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[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	"Now, I must admit. I have been a bit suspicious about you lately." Dimitri Petrova gulped. He straightened the non-existent wrinkles from his collar, trying not to squirm from the searching gaze of the other man. Around them, the fluorescent lights of the shop made everything too visible in the night. Dimitri kind of wanted to hide like a little kid. Which didn't make a lot of sense since he was technically older than the other man, even if he didn't look it. "Really?" Old Man Xiao nodded. "It's hard to miss when one of your constant costumers never ages." Dimitri winced. Yeah, that does make sense. Though, in his defense, Dimitri never found any reason to hide when it came to Old Man Xiao. He always felt at ease with the man. If he didn't call the police on the first time they met, Dimitri was sure that Xiao would never reveal them. The first time he met him, the guy owned a rundown store that was about to close. Dimitri was in serious need for a batch order of coffins since the attack by the rival clan lead to most of their safe housing burned to the ground. Xiao was desperate for money that he didn't really question why he needed to make hundreds of coffins when there wasn't news of a massacre. Thus started their beautiful friendship. Dimitri as the official liaison to Xiao, and Xiao as their sole supplier of coffins. And even after all these years, the man never questioned it. Even if he technically didn't know they were vampires. Well, until now it seemed. "I'm assuming there's a reason you're admitting this now?" Xiao said. Dimitri nodded. "Yeah, we were hoping to offer you immortality." Xiao didn't expect this, based on how wide his eyes got. "Turn me into. a vampmire?" Dimitri nodded, now more excited. "Yeah! You're a trusted person and the clan really likes you. They're some of your other customers." The clan had long decided to show their thanks to Xiao by buying stuff from him constantly. Loyalty to the man who saved them during tough times and all. There was the added benefit that they genuinely liked Xiao since he was a nice and gentle person who had a lot of stories to share, even if most of the people he was telling them to was older than him by 100 years minimum. Xiao still looked surprised so Dimitri kept explaining. "Becoming a vampire also means you become young again. You get the whole 'no sunlight thing' but trust me that you get used to it. You can still eat human food, you'll just have to add blood to your diet. And, you get to travel the world with us, or even on your own if you want!" Dimitri held out his hand for a shake, a wide smile on his face that showed his fangs. "What do you say, old man?" Xiao said nothing, just looked at him wide-eyed, before he let out a soft chuckle. "Why, I thank you for that offer. I'm really flattered. But I can't accept that." Dimitri blinked. That was... That was not the reaction he was expecting. "Now you look a bit confused here son, so let me explain." Xiao hobbled to a nearby chair, Dimitri automatically moving to help him. The old man thanked him before settling himself comfortably. Dimitri dragged a nearby stool closer and took his own seat. "You gave me a mighty good offer there," Xiao admitted. "And if I were a younger man, I could have accepted it. Seeing the world was my dream, and learning all about the new technologies and the internets was something I really wanted to experience." Xiao coughed harshly. Dimitri flinched at the sound. He could already smell the scent of approaching death from Xiao, and it made him agitated. The temptation to give him his blood to fight off that rot was strong but he needed to know why Xiao refused. "Hell, maybe 15 years ago I would have said yes. Before you and your family of vamps came, I would have gladly joined." "What changed?" Xiao gave him a smile, serene and wise. "I've lived a very good life already. A very good life. It had it's ups and downs. The loss of my husband and children was the worst. Then me almost losing the shop and everything we built together. I was alone in this town. My family had long since passed. I thought things would only get worse." He placed a gnarled hand on Dimitri's shoulder, warm on his immortal skin. "Then I met a silly man asking for hundreds of coffins. And then more customers came in with their weird orders of statues and coffins and toys. Costumers who smiled and talked to me and always gave me warm food at the nights I couldn't cook. A conversation when it felt a little too lonely. And then I made friends from these costumers who never seemed to grow old, but always seemed excited to meet me." Dimitri couldn't help the laugh. It wasn't a secret that the clan pretty much adopted the carpenter. But to find out how important their tiny gestures were to the man? Dimitri tried to rub the dust out of his eye, though he was sure that Xiao kept the place clean. Xiao then leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes. "I don't need to live longer anymore. I'm already happy." The smell of death was getting stronger now, and Dimtri let a tear fall. "I'm guessing I can't convince you at this point? Even if it means avoiding your close death?" Xiao just laughed loudly. "Boy, I already knew that. I'm just glad to have a friend with me when it happen." The laugh Dimitri let out was wet with tears. They spent the rest of the night talking and talking, the hours fading into nothing as they did so. When the smell of death became stronger and Xiao's voice became weaker, Dimitri kept telling him of the stories of his clan. When Dimitri couldn't hear Xiao breathe anymore, he looked at the man through misty eyes. Xiao had a smile on his face. That was enough for Dimitri.	My wife passed on about 15 years back. We never had kids, nor were we ever particularly close to our neighbors. We were happy, just the two of us. But after her departure, I gave myself entirely to my work. It helped me work through my grief. The clients came slowly but steadily, and each had specific requests for the item they had commissioned. It was my pleasure to make each and every piece worthy of being called a magnum opus. To my surprise, I had built a reputation for myself. So I made every effort to live up to this reputation. No longer crafting out of grief, I had become something unexpected; I was an artisan. But, all of that changed in an instant when my hands began to shake. The doctors told me it was Parkinson's. I wouldn't be able to continue my work much longer. I finished my last piece, though I wasn't satisfied with the end result, and closed my workshop for good. I was prepared to consign the rest of my days in some forsaken corner of a retirement home or hospital, yet there was another option placed before me. A letter arrived from the clientele I had served these past 15 years. They said I could live forever. It was a gift for over a decade of excellent service. They loved the little touches I put into each each. The care and attention I put into every joint, hinge, and piece of edging was the best they had ever seen, or so they said. All I had to do was accept. I said no. My life was not an easy one, but I had been happy. I had a home, a wife I loved deeply, and even become a highly skilled craftsman. It was enough. My legacy would live on in my work, though I would never see it. I missed the love of my life. I missed her embrace, that sparkle in her eyes, and I missed the sound of voice most of all. The thought of living forever without that was unbearable to me. That is why I declined the offer. So if you are reading this, please know that I did not want to suffer an eternity of emptiness. There wasn't even question in my mind. My life would not have true meaning without the one thing that made me feel complete. I leave behind a legacy I am proud of. Please know that I am content. It was my greatest honor to serve your community. Thank you!
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	"Now, I must admit. I have been a bit suspicious about you lately." Dimitri Petrova gulped. He straightened the non-existent wrinkles from his collar, trying not to squirm from the searching gaze of the other man. Around them, the fluorescent lights of the shop made everything too visible in the night. Dimitri kind of wanted to hide like a little kid. Which didn't make a lot of sense since he was technically older than the other man, even if he didn't look it. "Really?" Old Man Xiao nodded. "It's hard to miss when one of your constant costumers never ages." Dimitri winced. Yeah, that does make sense. Though, in his defense, Dimitri never found any reason to hide when it came to Old Man Xiao. He always felt at ease with the man. If he didn't call the police on the first time they met, Dimitri was sure that Xiao would never reveal them. The first time he met him, the guy owned a rundown store that was about to close. Dimitri was in serious need for a batch order of coffins since the attack by the rival clan lead to most of their safe housing burned to the ground. Xiao was desperate for money that he didn't really question why he needed to make hundreds of coffins when there wasn't news of a massacre. Thus started their beautiful friendship. Dimitri as the official liaison to Xiao, and Xiao as their sole supplier of coffins. And even after all these years, the man never questioned it. Even if he technically didn't know they were vampires. Well, until now it seemed. "I'm assuming there's a reason you're admitting this now?" Xiao said. Dimitri nodded. "Yeah, we were hoping to offer you immortality." Xiao didn't expect this, based on how wide his eyes got. "Turn me into. a vampmire?" Dimitri nodded, now more excited. "Yeah! You're a trusted person and the clan really likes you. They're some of your other customers." The clan had long decided to show their thanks to Xiao by buying stuff from him constantly. Loyalty to the man who saved them during tough times and all. There was the added benefit that they genuinely liked Xiao since he was a nice and gentle person who had a lot of stories to share, even if most of the people he was telling them to was older than him by 100 years minimum. Xiao still looked surprised so Dimitri kept explaining. "Becoming a vampire also means you become young again. You get the whole 'no sunlight thing' but trust me that you get used to it. You can still eat human food, you'll just have to add blood to your diet. And, you get to travel the world with us, or even on your own if you want!" Dimitri held out his hand for a shake, a wide smile on his face that showed his fangs. "What do you say, old man?" Xiao said nothing, just looked at him wide-eyed, before he let out a soft chuckle. "Why, I thank you for that offer. I'm really flattered. But I can't accept that." Dimitri blinked. That was... That was not the reaction he was expecting. "Now you look a bit confused here son, so let me explain." Xiao hobbled to a nearby chair, Dimitri automatically moving to help him. The old man thanked him before settling himself comfortably. Dimitri dragged a nearby stool closer and took his own seat. "You gave me a mighty good offer there," Xiao admitted. "And if I were a younger man, I could have accepted it. Seeing the world was my dream, and learning all about the new technologies and the internets was something I really wanted to experience." Xiao coughed harshly. Dimitri flinched at the sound. He could already smell the scent of approaching death from Xiao, and it made him agitated. The temptation to give him his blood to fight off that rot was strong but he needed to know why Xiao refused. "Hell, maybe 15 years ago I would have said yes. Before you and your family of vamps came, I would have gladly joined." "What changed?" Xiao gave him a smile, serene and wise. "I've lived a very good life already. A very good life. It had it's ups and downs. The loss of my husband and children was the worst. Then me almost losing the shop and everything we built together. I was alone in this town. My family had long since passed. I thought things would only get worse." He placed a gnarled hand on Dimitri's shoulder, warm on his immortal skin. "Then I met a silly man asking for hundreds of coffins. And then more customers came in with their weird orders of statues and coffins and toys. Costumers who smiled and talked to me and always gave me warm food at the nights I couldn't cook. A conversation when it felt a little too lonely. And then I made friends from these costumers who never seemed to grow old, but always seemed excited to meet me." Dimitri couldn't help the laugh. It wasn't a secret that the clan pretty much adopted the carpenter. But to find out how important their tiny gestures were to the man? Dimitri tried to rub the dust out of his eye, though he was sure that Xiao kept the place clean. Xiao then leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes. "I don't need to live longer anymore. I'm already happy." The smell of death was getting stronger now, and Dimtri let a tear fall. "I'm guessing I can't convince you at this point? Even if it means avoiding your close death?" Xiao just laughed loudly. "Boy, I already knew that. I'm just glad to have a friend with me when it happen." The laugh Dimitri let out was wet with tears. They spent the rest of the night talking and talking, the hours fading into nothing as they did so. When the smell of death became stronger and Xiao's voice became weaker, Dimitri kept telling him of the stories of his clan. When Dimitri couldn't hear Xiao breathe anymore, he looked at the man through misty eyes. Xiao had a smile on his face. That was enough for Dimitri.	&#x200B; (If you have any criticism, feel free to give it) “Good evening, Justus,” the cloaked vampire said with a polite smile. He stood at the door expectantly in the rain. "Ah... Sir Dolion!" Justus yelped. "Please, do come in! You're soaked! Let me get a towel!" "You're very kind, Justus," Dolion said as Justus rushed away. He took extra care to rub any water or mud beneath his boots onto the rug at the entrance. Then, he looked over at a long table running down the middle of the warmly lit workshop. Justus was working on another highly embroidered coffin. Even as his heartiness faded with age, the man didn't stop working. "Here you are." Justus handed the Dolion a towel. "Thank you," Sir Dolion said. He stepped around Justus. "That coffin there reminds me of how much I simply admire your work." "You flatter me," Justus said. He sat in a seat and offered Dolion the seat beside him, and after a period of silence, he said: "Not to be rude, but... what business do you bring today?" "My poor great-aunt's health is failing, you see. Some unknown illness." "It's for her, then? Ah, well, that is unfortunate, a real shame. I'm sure your family is a kind bunch." "Some of them. My great-aunt was very fond of skulls, bats, and roses. I was hoping you could reflect that in your craftsmanship." "Huh. You know, that's not all that surprising anymore. It seems most of my customer's friends or relatives - or, on some occasions, they themselves - are fond of similar things." "Well it makes quite a lot of sense in this case. The town has always suspected that our great-aunt was a vampire. Just a rumor, of course." "Truly? But what of her remains, then? If she were a vampire, would she not turn to ash?" "Ah. You're right, Justus. Well... supposing, theoretically, that she was truly a vampire, and my family intended to put her remains in a coffin... would you object?" "Hm... likely." "Why, if I may ask?" "Well, I am a Christian. Vampires are unfortunate, unholy beings. I build coffins to send people comfortably to Heaven. That is what I believe. But, vampires? I'm not sure if they would go to Heaven. I don't know where they would go after death." "I see. Then, you would pass up the opportunity to become a vampire? The opportunity for immortality and great power?" "That’s an interesting way to put it. I’m not sure many would describe vampirism in that way. Hmm... yes, I would have to pass. I want to go to Heaven." Dolion stood up. "Then, I apologize." "For what?" "For this." The vampire jumped onto the man, biting into his neck and staring into his soul. Justus kindness and politeness melted away to reveal intense fear, panic, and extreme revelation. "Ah! Oh my god!" "We refuse to let you die, Justus." Justus’s consciousness began to fade.
