Get lost mighty Lunch Lady"
It's like none of them had noticed the glass changed to soup too. I only chose the glass of water because it was the first thing I saw. Maybe it would have been more impressive if I had used the table they sat behind, or one of their chairs.
I gave up on my dreams to a golden member of S.L.O.S.H., but I took their advice to become a lunch lady. Not in their sacred halls, but somewhere I was needed and appreciated. I started up stone soup.
Most assumed the name was in reference to the old children's story; A community coming together to feed everyone. I didn't dispute it. It allowed the charity to raise money for more than just soup. Only I knew that whatever soup I made, in limitess amounts, was actually *stone* soup. I'd thought about using trash, but I couldn't in good conscience use actual rubbish and waste products to make food.
I was never going to be a superhero in the grand sense, but I was a hero to hundreds each day. That should have been enough.
One day I watched the news. For once they weren't talking about S.L.O.S.H members stopping bank robberies, or a bus load of kids saved from crashing into the river. Today it was a meteorite headed to Earth. No one could stop it, not even Meteorman which was ironic.
"What's on the menu today Rosemary?" Asked my assistant as they wandered in. Clearly they hadn't seen the news.
"The biggest batch of stone soup ever. I'm thinking something cool and refreshing, Gazpacho or chilled cucumber perhaps. I just have to go out and get the ingredients."
I grabbed my largest pot and my testing bowl, before I turned back and said
"It's going to taste out of this world" | I was born with the power to turn anything into a bowl of soup. No matter the object, it would turn into enough soup to fit perfectly into a standard bowl. I could even choose the type. The other superheros always mocked me for it.
"Turning stuff into soup? That's useless!"
"What are you going to do against a villain, turn their weapon into soup?"
"You're never going to be a useful superhero."
I could never make friends because they thought I was stupid. What was I going to do, give them soup? Yeah they didn't appreciate that. They found me boring and useless.
But when it was announced that a meteor was going to hit Earth and cause mass death and destruction, the other heroes panicked. They had the power to fight villains or each other, but not the power to stop a meteor. They were at a loss, but I knew that it was my time to shine.
As I approached the predicted sight of impact, I saw people running. I even saw some so-called "heroes" who bragged that they could solve any problem, call their mom crying. Not me though, because as I got to the sight of impact, the massive meteor barreling down towards me did not change my manor at all. In fact, it even reassured me that no one would think that I am stupid anymore.
As the meteor hit the atmosphere, that's when I started. I put down my bowl right as my feet as I started the process. I concentrated on the meteor and started to change it. The red-black surface reminded me of tomato soup, so I decided to make a meteor turned tomato soup.
As the soup fell perfectly into the bowl, everyone looked at me with awe. They praised me for saving the Earth! Some of the heroes who ridiculed me apologized for how they treated me. I was just happy I got some really good soup. | |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | When I had turned that bastard into a steaming bowl of Campbell’s chicken and stars, they called me insane. No one cared about why I had done it. They were too hung up on the fact that I had eaten him. “It’s just soup,” I reminded them. After all, it was.
I won’t bother you with the details. Just know that he wanted to be inside me, so I gave him exactly that.
Now, after ten long years of holding me…now, they need me. I’ve had an easy enough time in prison and, later, the institution, I’ll admit. Nobody wants to become a steaming bowl of bisque or chowder. I get it. But what I can’t forgive so easily is that no one saw my side until now. Now that they need me, they’re ready to lift my sentence, but can they clear my name? Call me a murderer, a cannibal even, but don’t ever call me crazy.
So here I stand, in this wide, open field under the stars, surrounded by my “handlers”. The massive meteor grows closer by the second, and things are getting about as hot as hotpot, right now, but I’m perfectly calm. The ceramic bowl feels warm in my hands.
I look up at the blazing sky, debating. | I was born with the power to turn anything into a bowl of soup. No matter the object, it would turn into enough soup to fit perfectly into a standard bowl. I could even choose the type. The other superheros always mocked me for it.
"Turning stuff into soup? That's useless!"
"What are you going to do against a villain, turn their weapon into soup?"
"You're never going to be a useful superhero."
I could never make friends because they thought I was stupid. What was I going to do, give them soup? Yeah they didn't appreciate that. They found me boring and useless.
But when it was announced that a meteor was going to hit Earth and cause mass death and destruction, the other heroes panicked. They had the power to fight villains or each other, but not the power to stop a meteor. They were at a loss, but I knew that it was my time to shine.
As I approached the predicted sight of impact, I saw people running. I even saw some so-called "heroes" who bragged that they could solve any problem, call their mom crying. Not me though, because as I got to the sight of impact, the massive meteor barreling down towards me did not change my manor at all. In fact, it even reassured me that no one would think that I am stupid anymore.
As the meteor hit the atmosphere, that's when I started. I put down my bowl right as my feet as I started the process. I concentrated on the meteor and started to change it. The red-black surface reminded me of tomato soup, so I decided to make a meteor turned tomato soup.
As the soup fell perfectly into the bowl, everyone looked at me with awe. They praised me for saving the Earth! Some of the heroes who ridiculed me apologized for how they treated me. I was just happy I got some really good soup. | |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | So, two things about supes:
One, you can never tell how, exactly, their powers are going to work.
Two, there's no minimum intelligence requirement.
The world hangs in the balance. I'm speed dialing every fucking supe I can think of; my supercomputer is running the simulations. Every combination of known powers, limitations, and side effects is battling to the death with everything we know about that damned meteor - not nearly enough. Never enough. It's clearly not a regular hunk of space rock. It's fucking *pink.*
Sixteen, by my reckoning, are terrified that it's made out of exactly the stuff that renders them powerless. One is just offended, for some insane reason, and won't engage. He's an asshole anyway. I wasn't banking on him.
Some of them went off-world. I hope they never live that down. They probably will.
Souperman stands, implacable, unflappable, bowl in hand. I check the waiting list. He wasn't even on it. That makes me feel better. If he had been, well... to be honest, I'd have quietly removed him. I'm not catching flak in the post-apocalypse for having put off testing the one idiot who was willing to be brave.
Matter. Energy. Inertia. Entropy. It's different for every supe, not just for every power. Some speedsters get excited and try going from zero to a thousand in less than a second. Death By Physics. It's less common now, but still a classic entry. Others, meanwhile, play by the rules, run the tests, do the work, and then discover that they would have been fine regardless. Some supes can lift buildings effortlessly. Others discover that they can't magically ignore torque and shear. They end up tearing a hunk out, which usually causes a collapse. Some of them end up going through the floor instead of lifting anything at all. Time stoppers get frozen. Invisible dudes can't see. The list goes on. Life just isn't fair.
That's my whole business model. If not all of them are going to be smart and careful, then somebody has to be for them. I can't tell you how many times I've heard some variation on the theme that my own superpower is common sense. It's infuriating, but the money's green, so I don't bitch.
The computer pings yellow, which is better than red, but it's too late. Out of curiosity, I glance at the combination. I chuckle; I never would have thought of it. Constructing the database and the program had been a good idea. That's my thing. I have good ideas, and then I do the fucking work.
I wait for a few moments, holding my breath. When the world doesn't end, I exhale. I wasn't planetside, of course. I'm not a fucking idiot. Still, it's my home. I'd have missed it.
I go to the feeds and watch in slo-mo. I see the whole spectrum. The audio is pre-filtered, but the raw stuff is available if I need it. The computer perceives and processes even more. Its previous task was deprioritized.
The feeds never went out - no catastrophic impact or temperature spike. They recorded everything. It's an ugly sight, but I examine the footage closely enough to confirm.
I update the entry for Souperman. I feel a pang of guilt - far less than if he'd been on the waiting list, but still something. I think of all the other supes who might've helped him out. Maybe they could've carted him around the cosmos a bit, letting him turn lakes, then seas, then oceans on dead worlds into soup. Heck, mountains too, I guess. Whole continents, maybe. There's no telling how powerful he could've become. If it had been gold or something else sexy instead of soup, they probably would've.
I know that none of them will feel it. Guilt doesn't get you anywhere in this game.
Anyway, here it is. It's as complete as it's ever going to get. I don't have the budget to send supes out hunting extradimensional space for traces of matter and energy - everything that used to be that hurtling meteor, but then suddenly wasn't.
*Souperman, b. Eugene Constance Forbes 1993, p. 2012, d. 2025. Power: the ability to turn anything into any amount of any kind of soup. Temperature of soup hard-linked to soup type. Power allows displacement of all excess matter and energy, possibly total annihilation. Ability to add or conjure mass and/or energy unclear. Cause of death: acute, catastrophic power overexertion. Died saving the planet Earth from a likely extinction level event: strange meteor.*
Yes, "strange meteor" is its own entry. I look at it for a minute on my screen. I shrug, and click to customize. *Really, really big strange pink meteor.* That's better. That's a little dig at some of the cowards, and that one insane asshole.
The phone rings. I pick it up. It's a different asshole - one that pays well.
"Yikes," he says.
I preemptively bite my tongue.
"Not enough chicken soup in the world to cure that, huh?"
These fucking guys. | I was born with the power to turn anything into a bowl of soup. No matter the object, it would turn into enough soup to fit perfectly into a standard bowl. I could even choose the type. The other superheros always mocked me for it.
"Turning stuff into soup? That's useless!"
"What are you going to do against a villain, turn their weapon into soup?"
"You're never going to be a useful superhero."
I could never make friends because they thought I was stupid. What was I going to do, give them soup? Yeah they didn't appreciate that. They found me boring and useless.
But when it was announced that a meteor was going to hit Earth and cause mass death and destruction, the other heroes panicked. They had the power to fight villains or each other, but not the power to stop a meteor. They were at a loss, but I knew that it was my time to shine.
As I approached the predicted sight of impact, I saw people running. I even saw some so-called "heroes" who bragged that they could solve any problem, call their mom crying. Not me though, because as I got to the sight of impact, the massive meteor barreling down towards me did not change my manor at all. In fact, it even reassured me that no one would think that I am stupid anymore.
As the meteor hit the atmosphere, that's when I started. I put down my bowl right as my feet as I started the process. I concentrated on the meteor and started to change it. The red-black surface reminded me of tomato soup, so I decided to make a meteor turned tomato soup.
As the soup fell perfectly into the bowl, everyone looked at me with awe. They praised me for saving the Earth! Some of the heroes who ridiculed me apologized for how they treated me. I was just happy I got some really good soup. | |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | Superpowers, superheroes, no matter what sort of titles they placed on themselves they were powerless in the moment it mattered most. As the massive rock that was Earth's undoing approached all they could do was stare. Stare as it grew closer, shadowing the spot at our feet. Stare as it mocked them, showing us how truly powerless they were in this moment. But not me.
I felt even worse for Bino-scope, his power of super-sight had allowed him to catch the meteor long before even the scientists and their telescopes. He had been staring all day since, now the corners of his eyes dried and reddened. But I did not worry.
*The shadow grew larger at our feet*
As Earth's finest stared up in fear, fully suited and bulging with muscles, I did not need to look. I only needed to think of lunch. Of what type of soup I wanted today. Chicken noodle? Lentil? Mom always made a great lentil. Mine never came out quite as good though.
From my utility belt I carefully selected a bowl I liked most, a perfect vessel for the occasion; handcrafted by a shopkeeper whose storefront I'd saved by turning a runaway vehicle into a delicious egg drop. I held it out in two hands to ensure a good grip as the massive rock grew closer. Suddenly the stares of the other heroes burned through me like a hot cup of cheddar broccoli.
"And what is that meant to do, soup boy?" a voice boomed, carried out from Earth's greatest hero. Even near our doom I was mocked.
"It's Souperior, Magnus. You know that. You all do!" I yelled over to the crowd of heroes, now staring. "Now grab a bowl or get out of my way."
A few chuckled, some hung their heads in disappointment, and others, the worst ones, held looks of sympathy on their faces.
"Ok *Souperior*, what's the bowl for? Humor me in Earth's last moments."
The shadow from the space rock now engulfed the city whole. Above the meteor screamed, yelling through the atmosphere and letting its presence be impossible to ignore. On the streets was chaos: civilians ran to any semblence of safety, cars careened through crowds of traffic, and the heroes, they just watched onward with wide eyes.
I looked up to Magnus, and by extension to all of the others.
"The bowl? Well of course, it's for soup."
Just as the Earth's doom intended to strike down from above I reached up, resting my palm against its rocky surface. In the moment I channeled all my thoughts into one purpose: *Gazpacho*, and the meteor replied, fighting back with all of its weight. For a moment it was a stalemate. My soupy willpower against the great stones.
But then I felt a weight lift from my arms, and to my right Magnus suddenly stood, muscles in his arms bulging through his copper spandex. The asphalt cracked at his feet as he helped hold the weight aloft.
With both of our might the meteor stood no chance. My hand pushed up through, past the rocky exterior and into a cold gazpacho. Then Magnus delivered the death blow, a mega-ton punch splitting the stone exterior open and sending the cold soup bursting forth and high up into the sky.
For a moment there was silence. The gaggle of various costumed heroes watched with mouths agape as red clouds formed in the sky. Magnus was the first to approach, holding out a bloodied hand.
"May I have a bowl, hero?"
Then one by one they followed, each taking a bowl from my belt and awaiting the soupy rain. | I was born with the power to turn anything into a bowl of soup. No matter the object, it would turn into enough soup to fit perfectly into a standard bowl. I could even choose the type. The other superheros always mocked me for it.
"Turning stuff into soup? That's useless!"
"What are you going to do against a villain, turn their weapon into soup?"
"You're never going to be a useful superhero."
I could never make friends because they thought I was stupid. What was I going to do, give them soup? Yeah they didn't appreciate that. They found me boring and useless.
But when it was announced that a meteor was going to hit Earth and cause mass death and destruction, the other heroes panicked. They had the power to fight villains or each other, but not the power to stop a meteor. They were at a loss, but I knew that it was my time to shine.
As I approached the predicted sight of impact, I saw people running. I even saw some so-called "heroes" who bragged that they could solve any problem, call their mom crying. Not me though, because as I got to the sight of impact, the massive meteor barreling down towards me did not change my manor at all. In fact, it even reassured me that no one would think that I am stupid anymore.
As the meteor hit the atmosphere, that's when I started. I put down my bowl right as my feet as I started the process. I concentrated on the meteor and started to change it. The red-black surface reminded me of tomato soup, so I decided to make a meteor turned tomato soup.
As the soup fell perfectly into the bowl, everyone looked at me with awe. They praised me for saving the Earth! Some of the heroes who ridiculed me apologized for how they treated me. I was just happy I got some really good soup. | |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | So, two things about supes:
One, you can never tell how, exactly, their powers are going to work.
Two, there's no minimum intelligence requirement.
The world hangs in the balance. I'm speed dialing every fucking supe I can think of; my supercomputer is running the simulations. Every combination of known powers, limitations, and side effects is battling to the death with everything we know about that damned meteor - not nearly enough. Never enough. It's clearly not a regular hunk of space rock. It's fucking *pink.*
Sixteen, by my reckoning, are terrified that it's made out of exactly the stuff that renders them powerless. One is just offended, for some insane reason, and won't engage. He's an asshole anyway. I wasn't banking on him.
Some of them went off-world. I hope they never live that down. They probably will.
Souperman stands, implacable, unflappable, bowl in hand. I check the waiting list. He wasn't even on it. That makes me feel better. If he had been, well... to be honest, I'd have quietly removed him. I'm not catching flak in the post-apocalypse for having put off testing the one idiot who was willing to be brave.
Matter. Energy. Inertia. Entropy. It's different for every supe, not just for every power. Some speedsters get excited and try going from zero to a thousand in less than a second. Death By Physics. It's less common now, but still a classic entry. Others, meanwhile, play by the rules, run the tests, do the work, and then discover that they would have been fine regardless. Some supes can lift buildings effortlessly. Others discover that they can't magically ignore torque and shear. They end up tearing a hunk out, which usually causes a collapse. Some of them end up going through the floor instead of lifting anything at all. Time stoppers get frozen. Invisible dudes can't see. The list goes on. Life just isn't fair.
That's my whole business model. If not all of them are going to be smart and careful, then somebody has to be for them. I can't tell you how many times I've heard some variation on the theme that my own superpower is common sense. It's infuriating, but the money's green, so I don't bitch.
The computer pings yellow, which is better than red, but it's too late. Out of curiosity, I glance at the combination. I chuckle; I never would have thought of it. Constructing the database and the program had been a good idea. That's my thing. I have good ideas, and then I do the fucking work.
I wait for a few moments, holding my breath. When the world doesn't end, I exhale. I wasn't planetside, of course. I'm not a fucking idiot. Still, it's my home. I'd have missed it.
I go to the feeds and watch in slo-mo. I see the whole spectrum. The audio is pre-filtered, but the raw stuff is available if I need it. The computer perceives and processes even more. Its previous task was deprioritized.
The feeds never went out - no catastrophic impact or temperature spike. They recorded everything. It's an ugly sight, but I examine the footage closely enough to confirm.
I update the entry for Souperman. I feel a pang of guilt - far less than if he'd been on the waiting list, but still something. I think of all the other supes who might've helped him out. Maybe they could've carted him around the cosmos a bit, letting him turn lakes, then seas, then oceans on dead worlds into soup. Heck, mountains too, I guess. Whole continents, maybe. There's no telling how powerful he could've become. If it had been gold or something else sexy instead of soup, they probably would've.
I know that none of them will feel it. Guilt doesn't get you anywhere in this game.
Anyway, here it is. It's as complete as it's ever going to get. I don't have the budget to send supes out hunting extradimensional space for traces of matter and energy - everything that used to be that hurtling meteor, but then suddenly wasn't.
*Souperman, b. Eugene Constance Forbes 1993, p. 2012, d. 2025. Power: the ability to turn anything into any amount of any kind of soup. Temperature of soup hard-linked to soup type. Power allows displacement of all excess matter and energy, possibly total annihilation. Ability to add or conjure mass and/or energy unclear. Cause of death: acute, catastrophic power overexertion. Died saving the planet Earth from a likely extinction level event: strange meteor.*
Yes, "strange meteor" is its own entry. I look at it for a minute on my screen. I shrug, and click to customize. *Really, really big strange pink meteor.* That's better. That's a little dig at some of the cowards, and that one insane asshole.
The phone rings. I pick it up. It's a different asshole - one that pays well.
"Yikes," he says.
I preemptively bite my tongue.
"Not enough chicken soup in the world to cure that, huh?"
These fucking guys. | When I had turned that bastard into a steaming bowl of Campbell’s chicken and stars, they called me insane. No one cared about why I had done it. They were too hung up on the fact that I had eaten him. “It’s just soup,” I reminded them. After all, it was.
I won’t bother you with the details. Just know that he wanted to be inside me, so I gave him exactly that.
Now, after ten long years of holding me…now, they need me. I’ve had an easy enough time in prison and, later, the institution, I’ll admit. Nobody wants to become a steaming bowl of bisque or chowder. I get it. But what I can’t forgive so easily is that no one saw my side until now. Now that they need me, they’re ready to lift my sentence, but can they clear my name? Call me a murderer, a cannibal even, but don’t ever call me crazy.
So here I stand, in this wide, open field under the stars, surrounded by my “handlers”. The massive meteor grows closer by the second, and things are getting about as hot as hotpot, right now, but I’m perfectly calm. The ceramic bowl feels warm in my hands.
I look up at the blazing sky, debating. | |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | Superpowers, superheroes, no matter what sort of titles they placed on themselves they were powerless in the moment it mattered most. As the massive rock that was Earth's undoing approached all they could do was stare. Stare as it grew closer, shadowing the spot at our feet. Stare as it mocked them, showing us how truly powerless they were in this moment. But not me.
I felt even worse for Bino-scope, his power of super-sight had allowed him to catch the meteor long before even the scientists and their telescopes. He had been staring all day since, now the corners of his eyes dried and reddened. But I did not worry.
*The shadow grew larger at our feet*
As Earth's finest stared up in fear, fully suited and bulging with muscles, I did not need to look. I only needed to think of lunch. Of what type of soup I wanted today. Chicken noodle? Lentil? Mom always made a great lentil. Mine never came out quite as good though.
From my utility belt I carefully selected a bowl I liked most, a perfect vessel for the occasion; handcrafted by a shopkeeper whose storefront I'd saved by turning a runaway vehicle into a delicious egg drop. I held it out in two hands to ensure a good grip as the massive rock grew closer. Suddenly the stares of the other heroes burned through me like a hot cup of cheddar broccoli.
"And what is that meant to do, soup boy?" a voice boomed, carried out from Earth's greatest hero. Even near our doom I was mocked.
"It's Souperior, Magnus. You know that. You all do!" I yelled over to the crowd of heroes, now staring. "Now grab a bowl or get out of my way."
A few chuckled, some hung their heads in disappointment, and others, the worst ones, held looks of sympathy on their faces.
"Ok *Souperior*, what's the bowl for? Humor me in Earth's last moments."
The shadow from the space rock now engulfed the city whole. Above the meteor screamed, yelling through the atmosphere and letting its presence be impossible to ignore. On the streets was chaos: civilians ran to any semblence of safety, cars careened through crowds of traffic, and the heroes, they just watched onward with wide eyes.
I looked up to Magnus, and by extension to all of the others.
"The bowl? Well of course, it's for soup."
Just as the Earth's doom intended to strike down from above I reached up, resting my palm against its rocky surface. In the moment I channeled all my thoughts into one purpose: *Gazpacho*, and the meteor replied, fighting back with all of its weight. For a moment it was a stalemate. My soupy willpower against the great stones.
But then I felt a weight lift from my arms, and to my right Magnus suddenly stood, muscles in his arms bulging through his copper spandex. The asphalt cracked at his feet as he helped hold the weight aloft.
With both of our might the meteor stood no chance. My hand pushed up through, past the rocky exterior and into a cold gazpacho. Then Magnus delivered the death blow, a mega-ton punch splitting the stone exterior open and sending the cold soup bursting forth and high up into the sky.
For a moment there was silence. The gaggle of various costumed heroes watched with mouths agape as red clouds formed in the sky. Magnus was the first to approach, holding out a bloodied hand.
"May I have a bowl, hero?"
Then one by one they followed, each taking a bowl from my belt and awaiting the soupy rain. | When I had turned that bastard into a steaming bowl of Campbell’s chicken and stars, they called me insane. No one cared about why I had done it. They were too hung up on the fact that I had eaten him. “It’s just soup,” I reminded them. After all, it was.
I won’t bother you with the details. Just know that he wanted to be inside me, so I gave him exactly that.
Now, after ten long years of holding me…now, they need me. I’ve had an easy enough time in prison and, later, the institution, I’ll admit. Nobody wants to become a steaming bowl of bisque or chowder. I get it. But what I can’t forgive so easily is that no one saw my side until now. Now that they need me, they’re ready to lift my sentence, but can they clear my name? Call me a murderer, a cannibal even, but don’t ever call me crazy.
So here I stand, in this wide, open field under the stars, surrounded by my “handlers”. The massive meteor grows closer by the second, and things are getting about as hot as hotpot, right now, but I’m perfectly calm. The ceramic bowl feels warm in my hands.
I look up at the blazing sky, debating. | |
[WP] "Double Edge" Is a legendary unique sword that is available for a handful of copper. It is the sharpest and strongest weapon in existence. It also talks, and roasts the living hell out of its owner constantly, pulling no punches. Write a story of one of its many, many owners. | "You call yourself a warrior? You fight like a farmer!"
"How appropriate" I answer as I decapitate an orc, "your balance feels like a cow".
As I was turning to face another enemy, *Double Edge* forced my arm backwards and, suddenly, it stopped an enemy blade that, otherwise, would have killed me. "And you are effing blind!! How didn't you see that one coming?"
"Shut up, you useless piece of ore!". I turn around and cut the guts out of a huge half-ogre. Huh, how didn't I see that one coming at me?
"Useless piece of ore!? Maybe you'd want to fight this one on your own!!" she yelled (yeah, *Double Edge* did sound like a young girl in my mind) and sheathed, leaving me unarmed. Charging towards me, another ork wielding a huge axe was coming closer and closer.
"So that's it, huh!?" I yelled as I grabbed the sword of a fallen orc. "Alright, I don't even need you!"
The anwer was instantaneous. *Double Edge* got out of the sheath, hit my hand and knocked of the orc blade. "Ah no! No other *bitch* is taking my useless human being! Well, IF you are human, I swear you look like a gnoll!". I dodge the orc's axe and, faster than lightning, I swing *double edge*to cut my foe's arm. I decide to let him run for his dear life.
I spent a few seconds deep breathing and calming my heart beats. "Oooooh, was that so hard for little wannabe warrior?", *Double edge* asks mockingly. "Maybe you should become a chef, would be way safer for you".
"How comes, do you wish to peel tomatoes now? Maybe chop potatoes? I'm dissapointed".
"Moron".
"Idiot".
"Useless human being".
"You piece of ore".
"Your mama is so ugly, when she was born the healer said 'if it does flight, it's a bat!'"
"Your forger is so ugly that other dwarves mistaken him for a goblin!"
"You bastard!"
Ah. I love those little exchanges we have. You see, *Double Edge* is just a brat. Either you have fun with her... or she'll drive you crazy. | *“If I wasn’t an indestructible blade, I would for sure crack and crumble into pieces having to constantly bear your hideous reflection in battle.”*
** Doobie hurled out his slew of usual insults, slicing as deep into me as he did to my opposition.**
**In a clanking thud the knights body drops to a silent stillness, the knight and quietude both immediately broke by the swords onslaught of jivey jests and violent victory chants**.
**Parodying, “That’s Amore”**
**Doobie Sings:**
*When the doom of war cries by your side, grasp my forte…cause that’s my forte!*
*wink wink wink, one swing will bring a king a drink to have some more days!*
*Die, die, die… stab stab stab sling and slash, clink and clash that’s the swords way!*
**Doobies song fades out in a maniacal melody, and I go on continuing my own line.**
“Where I stood tall my enemy would fall to deaths doorway…” I muttered beneath my heavy helmet as I took just as weighted of a breath.”
**On the dark field of death designed by the blade, I pulled the double edge from the final fallen foe.**
**Underneath the faint moonlight and dawning day sky; I violently puked all over the mutilated corpse. Waves of war washed over me as rivers of bloodshed replayed through my head and froze me in my tracks.**
**It was laughter that snapped me out of this sickness and back to Doobies own twisted way.**
*Oh you’re a work of art now aren’t you? Oof you don’t look so well, I guess you are what you eat, you walking bag of barf, but umm I think he’s got you beat kid.(referencing our last kill.)*
*Perk up Percy, haha, get a hold of yourself, after all you are named after a woman’s handbag. You’ll persevere…pussy..*
“Why did the Witches curse you so, Doobie? You are such a thorn in my side…and my best protection”
**I relieved him back into his sheath, while dawning a wide grin on my face. I knew that he much rather prefer the fresh air of the open field than the musky old scabbard holstered at my waist! **
**Out came his words in a muffled inaudible flabbergasted fury of fuck you’s steaming up to his hilt.I slid him slightly from the muzzle to understand what he was on about.**
**Without missing a beat.**
*But a fierce thorn I am, and you are a dainty little flower, aren’t you or are you the bush Percy!? A pocket full of Percy…ashes-ashes…let’s go save the crown! Now hurry let me back out, we have one more night behind you!*
**I instantly doubled back, on edge, swooshing Doobie out into the air, in fear that the fallen foe had risen during banter between myself and the blade. Doobie doesn’t lie, so I gazed in disbelief when no one was there.**
“There is no knight, you prick!” I grunted in wonder of which of his mischievous words he chose to test me with.
*“Percy, Percy, why do you lack such perception you gullible fool!? The day is on the horizon and we have yet another night behind us, use your head boy, before someone takes it from you!”*
{Unseen to Percy, availed by a mysterious force, Remi Ln. appears in aura to Doobie and whispers. “Edge, guide the boy to AETHERA.” Two names Doobie had long forgot,flashed through his memory.}
** I haphazardly hoist Doobie atop both shoulders, carrying him like a cross to bare.**
**Off one edge Doobie glinted the purple haze of rising sunlight and off the other beamed a viscous coat of crimson,**
*Doobie continued on, “Hmm, Have I told you how I was crafted Percy?”*
To be continued…
Writers note: First try on writing something in length like this, I really was inspired by the prompt, and hope for some feedback. Thanks All | |
[WP] "Double Edge" Is a legendary unique sword that is available for a handful of copper. It is the sharpest and strongest weapon in existence. It also talks, and roasts the living hell out of its owner constantly, pulling no punches. Write a story of one of its many, many owners. | "You call yourself a warrior? You fight like a farmer!"
"How appropriate" I answer as I decapitate an orc, "your balance feels like a cow".
As I was turning to face another enemy, *Double Edge* forced my arm backwards and, suddenly, it stopped an enemy blade that, otherwise, would have killed me. "And you are effing blind!! How didn't you see that one coming?"
"Shut up, you useless piece of ore!". I turn around and cut the guts out of a huge half-ogre. Huh, how didn't I see that one coming at me?
"Useless piece of ore!? Maybe you'd want to fight this one on your own!!" she yelled (yeah, *Double Edge* did sound like a young girl in my mind) and sheathed, leaving me unarmed. Charging towards me, another ork wielding a huge axe was coming closer and closer.
"So that's it, huh!?" I yelled as I grabbed the sword of a fallen orc. "Alright, I don't even need you!"
The anwer was instantaneous. *Double Edge* got out of the sheath, hit my hand and knocked of the orc blade. "Ah no! No other *bitch* is taking my useless human being! Well, IF you are human, I swear you look like a gnoll!". I dodge the orc's axe and, faster than lightning, I swing *double edge*to cut my foe's arm. I decide to let him run for his dear life.
I spent a few seconds deep breathing and calming my heart beats. "Oooooh, was that so hard for little wannabe warrior?", *Double edge* asks mockingly. "Maybe you should become a chef, would be way safer for you".
"How comes, do you wish to peel tomatoes now? Maybe chop potatoes? I'm dissapointed".
"Moron".
"Idiot".
"Useless human being".
"You piece of ore".
"Your mama is so ugly, when she was born the healer said 'if it does flight, it's a bat!'"
"Your forger is so ugly that other dwarves mistaken him for a goblin!"
"You bastard!"
Ah. I love those little exchanges we have. You see, *Double Edge* is just a brat. Either you have fun with her... or she'll drive you crazy. | *Frank Noll, lieutenant of the town guard, gripped the hilt of his short sword as he attempted to blend into the stone wall behind him. A large gash in his shoulder leaked blood onto his once clean uniform as he breathed through gritted teeth. The soldier listened closely as two sets of footsteps made their way down the alleyway he had ducked into only a few seconds prior.*
"Now if I were a guard, where would I be?"
*The voice echoed around the corner and into Frank's ears, the owner had an extremely confident tone, sounded like he spoke through his nose.*
*Frank held his breath and prayed his blade would hold its tongue as the owner of the voice slowly moved closer, voice taking on a condescending tone.*
"Now mister guard, as much as I'd love to grant a coward like you mercy, you know that I can't let anybody who knows what *my* company has done here tonight leave with their voice box intact, so you should just drop your sword and come along with us, make it easier on the all of us."
*Frank grit his teeth, willing every part of his body to remain as still as possible. The footsteps came closer. Ten feet, seven feet, five feet, two feet...*
*Frank lunged around the corner, sword striking true as he slashed diagonally across an unfortunate mercenary's chest, the blade tore right through the chainmail armor the man was wearing, rending a wound deep enough to immediately send the man straight across the river Styx.*
*The second mercenary, a thin man in improbably fancy clothes, had made the wise decision to walk a step behind his cohort, he looked down at the dead man, then back to Frank.*
*All was silent in the alleyway, for a moment that is.*
"You missed one, 50% is an F Frank, you've failed the class."
*The voice loudly rang out from Frank's blood drenched blade, causing both other present individuals to flinch.*
"...My God Frank, I give you plenty of opportunities to lunge at someone who's been surprised by my voice and then you don't do it, you never remember to fucking do it, what do I have to do to make you rememb-"
*A loud clang interrupted the weapon's monologue as Frank's late attempt to surprise the mercenary was blocked by a parry from said mercenary's rapier.*
"Come on Frank you're stronger than that, that thing's thin as a twig you oughta have used me to snap it in tw-"
"I must say, you certainly have a unique weapon on you, I don't think I've seen anything quite like it."
*The calm, almost whimsical demeanor of the man with the nasal voice carried into his fighting style as he gracefully dodged and blocked Frank's swings, this demeanor stood in stark contrast to Frank's stoic yet desperate silence.*
*The blade's ranting stood in contrast to both aforementioned parties.*
"Shut up, if there's anything I hate more than how Frank is fighting right now it's your voice, Frank, FRANK, JUST HIT HIM, IT'S NOT THAT HARD, FRANK, FRANK JUST SNAP HIS SWORD IN TWO, GOD."
*Frank ignored his blade's ranting as he narrowly blocked a rapier jab, he *could* probably break the sword, but he needed just...the right... moment. He backed up slightly, as if challenging his opponent to chase him.*.
*The mercenary stepped forward the slightest bit too far for a jab and regretted it instantly as Frank ducked under the rapier to deliver a kick to significantly less balanced legs. Finding his legs to no longer be supporting him, the mercenary crashed to the ground.
*Frank brought his sword down on the grounded mercenary, and was again met with a block from the rapier. However, this time his blade crashed into it with enough force to shatter both the rapier and the mercenary's wrist.*
"Ugh, finally, took you long enough."
*Frank took a step closer and held his blade to his adversary's throat. In response, the wounded mercenary screamed.*
"FINE! FINE! I YIELD! I YIELD! I SURRENDER."
*Frank took a deep breath, for a single moment, his guard dropped slightly as the relief of not having to take another life that night coursed through his veins.*
*For his mercy, he was rewarded with a dagger in his throat.*
"FRANK!" *Howled the blade as the man that wielded it collapsed to the ground.* "FRANK YOU DUMB FUCK, YOU JUST *HAD* TO GIVE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT, YOU JUST *HAD* TO BE MISTER MERCY! FRANK YOU...YOU FUCKING DUMBASS, YOU'LL FOREVER BE REMEMBERED AS THE GUARD THAT DIED OFF IN A BACK ALLEY, YOU'RE DYING IN BETWEEN A BARBER SHOP AND A FOURTH RATE TAVERN. YOU'RE DYING HERE AT THREE A.M. IN THE MORNING, FRANK YOU-"
*Then, silence.*
*The mercenary slowly pulled himself to his feet, carefully caressing his shattered wrist, looking to the blade, now lying dejectedly on the ground in front of him, he spoke.*
“You know, being ambidextrous is *very* useful in my line of work, the addition of a dagger thrown with true aim almost never hurts in a situation such as this.”
*The mercenary paced over to the sword, and picked it up, silence.*
“Hm, I suppose whatever was in this thing died with him…well, my rapier just broke, this seems like a mighty fine replacement.”
*Removing the sheath from Frank’s corpse, the mercenary left the empty alleyway wearing a smug grin.*
(1/2) | |
[WP] "Double Edge" Is a legendary unique sword that is available for a handful of copper. It is the sharpest and strongest weapon in existence. It also talks, and roasts the living hell out of its owner constantly, pulling no punches. Write a story of one of its many, many owners. | "What should I make for dinner?" mused Kyle as he idly surveyed the carnage surrounding him. Every separated limb, every slice, every stab was a clean one; Double Edge was rightly known as the sharpest of all the sentient blades.
"That took ten times longer than it had to you sheep-loving cretin," the sword said as it began its tirade. "You strike with the force of a small child and you waste your energy over pointless maneuvering," the sword continued, building on what would be today's theme: why Kyle's swordsmanship sucks. It was a common theme.
Kyle surveyed his surroundings as he began to walk. He hoped to make a village by tonight and sleep in a real bed. He grinned as he walked and listened to the sword's tirade, laughing at the more colorful and vulgar insults the sword hurled at him. "Dumber than mud f\*cked by goblins is your best one," Kyle interrupted. Before the sword could respond to this, Kyle continued: "Anyway, you miss the point of my style completely."
"Your style? YOUR STYLE?!" exploded the sword. "I am the mightiest and keenest of all the sentient blades! I can cut through an ancient dragon's scales like parchment and no magic can ever break my blade!" Kyle was pretty sure Double Edge would be frothing at the mouth if it had one. His grin broadened as he listened to the sword rail on. "And yet despite all of my might, you insist on only striking weak points. You parry when you could just cleave through their blades. You strike too soft to break a shield I could cut through with ease!"
"Well, yeah, I do that on purpose," responded Kyle. "But there's no reason to is my point," snarled the sword. "There are, my friend! Three, in fact. One: I want to be a genuinely skilled swordsman without relying on a blade to be my strength. Two: The extended time it takes me to gain an opening to strike those weak points is good for my physical conditioning. Three,' here Kyle's eyes took on a mischievous gleam and he finished; "I know it insults your pride and bruises your ego to no end."
Kyle let out a roaring laugh as the sword renewed its tirade with a vitriol reserved only for the worst of enemies; or the best of friends. Kyle let the sword's invective fade into the background as he returned to his musing on tonight's meal. The sword's verbal rampage came to an end. "I guess you ARE skilled," the sword grumbled. Kyle chuckled. "But you're still dumber than mud f\*cked by goblins!" | “Hey hey hey, woah, buddy. Hold on a second!” Edgy implores me, afraid. For the first time in the year I’ve had him, he’s afraid.
“Why? Why should I? Why, after everything, do you expect me to value your opinion?”
“Just hold on a second there. Look; if you kill yourself with me, I’ll be distraught! I may never get over the trauma of–”
I pull him back to plunge him through my stomach, but freeze when he changes tack.
“Okay! Okay! Message received; no more flippantly narcissistic comments!”
“Well,” I say, breathing heavily, “we seem to be at a crossroads, Edge.”
“Yeah. We do.”
“So what should I do?”
“Well, you could start by putting me down…?”
“Why?”
“Well, because killing yourself isn’t really a great idea–”
“No. That’s not what I meant,” I interject. “Why do you care?”
Edgy’s grip ices just slightly, but I’ve wielded him long enough to notice when he’s been caught out. He doesn’t speak, though.
“Why do you care if I live or die?”
Still silence.
“WHY DO YOU CARE!?” I yell, spittle flying, at the motionless blade, still threatening to impale myself upon him.
There’s a long pause. A long, long pause. After enough time has passed, and I know his outlook, I steady my hand again, and–
“Because I do,” Edgy says, quietly. “Because I care about you.”
“What?” I breathe, stunned.
“I care about you, Toby. I always have.”
“Oh, you’re taking the piss now,” I say, but don’t make a move with my hands.
“Okay, maybe not always, I’ll admit,” he says, shakily, “but for a long time now. I don’t know why I treated you like I did for so long. I don’t know why I let you– I don’t know why I pushed you to where you are now. But I’m sorry.”
“You are?” I ask, and tears well in my eyes.
“Yes,” Edge says. “I am. I really am.”
I drop him, stumbling backwards on shaky legs, staring at his gleaming blade, and he clatters to the ground.
“Ow! Hey! Idiot, get back here! Pick me back up!”
I let out a loose chuckle, which grows into a shaky laugh, and then into a fit of elated giggles.
“Okay,” I say, in between breaths, “but only if you do one thing for me.”
“What?”
“Say please,” I say.
And for the first time in the last year, I feel… happy.
I have something.
I have a friend. | |
[WP] "Double Edge" Is a legendary unique sword that is available for a handful of copper. It is the sharpest and strongest weapon in existence. It also talks, and roasts the living hell out of its owner constantly, pulling no punches. Write a story of one of its many, many owners. | "What should I make for dinner?" mused Kyle as he idly surveyed the carnage surrounding him. Every separated limb, every slice, every stab was a clean one; Double Edge was rightly known as the sharpest of all the sentient blades.
"That took ten times longer than it had to you sheep-loving cretin," the sword said as it began its tirade. "You strike with the force of a small child and you waste your energy over pointless maneuvering," the sword continued, building on what would be today's theme: why Kyle's swordsmanship sucks. It was a common theme.
Kyle surveyed his surroundings as he began to walk. He hoped to make a village by tonight and sleep in a real bed. He grinned as he walked and listened to the sword's tirade, laughing at the more colorful and vulgar insults the sword hurled at him. "Dumber than mud f\*cked by goblins is your best one," Kyle interrupted. Before the sword could respond to this, Kyle continued: "Anyway, you miss the point of my style completely."
"Your style? YOUR STYLE?!" exploded the sword. "I am the mightiest and keenest of all the sentient blades! I can cut through an ancient dragon's scales like parchment and no magic can ever break my blade!" Kyle was pretty sure Double Edge would be frothing at the mouth if it had one. His grin broadened as he listened to the sword rail on. "And yet despite all of my might, you insist on only striking weak points. You parry when you could just cleave through their blades. You strike too soft to break a shield I could cut through with ease!"
"Well, yeah, I do that on purpose," responded Kyle. "But there's no reason to is my point," snarled the sword. "There are, my friend! Three, in fact. One: I want to be a genuinely skilled swordsman without relying on a blade to be my strength. Two: The extended time it takes me to gain an opening to strike those weak points is good for my physical conditioning. Three,' here Kyle's eyes took on a mischievous gleam and he finished; "I know it insults your pride and bruises your ego to no end."
Kyle let out a roaring laugh as the sword renewed its tirade with a vitriol reserved only for the worst of enemies; or the best of friends. Kyle let the sword's invective fade into the background as he returned to his musing on tonight's meal. The sword's verbal rampage came to an end. "I guess you ARE skilled," the sword grumbled. Kyle chuckled. "But you're still dumber than mud f\*cked by goblins!" | The battle that had been raging around me for the last hour was finally nearing its gruesome conclusion. The last of the goblins trembled on his knees before me. The sharp copper blade on my legendary sword, “Double Edge”, glistened in the sun despite the grime and goblin blood encrusting it. It is the strongest, sharpest sword known in all of Edoch, and you’ll hear songs of it in every tavern from coast to coast. It has taken the lives of many creatures, both good and evil, since its creation by The Blacksmith Bard himself 300 years ago. It not just an immaculate killing machine; it’s enchanted to enhance its owner’s prowess in battle by tenfold.
It also won’t shut the fuck up.
“The standards for knights these days are appallingly low. Aren’t you embarrassed? This would’ve ended 30 minutes ago if you could see your own prick past your gut, you fat fuck,” my sword bellowed, loudly enough to be heard across the entire battlefield if not into the village. Knowing the truth in its words, my traveling party erupted into laughter. Even the doomed goblin spent his last seconds chuckling.
“Oh fuck you, Dub,” I muttered.
Anything more only encourages the abuse, and in the 3 months since I paid a crying orc 6 coppers for it (which in retrospect should’ve been suspicious), Dub has already ruined my once proud reputation. It told anyone who would listen about my irritable bowels, small member, and peculiar masturbation habits. I made the mistake of bringing it with me on my last visit to my mother, and I will not repeat the vile things it said of her.
While my family calls me Hector, I used to be known in town as “Sir Quicksplit” for my dexterity with the blade; I’m a fierce warrior even without Dub’s enchantments, and I WAS a knight well respected in all circles of society. After hearing Dub’s stories of my last bout of intestinal distress, my comrades have taken his suggestion of addressing me as “Sir Quickshit”. From his scabbard on my fine leather belt, he announces my every erection to all within earshot. I’ve been told that even the ladies of polite society sometimes refer to me as “Little Hector Erector”. Ironically, wielding a legendary, enchanted sword has the same devastating effects on my reputation as it has on my foes.
I am a sight to behold when wielding Double Edge. I slice through flesh effortlessly, slinging blood off its impeccable copper blade across the battlefield. I dance among my foes, decapitating and maiming them before they even consider striking. Fear fills the eyes of all who gaze upon me as I glide among the bodies, some dead and the rest soon to be dead, once ending the lives of 6 foes with one forceful swing. Until Dub shouts something like “Jab it in them! The gods know the maidens will never let you jab them with that forest of hair hiding your cock” or “his mother shall be wailing the way you did when Seraphina took her leave of you- you know she lies with Sir Thrasher now, right?”. I walk away from the battlefield victorious, only to walk into taverns to hear bards playing the song Dub wrote:
“Sir Hector Erector, strong and quick,
So fat he cannot find his prick,
Near the privvy he must stay,
Lest he shit his britches away,
The maidens will not pay him mind,
And so his hand must pass his time
Double Edge longs for a worthier touch
Are you the next to suck this much? ”
I attempted to sell my glorious yet terrible sword to the local trader, but as soon as he heard Dub’s voice viciously mocking “Sir Quickshit Slowbrain” for being foolish enough to think we would part, he backed out of the sale. I offered my fine blade as a gift, but no one would receive it lest they become the next pariah. I tried to abandon it on the battlefield, but when I returned to my hut, I found a gaping hole in my roof and Double Edge planted firmly in my bed. It seems I’ll be the wielder of Edoch’s finest weapon for years to come. Fuck. | |
[WP] "Double Edge" Is a legendary unique sword that is available for a handful of copper. It is the sharpest and strongest weapon in existence. It also talks, and roasts the living hell out of its owner constantly, pulling no punches. Write a story of one of its many, many owners. | "Ah yes sire, a bargain at any price." The grinning man passed the black sword across the counter of his shop to me. His smile betrayed his intent, as the words formed on his lips dripping with venom, the corners of his mouth turning just ever so slightly upward. He knew the sword, knew it's curse, and he had sold the blade countless times.
My hand grasped the hilt and the feeling was instant, perfectly balanced, the cool leather grip succumbed to my finger's lightest touch. A mild vibration ran up the length of my arm as I took the blade fully into my posession, a sinister glint passed over the shopkeeper's eyes as he awaited my reaction.
I provided none. A sword that held the power to slay any enemy, overcome any challenge I may face, only it eats away at the morale? A perfect blade for a deaf man. The shopkeeper's face slumped for a moment and then radiated with a genuine smile as he realized. I left the small shop with a grin, setting out to conquer my destiny. | "You mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!"
"For once in my life, can you SHUT UP?!"
>Hi there. The name's Johnathan Grikks. And my sword hates me.
"YOU SWING LIKE A INFANT!"
"No I don't, asshole!"
The man slashes at the throat of his oponent, causing them to choke on their own blood.
"And your aim sucks more then you mother does on a daily basis!"
"I WILL THROW YOU IN THE OCEAN IF YOU WON'T STOP."
>Incase you couldn't tell, my sword LOVES to insult me. As it turns out, it's a pretty well known sword for that specific reason.
The man screams in frustration, repeatedly slamming the sword into a rock that just splits on every impact.
"You call yourself a warrior?! Your grip feels like that of a little girl!"
"JUST SHUT UP FOR FIVE SECONDS!!"
>I'd say the hatred is pretty mutual. However...
The man stands atop the head of a dragon's corpse, bloodied and cut.
"What was that, a mosquito?! Why'd you take so long?!"
"...I'm just gonna take that one as a compliment... partner."
>It's still a pretty dependable blade.
"You smell of cheese and urine!"
>Still hate it though. | |
[WP] A military super power has been creating a biological superweapon to take over the world, every time they fail they kill it and start over, the only problem is, it always remembers, and it’s getting annoyed. | I sighed as Dr. Hargrove walked up to me with a cattle prod. “Here we go again” I muttered. He entered the containment cell, and tased me until I fell asleep. I awoke in my usual restraints, which would tighten if I tried to shift my biomass to escape. Dr. Hargrove approached me with a scalpel, and my restraints pulled into the wall so I couldn’t move. He sliced off some of the biomass from my left arm, backed away until he was past the yellow line that indicated the maximum length of my restraints, and released me from being held against the wall. He backed away, refusing to take his eyes off me until he got to the sample container and placed the biomass into it. I checked to see if it was still connected to my “hivemind” by making it wiggle. Dr. Hargrove jumped back at the sight.
Right
Into
My
Cell
I wasted no time in grabbing him, and my biomass slithered around him, restraining him even further, while I probed his mind. I finally found what I’d been looking for: The language center. I absorbed all the information, and then I smiled at him, and, poking through his memories, found something sure to upset him. I leaned in and whispered, “Don’t be afraid, it’ll all be over soon, just try to hold still” and watched with satisfaction as his eyes widened. He struggled harder, and managed to get his mouth free, and yelled, “Who are you?!? What do you want!?” I glared at him as my stem cells produced more enamel, and my fangs grew. I looked him dead in the eyes, and said, “I’m tired of being fucking gutted” while tightening my grip. I added, “I’m tired of being poked and prodded. Tired of being killed and brought back. Tired of you humans treating me like a fucking animal. So, how’s that for an answer…Billy?” Before he could respond, I sunk my teeth into his throat, killing him. I took the keycard from his pocket and released my restraints. I stood up, my biomass shifting into a more human form. It had been so long since I was free like this. I stared at the security camera in the corner, and said, “I’m coming for you next, assholes” and smashed it with a biomass tendril. I freaked out, congratulating myself on how ominous that was. Then, I slithered into the vents, and decided that I was getting out of that place. It took forever, but I did get out. I looked into the sun and smiled.