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	"Now, I must admit. I have been a bit suspicious about you lately." Dimitri Petrova gulped. He straightened the non-existent wrinkles from his collar, trying not to squirm from the searching gaze of the other man. Around them, the fluorescent lights of the shop made everything too visible in the night. Dimitri kind of wanted to hide like a little kid. Which didn't make a lot of sense since he was technically older than the other man, even if he didn't look it. "Really?" Old Man Xiao nodded. "It's hard to miss when one of your constant costumers never ages." Dimitri winced. Yeah, that does make sense. Though, in his defense, Dimitri never found any reason to hide when it came to Old Man Xiao. He always felt at ease with the man. If he didn't call the police on the first time they met, Dimitri was sure that Xiao would never reveal them. The first time he met him, the guy owned a rundown store that was about to close. Dimitri was in serious need for a batch order of coffins since the attack by the rival clan lead to most of their safe housing burned to the ground. Xiao was desperate for money that he didn't really question why he needed to make hundreds of coffins when there wasn't news of a massacre. Thus started their beautiful friendship. Dimitri as the official liaison to Xiao, and Xiao as their sole supplier of coffins. And even after all these years, the man never questioned it. Even if he technically didn't know they were vampires. Well, until now it seemed. "I'm assuming there's a reason you're admitting this now?" Xiao said. Dimitri nodded. "Yeah, we were hoping to offer you immortality." Xiao didn't expect this, based on how wide his eyes got. "Turn me into. a vampmire?" Dimitri nodded, now more excited. "Yeah! You're a trusted person and the clan really likes you. They're some of your other customers." The clan had long decided to show their thanks to Xiao by buying stuff from him constantly. Loyalty to the man who saved them during tough times and all. There was the added benefit that they genuinely liked Xiao since he was a nice and gentle person who had a lot of stories to share, even if most of the people he was telling them to was older than him by 100 years minimum. Xiao still looked surprised so Dimitri kept explaining. "Becoming a vampire also means you become young again. You get the whole 'no sunlight thing' but trust me that you get used to it. You can still eat human food, you'll just have to add blood to your diet. And, you get to travel the world with us, or even on your own if you want!" Dimitri held out his hand for a shake, a wide smile on his face that showed his fangs. "What do you say, old man?" Xiao said nothing, just looked at him wide-eyed, before he let out a soft chuckle. "Why, I thank you for that offer. I'm really flattered. But I can't accept that." Dimitri blinked. That was... That was not the reaction he was expecting. "Now you look a bit confused here son, so let me explain." Xiao hobbled to a nearby chair, Dimitri automatically moving to help him. The old man thanked him before settling himself comfortably. Dimitri dragged a nearby stool closer and took his own seat. "You gave me a mighty good offer there," Xiao admitted. "And if I were a younger man, I could have accepted it. Seeing the world was my dream, and learning all about the new technologies and the internets was something I really wanted to experience." Xiao coughed harshly. Dimitri flinched at the sound. He could already smell the scent of approaching death from Xiao, and it made him agitated. The temptation to give him his blood to fight off that rot was strong but he needed to know why Xiao refused. "Hell, maybe 15 years ago I would have said yes. Before you and your family of vamps came, I would have gladly joined." "What changed?" Xiao gave him a smile, serene and wise. "I've lived a very good life already. A very good life. It had it's ups and downs. The loss of my husband and children was the worst. Then me almost losing the shop and everything we built together. I was alone in this town. My family had long since passed. I thought things would only get worse." He placed a gnarled hand on Dimitri's shoulder, warm on his immortal skin. "Then I met a silly man asking for hundreds of coffins. And then more customers came in with their weird orders of statues and coffins and toys. Costumers who smiled and talked to me and always gave me warm food at the nights I couldn't cook. A conversation when it felt a little too lonely. And then I made friends from these costumers who never seemed to grow old, but always seemed excited to meet me." Dimitri couldn't help the laugh. It wasn't a secret that the clan pretty much adopted the carpenter. But to find out how important their tiny gestures were to the man? Dimitri tried to rub the dust out of his eye, though he was sure that Xiao kept the place clean. Xiao then leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes. "I don't need to live longer anymore. I'm already happy." The smell of death was getting stronger now, and Dimtri let a tear fall. "I'm guessing I can't convince you at this point? Even if it means avoiding your close death?" Xiao just laughed loudly. "Boy, I already knew that. I'm just glad to have a friend with me when it happen." The laugh Dimitri let out was wet with tears. They spent the rest of the night talking and talking, the hours fading into nothing as they did so. When the smell of death became stronger and Xiao's voice became weaker, Dimitri kept telling him of the stories of his clan. When Dimitri couldn't hear Xiao breathe anymore, he looked at the man through misty eyes. Xiao had a smile on his face. That was enough for Dimitri.	Alex Bones Reports - Star Carpenter Making Wooden Stakes Alex: "So many people support giving this guy immortality. 'He makes our safest coffins', they say. I keep telling you to learn the whole truth, not just part of it." (Alex holds up a wooden stake.) "Have you lost a loved one to one of these? They're made of wood. Who makes things out of wood? A carpenter! With me is Count Fred - he has some interesting video to show." Fred: "Thanks Alex. While my associate kept the carpenter busy, I took our hidden camera through this innocuous door in the show room." (Video close up of blue door.) "Through it, a horror story." (Video shows large show room with racks and racks of wooden stakes in all shapes and sizes.) "Our carpenter friend, the hero of all vampire kind, is double dipping. What's more, he's been putting the finger on us. How do you think Van Helsing and his rotten spawn have always found us in our most secret crypts? 'Buy a coffin today, get it delivered today. No BACK BACK BACK BACK orders! We'll cart off your old coffin free!!!???' Delivery indeed - he leaks our crypt addresses to all takers. Watch this, Alex." Video shows a man in a restaurant - the carpenter. He's talking. "I deliver to these addresses, and then I have an address list. People pay good money to get that list." Fred: "I rest my case, Alex." Alex: "Our best friend? Our savior? HA!"
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	The bell jingled, and the glass front door creaked open. It was the middle of the day in the middle of summer, the type of afternoon where nobody would suspect anything amiss if a coffin shop’s owner were gone for lunch. However, the owner of this coffin shop packed his lunch every day. He also didn’t believe in air-conditioning-the windows needed to be open so that the vapors from the lacquer didn’t accumulate and make him and his apprentice light-headed. Harold had a strong suspicion that he’d inhaled enough chemicals to become a medical oddity. “Should offer myself up for science,” he muttered to himself. “What was that?” his apprentice, Darryl, said. He was a bit slow on the uptake, but, most importantly, he was dependable. He had recently graduated high school and was going to marry his high school sweetheart, looking to start a family - that kind of dependable. “Nothing, nothing. See who’s at the door,” Harold said, back to his gruff demeanor. “It’s me,” a resonant voice replied, cutting through the lazy summer air with a crackle. Harold and Darryl met eyes, Darryl’s wide and Harold’s incisive. “In the back,” Harold grumbled. A giant appeared in the doorway, blocking off some of the sunlight that trickled in from the yellowed front windows despite the years of grime clouding them. “What do you want?” Harold said, returning to the coffin he was preparing for Vlad’s company. He felt the typical annoyance when he thought about how Vlad called the group he represented a “society,” like they were better than everyone else. “Just seeing how my order is coming along,” Vlad said, walking into the room and running a hand along the coffin’s edge. He patted the wood lovingly and nodded. “That’s why you’re the best,” he said. “Is that all you came for? To ask how the coffin’s coming along? I’ve been making these for you for decades, always the same quality. THAT I can guarantee.” “No, that’s not all I’ve come for,” Vlad said. He looked at Darryl. “Could you give us a minute?” Darryl looked at Harold; the older man nodded his assent. “He’s a good kid,” Harold said to Vlad when they were alone, watching his customer’s eyes. Vlad ignored the comment and cleared his throat. “It’s come to the society’s attention that you’re getting up there in years,” Ivan said. “The society,” Harold scoffed. Vlad continued, despite the interruption. “I’ve come today because we’d like to offer you an opportunity.” Harold put his paintbrush down on the lacquer lid and gave Vlad his full attention. “Haven’t you ever wondered how I’ve been coming into your shop for decades now and haven’t gotten any older?” “I figure you moisturize and stay out of the sun.” “Well, I do stay out of the sun.” Vlad leans back and looks out the front windows. “I left my parasol by the door.” After a moment’s pause, Vlad looks at Harold with a serious glint in his eye and a flexed jaw. “I’m a vampire. Everyone that’s come from me has been a vampire. Hadn’t you been suspicious of the accents? This backwater town’s not exactly known for its immigrant population.” “Never really thought about it,” Harold said, picking up his brush. Nobody else ever brushed off Vlad so quickly, and it took him a moment to collect himself. “I’d like to extend an offer to you,” he said when he had recovered. He paused for effect. “Immortality.” “Not interested,” Harold replied. “Got any other orders, though? I’ll take those.” “Let me elaborate: you make the best coffins in which any of us have ever slept. I’ve ensured you had steady work for all these years, and I was hoping you could ensure our sleeping situation for the coming centuries.” “Oh, I knew what you were getting at… and I still say no.” Vlad shook his head, clearing his surprise. “People usually take some time thinking about it…” Harold set down his brush again, this time clearly annoyed. “I’d be immortal, never dying, right?” he said. “Right,” Vlad said, getting excited. “In this body forever?” “Exactly!” “That’s why I pass. Maybe if I was younger. Now? I want to enjoy my remaining days.” “But you can have an infinite supply to enjoy!” “Bah,” Harold said, swatting at the air with his hand. “Waste it on a young man, like Darryl.” Then, after thinking for a moment, Harold continued. “Wait. Why not use it on Darryl? I’ll teach him how to make the coffins, and you can keep him around.” “I’d have to meet him first, get to know him. The society doesn’t want just anyone immortal.” “I’ll tell you what. Let me focus on teaching him to make the best coffins, and you can take the next few decades to decide if you want him. Me? I’m ready to be done. I’ve had a good life.” Harold picked up his brush once more. “Are you sure?” Vlad asked, unconvinced. “Do I sound unsure? Now let me finish this coffin for Esmeralda; I told her I would have it done by the end of the week.” “She’s my sister-in-law,” Vlad remarked. “Great. You can let her know it will be ready.”	Alex Bones Reports - Star Carpenter Making Wooden Stakes Alex: "So many people support giving this guy immortality. 'He makes our safest coffins', they say. I keep telling you to learn the whole truth, not just part of it." (Alex holds up a wooden stake.) "Have you lost a loved one to one of these? They're made of wood. Who makes things out of wood? A carpenter! With me is Count Fred - he has some interesting video to show." Fred: "Thanks Alex. While my associate kept the carpenter busy, I took our hidden camera through this innocuous door in the show room." (Video close up of blue door.) "Through it, a horror story." (Video shows large show room with racks and racks of wooden stakes in all shapes and sizes.) "Our carpenter friend, the hero of all vampire kind, is double dipping. What's more, he's been putting the finger on us. How do you think Van Helsing and his rotten spawn have always found us in our most secret crypts? 'Buy a coffin today, get it delivered today. No BACK BACK BACK BACK orders! We'll cart off your old coffin free!!!???' Delivery indeed - he leaks our crypt addresses to all takers. Watch this, Alex." Video shows a man in a restaurant - the carpenter. He's talking. "I deliver to these addresses, and then I have an address list. People pay good money to get that list." Fred: "I rest my case, Alex." Alex: "Our best friend? Our savior? HA!"
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	Derthezar, Lord of the Fifth Transylvanian Order, was besieged with crippling back pain for decades. He tossed and turned through restless nights, cursing the shoddy craftsmanship of so many lazy mortals. Relief only came one summer evening in 1967, when Revelan the Impaler brought him a surprise birthday gift. "My lord," Revelan said, bowing with a flourish of his cape. "May this coffin grant you the peace that you so mightily deserve." Derthezar stepped into the coffin, skeptically yet gingerly, and laid down. The dimensions were perfect. As Revelan closed the lid, there was not a single detectable ray of light bleed. In moments, he was fast asleep. The next evening, Derthezar demanded that the carpenter be handsomely rewarded with the finest Transylvanian silver. Revelan commissioned custom coffins for the entire Fifth Order. All was well. The distant partnership subsisted through the twentieth century and into the new millennium. The Fifth Order, well-rested and free from pain, was the most furiously productive vampire legion in Transylvania. That is, until 2018, on the sixteenth morning of May, when Revelan flew into the lord's chambers with some troubling news. "Bob Donovan, Master Woodworker, of the Metropolis of Alderson, West Virginia, has fallen ill, my lord." Derthezar snorted. "Ill? How can this be? It's only been -" "He is only human, sir," Revelan said. Derthezar sighed. "Indeed. Allow me to offer a proposal." He produced a quill and scroll from behind his throne and began to jot down a message. "Prepare the squire for immediate westward flight." It took several weeks for a response to appear. Bob respectfully submitted all correspondence via pen and ink, thinking it a mere quirk of his wealthy customers. "Dear Derthezar, I deeply appreciate your business and support over the past fifty years. It is true that my hands no longer work as they used to, and my time is drawing to a close. Your kind offer of immortal life is well regarded, but I must decline at this time. It has been an honor to provide you and your family with their final resting places, and I can only hope I have done them justice. Yours sincerely, Bob Donovan Derthezar crushed the paper in his fist. "Rejecting eternal life?! I've never been so outraged -" Revelan interjected, as usual. "My lord, may I kindly suggest that you channel this anger into mindful breathing as we discussed?" Derthezar took several deep breaths. "Indeed. Right you are. Bob Donovan of Alderson, West Virginia has made his choice, as misguided as it may be. Perhaps we can offer an alternate token of our appreciation." *** Three weeks later, Bob Donovan awoke to the sound of his doorbell ringing. He slowly stumbled to the front door, shaking and coughing. "Delivery for Mr. Donovan," the FedEx driver announced. "Gonna need a signature from you, sir." "All right," Bob said, scribbling his name. Two deliverymen emerged from the back of the truck, staggering under the weight and shape of a large, awkward crate. They took it directly to Bob's open garage - his workshop. "What...what is it?" Bob stammered. "Anybody's guess, pal." It took Bob a full half-hour to undo the nails on the crate, his hands shaking all the while. He smelled fresh wood - and not just the wood of the crate. Inside was the most crude, hastily built coffin he had ever seen. Nails stuck out of the wrong places and the edges appeared to have been hacked off with an axe. Bob let out the loudest, longest laugh he had in months. He glanced at the corner and saw a message burned into the side: From Your Friends in the Fifth Transylvanian Order *** When Bob passed away five weeks later, he was buried in the coffin by special request. The squire delivered the news to Transylvania and the King of the Vampires bowed his head, solemn and silent. "Farewell, Bob Donovan," Derthezar thought. "May you sleep as peacefully in the afterlife as we do each day."	Alex Bones Reports - Star Carpenter Making Wooden Stakes Alex: "So many people support giving this guy immortality. 'He makes our safest coffins', they say. I keep telling you to learn the whole truth, not just part of it." (Alex holds up a wooden stake.) "Have you lost a loved one to one of these? They're made of wood. Who makes things out of wood? A carpenter! With me is Count Fred - he has some interesting video to show." Fred: "Thanks Alex. While my associate kept the carpenter busy, I took our hidden camera through this innocuous door in the show room." (Video close up of blue door.) "Through it, a horror story." (Video shows large show room with racks and racks of wooden stakes in all shapes and sizes.) "Our carpenter friend, the hero of all vampire kind, is double dipping. What's more, he's been putting the finger on us. How do you think Van Helsing and his rotten spawn have always found us in our most secret crypts? 'Buy a coffin today, get it delivered today. No BACK BACK BACK BACK orders! We'll cart off your old coffin free!!!???' Delivery indeed - he leaks our crypt addresses to all takers. Watch this, Alex." Video shows a man in a restaurant - the carpenter. He's talking. "I deliver to these addresses, and then I have an address list. People pay good money to get that list." Fred: "I rest my case, Alex." Alex: "Our best friend? Our savior? HA!"
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	"Hypothetically," Lucius Sanginius Romero de LeVille Finlay Tepesh started, "if you could, say, live forever, would you accept such a gift?" The carpenter rubbed his scruffy chin and emptied his pipe. "Forever, huh? Sounds like a long time. I mean, wouldn't you get bored?" "Oh, of course not," the vampire started with barely contained enthusiasm. "There is so much to do that you could live several lifetimes and still find new and amazing things to do. I mean I can tell you that at least 347 years and I am- I mean, you'd still be amazed by things," he chuckled as he quickly corrected himself. "Oddly specific, but sure," the carpenter said as he squinted his eyes. He packed the pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it, taking a long drag. "Mr. Tepesh, you and your friends have been excellent customers and I appreciate such peculiar conversations but..." He looked at the vampire's remarkably young visage; his gentle, expectant smile almost showed his pointed teeth. "I can't imagine it would work for me. Hypothetically, of course," he concluded with a smile. The vampire sighed and nodded. "Of course, Mr. Fitch. Perhaps we can discuss this another time then. I believe my servants should be done loading my order now; as always, thank you for your excellent service. I bid you a good evening," he said and with a tip of his somewhat old-fashioned top hat, he left the shop as quietly as he arrived. The carpenter continued to smoke his pipe as he listened to the carriage get into motion and disappear into the night. He went to the window and checked the foggy street and, satisfied that no one skulked around, locked the door and went to the back; his workshop. The place was charming and calm, filled with well-used tools and bits of wood. He lovingly ran his fingers across the newest shipment of birch; an excellent, softer wood he looked forward to using. Perhaps next time. He smiled as he thought about the vampire's offer. It was kind of him, truly, but not an option. Not for a long time now. He didn't have the courage to explain it to him - prejudice and all. Checking his calendar, he noted the date; full moon will be tomorrow. Should provide him with the speed to get to the next continent easily. It really was a shame to abandon this cycle, but it was clear that staying any longer would be suspicious. He took his pipe and dumped the burning tobacco onto a pile of sawdust. Barely any time passed before the fire was spreading to the dry wood and flammable polish in the store. A good cover story. He took a small bag prepared for this occasion and slipped into the damp night, the moon barely piercing the fog, diminishing his usual urge to howl. Perhaps this time he could live the life of an apothecary. Been a while since he'd been one.	Alex Bones Reports - Star Carpenter Making Wooden Stakes Alex: "So many people support giving this guy immortality. 'He makes our safest coffins', they say. I keep telling you to learn the whole truth, not just part of it." (Alex holds up a wooden stake.) "Have you lost a loved one to one of these? They're made of wood. Who makes things out of wood? A carpenter! With me is Count Fred - he has some interesting video to show." Fred: "Thanks Alex. While my associate kept the carpenter busy, I took our hidden camera through this innocuous door in the show room." (Video close up of blue door.) "Through it, a horror story." (Video shows large show room with racks and racks of wooden stakes in all shapes and sizes.) "Our carpenter friend, the hero of all vampire kind, is double dipping. What's more, he's been putting the finger on us. How do you think Van Helsing and his rotten spawn have always found us in our most secret crypts? 'Buy a coffin today, get it delivered today. No BACK BACK BACK BACK orders! We'll cart off your old coffin free!!!???' Delivery indeed - he leaks our crypt addresses to all takers. Watch this, Alex." Video shows a man in a restaurant - the carpenter. He's talking. "I deliver to these addresses, and then I have an address list. People pay good money to get that list." Fred: "I rest my case, Alex." Alex: "Our best friend? Our savior? HA!"