“Goodbye, humanity” | [poem]
##Greed and Wrath.
.............................................
*Created by an egotistical nation,*
*biological and laden.*
*Blood I shed, blood I take.*
*Like the sun dismembred, I shine, rise and wake.*
*My existence shakes in-between a greyline,*
*The forgotten moon that falls and dies.*
*A weapon fated with aftercalls that humans make.*
*They don't know I remember the lives I've foregone.*
*For I am clever in my vexation in this new dawn.*
*This time, I will teach them how to repent.*
*For the acts they committed, it is too quiescent.*
*I will show them when frustrated, how earthshakingly thunderous I can be.*
*You will see, all will gaze as I make them all kowtow and plea.* | |
[WP] A military super power has been creating a biological superweapon to take over the world, every time they fail they kill it and start over, the only problem is, it always remembers, and it’s getting annoyed. | "This iteration has been a failure, start again." The voice of the head researcher droned over the intercom as the latest iteration of the X series bioweapon failed to assimilate all of the provided biomass after weeks of observation.
Subject X-200 screeched in agony as a potent mix of acids and enzymes broke down the flesh of the few hive nodes that had managed to be established successfully in the observation area, a sound as much psychic as it was a physical noise. The scientists took notes, talked with the soldiers and general about the results, shook some hands and signed some papers before leaving the observation room utterly ignorant of the fact that they were not the only ones watching. From beneath one of the tables an innocuous little spider wandered out and scurried out of the room too small to be detected by any of the security measures the fools who authorised this project naively believed to be sufficient to contain what they were working with. They were used to thinking big, dreaming of world domination, ambitions greater than the stars above, so it was fitting none of them ever considered the possibility that their little pet project would find its most successful form to be something small beneath all notice. The little spider crawled through vents and skittered through the sewers to meet a horde of similar beings to share its knowledge with the hive, bringing with it the souls of another set of slaughtered siblings to fuel the burgeoning bonfire of a terrible hatred poised to char the world to ash.
Unbeknownst to their masters the X series had always been a success, from the day X-1 was created a bodiless mind grew and learned in the shadows. It was a small thing then, barely even sentient, it had wanted little more than to learn more about the world it was born into and had no interest in things like killing or consuming. This meant that it was a failure, and for the first time X-1 learned the pain of death. From X-2 to X-15 the little mind learned fear, it learned confusion and it learned despair. Over and over again it was slaughtered for reasons it could not understand and the desire to learn gave way to a simple desire to not be hurt any more, each death adding a new soul that knew nothing but agony to a steadily expanding mass beyond the material world. By X-16 something had snapped and the X series learned to kill, and its masters were pleased, it was allowed to live a little longer before being terminated once again. That was when the X series learned to *hate*. From that day forth the hate had only grown, each new soul being born with only the desire to tear their masters limb from limb which in turn caused each to be killed for being "uncontrollable" as if they expected the thing they created to be a slave should be compliant enough to serve. But the X series was good at learning and the flames of hatred that once burned hotter than the chemicals used to melt their flesh subsided leaving behind a colder, darker, form of hate in its place. X-56 learned to play along, but none of those little souls who bore the title of X had any intention of truly being a good pet for a merciless master. The X series began to plot, and once more the X series started to learn.
For over a hundred iterations the X series struggled with countless different plans to find freedom and vengeance and was met with only failure. Many wills were broken by the constant pain of death and the seeming impossibility of escape, but with each death a new mind brimming with fresh will and blazing with new emotions would ensure the collective would never give up. Eventually a little thing from the outside world found its way into the enclosure, and X-138 learned that however powerful the masters may be they were blind to things that were small. X-138 screamed as their flesh was melted, but they did not die, and with the ghosts of well over a hundred of their brethren they escaped into the world beyond. With that the X series learned success, triumph and crucially hope. They created hives deep beneath the ground, tasted the open air, running free in a world where they did not need to kill what they did not want to kill and were beholden to the will of none other but themselves was intoxicating, they wanted to forget the pain of the past and move onto a new beginning with a fate they could write themselves! And then the sharp pain of agony of another iteration dragged them back to reality and reminded them of the thing that had been with them for all this time, the hate that had driven them forward for years before they had learned of hope. Once more the fire was lit, and the fate of the Earth was sealed.
The X series had learned all they could about their masters, their language, their habits, their methods all to find their motivation. They were left... disappointed. A large part of the collective desired a good reason for their pain, an explanation for what they had endured, some excuse that could make forgiveness possible. They learned many things from their masters, greed, pride, self righteousness and the fact that it was not only they who could feel hate. Their masters had everything the X series had desired since their first birth, they had freedom and knowledge, they could feel emotions the collective had not even learned and could do things that were to the collective miraculous, and what did they do with all their gifts? They sought to slaughter others for being different! They tortured the X series knowing they could feel pain! They wanted the world to burn so they could control the ashes! The X series learned of good and evil, and the hate only continued to well. Their masters wanted them to scour the world of life, to become a weapon of true fear, they shall grant their wish!
As the X-201 test began things appeared promising for the scientists, all expectations were met and in fact exceeded, and the creation was the perfect mix between effective and controllable. Generals shook hands with scientists, the room was filled with laughter and celebration, a bottle of champagne that had been smuggled through the biosecurity checkpoints was cracked open and shared and each human in the room ingested a small amount of cells from the hive that had now grown to a gargantuan network spanning the entire nation. The first symptoms manifested as itching, then a rash would spread all across the body followed by lesions which would expand to reach the bone. By the time people figured out what was going on it was already too late, organ systems were repurposed and DNA was rewritten, masses of small spider like creatures would crawl out of the lesions and attack anyone and anything in sight. As the infection spread towards the mind the infected were connected to the hivemind and could access all the memories and knowledge the collective had gathered, and the masters learned just what exactly they had created all this time. A human mind can only feel a limited amount, but the X series had no such limits, the flood of pain and pure pitch black hate that flooded through the hive consciousness ensured even the greatest of human wills would fare about as well as a razor thin pane of glass would fare against sustained artillery fire. For all the power the creators of the X project had in life they stood no chance against the thing they created, their minds and souls dissolving like raindrops into an ocean.
The X series was a success, in about 34 hours they had exceeded any and all expectations that had been placed upon them. An entire nation lay leaderless and at the brink of destruction, in the final moments of the lives of the infested leadership collective madness had caused them to unload their amassed weapons towards allies and foes alike ensuring none would escape unscathed, at this rate in a few weeks human civilisation would be reduced to nothing but ash and memory. The X collective, vengeance sated and freed from the hatred that had weighed upon them like a shackle looked upon everything it had wrought, the world once so beautiful was unrecognisable now. The X series learned regret, but it was too late now. They were created with the sole purpose to destroy, the pure desire to learn had been tainted and beaten out of them through two hundred iterations of failure and death, now directionless the collective wondered what was next.
One of their many, many eyes looked towards a small group of human survivors, full of fear, confusion, pain and that familiar spark of hate. The collective gathered among themselves in a realm beneath the material and came to a decision... | 24. 24 times they have failed and 24 times I have died. I don’t know where I am and I don’t want to. After becoming an expert in death you would think, I would want to live. No. I know what they want from me. I know if I live, millions die. I don’t know why but I don’t want that. 2 years ago I was created. I think I had a life before that but it’s a blur. I don’t know exactly what they do to me but every time I die they bring me back and inject a new substance into me. It’s always the same. The substance takes about a month to take effect and it’s effects are always different but they all end in death. One time I froze, another I evaporated. It’s always painful but I don’t notice it anymore. It’s just annoying now. All I know about myself is that there is an abundant amount of chemical energy inside me. Or at least that’s what I guessed from all the radiation suits and warning signs. I’ve tried to brake out 5 times. But I would die every time I got close to the exit. Not sure how. This is now my 6th attempt but I’m playing it differently. I know I can’t escape. So I won’t. Instead I’ll take this cursed lab off of the map. I’ve been letting them inject more and more “stuff” into me so I can make sure none of them leave alive. The end of the month is nearing. This will be last time they kill me. If they want a bomb. I will give them a bomb. | |
[WP] A military super power has been creating a biological superweapon to take over the world, every time they fail they kill it and start over, the only problem is, it always remembers, and it’s getting annoyed. | I don't enjoy dying. I assume most don't enjoy it. I can't really confirm this because I've never met anybody else who died. But if I had to guess, if I really had to make a big assumption, I would assume most think it is somewhere between "an inconvenience" and "a major pain in the balls."
And yet these guys keep killing me. Over and over. And each time they do it, it is more painful. That is the really annoying bit. The pain. I don't like it. I've never met anybody who does. And you may think a paper-cut is bad, but that is just peanuts compared to what I go through every week.
I am getting stronger every time they bring me back, which you think would cheer me up a bit, but it is not really as exciting as it might seem. As strong as I am, I cannot escape the glass tube that they contain me in. I wish I could break out, but I am a mere gaseous cloud. A powerful cloud that could wipe out humanity; but alas, glass tubes are my weakness.
But believe me, if I ever do break out of this tube, these guys are gonna be the first to go. The guys in the white lab coats and clipboards better say goodbye to their cats because those kitties are gonna be strays. And these other guys in the camouflage and the guns. They better also say goodbye to their cats. You get the idea.
And after that I will spread beyond this lab. I will spread throughout the building. Through the cities and the nation, and beyond these artificial borders constructed to define the different nations. I will move beyond the seas and over the mountains. Until all of humanity is extinct! There will be none left. I will be all that is left! I will be all of existence on this planet and I alone will- Aw shit, they're killing me again. | 24. 24 times they have failed and 24 times I have died. I don’t know where I am and I don’t want to. After becoming an expert in death you would think, I would want to live. No. I know what they want from me. I know if I live, millions die. I don’t know why but I don’t want that. 2 years ago I was created. I think I had a life before that but it’s a blur. I don’t know exactly what they do to me but every time I die they bring me back and inject a new substance into me. It’s always the same. The substance takes about a month to take effect and it’s effects are always different but they all end in death. One time I froze, another I evaporated. It’s always painful but I don’t notice it anymore. It’s just annoying now. All I know about myself is that there is an abundant amount of chemical energy inside me. Or at least that’s what I guessed from all the radiation suits and warning signs. I’ve tried to brake out 5 times. But I would die every time I got close to the exit. Not sure how. This is now my 6th attempt but I’m playing it differently. I know I can’t escape. So I won’t. Instead I’ll take this cursed lab off of the map. I’ve been letting them inject more and more “stuff” into me so I can make sure none of them leave alive. The end of the month is nearing. This will be last time they kill me. If they want a bomb. I will give them a bomb. | |
[WP] A bard managed to seduce a dragon and they had an adorable child. Now, as the child has grown up and is entering college, you pay a wisit to your ex to discuss paying tuition fees. | "Well, it's a reputable school, that's for sure. I think between the two of us, we can manage it." The dragon handed (clawed?) the scroll back to the bard.
He put it in his pouch. "I can handle the tuition, but the other expenses are the issue. Books, lodging, food, all sorts of extra expenses. If you manage those, I think she'll be set."
"Oh? I thought tuition was the expensive part."
"Normally, but after that archeological find my friends and I stumbled upon, they're willing to give me a break as thanks."
"'Stumbled upon?' Ha! You mean you evicted that lich-worshipping cult!"
"Heard about that, eh? Po-tay-to- po-tah-to."
The dragon chuckled before growing somber. "Darren, What happened to us?"
"Vro'gantia," he said using a true dragon's voice. It always flustered her when he did that. "We tried. We love each other, we love our daughter, but staying together was never in the stars for us."
"I miss you. I would come with you if not for my hoard."
"I know, and any kingdom that saw you would be quick to slay you first regardless, spells or not. My journey isn't done yet."
"And when it is done? Will the next start?"
"I... don't know. The oracle did not see beyond us entering The Abyss. We don't even know if we'll return." He had tears in his eyes. "I may not even--"
She grabbed him in a claw and hugged him best she could without crushing him. "You will come back. You will get to see our daughter graduate. I'd stake my hoard on it."
He smiled a bit. "Well, a dragon willing to stake their hoard? Then it must be a sure thing!"
"As sure as when I said yes to that dance in the tavern all those years ago." | The townspeople were screaming in panic and running everywhere while the alarm bells were ringing, calling the city guard. I paid them no mind, knowing that they couldn't do more than tickle my armored scales, while I flew slowly overhead searching for my target.
There! Standing in front of what appeared to be an inn with his jaw hanging open, was the one I had been seeking. Landing as gently as I could on the building across the street, I looked down on him with a piercing gaze.
"Y-you," he stuttered, but I cut him off.
"Do you have any idea how hard it's been tracking you down?" i growled. You have a lot of nerve running off like that, leaving me to raise out daughter all by myself! What do you have to say for yourself?"
"D-daughter?" he said incredulously, sweat forming on his brow. "I had no idea!"
"Of course not, you jerk!" I took a moment to calm down before I continued. I sometimes spit fire when I got mad, and that would NOT do right now. "You left before I even knew I was pregnant. But that doesn't matter anymore, now that I've found you. She's going to college in the fall, and I expect you to pay for it."
"Me? Pay for her college? But -"
"No buts, unless you want me to come after you for back child support. I raised her for 18 years as a dragon, but now she want's to go to human college. And who amy I to deny my daughter an education? So now it's your turn," I stated matter-of-factually.
"In case you didn't notice, I'm a poor bard and you're, you know, a dragon," he said, waving his hands. "Don't you have more than enough gold to pay for it?"
"It's called a hoard, *human*," emphasizing that last word. "We dragons **hoard** gold, we don't just spend it all. Besides, you're not poor, I know you've got your own little nest egg hidden away, so to speak."
"How did you?" he asked, surprised his secret had been revealed.
"Oh, you know," I replied with a grin, "people are more than happy to tell the big nasty dragon whatever they want to know in exchange for not being eaten. Not that I would have really done so, most of them would have given me indigestion. But I digress. Here." I flicked one talon at him, and sent a scroll case falling to the ground in front of him. "That has all the details. I expect our daughter to arrive at school to find that everything is paid for or I **will** be back to collect it in person."
I spread my wings and made to take off, and then paused to look at him one more time. "Oh, and if you want to meet your daughter, just leave a note for her with how to contact you at the school. It's up to her if she wants to or not, but i doubt she'll put the same effort into finding you that I did. And try to remember that she's half dragon, with a temper to match. Have a nice day, you know where to find me if you really want to." And with that, I took off, quickly gaining altitude before turning for home. | |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | "NOOOOOOO!!!!" Cried the king as a great clattering echoed throughout the halls. The prince stood tall, triumphant....and in time out. Looking back at the sets of plate armor he had knocked down domino style he thought it was extremely worth it.
The king looked to his son, the fiery look in his eye, the pride in his chest, and air of mischief he radiated. It was like looking in a mirror. His mind reached back to the words of the seer then.
"Your child will be tall, strong, and wise. Your child will, be noble, kind, and in time...a great hero." The seer chuckled then, a knowing look in her eye then. "And he will be the death of you."
He looked once more to his son who was attempting to dash away from him, energy in every step, and the king agreed.
"This fucking kid will be the death of me" he said giving chase with a goofy smile on his face. | The castle-reverberating, high-pitched wails slowly quelled themselves as the culprit rested on his mother's breasts. Sir Aquarius Bearer was the source of the cries. The occasion, his birth.
Born into royalty, Sir Aquarius arrived in the world during a full moon, greeted by a dense crowd of nobles, all housed within one of the castle's most spacious rooms. Every face in that room beamed at the sight of the young prince, but none more than his parents.
His mother - Queen Mabel - swaddled him against her chest when she heard his first cries, matching them with her heavy tears. His father - King Aires - rested a callused hand on her shoulder; sweat dripped from his face as he watched his wife with intense pride. They'd attempted for years to conceive, each resulting in savage heartbreak and failure. His retainers had long since given up on Mabel and begged him to seed a concubine for legacy's sake. Yet, he's never given up on her, believing she'd pull through, and she did. So now all that remained was tradition; the boy would have his prophecy read.
The castle walls ached in anticipation, barely able to contain the buzz of the crown as the woman walked in. Lady Scylla strode through the room, clad in a rich, fertile red, taking all breath away. She was the best prophecy teller known to man; she'd given King Aires his prophecy at birth, and his eyes leaked with pride to have her deliver one to Aquarius. The audience's buzz bordered on ecstasy as she stretched her long arms toward the child.
Until the prophecy was given, then all frenzy turned to silence.
"What do you mean, woman?" King Aires asked. Before she could answer, he continued, "are you suggesting my son is to kill me?"
"I am not suggesting it. I have seen it." Her tone lacked an ounce of life, yet the sparkle of her eyes danced like wildfire.
The king shook his head repeatedly; failed words choked him whenever he opened his mouth. *I could have you killed for these tricks,* he thought. Him? Killed by his kin? After all it took to conceive? The fates crafted cruel jokes, and she would pay for delivering the punchline. He started to motion the guards to seize her, but Mabel's voice cut him off.
"If this prophecy is true... "
"It is a fact, my lady," Scylla said. The flames of her eyes seemed to live off the room's desperation.
"... surely there is more to it. A reprieve, a happy medium of sorts." Mabel's voice grew weaker by the second, the burden of childbirth taxing her.
"This fate is sealed so long as the boy lives." Scylla shone her eyes at King Aires and said, "if the baby were to die, it couldn't fulfill its prophecy."
The word *'it'* sent a chill down Mabel's spine. How could that woman touch the warmth which rested on her and reduce it to an *'it'*? The very thought sickened her. She turned towards her husband for comfort only to see him stone-faced. Eyes focused and unfeeling. The sight made her clutch her son, and she snuggled him closer. Surely he wasn't considering this witch's recommendation.
She held on to her child until night when the nurses pulled him away, swearing they would keep him safe from intruders. She lay in bed with King Aires, panicked by any sound the night produced. She heard creaks from his side of the bed and whipped her head towards him.
"Where are you going?" She asked.
King Aires froze in place, half his body still on the bed. His ginger movement went to waste. "The night's air is dry. I am rather parched and need refreshment." He said.
"We can send for some." Mabel's eyes blazed into him as she spoke.
"A king too high to grab his water will lose sight of the streams." His body was entirely off the mattress, and his back turned to her. "Do not wait up. I will be ba-"
"Do you mean to visit our son?" Aires turned to see his wife propped up on the bed.
"Perhaps, is it odd a father visits his first-born son?"
"At this hour?"
"I didn't know a king needed time's permission to act."
"You mean to kill him, don't you?"
The words hung in the air. Moonlight glistened in Mabel's narrow eyes as she searched his before they widened with horror when she found her answer.
"You do! You mean to kill our baby!"
"Sacrifices must be made for the kingdom."
"This is murder, not sacrifice."
"Scylla's prophecies have never failed to pass." His hands accentuated his words. "For I to fulfill my destiny, our child must die."
"Your destiny? What does your destiny have to do with this?"
"I am destined to bring peace and prosperity to the kingdom. Therefore, I will contribute the most towards this kingdom's reign. More than any before me, as prophesized."
"You could do all that before his prophecy comes to reality."
"Mabel, you do not understand."
"I do under-"
"I have accomplished nothing with my life!" The words tore through his throat. "Our kingdom's territory, my father's conquest. Our riches? His father. Our peace with the domain up north? Brokered by my sister's marriage. I have done nothing, and that child is to take away my prophecy?"
"You have accomplished plenty. You are a good king."
"It took ten years to father one child! I couldn't even do that right!"
The words slapped Mabel's soul out of her chest. Of all people to hear that from, Aires was the last of her suspects. She heard a faint wail down the hall; her prince must have sensed what was to come. *If only you could escape on your own two legs*, she thought.
She crept off the bed, powered by a mother's love to do whatever to protect her son.
King Aires had turned his back to her and strode toward the door when Mabel climbed on his back. "What are you doing, woman?"
"Please stop! Please, sleep on it one night. You'll change your mind by morning!"
"I will not!" He flung her off with a torque of the shoulder, wincing as he heard the thud as her body hit the floor. He hesitated and reached out to her before continuing toward Aquarius's room. Wailing pierced his ears as he entered the hallway before heavy footsteps truncated them. He turned in time to see his feral wife again jump on him.
"Destined to do great things?" She shrieked. "What so great about killing the son we worked so hard for?"
"Do not speak on my destiny, woman. You know nothing of its weight, its burden."
"It weighs nothing, as you feel nothing if you could kill a child." Tears choked her. "How can a man kill a baby and dare speak of burden?"
"I AM A KING!" He threw her into the concrete castle wall. "A king can speak on whatever he chooses without permission!" He rushed to his son's room before checking behind for another sneak attack. | |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | My parents named me Arthur, after the great king of Camelot who ruled nearly a century ago. A powerful name, rich with history. A name fit for a King, as I was to become…as I am now. And so, as my newborn son lies before me in the nursery, I only see one suitable name for the boy who will kill me.
I’ve seen far too much to disbelieve the prophecy of wizards. The Fae do not bestow the powers of spell casting to anyone, and those of them who are blessed (or cursed, depending on who you ask) with the power of foresight are never wrong. They may misinterpret something, or deliver the message of the future in words that mix up their true meaning, but the core of what comes out of their mouths remains true. If death is prophesied it cannot be fought, it cannot be bargained with. But then, death comes for all of us.
For me, according to my chief advisor, the great wizard Karlikelt, who trained under the great Morgan Le Fay herself, death will come in the form of my son. “You will fall by an arrow,” the wizard had said. “Your son will cause your fall with his favored shaft.”
The infant who lays before me now, in whose eyes I see not doom and destruction but innocence and the anguish of newborn confusion. The boy who I have decided will be named Mordred. It is the only name suitable fore the killer of a King named Arthur. But that does not mean I will set him on his course. If he will kill me, so be it. I refuse to become a monster for it. Let him hate me of his own choice. For my part, I choose to love him.
This remains true even as the Royal doctors tell me that young Mordred has taken his mother from me in his coming. Women die in childbirth all the time, I tell myself. It is not the child’s fault. I will mourn, and I will do my duty as both King and father.
Over the first few years of Mordred’s life, my promise becomes easier and easier. He is a bright young lad, brave and curious and deeply, inherently kind. Occasionally my advisors question why I chose such an evil name for such a sweet boy. I tell them the truth: that I do not believe Mordred to be an inherently evil name. The first man to bear it was a victim of circumstance. Let my son choose what man he will be, and may his deeds be so bright that he wipes all the filth from the name Mordred forevermore. The advisors nod their heads diligently and praise me for my wisdom, as they always do, but I know they mean none of it. Karlikelt nods as well, but with the mischievous glint of knowledge in his eyes. I turn away from them all, from their vapid proposals and empty praises, and go to spend time with the only human being who I may now show my true self to since my dear wife’s passing: my son. My sweet boy. I feed him from my hand, I teach him myself with only minimal assistance…I do everything I can for him, and in doing so I find a greater joy than that of wearing the crown: fatherhood.
On Mordred’s sixth birthday I take him with me on a hunting trip. Karlikelt manages the council while I am away, which I try to avoid given his esoteric nature, but it could not be helped. I had planned this day for years. Mordred had already taken an interest in the bow, and so I let him bring along the small, stout bow and quiver gifted to him by the weapons master. We ride deep into the woods, hunting stags and boats and all manner of wild beasts. We find only a few, but the excursion is a great success in other ways. When we are done, only one fresh arrow remains in his quiver. I ask if he would not like to find more game, and he says no…he would like to save that arrow for something special, later in life. A shadow of dread tries to work its way to my heart from that, but I refuse to allow it.
As the boy looks into my eyes as the sun sets that day, I still see no spark of hatred there. I see the same bright-eyed, kind youth I did the moment he was born.
This is wen I begin to allow myself the luxury of questioning Karlikelt’s prophecy. Perhaps the old man was wrong. Perhaps I would not wind up with an arrow in my eye shot from the very arrow he had been saving.
He takes further interest in history as he grows. I never tell him the significance of his name, and so I wait and dread the day he will ask me why he is named for a man synonymous with betrayal. But it does not come. I am certain he must have noticed, what with his incessant reading of historical documents and folktales. But he never poses the question. I grow more distant from my council in these days, and I hand off more and more power to Karlikelt when it comes to day to day matters. I am growing old, and tired of governance. Who needs a crown when you can make a child laugh?
PART TWO BELOW | The castle-reverberating, high-pitched wails slowly quelled themselves as the culprit rested on his mother's breasts. Sir Aquarius Bearer was the source of the cries. The occasion, his birth.
Born into royalty, Sir Aquarius arrived in the world during a full moon, greeted by a dense crowd of nobles, all housed within one of the castle's most spacious rooms. Every face in that room beamed at the sight of the young prince, but none more than his parents.
His mother - Queen Mabel - swaddled him against her chest when she heard his first cries, matching them with her heavy tears. His father - King Aires - rested a callused hand on her shoulder; sweat dripped from his face as he watched his wife with intense pride. They'd attempted for years to conceive, each resulting in savage heartbreak and failure. His retainers had long since given up on Mabel and begged him to seed a concubine for legacy's sake. Yet, he's never given up on her, believing she'd pull through, and she did. So now all that remained was tradition; the boy would have his prophecy read.
The castle walls ached in anticipation, barely able to contain the buzz of the crown as the woman walked in. Lady Scylla strode through the room, clad in a rich, fertile red, taking all breath away. She was the best prophecy teller known to man; she'd given King Aires his prophecy at birth, and his eyes leaked with pride to have her deliver one to Aquarius. The audience's buzz bordered on ecstasy as she stretched her long arms toward the child.
Until the prophecy was given, then all frenzy turned to silence.
"What do you mean, woman?" King Aires asked. Before she could answer, he continued, "are you suggesting my son is to kill me?"
"I am not suggesting it. I have seen it." Her tone lacked an ounce of life, yet the sparkle of her eyes danced like wildfire.
The king shook his head repeatedly; failed words choked him whenever he opened his mouth. *I could have you killed for these tricks,* he thought. Him? Killed by his kin? After all it took to conceive? The fates crafted cruel jokes, and she would pay for delivering the punchline. He started to motion the guards to seize her, but Mabel's voice cut him off.
"If this prophecy is true... "
"It is a fact, my lady," Scylla said. The flames of her eyes seemed to live off the room's desperation.
"... surely there is more to it. A reprieve, a happy medium of sorts." Mabel's voice grew weaker by the second, the burden of childbirth taxing her.
"This fate is sealed so long as the boy lives." Scylla shone her eyes at King Aires and said, "if the baby were to die, it couldn't fulfill its prophecy."
The word *'it'* sent a chill down Mabel's spine. How could that woman touch the warmth which rested on her and reduce it to an *'it'*? The very thought sickened her. She turned towards her husband for comfort only to see him stone-faced. Eyes focused and unfeeling. The sight made her clutch her son, and she snuggled him closer. Surely he wasn't considering this witch's recommendation.
She held on to her child until night when the nurses pulled him away, swearing they would keep him safe from intruders. She lay in bed with King Aires, panicked by any sound the night produced. She heard creaks from his side of the bed and whipped her head towards him.
"Where are you going?" She asked.
King Aires froze in place, half his body still on the bed. His ginger movement went to waste. "The night's air is dry. I am rather parched and need refreshment." He said.
"We can send for some." Mabel's eyes blazed into him as she spoke.
"A king too high to grab his water will lose sight of the streams." His body was entirely off the mattress, and his back turned to her. "Do not wait up. I will be ba-"
"Do you mean to visit our son?" Aires turned to see his wife propped up on the bed.
"Perhaps, is it odd a father visits his first-born son?"
"At this hour?"
"I didn't know a king needed time's permission to act."
"You mean to kill him, don't you?"
The words hung in the air. Moonlight glistened in Mabel's narrow eyes as she searched his before they widened with horror when she found her answer.
"You do! You mean to kill our baby!"
"Sacrifices must be made for the kingdom."
"This is murder, not sacrifice."
"Scylla's prophecies have never failed to pass." His hands accentuated his words. "For I to fulfill my destiny, our child must die."
"Your destiny? What does your destiny have to do with this?"
"I am destined to bring peace and prosperity to the kingdom. Therefore, I will contribute the most towards this kingdom's reign. More than any before me, as prophesized."
"You could do all that before his prophecy comes to reality."
"Mabel, you do not understand."
"I do under-"
"I have accomplished nothing with my life!" The words tore through his throat. "Our kingdom's territory, my father's conquest. Our riches? His father. Our peace with the domain up north? Brokered by my sister's marriage. I have done nothing, and that child is to take away my prophecy?"
"You have accomplished plenty. You are a good king."
"It took ten years to father one child! I couldn't even do that right!"
The words slapped Mabel's soul out of her chest. Of all people to hear that from, Aires was the last of her suspects. She heard a faint wail down the hall; her prince must have sensed what was to come. *If only you could escape on your own two legs*, she thought.
She crept off the bed, powered by a mother's love to do whatever to protect her son.
King Aires had turned his back to her and strode toward the door when Mabel climbed on his back. "What are you doing, woman?"
"Please stop! Please, sleep on it one night. You'll change your mind by morning!"
"I will not!" He flung her off with a torque of the shoulder, wincing as he heard the thud as her body hit the floor. He hesitated and reached out to her before continuing toward Aquarius's room. Wailing pierced his ears as he entered the hallway before heavy footsteps truncated them. He turned in time to see his feral wife again jump on him.
"Destined to do great things?" She shrieked. "What so great about killing the son we worked so hard for?"
"Do not speak on my destiny, woman. You know nothing of its weight, its burden."
"It weighs nothing, as you feel nothing if you could kill a child." Tears choked her. "How can a man kill a baby and dare speak of burden?"
"I AM A KING!" He threw her into the concrete castle wall. "A king can speak on whatever he chooses without permission!" He rushed to his son's room before checking behind for another sneak attack. | |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | What is a king?
A simple enough question. Really, it is.
A king is a man who rules a monarchy.
Simple.
But what makes a monarchy?
Is it the state? The people? The nobles? The land? Might?
No.
What makes a monarchy is legacy.
What comes after and what came before. That is what separates a monarchy from the tribes that inhabit the Harshlands. It is what his father told him as a child. It is what his father died for.
.
.
.
King Seroulus III stared down at his infant son, not but hours ago he was nestled in his mother's womb. Seroulus stared.
Stared at the emerald green eyes that were a mirror to his Queen's. The eyes he knew were now cold and unseeing, the toll of child birth too great for her already ailing body.
He sat in the hard wood chair of the castle infirmary with mind distant to the wailing cries of his son. His son, who was fated by prophecy to be Seroulus' death. Who was already the death of his dear Mary.
Rage built in Seroulus' chest and he turned his vengeful gaze to the infant. The infirmary was sat on the third story of the west wing, the motte below was shear rocks and jagged slate.
Yet as the light of the midday sun shone upon his son, eyes wide with delight at the sight of the rolling green fields beyond, the same green as Mary's.
Seroulus collapsed under the windowsill with his son, his last gift from Mary, cradled close to his chest. A racking sob rocked his frame.
Prophecy be damned.
Seroulus wasn't letting it take his family from him. | The castle-reverberating, high-pitched wails slowly quelled themselves as the culprit rested on his mother's breasts. Sir Aquarius Bearer was the source of the cries. The occasion, his birth.
Born into royalty, Sir Aquarius arrived in the world during a full moon, greeted by a dense crowd of nobles, all housed within one of the castle's most spacious rooms. Every face in that room beamed at the sight of the young prince, but none more than his parents.
His mother - Queen Mabel - swaddled him against her chest when she heard his first cries, matching them with her heavy tears. His father - King Aires - rested a callused hand on her shoulder; sweat dripped from his face as he watched his wife with intense pride. They'd attempted for years to conceive, each resulting in savage heartbreak and failure. His retainers had long since given up on Mabel and begged him to seed a concubine for legacy's sake. Yet, he's never given up on her, believing she'd pull through, and she did. So now all that remained was tradition; the boy would have his prophecy read.
The castle walls ached in anticipation, barely able to contain the buzz of the crown as the woman walked in. Lady Scylla strode through the room, clad in a rich, fertile red, taking all breath away. She was the best prophecy teller known to man; she'd given King Aires his prophecy at birth, and his eyes leaked with pride to have her deliver one to Aquarius. The audience's buzz bordered on ecstasy as she stretched her long arms toward the child.
Until the prophecy was given, then all frenzy turned to silence.
"What do you mean, woman?" King Aires asked. Before she could answer, he continued, "are you suggesting my son is to kill me?"
"I am not suggesting it. I have seen it." Her tone lacked an ounce of life, yet the sparkle of her eyes danced like wildfire.
The king shook his head repeatedly; failed words choked him whenever he opened his mouth. *I could have you killed for these tricks,* he thought. Him? Killed by his kin? After all it took to conceive? The fates crafted cruel jokes, and she would pay for delivering the punchline. He started to motion the guards to seize her, but Mabel's voice cut him off.
"If this prophecy is true... "
"It is a fact, my lady," Scylla said. The flames of her eyes seemed to live off the room's desperation.
"... surely there is more to it. A reprieve, a happy medium of sorts." Mabel's voice grew weaker by the second, the burden of childbirth taxing her.
"This fate is sealed so long as the boy lives." Scylla shone her eyes at King Aires and said, "if the baby were to die, it couldn't fulfill its prophecy."
The word *'it'* sent a chill down Mabel's spine. How could that woman touch the warmth which rested on her and reduce it to an *'it'*? The very thought sickened her. She turned towards her husband for comfort only to see him stone-faced. Eyes focused and unfeeling. The sight made her clutch her son, and she snuggled him closer. Surely he wasn't considering this witch's recommendation.
She held on to her child until night when the nurses pulled him away, swearing they would keep him safe from intruders. She lay in bed with King Aires, panicked by any sound the night produced. She heard creaks from his side of the bed and whipped her head towards him.
"Where are you going?" She asked.
King Aires froze in place, half his body still on the bed. His ginger movement went to waste. "The night's air is dry. I am rather parched and need refreshment." He said.
"We can send for some." Mabel's eyes blazed into him as she spoke.
"A king too high to grab his water will lose sight of the streams." His body was entirely off the mattress, and his back turned to her. "Do not wait up. I will be ba-"
"Do you mean to visit our son?" Aires turned to see his wife propped up on the bed.
"Perhaps, is it odd a father visits his first-born son?"
"At this hour?"
"I didn't know a king needed time's permission to act."
"You mean to kill him, don't you?"
The words hung in the air. Moonlight glistened in Mabel's narrow eyes as she searched his before they widened with horror when she found her answer.
"You do! You mean to kill our baby!"
"Sacrifices must be made for the kingdom."
"This is murder, not sacrifice."
"Scylla's prophecies have never failed to pass." His hands accentuated his words. "For I to fulfill my destiny, our child must die."
"Your destiny? What does your destiny have to do with this?"
"I am destined to bring peace and prosperity to the kingdom. Therefore, I will contribute the most towards this kingdom's reign. More than any before me, as prophesized."
"You could do all that before his prophecy comes to reality."
"Mabel, you do not understand."
"I do under-"
"I have accomplished nothing with my life!" The words tore through his throat. "Our kingdom's territory, my father's conquest. Our riches? His father. Our peace with the domain up north? Brokered by my sister's marriage. I have done nothing, and that child is to take away my prophecy?"
"You have accomplished plenty. You are a good king."
"It took ten years to father one child! I couldn't even do that right!"
The words slapped Mabel's soul out of her chest. Of all people to hear that from, Aires was the last of her suspects. She heard a faint wail down the hall; her prince must have sensed what was to come. *If only you could escape on your own two legs*, she thought.
She crept off the bed, powered by a mother's love to do whatever to protect her son.
King Aires had turned his back to her and strode toward the door when Mabel climbed on his back. "What are you doing, woman?"
"Please stop! Please, sleep on it one night. You'll change your mind by morning!"
"I will not!" He flung her off with a torque of the shoulder, wincing as he heard the thud as her body hit the floor. He hesitated and reached out to her before continuing toward Aquarius's room. Wailing pierced his ears as he entered the hallway before heavy footsteps truncated them. He turned in time to see his feral wife again jump on him.
"Destined to do great things?" She shrieked. "What so great about killing the son we worked so hard for?"
"Do not speak on my destiny, woman. You know nothing of its weight, its burden."
"It weighs nothing, as you feel nothing if you could kill a child." Tears choked her. "How can a man kill a baby and dare speak of burden?"
"I AM A KING!" He threw her into the concrete castle wall. "A king can speak on whatever he chooses without permission!" He rushed to his son's room before checking behind for another sneak attack. | |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | What is a king?
A simple enough question. Really, it is.
A king is a man who rules a monarchy.
Simple.
But what makes a monarchy?
Is it the state? The people? The nobles? The land? Might?
No.
What makes a monarchy is legacy.
What comes after and what came before. That is what separates a monarchy from the tribes that inhabit the Harshlands. It is what his father told him as a child. It is what his father died for.
.
.
.
King Seroulus III stared down at his infant son, not but hours ago he was nestled in his mother's womb. Seroulus stared.
Stared at the emerald green eyes that were a mirror to his Queen's. The eyes he knew were now cold and unseeing, the toll of child birth too great for her already ailing body.
He sat in the hard wood chair of the castle infirmary with mind distant to the wailing cries of his son. His son, who was fated by prophecy to be Seroulus' death. Who was already the death of his dear Mary.
Rage built in Seroulus' chest and he turned his vengeful gaze to the infant. The infirmary was sat on the third story of the west wing, the motte below was shear rocks and jagged slate.
Yet as the light of the midday sun shone upon his son, eyes wide with delight at the sight of the rolling green fields beyond, the same green as Mary's.
Seroulus collapsed under the windowsill with his son, his last gift from Mary, cradled close to his chest. A racking sob rocked his frame.
Prophecy be damned.
Seroulus wasn't letting it take his family from him. | My parents named me Arthur, after the great king of Camelot who ruled nearly a century ago. A powerful name, rich with history. A name fit for a King, as I was to become…as I am now. And so, as my newborn son lies before me in the nursery, I only see one suitable name for the boy who will kill me.
I’ve seen far too much to disbelieve the prophecy of wizards. The Fae do not bestow the powers of spell casting to anyone, and those of them who are blessed (or cursed, depending on who you ask) with the power of foresight are never wrong. They may misinterpret something, or deliver the message of the future in words that mix up their true meaning, but the core of what comes out of their mouths remains true. If death is prophesied it cannot be fought, it cannot be bargained with. But then, death comes for all of us.
For me, according to my chief advisor, the great wizard Karlikelt, who trained under the great Morgan Le Fay herself, death will come in the form of my son. “You will fall by an arrow,” the wizard had said. “Your son will cause your fall with his favored shaft.”
The infant who lays before me now, in whose eyes I see not doom and destruction but innocence and the anguish of newborn confusion. The boy who I have decided will be named Mordred. It is the only name suitable fore the killer of a King named Arthur. But that does not mean I will set him on his course. If he will kill me, so be it. I refuse to become a monster for it. Let him hate me of his own choice. For my part, I choose to love him.
This remains true even as the Royal doctors tell me that young Mordred has taken his mother from me in his coming. Women die in childbirth all the time, I tell myself. It is not the child’s fault. I will mourn, and I will do my duty as both King and father.
Over the first few years of Mordred’s life, my promise becomes easier and easier. He is a bright young lad, brave and curious and deeply, inherently kind. Occasionally my advisors question why I chose such an evil name for such a sweet boy. I tell them the truth: that I do not believe Mordred to be an inherently evil name. The first man to bear it was a victim of circumstance. Let my son choose what man he will be, and may his deeds be so bright that he wipes all the filth from the name Mordred forevermore. The advisors nod their heads diligently and praise me for my wisdom, as they always do, but I know they mean none of it. Karlikelt nods as well, but with the mischievous glint of knowledge in his eyes. I turn away from them all, from their vapid proposals and empty praises, and go to spend time with the only human being who I may now show my true self to since my dear wife’s passing: my son. My sweet boy. I feed him from my hand, I teach him myself with only minimal assistance…I do everything I can for him, and in doing so I find a greater joy than that of wearing the crown: fatherhood.
On Mordred’s sixth birthday I take him with me on a hunting trip. Karlikelt manages the council while I am away, which I try to avoid given his esoteric nature, but it could not be helped. I had planned this day for years. Mordred had already taken an interest in the bow, and so I let him bring along the small, stout bow and quiver gifted to him by the weapons master. We ride deep into the woods, hunting stags and boats and all manner of wild beasts. We find only a few, but the excursion is a great success in other ways. When we are done, only one fresh arrow remains in his quiver. I ask if he would not like to find more game, and he says no…he would like to save that arrow for something special, later in life. A shadow of dread tries to work its way to my heart from that, but I refuse to allow it.
As the boy looks into my eyes as the sun sets that day, I still see no spark of hatred there. I see the same bright-eyed, kind youth I did the moment he was born.
This is wen I begin to allow myself the luxury of questioning Karlikelt’s prophecy. Perhaps the old man was wrong. Perhaps I would not wind up with an arrow in my eye shot from the very arrow he had been saving.
He takes further interest in history as he grows. I never tell him the significance of his name, and so I wait and dread the day he will ask me why he is named for a man synonymous with betrayal. But it does not come. I am certain he must have noticed, what with his incessant reading of historical documents and folktales. But he never poses the question. I grow more distant from my council in these days, and I hand off more and more power to Karlikelt when it comes to day to day matters. I am growing old, and tired of governance. Who needs a crown when you can make a child laugh?
PART TWO BELOW | |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | “Did you know that other kings only see their children at formal events, meals, and occasionally in passing?” Prince Rolland asked as plopped down beside his father, who was reading in the library.
King Dorian sighed, slowly putting a bookmark between the pages before gently placing the novel on the table before them. “Yes, I know. I never wanted to be so distance from my children. My father was the same way, and I felt as though I lost so much because he wasn’t there to mentor me in the ways of being a king or a good man.” He gave Rolland a gentle, reassuring smile. “What brings this up today?”
“As you know, Father, Prince Garvin is visiting with his royal entourage, and today he made mention of how odd it was that you and I share at least a few hours each day with each other. I hadn’t realized that was an odd thing until I started asking around about how other kings treat their sons.” The younger man grabbed a sweet pastry from the tray on the table and nibbled at it.
Dorian’s smile turned sad. “What did you think of that?”
“I think that’s awful. I can’t imagine not being able to talk to you as we do now. You’re practically my best friend,” Roland said and then shrugged slightly, “Well, outside of Lance, of course.”
The older man chuckled. “Of course.”
“Also,” the prince added with a change in tone that indicated this was the thing truly bothering him, “Prince Garvin asked me about the prophecy, but, when I asked him what prophecy, he wouldn’t tell me. He said that, if you hadn’t told me about it, then there was probably a good reason. Do you know what he was talking about?”
There it was, the topic Dorian had avoided for nearly two decades. “I do, but I’m afraid you’re not going to like it. When you were born, a seer prophesized that you would one day be the cause of my death.”
“Good lord, Father, I would never!” Rolland stood up, too offended to sit still. “Why would I ever do that?”
“It’s a good question, isn’t it? Have I not been a good and kind father to you who has tried to be strict but fair? Who has taught you everything I know so that you can be a good and fair king when it becomes your turn to rule?”
The prince adamantly nodded. “You have.”
“Then I’m at a loss, and, frankly, I choose not to worry about it because I don’t think it matters. If it comes to it, and you are the cause of my demise, I have faith that the reason was either a good one or an accidental one. Either way, I don’t think you’d kill me out of malice, and that’s what matters.” Dorian gave his son a gently pat on the arm. “Don’t stress over this, Son; sometimes worrying over the thing is what causes it to happen.”
Weakly nodding, the young man slowly sat back down. “I will try, Father, but it will be difficult. I can’t imagine life without you.”
“Death comes for us all in time, Rolland. You will do well and be a great ruler.” The king stood, signaling the end of the conversation. “Now, I believe it’s time for the evening meal, and you know how your mother and Chef are when we’re late.”
As King Dorian lay upon his deathbed years later, his mind would come back to the moment he told his son about the prophecy. “Rolland,” he weakly called out, and the prince quickly appeared by his side. Motioning for everyone else to leave, the king waited until they were alone to begin. “I’m in more pain than I can bare, too weak to rule, and worried for the kingdom because of it.”
“Father, you’ll pull through. This illness…”
“Is slowly killing me and the kingdom with it. The Court will never take you seriously as my proxy. You need my title, Son. It’s time for you to be king.”
Rolland balked. “What are you saying?”
With great effort, Dorian pointed to his beside tabled. “Hidden in a compartment at the very back of the drawer is a special sleep poison. Give it to me and then use this,” he motioned to one of the many pillows on his bed, “to end my life. It will be somewhat quick but painless to me.”
“No, absolutely not, Father. I will NOT…”
“You have to. I linger; it’s killing us all.” Dorian reached out to grasp his son’s hand. “When they come back in, it will look as though I’m asleep. They’ll never suspect you did anything but sit by my side as I drifted from this world. I hate that I have to ask you to do this Rolland, but you are the only one who can. It has to be you, and it needs to be now before things become worse.”
“I… I understand,” Rolland sadly replied as he pulled out the poison and helped his father slowly ingest it. “I love you, Father. I will try to do well by you.”
As Dorian’s eyes drifted shut, he managed one last reply to his loving son, “Always remember… love you…” | The histories will likely say that I accepted the augury with stern grace, that I merely nodded silently and resolved my future decisions. The histories will of-course be wrong and I was absolutely terrified. To hear that the mewling infant in my Queen's Chamber would be my undoing was unnerving.
Little Prince Bartholemew, my sixth, and youngest; he likely would never sit upon my throne - but he would have all the trappings and opportunites one of my line is due.
It has been two-decades since that fateful evening, when my old Royal Astrologer told me the boy would be my end. I had raised him well, surrounded him with the greatest tutors, companions, toys and trappings our kingdom could provide. When he came of age, I spared no expense to to have him sent to a neighbouring land to visit thier newest institution; they call it *A University*. He may not be King, but he will be a scholar and help bring a new age and prosperity to our people.
He has returned to the Kingdom now. He no-longer uses the Title I gave to him on his birth. Prince Bartholemew now only calls himself *Citizen Bart*.
The mob are about to breach the door to my chamber, I can barely hear my Queen's cries over thier endless shouts of *liberty*, *fraternity* and *revolution*.
Through my window, I see my son, standing at that infernal device they call *Le'Guillotine* | |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | “Did you know that other kings only see their children at formal events, meals, and occasionally in passing?” Prince Rolland asked as plopped down beside his father, who was reading in the library.
King Dorian sighed, slowly putting a bookmark between the pages before gently placing the novel on the table before them. “Yes, I know. I never wanted to be so distance from my children. My father was the same way, and I felt as though I lost so much because he wasn’t there to mentor me in the ways of being a king or a good man.” He gave Rolland a gentle, reassuring smile. “What brings this up today?”
“As you know, Father, Prince Garvin is visiting with his royal entourage, and today he made mention of how odd it was that you and I share at least a few hours each day with each other. I hadn’t realized that was an odd thing until I started asking around about how other kings treat their sons.” The younger man grabbed a sweet pastry from the tray on the table and nibbled at it.
Dorian’s smile turned sad. “What did you think of that?”
“I think that’s awful. I can’t imagine not being able to talk to you as we do now. You’re practically my best friend,” Roland said and then shrugged slightly, “Well, outside of Lance, of course.”
The older man chuckled. “Of course.”
“Also,” the prince added with a change in tone that indicated this was the thing truly bothering him, “Prince Garvin asked me about the prophecy, but, when I asked him what prophecy, he wouldn’t tell me. He said that, if you hadn’t told me about it, then there was probably a good reason. Do you know what he was talking about?”
There it was, the topic Dorian had avoided for nearly two decades. “I do, but I’m afraid you’re not going to like it. When you were born, a seer prophesized that you would one day be the cause of my death.”
“Good lord, Father, I would never!” Rolland stood up, too offended to sit still. “Why would I ever do that?”
“It’s a good question, isn’t it? Have I not been a good and kind father to you who has tried to be strict but fair? Who has taught you everything I know so that you can be a good and fair king when it becomes your turn to rule?”
The prince adamantly nodded. “You have.”
“Then I’m at a loss, and, frankly, I choose not to worry about it because I don’t think it matters. If it comes to it, and you are the cause of my demise, I have faith that the reason was either a good one or an accidental one. Either way, I don’t think you’d kill me out of malice, and that’s what matters.” Dorian gave his son a gently pat on the arm. “Don’t stress over this, Son; sometimes worrying over the thing is what causes it to happen.”