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	Vezemir stepped out of the carriage. The sun was not fully set, but the sky was overcast enough that he only felt a slight itch as he strode quickly across the street. Glendale Graves was quiet today, but then it usually was. It would be a strange sight to see a coffin-maker busy. As he approached, Vezemir saw Druig standing at the door, locking up. Vezemir raised a hand to catch his eye. The old man grinned at him, flipping the "Closed" sign on the door back around to "Open." A small bell dinged as Vezemir pushed to door open. Druig clapped him on the back and ushered him inside. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. What do you need?" Vezemir smiled at the old man. "This is more of a social call, old friend," he said. "I understand you're retiring soon." Druig's smile fell a few inches as he stepped behind the counter. "Aye, my hands aren't what they used to be." He glanced down at his hands and sighed. "Can barely hold a hammer properly some days." Then he glanced up at Vezemir again. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're here for." Vezemir raised an eyebrow. "I just want to pay my respects to a great craftsman. My family loves your work, you've done such a great job in the past to... honor our dearly departed." Druig snorted. "Vez, I know what you are. You only ever show up at night, you almost always overpay, and I'll be honest, some of your family are pretty terrible at hiding it. A few months ago, Morana insisted on 'testing the casket out.'" He shook his head. "She fell asleep in it for almost two hours." "W-Well, I'll admit we may be a touch eccentric, but-" Vezemir's stammering was cut off by Druig pointing behind him. Vezemir glanced over his shoulder at the huge window in the front of the shop. The darkness outside caused the glass to reflect the interior. He could see Druig staring smugly back at him, with no sign of himself. "You're here to offer me immortality." Druig spoke softly. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. Slowly, Vezemir nodded. "Only if you wish for it." Druig smiled sadly. "Vezemir, I'm tired. I've been doing this for almost fifty years. I've made coffins for the elderly, for soldiers, for children..." he paused, his smile slipping from his face. "For my wife." Vezemir placed one hand gently on top of Druig's. "You don't have to be, though," he said. "The blood doesn't just prolong your life. It will revitalize you, make you feel like a young man again." He barrelled on, diving into his sales pitch. "You could join our family. We would make sure you never wanted for anything ever again. You could live in luxury for eternity." Druig frowned, pulling his hand free. "All I want is to rest, and to see Isolde again." he turned away. "You can't give me that." The silence stretched between the two men, until Vezemir spoke. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I... It's been a long time since I was human. I forget, sometimes, what it's like to be mortal. If there is anything at all that we can do for you, don't hesitate to ask." Druig glanced back at him. "Thanks, Vez. There is one thing that would be nice." &#x200B; One year later The priest had never seen a funeral like this. It was strange enough that the coffin-maker had asked for it to be held at night. But he hadn't expected this kind of turnout. Of course, there was his family. A son and daughter, both with their own children, as well as a few friends. What confused the priest were the others. A veritable army of men and women had filed into the chapel, all dressed in ornate attire, each one offering their heartfelt condolences to the family. Something about these people unnerved the priest. They felt... wrong somehow. As if they shouldn't be there. For a moment, he considered telling them to leave, but then he saw the family. Generally, coffin-makers weren't the most social people. Dealing in death so much, it was hard for them to make friends in work. Yet as more and more of these strange people filed into the chapel, and approached the coffin-maker's children, the priest saw something come over them. Their faces changed from the expected look of a pair of grieving children to something akin to pride. After all, for so many important looking people to value their father so highly, he must have been a great man indeed. Well, I suppose it does make sense, the priest thought. After all, a man whose life's work was honoring the dearly departed deserves to be honored in kind.	Alex Bones Reports - Star Carpenter Making Wooden Stakes Alex: "So many people support giving this guy immortality. 'He makes our safest coffins', they say. I keep telling you to learn the whole truth, not just part of it." (Alex holds up a wooden stake.) "Have you lost a loved one to one of these? They're made of wood. Who makes things out of wood? A carpenter! With me is Count Fred - he has some interesting video to show." Fred: "Thanks Alex. While my associate kept the carpenter busy, I took our hidden camera through this innocuous door in the show room." (Video close up of blue door.) "Through it, a horror story." (Video shows large show room with racks and racks of wooden stakes in all shapes and sizes.) "Our carpenter friend, the hero of all vampire kind, is double dipping. What's more, he's been putting the finger on us. How do you think Van Helsing and his rotten spawn have always found us in our most secret crypts? 'Buy a coffin today, get it delivered today. No BACK BACK BACK BACK orders! We'll cart off your old coffin free!!!???' Delivery indeed - he leaks our crypt addresses to all takers. Watch this, Alex." Video shows a man in a restaurant - the carpenter. He's talking. "I deliver to these addresses, and then I have an address list. People pay good money to get that list." Fred: "I rest my case, Alex." Alex: "Our best friend? Our savior? HA!"
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	The coffin Alastair steps into is made of bamboo. It's biodegradable -- just like him. This is his shop and it's packed with all kinds of coffins. He's been making them all his life but it's only the last decade people wanted bamboo or banana leaf or cardboard coffins. Cardboard, he thinks disdainfully. He's never made a cardboard coffin in his life and god knows he never will. Fit for a hamster, maybe, but not for a person. And maybe not even a hamster. He lays back and closes the lid, letting the darkness drown him. Bamboo stinks, he decides. It's not for him. But the darkness is good. Alastair's suffered migraines the last year. Being in such total darkness helps a little. Every day, after work, he's been getting into his coffins, partly for the dark, partly to test drive them because he's got a lump in his brain the size of a pebble and it's swelling quick. Growing. It's a weed that's taking all the water and all the soil that the older plants needed to live, so now everything's wilting except that weed. He's not all that scared to die. He doesn't want to, but that's a different matter altogether. He's got young grandkids that he loves very much and he'd like to see what they turn into, what colour butterflies will burst out into the world. Plus, he doesn't want to die for more selfish reasons, too. He likes being alive for one, likes doing and learning and being. Simple as that. But scared he's not. He's not been scared for a long time. He lies back for a while as dots waltz through the darkness in a rainbow of colours. To him, those dots are the tumour. It presents itself like that, in interesting ways. Somedays, he'll wake to see he left the oven on all night, or he'd called someone and walked away from the phone, or he'd find himself in the neighbours garden for no reason at all. That's how he sees the tumour, from the physical events it manifests. It's how it communicates to him, lets him know it's there. There are three knocks then. Right on the bamboo lid. He must have left the shop door open, wouldn't be the first time. "We're closed," he says. "Yes I know, but I really must talk to you," comes the muffled reply. It's a woman's voice. Even muffled it's smooth, calming. He pushes the lid open and sits up in the coffin. The woman to his side is young. Most people are young to him. Still, she must be early thirties? She's got dark hair in a neat fringe, a pale face, bright lipstick. Something of an old-fashioned movie starlet quality to her. It takes him back. "What can I do for you?" he asks, trying to get out of the coffin. It's like getting out of the bath though and he slips twice. The woman offers a hand but he shakes his head and on the third try he gets over the edge. "It's more what I can do for you," she says, pulling up a generous smile. "You see, I represent a consortium of--" "Not interested." "--of clients of yours. Former and future, hopefully." He pauses. "Clients?" "Yes. Of many people who buy your goods because they cherish your craftsmanship." She gestures around the shop at the various propped open coffins. "We've been importing your products for many years, but this is the first time any of us have visited your shop in person. But this time, it had to be in person." He's always been strangely successful abroad. The catalogues sell his products better than the shop floor. It's admittedly unusual for his trade. "That so?" he says. "That's so." "And what do my former clients want from me?" "We know you're dying. We certainly don't want that." He stares at her. Then laughs. "Me neither, to tell the truth. But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm leaning hard on the second letter." She smiles wider now. He's not sure if it's his head or... But it looks as if two of her teeth are sinking down over her lip. Extending out like a pair of mechanical pencils. "You seen a dentist lately?" "I'll cut to the chase," she says. "We're vampires. And none of us have found better, more secure, more comfortable coffins than yours." What to make of it, he's not sure! Vampires? Couldn't be. Could it be? Ever the professional he says, "I'm glad to hear you've been enjoying my products." "We'd like to continue using them, if it's all the same. As such, I would like to offer you the chance to become like us, to become a vampire. To be immortal. If you agree I will bite you myself, and that little tumour in your head will shrink down to nothing in a day." He blushes at that. At the thought of those red lips and long teeth sinking into his wrinkled old neck. "I hope that doesn't scare you," she says. He shakes his head. No, he doesn't scare anymore. Sure, he was scared as all hell when Sally got diagnosed with breast cancer. Now that scared him so bad that nothing since -- when placed in comparison -- has managed to frighten him a hair. His own death? No, that's not fear when compared to losing his reason. His love. His world. All of those other romantic cliches lying around. But there's strong truth in old cliches. "I appreciate the offer," he says, grabbing his head, holding the migraine, "but if it's all the same, I'm content with not being immortal." "Content?" she asks, mildly taken back. "It's been a decade since my wife died and the pain is not so much less than it was. While I'd sure like to keep on ticking in some senses, for some reasons, I don't want that pain anymore." He climbs into a walnut coffin, sits up in it and looks at the vampire. She sighs. "I see. Then, I'm sorry for wasting your time." "My pleasure," he says. She turns to leave, pauses by the door. "The walnut classic is my favourite." He nods. "I dare say it's mine too." Once she's gone, he lies back and closes the lid. Lets the stars dance in the darkness. He thinks about that strange lady. How did she get in, anyway? Door was locked wasn't it? And how did she get out for that matter. He doesn't remember her leaving yet he swears he just watched her go. God, she looked like a movie star. Beautiful with a capital b. A lot like his wife, he thinks. When she was young. Same lipstick shade, same hair. Only the teeth were different. And then he's wondering if he concocted the whole damn thing. He thinks he probably did. And if so, well then maybe not everything about his condition is so bad. Not if it brought her back, even for a moment, even if different. Because to him, for that moment, she was alive. He takes a deep breath that turns into a yawn, and notices his head isn't hurting so much as usual. "I miss you so damn much," he says. His voice echoes around the coffin as if someone else were saying the words to him.	Alex Bones Reports - Star Carpenter Making Wooden Stakes Alex: "So many people support giving this guy immortality. 'He makes our safest coffins', they say. I keep telling you to learn the whole truth, not just part of it." (Alex holds up a wooden stake.) "Have you lost a loved one to one of these? They're made of wood. Who makes things out of wood? A carpenter! With me is Count Fred - he has some interesting video to show." Fred: "Thanks Alex. While my associate kept the carpenter busy, I took our hidden camera through this innocuous door in the show room." (Video close up of blue door.) "Through it, a horror story." (Video shows large show room with racks and racks of wooden stakes in all shapes and sizes.) "Our carpenter friend, the hero of all vampire kind, is double dipping. What's more, he's been putting the finger on us. How do you think Van Helsing and his rotten spawn have always found us in our most secret crypts? 'Buy a coffin today, get it delivered today. No BACK BACK BACK BACK orders! We'll cart off your old coffin free!!!???' Delivery indeed - he leaks our crypt addresses to all takers. Watch this, Alex." Video shows a man in a restaurant - the carpenter. He's talking. "I deliver to these addresses, and then I have an address list. People pay good money to get that list." Fred: "I rest my case, Alex." Alex: "Our best friend? Our savior? HA!"