Weakly nodding, the young man slowly sat back down. “I will try, Father, but it will be difficult. I can’t imagine life without you.”
“Death comes for us all in time, Rolland. You will do well and be a great ruler.” The king stood, signaling the end of the conversation. “Now, I believe it’s time for the evening meal, and you know how your mother and Chef are when we’re late.”
As King Dorian lay upon his deathbed years later, his mind would come back to the moment he told his son about the prophecy. “Rolland,” he weakly called out, and the prince quickly appeared by his side. Motioning for everyone else to leave, the king waited until they were alone to begin. “I’m in more pain than I can bare, too weak to rule, and worried for the kingdom because of it.”
“Father, you’ll pull through. This illness…”
“Is slowly killing me and the kingdom with it. The Court will never take you seriously as my proxy. You need my title, Son. It’s time for you to be king.”
Rolland balked. “What are you saying?”
With great effort, Dorian pointed to his beside tabled. “Hidden in a compartment at the very back of the drawer is a special sleep poison. Give it to me and then use this,” he motioned to one of the many pillows on his bed, “to end my life. It will be somewhat quick but painless to me.”
“No, absolutely not, Father. I will NOT…”
“You have to. I linger; it’s killing us all.” Dorian reached out to grasp his son’s hand. “When they come back in, it will look as though I’m asleep. They’ll never suspect you did anything but sit by my side as I drifted from this world. I hate that I have to ask you to do this Rolland, but you are the only one who can. It has to be you, and it needs to be now before things become worse.”
“I… I understand,” Rolland sadly replied as he pulled out the poison and helped his father slowly ingest it. “I love you, Father. I will try to do well by you.”
As Dorian’s eyes drifted shut, he managed one last reply to his loving son, “Always remember… love you…” | My daughter and I walked along the forest trail with vigor. Regina was a strong, intelligent princess. I knew that the future of our kingdom would be secure, even if I could not live to see it. How I wished to see the leader she would be.
When Marianna and I discovered that she was with child, every soothsayer and prophet came to us. The first prophecy was devastating. Marianna believed it was a trick. More and more fortunetellers came to us. With each one, we hoped that they would tell us something different. Nothing changed the outcome. Our child would kill the father to restore the land after a disastrous curse.
We passed by the withering bushed and the fruitless trees. There were very few animals, but what was there were starving and barely alive.
"It's so heartbreaking, father," Regina said with pain in her voice.
"Truly."
"Are you sure about the prophet's remedy?"
"Yes. It's just ahead, little one."
Regina chuckled lightly.
"How long will you call me that? I'm almost as old as you when you took the throne."
"You'll always be little to me. Until the day I die."
"That's so far in the future, though."
"There it is."
Regina stopped in her tracks as she looked at the clearing ahead of us. There was a stone altar with a sword on top. Her crown sat next to her new sword.
"Father? What is this?"
I took her hands in mine as I looked into those doe-like eyes.
"I'm sorry. I brought you here under false pretense. You have a wonderful life. You were given the best education so you could be the greatest queen the world has ever seen. I hope I gave you the best memories a father could give his daughter. This curse wasn't supposed to appear this early. If only we had more time. We do not, though."
Regina looked to the decaying forest.
"No, no, no, no. There has to be another way."
"I accepted this fate before you were born. This is my last gift to our people. If only it wasn't a curse upon you."
Regina picked up the weapon and unsheathed the Damascus sword. It was created to my expectations.
I bowed my head on the altar. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.
"You will be an excellent queen."
"I love you, father."
There was a swoosh as the sword went through the air, then silence. | |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | “I don’t want to…” I just barely choked out whilst my throat felt as if a stubborn rodent had decided to claw through it, tears clouding my vision.
“You have to.” The King stated, his smile soft and bittersweet.
My hands trembled as I held the blade, feeling as if it was lodged into my heart.
I almost wished it was, so that I didn’t have to do that very thing to my father.
If it wasn’t for that damned prophecy… Well, it was less of a prophecy, and more of a curse. I curse that has loomed over my head since I discovered it at the age of fifteen when my father sat me down, and explained the despicable thing I would have to do.
*”Before the dawn of the princess’s 18th year, either father or daughter must kill the other. Or they both shall die before the sun has set.”*
It was the night before my eighteenth birthday. Only minutes before the clock struck twelve.
We were in the king’s chambers, him sitting patiently on the bed as I stood before him, holding the blade that has been passed down through our family for generations.
The blade that would forever be tainted by my father’s blood.
“*Please*,” I begged, a sob tearing through Ny throat as I covered a trembling hand over my neck. “Don’t… *please* don’t make me do this.”
The King swallowed, a stubborn tear escaping his eye. He cleared his throat, then patted the bed beside himself, arms held wide.
It was an action so comfortingly familiar, and it made it feel as if I’d swallowed razors.
That would be far less torturous than this.
I dropped the blade to the floor, then practically fell into his arms, sobbing against the king’s shirt. “I can’t do it! I can’t! Please don’t make me!”
The King almost choked himself, but managed to keep his calm demeanor, arms wrapping around his daughter. “Shhh, it will be alright, my Rose.”
“No, it won’t!” I practically screamed, anger and grief mingling within me like old friends. “You’ll be gone, and… I’ll be alone.”
His arms tightened around me, followed by a heavy sigh.
My mother died from sickness when I was only an infant, and I had no siblings. So it was always the two of us, and the occasional nursemaid when he was busy.
“No, you won’t.” The King replied, kissing the top of my head, voice full of painful affection. “You’ve collected quite the collection of friends, my sweet girl. It will be difficult… but ultimately, you will be fine. You will be happy. You will *live*.”
“But why can’t *you* live?” I asked, voice muffled by his shirt.
The King sighed again, resting his chin atop my head. “I already have, my love. I’ve had wild days in my younger years. I’ve fallen in love. I’ve lost myself in grief, and pulled myself out of it. I’ve led a kingdom. And most importantly, I’ve had you. I’m… I’m satisfied with the life I’ve led. It’s had its hardships and victories. And I harbor little regret.”
The King gently shifted away from me, then tilted my chin up in order for our eyes to meet. “And now, it’s your turn.”
My eyes closed, every inch of my body trembling like leaves in autumn. “It’s not fair.”
“No, it isn’t. But it’s the hand we’ve been dealt. Trust me, if there was a way to cheat this, I would’ve found it.” He closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself. “It is what it is.”
“What if you killed me instead?”
The King sucked in a breath, tears forming in his eyes. “Oh, Rose. Killing you would be the same as killing us both. I… I couldn’t live in a world where you weren’t in it. Much less a world where *I* was responsible.”
“But who’s to say it won’t be the same for me?” My voice cracked. “How will I ever live with myself, Papa? *How?*”
He swallowed, averting his gaze from hers. “I… I’m so, so sorry. But it has to be this way. It *has* to be. The kingdom needs a ruler, and… I’m tired, darling.”
The King gave a sad, weary smile, the crows feet beneath his eyes crinkling. “I’m tired of chasing after hopeless loopholes. I’m tired of fighting fate. I’m… I’m just tired. And I want to see your mother again. It’s earlier than any of us would like, I know. But… but I’m ready. I’m not afraid of death. Haven’t been since the moment I knew you could make it without me. And I’m ready.”
“But I’m not…”
His smile sweetened, cupping a hand over my cheek. “That’s why you need to live. That’s why you need to let me leave. You still have your life. Please, *please* take it. You have to take it. Be brave for me.”
“It’s not fair.” I repeated, the words barely coming out as a whisper even though I wished to scream them. “It’s not fair!”
“I know.” He whispered, another tear falling. “But we have to.”
I looked my father for what very well could be the last time, and glanced towards the blade.
*It wasn’t fair.*
I couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of my life would be the same. | My daughter and I walked along the forest trail with vigor. Regina was a strong, intelligent princess. I knew that the future of our kingdom would be secure, even if I could not live to see it. How I wished to see the leader she would be.
When Marianna and I discovered that she was with child, every soothsayer and prophet came to us. The first prophecy was devastating. Marianna believed it was a trick. More and more fortunetellers came to us. With each one, we hoped that they would tell us something different. Nothing changed the outcome. Our child would kill the father to restore the land after a disastrous curse.
We passed by the withering bushed and the fruitless trees. There were very few animals, but what was there were starving and barely alive.
"It's so heartbreaking, father," Regina said with pain in her voice.
"Truly."
"Are you sure about the prophet's remedy?"
"Yes. It's just ahead, little one."
Regina chuckled lightly.
"How long will you call me that? I'm almost as old as you when you took the throne."
"You'll always be little to me. Until the day I die."
"That's so far in the future, though."
"There it is."
Regina stopped in her tracks as she looked at the clearing ahead of us. There was a stone altar with a sword on top. Her crown sat next to her new sword.
"Father? What is this?"
I took her hands in mine as I looked into those doe-like eyes.
"I'm sorry. I brought you here under false pretense. You have a wonderful life. You were given the best education so you could be the greatest queen the world has ever seen. I hope I gave you the best memories a father could give his daughter. This curse wasn't supposed to appear this early. If only we had more time. We do not, though."
Regina looked to the decaying forest.
"No, no, no, no. There has to be another way."
"I accepted this fate before you were born. This is my last gift to our people. If only it wasn't a curse upon you."
Regina picked up the weapon and unsheathed the Damascus sword. It was created to my expectations.
I bowed my head on the altar. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.
"You will be an excellent queen."
"I love you, father."
There was a swoosh as the sword went through the air, then silence. | |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | See the problem with this is that a prophecy is not really the truth; it is a spell. Perhaps there was a timeline where it would not happen, where you could avert it... but once the prophecy is heard and spoken by its targets it is already too late.
The Tale of King Kindess and Prince Liam is the example: told by the Norn-Speaker that his son would kill him, both their fates where bound. Kindness loved his son and spent every day training and raising him to be good and just. Prince Liam became famed and beloved and why he did learn of it, was horrified and swore he would not.
However the false concept of Fate, now spoken by a Fatemaker, meant there could be no avoiding it. Liam was arranged to marry Hjolda of Vinterkin, and both got along exceptionally, but the Lord of Shadowheim came forwards to the King Kindness, saying that Liam should marry his Son, Prince Hydemore for the political benefit and alliance.
King Kindness refused: It was a miracle in itself that Liam and Hjolda agreed to marry given how arrangements went. Hydemore's father grew in rage and made warning that if he refused that he would die; the People of Shadowheim tend to be like that and on the night of the wedding, King Kindness made sure to defend his castle well...
and yet when Prince Hydemore and his father arrived, Liam unknowingly welcomed them in, disguised by shadowy magics. The prince wanted no part in this; he loved Liam, but to kill a man who had welcomed them into their home is not proper... but one of their entourages managed to sneak in, due to a friendship the princes had.
King Kindess was found dead and when the Father explained, Liam, in his grief realized the prophecy was true.
The tale illustrates Prophecy's most insidious trait; it is not the literal meaning of the words. Some might not consider this to be 'causing' Kindness's death, but it did not matter; there is one who could see how it would be, therefore it is. Prophecy relies on possibility; it enslaves all in the world to its whims and ensures it is carried out in some way.
This is merely one example of why you should never allow a prophet to live, less you too be enslaved by their unknowing ability and your Doom be 'known'
\- Except from *Philosophy of the Fatekillers* | My first child died in the arms of the midwife who delivered him, and my wife died shortly thereafter. At the time I was young, impetuous, and brash. I allowed my emotions to cloud reason, and rather than grieve as I should have, I blamed the midwife. I sentenced her to death for simply doing her duty to the best of her ability. I light a candle for her every day. One of many.
My second son lived until his 5th summer, until he took ill with a disease that baffled all of my courts greatest minds. My wife watched him fade away at his bedside, and I watched the life fade from her as she wept. She asked, pleaded for an annulment to our marriage, and to be rid of this place that reminded her of her lost child. Once more my anger reared it’s ugly head, and while I did grant her the annulment, I also had her banished far from these lands. I know not where she is now. I wished I’d not been so cruel but we cannot rectify the mistakes of the past. We can only attempt to move forward and make better decisions.
I took as much time as I could after my second wife. Between stately affairs and whispers of war, I was able to busy myself with my duties as king. With the aid of my court we were able to improve the conditions of the kingdom, and through careful decisions and discussions we were able to avoid war. I was celebrated as a benevolent king. I felt as though my peoples faith was misplaced, but at the advisement of my court and with encouragement from far away ally’s and relatives, I sought to find a partner once more.
Her name was Alanna. She was the second daughter of a Duke from a neighboring kingdom, and though I was almost eight years her senior, her beauty and wit captivated me. She enjoyed swordplay as much as she did embroidery, attended races with the same fervor as she attended balls and galas, and to say she was well read would be an understatement. She could be anything in this land that she wished, and yet she chose to be my wife. She could have said no, she’d turned down many men of esteem in the past, but there was something in our connection that made her say yes.
When the time came to consider children, I was relieved to hear that she was as hesitant as I was. It was nice to have someone who was cautioned and measured in their decisions. It mattered not that I was a king, she understood the risks and the burdens of carrying a child. It was not her duties to sire an heir that made her decide to be with child. I told her as such. I myself have two brothers and a number of cousins who could take my place. I would have been happy to live our lives as King and Queen over a prosperous land until the end of our days. When we decided to have a child, we did so for ourselves and for the love we have for one another.
Seldom is life as easy as that. Upon news of my wife’s pregnancy, I was given word that a trio of wise women sought to give me council. I balked at first, having never heard of these sisters three, but alchemist in my court sang their praises. He said I should at least give them an audience, as they were well schooled in ways of augury and fortune telling. Their arrival surely had some significance and I should at least give them a moment of my time. I obliged.
The sisters were said to be as old the forests that surrounded the land, yet they looked to be younger than even my Alanna. One with flowing scarlet red hair, another with short black hair like that of a ravens feathers, and the third blonde with hair that fell almost to the floor. They dressed well and followed decorum with bows and how they addressed each lord and lady they met. It was their intermittent glances at the queen that gave me pause. I understood why once we met in my chambers.
My daughter, they said, was to be born under strange circumstances. That she was to be my undoing and the fall of my kingdom as well as those around me. They cautioned me against her birth and said that I would have to choose between Alanna and the fate of the world. I knew in their words they were not lying. I believe they sought me out because they knew what my answer would be, and so hoped to impart their wisdom to try and convince me.
I told them my decision. They left without further dispute. By all accounts they were kind and courteous women who merely sought to do what they felt was right. Before they took their leave, I asked if they would have me do them a favor or service in return for their counsel. They only asked for safe passage and for me to reconsider my decision. To my knowledge they still roam these lands unfettered and provide their aid to those who seek them, and to those they felt drawn towards.
My daughter was born on a night where the moon was absent from the sky. I remember her birth well, as all the light in the castle seemed to dim upon her first cries, and members of the castle court and guard reported a dreadful echo shaking their chambers. Alanna made it through the birth, my daughter Eleanor was safe and healthy, but I feared the three sisters omen was well on its way.
I would be lying if I said I had not thought to cast the child out. To send her away or have her disappeared in the night to be left to the elements. But holding her in my arms, gazing upon her and her mother, I thought of my past mistakes and how I would be repeating the course of history if I did as the witches asked. I decided instead to raise Eleanor to harness whatever power she had for good. To make her into a woman worthy of being Queen and ruler of these lands. She would want for nothing and be loved without end.
That was some twenty years past now. My intentions were noble but for naught. The fires are growing now. From my chambers I can hear the clashing of swords and screams. Alanna was given leave to flee by Eleanor and I can only hope she honored that promise. Who was I to try and combat fate? A man whose mistakes haunted him like spirits haunt a crypt. I wanted only to do what I felt was right, and in the end I only served myself. I will not fight back further. I wouldn’t raise a blade to my child even if I could. I wonder how I will meet my end. I wonder if my intentions will absolve my sins. From the window I can see three figures in the distance, and a fourth approaching them in a shawl before they disappear into the wood.
This is my end, foretold by women wiser than me with intentions more pure. This is the price I shall pay for my arrogance. I shall meet my fate with dignity. | |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | **I would do anything for my family.**
I was a noble king of my lands. I treated my citizens with respect, and they respected me in kind. I had a thriving kingdom and a wife who has been the love of my life for the past 30 years. What I did not have, however, was an heir. How we tried, time and time again, but my poor wife just could not concede.
That was until one fateful day, when a strange man appeared and offered a deal. My wife would conceive a child if she drank a potion beforehand, however there would be a price to pay. On her 20th birthday, I would have to make a terrible choice. Perhaps against my better judgement, I accepted this offer.
The potion worked as expected, and 9 months later, she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. I was swept up in the moment, until a servant came by with a prophecy. My child would lead to my death. At this, some of my courtiers suggested that I should think about abandoning my child, but looking into her innocent blue eyes, I felt nothing but love for her. If we only had 20 years, I would make those 20 years the best I could.
During the next 16 years, I doted upon her, making sure she had the best childhood possible. The memories we shared over those years still bring a tear to my eye. I watched as she grew from into a young woman who the kingdom adored. Smart, witty, and kind, she was everything I wanted her to be. She had a smile that could light up a room and a sense of humour that could make anyone laugh.
In those last few years, I did think about the prophecy, and the strange potion that lead to her conception. Her 20th birthday was fast approaching, and she could see the worry in my eyes. I told her, eventually, of the prophecies I had heard of her birth, and she swore that she would never hurt her father. I believed her, my daughter was the last person who I could call evil. In her, I honestly saw everything I would want out of an heir, so I made the decision that, if I was going to die, I would prepare her to be my replacement.
Soon the declaration was made that my daughter would replace me after my passing, and soon her training as a monarch began. With the help of my courtiers, I taught her everything she might need to know, from military strategy to economic planning. It was inspiring to watch her pick up all of these skills as easy as a bird would take to the wing. I was proud to know that she would be my successor.
Then, a month before her 20th birthday, tragedy struck. My beloved daughter was struck down with a deadly illness. Court physicians from across the land came to examine her, to try and cure the blight that drained the life from her every day, but nothing could be done. It was so heart-breaking to watch helplessly as my daughter withered away before my eyes.
Finally, yesterday, a figure visited to view her, and I knew it was the man who gave me that potion, and I knew who he really was. Death. I knew what was coming, the terrible choice, and it arrived. He will return tomorrow, and take my daughter to the afterlife, and he would give me the rest of her years, meaning that I would live to be over 100 years old. Alternatively, I could instead offer my soul for him to take instead. If I do, instead all of my remaining years would transfer to her, her illness will be cured, and she would live for another 60 years.
Today, me and my daughter discussed this, the fact that I would have to choose between me and her. My daughter, being the kind soul that she is, told me not to do it, to live a full life on her behalf. I think I could see in her eyes that she knew my mind was made up. That evening, we shared one final talk before we parted. I will not tell a lie, I cried, I could tell that she too would be crying had she had any energy left to. The blight had drained almost all life from her, but I could still see her eyes filled with sadness, knowing that this was our last goodbye. Oh what I would have given for just one more day together, but Death drives a hard bargain.
I gave her one final hug, before leaving her room and returning to my study to finish penning this letter. I can see out of the corner of my eye as the time nears midnight, and I know he is waiting for me in the room now. I think he awaits my decision, but being who he is, he should know by now that my decision was made from the moment of my daughter's birth.
**I would do anything for my family.**
My beloved daughter, Elizabeth, by the time you read these words I will be no longer in this world. I have taught you everything you need to know to lead, and lead well. You were, are, and always will be one of my most cherished people in the world to me, and as I walk hand in hand with the reaper into the afterlife, know that you and your mother are always in my mind. My kingdom now falls to you, and I have full faith that you will be the perfect leader for the kingdom.
I would write more, but the midnight hour draws near, and I dare not keep Death waiting.
Farewell, Elizabeth. You may be the reason my life will be cut short, but for all the happiness and joy you have given me over the past years, I would not have it any other way.
Your King, and loving Father.
Henry VI of Rivelda. | My first child died in the arms of the midwife who delivered him, and my wife died shortly thereafter. At the time I was young, impetuous, and brash. I allowed my emotions to cloud reason, and rather than grieve as I should have, I blamed the midwife. I sentenced her to death for simply doing her duty to the best of her ability. I light a candle for her every day. One of many.
My second son lived until his 5th summer, until he took ill with a disease that baffled all of my courts greatest minds. My wife watched him fade away at his bedside, and I watched the life fade from her as she wept. She asked, pleaded for an annulment to our marriage, and to be rid of this place that reminded her of her lost child. Once more my anger reared it’s ugly head, and while I did grant her the annulment, I also had her banished far from these lands. I know not where she is now. I wished I’d not been so cruel but we cannot rectify the mistakes of the past. We can only attempt to move forward and make better decisions.
I took as much time as I could after my second wife. Between stately affairs and whispers of war, I was able to busy myself with my duties as king. With the aid of my court we were able to improve the conditions of the kingdom, and through careful decisions and discussions we were able to avoid war. I was celebrated as a benevolent king. I felt as though my peoples faith was misplaced, but at the advisement of my court and with encouragement from far away ally’s and relatives, I sought to find a partner once more.
Her name was Alanna. She was the second daughter of a Duke from a neighboring kingdom, and though I was almost eight years her senior, her beauty and wit captivated me. She enjoyed swordplay as much as she did embroidery, attended races with the same fervor as she attended balls and galas, and to say she was well read would be an understatement. She could be anything in this land that she wished, and yet she chose to be my wife. She could have said no, she’d turned down many men of esteem in the past, but there was something in our connection that made her say yes.
When the time came to consider children, I was relieved to hear that she was as hesitant as I was. It was nice to have someone who was cautioned and measured in their decisions. It mattered not that I was a king, she understood the risks and the burdens of carrying a child. It was not her duties to sire an heir that made her decide to be with child. I told her as such. I myself have two brothers and a number of cousins who could take my place. I would have been happy to live our lives as King and Queen over a prosperous land until the end of our days. When we decided to have a child, we did so for ourselves and for the love we have for one another.
Seldom is life as easy as that. Upon news of my wife’s pregnancy, I was given word that a trio of wise women sought to give me council. I balked at first, having never heard of these sisters three, but alchemist in my court sang their praises. He said I should at least give them an audience, as they were well schooled in ways of augury and fortune telling. Their arrival surely had some significance and I should at least give them a moment of my time. I obliged.
The sisters were said to be as old the forests that surrounded the land, yet they looked to be younger than even my Alanna. One with flowing scarlet red hair, another with short black hair like that of a ravens feathers, and the third blonde with hair that fell almost to the floor. They dressed well and followed decorum with bows and how they addressed each lord and lady they met. It was their intermittent glances at the queen that gave me pause. I understood why once we met in my chambers.
My daughter, they said, was to be born under strange circumstances. That she was to be my undoing and the fall of my kingdom as well as those around me. They cautioned me against her birth and said that I would have to choose between Alanna and the fate of the world. I knew in their words they were not lying. I believe they sought me out because they knew what my answer would be, and so hoped to impart their wisdom to try and convince me.
I told them my decision. They left without further dispute. By all accounts they were kind and courteous women who merely sought to do what they felt was right. Before they took their leave, I asked if they would have me do them a favor or service in return for their counsel. They only asked for safe passage and for me to reconsider my decision. To my knowledge they still roam these lands unfettered and provide their aid to those who seek them, and to those they felt drawn towards.
My daughter was born on a night where the moon was absent from the sky. I remember her birth well, as all the light in the castle seemed to dim upon her first cries, and members of the castle court and guard reported a dreadful echo shaking their chambers. Alanna made it through the birth, my daughter Eleanor was safe and healthy, but I feared the three sisters omen was well on its way.
I would be lying if I said I had not thought to cast the child out. To send her away or have her disappeared in the night to be left to the elements. But holding her in my arms, gazing upon her and her mother, I thought of my past mistakes and how I would be repeating the course of history if I did as the witches asked. I decided instead to raise Eleanor to harness whatever power she had for good. To make her into a woman worthy of being Queen and ruler of these lands. She would want for nothing and be loved without end.
That was some twenty years past now. My intentions were noble but for naught. The fires are growing now. From my chambers I can hear the clashing of swords and screams. Alanna was given leave to flee by Eleanor and I can only hope she honored that promise. Who was I to try and combat fate? A man whose mistakes haunted him like spirits haunt a crypt. I wanted only to do what I felt was right, and in the end I only served myself. I will not fight back further. I wouldn’t raise a blade to my child even if I could. I wonder how I will meet my end. I wonder if my intentions will absolve my sins. From the window I can see three figures in the distance, and a fourth approaching them in a shawl before they disappear into the wood.
This is my end, foretold by women wiser than me with intentions more pure. This is the price I shall pay for my arrogance. I shall meet my fate with dignity. | |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | Few a king exists who choose wisdom over strength. And yet here I am.
I am weak. It is my lungs, the doctors explained when I was young. They do not pump as they should, and one day they would choke me. They gave me twenty years, at best. But, I decided, why should I bother with swords and fights if I was to die young anyhow? And so I reigned into my thirties, never touching a sword. I know people laughed behind their hands at me, at the way the king could not fight to save his own life. But put them on the other end of my commander’s sword, and see how they beg. I’ve spent my entire life studying strategy. I could make an army with stones and sticks an army of Sun Tzu’s if I tried.
But there is no strategy in the face of fate.
My wife, Elena. The smartest, most beautiful woman on Earth. She was a sword-fighter, a master at martial arts and a devastating duelist. On our first meeting, we joked that a witch must have exchanged our interests, for her parents wanted a studious daughter and mine a fighting son. Of course, we got married, and of course, we consulted the leaves as she became pregnant.
Every single time, an omen. An omen. In the clouds and the weather, the entrails of horse and swan. An omen, an omen. We begged for reprieve. Was our child to be silent? Dead? Murdered? And so we found the best Seer we could. And, in the smoke of dried sage and ginger, she warned me of Marion. A killer, she said. Not just any killer. My murderer. She would kill me and take the throne. Throw her to the wolves, she said. Get rid of her. Try again, try again.
She was not there when Marion was born. Any wish to throw her to the wolves left in me dissolved as her small chubby hand barely wrapped around my little finger. She had her mother’s strength, and my wit. I was going to love her until she defied fate.
And so she lived the most lavish life of any princess in the area. All kingly duties were put aside after 6. She was invited to every meeting, though her presence never required, her input and understanding always respected. I allowed her into my library, and encouraged her to devour books— all books, not the military strategies forcefed to me by my mother, but tales of clever queens and daring knights, of desperate princesses and curses. She was the most well read in the kingdom, and to my delight, took the kindness of her story books into our history books as she began taking a princessly role. Her mother, of course, loved her no less— for the first two years, Marion remained attached to Elena as a common woman affixes her babies to her, as she refused to be apart from her child. She grew up with every interest, no matter how fleeting, encouraged and invited as far as Marion liked. Swimming, sword-fighting, martial arts and horse-riding. She was an incredible shot and could fix any problem in the machinery of our castle.
Our little princess.
And we thought, we thought for so long we had loved the prophecy out of her. My wife Elena died, never having seen her daughter kill.
And yet here we are. My lungs are choking me, really choking me— every breath is agony.
Marion is by my side, tears in her eyes refusing to spill, like the heroes of her novels. Her sword is sheathed by her. A great wheezing fills my lungs as I draw air in, and out. It aches. I lift a weak hand, and tap the sheath gently, casting an imploring look up at her. She looks confused, and then she understands.
“Father— father, I can’t.”
I wheezed in as hard as I could.
“Please.”
She unsheathes the sword— hesitatingly, she places it above my neck. The doctor lifts her hand to her mouth, silent but not disagreeing. Marion swallows, and I look into her eyes. She has all of my smarts, all of hr mother’s strength, but her mercy— her mercy is hers.
The sword lifts, and falls.
Keeping Marion was the best choice I ever made. I’m so relieved she will take the throne from me. | My first child died in the arms of the midwife who delivered him, and my wife died shortly thereafter. At the time I was young, impetuous, and brash. I allowed my emotions to cloud reason, and rather than grieve as I should have, I blamed the midwife. I sentenced her to death for simply doing her duty to the best of her ability. I light a candle for her every day. One of many.
My second son lived until his 5th summer, until he took ill with a disease that baffled all of my courts greatest minds. My wife watched him fade away at his bedside, and I watched the life fade from her as she wept. She asked, pleaded for an annulment to our marriage, and to be rid of this place that reminded her of her lost child. Once more my anger reared it’s ugly head, and while I did grant her the annulment, I also had her banished far from these lands. I know not where she is now. I wished I’d not been so cruel but we cannot rectify the mistakes of the past. We can only attempt to move forward and make better decisions.
I took as much time as I could after my second wife. Between stately affairs and whispers of war, I was able to busy myself with my duties as king. With the aid of my court we were able to improve the conditions of the kingdom, and through careful decisions and discussions we were able to avoid war. I was celebrated as a benevolent king. I felt as though my peoples faith was misplaced, but at the advisement of my court and with encouragement from far away ally’s and relatives, I sought to find a partner once more.
Her name was Alanna. She was the second daughter of a Duke from a neighboring kingdom, and though I was almost eight years her senior, her beauty and wit captivated me. She enjoyed swordplay as much as she did embroidery, attended races with the same fervor as she attended balls and galas, and to say she was well read would be an understatement. She could be anything in this land that she wished, and yet she chose to be my wife. She could have said no, she’d turned down many men of esteem in the past, but there was something in our connection that made her say yes.
When the time came to consider children, I was relieved to hear that she was as hesitant as I was. It was nice to have someone who was cautioned and measured in their decisions. It mattered not that I was a king, she understood the risks and the burdens of carrying a child. It was not her duties to sire an heir that made her decide to be with child. I told her as such. I myself have two brothers and a number of cousins who could take my place. I would have been happy to live our lives as King and Queen over a prosperous land until the end of our days. When we decided to have a child, we did so for ourselves and for the love we have for one another.
Seldom is life as easy as that. Upon news of my wife’s pregnancy, I was given word that a trio of wise women sought to give me council. I balked at first, having never heard of these sisters three, but alchemist in my court sang their praises. He said I should at least give them an audience, as they were well schooled in ways of augury and fortune telling. Their arrival surely had some significance and I should at least give them a moment of my time. I obliged.
The sisters were said to be as old the forests that surrounded the land, yet they looked to be younger than even my Alanna. One with flowing scarlet red hair, another with short black hair like that of a ravens feathers, and the third blonde with hair that fell almost to the floor. They dressed well and followed decorum with bows and how they addressed each lord and lady they met. It was their intermittent glances at the queen that gave me pause. I understood why once we met in my chambers.
My daughter, they said, was to be born under strange circumstances. That she was to be my undoing and the fall of my kingdom as well as those around me. They cautioned me against her birth and said that I would have to choose between Alanna and the fate of the world. I knew in their words they were not lying. I believe they sought me out because they knew what my answer would be, and so hoped to impart their wisdom to try and convince me.
I told them my decision. They left without further dispute. By all accounts they were kind and courteous women who merely sought to do what they felt was right. Before they took their leave, I asked if they would have me do them a favor or service in return for their counsel. They only asked for safe passage and for me to reconsider my decision. To my knowledge they still roam these lands unfettered and provide their aid to those who seek them, and to those they felt drawn towards.
My daughter was born on a night where the moon was absent from the sky. I remember her birth well, as all the light in the castle seemed to dim upon her first cries, and members of the castle court and guard reported a dreadful echo shaking their chambers. Alanna made it through the birth, my daughter Eleanor was safe and healthy, but I feared the three sisters omen was well on its way.
I would be lying if I said I had not thought to cast the child out. To send her away or have her disappeared in the night to be left to the elements. But holding her in my arms, gazing upon her and her mother, I thought of my past mistakes and how I would be repeating the course of history if I did as the witches asked. I decided instead to raise Eleanor to harness whatever power she had for good. To make her into a woman worthy of being Queen and ruler of these lands. She would want for nothing and be loved without end.
That was some twenty years past now. My intentions were noble but for naught. The fires are growing now. From my chambers I can hear the clashing of swords and screams. Alanna was given leave to flee by Eleanor and I can only hope she honored that promise. Who was I to try and combat fate? A man whose mistakes haunted him like spirits haunt a crypt. I wanted only to do what I felt was right, and in the end I only served myself. I will not fight back further. I wouldn’t raise a blade to my child even if I could. I wonder how I will meet my end. I wonder if my intentions will absolve my sins. From the window I can see three figures in the distance, and a fourth approaching them in a shawl before they disappear into the wood.
This is my end, foretold by women wiser than me with intentions more pure. This is the price I shall pay for my arrogance. I shall meet my fate with dignity. | |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | **I would do anything for my family.**
I was a noble king of my lands. I treated my citizens with respect, and they respected me in kind. I had a thriving kingdom and a wife who has been the love of my life for the past 30 years. What I did not have, however, was an heir. How we tried, time and time again, but my poor wife just could not concede.
That was until one fateful day, when a strange man appeared and offered a deal. My wife would conceive a child if she drank a potion beforehand, however there would be a price to pay. On her 20th birthday, I would have to make a terrible choice. Perhaps against my better judgement, I accepted this offer.
The potion worked as expected, and 9 months later, she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. I was swept up in the moment, until a servant came by with a prophecy. My child would lead to my death. At this, some of my courtiers suggested that I should think about abandoning my child, but looking into her innocent blue eyes, I felt nothing but love for her. If we only had 20 years, I would make those 20 years the best I could.
During the next 16 years, I doted upon her, making sure she had the best childhood possible. The memories we shared over those years still bring a tear to my eye. I watched as she grew from into a young woman who the kingdom adored. Smart, witty, and kind, she was everything I wanted her to be. She had a smile that could light up a room and a sense of humour that could make anyone laugh.
In those last few years, I did think about the prophecy, and the strange potion that lead to her conception. Her 20th birthday was fast approaching, and she could see the worry in my eyes. I told her, eventually, of the prophecies I had heard of her birth, and she swore that she would never hurt her father. I believed her, my daughter was the last person who I could call evil. In her, I honestly saw everything I would want out of an heir, so I made the decision that, if I was going to die, I would prepare her to be my replacement.
Soon the declaration was made that my daughter would replace me after my passing, and soon her training as a monarch began. With the help of my courtiers, I taught her everything she might need to know, from military strategy to economic planning. It was inspiring to watch her pick up all of these skills as easy as a bird would take to the wing. I was proud to know that she would be my successor.
Then, a month before her 20th birthday, tragedy struck. My beloved daughter was struck down with a deadly illness. Court physicians from across the land came to examine her, to try and cure the blight that drained the life from her every day, but nothing could be done. It was so heart-breaking to watch helplessly as my daughter withered away before my eyes.
Finally, yesterday, a figure visited to view her, and I knew it was the man who gave me that potion, and I knew who he really was. Death. I knew what was coming, the terrible choice, and it arrived. He will return tomorrow, and take my daughter to the afterlife, and he would give me the rest of her years, meaning that I would live to be over 100 years old. Alternatively, I could instead offer my soul for him to take instead. If I do, instead all of my remaining years would transfer to her, her illness will be cured, and she would live for another 60 years.
Today, me and my daughter discussed this, the fact that I would have to choose between me and her. My daughter, being the kind soul that she is, told me not to do it, to live a full life on her behalf. I think I could see in her eyes that she knew my mind was made up. That evening, we shared one final talk before we parted. I will not tell a lie, I cried, I could tell that she too would be crying had she had any energy left to. The blight had drained almost all life from her, but I could still see her eyes filled with sadness, knowing that this was our last goodbye. Oh what I would have given for just one more day together, but Death drives a hard bargain.
I gave her one final hug, before leaving her room and returning to my study to finish penning this letter. I can see out of the corner of my eye as the time nears midnight, and I know he is waiting for me in the room now. I think he awaits my decision, but being who he is, he should know by now that my decision was made from the moment of my daughter's birth.
**I would do anything for my family.**
My beloved daughter, Elizabeth, by the time you read these words I will be no longer in this world. I have taught you everything you need to know to lead, and lead well. You were, are, and always will be one of my most cherished people in the world to me, and as I walk hand in hand with the reaper into the afterlife, know that you and your mother are always in my mind. My kingdom now falls to you, and I have full faith that you will be the perfect leader for the kingdom.
I would write more, but the midnight hour draws near, and I dare not keep Death waiting.
Farewell, Elizabeth. You may be the reason my life will be cut short, but for all the happiness and joy you have given me over the past years, I would not have it any other way.
Your King, and loving Father.
Henry VI of Rivelda. | See the problem with this is that a prophecy is not really the truth; it is a spell. Perhaps there was a timeline where it would not happen, where you could avert it... but once the prophecy is heard and spoken by its targets it is already too late.
The Tale of King Kindess and Prince Liam is the example: told by the Norn-Speaker that his son would kill him, both their fates where bound. Kindness loved his son and spent every day training and raising him to be good and just. Prince Liam became famed and beloved and why he did learn of it, was horrified and swore he would not.
However the false concept of Fate, now spoken by a Fatemaker, meant there could be no avoiding it. Liam was arranged to marry Hjolda of Vinterkin, and both got along exceptionally, but the Lord of Shadowheim came forwards to the King Kindness, saying that Liam should marry his Son, Prince Hydemore for the political benefit and alliance.
King Kindness refused: It was a miracle in itself that Liam and Hjolda agreed to marry given how arrangements went. Hydemore's father grew in rage and made warning that if he refused that he would die; the People of Shadowheim tend to be like that and on the night of the wedding, King Kindness made sure to defend his castle well...
and yet when Prince Hydemore and his father arrived, Liam unknowingly welcomed them in, disguised by shadowy magics. The prince wanted no part in this; he loved Liam, but to kill a man who had welcomed them into their home is not proper... but one of their entourages managed to sneak in, due to a friendship the princes had.
King Kindess was found dead and when the Father explained, Liam, in his grief realized the prophecy was true.
The tale illustrates Prophecy's most insidious trait; it is not the literal meaning of the words. Some might not consider this to be 'causing' Kindness's death, but it did not matter; there is one who could see how it would be, therefore it is. Prophecy relies on possibility; it enslaves all in the world to its whims and ensures it is carried out in some way.
This is merely one example of why you should never allow a prophet to live, less you too be enslaved by their unknowing ability and your Doom be 'known'
\- Except from *Philosophy of the Fatekillers* | |
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" | When I didn't respond or even twitch at their entrance, the other me takes a, what I supose is suposed to be an intimidating, step forward. The moment their bloody foot touches the sixth from the left floor tile it triggers all seven laser rifles arranged around the bunker, slicing alternate-me into aproximately 24 oversized chunks. I just sigh and grab the bio-hazard disposal bags I keep underneath my bed. Why all of my alternate selves seemed to be bloodthirsty, dimesion traveling annoyances was beyond me, but I just wanted to go a day without one popping up to kill me. I put on my gloves and started sorting through me-chunks. It was hard being the only normal 'me' in the multiverse. | As I walked down the street, minding my own business, I suddenly noticed a strange glowing portal in front of me. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but before I could turn and run the other way, a massive figure emerged from the portal.
At first, I didn't recognize the person standing before me. They were over seven feet tall and weighed almost 400 pounds, and their face was twisted into a grotesque sneer. But then I noticed the eyes. They were my eyes.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice shaking with fear.
"I am you," the figure replied in a deep, menacing voice. "But I am from another universe, where you have taken a different path. A path of darkness and destruction."
With that, the figure held up four severed heads, each one belonging to a different version of myself. "Join me," the figure said, "or join my collection."
I didn't need to think twice. I turned and ran as fast as I could, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I had to get away from that terrifying figure.
I ran for what felt like hours, until I finally stumbled upon a group of people who looked like they could help me. I told them what had happened, and they listened with horrified expressions. Together, we came up with a plan to stop the evil version of me from terrorizing our universe.
We built a portal of our own and sent a team of brave warriors through it to confront the monstrous version of me. I stayed behind, praying for their success.
In the end, our team was able to defeat the evil me and close the portal forever, ensuring that our universe would never again be threatened by such a monstrous being. I was relieved, but I knew that I would never forget the terror I had faced that day. And I vowed to always be on my guard, in case another portal ever appeared. | |
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" | “Erm…” I mutter.
The homunculus before me was wearing the blood stained grin of a madman and nothing else.
“Do you… do you mind if I bring some friends with me?” I asked, opening my desk drawer.
Homunculus’s grin went pale.
He released his grip of craniums and fled back through the portal. Heads bopping on the wet carpeted floor of my office.
The air in the room sucked toward the portal, non-descript paper flew through the air as is custom whenever portals open or closed. Fizzling like popping candy in the mouth. Then silence.
“Pity” I say to where my new homunculus friend had been, “I was rather hoping to introduce you to my other friends.”
I absently closed the filing cabinet drawer, full to bursting with my own collection of heads. | As I walked down the street, minding my own business, I suddenly noticed a strange glowing portal in front of me. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but before I could turn and run the other way, a massive figure emerged from the portal.
At first, I didn't recognize the person standing before me. They were over seven feet tall and weighed almost 400 pounds, and their face was twisted into a grotesque sneer. But then I noticed the eyes. They were my eyes.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice shaking with fear.
"I am you," the figure replied in a deep, menacing voice. "But I am from another universe, where you have taken a different path. A path of darkness and destruction."
With that, the figure held up four severed heads, each one belonging to a different version of myself. "Join me," the figure said, "or join my collection."
I didn't need to think twice. I turned and ran as fast as I could, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I had to get away from that terrifying figure.
I ran for what felt like hours, until I finally stumbled upon a group of people who looked like they could help me. I told them what had happened, and they listened with horrified expressions. Together, we came up with a plan to stop the evil version of me from terrorizing our universe.
We built a portal of our own and sent a team of brave warriors through it to confront the monstrous version of me. I stayed behind, praying for their success.
In the end, our team was able to defeat the evil me and close the portal forever, ensuring that our universe would never again be threatened by such a monstrous being. I was relieved, but I knew that I would never forget the terror I had faced that day. And I vowed to always be on my guard, in case another portal ever appeared. | |
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" | The muscle-bound hulk looked like he'd come straight off of a fantasy novel's dust jacket.
"JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION!" he bellowed.
The giant held an equally large axe in one hand, and though I knew I'd struggle to lift it with both hands, he flexed his wrist and it moved in a small, controlled circle. The strength in his forearms alone was terrifying.
"OK," I replied, "Just let me get my stuff - just a minute."
I went upstairs to the closet and pulled my 12 gauge shotgun off the shelf, then grabbed a box of shells and threw in 3 rounds of 00 Buckshot. I grabbed my Glock 19 from the bedside safe, checked the chamber and magazine, then quickly added the holster to my belt. As an afterthought I grabbed an empty bookbag from the bottom of the closet and stuffed some dirty clothes in it.
------------
The giant saw a bag land heavily at the bottom of the stairs, and knew he'd finally found one that would join him willingly. He grinned as he saw this other version of himself coming down holding a strange metal tube...
#BOOM-CHIKCHAK-BOOM-CHIKCHAK-BOOM
------------
I called the cops and reported the stupidity. They can clean up the body. I don't have time for this shit.
Edit: typo | As I walked down the street, minding my own business, I suddenly noticed a strange glowing portal in front of me. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but before I could turn and run the other way, a massive figure emerged from the portal.
At first, I didn't recognize the person standing before me. They were over seven feet tall and weighed almost 400 pounds, and their face was twisted into a grotesque sneer. But then I noticed the eyes. They were my eyes.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice shaking with fear.
"I am you," the figure replied in a deep, menacing voice. "But I am from another universe, where you have taken a different path. A path of darkness and destruction."
With that, the figure held up four severed heads, each one belonging to a different version of myself. "Join me," the figure said, "or join my collection."
I didn't need to think twice. I turned and ran as fast as I could, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I had to get away from that terrifying figure.
I ran for what felt like hours, until I finally stumbled upon a group of people who looked like they could help me. I told them what had happened, and they listened with horrified expressions. Together, we came up with a plan to stop the evil version of me from terrorizing our universe.
We built a portal of our own and sent a team of brave warriors through it to confront the monstrous version of me. I stayed behind, praying for their success.
In the end, our team was able to defeat the evil me and close the portal forever, ensuring that our universe would never again be threatened by such a monstrous being. I was relieved, but I knew that I would never forget the terror I had faced that day. And I vowed to always be on my guard, in case another portal ever appeared. | |
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" | The portal ripples as what I can only describe as version of me on steroids steps through, a belt of heads at his waist... my heads.
He proceeds to speak
"JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" he says in a deep overtone. The energy from the portal rippling once more as a cold 'wind' streams from it.
I stare ahead as the man lifts the heads and immediately recoil backwards, not because of the sight of it but because of a smell that my body simply can't seem to handle.
Achoo
"Make your decisio-"
Achoo!
"Make your-"
ACHOO
"Argh! Make-"
ACHOO!!
"Stop that this instant!!"
I manage to hold back my sneeze but not for long until my sneezing fit lowers down a bit.
"Ugh make that smell go away dude I-I can't take it anymore!"
"What, you can't handle the smell of death? Perhaps you're too weak"
Achoo
"Not that! It's something else! It's like being pepper spray but in my nose, ACHOO!!"
"I came here for an Great Arch-Mage and this is what I get?"
He says as he lifts his sword ready to strike completely disappointed.
Achoo!
"Oh God make it go AWAY!" My eyes glow a Cerulean hue as the 'wind' stops. Out of the air tendrils of energy manifest as they grasp onto the sword and rip it from the man and into the portal.
The man's eyes widen up in vigilance as he lowers his stance, staring at me.
ACHOO!
"Damn it make it STOP!" I say through the stears and snot running through my face due to constant sneezing and the energy once again acts to my will as a small barrier forms around my nostrils.
Finally after one last sneeze I stop and look at myself. "Oh god I'm so sorry I don't know what came over me. Here let me clean up" I reach for a towel but the magic flows around me, cleaning my body. I stand there frozen and turn around.
"Oh I um, thank you? I uh didn't know you could do that" I say sheepishly staring at the ground. The man squints at me then smiles.
"So this is the talent I've been looking for, it's you, I finally found it" He reaches for my arm as I let him and step through, looking back into my room and think 'I... really hope it's a dream' | As I walked down the street, minding my own business, I suddenly noticed a strange glowing portal in front of me. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but before I could turn and run the other way, a massive figure emerged from the portal.
At first, I didn't recognize the person standing before me. They were over seven feet tall and weighed almost 400 pounds, and their face was twisted into a grotesque sneer. But then I noticed the eyes. They were my eyes.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice shaking with fear.
"I am you," the figure replied in a deep, menacing voice. "But I am from another universe, where you have taken a different path. A path of darkness and destruction."
With that, the figure held up four severed heads, each one belonging to a different version of myself. "Join me," the figure said, "or join my collection."
I didn't need to think twice. I turned and ran as fast as I could, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I had to get away from that terrifying figure.
I ran for what felt like hours, until I finally stumbled upon a group of people who looked like they could help me. I told them what had happened, and they listened with horrified expressions. Together, we came up with a plan to stop the evil version of me from terrorizing our universe.
We built a portal of our own and sent a team of brave warriors through it to confront the monstrous version of me. I stayed behind, praying for their success.
In the end, our team was able to defeat the evil me and close the portal forever, ensuring that our universe would never again be threatened by such a monstrous being. I was relieved, but I knew that I would never forget the terror I had faced that day. And I vowed to always be on my guard, in case another portal ever appeared. | |
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" | My opponent and I stop as a glowing disc appears between us.
From the light, drenched in blood, brandishing four severed heads, steps . . . me?
"**JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION**", they thunder.
Then they pause.
And tilt their head back.
And back.
And back.
Until they meet my eyes, three feet above theirs.
I lower my blade, and my opponent snuffs its fire. We share an incredulous glance over the head of the other-me.
Other-me looks at me, at my scorched armor, at my greatsword - then, wide-eyed, turns to stare at the dragon.
"**UHH, NEVERMIND**"
And steps back through the portal.
***
Edit: formatting. | As I walked down the street, minding my own business, I suddenly noticed a strange glowing portal in front of me. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but before I could turn and run the other way, a massive figure emerged from the portal.
At first, I didn't recognize the person standing before me. They were over seven feet tall and weighed almost 400 pounds, and their face was twisted into a grotesque sneer. But then I noticed the eyes. They were my eyes.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice shaking with fear.
"I am you," the figure replied in a deep, menacing voice. "But I am from another universe, where you have taken a different path. A path of darkness and destruction."
With that, the figure held up four severed heads, each one belonging to a different version of myself. "Join me," the figure said, "or join my collection."
I didn't need to think twice. I turned and ran as fast as I could, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I had to get away from that terrifying figure.
I ran for what felt like hours, until I finally stumbled upon a group of people who looked like they could help me. I told them what had happened, and they listened with horrified expressions. Together, we came up with a plan to stop the evil version of me from terrorizing our universe.
We built a portal of our own and sent a team of brave warriors through it to confront the monstrous version of me. I stayed behind, praying for their success.
In the end, our team was able to defeat the evil me and close the portal forever, ensuring that our universe would never again be threatened by such a monstrous being. I was relieved, but I knew that I would never forget the terror I had faced that day. And I vowed to always be on my guard, in case another portal ever appeared. | |
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" | The muscle-bound hulk looked like he'd come straight off of a fantasy novel's dust jacket.
"JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION!" he bellowed.
The giant held an equally large axe in one hand, and though I knew I'd struggle to lift it with both hands, he flexed his wrist and it moved in a small, controlled circle. The strength in his forearms alone was terrifying.
"OK," I replied, "Just let me get my stuff - just a minute."
I went upstairs to the closet and pulled my 12 gauge shotgun off the shelf, then grabbed a box of shells and threw in 3 rounds of 00 Buckshot. I grabbed my Glock 19 from the bedside safe, checked the chamber and magazine, then quickly added the holster to my belt. As an afterthought I grabbed an empty bookbag from the bottom of the closet and stuffed some dirty clothes in it.
------------
The giant saw a bag land heavily at the bottom of the stairs, and knew he'd finally found one that would join him willingly. He grinned as he saw this other version of himself coming down holding a strange metal tube...
#BOOM-CHIKCHAK-BOOM-CHIKCHAK-BOOM
------------
I called the cops and reported the stupidity. They can clean up the body. I don't have time for this shit.
Edit: typo | My mind raced with the implications of what this meant. I was overwhelmed by the terror that created an icy grip in my chest. Was this a warning from a parallel universe, or a threat from a doppelganger? I had to choose: accept whatever evil plan this giant creature had in store for me, or I would end up like the others.
I desperately wanted to flee, but my feet were stuck in the same spot. I glanced around, but there was nowhere to hide. So I agreed to join him, preparing myself for whatever mad world I was about to enter.
The giant was pleased and took me by the hand, pulling me through the portal. I felt like I stepped into a living nightmare, filled with horror and despair. There were monsters in the shadows, evil creatures lurking in every corner, and I could feel the looming dread in the air. The only sound I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.
We eventually reached what looked like a throne room from a horror movie. He gestured for me to take the seat of power, but I hesitated. He met my gaze and his voice echoed in the chamber. “This is your destiny. It is time for you to become the new ruler.”
I reluctantly obeyed and took the seat, but as I did, I felt a sharp pain. I looked down to see that my chest was cut open and my four former selves were slowly emerging from my body. They were moaning and struggling, though their efforts were futile. I had made my choice, and now I would suffer the consequences... | |
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" | The portal ripples as what I can only describe as version of me on steroids steps through, a belt of heads at his waist... my heads.
He proceeds to speak
"JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" he says in a deep overtone. The energy from the portal rippling once more as a cold 'wind' streams from it.
I stare ahead as the man lifts the heads and immediately recoil backwards, not because of the sight of it but because of a smell that my body simply can't seem to handle.
Achoo
"Make your decisio-"
Achoo!
"Make your-"
ACHOO
"Argh! Make-"
ACHOO!!
"Stop that this instant!!"
I manage to hold back my sneeze but not for long until my sneezing fit lowers down a bit.
"Ugh make that smell go away dude I-I can't take it anymore!"
"What, you can't handle the smell of death? Perhaps you're too weak"
Achoo
"Not that! It's something else! It's like being pepper spray but in my nose, ACHOO!!"
"I came here for an Great Arch-Mage and this is what I get?"
He says as he lifts his sword ready to strike completely disappointed.
Achoo!
"Oh God make it go AWAY!" My eyes glow a Cerulean hue as the 'wind' stops. Out of the air tendrils of energy manifest as they grasp onto the sword and rip it from the man and into the portal.
The man's eyes widen up in vigilance as he lowers his stance, staring at me.
ACHOO!
"Damn it make it STOP!" I say through the stears and snot running through my face due to constant sneezing and the energy once again acts to my will as a small barrier forms around my nostrils.
Finally after one last sneeze I stop and look at myself. "Oh god I'm so sorry I don't know what came over me. Here let me clean up" I reach for a towel but the magic flows around me, cleaning my body. I stand there frozen and turn around.
"Oh I um, thank you? I uh didn't know you could do that" I say sheepishly staring at the ground. The man squints at me then smiles.
"So this is the talent I've been looking for, it's you, I finally found it" He reaches for my arm as I let him and step through, looking back into my room and think 'I... really hope it's a dream' | My mind raced with the implications of what this meant. I was overwhelmed by the terror that created an icy grip in my chest. Was this a warning from a parallel universe, or a threat from a doppelganger? I had to choose: accept whatever evil plan this giant creature had in store for me, or I would end up like the others.
I desperately wanted to flee, but my feet were stuck in the same spot. I glanced around, but there was nowhere to hide. So I agreed to join him, preparing myself for whatever mad world I was about to enter.
The giant was pleased and took me by the hand, pulling me through the portal. I felt like I stepped into a living nightmare, filled with horror and despair. There were monsters in the shadows, evil creatures lurking in every corner, and I could feel the looming dread in the air. The only sound I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.
We eventually reached what looked like a throne room from a horror movie. He gestured for me to take the seat of power, but I hesitated. He met my gaze and his voice echoed in the chamber. “This is your destiny. It is time for you to become the new ruler.”
I reluctantly obeyed and took the seat, but as I did, I felt a sharp pain. I looked down to see that my chest was cut open and my four former selves were slowly emerging from my body. They were moaning and struggling, though their efforts were futile. I had made my choice, and now I would suffer the consequences... | |
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" | My opponent and I stop as a glowing disc appears between us.
From the light, drenched in blood, brandishing four severed heads, steps . . . me?
"**JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION**", they thunder.
Then they pause.
And tilt their head back.
And back.
And back.
Until they meet my eyes, three feet above theirs.
I lower my blade, and my opponent snuffs its fire. We share an incredulous glance over the head of the other-me.
Other-me looks at me, at my scorched armor, at my greatsword - then, wide-eyed, turns to stare at the dragon.
"**UHH, NEVERMIND**"
And steps back through the portal.
***
Edit: formatting. | My mind raced with the implications of what this meant. I was overwhelmed by the terror that created an icy grip in my chest. Was this a warning from a parallel universe, or a threat from a doppelganger? I had to choose: accept whatever evil plan this giant creature had in store for me, or I would end up like the others.
I desperately wanted to flee, but my feet were stuck in the same spot. I glanced around, but there was nowhere to hide. So I agreed to join him, preparing myself for whatever mad world I was about to enter.
The giant was pleased and took me by the hand, pulling me through the portal. I felt like I stepped into a living nightmare, filled with horror and despair. There were monsters in the shadows, evil creatures lurking in every corner, and I could feel the looming dread in the air. The only sound I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.
We eventually reached what looked like a throne room from a horror movie. He gestured for me to take the seat of power, but I hesitated. He met my gaze and his voice echoed in the chamber. “This is your destiny. It is time for you to become the new ruler.”
I reluctantly obeyed and took the seat, but as I did, I felt a sharp pain. I looked down to see that my chest was cut open and my four former selves were slowly emerging from my body. They were moaning and struggling, though their efforts were futile. I had made my choice, and now I would suffer the consequences... | |
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" | I look at this giant of a man that has my face on it. Maybe this is the wrong thing to think at first, but immediately I just think about how I really need to get back to the gym. Those abs are out of this world. I mean, I'm not like morbidly obese or anything like that, but I have a bit of a gut growing on me. A few hours on the treadmill could do me some good. I am a little bit disappointed as I look into my eyes though. I may have a killer body, but I guess no matter what I am stuck with my same ugly little face.
I consider his proposal as he dangles the other four heads around at me. The obvious choice is to join him. I'm not a big fan of getting my head ripped off my body. I'm even less of a fan of it being used as a prop to intimidate the next guy. But at the same time, we gotta look at all options before making a big decision.
What would happen if I join him? It's probably not exactly going to be a trip of luxury. He doesn't seem like the kinda guy who's gonna take me to Hawaii if I 'join him.' I can't see him taking shots with me at a rooftop bar. If that was the case, these dangling heads would have chosen to join him.
No, I think joining him is probably going to end up in a much more nefarious place. I think that it will end up with a much more dark place. I will probably end up as some tool for murder. He will train me to become some killer and murder other versions of myself. And I'm not a fan of murder. Especially when I have to murder myself. Can you imagine how much therapy I would have to go to? And I doubt this guy's healthcare plan even covers it so I would have to pay out of pocket.
Perhaps death is better. Perhaps I should stand by my morals? I don't want to become a tool for chaos. I would much rather die by standing by what I believe is good and just.
"Make your decision now!" He yells drawing a giant jagged sword.
"I'll join you!"
Listen, I'm not looking for judgement. That sword is scary. And besides, maybe I'll end up having abs just like his. | My mind raced with the implications of what this meant. I was overwhelmed by the terror that created an icy grip in my chest. Was this a warning from a parallel universe, or a threat from a doppelganger? I had to choose: accept whatever evil plan this giant creature had in store for me, or I would end up like the others.
I desperately wanted to flee, but my feet were stuck in the same spot. I glanced around, but there was nowhere to hide. So I agreed to join him, preparing myself for whatever mad world I was about to enter.
The giant was pleased and took me by the hand, pulling me through the portal. I felt like I stepped into a living nightmare, filled with horror and despair. There were monsters in the shadows, evil creatures lurking in every corner, and I could feel the looming dread in the air. The only sound I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.
We eventually reached what looked like a throne room from a horror movie. He gestured for me to take the seat of power, but I hesitated. He met my gaze and his voice echoed in the chamber. “This is your destiny. It is time for you to become the new ruler.”
I reluctantly obeyed and took the seat, but as I did, I felt a sharp pain. I looked down to see that my chest was cut open and my four former selves were slowly emerging from my body. They were moaning and struggling, though their efforts were futile. I had made my choice, and now I would suffer the consequences... | |
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" | The flash of light in the mirror on the wall caught my eye.
Looking up from my game I see the reflection of a shower of lights as the portal opens.
"Join Me or Die."
Booms. Filling the room. Loud enough to hear through the noise canceling headset I am wearing.
A giantess of a woman appears in the space where the lights have just faded. Wild red curls float around her unsmiling face. My eyes are drawn to her right hand which tightly clasps a blood stained axe.
She slips the clear bag off her left shoulder. In it I see familiar faces.
Still gazing up into the mirror grinning slightly at what looks to be "me" but much taller and quite a bit younger.
"Well?" she snarls.
The note a mix of exasperation and frustration. One I know intimately.
My smile broadens. I remove the headset and quietly ask:
"Which would YOU choose?"
Anger flashes quickly in those ice blue eyes, but softens as she actually finally looks at me.
I turn my wheelchair around to face her:
"Well?" | My mind raced with the implications of what this meant. I was overwhelmed by the terror that created an icy grip in my chest. Was this a warning from a parallel universe, or a threat from a doppelganger? I had to choose: accept whatever evil plan this giant creature had in store for me, or I would end up like the others.
I desperately wanted to flee, but my feet were stuck in the same spot. I glanced around, but there was nowhere to hide. So I agreed to join him, preparing myself for whatever mad world I was about to enter.
The giant was pleased and took me by the hand, pulling me through the portal. I felt like I stepped into a living nightmare, filled with horror and despair. There were monsters in the shadows, evil creatures lurking in every corner, and I could feel the looming dread in the air. The only sound I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.
We eventually reached what looked like a throne room from a horror movie. He gestured for me to take the seat of power, but I hesitated. He met my gaze and his voice echoed in the chamber. “This is your destiny. It is time for you to become the new ruler.”
I reluctantly obeyed and took the seat, but as I did, I felt a sharp pain. I looked down to see that my chest was cut open and my four former selves were slowly emerging from my body. They were moaning and struggling, though their efforts were futile. I had made my choice, and now I would suffer the consequences... | |
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" | My opponent and I stop as a glowing disc appears between us.
From the light, drenched in blood, brandishing four severed heads, steps . . . me?
"**JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION**", they thunder.
Then they pause.
And tilt their head back.
And back.
And back.
Until they meet my eyes, three feet above theirs.
I lower my blade, and my opponent snuffs its fire. We share an incredulous glance over the head of the other-me.
Other-me looks at me, at my scorched armor, at my greatsword - then, wide-eyed, turns to stare at the dragon.
"**UHH, NEVERMIND**"
And steps back through the portal.
***
Edit: formatting. | The portal ripples as what I can only describe as version of me on steroids steps through, a belt of heads at his waist... my heads.
He proceeds to speak
"JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" he says in a deep overtone. The energy from the portal rippling once more as a cold 'wind' streams from it.
I stare ahead as the man lifts the heads and immediately recoil backwards, not because of the sight of it but because of a smell that my body simply can't seem to handle.
Achoo
"Make your decisio-"
Achoo!
"Make your-"
ACHOO
"Argh! Make-"
ACHOO!!
"Stop that this instant!!"
I manage to hold back my sneeze but not for long until my sneezing fit lowers down a bit.
"Ugh make that smell go away dude I-I can't take it anymore!"
"What, you can't handle the smell of death? Perhaps you're too weak"
Achoo
"Not that! It's something else! It's like being pepper spray but in my nose, ACHOO!!"
"I came here for an Great Arch-Mage and this is what I get?"
He says as he lifts his sword ready to strike completely disappointed.
Achoo!
"Oh God make it go AWAY!" My eyes glow a Cerulean hue as the 'wind' stops. Out of the air tendrils of energy manifest as they grasp onto the sword and rip it from the man and into the portal.
The man's eyes widen up in vigilance as he lowers his stance, staring at me.
ACHOO!
"Damn it make it STOP!" I say through the stears and snot running through my face due to constant sneezing and the energy once again acts to my will as a small barrier forms around my nostrils.
Finally after one last sneeze I stop and look at myself. "Oh god I'm so sorry I don't know what came over me. Here let me clean up" I reach for a towel but the magic flows around me, cleaning my body. I stand there frozen and turn around.
"Oh I um, thank you? I uh didn't know you could do that" I say sheepishly staring at the ground. The man squints at me then smiles.
"So this is the talent I've been looking for, it's you, I finally found it" He reaches for my arm as I let him and step through, looking back into my room and think 'I... really hope it's a dream' | |
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION" | The flash of light in the mirror on the wall caught my eye.
Looking up from my game I see the reflection of a shower of lights as the portal opens.
"Join Me or Die."
Booms. Filling the room. Loud enough to hear through the noise canceling headset I am wearing.
A giantess of a woman appears in the space where the lights have just faded. Wild red curls float around her unsmiling face. My eyes are drawn to her right hand which tightly clasps a blood stained axe.
She slips the clear bag off her left shoulder. In it I see familiar faces.
Still gazing up into the mirror grinning slightly at what looks to be "me" but much taller and quite a bit younger.
"Well?" she snarls.
The note a mix of exasperation and frustration. One I know intimately.
My smile broadens. I remove the headset and quietly ask:
"Which would YOU choose?"
Anger flashes quickly in those ice blue eyes, but softens as she actually finally looks at me.
I turn my wheelchair around to face her:
"Well?" | I look at this giant of a man that has my face on it. Maybe this is the wrong thing to think at first, but immediately I just think about how I really need to get back to the gym. Those abs are out of this world. I mean, I'm not like morbidly obese or anything like that, but I have a bit of a gut growing on me. A few hours on the treadmill could do me some good. I am a little bit disappointed as I look into my eyes though. I may have a killer body, but I guess no matter what I am stuck with my same ugly little face.
I consider his proposal as he dangles the other four heads around at me. The obvious choice is to join him. I'm not a big fan of getting my head ripped off my body. I'm even less of a fan of it being used as a prop to intimidate the next guy. But at the same time, we gotta look at all options before making a big decision.
What would happen if I join him? It's probably not exactly going to be a trip of luxury. He doesn't seem like the kinda guy who's gonna take me to Hawaii if I 'join him.' I can't see him taking shots with me at a rooftop bar. If that was the case, these dangling heads would have chosen to join him.
No, I think joining him is probably going to end up in a much more nefarious place. I think that it will end up with a much more dark place. I will probably end up as some tool for murder. He will train me to become some killer and murder other versions of myself. And I'm not a fan of murder. Especially when I have to murder myself. Can you imagine how much therapy I would have to go to? And I doubt this guy's healthcare plan even covers it so I would have to pay out of pocket.
Perhaps death is better. Perhaps I should stand by my morals? I don't want to become a tool for chaos. I would much rather die by standing by what I believe is good and just.
"Make your decision now!" He yells drawing a giant jagged sword.
"I'll join you!"
Listen, I'm not looking for judgement. That sword is scary. And besides, maybe I'll end up having abs just like his. | |
[WP] I hear someone familiar calling from somewhere inside the house. I’m panicked.. they’re in my bathroom. Why haven’t they come out? why do I recognize their voice? I’m tiptoeing, my heart is racing. It’s the mirror.. it’s me.. My reflection says to me “I’ve been trying to talk to you.” | I hear a voice coming from inside the bathroom. I grab my phone and a hammer, yet something keeps me from calling the cops. It’s the voice. The voice is so familiar…but there should be no one in my house but me. Against my better judgment, I tiptoe towards the bathroom, my heart racing.
I reach the bathroom, and slowly look in, but there is no one there. I must be imagining things. I turn to leave, but then something catches the corner of my eye. My reflection. Or, what should be my reflection. Instead, a mirror image of me is pounding on the mirror.
“Please, I’ve been trying to talk to you,” my reflection pleads. I fall backwards. Either I am having some sort of weird dream or I’ve already lost it.
“I’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty…”
The hammer smashes against the mirror, over and over again until there are only shards left. I’ll take 7 years of bad luck over having to listen to that crap again. | I must be drunk.
The bathroom. The mirror. It's mouth is moving but mine isn't.
What's going on?
I must've been reading too much Sophie's World.
Is this going to be an impromptu philosophy lesson?
Cool. I'm down.
"HEY MIRROR ME I'M GOING TO GET MY PHILOSOPHY BOOK FOR DUMMIES, OKAY?"
Mirror-me is frantically shaking its head while I leave the room.
Oh here it is.
"HEY MIRROR ME, YOU WANT TO START WITH PLATO? ARISTOTLE?"
Mirror-me slaps his head and walks out of the frame.
"MIRROR ME, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"
And that was the last time you ever saw your reflection. | |
[WP] I hear someone familiar calling from somewhere inside the house. I’m panicked.. they’re in my bathroom. Why haven’t they come out? why do I recognize their voice? I’m tiptoeing, my heart is racing. It’s the mirror.. it’s me.. My reflection says to me “I’ve been trying to talk to you.” | I put this prompt into a shrt story writing AI generator and this is what came out... Why is it so good????
AI written story:
*I was in the middle of folding laundry when I heard it. A voice calling from somewhere inside the house. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. I froze. I had a feeling of panic rising inside me. I started tiptoeing around the house, trying to find the source of the voice.*
*As I made my way down the hallway, I noticed that it was coming from the bathroom. I stopped dead in my tracks. Why was someone in there? I knew it had to be someone I recognized, but why hadn't they come out yet? I was scared. I slowly reached for the door handle, my heart racing.*
*I opened the door and gasped. It was me. My reflection was looking back at me from the mirror. My reflection said, "I've been trying to talk to you. Why haven't you been listening?"*
*I was taken aback. I realized that all this time, the voice I had been hearing was my own. I had been so busy with life that I had failed to take time to listen to myself. I took a deep breath and stepped closer to the mirror, looking into my own eyes.*
*I promised myself that from now on, I would take the time to listen to my inner voice. I had been missing out on so much by not doing so. I smiled and nodded at my reflection in the mirror, and it smiled back at me.* | I must be drunk.
The bathroom. The mirror. It's mouth is moving but mine isn't.
What's going on?
I must've been reading too much Sophie's World.
Is this going to be an impromptu philosophy lesson?
Cool. I'm down.
"HEY MIRROR ME I'M GOING TO GET MY PHILOSOPHY BOOK FOR DUMMIES, OKAY?"
Mirror-me is frantically shaking its head while I leave the room.
Oh here it is.
"HEY MIRROR ME, YOU WANT TO START WITH PLATO? ARISTOTLE?"
Mirror-me slaps his head and walks out of the frame.
"MIRROR ME, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"
And that was the last time you ever saw your reflection. | |
[WP] I hear someone familiar calling from somewhere inside the house. I’m panicked.. they’re in my bathroom. Why haven’t they come out? why do I recognize their voice? I’m tiptoeing, my heart is racing. It’s the mirror.. it’s me.. My reflection says to me “I’ve been trying to talk to you.” | "I've been trying to talk to you."
"Okay? About what?"
He lit a cigarette. Of course he did. I don't smoke. But I get why. I don't blame him.
"I've been with you the whole way. Well for most of it." He explained. There was a rather banal undertone to his delivery. He probably didn't want to be here anymore than me.
"Why?"
"I feel like you're asking too vague of a question. More like why not?" He shrugged.
"Are you really me or not?"
"Does it matter?"
I would ask myself that. At first I had my doubts. No, this is definitely me. Not the same me, but clearly the same me.
"A lot. How are you going to talk to me if you keep answering in questions?"
He shrugged again and adjusted the cigarette. There wasn't really any sense behind it. The background was equally weird. Things were reversed and the fact I couldn't readily read anything to confirm what was going on made it worse.
"I don't know. Most people don't react very well when their reflections start talking. Makes them think they're crazy."
"I feel like I'm crazy now. Really I do."
He finished the cigarette and continued talking.
"Well, you're not. Point is, I've been there when you weren't. All your fears, all your hopes, all those times you gave up and then kept going. You know, you don't need me anymore. Right?"
That's equally confusing. So you've been there. But now you're ready to leave. Where is there to go? You're stuck with yourself. That's how this works. That's how things like this always work.
"Where are you going?"
"I feel like that's the part you need to figure out."
There was a simple peace beyond such an odd conversation. Why I don't know.
"Alright fun times over. Time to wake up." He decided.
"What?"
"Wake up, stupid."
---
"So you're saying, I take one of these every day at around the same time? Yep. Okay. Just checking. Yes, I just needed to be sure. Thank you. Goodbye."
Turns out a prescription can work wonders with the right guidance from a professional. Therapy on the weekends. Starting last weekend. My reflection never said anything. Not this time. I was right. I don't need him at all.
I hope.
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | I must be drunk.
The bathroom. The mirror. It's mouth is moving but mine isn't.
What's going on?
I must've been reading too much Sophie's World.
Is this going to be an impromptu philosophy lesson?
Cool. I'm down.
"HEY MIRROR ME I'M GOING TO GET MY PHILOSOPHY BOOK FOR DUMMIES, OKAY?"
Mirror-me is frantically shaking its head while I leave the room.
Oh here it is.
"HEY MIRROR ME, YOU WANT TO START WITH PLATO? ARISTOTLE?"
Mirror-me slaps his head and walks out of the frame.
"MIRROR ME, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"
And that was the last time you ever saw your reflection. | |
[WP] I hear someone familiar calling from somewhere inside the house. I’m panicked.. they’re in my bathroom. Why haven’t they come out? why do I recognize their voice? I’m tiptoeing, my heart is racing. It’s the mirror.. it’s me.. My reflection says to me “I’ve been trying to talk to you.” | My reflection looks at me. With his dumb nose and crooked eyes. I remember who I'm looking at and then decide that his eyes aren't that crooked and his nose is probably actually pretty smart. He isn't copying my movements though. He is just doing his own thing. Not picking his nose or anything.
The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up straight as I stare at him. He's been trying to talk to me? What does that mean? How is this happening? I ask him why he has been trying to talk to me.
"Help me get out of this mirror, I am tired of living in this shadow of a world."
I mull it over. I've always wanted a twin brother. I thought it would be fun to switch classes in school on April Fool's day and trick everybody into thinking I was my brother. But then I remembered I am a 42 year old man, and I don't think I could pull this off anymore. So that being the case why would I get this guy out of the mirror? It sounds like it could be trouble. What if he starts causing havoc and blaming it on me. I wouldn't like that. Also, what am I going to tell people? Where is he going to live? Not on my bed I'll tell you that. I like to spread out.
“Hey! Pay attention! Help me out of here.”
He’s really demanding. And besides this is spooky. What if he is some kind of ghost??
“Let me out!”
Ah, alright.
I go and find a hammer from the closet. It is a nice fat one. I forgot why I bought it, I think I needed it for something but I don’t remember what. Oh yeah! Because I needed to hammer some nails.
I go back to the bathroom and there he is waiting, with his smart nose and straight eyes. He sees my hammer and is not about it at all. He freaks out and starts yelling about how I shouldn’t break the mirror, that’s not the way to let him out. What a baby. You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. I smash the mirror.
I smile smugly as it worked! The dimensions between our worlds has collapsed and I am able to pull him out of the broken mirror. And this guy didn’t believe me, what an idiot. I’m about to gloat to his face, but he has a giant shard of glass shoved in his brain. I push him back into the hole in my wall and buy a new mirror to cover it. I don't know why I bought it, I don't even have a reflection anymore. | I must be drunk.
The bathroom. The mirror. It's mouth is moving but mine isn't.
What's going on?
I must've been reading too much Sophie's World.
Is this going to be an impromptu philosophy lesson?
Cool. I'm down.
"HEY MIRROR ME I'M GOING TO GET MY PHILOSOPHY BOOK FOR DUMMIES, OKAY?"
Mirror-me is frantically shaking its head while I leave the room.
Oh here it is.
"HEY MIRROR ME, YOU WANT TO START WITH PLATO? ARISTOTLE?"
Mirror-me slaps his head and walks out of the frame.
"MIRROR ME, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"
And that was the last time you ever saw your reflection. | |
[WP] I hear someone familiar calling from somewhere inside the house. I’m panicked.. they’re in my bathroom. Why haven’t they come out? why do I recognize their voice? I’m tiptoeing, my heart is racing. It’s the mirror.. it’s me.. My reflection says to me “I’ve been trying to talk to you.” | My reflection looks at me. With his dumb nose and crooked eyes. I remember who I'm looking at and then decide that his eyes aren't that crooked and his nose is probably actually pretty smart. He isn't copying my movements though. He is just doing his own thing. Not picking his nose or anything.
The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up straight as I stare at him. He's been trying to talk to me? What does that mean? How is this happening? I ask him why he has been trying to talk to me.
"Help me get out of this mirror, I am tired of living in this shadow of a world."
I mull it over. I've always wanted a twin brother. I thought it would be fun to switch classes in school on April Fool's day and trick everybody into thinking I was my brother. But then I remembered I am a 42 year old man, and I don't think I could pull this off anymore. So that being the case why would I get this guy out of the mirror? It sounds like it could be trouble. What if he starts causing havoc and blaming it on me. I wouldn't like that. Also, what am I going to tell people? Where is he going to live? Not on my bed I'll tell you that. I like to spread out.
“Hey! Pay attention! Help me out of here.”
He’s really demanding. And besides this is spooky. What if he is some kind of ghost??
“Let me out!”
Ah, alright.
I go and find a hammer from the closet. It is a nice fat one. I forgot why I bought it, I think I needed it for something but I don’t remember what. Oh yeah! Because I needed to hammer some nails.
I go back to the bathroom and there he is waiting, with his smart nose and straight eyes. He sees my hammer and is not about it at all. He freaks out and starts yelling about how I shouldn’t break the mirror, that’s not the way to let him out. What a baby. You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. I smash the mirror.
I smile smugly as it worked! The dimensions between our worlds has collapsed and I am able to pull him out of the broken mirror. And this guy didn’t believe me, what an idiot. I’m about to gloat to his face, but he has a giant shard of glass shoved in his brain. I push him back into the hole in my wall and buy a new mirror to cover it. I don't know why I bought it, I don't even have a reflection anymore. | As I walk into the bathroom, I hear a familiar voice calling to me from somewhere inside the room. I'm immediately panicked - why is someone in my bathroom? And why do I recognize their voice?
I tiptoe closer, my heart racing. I look around the room, but I don't see anyone. But then I hear the voice again, and this time I realize where it's coming from - it's the mirror.
I stare at my reflection, trying to make sense of what's happening. And then, to my shock, my reflection speaks to me.
"I've been trying to talk to you," it says, its mouth moving in sync with mine.
I'm speechless. How is this possible? Why is my reflection talking to me?
"Please, you have to help me," my reflection pleads. "I need your help to escape from this mirror."
I'm still in shock, but I can't ignore the desperate look in my reflection's eyes. I nod, unsure of what to do but determined to help.
Together, we come up with a plan. I gather the necessary tools and carefully break the mirror, freeing my reflection from its prison.
As I stand there, looking at my newly-freed reflection, I can't help but feel a sense of relief and accomplishment. But then, my reflection speaks again.
"Thank you for freeing me," it says. "But there's something I need to tell you - I've been trying to contact you about your car's extended warranty. It's about to expire, and you need to renew it before it's too late."
(Generated by AI, revised by me) | |
[WP] In a world where one's eye color determines the type of magic you can use, what about someone with heterochromia ? | My wife grabbed my hand in a way that felt like she would never let go, but was also pushing me to leave.
"You have to run. Now." she said in a soft, cracking voice. "They'll be here any minute."
I gave her a deep kiss, wet and salty from our tears, and let her know that I would come back for her. I promised that I would come back for her, but we both knew it was the last time we would ever see each other.
I wrapped our newly born daughter in a large woven blanket and sprinted out of our hospital room door and down the hallway. I was able to sneak into a stairwell as they turned the corner on our floor. It took every ounce of my restraint not to try and stop them, but for the sake of our daughter I had to keep running. A few minutes later I made it of the building and into our car. I had no idea where to go from there so I started driving east as fast as I could.
\*12 years later\*
Alice looked at me and in a way that only 12 year olds can said "Dad, I want to go to school. Please. Why can't I go? I want to have friends."
She has been asking to leave the farm for years, but it's become much more frequent and demanding over the last few months and my heart breaks a little bit more each time.
I sighed, "Sweeheart, you know why you can't do that. It's not safe for you there."
"You always say that. You can't keep me hidden forever. I need to live. I want to play. I want to tease boys. You tell me these stories about Mom and how fun and strong and brave she was, but I'll never get to be any of those things because you're always so worried something bad might happen."
I sat down in my chair, grabbed her hand and simply said "One day, Alice. One day."
A few hundred years ago a group of Archeologists were digging in an undiclosed location around Mérida and they found.. something. No one was exactly sure what it was, but whoever left it there took great measures to make sure no one ever had posession of it again.
Not long after that weird things started popping up on the news. At first, it was just one or two people and then suddenly it was hundreds and then it was thousands until eventually it was everyone. People we’re gaining the power to manipulate the natural elements. It didn’t take long before everyone realized that eye color was the signifier of the ”magic” you posessed. People with blue eyes were able to control water, people with brown eyes were able to control the earth, people with green eyes were able to control vegetation, and so on.
The government stepped in pretty quickly and took over. There were violent protests and battles for years from people who didn’t want to be controlled, but the powers that be eventually prevailed. They put regulations in place that the general population had to wear special goggles that seperated the color pigments from the iris leaving the person void of powers.
You were only to able to use your powers for farming, fishing, contrusction, or military activity. If you were caught using your powers outside of any of these activies you were taken into custody and shipped off for “training”, but no one ever came back.
It was around 75 years after the magic started that the first “dual” was born. An extremely rare condition called Heterochromia bestows upon its host 2 seperate eye colors. The first child was kept under close supervision for the first years of it’s life under the assumption that a person with 2 colored eyes would have 2 different sets of controlling powers. They were almost right.
A person with Heterochromia is able to control all aspects of nature including one that was previously untouched.. Fire.
As you can imagine, a person with this much power can be the savior of a society or it’s downfall. The governemnt took no chances and took the child under its care immediately. No one is sure how many more “duals” have been born, but since the first every single birth is strictly monitored for this condition.
12 years ago, my daughter Alice was born with 4 distinct blocks of eye color: blue, green, brown, and amber. We have been hiding ever since. | \[Mad Magic\]
"So, my eye color doesn't matter, right?" Tila asked to be sure. Emily, the teenager with long silver hair shook her head. The silver strands shimmered in the fading sunlight. They walked across a vast, lush green plain toward the only cabin visible.
"You're not from this Earth, so that rule doesn't apply to you," Emily answered. "If it did, he wouldn't be a trainer."
"But, he's an NPC, right?" Tila asked. She was new to the AlterNet and still trying to learn all the nuances. "How'd he become a trainer?"
"Random luck," Emily shrugged. "Probably because of the way nanos create quests."
"How do they create quests?" Tila asked. Up until that moment, she had the vague image of countless employees writing and maintaining all the quests across all AlterNet servers. But, the moment she put extra thought into it, she realized how impossible that would be.
"Quests and NPCs are all generated procedurally by the nanos. They study the environment and then throw parts together to make up a quest. On this Earth, whatever eye color people are born with determines the type of magic they can use. So, people born with heterochromia can use two types of magic."
"Ohhhhh," Tila answered as the pieces organized in her mind. The cabin grew closer. "I can see why the class trainer is here," she said.
"Spec trainer," Emily corrected her terminology. "You picked Berzerker for your class already, he's going to teach you a specialization. After that, we'll go collect some other ones. Even if you have a main one, it's helpful to have others you can switch to for different situations."
"Right, Spec," Tila nodded. "Don't feel like you have to stick around while I'm training," she added. She felt guilty for occupying all the teen's time, even if it was only their first stop of the day.
"Yeah, we'll see what happens," Emily giggled as they crossed the wooden fence and onto the cabin property. They made it halfway to the main house before the screen door swung open forward. A tall, portly, scraggly man in a black and blue robe walked out onto the porch and stared at his visitors. His right eye was bright, sparkling green and his left eye was a deep blue.
"Something I can do for you strangers?" he asked. Tila stepped forward and nodded.
"I've come to train. To learn how to cast two spells at the same time like you," she said.
"Very well, let's see how determined you are to learn," he said. "Bring me these items to prove your worth," as he spoke a list of four items appeared at the top right of Tila's view.
"I have to do a quest first....," Tila whined and slumped her shoulders. She felt even more guilty for taking up Emily's time, despite the fact that the teen offered to be there.
"Of course you have to quest first, it's a game," Emily giggled as she pulled a small silvery cloth bag out of her pocket. "What's on the list?" she asked.
"Uhhh...," her eyes focused on the red text floating in the air. "A pound of unicorn meat, a blood tomato, a head of lightning lettuce, and a loaf of voidbread." She finished reading the list and focused on Emily. She was surprised to find the teen pulling a black bag of bread out the silver bag; the rest of the ingredients were already on the ground.
"Here you go," Emily said as she handed the black bag to Tila. As soon as Tila accepted it, the 'Voidbread' line in her list was crossed out. She knelt to collect the rest of the items and handed them to Tila one by one. Each item was crossed off her list as she received it.
"Great, thanks!" Tila grinned at Emily then carried the food forward to the scraggly man's porch. He met her at the bottom step and she handed over the quest items.
\[Quest Complete!\] Golden text filled the center of her vision for a moment, then faded. He walked into the house with the items for a moment, then he returned holding a red translucent node.
"Congratulations, you are worthy," he said as he presented the node to her.
"Thank you!" Tila grinned as she accepted it with a tiny hop of joy. It was her very first quest completion in the AlterNet and she couldn't believe how amazing everything was; it was hard to believe it was just a game.
She quickly flicked her wrist upward to summon her Slate. Once the large display hovered in front of her, she placed the red node on it, and it disintegrated almost instantly. A new option appeared in her 'Spec' slot and she grinned.
"I'm ready to start training!" she looked up at the trainer; but, he was gone.
"He already went back in," Emily giggled.
"But, what about my training!?" Tila replied. She had been eager to start her adventure as soon as she learned other universes existed. As much as she wanted to see everything, she wanted to be as prepared as she could be.
"He already gave you everything he's gonna," Emily said. "It's a game, remember? He gave you access to the ability; learning how to use it effectively is your responsibility."
"Oh...," Tila nodded. "...I guess that makes sense." She looked back down at her Slate and focused on the new entry highlighted in her Spec slot. If nothing else, she was glad that it was over quickly. Chasing down a few more wouldn't be a big deal if they were all that easy. Emily was actually helping her get them done faster than she would without her help. Tila was starting to feel less guilty about taking up Emily's time and decided to just move on. She dismissed her Slate with a wave of her wrist.
"Well, let's go on to the next one. I'll learn how to be a Furycaster on the way."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1786 in a row. (Story #341 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/). | |
[WP] In a world where one's eye color determines the type of magic you can use, what about someone with heterochromia ? | Brown, brown for the earth and the stone of living.
Amber, amber for the fire, the warmth of life.
Hazel, hazel for heart mind and body of the beasts.
Green, green for the trees and plants.
Blue, blue for the sky, the lighting, the sea and storm.
Gray, grey for time and for power of the unseen.
These are the sacred words chiseled into the meeting rock, an enormous pillar of granite that has been the meeting place since time began... or so the stories say. Each verse for an eye, and eye for a verse.
These were called The Eyes of the World. On these the world was made whole, and kept in balance. Together these eyes kept back the evil locked at the heart of the world, deep in the Desert of the North, hidden in slumber by the magic of the Eyes. These eyes were seen in all parts, until the schism, until the times of the fever, where ones' eyes became ones' allegiance, and the world of man divided and fought for control of all. Still the balance remained, as nations came from The Eyes. Each color making plain who could be trusted and who was to be feared.
The City State of Sepia was most common, and most populated. It was the eye of the commoner, the peasant, the city dweller, the farmer, the miner. Of Industry and building is the heart of those of Sepia. They hew rock and stone, boulder and gem, and know better diggers are there among men. Few among them could control the vast power the Eyes conveyed. Those who could were able to make allies of rock as easily as breathing. Golems and creatures of rock and stone would harken to them... and they themselves were protected by earthen walls and strong spirits. Their cities were once massive, and settlements the envy of all others. Behind their walls they prospered. The great schism has reduced their power to a shadow... but the ruins of their mighty works lie crumbling across the world. Great highways and bridges, tunnels and manses, towers and castles remind all of their once proud reach. Wars with Tribes of Amber, and squabbles with conquerors from Cobalt were common. Sepia has seen only a few years of peace in a hundred.
Next the Amber. The Tribes of Amber have ever resided in the hot lands of the Savanah and the wide lands of the cold steppes, they worship fire, and flame, and the eternal Sun. The tribes' chieftains and high priestesses can summon flame as if from nothing, but even common tribesman can warm themselves on cold nights. Their abilities with iron and steel are unmatched, their craftswomen can weave iron as others weave cloth, but they are a scattered and rebellious people, unwilling to follow any one leader, they prefer their life of movement and freedom, and look down upon home builders and dwellers. They keep small smithy's across the plains, the fires providing direction to those who know their arrangement. One can navigate the Painted Desert if they know the Amber Fires. Arrows of the Amber fly further and with more accuracy then any other, and their keeping of time and following the heavens, have no equal among any nation. Fierce and swift they are a force to be reckoned with when they are not squabbling with each other.
The Principality of Gren-Hazel is home to those with Eyes of Hazel and Green. Woodlands and highlands as wild as any on this earth is their province. As the Hazel keep to themselves except for their hidden temples, the beasts that serve them are many and varied. They can control the bear and the hawk, the deer and the badger. To fight the Hazel one would battle nature itself. The Greens too... rely on nature. But a merry people are they, always at their gardens, with festivals of wine and smoke. While those of Hazel are severe and course, those of Green are pleasant and forgiving. Plants and flowers and vines in their myriads are grown by the eyes of Green. To them plants listen as soldiers to a general. Shortly after the schism Hazels and Greens became united, a Princess of Green married a King of Hazel or so it is said in tales of the 'The beast and the flower'. Since that time till now the two have been allies and friends. But they still mostly reject outsiders, jealously guarding their gardens and their herds. Houses of wood and timber, guarded by rivers and mountains... a formidable if not numerous people are they.
The Monarchal Republic of Cobalt is the most regimented and warlike of all the nations. From it's capital Azure lying at the mouth of the Great River, Cobalt's power has waxed and waned with the tides. IT's Eyes of Blue dominate here, their Knights of Azure keep the Kingdom's peace, but also pursue it's enemies in war. The control of lighting is a powerful and rare thing, to see it in action is awe-inspiring. Few still have such great powers, but the Eyes of Blue excel too in the creation of great engineering projects, their science is always seeking new answers, and their tradesmen travel the world, looking for trade and barter. Bold and daring beyond sense, they are an honorable people, but not known for their friendliness. Those of Cobalt love the sea and the waves, and have travelled the farthest of any of the nations of the world.
The Priory of Grey is no Kingdom at all. It is a religious sect, one that has a presence in all nations, kingdoms, and territories. We are the holders of knowledge and history, the keepers of records and an indispensable if not annoying brother and sisterhood of information. We hold no allegiance except to truth. We fight no battles with each other or with the nations. We keep neutral, and help arbitrate disputes. Our power is in seeing truth from lies, and honest hearts from deceitful ones. Our longevity is both our power and curse. The longest life of any of the eyes, we few sentinels are regarded with respect because our time is as the trees, and our appearance rarely changes once we mature to adulthood. Only a few hundred of the Grey eyed are born in a year, and few survive until maturity, as our nature in youth is to be sickly and weak. We have a magic too... but our order forbids it's use. Only to stop conflict and keep the peace do we display our power, and so what remains is only remnant and shadow of what we once were. We use our gifts to unite and repair... and assist others to learn the magic of their eyes, if they have aptitude. IT has been an age since any Grey has raised their hands in true violence, or so the stories say. In time before the schism, it was the Grey who held dominance over the other Eyes. Some say it was we who caused the schism, and so now we pay a penance in keeping the peace.
But there is another Eye, a seventh eye not spoken of often, even on the stone itself it has been neglected, it's place at the base of the pillar not given reverence, overgrown and covered in the weeds and lichen of ages. Only a few know it's saying, and fewer still believe it to ever have been true. It was etched in a language known only to the Priories most senior members, but all nations have it as a legend of some sort or another. To the Amber Tribes it is the promise of a great trio of chiefs and priestesses who will lead them to conquer. To Gren-Hazels it is a prophecy of doom and the destruction of their forests and animal friends. To the Azure it's a three headed dragon said to herald the end times and the times of testing in which they will meet either their end or their glory. The Sepia don't have a grand myth, just whispered fears.
*Chromia, Chromia for the power, Chromia for the evil, Chromia for the sorrow, three of the dawn.*
Some believed it was a prophecy of doom, others the promise of three saviors from the great evil, others still believe it be nothing but legend and myth. One with two eyes of different colors? Which colors? In which nation? It seemed to be a riddle without an answer. 400 years of men have I lived, and not seen anything that could convince me it was anything other than a fools question to bedevil the would be soothsayer, and curse the over-studied cleric.
Then the old darkness was spotted in the far north... and the next day a parchment came to my hands relating the tale of a common girl born with an eye of Blue and an eye of Amber, who can bring fire and call forth lightning. Along with this... the rumors of a boy with eyes of Green and of Hazel, whom both beast and tree bend to as master. Most interesting of all, the belief in a sexless bastard child born to the Queen of Sepia, a child with eyes of brown and of grey who is both small and yet can lift mountains with ease...
The Grey Council has decreed a search for all three, to determine their nature, and to keep them from rending the fragile peace of the world asunder. For if the Evil has returned, and the prophecy true, then the fortunes of all depend on our understanding the truth.
Perhaps the line was not for fools after all? | \[Mad Magic\]
"So, my eye color doesn't matter, right?" Tila asked to be sure. Emily, the teenager with long silver hair shook her head. The silver strands shimmered in the fading sunlight. They walked across a vast, lush green plain toward the only cabin visible.
"You're not from this Earth, so that rule doesn't apply to you," Emily answered. "If it did, he wouldn't be a trainer."
"But, he's an NPC, right?" Tila asked. She was new to the AlterNet and still trying to learn all the nuances. "How'd he become a trainer?"
"Random luck," Emily shrugged. "Probably because of the way nanos create quests."
"How do they create quests?" Tila asked. Up until that moment, she had the vague image of countless employees writing and maintaining all the quests across all AlterNet servers. But, the moment she put extra thought into it, she realized how impossible that would be.
"Quests and NPCs are all generated procedurally by the nanos. They study the environment and then throw parts together to make up a quest. On this Earth, whatever eye color people are born with determines the type of magic they can use. So, people born with heterochromia can use two types of magic."
"Ohhhhh," Tila answered as the pieces organized in her mind. The cabin grew closer. "I can see why the class trainer is here," she said.
"Spec trainer," Emily corrected her terminology. "You picked Berzerker for your class already, he's going to teach you a specialization. After that, we'll go collect some other ones. Even if you have a main one, it's helpful to have others you can switch to for different situations."
"Right, Spec," Tila nodded. "Don't feel like you have to stick around while I'm training," she added. She felt guilty for occupying all the teen's time, even if it was only their first stop of the day.
"Yeah, we'll see what happens," Emily giggled as they crossed the wooden fence and onto the cabin property. They made it halfway to the main house before the screen door swung open forward. A tall, portly, scraggly man in a black and blue robe walked out onto the porch and stared at his visitors. His right eye was bright, sparkling green and his left eye was a deep blue.
"Something I can do for you strangers?" he asked. Tila stepped forward and nodded.
"I've come to train. To learn how to cast two spells at the same time like you," she said.
"Very well, let's see how determined you are to learn," he said. "Bring me these items to prove your worth," as he spoke a list of four items appeared at the top right of Tila's view.
"I have to do a quest first....," Tila whined and slumped her shoulders. She felt even more guilty for taking up Emily's time, despite the fact that the teen offered to be there.
"Of course you have to quest first, it's a game," Emily giggled as she pulled a small silvery cloth bag out of her pocket. "What's on the list?" she asked.
"Uhhh...," her eyes focused on the red text floating in the air. "A pound of unicorn meat, a blood tomato, a head of lightning lettuce, and a loaf of voidbread." She finished reading the list and focused on Emily. She was surprised to find the teen pulling a black bag of bread out the silver bag; the rest of the ingredients were already on the ground.
"Here you go," Emily said as she handed the black bag to Tila. As soon as Tila accepted it, the 'Voidbread' line in her list was crossed out. She knelt to collect the rest of the items and handed them to Tila one by one. Each item was crossed off her list as she received it.
"Great, thanks!" Tila grinned at Emily then carried the food forward to the scraggly man's porch. He met her at the bottom step and she handed over the quest items.
\[Quest Complete!\] Golden text filled the center of her vision for a moment, then faded. He walked into the house with the items for a moment, then he returned holding a red translucent node.
"Congratulations, you are worthy," he said as he presented the node to her.
"Thank you!" Tila grinned as she accepted it with a tiny hop of joy. It was her very first quest completion in the AlterNet and she couldn't believe how amazing everything was; it was hard to believe it was just a game.
She quickly flicked her wrist upward to summon her Slate. Once the large display hovered in front of her, she placed the red node on it, and it disintegrated almost instantly. A new option appeared in her 'Spec' slot and she grinned.
"I'm ready to start training!" she looked up at the trainer; but, he was gone.
"He already went back in," Emily giggled.
"But, what about my training!?" Tila replied. She had been eager to start her adventure as soon as she learned other universes existed. As much as she wanted to see everything, she wanted to be as prepared as she could be.
"He already gave you everything he's gonna," Emily said. "It's a game, remember? He gave you access to the ability; learning how to use it effectively is your responsibility."
"Oh...," Tila nodded. "...I guess that makes sense." She looked back down at her Slate and focused on the new entry highlighted in her Spec slot. If nothing else, she was glad that it was over quickly. Chasing down a few more wouldn't be a big deal if they were all that easy. Emily was actually helping her get them done faster than she would without her help. Tila was starting to feel less guilty about taking up Emily's time and decided to just move on. She dismissed her Slate with a wave of her wrist.
"Well, let's go on to the next one. I'll learn how to be a Furycaster on the way."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1786 in a row. (Story #341 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/). | |
[WP] In a world where one's eye color determines the type of magic you can use, what about someone with heterochromia ? | The lich's lair was a vast low-ceilinged chamber filled with treasure it had plundered from the surrounding lands. Torches lined the rough stone walls, burning with eerie colorless flame. The lich itself slumbered upon a black throne in the middle of the chamber, if indeed the undead was capable of slumber.
Harold's pale eyes glowed with holy light as he studied the chamber. "I think I see the phylactery," he whispered. "It's buried under the gold, but its evil aura is too strong to hide." He glanced at the other two. "It will take me some time to dig it up. You would have to distract the lich without me."
Alaric nodded grimly. "No other choice. Go destroy it while we break some bones."
"I longed to test my powers against a so-called master spellcaster," Nora said, her left eye glinting red in the faint light. Her right was hidden under an eyepatch that suppressed her eldritch powers, as she often liked to remind them. "Let the clash of our magic shake the foundations of the world."