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	"Now, I must admit. I have been a bit suspicious about you lately." Dimitri Petrova gulped. He straightened the non-existent wrinkles from his collar, trying not to squirm from the searching gaze of the other man. Around them, the fluorescent lights of the shop made everything too visible in the night. Dimitri kind of wanted to hide like a little kid. Which didn't make a lot of sense since he was technically older than the other man, even if he didn't look it. "Really?" Old Man Xiao nodded. "It's hard to miss when one of your constant costumers never ages." Dimitri winced. Yeah, that does make sense. Though, in his defense, Dimitri never found any reason to hide when it came to Old Man Xiao. He always felt at ease with the man. If he didn't call the police on the first time they met, Dimitri was sure that Xiao would never reveal them. The first time he met him, the guy owned a rundown store that was about to close. Dimitri was in serious need for a batch order of coffins since the attack by the rival clan lead to most of their safe housing burned to the ground. Xiao was desperate for money that he didn't really question why he needed to make hundreds of coffins when there wasn't news of a massacre. Thus started their beautiful friendship. Dimitri as the official liaison to Xiao, and Xiao as their sole supplier of coffins. And even after all these years, the man never questioned it. Even if he technically didn't know they were vampires. Well, until now it seemed. "I'm assuming there's a reason you're admitting this now?" Xiao said. Dimitri nodded. "Yeah, we were hoping to offer you immortality." Xiao didn't expect this, based on how wide his eyes got. "Turn me into. a vampmire?" Dimitri nodded, now more excited. "Yeah! You're a trusted person and the clan really likes you. They're some of your other customers." The clan had long decided to show their thanks to Xiao by buying stuff from him constantly. Loyalty to the man who saved them during tough times and all. There was the added benefit that they genuinely liked Xiao since he was a nice and gentle person who had a lot of stories to share, even if most of the people he was telling them to was older than him by 100 years minimum. Xiao still looked surprised so Dimitri kept explaining. "Becoming a vampire also means you become young again. You get the whole 'no sunlight thing' but trust me that you get used to it. You can still eat human food, you'll just have to add blood to your diet. And, you get to travel the world with us, or even on your own if you want!" Dimitri held out his hand for a shake, a wide smile on his face that showed his fangs. "What do you say, old man?" Xiao said nothing, just looked at him wide-eyed, before he let out a soft chuckle. "Why, I thank you for that offer. I'm really flattered. But I can't accept that." Dimitri blinked. That was... That was not the reaction he was expecting. "Now you look a bit confused here son, so let me explain." Xiao hobbled to a nearby chair, Dimitri automatically moving to help him. The old man thanked him before settling himself comfortably. Dimitri dragged a nearby stool closer and took his own seat. "You gave me a mighty good offer there," Xiao admitted. "And if I were a younger man, I could have accepted it. Seeing the world was my dream, and learning all about the new technologies and the internets was something I really wanted to experience." Xiao coughed harshly. Dimitri flinched at the sound. He could already smell the scent of approaching death from Xiao, and it made him agitated. The temptation to give him his blood to fight off that rot was strong but he needed to know why Xiao refused. "Hell, maybe 15 years ago I would have said yes. Before you and your family of vamps came, I would have gladly joined." "What changed?" Xiao gave him a smile, serene and wise. "I've lived a very good life already. A very good life. It had it's ups and downs. The loss of my husband and children was the worst. Then me almost losing the shop and everything we built together. I was alone in this town. My family had long since passed. I thought things would only get worse." He placed a gnarled hand on Dimitri's shoulder, warm on his immortal skin. "Then I met a silly man asking for hundreds of coffins. And then more customers came in with their weird orders of statues and coffins and toys. Costumers who smiled and talked to me and always gave me warm food at the nights I couldn't cook. A conversation when it felt a little too lonely. And then I made friends from these costumers who never seemed to grow old, but always seemed excited to meet me." Dimitri couldn't help the laugh. It wasn't a secret that the clan pretty much adopted the carpenter. But to find out how important their tiny gestures were to the man? Dimitri tried to rub the dust out of his eye, though he was sure that Xiao kept the place clean. Xiao then leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes. "I don't need to live longer anymore. I'm already happy." The smell of death was getting stronger now, and Dimtri let a tear fall. "I'm guessing I can't convince you at this point? Even if it means avoiding your close death?" Xiao just laughed loudly. "Boy, I already knew that. I'm just glad to have a friend with me when it happen." The laugh Dimitri let out was wet with tears. They spent the rest of the night talking and talking, the hours fading into nothing as they did so. When the smell of death became stronger and Xiao's voice became weaker, Dimitri kept telling him of the stories of his clan. When Dimitri couldn't hear Xiao breathe anymore, he looked at the man through misty eyes. Xiao had a smile on his face. That was enough for Dimitri.	Gerry looked aghast. “Me? Immortal?” Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.” Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.” Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.” “Powers?” Gerry asked. “Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from any injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall fly.” Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!” Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.” “But why offer me this?” Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...comfortable, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.” Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?” “Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “Everyone is damned, according to the New Testament! Everyone? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?” Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?” “Very well, but don’t take too long.” ***** “911, what’s your emergency?” “Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!” “We’ll send an officer over immediately.”
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	# Soulmage I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month. I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be. And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage. A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done. So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start. I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house. I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in. "How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!" "Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?" "Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in." In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this. But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause. Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing. Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin. Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it." Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood." The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know." "Hm?" Jiaola asked. "Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace." Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked. "I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us." And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter. I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought. Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look. Then he smiled and said, "No thanks." The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?" "I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us." The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—" "I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." The vampire closed his eyes. Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat. "Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you." Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me." The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm. Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house. I wished I could have left it at that. I really did. But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered. I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance. As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street. Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips. "What are you—" "I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you." The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?" "Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever." "Then ask, insolent journeyman." I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one back?" A.N. Let me know if you want a part 2! Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.	Gerry looked aghast. “Me? Immortal?” Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.” Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.” Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.” “Powers?” Gerry asked. “Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from any injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall fly.” Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!” Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.” “But why offer me this?” Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...comfortable, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.” Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?” “Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “Everyone is damned, according to the New Testament! Everyone? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?” Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?” “Very well, but don’t take too long.” ***** “911, what’s your emergency?” “Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!” “We’ll send an officer over immediately.”
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	The bell jingled, and the glass front door creaked open. It was the middle of the day in the middle of summer, the type of afternoon where nobody would suspect anything amiss if a coffin shop’s owner were gone for lunch. However, the owner of this coffin shop packed his lunch every day. He also didn’t believe in air-conditioning-the windows needed to be open so that the vapors from the lacquer didn’t accumulate and make him and his apprentice light-headed. Harold had a strong suspicion that he’d inhaled enough chemicals to become a medical oddity. “Should offer myself up for science,” he muttered to himself. “What was that?” his apprentice, Darryl, said. He was a bit slow on the uptake, but, most importantly, he was dependable. He had recently graduated high school and was going to marry his high school sweetheart, looking to start a family - that kind of dependable. “Nothing, nothing. See who’s at the door,” Harold said, back to his gruff demeanor. “It’s me,” a resonant voice replied, cutting through the lazy summer air with a crackle. Harold and Darryl met eyes, Darryl’s wide and Harold’s incisive. “In the back,” Harold grumbled. A giant appeared in the doorway, blocking off some of the sunlight that trickled in from the yellowed front windows despite the years of grime clouding them. “What do you want?” Harold said, returning to the coffin he was preparing for Vlad’s company. He felt the typical annoyance when he thought about how Vlad called the group he represented a “society,” like they were better than everyone else. “Just seeing how my order is coming along,” Vlad said, walking into the room and running a hand along the coffin’s edge. He patted the wood lovingly and nodded. “That’s why you’re the best,” he said. “Is that all you came for? To ask how the coffin’s coming along? I’ve been making these for you for decades, always the same quality. THAT I can guarantee.” “No, that’s not all I’ve come for,” Vlad said. He looked at Darryl. “Could you give us a minute?” Darryl looked at Harold; the older man nodded his assent. “He’s a good kid,” Harold said to Vlad when they were alone, watching his customer’s eyes. Vlad ignored the comment and cleared his throat. “It’s come to the society’s attention that you’re getting up there in years,” Ivan said. “The society,” Harold scoffed. Vlad continued, despite the interruption. “I’ve come today because we’d like to offer you an opportunity.” Harold put his paintbrush down on the lacquer lid and gave Vlad his full attention. “Haven’t you ever wondered how I’ve been coming into your shop for decades now and haven’t gotten any older?” “I figure you moisturize and stay out of the sun.” “Well, I do stay out of the sun.” Vlad leans back and looks out the front windows. “I left my parasol by the door.” After a moment’s pause, Vlad looks at Harold with a serious glint in his eye and a flexed jaw. “I’m a vampire. Everyone that’s come from me has been a vampire. Hadn’t you been suspicious of the accents? This backwater town’s not exactly known for its immigrant population.” “Never really thought about it,” Harold said, picking up his brush. Nobody else ever brushed off Vlad so quickly, and it took him a moment to collect himself. “I’d like to extend an offer to you,” he said when he had recovered. He paused for effect. “Immortality.” “Not interested,” Harold replied. “Got any other orders, though? I’ll take those.” “Let me elaborate: you make the best coffins in which any of us have ever slept. I’ve ensured you had steady work for all these years, and I was hoping you could ensure our sleeping situation for the coming centuries.” “Oh, I knew what you were getting at… and I still say no.” Vlad shook his head, clearing his surprise. “People usually take some time thinking about it…” Harold set down his brush again, this time clearly annoyed. “I’d be immortal, never dying, right?” he said. “Right,” Vlad said, getting excited. “In this body forever?” “Exactly!” “That’s why I pass. Maybe if I was younger. Now? I want to enjoy my remaining days.” “But you can have an infinite supply to enjoy!” “Bah,” Harold said, swatting at the air with his hand. “Waste it on a young man, like Darryl.” Then, after thinking for a moment, Harold continued. “Wait. Why not use it on Darryl? I’ll teach him how to make the coffins, and you can keep him around.” “I’d have to meet him first, get to know him. The society doesn’t want just anyone immortal.” “I’ll tell you what. Let me focus on teaching him to make the best coffins, and you can take the next few decades to decide if you want him. Me? I’m ready to be done. I’ve had a good life.” Harold picked up his brush once more. “Are you sure?” Vlad asked, unconvinced. “Do I sound unsure? Now let me finish this coffin for Esmeralda; I told her I would have it done by the end of the week.” “She’s my sister-in-law,” Vlad remarked. “Great. You can let her know it will be ready.”	Gerry looked aghast. “Me? Immortal?” Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.” Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.” Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.” “Powers?” Gerry asked. “Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from any injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall fly.” Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!” Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.” “But why offer me this?” Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...comfortable, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.” Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?” “Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “Everyone is damned, according to the New Testament! Everyone? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?” Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?” “Very well, but don’t take too long.” ***** “911, what’s your emergency?” “Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!” “We’ll send an officer over immediately.”