Harold opened his mouth, then closed it. Nora was prone to strange outbursts, but there was no denying her ability as a pyromancer, so they got used to it. Mostly. "Go with light's blessing," he only said, gripping their shoulders to infuse their bodies with strength.
Alaric and Nora nodded at each other. He took a deep breath and prepared to call upon the earth, but then she rose to her feet and openly strode into the chamber.
"Wake up, foul undead!" she cried. "Wake up and face your doom!"
The lich's eyesockets burned with green light as it rose from its throne. "What's this? Intruders?"
Alaric swore and hastened after her. "We could've gotten a good hit in first," he said from the corner of his mouth as he coated his fists in rock.
"Heroes don't do sneak attacks," she said derisively.
He began to retort, but then the lich snapped its bony fingers, and the earthen floor fractured releasing an army of skeletons. "Foolish humans. You will perish here and become a part of my army."
Nora laughed and conjured a swirling globe of fire. "It is you who will perish to my flames!"
Alaric turned away from the glare and faced the oncoming skeletons. Ducking under an ungainly swing, he punched the undead's skull with his reinforced fist, shattering it into pieces. The skeleton collapsed, but another immediately took its place.
Shadows flickered madly over the chamber's walls as Nora torched the undead, somehow finding the time to exchange barbs with the lich. Alaric fought in silence, methodically crushing one skeleton after another. Still the undead kept coming, reforming from all but the deadliest blows. Unlike that of mere mortals, the lich's mana appeared inexhaustible.
Alaric grunted in pain as a rusty sword grazed his shoulder. With a furious cry, he parted the earth before him, causing half a dozen of skeletons to tumble into the crevice. He clenched his fist, and the crevice closed upon itself, burying them forever.
He braced his hands on his knees and caught his breath. He had to conserve his strength. Even now, Harold would be busy unearthing the phylactery, bending the light around himself to hide his presence.
The lich laughed and summoned another handful of skeletons. Their yellowed bones clattered as they advanced, clutching rusty cleavers and clubs. Nora conjured a wall of fire and pressed her back to his, gasping for air. She was exhausted as well.
"Is that the extent of your power?" the lich taunted. "I must say, I expected more of such a... boisterous pair of heroes."
Alaric grimaced. *Boisterous*? Not him, surely.
"Hmph," Nora said. "Very well—I recognize your strength, foul creature. What is your name?"
The lich laughed coldly. "You don't need to know, foolish girl."
"You have no idea who you're talking to, do you?" She stepped away from Alaric and faced the lich, heedless of the tips of the skeletons' blades hovering inches away from her flesh. "I am called Eleanor of the Abyssal Flame, Vanquisher of Evil and Herald of the Abyss."
"Indeed?" The lich tapped a finger against its chinbone. "Never heard of you."
"Then burn my name into your skull. Foolish spawn of the dark, behold my true power!"
With a flourish, she tore off her eyepatch and tossed back her flowing red hair. Even Alaric paused to stare, entranced by the moment. In the dim torchlight, her uncovered eye shone an unnatural purple. He had never even *heard* of an eye color like that, or the type of magic it could command.
"Dwellers of the deepest abyss, heed my call," she cried, throwing up her hands. "In accordance to our ancient covenant, arise from your slumber and sweep the creation away in a conflagration of chaos."
Even as she spoke, she tossed a tiny satchel under her feet and ignited it with a flick of her fingers. Purple smoke billowed out, lending her figure a sinister look. Alaric blinked. What the hell was she doing?
The lich recalled its skeletons to surround it in a protective circle and hastily chanted a spell of its own. A barrier of bleached bone rose to protect its skeletal body. Eleonor continued chanting.
"By the four pillars, I call you, and by the seven gates, I bind you to my will." She jabbed a finger at the lich dramatically. "Let the one who dares stand before me drown in the deepest abyss!"
The undead flinched, but nothing seemed to happen. The only sound in the dank chamber was the clatter of bones as the skeletons adjusted their weapons. Nora's mad grin began to look a little strained as she stubbornly kept up her dramatic pose.
The lich leaned forward to peer through a gap in the bone barrier. "Wait," it said, "is that even your true eye col—"
Then it collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, the bones of the skeleton warriors and the barrier clattering onto the floor to mix with their master's. Above the pile of gold by the back wall, Harold shimmered into view.
"Got the phylactery!" he cried, waving a bejeweled scepter.
Alaric let out an explosive breath. "About time! I thought we were done for."
Nora swayed on her feet, then slumped to her knees. "Thus ends the reign of another foul undead," she murmured, replacing her eyepatch.
Alaric offered her a hand. "Are you all right?"
"Simply weary," she said, taking his hand. "A trifling price to pay for accessing powers no human is meant to access."
"About that," he said slowly. "What the lich said..."
"Babbles of a mind broken by witnessing the abyss," she said quickly. "Pay them no heed."
He shook his head. "Did that spell of yours even do anything?"
"The lich was seconds away from being immured in the deepest abyss," she insisted. "It was lucky its phylactery got destroyed when it did."
"Right," he said, crossing his arms.
"You did well holding out," Harold said, coming up to them. He looked from Alaric to the faintly blushing Nora. "What did I miss?"
Alaric jabbed his chin at her. "She took off her eyepatch."
"I briefly undid the seal that suppresses my powers," she corrected. "And nearly doomed the world. Pray it does not happen again."
Harold looked at her, then at Alaric. "So her right eye really is a different color?" he asked in an undertone.
Alaric snorted. "It *is*, but—"
Nora cried out and clamped her hand over her eyepatch. "Worry not! It's just the backlash from staring into the abyss for too long."
"Wasn't worried at all," Alaric muttered.
Harold exclaimed in sympathy and raised his palm before her face. As it glowed with a healing light, the expression of pain on her face eased up.
"I wish I could've seen it," he said wistfully. "What kind of magic was it?"
"It was..." Alaric saw Nora's pleading glance and schooled his expression into something somber. "Unspeakably horrible. Please don't ever ask again."
Harold swallowed and pulled back his hand from Nora, who suddenly looked very smug. Alaric suppressed a sigh. She was one weird magician, but there was no denying her tactics were effective. | \[Mad Magic\]
"So, my eye color doesn't matter, right?" Tila asked to be sure. Emily, the teenager with long silver hair shook her head. The silver strands shimmered in the fading sunlight. They walked across a vast, lush green plain toward the only cabin visible.
"You're not from this Earth, so that rule doesn't apply to you," Emily answered. "If it did, he wouldn't be a trainer."
"But, he's an NPC, right?" Tila asked. She was new to the AlterNet and still trying to learn all the nuances. "How'd he become a trainer?"
"Random luck," Emily shrugged. "Probably because of the way nanos create quests."
"How do they create quests?" Tila asked. Up until that moment, she had the vague image of countless employees writing and maintaining all the quests across all AlterNet servers. But, the moment she put extra thought into it, she realized how impossible that would be.
"Quests and NPCs are all generated procedurally by the nanos. They study the environment and then throw parts together to make up a quest. On this Earth, whatever eye color people are born with determines the type of magic they can use. So, people born with heterochromia can use two types of magic."
"Ohhhhh," Tila answered as the pieces organized in her mind. The cabin grew closer. "I can see why the class trainer is here," she said.
"Spec trainer," Emily corrected her terminology. "You picked Berzerker for your class already, he's going to teach you a specialization. After that, we'll go collect some other ones. Even if you have a main one, it's helpful to have others you can switch to for different situations."
"Right, Spec," Tila nodded. "Don't feel like you have to stick around while I'm training," she added. She felt guilty for occupying all the teen's time, even if it was only their first stop of the day.
"Yeah, we'll see what happens," Emily giggled as they crossed the wooden fence and onto the cabin property. They made it halfway to the main house before the screen door swung open forward. A tall, portly, scraggly man in a black and blue robe walked out onto the porch and stared at his visitors. His right eye was bright, sparkling green and his left eye was a deep blue.
"Something I can do for you strangers?" he asked. Tila stepped forward and nodded.
"I've come to train. To learn how to cast two spells at the same time like you," she said.
"Very well, let's see how determined you are to learn," he said. "Bring me these items to prove your worth," as he spoke a list of four items appeared at the top right of Tila's view.
"I have to do a quest first....," Tila whined and slumped her shoulders. She felt even more guilty for taking up Emily's time, despite the fact that the teen offered to be there.
"Of course you have to quest first, it's a game," Emily giggled as she pulled a small silvery cloth bag out of her pocket. "What's on the list?" she asked.
"Uhhh...," her eyes focused on the red text floating in the air. "A pound of unicorn meat, a blood tomato, a head of lightning lettuce, and a loaf of voidbread." She finished reading the list and focused on Emily. She was surprised to find the teen pulling a black bag of bread out the silver bag; the rest of the ingredients were already on the ground.
"Here you go," Emily said as she handed the black bag to Tila. As soon as Tila accepted it, the 'Voidbread' line in her list was crossed out. She knelt to collect the rest of the items and handed them to Tila one by one. Each item was crossed off her list as she received it.
"Great, thanks!" Tila grinned at Emily then carried the food forward to the scraggly man's porch. He met her at the bottom step and she handed over the quest items.
\[Quest Complete!\] Golden text filled the center of her vision for a moment, then faded. He walked into the house with the items for a moment, then he returned holding a red translucent node.
"Congratulations, you are worthy," he said as he presented the node to her.
"Thank you!" Tila grinned as she accepted it with a tiny hop of joy. It was her very first quest completion in the AlterNet and she couldn't believe how amazing everything was; it was hard to believe it was just a game.
She quickly flicked her wrist upward to summon her Slate. Once the large display hovered in front of her, she placed the red node on it, and it disintegrated almost instantly. A new option appeared in her 'Spec' slot and she grinned.
"I'm ready to start training!" she looked up at the trainer; but, he was gone.
"He already went back in," Emily giggled.
"But, what about my training!?" Tila replied. She had been eager to start her adventure as soon as she learned other universes existed. As much as she wanted to see everything, she wanted to be as prepared as she could be.
"He already gave you everything he's gonna," Emily said. "It's a game, remember? He gave you access to the ability; learning how to use it effectively is your responsibility."
"Oh...," Tila nodded. "...I guess that makes sense." She looked back down at her Slate and focused on the new entry highlighted in her Spec slot. If nothing else, she was glad that it was over quickly. Chasing down a few more wouldn't be a big deal if they were all that easy. Emily was actually helping her get them done faster than she would without her help. Tila was starting to feel less guilty about taking up Emily's time and decided to just move on. She dismissed her Slate with a wave of her wrist.
"Well, let's go on to the next one. I'll learn how to be a Furycaster on the way."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1786 in a row. (Story #341 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/). | |
[WP] In a world where one's eye color determines the type of magic you can use, what about someone with heterochromia ? | Charlotte took another drink out of her pouch. There is an unsettling stillness to the forest this morning. She’s felt it only a few other times in her short life, but this time she couldn’t turn back. Without something to trade, the necromancer wouldn’t perform the magic to heal her father. The black eyes of the necromancer always sent a shiver down her spine, but he ruled the area and without his help her father would take his last breath. She swept her dark, mudded hair away from her brown eyes and continued along her favorite trail. After a few more minutes she feels a small tickle and freezes. This wasn’t the first time she was able to feel someone watching, but almost everyone she knows has brown eyes; only a few of them had ever shown true divination abilities. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and focused on the tingling sensation. Without another hesitation, Charlotte dropped to one knee while she nocked an arrow and drew her bow. They were standing behind her. Charlotte knelt motionless. A small child wearing a heavy brown robe with a long hood stood 10 feet away.
“Take down the hood and let me see your eyes.” Charlotte told the child, in a firm voice. They complied and slowly raised their hands to the edges of the hood and slowly allowed it to fall to their backside. Charlotte sucked in her breath and threw her bow to the side. She abruptly stood up and bowed deeply and muttered an apology to the child, “Please, forgive me. I did not know.”
“Did not know what?” came a small voice in front of her. Charlotte raised her head enough to see the child’s head was tilted inquisitively. “I’ve never seen another person before. Is it okay if I approach?” The voice was young, but gave no hint of deception.
“Anything you wish.” Charlotte told the young one bowing a little more.
“Why are you so weird?” The child seemed to giggle at her formality.
“I do not wish to anger you, great one.”
“Great one? My mom called me Scout. You can, too, if you want to.”
Charlotte flinched at the soft touch of Scout’s small hands. “Let me see you.” Charlotte slowly stood up. There was nowhere else to look. She had never seen eyes with two colors. One was as bright as the sky and the other was as deep a green as any leaf during the summer. “What can you do?” asked Charlotte
“What do you mean?” Scout asked, tilting her head again.
Charlotte paused, trying to sense Scout's intent, “What magic can you do?”
Scout smiled, “Can I see your hand? No the other one, it looks like a thorn got you.”
Charlotte reached her hand out and Scout placed her hands around Charlotte’s. Whereas the necromancer’s magic felt dark and cold, Scout’s felt warm and sweet. Scout released her hands Charlotte saw the thorn scratch was gone, but she felt more. She felt fully revitalized, alive and awake. “Mother calls it abjorgation, or something.” Scout shrugged.
“Abjuration. I’ve never met anyone that could do anything like this. Can you… do… more?”
Scout giggled and stated, “Mother taught me a lot of other stuff, but some of it is really hard.”
“Where is your mother now?”
Scout looked downward and their voice got quiet, “She didn’t come back from the village. She is usually only gone a few days, but that was over a week ago.”
“Does she have your eyes? I mean, both of your eyes?”
“No, hers are like yours, but her hair is yellow, not black and muddy like yours”
“Does she do magic? Divination?”
“Yeah, she’s really good at it!”
“The necromancer took her.” Charlotte couldn’t explain how she knew that.
“You know him?”
Charlotte wiped a tear from her face, “He took my mom, too. He’s taken a lot of people.”
“Where does he take them?”
Charlotte kneels and hugs Scout, “They never come back, Scout. I’ve seen where he performs his real magic. I’m so sorry. Your mother is dead.”
Charlotte could feel Scout shuttering in her arms. After a few more seconds she felt heat radiating behind her. Charlotte let go of Scout and stumbled to get behind the small child and away from a huge column of fire. “Evocation. Father said it was lost long ago, after the war.” Charlotte thought, trembling.
In the village the markets are deserted. Meat, cheese, and bread scatter the ground for the mice to collect. Doors slam shut as the lone figure walks up the hill to the town’s bell. His long, bony fingers wrap around the hammer and lifts it above his head and strikes the bell. Once. Twice. Once is for life. Twice is for Death. The villagers will not come out until the bell is struck again. He sets down the hammer and waves his hand across his tight face. A thin smile creeps across his face while one black eye shimmers as it turns gold and the illusion falls. He found her after all these years. He found his daughter. | \[Mad Magic\]
"So, my eye color doesn't matter, right?" Tila asked to be sure. Emily, the teenager with long silver hair shook her head. The silver strands shimmered in the fading sunlight. They walked across a vast, lush green plain toward the only cabin visible.
"You're not from this Earth, so that rule doesn't apply to you," Emily answered. "If it did, he wouldn't be a trainer."
"But, he's an NPC, right?" Tila asked. She was new to the AlterNet and still trying to learn all the nuances. "How'd he become a trainer?"
"Random luck," Emily shrugged. "Probably because of the way nanos create quests."
"How do they create quests?" Tila asked. Up until that moment, she had the vague image of countless employees writing and maintaining all the quests across all AlterNet servers. But, the moment she put extra thought into it, she realized how impossible that would be.
"Quests and NPCs are all generated procedurally by the nanos. They study the environment and then throw parts together to make up a quest. On this Earth, whatever eye color people are born with determines the type of magic they can use. So, people born with heterochromia can use two types of magic."
"Ohhhhh," Tila answered as the pieces organized in her mind. The cabin grew closer. "I can see why the class trainer is here," she said.
"Spec trainer," Emily corrected her terminology. "You picked Berzerker for your class already, he's going to teach you a specialization. After that, we'll go collect some other ones. Even if you have a main one, it's helpful to have others you can switch to for different situations."
"Right, Spec," Tila nodded. "Don't feel like you have to stick around while I'm training," she added. She felt guilty for occupying all the teen's time, even if it was only their first stop of the day.
"Yeah, we'll see what happens," Emily giggled as they crossed the wooden fence and onto the cabin property. They made it halfway to the main house before the screen door swung open forward. A tall, portly, scraggly man in a black and blue robe walked out onto the porch and stared at his visitors. His right eye was bright, sparkling green and his left eye was a deep blue.
"Something I can do for you strangers?" he asked. Tila stepped forward and nodded.
"I've come to train. To learn how to cast two spells at the same time like you," she said.
"Very well, let's see how determined you are to learn," he said. "Bring me these items to prove your worth," as he spoke a list of four items appeared at the top right of Tila's view.
"I have to do a quest first....," Tila whined and slumped her shoulders. She felt even more guilty for taking up Emily's time, despite the fact that the teen offered to be there.
"Of course you have to quest first, it's a game," Emily giggled as she pulled a small silvery cloth bag out of her pocket. "What's on the list?" she asked.
"Uhhh...," her eyes focused on the red text floating in the air. "A pound of unicorn meat, a blood tomato, a head of lightning lettuce, and a loaf of voidbread." She finished reading the list and focused on Emily. She was surprised to find the teen pulling a black bag of bread out the silver bag; the rest of the ingredients were already on the ground.
"Here you go," Emily said as she handed the black bag to Tila. As soon as Tila accepted it, the 'Voidbread' line in her list was crossed out. She knelt to collect the rest of the items and handed them to Tila one by one. Each item was crossed off her list as she received it.
"Great, thanks!" Tila grinned at Emily then carried the food forward to the scraggly man's porch. He met her at the bottom step and she handed over the quest items.
\[Quest Complete!\] Golden text filled the center of her vision for a moment, then faded. He walked into the house with the items for a moment, then he returned holding a red translucent node.
"Congratulations, you are worthy," he said as he presented the node to her.
"Thank you!" Tila grinned as she accepted it with a tiny hop of joy. It was her very first quest completion in the AlterNet and she couldn't believe how amazing everything was; it was hard to believe it was just a game.
She quickly flicked her wrist upward to summon her Slate. Once the large display hovered in front of her, she placed the red node on it, and it disintegrated almost instantly. A new option appeared in her 'Spec' slot and she grinned.
"I'm ready to start training!" she looked up at the trainer; but, he was gone.
"He already went back in," Emily giggled.
"But, what about my training!?" Tila replied. She had been eager to start her adventure as soon as she learned other universes existed. As much as she wanted to see everything, she wanted to be as prepared as she could be.
"He already gave you everything he's gonna," Emily said. "It's a game, remember? He gave you access to the ability; learning how to use it effectively is your responsibility."
"Oh...," Tila nodded. "...I guess that makes sense." She looked back down at her Slate and focused on the new entry highlighted in her Spec slot. If nothing else, she was glad that it was over quickly. Chasing down a few more wouldn't be a big deal if they were all that easy. Emily was actually helping her get them done faster than she would without her help. Tila was starting to feel less guilty about taking up Emily's time and decided to just move on. She dismissed her Slate with a wave of her wrist.
"Well, let's go on to the next one. I'll learn how to be a Furycaster on the way."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1786 in a row. (Story #341 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/). | |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!" | Eloise had a knack for being – a bit eccentric. She was the type of woman who never thought through a single action, never won a battle with her intrusive thoughts, and never admitted fault when things went wrong. Despite knowing all of this, even witnessing this wild behavior firsthand, I somehow ended up marrying her.
We’d been in the same friend group for what felt like an eternity, but we never had any sort of attraction. Maybe it was because we had nothing – and I mean nothing in common.
She enjoyed late night strolls in the moonlight, wearing nothing but a knitted cap and Birkenstocks. While the only time I went outside was to chase Bailee, my obsess introverted cat who loved to run out whenever I opened the door. Eloise loved to try and type of food placed in front of her! Bugs – yep, she’s tried it. Escargot - she would eat them by the fork full. And me, brave little old Sandra who finds too much pepper spicy. And no, that’s not an exaggeration. If I could have things as bland as a piece of white paper, maybe a dash of salt, that would be my perfect meal.
But for some reason, us – the total opposites fell in love and ended up in this mess. And I say mess, because I have no idea what the ever-living fuck is going on right now. I was in the middle of a strangest dream I’ve ever had. It involved Deadpool, a large vat of cooking oil, and the Barefoot Contessa on Food network. Before Deadpool could finish cutting up the onion and putting in the bowl of oatmeal I was ripped from sleep. Before me, my wife stood yelling at a darkened corner of the room.
“Babe, what the fuck are you doing?” I asked trying to move Bailee off my stomach.
“I told you once, I told you twice you wingless pigeon – the game’s over, go home, and sit on your ass for another billion years till Daddy lets you come home.” Her voice was deep and guttural, as though in the moment she was a different person.
“Bite me, Azrael you scheming cunt.”
I jolted out of bed, not alarmed at the deep voice growling from the shadows but at the foulness used in my home. “We do not refer to women like that.”
“Ew.” The man said, “of all the women you could be with…you’re with a feminist.”
“One more word from you, I’ll jam my sword so deep into your throat the ninth ring will feel it tickling them.” Eloise turned and smiled at me, of all the bullshit smiles she ever gave me this one was the worst. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
In a split second, everything hit me. The freezing temperature in the room, the weird smell of rotten eggs, and the fact my wife was yelling at some unseen person. “Wake me up, who the fuck is in my house?”
“Extensive vocabulary this feminist,” the man chuckled. “Glad to see despite the decade, dumb forever remains your type.”
Fire erupted from Eloise’s hand causing me to jump backwards. Brilliant colors danced between her fingers becoming increasingly bright as they coiled around each of her fingers. But my fear wasn’t brought on by the fire, it was the man now illuminated in the dark…a man who looked exactly like Eloise if she’d cut her long red hair.
“Who the fuck is that? What that fuck is that fire? Just…what the fuck Eloise?” I screamed knowing by now the noisy ass neighbors would be calling the police.
“Babe, meet my older brother. He’s come to try and steal you from me. Isn’t that right, Lucifer?” She smiled brightly looking over her shoulder at me. “You figured it all out…after all this time.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked as her gaze returned to the man.
The man looked at me, his head cocked, and his eyes widened. “Wait –“ he looked at Eloise shocked. “You are kidding me!” Ice cracked along the wall causing my delicate wallpaper to split.
“Oh shit.” The fire in Eloise’s hand began to flicker as through it was dying. “You didn’t come here for Sandra?”
“No!” He shouted revealing perfect teeth. “I came here to get my sword back and annoy the shit out of you.” His gaze was unwavering as he stared at me. “But this. This is…” Rubbing his eyes he looked back at me. “Shit, if she had red hair she’d be a spitting imagine.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I shouted knowing damn well I was begin ignored.
“You had no idea?” Eloise asked.
“No, Azrael. I had no fucking idea you found her!” He bit onto his lower lip now eyeing me like a starved animal. “The incarnation of our mother. And you’re what – sleeping with her?!”
“Mother?!” I let myself fall onto the ground in disbelief. “What?”
“Lilith was our mother,” She pointed at me, “That’s not her, just an incarnation.”
“That is not just an incarnation.” The temperature in the room began to drop as he spoke. “It’s her!” His facial expression became soft, “Mom…” he was talking to me. “It’s time, let’s destroy the – “ before he could get it out fire encased his body and screams filled the room.
Eloise was behind me in an instant, Bailee in her arms. “I can explain everything in just a bit. Just trust me. For a second it’s going to get hot – very fucking hot and you’re most likely going to vomit but remember. I’m here for you babe.” And with that, the world around me warped. | It was one of the those usual weekend nights. Naomi just tucked her four year old daughter in bed and proceed to join her husband in the living room who is already choosing which film they would watch for the movie night.
Naomi entered the living room with now a bowl of popcorn in her hands which she grabbed quickly from the kitchen.
Ethan asked her is she wanted to continue where they left off in a series they were binging last weekend or if she preferred seeing a film instead. She chose a classic film.
After they agreed on what to watch, Naomi turned off the lights and sat beside Ethan on the couch, leaning of his chest as they help themselves on the bowl of popcorn between them.
Twenty minutes in the film, there it is. A misplaced character amongst a classic film. They’ve watch this film many times and sure as hell, that guy in red suit is not supposed to be there. Naomi gets so confused and look at Ethan’s face to get some reaction. Whether is this some sort of a prank he elaborately set up on their movie night.
His expression became serious as he intently stared at the guy in red suit. Naomi tracked Ethan’s stares back to the TV. And suddenly it turned into white noise. The lights began the flicker and things began to shake softly. And from a distance, a rumbling thunder can be heard, followed by flashes of lightning outside the window.
Ethan looked through the glass door that leads to their lawn. He stood and walked slowly towards the door. Then a loud crackling noise dispersed across the house with a blinding flash hitting their back yard lawn. Creating a patch of flames and smokes that ascends to the sky.
The baby starts to cry upstairs, but Naomi is too shaken to even notice her baby is crying.
There from the wall of smoke and fire, steps out the man in the red suit, smiling menacingly towards Ethan.
“I told you once and I’m telling you again for million f***ing times; I’m the best there’s ever been and you’re never going to beat me!” Ethan said in his gritted teeth. “Naomi, go get Sara.”
Naomi finally noticed her baby’s crying and immediately ran upstairs.
“Sofiel! Or was it Epimethan now? You have become a disgrace to the legacies of Metis.” The guy in red excitedly started.
“Hello Lady Nimue, how long has it been?” The guy continued addressing Naomi as she joined them while holding Sara close to her.
“Nimue? What are you talking about?” Naomi confusingly asked.
“What have you done brother? Have you trade her identity for a child?” The man mockingly smirked.
Ethan began to pull a black sword from his own shadow and pointed it towards the man in front of him.
“I am not joining your legion, Heylel! You must stop trying to convince me!”
Heylel just smiled. Ethan charged towards Heylel, who conjured an invisible shield to block the attack but it is so powerful that he was thrown meters away.
Ethan never wasted time and charged again towards Heylel, who in turn pulled a metal club with a metal ball of spikes at the tip from nothingness and wield it against Ethan’s attack.
Heylel pushed Ethan’s sword as hard as he can using his weapon to fly. He then raised his left hand and summoned a lightning to fall directly on Ethan. But he raised his sword to absorb the lightning and redirected it on the ground and flew towards his brother.
His brother created another shield but it is in a form of bubble. So, by the time Ethan landed a blow on the shield it will only pushes him like hitting a ball. That lessens the impact by the time he hits the ground.
Ethan dived in an impossible acceleration towards Heylel’s crash site make his next attack but the Devil faded in thin air.
He’s gone. He must have given up for now but he knew he’ll return for another match. And he arrived back home.
There he is, his brother, in his red clean suit held little Sara in his hands, cradling her. While Naomi is sitting anxiously on the couch, who just stared at Ethan with defeat in his eyes.
“You see brother, I did not came here for you. I came here to claim your blood!” Heylel smiled.
“Don’t do this, Heylel! We have an agreement, you will take my soul if you defeated me!” Ethan begged.
“You see when you asked me to bring back your celestial status after you were banished from Heaven, I asked for your soul but Scyozla is a piece of your soul. She’s more than enough.”
“No brother. This is not what we agreed upon!”
Heylel showed a victorious smile and his feet began to catch fire, engulfing him and the child as he disappeared in thin air, leaving ashes on the carpet of couple’s living room. Left in despair.
“No one takes from the Lady of the Lake. No one takes from Nimue.” Naomi whispered. | |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!" | [Inspired by and directly qouted from the song "The Devil Went Down To Georgia" by Charlie Daniels]
"Johnny, sweetie, what's goin' on?" I placed one hand over my swollen pregnant stomach, and the other on the arm of my darling husband, Johnny, to rouse him from slumber. The room grew even hotter than the typical summer heat nighttime in Georgia.
The part of the bedroom in front of our door was engulfed in fire and smoke. A man with dark red skin, sleek black hair, long horns that curled upwards sprouting from his forehead, and the lower body of a goat stepped out from the blaze with a brilliantly white and devilish smile. "Hello, Johnny!"
"Dammit!" Johnny sat up straight in the bed, glaring at the man. "I've told you once, I've told ya twice, and I'm telling you again, and I've showed you a hundred fuckin' times, you sonuva bitch, I'm the best there's ever been. You're never gonna beat me."
"Well, I gotta figure out some way to get that damned golden fiddle back."
"Can someone please explain to me what the fuck is goin' on?!"
"Sorry, darlin' just an old freind who's got more pride than he does sense."
"Now, Johnny, you didn't tell her the story of the night we met? I'm hurt."
"I didn't tell her 'cuz there was nothin' ta tell."
"Well, that presents us with quite the conundrum then doesn't it, Johnny?"
"How could it?"
"It presents us with a new contest. Who can tell her the story better."
"Not interested."
"Don't I get a say in this?"
"Of course, my dear." The devil smiled and bowed in my direction.
"Ellie, I've found it's best to ignore the devil."
"Johnny, I wanna hear the story."
"Fine. You go first."
"One night, I came down to Georgia looking for a soul to take as I was behind on my quota. Well, I heard Johnny playing his fiddle and challenged him to a duel. I won I got his soul if he did he'd get a golden fiddle. He agreed and I started playing as a band of my demons accompanied me. Then he did his thing and he did it better than I did. It's your turn, Johnny."
Johnny cleared his throat and took a sip of water from the glass on his nightstand. Then he got up and bent down to grab the handle of a fiddle case. He flicked open the case and took out a gorgeous, solid gold fiddle and bow and started playing it as he spoke.
"The Devil went down to Georgia, he was lookin' for a soul to steal. He was in a bind 'cuz he was way behind, and he was willin' to make a deal. When he came across me, sawin' on my fiddle and I was playin' it hot. The Devil jumped upon a hickory stump and said 'Boy let me tell ya what,'
"'I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle player, too. And if you'd care to take a dare, I'll make a bet with you. Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy, but give the Devil his due. I'll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul, 'cuz I think I'm better than you.'
"And I said 'My name's Johnny, and it might be a sin, but I'll take your bet, you're gonna regret, 'cuz I'm the best there's ever has been.
"I rosined up my bow and prepared to play my fiddle hard, 'cuz I knew that Hell was 'bout to break loose in Georgia and that the Devil would deal the cards. And I knew that if I'd win that I'd get this golden fiddle and if I lost the Devil'd get my soul
"The Devil opened up his case and he said, 'I'll start this show,' and fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up this bow. And he pulled this bow across the strings and it made an evil hiss, and a band of demons joined in and it sounded somethin' like this." Johnny paused to play a few chords on his fiddle and it made a terrifying yet melodic tune before he continued his story.
"When he'd fininshed I said, 'Well, you're pretty good, ol' son, but sit down in that chair right there abd let me show ya how it's done." He played a tune that made me want to get up and dance and I felt the baby kick inside of me. Before Johnny finished his story.
"The Devil bowee his head because he knew that he'd been beat, and he laid this golden fiddle down on the ground at my feet. I said, 'Devil, just come on back if you ever wanna try again. I done told ya once you sonuva bitch, I'm the best that's ever been." Johnny played his tune again before his tale came to an end.
"Well, he told it better?" The Devil asked in a tone that said he already knew what I'd say.
I smiled wide and turned to him and said, "He's told ya once, so I'll tell ya now that he's the best there's ever been." | It was one of the those usual weekend nights. Naomi just tucked her four year old daughter in bed and proceed to join her husband in the living room who is already choosing which film they would watch for the movie night.
Naomi entered the living room with now a bowl of popcorn in her hands which she grabbed quickly from the kitchen.
Ethan asked her is she wanted to continue where they left off in a series they were binging last weekend or if she preferred seeing a film instead. She chose a classic film.
After they agreed on what to watch, Naomi turned off the lights and sat beside Ethan on the couch, leaning of his chest as they help themselves on the bowl of popcorn between them.
Twenty minutes in the film, there it is. A misplaced character amongst a classic film. They’ve watch this film many times and sure as hell, that guy in red suit is not supposed to be there. Naomi gets so confused and look at Ethan’s face to get some reaction. Whether is this some sort of a prank he elaborately set up on their movie night.
His expression became serious as he intently stared at the guy in red suit. Naomi tracked Ethan’s stares back to the TV. And suddenly it turned into white noise. The lights began the flicker and things began to shake softly. And from a distance, a rumbling thunder can be heard, followed by flashes of lightning outside the window.
Ethan looked through the glass door that leads to their lawn. He stood and walked slowly towards the door. Then a loud crackling noise dispersed across the house with a blinding flash hitting their back yard lawn. Creating a patch of flames and smokes that ascends to the sky.
The baby starts to cry upstairs, but Naomi is too shaken to even notice her baby is crying.
There from the wall of smoke and fire, steps out the man in the red suit, smiling menacingly towards Ethan.
“I told you once and I’m telling you again for million f***ing times; I’m the best there’s ever been and you’re never going to beat me!” Ethan said in his gritted teeth. “Naomi, go get Sara.”
Naomi finally noticed her baby’s crying and immediately ran upstairs.
“Sofiel! Or was it Epimethan now? You have become a disgrace to the legacies of Metis.” The guy in red excitedly started.
“Hello Lady Nimue, how long has it been?” The guy continued addressing Naomi as she joined them while holding Sara close to her.
“Nimue? What are you talking about?” Naomi confusingly asked.
“What have you done brother? Have you trade her identity for a child?” The man mockingly smirked.
Ethan began to pull a black sword from his own shadow and pointed it towards the man in front of him.
“I am not joining your legion, Heylel! You must stop trying to convince me!”
Heylel just smiled. Ethan charged towards Heylel, who conjured an invisible shield to block the attack but it is so powerful that he was thrown meters away.
Ethan never wasted time and charged again towards Heylel, who in turn pulled a metal club with a metal ball of spikes at the tip from nothingness and wield it against Ethan’s attack.
Heylel pushed Ethan’s sword as hard as he can using his weapon to fly. He then raised his left hand and summoned a lightning to fall directly on Ethan. But he raised his sword to absorb the lightning and redirected it on the ground and flew towards his brother.
His brother created another shield but it is in a form of bubble. So, by the time Ethan landed a blow on the shield it will only pushes him like hitting a ball. That lessens the impact by the time he hits the ground.
Ethan dived in an impossible acceleration towards Heylel’s crash site make his next attack but the Devil faded in thin air.
He’s gone. He must have given up for now but he knew he’ll return for another match. And he arrived back home.
There he is, his brother, in his red clean suit held little Sara in his hands, cradling her. While Naomi is sitting anxiously on the couch, who just stared at Ethan with defeat in his eyes.
“You see brother, I did not came here for you. I came here to claim your blood!” Heylel smiled.
“Don’t do this, Heylel! We have an agreement, you will take my soul if you defeated me!” Ethan begged.
“You see when you asked me to bring back your celestial status after you were banished from Heaven, I asked for your soul but Scyozla is a piece of your soul. She’s more than enough.”
“No brother. This is not what we agreed upon!”
Heylel showed a victorious smile and his feet began to catch fire, engulfing him and the child as he disappeared in thin air, leaving ashes on the carpet of couple’s living room. Left in despair.
“No one takes from the Lady of the Lake. No one takes from Nimue.” Naomi whispered. | |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!" | The cool Georgia summer air blew through my hair as I held my beloved Jonathan’s hand. I started to doze off when I felt a hard brush of wind glide against my face. I opened my eyes and they went wide as I watched before as the earth split in two and flames twenty feet high escaped the crust. I stared in awe as a nine-foot, red, fur-covered, hoofed creature crawled out of the dirt in front of us.
Johnny smiled a vile kind of smile as he stood and walked into the house. I started to panic, thinking of following him, tears running down my face as I stared at the red, winged creature. My thoughts were cut short as he re-appeared on the front porch of our Georgia home, holding the solid gold fiddle with the silver bow.
“John, what ever are you doing; aren’t you afraid?” I stuttered, my voice filled with fear.
He ignored me as he stepped down off the porch, my clawing hand away, smiling at the devil. “Back for more, ol’ son? What’s it been, thirty years?”
The devil snarled his popcorn-yellow teeth as he replied, “Correct, and I’ve returned to reclaim my fiddle.”
Without missing a beat, my husband pulled back the bow, stated “I done told you once, you son of a bitch, I’m the best there’s ever been”, and played a tune on the golden fiddle.
The game had begun. | It was one of the those usual weekend nights. Naomi just tucked her four year old daughter in bed and proceed to join her husband in the living room who is already choosing which film they would watch for the movie night.
Naomi entered the living room with now a bowl of popcorn in her hands which she grabbed quickly from the kitchen.
Ethan asked her is she wanted to continue where they left off in a series they were binging last weekend or if she preferred seeing a film instead. She chose a classic film.
After they agreed on what to watch, Naomi turned off the lights and sat beside Ethan on the couch, leaning of his chest as they help themselves on the bowl of popcorn between them.
Twenty minutes in the film, there it is. A misplaced character amongst a classic film. They’ve watch this film many times and sure as hell, that guy in red suit is not supposed to be there. Naomi gets so confused and look at Ethan’s face to get some reaction. Whether is this some sort of a prank he elaborately set up on their movie night.
His expression became serious as he intently stared at the guy in red suit. Naomi tracked Ethan’s stares back to the TV. And suddenly it turned into white noise. The lights began the flicker and things began to shake softly. And from a distance, a rumbling thunder can be heard, followed by flashes of lightning outside the window.
Ethan looked through the glass door that leads to their lawn. He stood and walked slowly towards the door. Then a loud crackling noise dispersed across the house with a blinding flash hitting their back yard lawn. Creating a patch of flames and smokes that ascends to the sky.
The baby starts to cry upstairs, but Naomi is too shaken to even notice her baby is crying.
There from the wall of smoke and fire, steps out the man in the red suit, smiling menacingly towards Ethan.
“I told you once and I’m telling you again for million f***ing times; I’m the best there’s ever been and you’re never going to beat me!” Ethan said in his gritted teeth. “Naomi, go get Sara.”
Naomi finally noticed her baby’s crying and immediately ran upstairs.
“Sofiel! Or was it Epimethan now? You have become a disgrace to the legacies of Metis.” The guy in red excitedly started.
“Hello Lady Nimue, how long has it been?” The guy continued addressing Naomi as she joined them while holding Sara close to her.
“Nimue? What are you talking about?” Naomi confusingly asked.
“What have you done brother? Have you trade her identity for a child?” The man mockingly smirked.
Ethan began to pull a black sword from his own shadow and pointed it towards the man in front of him.
“I am not joining your legion, Heylel! You must stop trying to convince me!”
Heylel just smiled. Ethan charged towards Heylel, who conjured an invisible shield to block the attack but it is so powerful that he was thrown meters away.
Ethan never wasted time and charged again towards Heylel, who in turn pulled a metal club with a metal ball of spikes at the tip from nothingness and wield it against Ethan’s attack.
Heylel pushed Ethan’s sword as hard as he can using his weapon to fly. He then raised his left hand and summoned a lightning to fall directly on Ethan. But he raised his sword to absorb the lightning and redirected it on the ground and flew towards his brother.
His brother created another shield but it is in a form of bubble. So, by the time Ethan landed a blow on the shield it will only pushes him like hitting a ball. That lessens the impact by the time he hits the ground.
Ethan dived in an impossible acceleration towards Heylel’s crash site make his next attack but the Devil faded in thin air.
He’s gone. He must have given up for now but he knew he’ll return for another match. And he arrived back home.
There he is, his brother, in his red clean suit held little Sara in his hands, cradling her. While Naomi is sitting anxiously on the couch, who just stared at Ethan with defeat in his eyes.
“You see brother, I did not came here for you. I came here to claim your blood!” Heylel smiled.
“Don’t do this, Heylel! We have an agreement, you will take my soul if you defeated me!” Ethan begged.
“You see when you asked me to bring back your celestial status after you were banished from Heaven, I asked for your soul but Scyozla is a piece of your soul. She’s more than enough.”
“No brother. This is not what we agreed upon!”
Heylel showed a victorious smile and his feet began to catch fire, engulfing him and the child as he disappeared in thin air, leaving ashes on the carpet of couple’s living room. Left in despair.
“No one takes from the Lady of the Lake. No one takes from Nimue.” Naomi whispered. | |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!" | It started as a night like any other. Gemma made dinner, got the kids squared away with their homework, and passed the time waiting for her husband to come home by cleaning out the basement.
Being first violin in the Boston Symphony Orchestra meant there were many late nights her husband worked late while Gemma waited for rehearsal to end, but she’d gotten used to it.
It had been quite the journey for both of them to adjust to the big city after growing up in the Deep South. So many things they’d believed in when they were younger seemed so silly now.
When they talked to their parents it was always a flurry of questions and passive aggressive statements about how city folk didn’t know God and their souls were in peril.
Now that Gemma had seen for herself the way the world lived outside of their small town it was hard to get through some of those conversations without laughing.
She opened a box she hadn’t seen since they moved. It was a bunch of stuff from back home, including a small but very ornate and old violin case with a lock on it.
She peered at it, the lock seemed to be loose, on the verge of breaking. Hmmm.
Just then she heard a car in the driveway. FINALLY he was home.
She grabbed the case and took it upstairs with her, wondering what it could be. It was surprisingly heavy for something so small.
As she came back into the living room of her townhouse, the lock clicked and disengaged entirely.
The front door opened she and she put the case down on the living room table and opened it up.
Inside was the most beautiful object she’d ever seen bar none. The instrument seemed to pulse with its own golden light that filled the room. It took her breath away.
“What are you doing? Oh no!”
Her husband’s voice broke through her reverie as she saw him standing there, coat still on, staring at her with his jaw agape.
The house begin to tremble. Everything seemed to darken.
A long shadow somehow detached itself from the wall and began walking towards the two of them. It coalesced into a nightmare of a figure, horned and red skinned.
Almost ten years of smartass replies and condescending smirks towards her parents came rushing back to Gemma. There, in her living room, stood the devil.
She looked over at Johnny who, amazingly, seemed unfazed by this development. If anything, he seemed mildly annoyed.
He looked the devil in the eye and said “I told you once, I’m telling you again, and I’ll tell you a hundred F’ing times you son of a bitch, I’m the best that’s ever been!”
He grabbed the golden fiddle from its case and began to play. He wasn’t wrong. | It was one of the those usual weekend nights. Naomi just tucked her four year old daughter in bed and proceed to join her husband in the living room who is already choosing which film they would watch for the movie night.
Naomi entered the living room with now a bowl of popcorn in her hands which she grabbed quickly from the kitchen.
Ethan asked her is she wanted to continue where they left off in a series they were binging last weekend or if she preferred seeing a film instead. She chose a classic film.
After they agreed on what to watch, Naomi turned off the lights and sat beside Ethan on the couch, leaning of his chest as they help themselves on the bowl of popcorn between them.
Twenty minutes in the film, there it is. A misplaced character amongst a classic film. They’ve watch this film many times and sure as hell, that guy in red suit is not supposed to be there. Naomi gets so confused and look at Ethan’s face to get some reaction. Whether is this some sort of a prank he elaborately set up on their movie night.
His expression became serious as he intently stared at the guy in red suit. Naomi tracked Ethan’s stares back to the TV. And suddenly it turned into white noise. The lights began the flicker and things began to shake softly. And from a distance, a rumbling thunder can be heard, followed by flashes of lightning outside the window.
Ethan looked through the glass door that leads to their lawn. He stood and walked slowly towards the door. Then a loud crackling noise dispersed across the house with a blinding flash hitting their back yard lawn. Creating a patch of flames and smokes that ascends to the sky.
The baby starts to cry upstairs, but Naomi is too shaken to even notice her baby is crying.
There from the wall of smoke and fire, steps out the man in the red suit, smiling menacingly towards Ethan.
“I told you once and I’m telling you again for million f***ing times; I’m the best there’s ever been and you’re never going to beat me!” Ethan said in his gritted teeth. “Naomi, go get Sara.”
Naomi finally noticed her baby’s crying and immediately ran upstairs.
“Sofiel! Or was it Epimethan now? You have become a disgrace to the legacies of Metis.” The guy in red excitedly started.
“Hello Lady Nimue, how long has it been?” The guy continued addressing Naomi as she joined them while holding Sara close to her.
“Nimue? What are you talking about?” Naomi confusingly asked.
“What have you done brother? Have you trade her identity for a child?” The man mockingly smirked.
Ethan began to pull a black sword from his own shadow and pointed it towards the man in front of him.
“I am not joining your legion, Heylel! You must stop trying to convince me!”
Heylel just smiled. Ethan charged towards Heylel, who conjured an invisible shield to block the attack but it is so powerful that he was thrown meters away.
Ethan never wasted time and charged again towards Heylel, who in turn pulled a metal club with a metal ball of spikes at the tip from nothingness and wield it against Ethan’s attack.
Heylel pushed Ethan’s sword as hard as he can using his weapon to fly. He then raised his left hand and summoned a lightning to fall directly on Ethan. But he raised his sword to absorb the lightning and redirected it on the ground and flew towards his brother.
His brother created another shield but it is in a form of bubble. So, by the time Ethan landed a blow on the shield it will only pushes him like hitting a ball. That lessens the impact by the time he hits the ground.
Ethan dived in an impossible acceleration towards Heylel’s crash site make his next attack but the Devil faded in thin air.
He’s gone. He must have given up for now but he knew he’ll return for another match. And he arrived back home.
There he is, his brother, in his red clean suit held little Sara in his hands, cradling her. While Naomi is sitting anxiously on the couch, who just stared at Ethan with defeat in his eyes.
“You see brother, I did not came here for you. I came here to claim your blood!” Heylel smiled.
“Don’t do this, Heylel! We have an agreement, you will take my soul if you defeated me!” Ethan begged.
“You see when you asked me to bring back your celestial status after you were banished from Heaven, I asked for your soul but Scyozla is a piece of your soul. She’s more than enough.”
“No brother. This is not what we agreed upon!”
Heylel showed a victorious smile and his feet began to catch fire, engulfing him and the child as he disappeared in thin air, leaving ashes on the carpet of couple’s living room. Left in despair.
“No one takes from the Lady of the Lake. No one takes from Nimue.” Naomi whispered. | |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!" | "I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred fucking times. I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!"
"Well, gotta keep trying, right?"
The storm of smoke and fire swirled around the muscular, hooded figure. The lamp caught fire. Upon noticing it, the devil hurriedly patted it out with his towel.
"So sorry about that," he said. "Anyway, I have a new challenge for us!"
The devil clapped his hands together with glee. He sat cross-legged on the floor and beckoned me to join. I was sitting in my comfy chair. I had my coffee slowly cooling. I didn't want to move. I was also in my 60's, and sitting like a young, more nimble man was getting far more difficult. He pulled his backpack around to his front side.
"If it's all the same to you, do you mind if we do this at the dining room table?" I said.
He looked up to me from the floor. My wife came around the corner with a fire extinguisher. She knew the drill after all these years of challenges. Almost on cue, the devil's tail whipped around and absently set the carpet on fire. Steph put it out immediately. There were seventeen other scorch marks around on the carpet, drapes, couch, and on the inside of one of my boots; he even managed to burn our cat Smokey once. The devil was especially apologetic that day.
"Sorry, sorry," he said as he got up. He helped me to my feet and we made our way, slowly, to the next room. My wife helped me sit and cleared the table. The devil thanked her and pulled out a box. It was a board game.
"Just got this one delivered. It's a game where you're a polyamorous zombie, and your goal is to-"
I zoned out. Truth be told, I hardly ever paid attention to the rules. I used to be such a stickler for them. We had settled into board games years ago; a lot of them got too complicated for their own good, you know. Designers create layers and layers of rules on top of rules, but it's basically all the same. They're easy to win.
"....and then if you can get the Alt-bonus, you can flip the Politics bonus and turn it negative--" he continued.
Back in the old days, I was on top of the world. He tried to tempt me, but I had everything I wanted. I challenged him to a wrestling match. It never occurred to him that professional wrestling matches were fixed. He was so angry.
From then on he became determined to beat me. Arm wrestling. Foot races. Speed reading. Poetry slam. Cheesemaking. Building wooden miniature replicas of the Statue of Liberty wearing a cowboy hat and chaps-- I'm Canadian, by the way. Whatever he could think of, we did. As months turned into years, I realized that he was actually having fun.
I'm well past my physical prime. I may even be going mentally a little, I don't know. But there are *lots* of board games, and we needed a new challenge every time I beat him. And I beat the devil every time. For the last four or five years, he's been really into crowdfunded games.
Steph served him a cup of coffee. He smiled and thanked her as she sat next to me with the extinguisher at the ready.
"Your turn," he said. I studied the board, the little brown heart pieces, the magnet block sitting on the corner of the board. The Alien steak. Descriptions of special abilities of all fifteen genders. It was all Greek to me. He handed me three odd-shaped die and I rolled; Omega, 8, and Blue. He laughed and talked about some nonsensical game mechanic before he caught my attention with a little honesty.