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	Derthezar, Lord of the Fifth Transylvanian Order, was besieged with crippling back pain for decades. He tossed and turned through restless nights, cursing the shoddy craftsmanship of so many lazy mortals. Relief only came one summer evening in 1967, when Revelan the Impaler brought him a surprise birthday gift. "My lord," Revelan said, bowing with a flourish of his cape. "May this coffin grant you the peace that you so mightily deserve." Derthezar stepped into the coffin, skeptically yet gingerly, and laid down. The dimensions were perfect. As Revelan closed the lid, there was not a single detectable ray of light bleed. In moments, he was fast asleep. The next evening, Derthezar demanded that the carpenter be handsomely rewarded with the finest Transylvanian silver. Revelan commissioned custom coffins for the entire Fifth Order. All was well. The distant partnership subsisted through the twentieth century and into the new millennium. The Fifth Order, well-rested and free from pain, was the most furiously productive vampire legion in Transylvania. That is, until 2018, on the sixteenth morning of May, when Revelan flew into the lord's chambers with some troubling news. "Bob Donovan, Master Woodworker, of the Metropolis of Alderson, West Virginia, has fallen ill, my lord." Derthezar snorted. "Ill? How can this be? It's only been -" "He is only human, sir," Revelan said. Derthezar sighed. "Indeed. Allow me to offer a proposal." He produced a quill and scroll from behind his throne and began to jot down a message. "Prepare the squire for immediate westward flight." It took several weeks for a response to appear. Bob respectfully submitted all correspondence via pen and ink, thinking it a mere quirk of his wealthy customers. "Dear Derthezar, I deeply appreciate your business and support over the past fifty years. It is true that my hands no longer work as they used to, and my time is drawing to a close. Your kind offer of immortal life is well regarded, but I must decline at this time. It has been an honor to provide you and your family with their final resting places, and I can only hope I have done them justice. Yours sincerely, Bob Donovan Derthezar crushed the paper in his fist. "Rejecting eternal life?! I've never been so outraged -" Revelan interjected, as usual. "My lord, may I kindly suggest that you channel this anger into mindful breathing as we discussed?" Derthezar took several deep breaths. "Indeed. Right you are. Bob Donovan of Alderson, West Virginia has made his choice, as misguided as it may be. Perhaps we can offer an alternate token of our appreciation." *** Three weeks later, Bob Donovan awoke to the sound of his doorbell ringing. He slowly stumbled to the front door, shaking and coughing. "Delivery for Mr. Donovan," the FedEx driver announced. "Gonna need a signature from you, sir." "All right," Bob said, scribbling his name. Two deliverymen emerged from the back of the truck, staggering under the weight and shape of a large, awkward crate. They took it directly to Bob's open garage - his workshop. "What...what is it?" Bob stammered. "Anybody's guess, pal." It took Bob a full half-hour to undo the nails on the crate, his hands shaking all the while. He smelled fresh wood - and not just the wood of the crate. Inside was the most crude, hastily built coffin he had ever seen. Nails stuck out of the wrong places and the edges appeared to have been hacked off with an axe. Bob let out the loudest, longest laugh he had in months. He glanced at the corner and saw a message burned into the side: From Your Friends in the Fifth Transylvanian Order *** When Bob passed away five weeks later, he was buried in the coffin by special request. The squire delivered the news to Transylvania and the King of the Vampires bowed his head, solemn and silent. "Farewell, Bob Donovan," Derthezar thought. "May you sleep as peacefully in the afterlife as we do each day."	Gerry looked aghast. “Me? Immortal?” Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.” Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.” Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.” “Powers?” Gerry asked. “Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from any injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall fly.” Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!” Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.” “But why offer me this?” Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...comfortable, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.” Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?” “Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “Everyone is damned, according to the New Testament! Everyone? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?” Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?” “Very well, but don’t take too long.” ***** “911, what’s your emergency?” “Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!” “We’ll send an officer over immediately.”
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	"Hypothetically," Lucius Sanginius Romero de LeVille Finlay Tepesh started, "if you could, say, live forever, would you accept such a gift?" The carpenter rubbed his scruffy chin and emptied his pipe. "Forever, huh? Sounds like a long time. I mean, wouldn't you get bored?" "Oh, of course not," the vampire started with barely contained enthusiasm. "There is so much to do that you could live several lifetimes and still find new and amazing things to do. I mean I can tell you that at least 347 years and I am- I mean, you'd still be amazed by things," he chuckled as he quickly corrected himself. "Oddly specific, but sure," the carpenter said as he squinted his eyes. He packed the pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it, taking a long drag. "Mr. Tepesh, you and your friends have been excellent customers and I appreciate such peculiar conversations but..." He looked at the vampire's remarkably young visage; his gentle, expectant smile almost showed his pointed teeth. "I can't imagine it would work for me. Hypothetically, of course," he concluded with a smile. The vampire sighed and nodded. "Of course, Mr. Fitch. Perhaps we can discuss this another time then. I believe my servants should be done loading my order now; as always, thank you for your excellent service. I bid you a good evening," he said and with a tip of his somewhat old-fashioned top hat, he left the shop as quietly as he arrived. The carpenter continued to smoke his pipe as he listened to the carriage get into motion and disappear into the night. He went to the window and checked the foggy street and, satisfied that no one skulked around, locked the door and went to the back; his workshop. The place was charming and calm, filled with well-used tools and bits of wood. He lovingly ran his fingers across the newest shipment of birch; an excellent, softer wood he looked forward to using. Perhaps next time. He smiled as he thought about the vampire's offer. It was kind of him, truly, but not an option. Not for a long time now. He didn't have the courage to explain it to him - prejudice and all. Checking his calendar, he noted the date; full moon will be tomorrow. Should provide him with the speed to get to the next continent easily. It really was a shame to abandon this cycle, but it was clear that staying any longer would be suspicious. He took his pipe and dumped the burning tobacco onto a pile of sawdust. Barely any time passed before the fire was spreading to the dry wood and flammable polish in the store. A good cover story. He took a small bag prepared for this occasion and slipped into the damp night, the moon barely piercing the fog, diminishing his usual urge to howl. Perhaps this time he could live the life of an apothecary. Been a while since he'd been one.	Gerry looked aghast. “Me? Immortal?” Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.” Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.” Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.” “Powers?” Gerry asked. “Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from any injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall fly.” Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!” Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.” “But why offer me this?” Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...comfortable, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.” Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?” “Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “Everyone is damned, according to the New Testament! Everyone? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?” Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?” “Very well, but don’t take too long.” ***** “911, what’s your emergency?” “Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!” “We’ll send an officer over immediately.”
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	Vezemir stepped out of the carriage. The sun was not fully set, but the sky was overcast enough that he only felt a slight itch as he strode quickly across the street. Glendale Graves was quiet today, but then it usually was. It would be a strange sight to see a coffin-maker busy. As he approached, Vezemir saw Druig standing at the door, locking up. Vezemir raised a hand to catch his eye. The old man grinned at him, flipping the "Closed" sign on the door back around to "Open." A small bell dinged as Vezemir pushed to door open. Druig clapped him on the back and ushered him inside. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. What do you need?" Vezemir smiled at the old man. "This is more of a social call, old friend," he said. "I understand you're retiring soon." Druig's smile fell a few inches as he stepped behind the counter. "Aye, my hands aren't what they used to be." He glanced down at his hands and sighed. "Can barely hold a hammer properly some days." Then he glanced up at Vezemir again. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're here for." Vezemir raised an eyebrow. "I just want to pay my respects to a great craftsman. My family loves your work, you've done such a great job in the past to... honor our dearly departed." Druig snorted. "Vez, I know what you are. You only ever show up at night, you almost always overpay, and I'll be honest, some of your family are pretty terrible at hiding it. A few months ago, Morana insisted on 'testing the casket out.'" He shook his head. "She fell asleep in it for almost two hours." "W-Well, I'll admit we may be a touch eccentric, but-" Vezemir's stammering was cut off by Druig pointing behind him. Vezemir glanced over his shoulder at the huge window in the front of the shop. The darkness outside caused the glass to reflect the interior. He could see Druig staring smugly back at him, with no sign of himself. "You're here to offer me immortality." Druig spoke softly. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. Slowly, Vezemir nodded. "Only if you wish for it." Druig smiled sadly. "Vezemir, I'm tired. I've been doing this for almost fifty years. I've made coffins for the elderly, for soldiers, for children..." he paused, his smile slipping from his face. "For my wife." Vezemir placed one hand gently on top of Druig's. "You don't have to be, though," he said. "The blood doesn't just prolong your life. It will revitalize you, make you feel like a young man again." He barrelled on, diving into his sales pitch. "You could join our family. We would make sure you never wanted for anything ever again. You could live in luxury for eternity." Druig frowned, pulling his hand free. "All I want is to rest, and to see Isolde again." he turned away. "You can't give me that." The silence stretched between the two men, until Vezemir spoke. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I... It's been a long time since I was human. I forget, sometimes, what it's like to be mortal. If there is anything at all that we can do for you, don't hesitate to ask." Druig glanced back at him. "Thanks, Vez. There is one thing that would be nice." &#x200B; One year later The priest had never seen a funeral like this. It was strange enough that the coffin-maker had asked for it to be held at night. But he hadn't expected this kind of turnout. Of course, there was his family. A son and daughter, both with their own children, as well as a few friends. What confused the priest were the others. A veritable army of men and women had filed into the chapel, all dressed in ornate attire, each one offering their heartfelt condolences to the family. Something about these people unnerved the priest. They felt... wrong somehow. As if they shouldn't be there. For a moment, he considered telling them to leave, but then he saw the family. Generally, coffin-makers weren't the most social people. Dealing in death so much, it was hard for them to make friends in work. Yet as more and more of these strange people filed into the chapel, and approached the coffin-maker's children, the priest saw something come over them. Their faces changed from the expected look of a pair of grieving children to something akin to pride. After all, for so many important looking people to value their father so highly, he must have been a great man indeed. Well, I suppose it does make sense, the priest thought. After all, a man whose life's work was honoring the dearly departed deserves to be honored in kind.	Gerry looked aghast. “Me? Immortal?” Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.” Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.” Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.” “Powers?” Gerry asked. “Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from any injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall fly.” Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!” Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.” “But why offer me this?” Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...comfortable, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.” Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?” “Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “Everyone is damned, according to the New Testament! Everyone? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?” Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?” “Very well, but don’t take too long.” ***** “911, what’s your emergency?” “Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!” “We’ll send an officer over immediately.”