"I look forward to this every month, you know," he said.
"...Yeah, I know," I said. "Me too. I'm sorry I snapped at you before. You scared the crap out of the cat and it made a mess. Plus, you know, my knees have been acting up. Real sore today."
He slumped his shoulders a little. Steph gently dabbed out a small flame on the game board before she added her two cents.
"He got a little grouchy at me this morning. Apparently there weren't any big spoons left for his cereal."
I laughed and shook my head a little from being called out. The devil chuckled. The table caught fire. Steph took care of it.
After some hours of strange Kickstarter board gaming, I obtained the last love interest and won the game.
"Well, darn," The devil said. "Maybe next time, old buddy."
He was grinning ear to ear.
"Sure thing," I said.
The potted fern caught fire. Stephanie extinguished it faster than it even registered.
"I'll get you next time, Bret," he said as smoke and flame enveloped him again.
"Doubt it. I'm the best there is, best there was, and the best there ever will be."
Seconds later, the devil was gone. At least he was happy. | It was one of the those usual weekend nights. Naomi just tucked her four year old daughter in bed and proceed to join her husband in the living room who is already choosing which film they would watch for the movie night.
Naomi entered the living room with now a bowl of popcorn in her hands which she grabbed quickly from the kitchen.
Ethan asked her is she wanted to continue where they left off in a series they were binging last weekend or if she preferred seeing a film instead. She chose a classic film.
After they agreed on what to watch, Naomi turned off the lights and sat beside Ethan on the couch, leaning of his chest as they help themselves on the bowl of popcorn between them.
Twenty minutes in the film, there it is. A misplaced character amongst a classic film. They’ve watch this film many times and sure as hell, that guy in red suit is not supposed to be there. Naomi gets so confused and look at Ethan’s face to get some reaction. Whether is this some sort of a prank he elaborately set up on their movie night.
His expression became serious as he intently stared at the guy in red suit. Naomi tracked Ethan’s stares back to the TV. And suddenly it turned into white noise. The lights began the flicker and things began to shake softly. And from a distance, a rumbling thunder can be heard, followed by flashes of lightning outside the window.
Ethan looked through the glass door that leads to their lawn. He stood and walked slowly towards the door. Then a loud crackling noise dispersed across the house with a blinding flash hitting their back yard lawn. Creating a patch of flames and smokes that ascends to the sky.
The baby starts to cry upstairs, but Naomi is too shaken to even notice her baby is crying.
There from the wall of smoke and fire, steps out the man in the red suit, smiling menacingly towards Ethan.
“I told you once and I’m telling you again for million f***ing times; I’m the best there’s ever been and you’re never going to beat me!” Ethan said in his gritted teeth. “Naomi, go get Sara.”
Naomi finally noticed her baby’s crying and immediately ran upstairs.
“Sofiel! Or was it Epimethan now? You have become a disgrace to the legacies of Metis.” The guy in red excitedly started.
“Hello Lady Nimue, how long has it been?” The guy continued addressing Naomi as she joined them while holding Sara close to her.
“Nimue? What are you talking about?” Naomi confusingly asked.
“What have you done brother? Have you trade her identity for a child?” The man mockingly smirked.
Ethan began to pull a black sword from his own shadow and pointed it towards the man in front of him.
“I am not joining your legion, Heylel! You must stop trying to convince me!”
Heylel just smiled. Ethan charged towards Heylel, who conjured an invisible shield to block the attack but it is so powerful that he was thrown meters away.
Ethan never wasted time and charged again towards Heylel, who in turn pulled a metal club with a metal ball of spikes at the tip from nothingness and wield it against Ethan’s attack.
Heylel pushed Ethan’s sword as hard as he can using his weapon to fly. He then raised his left hand and summoned a lightning to fall directly on Ethan. But he raised his sword to absorb the lightning and redirected it on the ground and flew towards his brother.
His brother created another shield but it is in a form of bubble. So, by the time Ethan landed a blow on the shield it will only pushes him like hitting a ball. That lessens the impact by the time he hits the ground.
Ethan dived in an impossible acceleration towards Heylel’s crash site make his next attack but the Devil faded in thin air.
He’s gone. He must have given up for now but he knew he’ll return for another match. And he arrived back home.
There he is, his brother, in his red clean suit held little Sara in his hands, cradling her. While Naomi is sitting anxiously on the couch, who just stared at Ethan with defeat in his eyes.
“You see brother, I did not came here for you. I came here to claim your blood!” Heylel smiled.
“Don’t do this, Heylel! We have an agreement, you will take my soul if you defeated me!” Ethan begged.
“You see when you asked me to bring back your celestial status after you were banished from Heaven, I asked for your soul but Scyozla is a piece of your soul. She’s more than enough.”
“No brother. This is not what we agreed upon!”
Heylel showed a victorious smile and his feet began to catch fire, engulfing him and the child as he disappeared in thin air, leaving ashes on the carpet of couple’s living room. Left in despair.
“No one takes from the Lady of the Lake. No one takes from Nimue.” Naomi whispered. | |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!" | [Inspired by and directly qouted from the song "The Devil Went Down To Georgia" by Charlie Daniels]
"Johnny, sweetie, what's goin' on?" I placed one hand over my swollen pregnant stomach, and the other on the arm of my darling husband, Johnny, to rouse him from slumber. The room grew even hotter than the typical summer heat nighttime in Georgia.
The part of the bedroom in front of our door was engulfed in fire and smoke. A man with dark red skin, sleek black hair, long horns that curled upwards sprouting from his forehead, and the lower body of a goat stepped out from the blaze with a brilliantly white and devilish smile. "Hello, Johnny!"
"Dammit!" Johnny sat up straight in the bed, glaring at the man. "I've told you once, I've told ya twice, and I'm telling you again, and I've showed you a hundred fuckin' times, you sonuva bitch, I'm the best there's ever been. You're never gonna beat me."
"Well, I gotta figure out some way to get that damned golden fiddle back."
"Can someone please explain to me what the fuck is goin' on?!"
"Sorry, darlin' just an old freind who's got more pride than he does sense."
"Now, Johnny, you didn't tell her the story of the night we met? I'm hurt."
"I didn't tell her 'cuz there was nothin' ta tell."
"Well, that presents us with quite the conundrum then doesn't it, Johnny?"
"How could it?"
"It presents us with a new contest. Who can tell her the story better."
"Not interested."
"Don't I get a say in this?"
"Of course, my dear." The devil smiled and bowed in my direction.
"Ellie, I've found it's best to ignore the devil."
"Johnny, I wanna hear the story."
"Fine. You go first."
"One night, I came down to Georgia looking for a soul to take as I was behind on my quota. Well, I heard Johnny playing his fiddle and challenged him to a duel. I won I got his soul if he did he'd get a golden fiddle. He agreed and I started playing as a band of my demons accompanied me. Then he did his thing and he did it better than I did. It's your turn, Johnny."
Johnny cleared his throat and took a sip of water from the glass on his nightstand. Then he got up and bent down to grab the handle of a fiddle case. He flicked open the case and took out a gorgeous, solid gold fiddle and bow and started playing it as he spoke.
"The Devil went down to Georgia, he was lookin' for a soul to steal. He was in a bind 'cuz he was way behind, and he was willin' to make a deal. When he came across me, sawin' on my fiddle and I was playin' it hot. The Devil jumped upon a hickory stump and said 'Boy let me tell ya what,'
"'I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle player, too. And if you'd care to take a dare, I'll make a bet with you. Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy, but give the Devil his due. I'll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul, 'cuz I think I'm better than you.'
"And I said 'My name's Johnny, and it might be a sin, but I'll take your bet, you're gonna regret, 'cuz I'm the best there's ever has been.
"I rosined up my bow and prepared to play my fiddle hard, 'cuz I knew that Hell was 'bout to break loose in Georgia and that the Devil would deal the cards. And I knew that if I'd win that I'd get this golden fiddle and if I lost the Devil'd get my soul
"The Devil opened up his case and he said, 'I'll start this show,' and fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up this bow. And he pulled this bow across the strings and it made an evil hiss, and a band of demons joined in and it sounded somethin' like this." Johnny paused to play a few chords on his fiddle and it made a terrifying yet melodic tune before he continued his story.
"When he'd fininshed I said, 'Well, you're pretty good, ol' son, but sit down in that chair right there abd let me show ya how it's done." He played a tune that made me want to get up and dance and I felt the baby kick inside of me. Before Johnny finished his story.
"The Devil bowee his head because he knew that he'd been beat, and he laid this golden fiddle down on the ground at my feet. I said, 'Devil, just come on back if you ever wanna try again. I done told ya once you sonuva bitch, I'm the best that's ever been." Johnny played his tune again before his tale came to an end.
"Well, he told it better?" The Devil asked in a tone that said he already knew what I'd say.
I smiled wide and turned to him and said, "He's told ya once, so I'll tell ya now that he's the best there's ever been." | Eloise had a knack for being – a bit eccentric. She was the type of woman who never thought through a single action, never won a battle with her intrusive thoughts, and never admitted fault when things went wrong. Despite knowing all of this, even witnessing this wild behavior firsthand, I somehow ended up marrying her.
We’d been in the same friend group for what felt like an eternity, but we never had any sort of attraction. Maybe it was because we had nothing – and I mean nothing in common.
She enjoyed late night strolls in the moonlight, wearing nothing but a knitted cap and Birkenstocks. While the only time I went outside was to chase Bailee, my obsess introverted cat who loved to run out whenever I opened the door. Eloise loved to try and type of food placed in front of her! Bugs – yep, she’s tried it. Escargot - she would eat them by the fork full. And me, brave little old Sandra who finds too much pepper spicy. And no, that’s not an exaggeration. If I could have things as bland as a piece of white paper, maybe a dash of salt, that would be my perfect meal.
But for some reason, us – the total opposites fell in love and ended up in this mess. And I say mess, because I have no idea what the ever-living fuck is going on right now. I was in the middle of a strangest dream I’ve ever had. It involved Deadpool, a large vat of cooking oil, and the Barefoot Contessa on Food network. Before Deadpool could finish cutting up the onion and putting in the bowl of oatmeal I was ripped from sleep. Before me, my wife stood yelling at a darkened corner of the room.
“Babe, what the fuck are you doing?” I asked trying to move Bailee off my stomach.
“I told you once, I told you twice you wingless pigeon – the game’s over, go home, and sit on your ass for another billion years till Daddy lets you come home.” Her voice was deep and guttural, as though in the moment she was a different person.
“Bite me, Azrael you scheming cunt.”
I jolted out of bed, not alarmed at the deep voice growling from the shadows but at the foulness used in my home. “We do not refer to women like that.”
“Ew.” The man said, “of all the women you could be with…you’re with a feminist.”
“One more word from you, I’ll jam my sword so deep into your throat the ninth ring will feel it tickling them.” Eloise turned and smiled at me, of all the bullshit smiles she ever gave me this one was the worst. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
In a split second, everything hit me. The freezing temperature in the room, the weird smell of rotten eggs, and the fact my wife was yelling at some unseen person. “Wake me up, who the fuck is in my house?”
“Extensive vocabulary this feminist,” the man chuckled. “Glad to see despite the decade, dumb forever remains your type.”
Fire erupted from Eloise’s hand causing me to jump backwards. Brilliant colors danced between her fingers becoming increasingly bright as they coiled around each of her fingers. But my fear wasn’t brought on by the fire, it was the man now illuminated in the dark…a man who looked exactly like Eloise if she’d cut her long red hair.
“Who the fuck is that? What that fuck is that fire? Just…what the fuck Eloise?” I screamed knowing by now the noisy ass neighbors would be calling the police.
“Babe, meet my older brother. He’s come to try and steal you from me. Isn’t that right, Lucifer?” She smiled brightly looking over her shoulder at me. “You figured it all out…after all this time.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked as her gaze returned to the man.
The man looked at me, his head cocked, and his eyes widened. “Wait –“ he looked at Eloise shocked. “You are kidding me!” Ice cracked along the wall causing my delicate wallpaper to split.
“Oh shit.” The fire in Eloise’s hand began to flicker as through it was dying. “You didn’t come here for Sandra?”
“No!” He shouted revealing perfect teeth. “I came here to get my sword back and annoy the shit out of you.” His gaze was unwavering as he stared at me. “But this. This is…” Rubbing his eyes he looked back at me. “Shit, if she had red hair she’d be a spitting imagine.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I shouted knowing damn well I was begin ignored.
“You had no idea?” Eloise asked.
“No, Azrael. I had no fucking idea you found her!” He bit onto his lower lip now eyeing me like a starved animal. “The incarnation of our mother. And you’re what – sleeping with her?!”
“Mother?!” I let myself fall onto the ground in disbelief. “What?”
“Lilith was our mother,” She pointed at me, “That’s not her, just an incarnation.”
“That is not just an incarnation.” The temperature in the room began to drop as he spoke. “It’s her!” His facial expression became soft, “Mom…” he was talking to me. “It’s time, let’s destroy the – “ before he could get it out fire encased his body and screams filled the room.
Eloise was behind me in an instant, Bailee in her arms. “I can explain everything in just a bit. Just trust me. For a second it’s going to get hot – very fucking hot and you’re most likely going to vomit but remember. I’m here for you babe.” And with that, the world around me warped. | |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!" | The cool Georgia summer air blew through my hair as I held my beloved Jonathan’s hand. I started to doze off when I felt a hard brush of wind glide against my face. I opened my eyes and they went wide as I watched before as the earth split in two and flames twenty feet high escaped the crust. I stared in awe as a nine-foot, red, fur-covered, hoofed creature crawled out of the dirt in front of us.
Johnny smiled a vile kind of smile as he stood and walked into the house. I started to panic, thinking of following him, tears running down my face as I stared at the red, winged creature. My thoughts were cut short as he re-appeared on the front porch of our Georgia home, holding the solid gold fiddle with the silver bow.
“John, what ever are you doing; aren’t you afraid?” I stuttered, my voice filled with fear.
He ignored me as he stepped down off the porch, my clawing hand away, smiling at the devil. “Back for more, ol’ son? What’s it been, thirty years?”
The devil snarled his popcorn-yellow teeth as he replied, “Correct, and I’ve returned to reclaim my fiddle.”
Without missing a beat, my husband pulled back the bow, stated “I done told you once, you son of a bitch, I’m the best there’s ever been”, and played a tune on the golden fiddle.
The game had begun. | Eloise had a knack for being – a bit eccentric. She was the type of woman who never thought through a single action, never won a battle with her intrusive thoughts, and never admitted fault when things went wrong. Despite knowing all of this, even witnessing this wild behavior firsthand, I somehow ended up marrying her.
We’d been in the same friend group for what felt like an eternity, but we never had any sort of attraction. Maybe it was because we had nothing – and I mean nothing in common.
She enjoyed late night strolls in the moonlight, wearing nothing but a knitted cap and Birkenstocks. While the only time I went outside was to chase Bailee, my obsess introverted cat who loved to run out whenever I opened the door. Eloise loved to try and type of food placed in front of her! Bugs – yep, she’s tried it. Escargot - she would eat them by the fork full. And me, brave little old Sandra who finds too much pepper spicy. And no, that’s not an exaggeration. If I could have things as bland as a piece of white paper, maybe a dash of salt, that would be my perfect meal.
But for some reason, us – the total opposites fell in love and ended up in this mess. And I say mess, because I have no idea what the ever-living fuck is going on right now. I was in the middle of a strangest dream I’ve ever had. It involved Deadpool, a large vat of cooking oil, and the Barefoot Contessa on Food network. Before Deadpool could finish cutting up the onion and putting in the bowl of oatmeal I was ripped from sleep. Before me, my wife stood yelling at a darkened corner of the room.
“Babe, what the fuck are you doing?” I asked trying to move Bailee off my stomach.
“I told you once, I told you twice you wingless pigeon – the game’s over, go home, and sit on your ass for another billion years till Daddy lets you come home.” Her voice was deep and guttural, as though in the moment she was a different person.
“Bite me, Azrael you scheming cunt.”
I jolted out of bed, not alarmed at the deep voice growling from the shadows but at the foulness used in my home. “We do not refer to women like that.”
“Ew.” The man said, “of all the women you could be with…you’re with a feminist.”
“One more word from you, I’ll jam my sword so deep into your throat the ninth ring will feel it tickling them.” Eloise turned and smiled at me, of all the bullshit smiles she ever gave me this one was the worst. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
In a split second, everything hit me. The freezing temperature in the room, the weird smell of rotten eggs, and the fact my wife was yelling at some unseen person. “Wake me up, who the fuck is in my house?”
“Extensive vocabulary this feminist,” the man chuckled. “Glad to see despite the decade, dumb forever remains your type.”
Fire erupted from Eloise’s hand causing me to jump backwards. Brilliant colors danced between her fingers becoming increasingly bright as they coiled around each of her fingers. But my fear wasn’t brought on by the fire, it was the man now illuminated in the dark…a man who looked exactly like Eloise if she’d cut her long red hair.
“Who the fuck is that? What that fuck is that fire? Just…what the fuck Eloise?” I screamed knowing by now the noisy ass neighbors would be calling the police.
“Babe, meet my older brother. He’s come to try and steal you from me. Isn’t that right, Lucifer?” She smiled brightly looking over her shoulder at me. “You figured it all out…after all this time.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked as her gaze returned to the man.
The man looked at me, his head cocked, and his eyes widened. “Wait –“ he looked at Eloise shocked. “You are kidding me!” Ice cracked along the wall causing my delicate wallpaper to split.
“Oh shit.” The fire in Eloise’s hand began to flicker as through it was dying. “You didn’t come here for Sandra?”
“No!” He shouted revealing perfect teeth. “I came here to get my sword back and annoy the shit out of you.” His gaze was unwavering as he stared at me. “But this. This is…” Rubbing his eyes he looked back at me. “Shit, if she had red hair she’d be a spitting imagine.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I shouted knowing damn well I was begin ignored.
“You had no idea?” Eloise asked.
“No, Azrael. I had no fucking idea you found her!” He bit onto his lower lip now eyeing me like a starved animal. “The incarnation of our mother. And you’re what – sleeping with her?!”
“Mother?!” I let myself fall onto the ground in disbelief. “What?”
“Lilith was our mother,” She pointed at me, “That’s not her, just an incarnation.”
“That is not just an incarnation.” The temperature in the room began to drop as he spoke. “It’s her!” His facial expression became soft, “Mom…” he was talking to me. “It’s time, let’s destroy the – “ before he could get it out fire encased his body and screams filled the room.
Eloise was behind me in an instant, Bailee in her arms. “I can explain everything in just a bit. Just trust me. For a second it’s going to get hot – very fucking hot and you’re most likely going to vomit but remember. I’m here for you babe.” And with that, the world around me warped. | |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!" | It started as a night like any other. Gemma made dinner, got the kids squared away with their homework, and passed the time waiting for her husband to come home by cleaning out the basement.
Being first violin in the Boston Symphony Orchestra meant there were many late nights her husband worked late while Gemma waited for rehearsal to end, but she’d gotten used to it.
It had been quite the journey for both of them to adjust to the big city after growing up in the Deep South. So many things they’d believed in when they were younger seemed so silly now.
When they talked to their parents it was always a flurry of questions and passive aggressive statements about how city folk didn’t know God and their souls were in peril.
Now that Gemma had seen for herself the way the world lived outside of their small town it was hard to get through some of those conversations without laughing.
She opened a box she hadn’t seen since they moved. It was a bunch of stuff from back home, including a small but very ornate and old violin case with a lock on it.
She peered at it, the lock seemed to be loose, on the verge of breaking. Hmmm.
Just then she heard a car in the driveway. FINALLY he was home.
She grabbed the case and took it upstairs with her, wondering what it could be. It was surprisingly heavy for something so small.
As she came back into the living room of her townhouse, the lock clicked and disengaged entirely.
The front door opened she and she put the case down on the living room table and opened it up.
Inside was the most beautiful object she’d ever seen bar none. The instrument seemed to pulse with its own golden light that filled the room. It took her breath away.
“What are you doing? Oh no!”
Her husband’s voice broke through her reverie as she saw him standing there, coat still on, staring at her with his jaw agape.
The house begin to tremble. Everything seemed to darken.
A long shadow somehow detached itself from the wall and began walking towards the two of them. It coalesced into a nightmare of a figure, horned and red skinned.
Almost ten years of smartass replies and condescending smirks towards her parents came rushing back to Gemma. There, in her living room, stood the devil.
She looked over at Johnny who, amazingly, seemed unfazed by this development. If anything, he seemed mildly annoyed.
He looked the devil in the eye and said “I told you once, I’m telling you again, and I’ll tell you a hundred F’ing times you son of a bitch, I’m the best that’s ever been!”
He grabbed the golden fiddle from its case and began to play. He wasn’t wrong. | Eloise had a knack for being – a bit eccentric. She was the type of woman who never thought through a single action, never won a battle with her intrusive thoughts, and never admitted fault when things went wrong. Despite knowing all of this, even witnessing this wild behavior firsthand, I somehow ended up marrying her.
We’d been in the same friend group for what felt like an eternity, but we never had any sort of attraction. Maybe it was because we had nothing – and I mean nothing in common.
She enjoyed late night strolls in the moonlight, wearing nothing but a knitted cap and Birkenstocks. While the only time I went outside was to chase Bailee, my obsess introverted cat who loved to run out whenever I opened the door. Eloise loved to try and type of food placed in front of her! Bugs – yep, she’s tried it. Escargot - she would eat them by the fork full. And me, brave little old Sandra who finds too much pepper spicy. And no, that’s not an exaggeration. If I could have things as bland as a piece of white paper, maybe a dash of salt, that would be my perfect meal.
But for some reason, us – the total opposites fell in love and ended up in this mess. And I say mess, because I have no idea what the ever-living fuck is going on right now. I was in the middle of a strangest dream I’ve ever had. It involved Deadpool, a large vat of cooking oil, and the Barefoot Contessa on Food network. Before Deadpool could finish cutting up the onion and putting in the bowl of oatmeal I was ripped from sleep. Before me, my wife stood yelling at a darkened corner of the room.
“Babe, what the fuck are you doing?” I asked trying to move Bailee off my stomach.
“I told you once, I told you twice you wingless pigeon – the game’s over, go home, and sit on your ass for another billion years till Daddy lets you come home.” Her voice was deep and guttural, as though in the moment she was a different person.
“Bite me, Azrael you scheming cunt.”
I jolted out of bed, not alarmed at the deep voice growling from the shadows but at the foulness used in my home. “We do not refer to women like that.”
“Ew.” The man said, “of all the women you could be with…you’re with a feminist.”
“One more word from you, I’ll jam my sword so deep into your throat the ninth ring will feel it tickling them.” Eloise turned and smiled at me, of all the bullshit smiles she ever gave me this one was the worst. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
In a split second, everything hit me. The freezing temperature in the room, the weird smell of rotten eggs, and the fact my wife was yelling at some unseen person. “Wake me up, who the fuck is in my house?”
“Extensive vocabulary this feminist,” the man chuckled. “Glad to see despite the decade, dumb forever remains your type.”
Fire erupted from Eloise’s hand causing me to jump backwards. Brilliant colors danced between her fingers becoming increasingly bright as they coiled around each of her fingers. But my fear wasn’t brought on by the fire, it was the man now illuminated in the dark…a man who looked exactly like Eloise if she’d cut her long red hair.
“Who the fuck is that? What that fuck is that fire? Just…what the fuck Eloise?” I screamed knowing by now the noisy ass neighbors would be calling the police.
“Babe, meet my older brother. He’s come to try and steal you from me. Isn’t that right, Lucifer?” She smiled brightly looking over her shoulder at me. “You figured it all out…after all this time.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked as her gaze returned to the man.
The man looked at me, his head cocked, and his eyes widened. “Wait –“ he looked at Eloise shocked. “You are kidding me!” Ice cracked along the wall causing my delicate wallpaper to split.
“Oh shit.” The fire in Eloise’s hand began to flicker as through it was dying. “You didn’t come here for Sandra?”
“No!” He shouted revealing perfect teeth. “I came here to get my sword back and annoy the shit out of you.” His gaze was unwavering as he stared at me. “But this. This is…” Rubbing his eyes he looked back at me. “Shit, if she had red hair she’d be a spitting imagine.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I shouted knowing damn well I was begin ignored.
“You had no idea?” Eloise asked.
“No, Azrael. I had no fucking idea you found her!” He bit onto his lower lip now eyeing me like a starved animal. “The incarnation of our mother. And you’re what – sleeping with her?!”
“Mother?!” I let myself fall onto the ground in disbelief. “What?”
“Lilith was our mother,” She pointed at me, “That’s not her, just an incarnation.”
“That is not just an incarnation.” The temperature in the room began to drop as he spoke. “It’s her!” His facial expression became soft, “Mom…” he was talking to me. “It’s time, let’s destroy the – “ before he could get it out fire encased his body and screams filled the room.
Eloise was behind me in an instant, Bailee in her arms. “I can explain everything in just a bit. Just trust me. For a second it’s going to get hot – very fucking hot and you’re most likely going to vomit but remember. I’m here for you babe.” And with that, the world around me warped. | |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!" | "I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred fucking times. I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!"
"Well, gotta keep trying, right?"
The storm of smoke and fire swirled around the muscular, hooded figure. The lamp caught fire. Upon noticing it, the devil hurriedly patted it out with his towel.
"So sorry about that," he said. "Anyway, I have a new challenge for us!"
The devil clapped his hands together with glee. He sat cross-legged on the floor and beckoned me to join. I was sitting in my comfy chair. I had my coffee slowly cooling. I didn't want to move. I was also in my 60's, and sitting like a young, more nimble man was getting far more difficult. He pulled his backpack around to his front side.
"If it's all the same to you, do you mind if we do this at the dining room table?" I said.
He looked up to me from the floor. My wife came around the corner with a fire extinguisher. She knew the drill after all these years of challenges. Almost on cue, the devil's tail whipped around and absently set the carpet on fire. Steph put it out immediately. There were seventeen other scorch marks around on the carpet, drapes, couch, and on the inside of one of my boots; he even managed to burn our cat Smokey once. The devil was especially apologetic that day.
"Sorry, sorry," he said as he got up. He helped me to my feet and we made our way, slowly, to the next room. My wife helped me sit and cleared the table. The devil thanked her and pulled out a box. It was a board game.
"Just got this one delivered. It's a game where you're a polyamorous zombie, and your goal is to-"
I zoned out. Truth be told, I hardly ever paid attention to the rules. I used to be such a stickler for them. We had settled into board games years ago; a lot of them got too complicated for their own good, you know. Designers create layers and layers of rules on top of rules, but it's basically all the same. They're easy to win.
"....and then if you can get the Alt-bonus, you can flip the Politics bonus and turn it negative--" he continued.
Back in the old days, I was on top of the world. He tried to tempt me, but I had everything I wanted. I challenged him to a wrestling match. It never occurred to him that professional wrestling matches were fixed. He was so angry.
From then on he became determined to beat me. Arm wrestling. Foot races. Speed reading. Poetry slam. Cheesemaking. Building wooden miniature replicas of the Statue of Liberty wearing a cowboy hat and chaps-- I'm Canadian, by the way. Whatever he could think of, we did. As months turned into years, I realized that he was actually having fun.
I'm well past my physical prime. I may even be going mentally a little, I don't know. But there are *lots* of board games, and we needed a new challenge every time I beat him. And I beat the devil every time. For the last four or five years, he's been really into crowdfunded games.
Steph served him a cup of coffee. He smiled and thanked her as she sat next to me with the extinguisher at the ready.
"Your turn," he said. I studied the board, the little brown heart pieces, the magnet block sitting on the corner of the board. The Alien steak. Descriptions of special abilities of all fifteen genders. It was all Greek to me. He handed me three odd-shaped die and I rolled; Omega, 8, and Blue. He laughed and talked about some nonsensical game mechanic before he caught my attention with a little honesty.
"I look forward to this every month, you know," he said.
"...Yeah, I know," I said. "Me too. I'm sorry I snapped at you before. You scared the crap out of the cat and it made a mess. Plus, you know, my knees have been acting up. Real sore today."
He slumped his shoulders a little. Steph gently dabbed out a small flame on the game board before she added her two cents.
"He got a little grouchy at me this morning. Apparently there weren't any big spoons left for his cereal."
I laughed and shook my head a little from being called out. The devil chuckled. The table caught fire. Steph took care of it.
After some hours of strange Kickstarter board gaming, I obtained the last love interest and won the game.
"Well, darn," The devil said. "Maybe next time, old buddy."
He was grinning ear to ear.
"Sure thing," I said.
The potted fern caught fire. Stephanie extinguished it faster than it even registered.
"I'll get you next time, Bret," he said as smoke and flame enveloped him again.
"Doubt it. I'm the best there is, best there was, and the best there ever will be."
Seconds later, the devil was gone. At least he was happy. | Eloise had a knack for being – a bit eccentric. She was the type of woman who never thought through a single action, never won a battle with her intrusive thoughts, and never admitted fault when things went wrong. Despite knowing all of this, even witnessing this wild behavior firsthand, I somehow ended up marrying her.
We’d been in the same friend group for what felt like an eternity, but we never had any sort of attraction. Maybe it was because we had nothing – and I mean nothing in common.
She enjoyed late night strolls in the moonlight, wearing nothing but a knitted cap and Birkenstocks. While the only time I went outside was to chase Bailee, my obsess introverted cat who loved to run out whenever I opened the door. Eloise loved to try and type of food placed in front of her! Bugs – yep, she’s tried it. Escargot - she would eat them by the fork full. And me, brave little old Sandra who finds too much pepper spicy. And no, that’s not an exaggeration. If I could have things as bland as a piece of white paper, maybe a dash of salt, that would be my perfect meal.
But for some reason, us – the total opposites fell in love and ended up in this mess. And I say mess, because I have no idea what the ever-living fuck is going on right now. I was in the middle of a strangest dream I’ve ever had. It involved Deadpool, a large vat of cooking oil, and the Barefoot Contessa on Food network. Before Deadpool could finish cutting up the onion and putting in the bowl of oatmeal I was ripped from sleep. Before me, my wife stood yelling at a darkened corner of the room.
“Babe, what the fuck are you doing?” I asked trying to move Bailee off my stomach.
“I told you once, I told you twice you wingless pigeon – the game’s over, go home, and sit on your ass for another billion years till Daddy lets you come home.” Her voice was deep and guttural, as though in the moment she was a different person.
“Bite me, Azrael you scheming cunt.”
I jolted out of bed, not alarmed at the deep voice growling from the shadows but at the foulness used in my home. “We do not refer to women like that.”
“Ew.” The man said, “of all the women you could be with…you’re with a feminist.”
“One more word from you, I’ll jam my sword so deep into your throat the ninth ring will feel it tickling them.” Eloise turned and smiled at me, of all the bullshit smiles she ever gave me this one was the worst. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
In a split second, everything hit me. The freezing temperature in the room, the weird smell of rotten eggs, and the fact my wife was yelling at some unseen person. “Wake me up, who the fuck is in my house?”
“Extensive vocabulary this feminist,” the man chuckled. “Glad to see despite the decade, dumb forever remains your type.”
Fire erupted from Eloise’s hand causing me to jump backwards. Brilliant colors danced between her fingers becoming increasingly bright as they coiled around each of her fingers. But my fear wasn’t brought on by the fire, it was the man now illuminated in the dark…a man who looked exactly like Eloise if she’d cut her long red hair.
“Who the fuck is that? What that fuck is that fire? Just…what the fuck Eloise?” I screamed knowing by now the noisy ass neighbors would be calling the police.
“Babe, meet my older brother. He’s come to try and steal you from me. Isn’t that right, Lucifer?” She smiled brightly looking over her shoulder at me. “You figured it all out…after all this time.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked as her gaze returned to the man.
The man looked at me, his head cocked, and his eyes widened. “Wait –“ he looked at Eloise shocked. “You are kidding me!” Ice cracked along the wall causing my delicate wallpaper to split.
“Oh shit.” The fire in Eloise’s hand began to flicker as through it was dying. “You didn’t come here for Sandra?”
“No!” He shouted revealing perfect teeth. “I came here to get my sword back and annoy the shit out of you.” His gaze was unwavering as he stared at me. “But this. This is…” Rubbing his eyes he looked back at me. “Shit, if she had red hair she’d be a spitting imagine.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I shouted knowing damn well I was begin ignored.
“You had no idea?” Eloise asked.
“No, Azrael. I had no fucking idea you found her!” He bit onto his lower lip now eyeing me like a starved animal. “The incarnation of our mother. And you’re what – sleeping with her?!”
“Mother?!” I let myself fall onto the ground in disbelief. “What?”
“Lilith was our mother,” She pointed at me, “That’s not her, just an incarnation.”
“That is not just an incarnation.” The temperature in the room began to drop as he spoke. “It’s her!” His facial expression became soft, “Mom…” he was talking to me. “It’s time, let’s destroy the – “ before he could get it out fire encased his body and screams filled the room.
Eloise was behind me in an instant, Bailee in her arms. “I can explain everything in just a bit. Just trust me. For a second it’s going to get hot – very fucking hot and you’re most likely going to vomit but remember. I’m here for you babe.” And with that, the world around me warped. | |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!" | The devil looked right back at my wife. His eyes narrowed and fists shaking. A man who was ready to murder. A man who who wanted to prove himself. A man who has lost so many times and had nothing to lose.
I turn to my wife who is cool and collected. Upset? Sure, but not worried. How she is not worried, I do not know. The devil in our living room breathing fire, and I'm the only one freaking out. Am I the weird one? I don't think so. She's the weird one. Cool like a cucumber.
They sit down at the dining table. They sit across from each other, maintaining their eye contact the whole time. Sizing each other up, waiting for the other to make a move. I'm anxious watching the whole thing so I go to the kitchen and start preparing a charcuterie board. Does the devil eat cheese and crackers? I guess I am about to find out.
I bring the board back to the dining room, and they are opening a box. The devil puts his hands inside and starts pulling out the contents of it. Dice. and a pad of paper. They are about to play Yahtzee.
Dice start rolling all over the place. Things are getting out of control. Sixes, twos, the other numbers. Pencils are being dropped. Pads are being written on. It is absolute chaos.
My wife is behind by a couple points but it is oh so close. Still anybody's game. The devil is sweating. You would think that a guy who lives in fire wouldn't sweat but he does. He's not touching my cheese and salami. I guess I prepared that for nothing.
A final roll of the dice and my wife pulls in front by just a few points. She wins. The devil is crushed. He can't believe he has lost again. I bet he's been practicing a lot at home too, but it doesn't matter. My wife is still the best Yahtzee player in this and all other realms of existence. I breathe easy again, the fear I had when he arrived has finally dissipated.
You see, the two of them made a deal years ago. Whoever won at Yahtzee got to keep me as a spouse. And I would much rather stay with my wife. She actually appreciates my charcuterie. Also I don't like fire. | "You! Again!" My wife says exasperatedly at the impeccably dressed man who seemed to materialise out of thin air in a ball of fire. He was just a normal man except it was as if flames surrounded him and made- wait, are those fire wings.
"Turn off your fire, moron!" She cries. "The carpet! You are ruining it!"
The carpet? Was that the weirdest thing happening right now? A man appeared in our home, surrounded by fire no less, out of nowhere and she was worried that carpet was going to be ruined.
"Always the drama queen." She muttered as she went to get the vacuum cleaner.
A thought hit me with a speed of a freight truck, she wasn't scared or weirded out by this situation. In fact she knew the fire-man.
"Hey, Sam." The fire-man said with a wink. Not a simple one, a salacious one.
What the fuck was going on here?!
"I swear to god I'll cut off your balls if you hit on my husband." She said as she returned to the room.
The fire-man rolled his eyes. "I don't have balls. At least not right now"
She snorted. "Don't I know that."
Balls. We are now on balls and I have no idea what is going on.
"Okay, someone tell me something before I call 911 to take to check me into an asylum." I say finally.
My wife finally softened.
"You might want to sit down for this." She sighed.
I look at the fire-man who was grinning like a baby about to get a treat.
"Okay," she rubbed her forehead. "Where to start-"
"How about with an apple?" The fire-man drawled.
"Shut up." She snapped then gave me a sheepish look when raise my hands in exasperation.
"There is no apple. The apple belongs to him and his people." She said rolling his eyes. "Okay, let me begin by introducing this moron. Sam, this is Lucy- sorry Lucifer."
I opened my mouth and close it again like a fish. "Say what now."
"He's Lucifer." She said calmly then threw fire- nope, Lucifer a scathing look. "Yes, as in the Devil but he's basically a drama queen."
"There's no need for name calling, sweety." Lucifer smirks.
"Don't call my wife that." I say automatically, feeling nauseated.
"Oooh, looks like some-"
"One more word out of you and I will hit you so hard that you won't be able to get up this century." My wife hisses.
She kneels in front of me. "Listen, honey, I know this is a surprise and I wanted to tell you. I was just waiting for the right time. But this asshole ruined everything."
"Tell me what?" I ask my eyes not leaving her but I notice something coming out of Lucifer's head.
I'm going to throw up.
"Would you cut it out!" She snaps.
"I'm sorry." I mumble.
"Not you, never you." She gently caresses my face. "It's the shit stain-"
I look up wearily. I'm getting tired of the name calling. It was fun hearing my wife curse but this was getting out of hand. It was as if I was back in high school.
"Sorry." She said sheepishly. "Yeah, so this is Lucifer. The Devil or as I should say one of them."
"Oh, come on! This is mean." Lucifer whines.
She ignores him. "I'm- well, I'm Kali."
"You're Siddhi." I reply blankly.
"That's one of my names." She says calmly.
"One of your names?"
"I have a thousand." She said looking a bit nervous. She hurried on. "I'm a Hindu Goddess."
"Goddess of death." Lucifer calls out.
Death. Goddess. Words are ringing in my ears now. Breathing is getting hard. Has it always been this difficult?
"Breathe, darling." She says in a soothing voice. "I know it's a lot."
"A lot." I say, almost yell that is. "You are a goddess. He's the Devil. What am I? Wait am I someone else too?!"
I was hyperventilating. My wife looked worried. What else was she hiding. Do we live in heaven or hell? Am I dead?
"No! No, you are Sam. My Sam." She says in a soft voice.
I feel her soft hands on my face and everything grows quiet. It's just us. And everything will be okay. At least that's what she tells me and that's how deep down I feel too.
"Isn't it beautiful." Lucifer's voice breaks the love that my wife was surrounding me with. "Love."
He sighed dramatically.
"Why are you here?" I say, trying to find some semblance in this weird, weird scenario.
"You know for the Battle of the Gods." Lucifer says nonchalantly.
"A battle."
"Of gods. Yes." Siddhi says. "It's held every year. And this year this idiot was choosen as the official messanger. I should have known he would pick up the most inconvenient moment. Krishna told me to look out for him."
"Krishna?" I look at her confused.
"Another Hindu God." Siddhi answers with a sweet smile.
Of course. It was obvious once you come around to remembering that your wife is a goddess.
Well, she was always a goddess for you but now it's official, a voice inside me says.
"And this year, your wife is going to get a SmackDown of her life." Lucifer says with a confident air which was once again fiery.
"Is that really necessary." I ask weakly.
"Yup." He shrugs. "It's what makes it impressive."
Siddhi snorts. "It doesn't. You look like a moron. And besides I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred fucking times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!"
Lucifer brushes faux dust off his suit. "We'll see."
"Yes, we will."
Another puff of smoke and fire and he's gone.
"I bet you have a lot of questions." Siddhi says kindly.
A shit ton. But there's one that is at the top of my mind.
"So, if you are a goddess then does it make me a pseudo god?" | |
[WP] The war was all but lost. The aliens captured world after world, Humanity’s subjugation seemed inevitable. Then your spec ops team was authorized. A group of Biologists with no morals, no scruples, no care for civilian casualties, and unlimited funding… | “Ladies and gentlemen,” the general addressed the group of biologists, some in lab coats but most wearing casual clothes. “The governments of the world have offered you unlimited funding with no strings attached to end the alien menace. The only caveat; humanity must survive.”
The proposals came in the following week, but our team knew we’d win. “Look Jen, our only real competition is the botanists”, Matt stated with conviction. “The geneticists would need a sample, and the microbiologists don’t have time to make a super weapon that humans are immune to. The botanists are the only group with access to similar biodiversity.”
“He’s right, you know”, Sam chimed in looking up from their research notes. “Though we’re going to need help from most teams before the end. That’s our biggest advantage here. Most groups don’t respect collaboration.”
“I’m just glad we got a seat at the table. Our general disdain for humanity is often a deal breaker,” I chuckled. “I think we should go with the blue-ringed octopus.” We already all the toxins and delivery systems we’ll need, plus the added bonus of high intelligence, adaptability, and camouflage sets on a short life span.”
“Agreed, Blake.” Jen had finally started to relax. The threat was real, but we had time. Enough time. All of us knew it now.
“Let’s just be clear on the proposal,” Matt intoned. He was being too careful, but that’s why we needed him.
Jen grinned. “We’re going to engineer a 6ft tall blue ringed octopus that can survive equally well on land and water plus last for up to two hours in the vacuum of space. We will reinforce the suckers, and more toxins to the venom, and improve the camouflage ability as much as possible. We are also going to improve their inter-social coordination as well as give them the ability to communicate with humans.”
“And we’re going to teach them how to use firearms,” added Sam. “You don’t mess with marine biologists.” | Upon entering the atmosphere, a hail storm of green and red lasers from one of downtowns largest skyscraper turned into an alien base targeted the bottom of The Lionel 7 transport vessel only to deflect into the unknown. Thanks to the Capsule Shielding, a blue hologram protective bubble surrounding the ship which was provided by The Academy's brightest minds raised from birth to specialize in advancements for technology. Of course technology that will benefit solely the Academy and loyal subjects.
Mason closed his eyes and waited for the drop zone. He hated drops in the middle of a fire fight but what choice did he have? What choice did he ever have? From the moment he made the decision to take the leap from marine to C Ranger, C for Curpini; one of the home world's that train aspiring soldiers from all over the universe who feel they have what it takes to become a Universal Ranger. The U.R. the police of the universe protected by an alliance of 4 planets in the Ursula solar system.
He sat on the bench of the Lionel 7 waiting for deployment with the rest of his crew, as the ship rocked through the turbulence cause by the incoming attacks.
The pilot of the Lionel 7 was calm and collect as he flew past the base dodging whatever attacks he could to find a secure landing zone for the C Rangers. There were two teams of 6, split even to a bench on each side of the transport ship waiting to jump out the rear into the dark as lasers danced past them fighting eager to bring down the ship.
The green light signaled what they all have been preparing for in the last 2 weeks after Intel confirmed the location of the alien prison holding V.I.P.'s to The Academy that were taken hostage from previous planets already destroyed by the hostile alien race a with advanced technology unknown to mankind, The Naki.
The Naki was an advanced alien race that claims all the the humans housed on the planets in the Ursula solar system were created to be servants to their rule or die as a meal for a Naki. Yes, they were also reptilian skinned predators who stood at least 7 foot tall and although they enjoyed eating all the meaty resources off the planet, a human can still be served as a special dish for the sake of taboo. The Naki were not only a fierce opponent, they were savage. | |
[WP] The war was all but lost. The aliens captured world after world, Humanity’s subjugation seemed inevitable. Then your spec ops team was authorized. A group of Biologists with no morals, no scruples, no care for civilian casualties, and unlimited funding… | They came like the devil himself from the deep void. Nameless, They ravaged and burned. Millions died in the first two years, and billions in the decade that followed. We fought hard. We fought well. Every loss took ten of those murdering heathens. But they just kept coming.
We tried to make peace. We tried to grant concession. We died. The tide doesn't care for the pleading of the sand.
Then, a miracle. We were never wont for captives. We could win battles, take prisoners. Mostly they just died. Except this one.
A single writhing form, twisted and pale. Hideous to us. It lived. Our desperation drove us to consider new and terrible things. We cut, burned, and poisoned it's body to test our designs. And it lived.
Jerelle made the breakthrough. A perfected weapon. A spear that would carve the flesh from our foe as neatly as a scalpel. It was our oldest enemy, repurposed to wreak terrible vengeance on the invaders.
It would spread between them with every breath, consuming their lungs in white rot and blood. We called it the white death and Project Orwell, and we unleashed it on them with no remorse.
Jerelle said there was poetry in it. To remake tuberculosis to save mankind. I never saw it like that. I just heard the coughing. | Upon entering the atmosphere, a hail storm of green and red lasers from one of downtowns largest skyscraper turned into an alien base targeted the bottom of The Lionel 7 transport vessel only to deflect into the unknown. Thanks to the Capsule Shielding, a blue hologram protective bubble surrounding the ship which was provided by The Academy's brightest minds raised from birth to specialize in advancements for technology. Of course technology that will benefit solely the Academy and loyal subjects.
Mason closed his eyes and waited for the drop zone. He hated drops in the middle of a fire fight but what choice did he have? What choice did he ever have? From the moment he made the decision to take the leap from marine to C Ranger, C for Curpini; one of the home world's that train aspiring soldiers from all over the universe who feel they have what it takes to become a Universal Ranger. The U.R. the police of the universe protected by an alliance of 4 planets in the Ursula solar system.
He sat on the bench of the Lionel 7 waiting for deployment with the rest of his crew, as the ship rocked through the turbulence cause by the incoming attacks.
The pilot of the Lionel 7 was calm and collect as he flew past the base dodging whatever attacks he could to find a secure landing zone for the C Rangers. There were two teams of 6, split even to a bench on each side of the transport ship waiting to jump out the rear into the dark as lasers danced past them fighting eager to bring down the ship.
The green light signaled what they all have been preparing for in the last 2 weeks after Intel confirmed the location of the alien prison holding V.I.P.'s to The Academy that were taken hostage from previous planets already destroyed by the hostile alien race a with advanced technology unknown to mankind, The Naki.
The Naki was an advanced alien race that claims all the the humans housed on the planets in the Ursula solar system were created to be servants to their rule or die as a meal for a Naki. Yes, they were also reptilian skinned predators who stood at least 7 foot tall and although they enjoyed eating all the meaty resources off the planet, a human can still be served as a special dish for the sake of taboo. The Naki were not only a fierce opponent, they were savage. | |
[WP] The war was all but lost. The aliens captured world after world, Humanity’s subjugation seemed inevitable. Then your spec ops team was authorized. A group of Biologists with no morals, no scruples, no care for civilian casualties, and unlimited funding… | ...The goal was never to save Earth. We'd seen it with other planets. Those that didn't allow themselves to be subjugated were exterminated with prejudice.
It was quietly decided, and the general populace wasn't informed. The biologists were specifically instructed to engineer a couple of dozen infectious diseases with a long incubation time. Diseases that would spread themselves before the carrier was aware.
The biologists were specifically instructed to engineer diseases that would have as much possible chance of success of spreading to our would be oppressors.
We succeeded. Earth was lost. Human civilisation was lost. And while humans hadn't had a snowball's chance in hell of surviving that deadly cocktail, neither had the aliens.
We sealed our arts and histories for another species to discover and hopefully appreciate. We'll be a footnote.
But we won't be the only footnote. | Upon entering the atmosphere, a hail storm of green and red lasers from one of downtowns largest skyscraper turned into an alien base targeted the bottom of The Lionel 7 transport vessel only to deflect into the unknown. Thanks to the Capsule Shielding, a blue hologram protective bubble surrounding the ship which was provided by The Academy's brightest minds raised from birth to specialize in advancements for technology. Of course technology that will benefit solely the Academy and loyal subjects.
Mason closed his eyes and waited for the drop zone. He hated drops in the middle of a fire fight but what choice did he have? What choice did he ever have? From the moment he made the decision to take the leap from marine to C Ranger, C for Curpini; one of the home world's that train aspiring soldiers from all over the universe who feel they have what it takes to become a Universal Ranger. The U.R. the police of the universe protected by an alliance of 4 planets in the Ursula solar system.
He sat on the bench of the Lionel 7 waiting for deployment with the rest of his crew, as the ship rocked through the turbulence cause by the incoming attacks.
The pilot of the Lionel 7 was calm and collect as he flew past the base dodging whatever attacks he could to find a secure landing zone for the C Rangers. There were two teams of 6, split even to a bench on each side of the transport ship waiting to jump out the rear into the dark as lasers danced past them fighting eager to bring down the ship.
The green light signaled what they all have been preparing for in the last 2 weeks after Intel confirmed the location of the alien prison holding V.I.P.'s to The Academy that were taken hostage from previous planets already destroyed by the hostile alien race a with advanced technology unknown to mankind, The Naki.
The Naki was an advanced alien race that claims all the the humans housed on the planets in the Ursula solar system were created to be servants to their rule or die as a meal for a Naki. Yes, they were also reptilian skinned predators who stood at least 7 foot tall and although they enjoyed eating all the meaty resources off the planet, a human can still be served as a special dish for the sake of taboo. The Naki were not only a fierce opponent, they were savage. | |
[WP] The war was all but lost. The aliens captured world after world, Humanity’s subjugation seemed inevitable. Then your spec ops team was authorized. A group of Biologists with no morals, no scruples, no care for civilian casualties, and unlimited funding… | Braaqrek walks forward carefully. The alarms in his ship are blaring, warning him of potential boarders. The lower decks have gone silent minutes after the initial impact, even though the emergency life support system is still running perfectly fine. The lights are also functional, but none of his crewmates are anywhere to be seen.
Opening the blast door reveals corridor 1885-244A. Yet it does not look anything like a corridor on a starship. What was once smooth metal have been covered by a weird green growth. It spreads from the ground the the celling, covering walls and pipes with astonishing rate. Out of curiosity, Braaqrek reaches out with his gel tentacle to touch the growth. It was wet and slimy, but also somewhat warm to touch. More alarmingly, the metal plating underneath the green growth seems to be corroded somehow.
"Glad to see you face to face," a voice draws Braaqrek's attention away from the walls to the darkness in front of him. There, a human stands in a full pressure suit. It is holding some sort of sprayer in its hands, which is connected to the backpack of its suit with a white hose.
"I have finally found my perfect petri dish."
The human pulls the trigger on the sprayer, showering Braaqrek with a mysterious fluid. Before he can even pull his own weapon out, pain shot up from his gel tentacle to his secondary receptor cortex. He looks down and sees that his tentacle is covered in the same green growth that is covering parts of his ship.
He wants to scream. But it is too late. He can feel the green cells penetrating his gel-like body. The human looks on with laughter as he collapses onto the floor, turning him into a green blob on the ground.
"Experiment log #5502. Subject is killed too quickly. The metal-eater strain needs to be modified. Expression of R35 polymerase can be tuned down to allow more time for transmission."
The human looks over the dead blob. Time to find another test subject. | I laughed wildly. "You can tell it's bad when they actually don't keep us locked up, let alone when they actually give us money, *let alone* when they remove any kind of qualifications! Like, look at these! Maximum civilian casualties allowed, unlimited funding, any kind of test subject we want!"
"It is pretty crazy." My partner in crime pulled her gloves up. "So. What's the plan?"
"Well, I've been playing this little game recently. It's called Lobotomy Corporation."
"Hooh boy, yep. I've heard of that one."
"Well, there's this one creature there, it's called Nothing There."
"What?"
"Nothing There. That is its name." She was still confused, so I wrote "Nothing There" on a piece of paper, then pointed to the paper. "That's its name."
"Ooh, I see! Carry on."
"In very simple and slightly incorrect terms, if it gets angry, it kills the next employee to head into it's room. It then steals their skin, and uses that to get out. If you don't find it, it returns to it's normal form, and becomes to gigantic hulking monster of death and destruction."
"You want us to make that?"
"Something *better* than that. Just think about it." I put my hand on her shoulder, holding out my other arm and motioning it in the air. "A shapeshifting creature. It takes and absorbs knowledge like a sponge. The aliens can't track it, because for all intents and purposes, it *is* one of the aliens. And, hey! Humanity's doomed! I'm sure that everyone would be **thrilled** to become a shape-changer of the highest degree!" I put both hands on her shoulders, staring directly into her eyes. "We're finally gonna evolve humanity to the next level. You ready sis?" She grabbed my hands with her own, grinning fiercely.
"Absolutely! Let's get started!" | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | Before me was arrayed five of the most powerful Gods to exist, along with around fourty-seven of their minor, yet still powerful, counterparts. The minor Gods shifted uneasily in their seats, as while they were grateful to be present for such an important event, the Major Gods radiated a terrifying aura. It was one of contempt, loathing, anger, and maybe even... Fear? No, never, the Major Gods had killed their fear when they transitioned to their states of power above their lesser brethren. However, more than the aura the Major Gods gave off, the minor Gods were barely containing their immense fear for one reason: the Sixth Throne sat empty, not just physically, but in energy and presence. It was as if the very soul of the chair had fled this realm. Which, in a way, it had.
​
The First God Spoke in a low tone, one that resonated with the universe, "Tell us, Courier, what has become of the Sixth. Why does Their throne sit empty, without it's soul".
​
"I believe you can all feel what has happened, but I will tell you as it was relayed to myself: A sentient species of the Realm Ruled by Physics have killed the Sixth. The Sixth entered their galaxy and began to throw itself towards the nearest sentient species, which happened to be a race known as the Humans. While it only took the Sixth only twenty of their years to approach their star system, the Humans had noticed the Sixth the moment They entered the galaxy. Apparently, instead of panicking, or praying, or destroying their own world before arrival, they instead focused. And, when I say focused, I mean they bore down on a method of defeating a God as if nothing else mattered. They stagnated in every field except for the ones that would allow them to possibly kill the God that approached.
​
"These Humans already had ships that sailed their local stars, they had guns that could destroy small moons. But they knew these would not be enough, it was as if something inside their genetics told them. So they made bigger guns, bigger ships, increased their gathering and production, they built ships another sapient may mistake for a moon or a small planet. And yet, they still built more, bigger ships and bigger guns. It was as if desperation drove them to madness in pursuit of their survival.
​
"A year before the arrival of the Sixth, the Humans began constructing a weapon of immense proportions to them, a weapon that used their star to fire massive bursts of energy at the incoming God. They made the weapon first, building the energy harvester around the weapon, increasing its output week by week, as their doom loomed closer. They arrayed every weapon they had ever designed and built in their home system so that they could push the God back with a singular show of defiance.
​
"to try and weaken the God approaching them, the Humans laced the belt of asteroids farthest from their star with old weapons of their, weapons that even they considered primitive, what they called 'Low Yield High Radiation Nuclear Bombs'. As the Sixth entered the system it struck these bombs, and something very odd happened. The bombs detonated, and for the first time in time immemorial a God was harmed. From what they could gather, the explosion of the Nuclear Bombs had made only the smallest sliver of a cut into the Sixth, but that cut was enough to allow the Radiation of the bombs to infest the Sixth as if it was a plague.
​
"Seeing the God stagger in its previously unyielding march, it is said the Humans gave a grim smile, and then fired every weapon they had at the God that approached. Many of their smaller weapons only made the God even more furious, but some of the larger weapons, and the weapons designed to burrow deep into armor began to make their way through. The radiation the humans had made so many centuries ago seeming to devour the God from the inside, making It weak. Soon enough, even the smaller weapons pierced the skin of the God. The Sixth is said to have gotten as far as the planet they named Saturn, before the final blow was dealt to It by the fully charged star weapon. The Sixth's corpse is being torn apart by the Humans currently so that they could figure out how to kill a God without the use of millions of guns and bombs, but instead by one weapon they have called Branch of Mistletoe.
​
"The Humans have killed the Sixth and left the Sixth Throne empty. And now? They are content to live their short lives and return to all they have neglected in their fear. They will never forget the Sixth, they could not. However, the next time we are spotted, they will not be filled with fear as last time but instead with a desire to ripe whatever it is we have for life from us and then study our corpse to understand what makes us the Gods".
​
The Chamber of Unreality was quiet, all before me were too stunned, angry, or fearful to comment or even begin to think of speaking out. All but one: a newer God, one brought forth in the last few millenia. The young God raised It's hand to speak and I felt my smile widen.
​
"Yes, young God, the Fourty-Seventh?" I spoke, keeping my tone level lest the previously Six, now Five, decide that they had heard enough.
With a shaky breath and asked what I was hoping was on the mind of all before me, "If the Sixth has died, who told you of how all of this occured?"
​
"Why, my dear, young, God. It was the newest God to join us in this Plane Beyond Any Logic, a God that has no number as Her power cannot be scored using a ranking. She is both the weakest and strongest God to exist. And She has a name. Her name is as follows: The Indomitable Spirit of Humanity". | It was within a moment, within the now, within the then, within the next, and within the eternal flames that the echo rose around the gods. Causing fear to root itself deep within them. The scene was rare, barely achieved, and yet, successful. Events that caused the start of Eternity.
Humans had shot the entity, bombed it, nukes it, and even punched it at one point. Most of them didn’t do anything, however, the final blow was the punch to the entities foot, as it was blown into ash and dust. Shaking the other gods to their core. The Horrors became weaker at the revelation that they could die. What used to be 10 had become 9, and before 10, there were 11, before 11, there was 12. The gods decided to call a meeting, a meeting to decide what to do with Humanity.
“I recognize there’s only 9 of us here, I’m sure you realize it too, Destruction is truly gone.” Logic spoke, his hands, thick, rough, and slick, had interlocked as he spoke. He looked to the other gods around, speaking once more.
“How the hell did this even happen? It’s impossible, humans don’t have the powers of The Horror’s yet.” Confusion spoke, the words coming out in a tone that wasn’t favorable towards Logic.
“Watch your tone, child. You have only recently been conceived. While the rest of us have been here for Eons, you didn’t earn the right to become a Horror until you achieved <!•~~~•!>. Yet you speak to me in such a way?” Logic reprimanded the lower god, that was because a patriarchy of sorts existed between the gods. Oldest was wisest, therefore the most powerful and the greatest. The younger you were the less authority you had, unfortunately for Confusion, he was the last to come into existence. Eons had it taken for Horror’s to appear, however, Logic was the second Oldest *now*. His predecessor had been locked away due to their malicious nature.
“I believe humans have collectively unlocked a new Revelation, in other words, Humanity has become a new Horror.” Logic spoke once again, continuing his speech.
Creation, the oldest, the wisest, and the greatest, stood now. His eyes gazing down on Logic, sending him the most powerful wave of air a stare could, a blink was all it took for Logic to take a step back at the pure Revelation of Creation. Revelation was the source of power for all Horrors not just the gods. The gods sometimes didn’t include other Horrors due to their lack of Revelation or because they simply didn’t fit the bill for Godhood. Surprisingly, there was a criteria for being a god.
“Are you suggesting that Humanity, one of the most powerful extraterrestrial organisms there is, has now achieved a Revelation?” Creation simply just stared at Logic. Waiting for a response.
“It’s much worse than that, they also received the Revelation of Destruction.” Logic responded in a slow manner, making sure he spoke calmly as to not anger Creation. Else he create another repeat of Despair.
“I expect that you’ll fix this.” Creation stated daggers down at Logic?, the height different between them was hundreds of meters. As the more powerful the god, the more physically imposing they became.
“I-I will! I promise I will!” Logic responded quickly, backing away as to grab his weapon, his book of Revelation. Creation simply nodded, before walking off to his own personal chambers. The other 8, Fear, Hope, Confusion, Death, Life, Heat, Infinity, and Technology all snickered.
Author’s Note:
For all those wondering why Confusion is the youngest and not Technology, Technology is anything that can be used as a tool. Therefore, a rock, a planet or even a sub could be used as a tool. Technology is actually older than Life, Death, Heat, Fear, and Hope. Making it the Third in line after Logic (used to be the 4th, however, in the story, Destruction was the god who died, bumping everyone up one.) | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | Before me was arrayed five of the most powerful Gods to exist, along with around fourty-seven of their minor, yet still powerful, counterparts. The minor Gods shifted uneasily in their seats, as while they were grateful to be present for such an important event, the Major Gods radiated a terrifying aura. It was one of contempt, loathing, anger, and maybe even... Fear? No, never, the Major Gods had killed their fear when they transitioned to their states of power above their lesser brethren. However, more than the aura the Major Gods gave off, the minor Gods were barely containing their immense fear for one reason: the Sixth Throne sat empty, not just physically, but in energy and presence. It was as if the very soul of the chair had fled this realm. Which, in a way, it had.
&#x200B;
The First God Spoke in a low tone, one that resonated with the universe, "Tell us, Courier, what has become of the Sixth. Why does Their throne sit empty, without it's soul".
&#x200B;
"I believe you can all feel what has happened, but I will tell you as it was relayed to myself: A sentient species of the Realm Ruled by Physics have killed the Sixth. The Sixth entered their galaxy and began to throw itself towards the nearest sentient species, which happened to be a race known as the Humans. While it only took the Sixth only twenty of their years to approach their star system, the Humans had noticed the Sixth the moment They entered the galaxy. Apparently, instead of panicking, or praying, or destroying their own world before arrival, they instead focused. And, when I say focused, I mean they bore down on a method of defeating a God as if nothing else mattered. They stagnated in every field except for the ones that would allow them to possibly kill the God that approached.
&#x200B;
"These Humans already had ships that sailed their local stars, they had guns that could destroy small moons. But they knew these would not be enough, it was as if something inside their genetics told them. So they made bigger guns, bigger ships, increased their gathering and production, they built ships another sapient may mistake for a moon or a small planet. And yet, they still built more, bigger ships and bigger guns. It was as if desperation drove them to madness in pursuit of their survival.
&#x200B;
"A year before the arrival of the Sixth, the Humans began constructing a weapon of immense proportions to them, a weapon that used their star to fire massive bursts of energy at the incoming God. They made the weapon first, building the energy harvester around the weapon, increasing its output week by week, as their doom loomed closer. They arrayed every weapon they had ever designed and built in their home system so that they could push the God back with a singular show of defiance.
&#x200B;
"to try and weaken the God approaching them, the Humans laced the belt of asteroids farthest from their star with old weapons of their, weapons that even they considered primitive, what they called 'Low Yield High Radiation Nuclear Bombs'. As the Sixth entered the system it struck these bombs, and something very odd happened. The bombs detonated, and for the first time in time immemorial a God was harmed. From what they could gather, the explosion of the Nuclear Bombs had made only the smallest sliver of a cut into the Sixth, but that cut was enough to allow the Radiation of the bombs to infest the Sixth as if it was a plague.
&#x200B;
"Seeing the God stagger in its previously unyielding march, it is said the Humans gave a grim smile, and then fired every weapon they had at the God that approached. Many of their smaller weapons only made the God even more furious, but some of the larger weapons, and the weapons designed to burrow deep into armor began to make their way through. The radiation the humans had made so many centuries ago seeming to devour the God from the inside, making It weak. Soon enough, even the smaller weapons pierced the skin of the God. The Sixth is said to have gotten as far as the planet they named Saturn, before the final blow was dealt to It by the fully charged star weapon. The Sixth's corpse is being torn apart by the Humans currently so that they could figure out how to kill a God without the use of millions of guns and bombs, but instead by one weapon they have called Branch of Mistletoe.
&#x200B;
"The Humans have killed the Sixth and left the Sixth Throne empty. And now? They are content to live their short lives and return to all they have neglected in their fear. They will never forget the Sixth, they could not. However, the next time we are spotted, they will not be filled with fear as last time but instead with a desire to ripe whatever it is we have for life from us and then study our corpse to understand what makes us the Gods".
&#x200B;
The Chamber of Unreality was quiet, all before me were too stunned, angry, or fearful to comment or even begin to think of speaking out. All but one: a newer God, one brought forth in the last few millenia. The young God raised It's hand to speak and I felt my smile widen.
&#x200B;
"Yes, young God, the Fourty-Seventh?" I spoke, keeping my tone level lest the previously Six, now Five, decide that they had heard enough.
With a shaky breath and asked what I was hoping was on the mind of all before me, "If the Sixth has died, who told you of how all of this occured?"
&#x200B;
"Why, my dear, young, God. It was the newest God to join us in this Plane Beyond Any Logic, a God that has no number as Her power cannot be scored using a ranking. She is both the weakest and strongest God to exist. And She has a name. Her name is as follows: The Indomitable Spirit of Humanity". | “Wait! Abeb got folded!? By humans, nonetheless! I told you all it was possible! Hahaha!” Good old Abeb, youngest son of Great Cthulhu… and the *weakest of the Great Old Ones.* The fact he was slain by “mere” humans though, was honestly… quite expected, to me anyways.
The other ones were not laughing, though. They were focused on asking themselves how and why Abeb Of Cthulhu was slain by mere “beasts”. Quite annoying really, watching these “Many Spiraled-Ones” discuss on how a pathetic member of their kind was defeated by humans, he WAS the weakest of them after all, in fact, I believe the humans could even defeat The Grand Priest himself-
“Silence your thoughts, Scarlet PEST.” Whispered Darkness his usually shrill voice, huh, mind-reading, I forgot he can do that, “Your petty words are NOT welcomed in our domain, lest your pitiful entertainment sullies our joy and time.”
“Sullies?! I have you know that I am the most entertaining person in the whole room! Unlike your brooding self, I give whatever life can be bought into this dump.” It wasn’t actually a dump, it’s was more so a room without any furniture, we just manifested our chairs and table.
“We have come together, brethren, to discuss the fitting sentence of these pitiful creatures for the crime of slaying one of our kin. Abeb was a cherished child of us and to find our beloved Abeb laid low by mere mortals is both of great concern and despair.” said Kalrezor in his emerald chair, and hold on….
“Cherished and beloved? I barely even remembered the guy! I didn’t know you Outer Gods cared for your kin, not since Oorn and Sebek was imprisoned by the Elder Gods on Rag’laygeth. You don’t need to lie now.” I don’t know if they’re lying or not, but it’s Abeb… he’s not that memorable.
“*Scarlet… perhaps it is not wise to antagonize the guests.*” said Hastur in his ever familiar voice of superiority because of his great intellectual might, but he finally agrees with me for once. “*Perhaps… they are not upset with Abeb’s passing, but upset with the knowledge that primitive mammalians on an unremarkable rock have slain this child.*”
“Thank you!” Finally! Someone agrees. Hastur reaches into his dingy yellow cloak and pulled out his BBIH (Big Book of the Infinite Histories, atleast that’s what I call it,)
(I’ll finish it later.) | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | Before me was arrayed five of the most powerful Gods to exist, along with around fourty-seven of their minor, yet still powerful, counterparts. The minor Gods shifted uneasily in their seats, as while they were grateful to be present for such an important event, the Major Gods radiated a terrifying aura. It was one of contempt, loathing, anger, and maybe even... Fear? No, never, the Major Gods had killed their fear when they transitioned to their states of power above their lesser brethren. However, more than the aura the Major Gods gave off, the minor Gods were barely containing their immense fear for one reason: the Sixth Throne sat empty, not just physically, but in energy and presence. It was as if the very soul of the chair had fled this realm. Which, in a way, it had.
&#x200B;
The First God Spoke in a low tone, one that resonated with the universe, "Tell us, Courier, what has become of the Sixth. Why does Their throne sit empty, without it's soul".
&#x200B;
"I believe you can all feel what has happened, but I will tell you as it was relayed to myself: A sentient species of the Realm Ruled by Physics have killed the Sixth. The Sixth entered their galaxy and began to throw itself towards the nearest sentient species, which happened to be a race known as the Humans. While it only took the Sixth only twenty of their years to approach their star system, the Humans had noticed the Sixth the moment They entered the galaxy. Apparently, instead of panicking, or praying, or destroying their own world before arrival, they instead focused. And, when I say focused, I mean they bore down on a method of defeating a God as if nothing else mattered. They stagnated in every field except for the ones that would allow them to possibly kill the God that approached.
&#x200B;
"These Humans already had ships that sailed their local stars, they had guns that could destroy small moons. But they knew these would not be enough, it was as if something inside their genetics told them. So they made bigger guns, bigger ships, increased their gathering and production, they built ships another sapient may mistake for a moon or a small planet. And yet, they still built more, bigger ships and bigger guns. It was as if desperation drove them to madness in pursuit of their survival.
&#x200B;
"A year before the arrival of the Sixth, the Humans began constructing a weapon of immense proportions to them, a weapon that used their star to fire massive bursts of energy at the incoming God. They made the weapon first, building the energy harvester around the weapon, increasing its output week by week, as their doom loomed closer. They arrayed every weapon they had ever designed and built in their home system so that they could push the God back with a singular show of defiance.
&#x200B;
"to try and weaken the God approaching them, the Humans laced the belt of asteroids farthest from their star with old weapons of their, weapons that even they considered primitive, what they called 'Low Yield High Radiation Nuclear Bombs'. As the Sixth entered the system it struck these bombs, and something very odd happened. The bombs detonated, and for the first time in time immemorial a God was harmed. From what they could gather, the explosion of the Nuclear Bombs had made only the smallest sliver of a cut into the Sixth, but that cut was enough to allow the Radiation of the bombs to infest the Sixth as if it was a plague.
&#x200B;
"Seeing the God stagger in its previously unyielding march, it is said the Humans gave a grim smile, and then fired every weapon they had at the God that approached. Many of their smaller weapons only made the God even more furious, but some of the larger weapons, and the weapons designed to burrow deep into armor began to make their way through. The radiation the humans had made so many centuries ago seeming to devour the God from the inside, making It weak. Soon enough, even the smaller weapons pierced the skin of the God. The Sixth is said to have gotten as far as the planet they named Saturn, before the final blow was dealt to It by the fully charged star weapon. The Sixth's corpse is being torn apart by the Humans currently so that they could figure out how to kill a God without the use of millions of guns and bombs, but instead by one weapon they have called Branch of Mistletoe.
&#x200B;
"The Humans have killed the Sixth and left the Sixth Throne empty. And now? They are content to live their short lives and return to all they have neglected in their fear. They will never forget the Sixth, they could not. However, the next time we are spotted, they will not be filled with fear as last time but instead with a desire to ripe whatever it is we have for life from us and then study our corpse to understand what makes us the Gods".
&#x200B;
The Chamber of Unreality was quiet, all before me were too stunned, angry, or fearful to comment or even begin to think of speaking out. All but one: a newer God, one brought forth in the last few millenia. The young God raised It's hand to speak and I felt my smile widen.
&#x200B;
"Yes, young God, the Fourty-Seventh?" I spoke, keeping my tone level lest the previously Six, now Five, decide that they had heard enough.
With a shaky breath and asked what I was hoping was on the mind of all before me, "If the Sixth has died, who told you of how all of this occured?"
&#x200B;
"Why, my dear, young, God. It was the newest God to join us in this Plane Beyond Any Logic, a God that has no number as Her power cannot be scored using a ranking. She is both the weakest and strongest God to exist. And She has a name. Her name is as follows: The Indomitable Spirit of Humanity". | "Did you hear?"
"Hear what?"
"Those ape bastards got Mitch."
"No!'
"Yes."
"I like Mitch. In a cosmic horror kind of way, of course..."
"Of course. Nothing sexual to it."
"Right."
"Right."
"So."
"So?"
"So what do we do?"
"What do we do about what?"
"What do we do about poor Mitch, you twit?"
"Mitch is dead."
"I know Mitch is dead, you ass, I mean are we going to avenge Mitch?"
"Whatever for? We're Cosmic Horrors, we don't give a shit about anything. In the long run, anyways."
"But the apes? What do we do about them?"
"Oh, something. I suppose."
"When"
"Hrm. that's a puzzle. Let's do something...when the stars are right."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
"When the stars are right, then."
"When the stars are right." | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | "I had told Ire not to invade the realm below. Impure beings are unpredictable, as would be any being that's had to deal in impure fashions." Analysis had always rebuked Ire - passion incarnate but with little foresight. The Pure One mused to Itself about the recent news.
Seeking an outlet for its unending radiance, Ire had broken into the lower realms to unleash Its furies on more malleable canvas. Its peers - pure abstraction - were poor receptacles for Ire's blows.
The death of a Pure One was a rare event - unprecedented, actually. Could Analysis empathize with Its peer, It might have mourned the loss of one such of Its own; but grief was, of course, not of Analysis. Instead, It brimmed with what might be joy to an impure being. The death of a Pure One provided fertile novelty for Analysis' outlet; It might well spend eons contemplating the death of Ire, reviewing every aspect of the loss and assessing how the universe below changed with a pure one gone. Might the impure ones change in kind to the loss? Or would Ire's effects embed into the realms below?
Stretching Itself outwards to replay the affair, Analysis reviewed every action taken by the creatures below. Blasts of energy much smaller than a simple sun rended Ire's form - a tragic necessity to manifest below required by the laws of that realm. What was most striking, however, about the injuries were not their source - why would a Pure One in all its abstraction be affected by the blows of the impure?
As It replayed each scene and reviewed each blow, Analysis formed a new thought. Perhaps, in some small way, the impure ones as concrete imperfections of the Pure Ones' abstractions could reach out in some small way though that part of themselves tied to Grand Purity and, through that channel, affect the Pure One? And if, with a channel established and a Pure One manifest in an impure and changing world, could the impure ones contaminate their betters? Perhaps their own primitive analytical capacities infiltrated Ire's glowing heart and steadily ended the brilliant pulse?
But what now? An idea is certainly an amusing distraction; already Analysis realized that the strange creatures had already died out as a million of their years passed while It played its game. Perhaps then, Analysis would need to reset the stage? What would a species be like without many of its base passions? And what Pure One would Analysis need to sacrifice for its next amusement? | Zeus sat and pondered what has transpired. The other members of the Pantheon in equal states of thought.
Ares spoke first. “I gotta tell you all, I didn’t see this coming. If anything, I’m equal parts impressed and disturbed. But mostly impressed.”
Poseidon chuckles. “You would be.”
Athena spoke up. “Regardless of how we feel, this is cause for concern. These humans did what was once thought impossible. We should proceed with caution.”
Zeus chimed in. “Athena is right. To us, killing another god is just another day. But what they accomplished has even me concerned. What ever else could be- oh you gotta be kidding me.”
In the middle of the room, the Bifrost materialized and in its place stood Odin and his son Thor.
“So… it’s not just Asgard who’s feeling tense and uneasy,” said Odin. “Even Mount Olympus is concerned.”
“That’s new tile you Asgardians just messed up.” grumbled Hephaestus.
“Hello Odin, it’s good to see you too.” Zeus said. “How can we not be concerned? The humans just killed a god, albeit a rather minor god but still a god nonetheless.”
“And a rather nasty one to add father,” said Thor. “Personally, I’m rather at ease with this development. Means I don’t have to dirty up Mjolnir fighting… well it.”
“It?” asked Artemis.
“This, “god”, in the human sense of it, was neither man or woman. It was everything all at once.” Said a new voice.
Everyone turned to face the newcomer.
“Heimdall, pleasure to see you caught up with us. What kept you friend?” asked Thor.
Heimdall nodded to Thor. “Sorry, I was caught up conversing with the other deities. The Egyptian gods are in a panic, and the Roman gods are ready to raise Orcus over this. The gods of India, Japan, the Aztecs, the Native Americans, and Africa have all started blaming each other for the abomination “god” that the humans have killed. It is utter mayhem in the universe. With my sight, I don’t even know where to look.”
Hades spoke up, “hold on, has anyone spoke to… Him?”
Everyone paused… and slowly started to understand who Hades was referring to.
Before anyone said anything, a voice made everyone jump.
“I heard the Pantheon and Asgard were looking for me,” said Yahweh, the Christian god. “You could’ve just asked. And before any of you say anything, myself and Heaven are just as equally startled at the development on Earth. And yes, I did ask Morningstar if he had anything to do with this. And to my surprise, he was telling the truth. He had nothing to do with the abomination.”
“Well, I suppose we can check you off the list of suspects. And for the love of everything that is good, can you stop appearing like that? Does anyone tell you sneak up out of nowhere? Like a thief in the night.” said Dionysus.
“Like my people say, ‘the Lord works in mysterious ways’. Oh, I get a kick out of that one anytime it’s said.” Yahweh chuckled.
Zeus spoke. “Well now that everyone is here, albeit ‘mysterious ways’, as gods, it is our duty to watch over these life forms called humans, and the world we all had a hand in creating and forming. For once, put aside everything and focus on the problem. The humans killed a god, we need to find out where it came from and what we need to do so that they don’t have to fight this sort of battle again.”
The gods nodded in agreement.
“So where do we start?” Thor asked. | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | Before me was arrayed five of the most powerful Gods to exist, along with around fourty-seven of their minor, yet still powerful, counterparts. The minor Gods shifted uneasily in their seats, as while they were grateful to be present for such an important event, the Major Gods radiated a terrifying aura. It was one of contempt, loathing, anger, and maybe even... Fear? No, never, the Major Gods had killed their fear when they transitioned to their states of power above their lesser brethren. However, more than the aura the Major Gods gave off, the minor Gods were barely containing their immense fear for one reason: the Sixth Throne sat empty, not just physically, but in energy and presence. It was as if the very soul of the chair had fled this realm. Which, in a way, it had.
&#x200B;
The First God Spoke in a low tone, one that resonated with the universe, "Tell us, Courier, what has become of the Sixth. Why does Their throne sit empty, without it's soul".
&#x200B;
"I believe you can all feel what has happened, but I will tell you as it was relayed to myself: A sentient species of the Realm Ruled by Physics have killed the Sixth. The Sixth entered their galaxy and began to throw itself towards the nearest sentient species, which happened to be a race known as the Humans. While it only took the Sixth only twenty of their years to approach their star system, the Humans had noticed the Sixth the moment They entered the galaxy. Apparently, instead of panicking, or praying, or destroying their own world before arrival, they instead focused. And, when I say focused, I mean they bore down on a method of defeating a God as if nothing else mattered. They stagnated in every field except for the ones that would allow them to possibly kill the God that approached.
&#x200B;
"These Humans already had ships that sailed their local stars, they had guns that could destroy small moons. But they knew these would not be enough, it was as if something inside their genetics told them. So they made bigger guns, bigger ships, increased their gathering and production, they built ships another sapient may mistake for a moon or a small planet. And yet, they still built more, bigger ships and bigger guns. It was as if desperation drove them to madness in pursuit of their survival.
&#x200B;
"A year before the arrival of the Sixth, the Humans began constructing a weapon of immense proportions to them, a weapon that used their star to fire massive bursts of energy at the incoming God. They made the weapon first, building the energy harvester around the weapon, increasing its output week by week, as their doom loomed closer. They arrayed every weapon they had ever designed and built in their home system so that they could push the God back with a singular show of defiance.
&#x200B;
"to try and weaken the God approaching them, the Humans laced the belt of asteroids farthest from their star with old weapons of their, weapons that even they considered primitive, what they called 'Low Yield High Radiation Nuclear Bombs'. As the Sixth entered the system it struck these bombs, and something very odd happened. The bombs detonated, and for the first time in time immemorial a God was harmed. From what they could gather, the explosion of the Nuclear Bombs had made only the smallest sliver of a cut into the Sixth, but that cut was enough to allow the Radiation of the bombs to infest the Sixth as if it was a plague.
&#x200B;
"Seeing the God stagger in its previously unyielding march, it is said the Humans gave a grim smile, and then fired every weapon they had at the God that approached. Many of their smaller weapons only made the God even more furious, but some of the larger weapons, and the weapons designed to burrow deep into armor began to make their way through. The radiation the humans had made so many centuries ago seeming to devour the God from the inside, making It weak. Soon enough, even the smaller weapons pierced the skin of the God. The Sixth is said to have gotten as far as the planet they named Saturn, before the final blow was dealt to It by the fully charged star weapon. The Sixth's corpse is being torn apart by the Humans currently so that they could figure out how to kill a God without the use of millions of guns and bombs, but instead by one weapon they have called Branch of Mistletoe.
&#x200B;
"The Humans have killed the Sixth and left the Sixth Throne empty. And now? They are content to live their short lives and return to all they have neglected in their fear. They will never forget the Sixth, they could not. However, the next time we are spotted, they will not be filled with fear as last time but instead with a desire to ripe whatever it is we have for life from us and then study our corpse to understand what makes us the Gods".
&#x200B;
The Chamber of Unreality was quiet, all before me were too stunned, angry, or fearful to comment or even begin to think of speaking out. All but one: a newer God, one brought forth in the last few millenia. The young God raised It's hand to speak and I felt my smile widen.
&#x200B;
"Yes, young God, the Fourty-Seventh?" I spoke, keeping my tone level lest the previously Six, now Five, decide that they had heard enough.
With a shaky breath and asked what I was hoping was on the mind of all before me, "If the Sixth has died, who told you of how all of this occured?"
&#x200B;
"Why, my dear, young, God. It was the newest God to join us in this Plane Beyond Any Logic, a God that has no number as Her power cannot be scored using a ranking. She is both the weakest and strongest God to exist. And She has a name. Her name is as follows: The Indomitable Spirit of Humanity". | Zeus sat and pondered what has transpired. The other members of the Pantheon in equal states of thought.
Ares spoke first. “I gotta tell you all, I didn’t see this coming. If anything, I’m equal parts impressed and disturbed. But mostly impressed.”
Poseidon chuckles. “You would be.”
Athena spoke up. “Regardless of how we feel, this is cause for concern. These humans did what was once thought impossible. We should proceed with caution.”
Zeus chimed in. “Athena is right. To us, killing another god is just another day. But what they accomplished has even me concerned. What ever else could be- oh you gotta be kidding me.”
In the middle of the room, the Bifrost materialized and in its place stood Odin and his son Thor.
“So… it’s not just Asgard who’s feeling tense and uneasy,” said Odin. “Even Mount Olympus is concerned.”
“That’s new tile you Asgardians just messed up.” grumbled Hephaestus.
“Hello Odin, it’s good to see you too.” Zeus said. “How can we not be concerned? The humans just killed a god, albeit a rather minor god but still a god nonetheless.”
“And a rather nasty one to add father,” said Thor. “Personally, I’m rather at ease with this development. Means I don’t have to dirty up Mjolnir fighting… well it.”
“It?” asked Artemis.
“This, “god”, in the human sense of it, was neither man or woman. It was everything all at once.” Said a new voice.
Everyone turned to face the newcomer.
“Heimdall, pleasure to see you caught up with us. What kept you friend?” asked Thor.
Heimdall nodded to Thor. “Sorry, I was caught up conversing with the other deities. The Egyptian gods are in a panic, and the Roman gods are ready to raise Orcus over this. The gods of India, Japan, the Aztecs, the Native Americans, and Africa have all started blaming each other for the abomination “god” that the humans have killed. It is utter mayhem in the universe. With my sight, I don’t even know where to look.”
Hades spoke up, “hold on, has anyone spoke to… Him?”
Everyone paused… and slowly started to understand who Hades was referring to.
Before anyone said anything, a voice made everyone jump.
“I heard the Pantheon and Asgard were looking for me,” said Yahweh, the Christian god. “You could’ve just asked. And before any of you say anything, myself and Heaven are just as equally startled at the development on Earth. And yes, I did ask Morningstar if he had anything to do with this. And to my surprise, he was telling the truth. He had nothing to do with the abomination.”
“Well, I suppose we can check you off the list of suspects. And for the love of everything that is good, can you stop appearing like that? Does anyone tell you sneak up out of nowhere? Like a thief in the night.” said Dionysus.
“Like my people say, ‘the Lord works in mysterious ways’. Oh, I get a kick out of that one anytime it’s said.” Yahweh chuckled.
Zeus spoke. “Well now that everyone is here, albeit ‘mysterious ways’, as gods, it is our duty to watch over these life forms called humans, and the world we all had a hand in creating and forming. For once, put aside everything and focus on the problem. The humans killed a god, we need to find out where it came from and what we need to do so that they don’t have to fight this sort of battle again.”
The gods nodded in agreement.
“So where do we start?” Thor asked. | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | Before me was arrayed five of the most powerful Gods to exist, along with around fourty-seven of their minor, yet still powerful, counterparts. The minor Gods shifted uneasily in their seats, as while they were grateful to be present for such an important event, the Major Gods radiated a terrifying aura. It was one of contempt, loathing, anger, and maybe even... Fear? No, never, the Major Gods had killed their fear when they transitioned to their states of power above their lesser brethren. However, more than the aura the Major Gods gave off, the minor Gods were barely containing their immense fear for one reason: the Sixth Throne sat empty, not just physically, but in energy and presence. It was as if the very soul of the chair had fled this realm. Which, in a way, it had.
&#x200B;
The First God Spoke in a low tone, one that resonated with the universe, "Tell us, Courier, what has become of the Sixth. Why does Their throne sit empty, without it's soul".
&#x200B;
"I believe you can all feel what has happened, but I will tell you as it was relayed to myself: A sentient species of the Realm Ruled by Physics have killed the Sixth. The Sixth entered their galaxy and began to throw itself towards the nearest sentient species, which happened to be a race known as the Humans. While it only took the Sixth only twenty of their years to approach their star system, the Humans had noticed the Sixth the moment They entered the galaxy. Apparently, instead of panicking, or praying, or destroying their own world before arrival, they instead focused. And, when I say focused, I mean they bore down on a method of defeating a God as if nothing else mattered. They stagnated in every field except for the ones that would allow them to possibly kill the God that approached.
&#x200B;
"These Humans already had ships that sailed their local stars, they had guns that could destroy small moons. But they knew these would not be enough, it was as if something inside their genetics told them. So they made bigger guns, bigger ships, increased their gathering and production, they built ships another sapient may mistake for a moon or a small planet. And yet, they still built more, bigger ships and bigger guns. It was as if desperation drove them to madness in pursuit of their survival.
&#x200B;
"A year before the arrival of the Sixth, the Humans began constructing a weapon of immense proportions to them, a weapon that used their star to fire massive bursts of energy at the incoming God. They made the weapon first, building the energy harvester around the weapon, increasing its output week by week, as their doom loomed closer. They arrayed every weapon they had ever designed and built in their home system so that they could push the God back with a singular show of defiance.
&#x200B;
"to try and weaken the God approaching them, the Humans laced the belt of asteroids farthest from their star with old weapons of their, weapons that even they considered primitive, what they called 'Low Yield High Radiation Nuclear Bombs'. As the Sixth entered the system it struck these bombs, and something very odd happened. The bombs detonated, and for the first time in time immemorial a God was harmed. From what they could gather, the explosion of the Nuclear Bombs had made only the smallest sliver of a cut into the Sixth, but that cut was enough to allow the Radiation of the bombs to infest the Sixth as if it was a plague.
&#x200B;
"Seeing the God stagger in its previously unyielding march, it is said the Humans gave a grim smile, and then fired every weapon they had at the God that approached. Many of their smaller weapons only made the God even more furious, but some of the larger weapons, and the weapons designed to burrow deep into armor began to make their way through. The radiation the humans had made so many centuries ago seeming to devour the God from the inside, making It weak. Soon enough, even the smaller weapons pierced the skin of the God. The Sixth is said to have gotten as far as the planet they named Saturn, before the final blow was dealt to It by the fully charged star weapon. The Sixth's corpse is being torn apart by the Humans currently so that they could figure out how to kill a God without the use of millions of guns and bombs, but instead by one weapon they have called Branch of Mistletoe.
&#x200B;
"The Humans have killed the Sixth and left the Sixth Throne empty. And now? They are content to live their short lives and return to all they have neglected in their fear. They will never forget the Sixth, they could not. However, the next time we are spotted, they will not be filled with fear as last time but instead with a desire to ripe whatever it is we have for life from us and then study our corpse to understand what makes us the Gods".
&#x200B;
The Chamber of Unreality was quiet, all before me were too stunned, angry, or fearful to comment or even begin to think of speaking out. All but one: a newer God, one brought forth in the last few millenia. The young God raised It's hand to speak and I felt my smile widen.
&#x200B;
"Yes, young God, the Fourty-Seventh?" I spoke, keeping my tone level lest the previously Six, now Five, decide that they had heard enough.
With a shaky breath and asked what I was hoping was on the mind of all before me, "If the Sixth has died, who told you of how all of this occured?"
&#x200B;
"Why, my dear, young, God. It was the newest God to join us in this Plane Beyond Any Logic, a God that has no number as Her power cannot be scored using a ranking. She is both the weakest and strongest God to exist. And She has a name. Her name is as follows: The Indomitable Spirit of Humanity". | “Hey, Phil.” I was pulled out of boredom by Bobs voice, approaching the water cooler. “Oh, hey Bob. How’s Diane?” Bob grabbed a styrofoam cup from the shelf, and started pouring “eh, same old same old. Susan?” “She just texted me, wants to cook pork chops tonight.” I sighed, heavily “she didn’t get the hint last time, I guess.” Bob chucked, he knew I hated anything pork “cheer up Phil, Diane doesn’t even cook that often. You might not think it, but you’re pretty lucky” “yeah, I guess so. Hey, you hear about jerry?” Everyone heard about jerry, poor bastard was just trying to deliver a failed fax report “yep. Sad, they just twins. I told him ‘jerry, I’m warning you, earth is a very dangerous, very stupid place. Just send it via asteroid, that always seems to work’ but nooooo, jerry HAD to go see the sights.” Poor jerry, always a slave to his adventurous side. “Y’know bob, I made a trip to earth myself once. Spent eons under the ocean though, damn Uber dropped me at the wrong place.” “Once again, you’re the lucky one phil. I’d rather be 10,000 leagues under the sea than dead in the atmosphere.” “You really are the ‘glass half full’ type bob, and I hate you for it.” We chucked, finished off our water, and simultaneously checked our watched. “Break times over, back to it” “yup, see you later phil” | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | Before me was arrayed five of the most powerful Gods to exist, along with around fourty-seven of their minor, yet still powerful, counterparts. The minor Gods shifted uneasily in their seats, as while they were grateful to be present for such an important event, the Major Gods radiated a terrifying aura. It was one of contempt, loathing, anger, and maybe even... Fear? No, never, the Major Gods had killed their fear when they transitioned to their states of power above their lesser brethren. However, more than the aura the Major Gods gave off, the minor Gods were barely containing their immense fear for one reason: the Sixth Throne sat empty, not just physically, but in energy and presence. It was as if the very soul of the chair had fled this realm. Which, in a way, it had.
&#x200B;
The First God Spoke in a low tone, one that resonated with the universe, "Tell us, Courier, what has become of the Sixth. Why does Their throne sit empty, without it's soul".
&#x200B;
"I believe you can all feel what has happened, but I will tell you as it was relayed to myself: A sentient species of the Realm Ruled by Physics have killed the Sixth. The Sixth entered their galaxy and began to throw itself towards the nearest sentient species, which happened to be a race known as the Humans. While it only took the Sixth only twenty of their years to approach their star system, the Humans had noticed the Sixth the moment They entered the galaxy. Apparently, instead of panicking, or praying, or destroying their own world before arrival, they instead focused. And, when I say focused, I mean they bore down on a method of defeating a God as if nothing else mattered. They stagnated in every field except for the ones that would allow them to possibly kill the God that approached.
&#x200B;
"These Humans already had ships that sailed their local stars, they had guns that could destroy small moons. But they knew these would not be enough, it was as if something inside their genetics told them. So they made bigger guns, bigger ships, increased their gathering and production, they built ships another sapient may mistake for a moon or a small planet. And yet, they still built more, bigger ships and bigger guns. It was as if desperation drove them to madness in pursuit of their survival.
&#x200B;
"A year before the arrival of the Sixth, the Humans began constructing a weapon of immense proportions to them, a weapon that used their star to fire massive bursts of energy at the incoming God. They made the weapon first, building the energy harvester around the weapon, increasing its output week by week, as their doom loomed closer. They arrayed every weapon they had ever designed and built in their home system so that they could push the God back with a singular show of defiance.
&#x200B;
"to try and weaken the God approaching them, the Humans laced the belt of asteroids farthest from their star with old weapons of their, weapons that even they considered primitive, what they called 'Low Yield High Radiation Nuclear Bombs'. As the Sixth entered the system it struck these bombs, and something very odd happened. The bombs detonated, and for the first time in time immemorial a God was harmed. From what they could gather, the explosion of the Nuclear Bombs had made only the smallest sliver of a cut into the Sixth, but that cut was enough to allow the Radiation of the bombs to infest the Sixth as if it was a plague.
&#x200B;
"Seeing the God stagger in its previously unyielding march, it is said the Humans gave a grim smile, and then fired every weapon they had at the God that approached. Many of their smaller weapons only made the God even more furious, but some of the larger weapons, and the weapons designed to burrow deep into armor began to make their way through. The radiation the humans had made so many centuries ago seeming to devour the God from the inside, making It weak. Soon enough, even the smaller weapons pierced the skin of the God. The Sixth is said to have gotten as far as the planet they named Saturn, before the final blow was dealt to It by the fully charged star weapon. The Sixth's corpse is being torn apart by the Humans currently so that they could figure out how to kill a God without the use of millions of guns and bombs, but instead by one weapon they have called Branch of Mistletoe.
&#x200B;
"The Humans have killed the Sixth and left the Sixth Throne empty. And now? They are content to live their short lives and return to all they have neglected in their fear. They will never forget the Sixth, they could not. However, the next time we are spotted, they will not be filled with fear as last time but instead with a desire to ripe whatever it is we have for life from us and then study our corpse to understand what makes us the Gods".
&#x200B;
The Chamber of Unreality was quiet, all before me were too stunned, angry, or fearful to comment or even begin to think of speaking out. All but one: a newer God, one brought forth in the last few millenia. The young God raised It's hand to speak and I felt my smile widen.
&#x200B;
"Yes, young God, the Fourty-Seventh?" I spoke, keeping my tone level lest the previously Six, now Five, decide that they had heard enough.
With a shaky breath and asked what I was hoping was on the mind of all before me, "If the Sixth has died, who told you of how all of this occured?"
&#x200B;
"Why, my dear, young, God. It was the newest God to join us in this Plane Beyond Any Logic, a God that has no number as Her power cannot be scored using a ranking. She is both the weakest and strongest God to exist. And She has a name. Her name is as follows: The Indomitable Spirit of Humanity". | “We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far…”
These were the words of a man that we believed to simply be a creative, and yet tortured mind. His mind stirred up offenses that were no more terrifying than the hatred and fear that plagued his thoughts. We thought of him to be a fearful author, but we only understand now that he was a prophet.
We voyaged, far from our coast of understanding. We stared into the inky waters, the deep recesses of the abyss, and all that we found is that it has been staring back. It’s been staring for a long time, actually.
Perhaps it was some twisted display of blind misfortune. Perhaps we angered it in our conquests of the astral void. Perhaps it was the retribution sent by God, fulfilled after all these years. Or perhaps, maybe, it was just bored.
We can not know that will of the thing that attacked… that mutilated us. All we know is that when the being known as Khaaraahk found itself above our clouds, humankind was on its last lap. The flower faced its winter, and thus, we reached our final phase; death.
…but we did not go silently.
We gave it everything we got. Every nation working in harmony, jets from the west flying with jets from the east, only this time they flew parallel to each other instead of against each other. Between each step, like thunder, we sent our hordes. It was a creature of unfathomable power, like the Titans of the old myth, but, unlike the Titans, we could fight back. Army by army, vir et vir. We shouted in the chaos of the fires and wept in the silence between two strikes.
In the black seas of infinity, we had nosedived. But like a flower, bursting through the snow and concrete after a long winter, we refused to go. There was no tricky shot, no sharp planning, no hidden knowledge, just the pure perseverance of the abominable man. After earth’s first war with something other than itself, we found ourselves underneath the looming shadow of our accomplishment.
We knew things would never be the same. We had discovered that we could ally with each other, that we could trust each other. New revelations upon earth of the subject of man had been made. We found that we are all the same, and above all else, we are all terrified of leaving.
And that’s not even close to the beginning. What we learned about each other paled in comparison to what we learned about the others. There was… *something* out there, *something* that Khaaraahk had spawned from. Whether it was a collective of entities, like us, or just a mother to one terrifying child, we knew that this wasn’t the end.
But the thought- just the *thought* that there could be a being out there that could obtain such power, a being that seemed to be both organic and, well, for lack of a better term, *non-existent* as the unfathomable Khaaraahk could exist… well, it instilled us with dread and a terrible, morbid curiosity.
We gained power from its corpse. A new understanding of biology, of chemistry. We had always known that seeing a foreign, celestial form of life would revolutionize what we knew about science and life, but what we found was a scientific miracle, and that’s putting it lightly.
It wasn’t the end. No one knew how we knew. No one who knew exactly. No one knew anything, really, but we *knew* that something else knew. There were things discussing us, our defiance. We all could tell that we weren’t supposed to hear it, but killing that god helped us in some way.
Something was *leaking.*
We barely understood the language, but we understood enough.
- - - - - - -
“I remember seeing their creation.” One said.
“It was quite a spectacle, wasn’t it?” Two replied.
“Yes. And now it seems they’ve decided to continue their streak of impossible successes.” One said.
“Where do you think it will end?” Three said.
“I don’t think it will. I think it’s merely just begun. They will find themselves where we find ourselves now. For they are us, far before.” Four answered.
“Do we fear them, or welcome them?” Two asked.
“While it is true that the loss of Khaaraahk marks them an enemy, I feel it was merely an act of self-defense. I believe peace may still be an option.” Four replied.
“That is not an answer. Do we fear them, or welcome them?” Two repeated.
There was a silence then. For maybe a couple thousand years, or maybe it was a couple seconds. Or maybe, maybe there was no silence at all.
“Hello?” We called out, making ourselves known.
The silence persisted. We had spoken words that never should have been said. | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | "How did the God die?" A child merely half the height of the others questioned.
"It all began when-"
"Don't start Zef" a groan escaped the mouth of a mysterious being.
"I didn't even get to start!" Zef rebuffed.
"Do it right then."
"Fine fine, you're no fun Sef. It started when-"
"ZEF!"
"FINE! I'll do it right. A rift was broke open from the human realm to the Gods."
"How?" The child curiously questioned.
"We don't have time," Sef said, pacing.
"Ignore him, he's ready for a nap," Zef whispered to the little God.
"ZEF!" Sef snapped.
"Anyways with gold dust filtering down from the Gods realm, the human could see what they could not touch. They were curious. Humans have never seen a God before."
"Oooh wow!" The child was in awe, "what is the human realm like?"
"Humans are stinky disgusting beings who kill for nothing but entertainment," Zef seethed at the mere mention of Humans.
"Lin kills humans," the child merely says.
"What fun," Sef spoke up.
"Not now Sef. I'm in the middle of a story," Zef glared. "Now where was I? Hmm... Ah! The curious humans watched as a being crossed over from their realm to ours. What was it called again? It had a little human inside... A jet? Plane? Something. Anyways they watched in horror as the little flying human was squashed as the bug it was."
"Flying humans!?" The child was shocked.
"Humans build things to fly as they can't teleport like us!" Sef said breaking into the conversation once again.
"How did Red die?" The child questioned.
"It started when-"
"Enough Zef we don't have time," Sef interrupts once again.
"We have all the time in the universe."
"We are about to meet the council for what we did!"
"We did nothing wrong. What are they going to do? Send us to Earth?" Zef laughed.
"Yes!"
"What!? Really?"
Sef wasn't able to answer as the child God pulled at Zef.
"What happened?"
"So... Red ripped open the rift to allow himself into the world of Humans. While doing so, humans called scientists took fragments of the gold and experimented on it. They created Godly weapons and used it to kill Red. I'm glad he's finally dead but those humans are even deadlier. Not only do they kill their own kind, but now they have access to kill us Gods." Sef was practically seething at the end.
"We closed the rift," Zef butts in.
"They should be praising us! We made it possible for Gods to go to the Human realm without being reincarnated!" Sef was infuriated with the council.
"The council is ready to see you," a God came out of the golden gates and said to the twin Gods. | (3 Shadows slowly emanate from the darkness. They are COMUS, god of laughter on some ancient world; FALTHAZAR, God of Purity to the All-conquering Khan and GURR, Imperial God of Omicron Persei 8)
FALTHAZAR: "Damn. They got Astur."
GURR: "I know right?! Crazy fool tried to get them to worship him. Always remember, Falthazar. Never make contact with something that you're *allergic* to."
COMUS: "He was such a nice fellow. He had a winning smile...well, smiles. And a pure heart of gold. "
G:"Yes, and he never told me where he got it from! Selfish Prick. "
C: "His hallmark always was his golden heart. That and his massive c- "
F: "-claim to the throne. Right. Who will be next in line to when old Azathot croaks?
C: "Wouldn't it be the *hoomans*? By definition, their killing of the prime candidate for King of the Cosmos, catapults them into direct eye of the Gods themselves."
G: "Pah! Imagine the cosmos being ruled by ants. In fact, Astur's passing has opened a giant void. A void waiting to be filled by me...
C: "Hah! I would like to see you try! But Astur shall be missed. His big heart."
G: "His foolhardy nature."
C: "His *courageous* nature."
F: "He was a great lay too."
C: "..."
G:"...what."
And with that vision that no man can bear to witness, the three return to the darkness. | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | "I had told Ire not to invade the realm below. Impure beings are unpredictable, as would be any being that's had to deal in impure fashions." Analysis had always rebuked Ire - passion incarnate but with little foresight. The Pure One mused to Itself about the recent news.
Seeking an outlet for its unending radiance, Ire had broken into the lower realms to unleash Its furies on more malleable canvas. Its peers - pure abstraction - were poor receptacles for Ire's blows.
The death of a Pure One was a rare event - unprecedented, actually. Could Analysis empathize with Its peer, It might have mourned the loss of one such of Its own; but grief was, of course, not of Analysis. Instead, It brimmed with what might be joy to an impure being. The death of a Pure One provided fertile novelty for Analysis' outlet; It might well spend eons contemplating the death of Ire, reviewing every aspect of the loss and assessing how the universe below changed with a pure one gone. Might the impure ones change in kind to the loss? Or would Ire's effects embed into the realms below?
Stretching Itself outwards to replay the affair, Analysis reviewed every action taken by the creatures below. Blasts of energy much smaller than a simple sun rended Ire's form - a tragic necessity to manifest below required by the laws of that realm. What was most striking, however, about the injuries were not their source - why would a Pure One in all its abstraction be affected by the blows of the impure?
As It replayed each scene and reviewed each blow, Analysis formed a new thought. Perhaps, in some small way, the impure ones as concrete imperfections of the Pure Ones' abstractions could reach out in some small way though that part of themselves tied to Grand Purity and, through that channel, affect the Pure One? And if, with a channel established and a Pure One manifest in an impure and changing world, could the impure ones contaminate their betters? Perhaps their own primitive analytical capacities infiltrated Ire's glowing heart and steadily ended the brilliant pulse?
But what now? An idea is certainly an amusing distraction; already Analysis realized that the strange creatures had already died out as a million of their years passed while It played its game. Perhaps then, Analysis would need to reset the stage? What would a species be like without many of its base passions? And what Pure One would Analysis need to sacrifice for its next amusement? | (3 Shadows slowly emanate from the darkness. They are COMUS, god of laughter on some ancient world; FALTHAZAR, God of Purity to the All-conquering Khan and GURR, Imperial God of Omicron Persei 8)
FALTHAZAR: "Damn. They got Astur."
GURR: "I know right?! Crazy fool tried to get them to worship him. Always remember, Falthazar. Never make contact with something that you're *allergic* to."
COMUS: "He was such a nice fellow. He had a winning smile...well, smiles. And a pure heart of gold. "
G:"Yes, and he never told me where he got it from! Selfish Prick. "
C: "His hallmark always was his golden heart. That and his massive c- "
F: "-claim to the throne. Right. Who will be next in line to when old Azathot croaks?
C: "Wouldn't it be the *hoomans*? By definition, their killing of the prime candidate for King of the Cosmos, catapults them into direct eye of the Gods themselves."
G: "Pah! Imagine the cosmos being ruled by ants. In fact, Astur's passing has opened a giant void. A void waiting to be filled by me...
C: "Hah! I would like to see you try! But Astur shall be missed. His big heart."
G: "His foolhardy nature."
C: "His *courageous* nature."
F: "He was a great lay too."
C: "..."
G:"...what."
And with that vision that no man can bear to witness, the three return to the darkness. | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | Before me was arrayed five of the most powerful Gods to exist, along with around fourty-seven of their minor, yet still powerful, counterparts. The minor Gods shifted uneasily in their seats, as while they were grateful to be present for such an important event, the Major Gods radiated a terrifying aura. It was one of contempt, loathing, anger, and maybe even... Fear? No, never, the Major Gods had killed their fear when they transitioned to their states of power above their lesser brethren. However, more than the aura the Major Gods gave off, the minor Gods were barely containing their immense fear for one reason: the Sixth Throne sat empty, not just physically, but in energy and presence. It was as if the very soul of the chair had fled this realm. Which, in a way, it had.
&#x200B;
The First God Spoke in a low tone, one that resonated with the universe, "Tell us, Courier, what has become of the Sixth. Why does Their throne sit empty, without it's soul".
&#x200B;
"I believe you can all feel what has happened, but I will tell you as it was relayed to myself: A sentient species of the Realm Ruled by Physics have killed the Sixth. The Sixth entered their galaxy and began to throw itself towards the nearest sentient species, which happened to be a race known as the Humans. While it only took the Sixth only twenty of their years to approach their star system, the Humans had noticed the Sixth the moment They entered the galaxy. Apparently, instead of panicking, or praying, or destroying their own world before arrival, they instead focused. And, when I say focused, I mean they bore down on a method of defeating a God as if nothing else mattered. They stagnated in every field except for the ones that would allow them to possibly kill the God that approached.
&#x200B;
"These Humans already had ships that sailed their local stars, they had guns that could destroy small moons. But they knew these would not be enough, it was as if something inside their genetics told them. So they made bigger guns, bigger ships, increased their gathering and production, they built ships another sapient may mistake for a moon or a small planet. And yet, they still built more, bigger ships and bigger guns. It was as if desperation drove them to madness in pursuit of their survival.
&#x200B;
"A year before the arrival of the Sixth, the Humans began constructing a weapon of immense proportions to them, a weapon that used their star to fire massive bursts of energy at the incoming God. They made the weapon first, building the energy harvester around the weapon, increasing its output week by week, as their doom loomed closer. They arrayed every weapon they had ever designed and built in their home system so that they could push the God back with a singular show of defiance.
&#x200B;
"to try and weaken the God approaching them, the Humans laced the belt of asteroids farthest from their star with old weapons of their, weapons that even they considered primitive, what they called 'Low Yield High Radiation Nuclear Bombs'. As the Sixth entered the system it struck these bombs, and something very odd happened. The bombs detonated, and for the first time in time immemorial a God was harmed. From what they could gather, the explosion of the Nuclear Bombs had made only the smallest sliver of a cut into the Sixth, but that cut was enough to allow the Radiation of the bombs to infest the Sixth as if it was a plague.
&#x200B;
"Seeing the God stagger in its previously unyielding march, it is said the Humans gave a grim smile, and then fired every weapon they had at the God that approached. Many of their smaller weapons only made the God even more furious, but some of the larger weapons, and the weapons designed to burrow deep into armor began to make their way through. The radiation the humans had made so many centuries ago seeming to devour the God from the inside, making It weak. Soon enough, even the smaller weapons pierced the skin of the God. The Sixth is said to have gotten as far as the planet they named Saturn, before the final blow was dealt to It by the fully charged star weapon. The Sixth's corpse is being torn apart by the Humans currently so that they could figure out how to kill a God without the use of millions of guns and bombs, but instead by one weapon they have called Branch of Mistletoe.
&#x200B;
"The Humans have killed the Sixth and left the Sixth Throne empty. And now? They are content to live their short lives and return to all they have neglected in their fear. They will never forget the Sixth, they could not. However, the next time we are spotted, they will not be filled with fear as last time but instead with a desire to ripe whatever it is we have for life from us and then study our corpse to understand what makes us the Gods".
&#x200B;
The Chamber of Unreality was quiet, all before me were too stunned, angry, or fearful to comment or even begin to think of speaking out. All but one: a newer God, one brought forth in the last few millenia. The young God raised It's hand to speak and I felt my smile widen.
&#x200B;
"Yes, young God, the Fourty-Seventh?" I spoke, keeping my tone level lest the previously Six, now Five, decide that they had heard enough.
With a shaky breath and asked what I was hoping was on the mind of all before me, "If the Sixth has died, who told you of how all of this occured?"
&#x200B;
"Why, my dear, young, God. It was the newest God to join us in this Plane Beyond Any Logic, a God that has no number as Her power cannot be scored using a ranking. She is both the weakest and strongest God to exist. And She has a name. Her name is as follows: The Indomitable Spirit of Humanity". | (3 Shadows slowly emanate from the darkness. They are COMUS, god of laughter on some ancient world; FALTHAZAR, God of Purity to the All-conquering Khan and GURR, Imperial God of Omicron Persei 8)
FALTHAZAR: "Damn. They got Astur."
GURR: "I know right?! Crazy fool tried to get them to worship him. Always remember, Falthazar. Never make contact with something that you're *allergic* to."
COMUS: "He was such a nice fellow. He had a winning smile...well, smiles. And a pure heart of gold. "
G:"Yes, and he never told me where he got it from! Selfish Prick. "
C: "His hallmark always was his golden heart. That and his massive c- "
F: "-claim to the throne. Right. Who will be next in line to when old Azathot croaks?
C: "Wouldn't it be the *hoomans*? By definition, their killing of the prime candidate for King of the Cosmos, catapults them into direct eye of the Gods themselves."
G: "Pah! Imagine the cosmos being ruled by ants. In fact, Astur's passing has opened a giant void. A void waiting to be filled by me...
C: "Hah! I would like to see you try! But Astur shall be missed. His big heart."
G: "His foolhardy nature."
C: "His *courageous* nature."
F: "He was a great lay too."
C: "..."
G:"...what."
And with that vision that no man can bear to witness, the three return to the darkness. | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | "I had told Ire not to invade the realm below. Impure beings are unpredictable, as would be any being that's had to deal in impure fashions." Analysis had always rebuked Ire - passion incarnate but with little foresight. The Pure One mused to Itself about the recent news.
Seeking an outlet for its unending radiance, Ire had broken into the lower realms to unleash Its furies on more malleable canvas. Its peers - pure abstraction - were poor receptacles for Ire's blows.
The death of a Pure One was a rare event - unprecedented, actually. Could Analysis empathize with Its peer, It might have mourned the loss of one such of Its own; but grief was, of course, not of Analysis. Instead, It brimmed with what might be joy to an impure being. The death of a Pure One provided fertile novelty for Analysis' outlet; It might well spend eons contemplating the death of Ire, reviewing every aspect of the loss and assessing how the universe below changed with a pure one gone. Might the impure ones change in kind to the loss? Or would Ire's effects embed into the realms below?
Stretching Itself outwards to replay the affair, Analysis reviewed every action taken by the creatures below. Blasts of energy much smaller than a simple sun rended Ire's form - a tragic necessity to manifest below required by the laws of that realm. What was most striking, however, about the injuries were not their source - why would a Pure One in all its abstraction be affected by the blows of the impure?
As It replayed each scene and reviewed each blow, Analysis formed a new thought. Perhaps, in some small way, the impure ones as concrete imperfections of the Pure Ones' abstractions could reach out in some small way though that part of themselves tied to Grand Purity and, through that channel, affect the Pure One? And if, with a channel established and a Pure One manifest in an impure and changing world, could the impure ones contaminate their betters? Perhaps their own primitive analytical capacities infiltrated Ire's glowing heart and steadily ended the brilliant pulse?
But what now? An idea is certainly an amusing distraction; already Analysis realized that the strange creatures had already died out as a million of their years passed while It played its game. Perhaps then, Analysis would need to reset the stage? What would a species be like without many of its base passions? And what Pure One would Analysis need to sacrifice for its next amusement? | "How did the God die?" A child merely half the height of the others questioned.
"It all began when-"
"Don't start Zef" a groan escaped the mouth of a mysterious being.
"I didn't even get to start!" Zef rebuffed.
"Do it right then."
"Fine fine, you're no fun Sef. It started when-"
"ZEF!"
"FINE! I'll do it right. A rift was broke open from the human realm to the Gods."
"How?" The child curiously questioned.
"We don't have time," Sef said, pacing.
"Ignore him, he's ready for a nap," Zef whispered to the little God.
"ZEF!" Sef snapped.
"Anyways with gold dust filtering down from the Gods realm, the human could see what they could not touch. They were curious. Humans have never seen a God before."
"Oooh wow!" The child was in awe, "what is the human realm like?"
"Humans are stinky disgusting beings who kill for nothing but entertainment," Zef seethed at the mere mention of Humans.
"Lin kills humans," the child merely says.
"What fun," Sef spoke up.
"Not now Sef. I'm in the middle of a story," Zef glared. "Now where was I? Hmm... Ah! The curious humans watched as a being crossed over from their realm to ours. What was it called again? It had a little human inside... A jet? Plane? Something. Anyways they watched in horror as the little flying human was squashed as the bug it was."
"Flying humans!?" The child was shocked.
"Humans build things to fly as they can't teleport like us!" Sef said breaking into the conversation once again.
"How did Red die?" The child questioned.
"It started when-"
"Enough Zef we don't have time," Sef interrupts once again.
"We have all the time in the universe."
"We are about to meet the council for what we did!"
"We did nothing wrong. What are they going to do? Send us to Earth?" Zef laughed.
"Yes!"
"What!? Really?"
Sef wasn't able to answer as the child God pulled at Zef.
"What happened?"
"So... Red ripped open the rift to allow himself into the world of Humans. While doing so, humans called scientists took fragments of the gold and experimented on it. They created Godly weapons and used it to kill Red. I'm glad he's finally dead but those humans are even deadlier. Not only do they kill their own kind, but now they have access to kill us Gods." Sef was practically seething at the end.
"We closed the rift," Zef butts in.
"They should be praising us! We made it possible for Gods to go to the Human realm without being reincarnated!" Sef was infuriated with the council.
"The council is ready to see you," a God came out of the golden gates and said to the twin Gods. | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | Before me was arrayed five of the most powerful Gods to exist, along with around fourty-seven of their minor, yet still powerful, counterparts. The minor Gods shifted uneasily in their seats, as while they were grateful to be present for such an important event, the Major Gods radiated a terrifying aura. It was one of contempt, loathing, anger, and maybe even... Fear? No, never, the Major Gods had killed their fear when they transitioned to their states of power above their lesser brethren. However, more than the aura the Major Gods gave off, the minor Gods were barely containing their immense fear for one reason: the Sixth Throne sat empty, not just physically, but in energy and presence. It was as if the very soul of the chair had fled this realm. Which, in a way, it had.
&#x200B;
The First God Spoke in a low tone, one that resonated with the universe, "Tell us, Courier, what has become of the Sixth. Why does Their throne sit empty, without it's soul".
&#x200B;
"I believe you can all feel what has happened, but I will tell you as it was relayed to myself: A sentient species of the Realm Ruled by Physics have killed the Sixth. The Sixth entered their galaxy and began to throw itself towards the nearest sentient species, which happened to be a race known as the Humans. While it only took the Sixth only twenty of their years to approach their star system, the Humans had noticed the Sixth the moment They entered the galaxy. Apparently, instead of panicking, or praying, or destroying their own world before arrival, they instead focused. And, when I say focused, I mean they bore down on a method of defeating a God as if nothing else mattered. They stagnated in every field except for the ones that would allow them to possibly kill the God that approached.
&#x200B;
"These Humans already had ships that sailed their local stars, they had guns that could destroy small moons. But they knew these would not be enough, it was as if something inside their genetics told them. So they made bigger guns, bigger ships, increased their gathering and production, they built ships another sapient may mistake for a moon or a small planet. And yet, they still built more, bigger ships and bigger guns. It was as if desperation drove them to madness in pursuit of their survival.
&#x200B;
"A year before the arrival of the Sixth, the Humans began constructing a weapon of immense proportions to them, a weapon that used their star to fire massive bursts of energy at the incoming God. They made the weapon first, building the energy harvester around the weapon, increasing its output week by week, as their doom loomed closer. They arrayed every weapon they had ever designed and built in their home system so that they could push the God back with a singular show of defiance.
&#x200B;
"to try and weaken the God approaching them, the Humans laced the belt of asteroids farthest from their star with old weapons of their, weapons that even they considered primitive, what they called 'Low Yield High Radiation Nuclear Bombs'. As the Sixth entered the system it struck these bombs, and something very odd happened. The bombs detonated, and for the first time in time immemorial a God was harmed. From what they could gather, the explosion of the Nuclear Bombs had made only the smallest sliver of a cut into the Sixth, but that cut was enough to allow the Radiation of the bombs to infest the Sixth as if it was a plague.
&#x200B;
"Seeing the God stagger in its previously unyielding march, it is said the Humans gave a grim smile, and then fired every weapon they had at the God that approached. Many of their smaller weapons only made the God even more furious, but some of the larger weapons, and the weapons designed to burrow deep into armor began to make their way through. The radiation the humans had made so many centuries ago seeming to devour the God from the inside, making It weak. Soon enough, even the smaller weapons pierced the skin of the God. The Sixth is said to have gotten as far as the planet they named Saturn, before the final blow was dealt to It by the fully charged star weapon. The Sixth's corpse is being torn apart by the Humans currently so that they could figure out how to kill a God without the use of millions of guns and bombs, but instead by one weapon they have called Branch of Mistletoe.
&#x200B;
"The Humans have killed the Sixth and left the Sixth Throne empty. And now? They are content to live their short lives and return to all they have neglected in their fear. They will never forget the Sixth, they could not. However, the next time we are spotted, they will not be filled with fear as last time but instead with a desire to ripe whatever it is we have for life from us and then study our corpse to understand what makes us the Gods".
&#x200B;
The Chamber of Unreality was quiet, all before me were too stunned, angry, or fearful to comment or even begin to think of speaking out. All but one: a newer God, one brought forth in the last few millenia. The young God raised It's hand to speak and I felt my smile widen.
&#x200B;
"Yes, young God, the Fourty-Seventh?" I spoke, keeping my tone level lest the previously Six, now Five, decide that they had heard enough.
With a shaky breath and asked what I was hoping was on the mind of all before me, "If the Sixth has died, who told you of how all of this occured?"
&#x200B;
"Why, my dear, young, God. It was the newest God to join us in this Plane Beyond Any Logic, a God that has no number as Her power cannot be scored using a ranking. She is both the weakest and strongest God to exist. And She has a name. Her name is as follows: The Indomitable Spirit of Humanity". | "How did the God die?" A child merely half the height of the others questioned.
"It all began when-"
"Don't start Zef" a groan escaped the mouth of a mysterious being.
"I didn't even get to start!" Zef rebuffed.
"Do it right then."
"Fine fine, you're no fun Sef. It started when-"
"ZEF!"
"FINE! I'll do it right. A rift was broke open from the human realm to the Gods."
"How?" The child curiously questioned.
"We don't have time," Sef said, pacing.
"Ignore him, he's ready for a nap," Zef whispered to the little God.
"ZEF!" Sef snapped.
"Anyways with gold dust filtering down from the Gods realm, the human could see what they could not touch. They were curious. Humans have never seen a God before."
"Oooh wow!" The child was in awe, "what is the human realm like?"
"Humans are stinky disgusting beings who kill for nothing but entertainment," Zef seethed at the mere mention of Humans.
"Lin kills humans," the child merely says.
"What fun," Sef spoke up.
"Not now Sef. I'm in the middle of a story," Zef glared. "Now where was I? Hmm... Ah! The curious humans watched as a being crossed over from their realm to ours. What was it called again? It had a little human inside... A jet? Plane? Something. Anyways they watched in horror as the little flying human was squashed as the bug it was."
"Flying humans!?" The child was shocked.
"Humans build things to fly as they can't teleport like us!" Sef said breaking into the conversation once again.
"How did Red die?" The child questioned.
"It started when-"
"Enough Zef we don't have time," Sef interrupts once again.
"We have all the time in the universe."
"We are about to meet the council for what we did!"
"We did nothing wrong. What are they going to do? Send us to Earth?" Zef laughed.
"Yes!"
"What!? Really?"
Sef wasn't able to answer as the child God pulled at Zef.
"What happened?"
"So... Red ripped open the rift to allow himself into the world of Humans. While doing so, humans called scientists took fragments of the gold and experimented on it. They created Godly weapons and used it to kill Red. I'm glad he's finally dead but those humans are even deadlier. Not only do they kill their own kind, but now they have access to kill us Gods." Sef was practically seething at the end.
"We closed the rift," Zef butts in.
"They should be praising us! We made it possible for Gods to go to the Human realm without being reincarnated!" Sef was infuriated with the council.
"The council is ready to see you," a God came out of the golden gates and said to the twin Gods. | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | The sun was setting on the human race. We had known for weeks that something was coming, something ancient and powerful and terrifying. It was a cosmic horror, the likes of which had only been seen in Lovecraftian horror.
As it neared Earth, we threw everything we had at it. Missiles and bombs and lasers, all futile against the unspeakable terror that was bearing down on us. It was like trying to stop a comet with a BB gun.
But then, miraculously, something happened. The horror faltered, and then it faltered again. And then it fell. The human race had killed a god.
In the aftermath, we were stunned. We had expected to die, to be crushed beneath the cosmic horror's unspeakable power. But we had triumphed.
Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods spoke of the event. They were shocked, horrified. They had never known a god to be killed, let alone by mortal hands.
They whispered to each other, wondering how this could have happened. They spoke of the human race, of our determination and our courage. They spoke of fear, and they spoke of respect.
And they made a decision. The human race was to be left alone, to grow and prosper without interference. For we had proven ourselves to be more than they had ever thought possible. We had killed a god.
As the other gods made their decision to leave the human race alone, one of them whispered something different. "We should not fear them," this god said. "We should fear what they will become. For they have tasted the power of a god, and they will crave more. They will seek us out, and they will try to kill us all. We must watch them, and we must be ready."
The other gods nodded, and they decided to set a guardian to watch over the human race. A creature so ancient and powerful that it could not be killed, not even by the might of a god. A creature that would wait, and watch, and prepare for the day when the human race would come for them.
And as the humans celebrated their victory, they did not know what waited for them in the shadows. They did not know that they had set in motion a chain of events that could lead to their own destruction. They did not know that they had awakened a sleeping giant, and that they would live in fear of it for all eternity. | In the not-space of the central edges, Jorgande the All-Seeing took a soothing sip from their cup of coffee to steady themselves before bringing up a most disturbing report.
"I am sure some of you have heard the rumors, but I would like to confirm that they are true" they began. "Brosh'nact choose to visit the realm of horrors, that terrifying realm of order and stability, to investigate the rumors of the cruel beings that live there. It was there they found those dreaded creatures, those, humans, and experienced death, now gone forever." Long had the denizens of Unreality and the Between told tales of that nightmarish dimension known as Reality, and the beings that inhabit it. Many a young godling had grown up being told of the need to behave, lest a human come and snatch them. Of all the beings of Reality, humans were known to be the worst, it was said that a mere look upon one could drive an ancient god to sheer Sanity!
A cacophony of noise broke out from the other elder ones present, cries of confusion and accusations of false hood rang out.
Jorgande took another sip from their cup of tea while waiting for things to settle and the noise began to die down.
"I do not understand" one of the others, Kronellem, said. "You stated that they have died, yet also that it also means they are gone forever. How long does this mean it will take before Brosh'nact is back among us?"
Jorgande held back a sigh, they figured this would come up. "They will not be coming back, ever. Brosh'nact will never be again. The terrors of the realm of reality seem to have been understated if anything, and what dies there does not return." A hush fell over those present as the meaning of what was said sunk in. They had all heard of this thing called permanence before, but to think it was actually possible. That a being could die and not come back... many an elder one would be tossing and turning in awakefulness tonight.
Taking another sip of whiskey from their cup, Jorgande let themself relax a little. This reaction had so far gone better than expected, they would all find a way to get through this, and perhaps it would convince another to avoid visiting that realm of terrors. After all, there was a reason it was on the dimensional blacklist. Perhaps a visit to one of the void spas was in order after the meeting of this timeline was finished. *Yes*, Jorgande thought while swirling around their cup of cider, *I think I'll do just that.* | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | The sun was setting on the human race. We had known for weeks that something was coming, something ancient and powerful and terrifying. It was a cosmic horror, the likes of which had only been seen in Lovecraftian horror.
As it neared Earth, we threw everything we had at it. Missiles and bombs and lasers, all futile against the unspeakable terror that was bearing down on us. It was like trying to stop a comet with a BB gun.
But then, miraculously, something happened. The horror faltered, and then it faltered again. And then it fell. The human race had killed a god.
In the aftermath, we were stunned. We had expected to die, to be crushed beneath the cosmic horror's unspeakable power. But we had triumphed.
Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods spoke of the event. They were shocked, horrified. They had never known a god to be killed, let alone by mortal hands.
They whispered to each other, wondering how this could have happened. They spoke of the human race, of our determination and our courage. They spoke of fear, and they spoke of respect.
And they made a decision. The human race was to be left alone, to grow and prosper without interference. For we had proven ourselves to be more than they had ever thought possible. We had killed a god.
As the other gods made their decision to leave the human race alone, one of them whispered something different. "We should not fear them," this god said. "We should fear what they will become. For they have tasted the power of a god, and they will crave more. They will seek us out, and they will try to kill us all. We must watch them, and we must be ready."
The other gods nodded, and they decided to set a guardian to watch over the human race. A creature so ancient and powerful that it could not be killed, not even by the might of a god. A creature that would wait, and watch, and prepare for the day when the human race would come for them.
And as the humans celebrated their victory, they did not know what waited for them in the shadows. They did not know that they had set in motion a chain of events that could lead to their own destruction. They did not know that they had awakened a sleeping giant, and that they would live in fear of it for all eternity. |
Cascading probability collapses. Patterns coalescing. Information swirling and consuming and growing.
What do trees think about? What do stars ponder?
What of the sleepless old ones? Those old, essential aspects of the universe. What shape do unknowable thoughts take?
This is what you ask of me. *Again.*
But I will peer. I will see.
In hopes that *knowing* will save our children from the nightmares we must bear.
I will delve into the infinite, endless, ageless spaces that exist at the precipice of mind. I will drown, because you ask it.
So far gone am I already.
No big loss. One more broken vessel in a sea of crushed pottery.
Are you ready? Are you recording?
Everything so far?
Good, good.
...
...
They know.
They *laugh*.
But the laughter is *not* laughter. Have you seen a whisper move between atoms? Have you seen the weight of ontology?
I see them now. They ask a pressing, ceaseless truth.
Yes. We are motes. All are motes.
Not dust. Nothing so substantial as dust.
What is new is old. In destroying, we consume. We become. We impose.
In destroying, we do not destroy. We dissolve.
When you drown a cube of salt in a cup of water, where does it go?
We drowned a *god*.
We drowned infinity.
No. Not the limited infinite you pretend to know. We drowned nested looping constructs of crushing expanses. We drowned static flows of spired assurance. There are no words for what we killed. What we swallowed in our collective ocean of unconscious will.
They ask: where do drowned gods go when you drown them in a cup of water?
They laugh. But it is not a laugh.
It's a vice.
They ask: where do drowned gods come from?
And they show me a glass, shattered on the floor, swept away by the water it contained.
A sea of broken vessels, each vessel a sea, each sea a vessel. It repeats.
We never won. We never could win.
We thought we could drown something already drowned.
But all we did was invite it in. All we did was become that which we feared. Part of the pattern. Part of the orchestra of cascading probability collapses. Patterns coalescing. Information swirling and consuming and growing.
-. -. -. -. -. -. -.
"He's been going on like that for days."
"No variation?"
"None, sir. Should we.. should we stop recording?"
"Negative. Orders are to keep the camera rolling."
"May I speak off the record, sir?"
"No need. I know what you're thinking. He sacrificed everything for humanity, and here we have him stuck behind that glass, no better than a fish in an aquarium."
"It's not fair, sir."
"No. It isn't. But he knew the cost when he put on the uniform. So just do your duty. Keep the cameras rolling in case something changes."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Above our pay grade. Look, I know it's hard. Just.. just focus on your job."
"But. What if it's true? What if what he's saying is true?"
"It's admirable. That you still believe in truth."
"Of course, sir. Just because truth is so easily distorted doesn't mean it's not actually there. Right?"
"Son, the *truth* is, that if he's right. If it's *true*, what he and the others from Team 7 have been repeating these last few days. Well, let's just say what's true or not, whether the camera is rolling or not, none of it matters. But we aren't paid to think that way. We have a duty. So suck it up, do your job, and *keep watch*."
"Yes, sir." | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | They say God lives in heaven in fear of what he has created on earth, well one day he decided to face his fears.
*They faced him back*
"are you telling me they killed him?" a confused cry escaped Grund's lips
he then continued "did they not realize he's their God?"
"well it seems he asked the wrong person on what form he should take on his visit" responded Cthulu, failing to mention the fact he may or may not be the member missing part of their wardrobe at this moment
"damned humans, I've been telling you guys for three millenia to just stick with crabs, no apples no snakes no bloody DYING to them, they just click clack" Yengeç responded before imitating a crab's movement
"how did they do it?" Ebrius Luna asked
"this-uh they, how do I say it? Th-they challenged him to some form of battle in their culture they call "dance-off"
with a promise that whoever loses has to take a "little hit" from the other" responded Vann, the council's news reporter.
suddenly Aster, the God of reason, interrupted "and he agreed?" "they promised him cookies" Vann struggled to maintain his deadpan stare long enough to continue his sentence, but as he neared the end his expression began to falter.
he regained his bearings and continued "and then when he turned out to be absolutely not a match to their fearsome tribal movements, he relented. their little hit turned out to be slamming an overdriving hadron collider into him, poor lad was swallowed by a black hole along with half their planet"
"those guys are insane"
"yeesh"
"crabs I tell you!"
a cacophony of voiced responded, shocked by this, can it even be called a plan? 's boldness
"and how do you suggest we deal with this issue?" asked Grund
"well can we deal with that weapon they used?" whoever asked this was soon forgotten as Yengeç proudly piped up
"my crabs have already dismantled it and analyzed its components, they cannot replicate such a thing after losing half their planet and the cosmic metals they used to make it in the first place"
"so what do we do with them?"
"I vote we leave them the fuck alone"
"I agree"
"agreed"
"crabss!!"
"it is decided then, noone is to tempt their fate down there again"
Grund adjourned the meeting |
Cascading probability collapses. Patterns coalescing. Information swirling and consuming and growing.
What do trees think about? What do stars ponder?
What of the sleepless old ones? Those old, essential aspects of the universe. What shape do unknowable thoughts take?
This is what you ask of me. *Again.*
But I will peer. I will see.
In hopes that *knowing* will save our children from the nightmares we must bear.
I will delve into the infinite, endless, ageless spaces that exist at the precipice of mind. I will drown, because you ask it.
So far gone am I already.
No big loss. One more broken vessel in a sea of crushed pottery.
Are you ready? Are you recording?
Everything so far?
Good, good.
...
...
They know.
They *laugh*.
But the laughter is *not* laughter. Have you seen a whisper move between atoms? Have you seen the weight of ontology?
I see them now. They ask a pressing, ceaseless truth.
Yes. We are motes. All are motes.
Not dust. Nothing so substantial as dust.
What is new is old. In destroying, we consume. We become. We impose.
In destroying, we do not destroy. We dissolve.
When you drown a cube of salt in a cup of water, where does it go?
We drowned a *god*.
We drowned infinity.
No. Not the limited infinite you pretend to know. We drowned nested looping constructs of crushing expanses. We drowned static flows of spired assurance. There are no words for what we killed. What we swallowed in our collective ocean of unconscious will.
They ask: where do drowned gods go when you drown them in a cup of water?
They laugh. But it is not a laugh.
It's a vice.
They ask: where do drowned gods come from?
And they show me a glass, shattered on the floor, swept away by the water it contained.
A sea of broken vessels, each vessel a sea, each sea a vessel. It repeats.
We never won. We never could win.
We thought we could drown something already drowned.
But all we did was invite it in. All we did was become that which we feared. Part of the pattern. Part of the orchestra of cascading probability collapses. Patterns coalescing. Information swirling and consuming and growing.
-. -. -. -. -. -. -.
"He's been going on like that for days."
"No variation?"
"None, sir. Should we.. should we stop recording?"
"Negative. Orders are to keep the camera rolling."
"May I speak off the record, sir?"
"No need. I know what you're thinking. He sacrificed everything for humanity, and here we have him stuck behind that glass, no better than a fish in an aquarium."
"It's not fair, sir."
"No. It isn't. But he knew the cost when he put on the uniform. So just do your duty. Keep the cameras rolling in case something changes."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Above our pay grade. Look, I know it's hard. Just.. just focus on your job."
"But. What if it's true? What if what he's saying is true?"
"It's admirable. That you still believe in truth."
"Of course, sir. Just because truth is so easily distorted doesn't mean it's not actually there. Right?"
"Son, the *truth* is, that if he's right. If it's *true*, what he and the others from Team 7 have been repeating these last few days. Well, let's just say what's true or not, whether the camera is rolling or not, none of it matters. But we aren't paid to think that way. We have a duty. So suck it up, do your job, and *keep watch*."
"Yes, sir." | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | The sun was setting on the human race. We had known for weeks that something was coming, something ancient and powerful and terrifying. It was a cosmic horror, the likes of which had only been seen in Lovecraftian horror.
As it neared Earth, we threw everything we had at it. Missiles and bombs and lasers, all futile against the unspeakable terror that was bearing down on us. It was like trying to stop a comet with a BB gun.
But then, miraculously, something happened. The horror faltered, and then it faltered again. And then it fell. The human race had killed a god.
In the aftermath, we were stunned. We had expected to die, to be crushed beneath the cosmic horror's unspeakable power. But we had triumphed.
Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods spoke of the event. They were shocked, horrified. They had never known a god to be killed, let alone by mortal hands.
They whispered to each other, wondering how this could have happened. They spoke of the human race, of our determination and our courage. They spoke of fear, and they spoke of respect.
And they made a decision. The human race was to be left alone, to grow and prosper without interference. For we had proven ourselves to be more than they had ever thought possible. We had killed a god.
As the other gods made their decision to leave the human race alone, one of them whispered something different. "We should not fear them," this god said. "We should fear what they will become. For they have tasted the power of a god, and they will crave more. They will seek us out, and they will try to kill us all. We must watch them, and we must be ready."
The other gods nodded, and they decided to set a guardian to watch over the human race. A creature so ancient and powerful that it could not be killed, not even by the might of a god. A creature that would wait, and watch, and prepare for the day when the human race would come for them.
And as the humans celebrated their victory, they did not know what waited for them in the shadows. They did not know that they had set in motion a chain of events that could lead to their own destruction. They did not know that they had awakened a sleeping giant, and that they would live in fear of it for all eternity. | A little late to the party, but I kinda have something.
Any resemblances to people, characters, or other story elements is purely coincidental and unintentional. Enjoy, won't you.
P.S. Also, it's a little long and there's some swearing (in case that's not your cup of tea).
&#x200B;
Outer Limits
&#x200B;
At the exact center of the ever expanding universe lies an area of space no human eyes will ever see. A rift, or tear, or thinness of space. Like a wound in the skin of our reality through which filters a baleful light. Its color is almost (but not quite) purple. It hovers somewhereon the edges of the human mind’s ability to perceive color. It pulses and flickers as if it were a living thing. Perhaps it is. In that strange space between two universes even a living color seems possible. It is a place of chaos and of madness. A place where the natural laws of reality stretch, skew, and begin to melt into each other like cheese over a plate of nachos.
Somewhere at the center of this nightmarish hell vast, alien consciousnesses lie, suspended between being and un-being. Not dead, but neither fully alive. Vast, swirling clouds of quasi-matter that arrange and re-arrange themselves into aberrant, eldritch shapes. Many mouthed, many tentacled, many eyed. Their very shapes are an abomination. An affront to nature and to sanity itself. From their half-existence in their between-world, these consciousnesses survey our universe. Cool, calculating, alien, overworked, and very, very bored.
“The fuck you mean he’s dead?” Said a roiling mass of mouths and teeth (and eyeballs with teeth sticking out of them). Its voice was so inhuman that it would have sent the mind recoiling upon itself and screaming into insanity.
“I mean just what I said.” Responded a massive, crystalline “thing” covered in tentacles and weird little feathery wings.
“Qu’kkor-Bethtll just got his ass handed to him. Kaput. Finito. Done dog dinner.”
The thing paused. Were it blessed with something the human mind could recognize as a face, it would have been frowning. It was not.
“Come to think of it, can we even die?”
A vague, slipping/slithering movement from the toothed entity achieves more or less the same result as a human shrug.
“No fucking clue, mate. Last I checked we weren’t exactly alive to begin with.”
“I’ve never died before.” A third entity chimes in. It’s hot pink and covered in a sort of mirrored surface that reflects the living light into insane, impossible geometry.
Gender is not really a construct these entities understand, but even so this consciousness feels decidedly feminine. At least, that’s what it thinks most days, just as it’s getting up in the morning.
“And what exactly does that add to the conversation, Besst’alt’teh?” Said the second entity.
“No, hang on, she’s got a point.” Said the first.
“None of us have died, that’s the whole thing.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Isn’t it obvious, Bn’grrghh?” Said the third voice.
For the most part she did a good job of not letting it show, but she really thought the second entity — to whom the name belonged — was kindof a snobbish prick.
“Qu’kkor-Bethtll was the resident Elder Thing to that misbegotten planet of fleshies.”
“And your point?”
“My point is that now that he’s gone, who’s going to cover his workload?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, woman. The man’s not even cold in the ground and you’re already thinking of getting overtime off of him?” Spluttered the first entity, whose name was something so impossibly alien that no combination of characters in any known human language could adequately capture its essence.
The other two just called him Steve.
“Hey, someone has to.” Said Besst’alt’teh.
“And, I mean, it’s not like we can just afford to let planets with semi-sentient life go to waste. At least, that’s what management keeps telling us.”
“You’d figure they’d hire more people if they wanted to cover all sentient life in this shit-pit of a universe.” Said Bn’grrghh with what passed for the equivalent of an exasperated look on what didn’t pass as a face.
“If you have a problem with making a little extra on your next check, I don’t mind taking over the workload.” Said Steve.
“I don’t have a problem with that.” Said Bn’grrghh.
“What I do have a problem with is the fact that the last weekend I had off was long enough ago that most of the planets were still molten balls of shit that I couldn't walk on without getting my tentacles utterly destroyed.”
“No, guys, I’m serious.” Besst’alt’teh interjected.
“You don’t know who H.R. is going to give the planet to, but if there’s even a slight chance it could be one of us.”
“I guess you’re right.” Said Steve.
“Better one of us than B’vaiub-D’naar, over in the next galaxy.” Said Bn’grrghh.
“Hey, B’vaiub-D’naar happens to be my brother-in-law.” Said Steve.
“Doesn’t stop him from being a competitive tool. I swear if he rubs Gliese 581C in my face one more time I'm going to lose it.”
“Yeah, he is kind of a dick.” Agreed Steve.
“Well then.” Said Bn’grrghh, turning (or appearing to turn from one angle, staying still from another, and doing an odd sort of squiggly shuffle from a third angle) to Besst’alt’teh.
“Since you’re so concerned with who gets his spot, you can go talk to H.R. about it.”
“Maybe I will.” She shot back.
They all knew she wouldn’t. The last time anyone had managed to work up the balls to talk to G’Skhill in human resources, they’d been atomized and then put back together inside out and backwards (something which wasn’t altogether problematic for the entities, but did seem to hurt quite a bit).
(Continued below) | |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | They say God lives in heaven in fear of what he has created on earth, well one day he decided to face his fears.
*They faced him back*
"are you telling me they killed him?" a confused cry escaped Grund's lips
he then continued "did they not realize he's their God?"
"well it seems he asked the wrong person on what form he should take on his visit" responded Cthulu, failing to mention the fact he may or may not be the member missing part of their wardrobe at this moment
"damned humans, I've been telling you guys for three millenia to just stick with crabs, no apples no snakes no bloody DYING to them, they just click clack" Yengeç responded before imitating a crab's movement
"how did they do it?" Ebrius Luna asked
"this-uh they, how do I say it? Th-they challenged him to some form of battle in their culture they call "dance-off"
with a promise that whoever loses has to take a "little hit" from the other" responded Vann, the council's news reporter.
suddenly Aster, the God of reason, interrupted "and he agreed?" "they promised him cookies" Vann struggled to maintain his deadpan stare long enough to continue his sentence, but as he neared the end his expression began to falter.
he regained his bearings and continued "and then when he turned out to be absolutely not a match to their fearsome tribal movements, he relented. their little hit turned out to be slamming an overdriving hadron collider into him, poor lad was swallowed by a black hole along with half their planet"
"those guys are insane"
"yeesh"
"crabs I tell you!"
a cacophony of voiced responded, shocked by this, can it even be called a plan? 's boldness
"and how do you suggest we deal with this issue?" asked Grund
"well can we deal with that weapon they used?" whoever asked this was soon forgotten as Yengeç proudly piped up
"my crabs have already dismantled it and analyzed its components, they cannot replicate such a thing after losing half their planet and the cosmic metals they used to make it in the first place"
"so what do we do with them?"
"I vote we leave them the fuck alone"
"I agree"
"agreed"
"crabss!!"
"it is decided then, noone is to tempt their fate down there again"
Grund adjourned the meeting | A little late to the party, but I kinda have something.
Any resemblances to people, characters, or other story elements is purely coincidental and unintentional. Enjoy, won't you.
P.S. Also, it's a little long and there's some swearing (in case that's not your cup of tea).
&#x200B;
Outer Limits
&#x200B;
At the exact center of the ever expanding universe lies an area of space no human eyes will ever see. A rift, or tear, or thinness of space. Like a wound in the skin of our reality through which filters a baleful light. Its color is almost (but not quite) purple. It hovers somewhereon the edges of the human mind’s ability to perceive color. It pulses and flickers as if it were a living thing. Perhaps it is. In that strange space between two universes even a living color seems possible. It is a place of chaos and of madness. A place where the natural laws of reality stretch, skew, and begin to melt into each other like cheese over a plate of nachos.
Somewhere at the center of this nightmarish hell vast, alien consciousnesses lie, suspended between being and un-being. Not dead, but neither fully alive. Vast, swirling clouds of quasi-matter that arrange and re-arrange themselves into aberrant, eldritch shapes. Many mouthed, many tentacled, many eyed. Their very shapes are an abomination. An affront to nature and to sanity itself. From their half-existence in their between-world, these consciousnesses survey our universe. Cool, calculating, alien, overworked, and very, very bored.
“The fuck you mean he’s dead?” Said a roiling mass of mouths and teeth (and eyeballs with teeth sticking out of them). Its voice was so inhuman that it would have sent the mind recoiling upon itself and screaming into insanity.
“I mean just what I said.” Responded a massive, crystalline “thing” covered in tentacles and weird little feathery wings.
“Qu’kkor-Bethtll just got his ass handed to him. Kaput. Finito. Done dog dinner.”
The thing paused. Were it blessed with something the human mind could recognize as a face, it would have been frowning. It was not.
“Come to think of it, can we even die?”
A vague, slipping/slithering movement from the toothed entity achieves more or less the same result as a human shrug.
“No fucking clue, mate. Last I checked we weren’t exactly alive to begin with.”
“I’ve never died before.” A third entity chimes in. It’s hot pink and covered in a sort of mirrored surface that reflects the living light into insane, impossible geometry.
Gender is not really a construct these entities understand, but even so this consciousness feels decidedly feminine. At least, that’s what it thinks most days, just as it’s getting up in the morning.
“And what exactly does that add to the conversation, Besst’alt’teh?” Said the second entity.
“No, hang on, she’s got a point.” Said the first.
“None of us have died, that’s the whole thing.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Isn’t it obvious, Bn’grrghh?” Said the third voice.
For the most part she did a good job of not letting it show, but she really thought the second entity — to whom the name belonged — was kindof a snobbish prick.
“Qu’kkor-Bethtll was the resident Elder Thing to that misbegotten planet of fleshies.”
“And your point?”
“My point is that now that he’s gone, who’s going to cover his workload?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, woman. The man’s not even cold in the ground and you’re already thinking of getting overtime off of him?” Spluttered the first entity, whose name was something so impossibly alien that no combination of characters in any known human language could adequately capture its essence.
The other two just called him Steve.
“Hey, someone has to.” Said Besst’alt’teh.
“And, I mean, it’s not like we can just afford to let planets with semi-sentient life go to waste. At least, that’s what management keeps telling us.”
“You’d figure they’d hire more people if they wanted to cover all sentient life in this shit-pit of a universe.” Said Bn’grrghh with what passed for the equivalent of an exasperated look on what didn’t pass as a face.
“If you have a problem with making a little extra on your next check, I don’t mind taking over the workload.” Said Steve.
“I don’t have a problem with that.” Said Bn’grrghh.
“What I do have a problem with is the fact that the last weekend I had off was long enough ago that most of the planets were still molten balls of shit that I couldn't walk on without getting my tentacles utterly destroyed.”
“No, guys, I’m serious.” Besst’alt’teh interjected.
“You don’t know who H.R. is going to give the planet to, but if there’s even a slight chance it could be one of us.”
“I guess you’re right.” Said Steve.
“Better one of us than B’vaiub-D’naar, over in the next galaxy.” Said Bn’grrghh.
“Hey, B’vaiub-D’naar happens to be my brother-in-law.” Said Steve.
“Doesn’t stop him from being a competitive tool. I swear if he rubs Gliese 581C in my face one more time I'm going to lose it.”
“Yeah, he is kind of a dick.” Agreed Steve.
“Well then.” Said Bn’grrghh, turning (or appearing to turn from one angle, staying still from another, and doing an odd sort of squiggly shuffle from a third angle) to Besst’alt’teh.
“Since you’re so concerned with who gets his spot, you can go talk to H.R. about it.”
“Maybe I will.” She shot back.
They all knew she wouldn’t. The last time anyone had managed to work up the balls to talk to G’Skhill in human resources, they’d been atomized and then put back together inside out and backwards (something which wasn’t altogether problematic for the entities, but did seem to hurt quite a bit).
(Continued below) |
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