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	The coffin Alastair steps into is made of bamboo. It's biodegradable -- just like him. This is his shop and it's packed with all kinds of coffins. He's been making them all his life but it's only the last decade people wanted bamboo or banana leaf or cardboard coffins. Cardboard, he thinks disdainfully. He's never made a cardboard coffin in his life and god knows he never will. Fit for a hamster, maybe, but not for a person. And maybe not even a hamster. He lays back and closes the lid, letting the darkness drown him. Bamboo stinks, he decides. It's not for him. But the darkness is good. Alastair's suffered migraines the last year. Being in such total darkness helps a little. Every day, after work, he's been getting into his coffins, partly for the dark, partly to test drive them because he's got a lump in his brain the size of a pebble and it's swelling quick. Growing. It's a weed that's taking all the water and all the soil that the older plants needed to live, so now everything's wilting except that weed. He's not all that scared to die. He doesn't want to, but that's a different matter altogether. He's got young grandkids that he loves very much and he'd like to see what they turn into, what colour butterflies will burst out into the world. Plus, he doesn't want to die for more selfish reasons, too. He likes being alive for one, likes doing and learning and being. Simple as that. But scared he's not. He's not been scared for a long time. He lies back for a while as dots waltz through the darkness in a rainbow of colours. To him, those dots are the tumour. It presents itself like that, in interesting ways. Somedays, he'll wake to see he left the oven on all night, or he'd called someone and walked away from the phone, or he'd find himself in the neighbours garden for no reason at all. That's how he sees the tumour, from the physical events it manifests. It's how it communicates to him, lets him know it's there. There are three knocks then. Right on the bamboo lid. He must have left the shop door open, wouldn't be the first time. "We're closed," he says. "Yes I know, but I really must talk to you," comes the muffled reply. It's a woman's voice. Even muffled it's smooth, calming. He pushes the lid open and sits up in the coffin. The woman to his side is young. Most people are young to him. Still, she must be early thirties? She's got dark hair in a neat fringe, a pale face, bright lipstick. Something of an old-fashioned movie starlet quality to her. It takes him back. "What can I do for you?" he asks, trying to get out of the coffin. It's like getting out of the bath though and he slips twice. The woman offers a hand but he shakes his head and on the third try he gets over the edge. "It's more what I can do for you," she says, pulling up a generous smile. "You see, I represent a consortium of--" "Not interested." "--of clients of yours. Former and future, hopefully." He pauses. "Clients?" "Yes. Of many people who buy your goods because they cherish your craftsmanship." She gestures around the shop at the various propped open coffins. "We've been importing your products for many years, but this is the first time any of us have visited your shop in person. But this time, it had to be in person." He's always been strangely successful abroad. The catalogues sell his products better than the shop floor. It's admittedly unusual for his trade. "That so?" he says. "That's so." "And what do my former clients want from me?" "We know you're dying. We certainly don't want that." He stares at her. Then laughs. "Me neither, to tell the truth. But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm leaning hard on the second letter." She smiles wider now. He's not sure if it's his head or... But it looks as if two of her teeth are sinking down over her lip. Extending out like a pair of mechanical pencils. "You seen a dentist lately?" "I'll cut to the chase," she says. "We're vampires. And none of us have found better, more secure, more comfortable coffins than yours." What to make of it, he's not sure! Vampires? Couldn't be. Could it be? Ever the professional he says, "I'm glad to hear you've been enjoying my products." "We'd like to continue using them, if it's all the same. As such, I would like to offer you the chance to become like us, to become a vampire. To be immortal. If you agree I will bite you myself, and that little tumour in your head will shrink down to nothing in a day." He blushes at that. At the thought of those red lips and long teeth sinking into his wrinkled old neck. "I hope that doesn't scare you," she says. He shakes his head. No, he doesn't scare anymore. Sure, he was scared as all hell when Sally got diagnosed with breast cancer. Now that scared him so bad that nothing since -- when placed in comparison -- has managed to frighten him a hair. His own death? No, that's not fear when compared to losing his reason. His love. His world. All of those other romantic cliches lying around. But there's strong truth in old cliches. "I appreciate the offer," he says, grabbing his head, holding the migraine, "but if it's all the same, I'm content with not being immortal." "Content?" she asks, mildly taken back. "It's been a decade since my wife died and the pain is not so much less than it was. While I'd sure like to keep on ticking in some senses, for some reasons, I don't want that pain anymore." He climbs into a walnut coffin, sits up in it and looks at the vampire. She sighs. "I see. Then, I'm sorry for wasting your time." "My pleasure," he says. She turns to leave, pauses by the door. "The walnut classic is my favourite." He nods. "I dare say it's mine too." Once she's gone, he lies back and closes the lid. Lets the stars dance in the darkness. He thinks about that strange lady. How did she get in, anyway? Door was locked wasn't it? And how did she get out for that matter. He doesn't remember her leaving yet he swears he just watched her go. God, she looked like a movie star. Beautiful with a capital b. A lot like his wife, he thinks. When she was young. Same lipstick shade, same hair. Only the teeth were different. And then he's wondering if he concocted the whole damn thing. He thinks he probably did. And if so, well then maybe not everything about his condition is so bad. Not if it brought her back, even for a moment, even if different. Because to him, for that moment, she was alive. He takes a deep breath that turns into a yawn, and notices his head isn't hurting so much as usual. "I miss you so damn much," he says. His voice echoes around the coffin as if someone else were saying the words to him.	Gerry looked aghast. “Me? Immortal?” Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.” Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.” Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.” “Powers?” Gerry asked. “Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from any injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall fly.” Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!” Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.” “But why offer me this?” Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...comfortable, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.” Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?” “Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “Everyone is damned, according to the New Testament! Everyone? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?” Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?” “Very well, but don’t take too long.” ***** “911, what’s your emergency?” “Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!” “We’ll send an officer over immediately.”
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	The bell jingled, and the glass front door creaked open. It was the middle of the day in the middle of summer, the type of afternoon where nobody would suspect anything amiss if a coffin shop’s owner were gone for lunch. However, the owner of this coffin shop packed his lunch every day. He also didn’t believe in air-conditioning-the windows needed to be open so that the vapors from the lacquer didn’t accumulate and make him and his apprentice light-headed. Harold had a strong suspicion that he’d inhaled enough chemicals to become a medical oddity. “Should offer myself up for science,” he muttered to himself. “What was that?” his apprentice, Darryl, said. He was a bit slow on the uptake, but, most importantly, he was dependable. He had recently graduated high school and was going to marry his high school sweetheart, looking to start a family - that kind of dependable. “Nothing, nothing. See who’s at the door,” Harold said, back to his gruff demeanor. “It’s me,” a resonant voice replied, cutting through the lazy summer air with a crackle. Harold and Darryl met eyes, Darryl’s wide and Harold’s incisive. “In the back,” Harold grumbled. A giant appeared in the doorway, blocking off some of the sunlight that trickled in from the yellowed front windows despite the years of grime clouding them. “What do you want?” Harold said, returning to the coffin he was preparing for Vlad’s company. He felt the typical annoyance when he thought about how Vlad called the group he represented a “society,” like they were better than everyone else. “Just seeing how my order is coming along,” Vlad said, walking into the room and running a hand along the coffin’s edge. He patted the wood lovingly and nodded. “That’s why you’re the best,” he said. “Is that all you came for? To ask how the coffin’s coming along? I’ve been making these for you for decades, always the same quality. THAT I can guarantee.” “No, that’s not all I’ve come for,” Vlad said. He looked at Darryl. “Could you give us a minute?” Darryl looked at Harold; the older man nodded his assent. “He’s a good kid,” Harold said to Vlad when they were alone, watching his customer’s eyes. Vlad ignored the comment and cleared his throat. “It’s come to the society’s attention that you’re getting up there in years,” Ivan said. “The society,” Harold scoffed. Vlad continued, despite the interruption. “I’ve come today because we’d like to offer you an opportunity.” Harold put his paintbrush down on the lacquer lid and gave Vlad his full attention. “Haven’t you ever wondered how I’ve been coming into your shop for decades now and haven’t gotten any older?” “I figure you moisturize and stay out of the sun.” “Well, I do stay out of the sun.” Vlad leans back and looks out the front windows. “I left my parasol by the door.” After a moment’s pause, Vlad looks at Harold with a serious glint in his eye and a flexed jaw. “I’m a vampire. Everyone that’s come from me has been a vampire. Hadn’t you been suspicious of the accents? This backwater town’s not exactly known for its immigrant population.” “Never really thought about it,” Harold said, picking up his brush. Nobody else ever brushed off Vlad so quickly, and it took him a moment to collect himself. “I’d like to extend an offer to you,” he said when he had recovered. He paused for effect. “Immortality.” “Not interested,” Harold replied. “Got any other orders, though? I’ll take those.” “Let me elaborate: you make the best coffins in which any of us have ever slept. I’ve ensured you had steady work for all these years, and I was hoping you could ensure our sleeping situation for the coming centuries.” “Oh, I knew what you were getting at… and I still say no.” Vlad shook his head, clearing his surprise. “People usually take some time thinking about it…” Harold set down his brush again, this time clearly annoyed. “I’d be immortal, never dying, right?” he said. “Right,” Vlad said, getting excited. “In this body forever?” “Exactly!” “That’s why I pass. Maybe if I was younger. Now? I want to enjoy my remaining days.” “But you can have an infinite supply to enjoy!” “Bah,” Harold said, swatting at the air with his hand. “Waste it on a young man, like Darryl.” Then, after thinking for a moment, Harold continued. “Wait. Why not use it on Darryl? I’ll teach him how to make the coffins, and you can keep him around.” “I’d have to meet him first, get to know him. The society doesn’t want just anyone immortal.” “I’ll tell you what. Let me focus on teaching him to make the best coffins, and you can take the next few decades to decide if you want him. Me? I’m ready to be done. I’ve had a good life.” Harold picked up his brush once more. “Are you sure?” Vlad asked, unconvinced. “Do I sound unsure? Now let me finish this coffin for Esmeralda; I told her I would have it done by the end of the week.” “She’s my sister-in-law,” Vlad remarked. “Great. You can let her know it will be ready.”	# Soulmage I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month. I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be. And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage. A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done. So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start. I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house. I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in. "How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!" "Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?" "Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in." In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this. But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause. Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing. Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin. Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it." Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood." The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know." "Hm?" Jiaola asked. "Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace." Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked. "I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us." And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter. I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought. Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look. Then he smiled and said, "No thanks." The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?" "I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us." The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—" "I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." The vampire closed his eyes. Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat. "Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you." Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me." The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm. Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house. I wished I could have left it at that. I really did. But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered. I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance. As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street. Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips. "What are you—" "I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you." The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?" "Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever." "Then ask, insolent journeyman." I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one back?" A.N. Let me know if you want a part 2! Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	Derthezar, Lord of the Fifth Transylvanian Order, was besieged with crippling back pain for decades. He tossed and turned through restless nights, cursing the shoddy craftsmanship of so many lazy mortals. Relief only came one summer evening in 1967, when Revelan the Impaler brought him a surprise birthday gift. "My lord," Revelan said, bowing with a flourish of his cape. "May this coffin grant you the peace that you so mightily deserve." Derthezar stepped into the coffin, skeptically yet gingerly, and laid down. The dimensions were perfect. As Revelan closed the lid, there was not a single detectable ray of light bleed. In moments, he was fast asleep. The next evening, Derthezar demanded that the carpenter be handsomely rewarded with the finest Transylvanian silver. Revelan commissioned custom coffins for the entire Fifth Order. All was well. The distant partnership subsisted through the twentieth century and into the new millennium. The Fifth Order, well-rested and free from pain, was the most furiously productive vampire legion in Transylvania. That is, until 2018, on the sixteenth morning of May, when Revelan flew into the lord's chambers with some troubling news. "Bob Donovan, Master Woodworker, of the Metropolis of Alderson, West Virginia, has fallen ill, my lord." Derthezar snorted. "Ill? How can this be? It's only been -" "He is only human, sir," Revelan said. Derthezar sighed. "Indeed. Allow me to offer a proposal." He produced a quill and scroll from behind his throne and began to jot down a message. "Prepare the squire for immediate westward flight." It took several weeks for a response to appear. Bob respectfully submitted all correspondence via pen and ink, thinking it a mere quirk of his wealthy customers. "Dear Derthezar, I deeply appreciate your business and support over the past fifty years. It is true that my hands no longer work as they used to, and my time is drawing to a close. Your kind offer of immortal life is well regarded, but I must decline at this time. It has been an honor to provide you and your family with their final resting places, and I can only hope I have done them justice. Yours sincerely, Bob Donovan Derthezar crushed the paper in his fist. "Rejecting eternal life?! I've never been so outraged -" Revelan interjected, as usual. "My lord, may I kindly suggest that you channel this anger into mindful breathing as we discussed?" Derthezar took several deep breaths. "Indeed. Right you are. Bob Donovan of Alderson, West Virginia has made his choice, as misguided as it may be. Perhaps we can offer an alternate token of our appreciation." *** Three weeks later, Bob Donovan awoke to the sound of his doorbell ringing. He slowly stumbled to the front door, shaking and coughing. "Delivery for Mr. Donovan," the FedEx driver announced. "Gonna need a signature from you, sir." "All right," Bob said, scribbling his name. Two deliverymen emerged from the back of the truck, staggering under the weight and shape of a large, awkward crate. They took it directly to Bob's open garage - his workshop. "What...what is it?" Bob stammered. "Anybody's guess, pal." It took Bob a full half-hour to undo the nails on the crate, his hands shaking all the while. He smelled fresh wood - and not just the wood of the crate. Inside was the most crude, hastily built coffin he had ever seen. Nails stuck out of the wrong places and the edges appeared to have been hacked off with an axe. Bob let out the loudest, longest laugh he had in months. He glanced at the corner and saw a message burned into the side: From Your Friends in the Fifth Transylvanian Order *** When Bob passed away five weeks later, he was buried in the coffin by special request. The squire delivered the news to Transylvania and the King of the Vampires bowed his head, solemn and silent. "Farewell, Bob Donovan," Derthezar thought. "May you sleep as peacefully in the afterlife as we do each day."	# Soulmage I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month. I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be. And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage. A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done. So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start. I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house. I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in. "How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!" "Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?" "Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in." In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this. But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause. Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing. Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin. Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it." Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood." The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know." "Hm?" Jiaola asked. "Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace." Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked. "I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us." And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter. I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought. Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look. Then he smiled and said, "No thanks." The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?" "I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us." The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—" "I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." The vampire closed his eyes. Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat. "Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you." Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me." The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm. Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house. I wished I could have left it at that. I really did. But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered. I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance. As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street. Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips. "What are you—" "I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you." The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?" "Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever." "Then ask, insolent journeyman." I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one back?" A.N. Let me know if you want a part 2! Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	"Hypothetically," Lucius Sanginius Romero de LeVille Finlay Tepesh started, "if you could, say, live forever, would you accept such a gift?" The carpenter rubbed his scruffy chin and emptied his pipe. "Forever, huh? Sounds like a long time. I mean, wouldn't you get bored?" "Oh, of course not," the vampire started with barely contained enthusiasm. "There is so much to do that you could live several lifetimes and still find new and amazing things to do. I mean I can tell you that at least 347 years and I am- I mean, you'd still be amazed by things," he chuckled as he quickly corrected himself. "Oddly specific, but sure," the carpenter said as he squinted his eyes. He packed the pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it, taking a long drag. "Mr. Tepesh, you and your friends have been excellent customers and I appreciate such peculiar conversations but..." He looked at the vampire's remarkably young visage; his gentle, expectant smile almost showed his pointed teeth. "I can't imagine it would work for me. Hypothetically, of course," he concluded with a smile. The vampire sighed and nodded. "Of course, Mr. Fitch. Perhaps we can discuss this another time then. I believe my servants should be done loading my order now; as always, thank you for your excellent service. I bid you a good evening," he said and with a tip of his somewhat old-fashioned top hat, he left the shop as quietly as he arrived. The carpenter continued to smoke his pipe as he listened to the carriage get into motion and disappear into the night. He went to the window and checked the foggy street and, satisfied that no one skulked around, locked the door and went to the back; his workshop. The place was charming and calm, filled with well-used tools and bits of wood. He lovingly ran his fingers across the newest shipment of birch; an excellent, softer wood he looked forward to using. Perhaps next time. He smiled as he thought about the vampire's offer. It was kind of him, truly, but not an option. Not for a long time now. He didn't have the courage to explain it to him - prejudice and all. Checking his calendar, he noted the date; full moon will be tomorrow. Should provide him with the speed to get to the next continent easily. It really was a shame to abandon this cycle, but it was clear that staying any longer would be suspicious. He took his pipe and dumped the burning tobacco onto a pile of sawdust. Barely any time passed before the fire was spreading to the dry wood and flammable polish in the store. A good cover story. He took a small bag prepared for this occasion and slipped into the damp night, the moon barely piercing the fog, diminishing his usual urge to howl. Perhaps this time he could live the life of an apothecary. Been a while since he'd been one.	# Soulmage I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month. I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be. And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage. A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done. So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start. I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house. I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in. "How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!" "Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?" "Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in." In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this. But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause. Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing. Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin. Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it." Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood." The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know." "Hm?" Jiaola asked. "Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace." Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked. "I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us." And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter. I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought. Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look. Then he smiled and said, "No thanks." The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?" "I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us." The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—" "I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." The vampire closed his eyes. Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat. "Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you." Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me." The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm. Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house. I wished I could have left it at that. I really did. But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered. I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance. As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street. Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips. "What are you—" "I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you." The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?" "Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever." "Then ask, insolent journeyman." I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one back?" A.N. Let me know if you want a part 2! Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	Vezemir stepped out of the carriage. The sun was not fully set, but the sky was overcast enough that he only felt a slight itch as he strode quickly across the street. Glendale Graves was quiet today, but then it usually was. It would be a strange sight to see a coffin-maker busy. As he approached, Vezemir saw Druig standing at the door, locking up. Vezemir raised a hand to catch his eye. The old man grinned at him, flipping the "Closed" sign on the door back around to "Open." A small bell dinged as Vezemir pushed to door open. Druig clapped him on the back and ushered him inside. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. What do you need?" Vezemir smiled at the old man. "This is more of a social call, old friend," he said. "I understand you're retiring soon." Druig's smile fell a few inches as he stepped behind the counter. "Aye, my hands aren't what they used to be." He glanced down at his hands and sighed. "Can barely hold a hammer properly some days." Then he glanced up at Vezemir again. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're here for." Vezemir raised an eyebrow. "I just want to pay my respects to a great craftsman. My family loves your work, you've done such a great job in the past to... honor our dearly departed." Druig snorted. "Vez, I know what you are. You only ever show up at night, you almost always overpay, and I'll be honest, some of your family are pretty terrible at hiding it. A few months ago, Morana insisted on 'testing the casket out.'" He shook his head. "She fell asleep in it for almost two hours." "W-Well, I'll admit we may be a touch eccentric, but-" Vezemir's stammering was cut off by Druig pointing behind him. Vezemir glanced over his shoulder at the huge window in the front of the shop. The darkness outside caused the glass to reflect the interior. He could see Druig staring smugly back at him, with no sign of himself. "You're here to offer me immortality." Druig spoke softly. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. Slowly, Vezemir nodded. "Only if you wish for it." Druig smiled sadly. "Vezemir, I'm tired. I've been doing this for almost fifty years. I've made coffins for the elderly, for soldiers, for children..." he paused, his smile slipping from his face. "For my wife." Vezemir placed one hand gently on top of Druig's. "You don't have to be, though," he said. "The blood doesn't just prolong your life. It will revitalize you, make you feel like a young man again." He barrelled on, diving into his sales pitch. "You could join our family. We would make sure you never wanted for anything ever again. You could live in luxury for eternity." Druig frowned, pulling his hand free. "All I want is to rest, and to see Isolde again." he turned away. "You can't give me that." The silence stretched between the two men, until Vezemir spoke. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I... It's been a long time since I was human. I forget, sometimes, what it's like to be mortal. If there is anything at all that we can do for you, don't hesitate to ask." Druig glanced back at him. "Thanks, Vez. There is one thing that would be nice." &#x200B; One year later The priest had never seen a funeral like this. It was strange enough that the coffin-maker had asked for it to be held at night. But he hadn't expected this kind of turnout. Of course, there was his family. A son and daughter, both with their own children, as well as a few friends. What confused the priest were the others. A veritable army of men and women had filed into the chapel, all dressed in ornate attire, each one offering their heartfelt condolences to the family. Something about these people unnerved the priest. They felt... wrong somehow. As if they shouldn't be there. For a moment, he considered telling them to leave, but then he saw the family. Generally, coffin-makers weren't the most social people. Dealing in death so much, it was hard for them to make friends in work. Yet as more and more of these strange people filed into the chapel, and approached the coffin-maker's children, the priest saw something come over them. Their faces changed from the expected look of a pair of grieving children to something akin to pride. After all, for so many important looking people to value their father so highly, he must have been a great man indeed. Well, I suppose it does make sense, the priest thought. After all, a man whose life's work was honoring the dearly departed deserves to be honored in kind.	# Soulmage I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month. I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be. And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage. A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done. So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start. I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house. I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in. "How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!" "Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?" "Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in." In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this. But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause. Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing. Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin. Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it." Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood." The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know." "Hm?" Jiaola asked. "Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace." Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked. "I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us." And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter. I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought. Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look. Then he smiled and said, "No thanks." The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?" "I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us." The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—" "I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." The vampire closed his eyes. Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat. "Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you." Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me." The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm. Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house. I wished I could have left it at that. I really did. But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered. I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance. As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street. Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips. "What are you—" "I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you." The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?" "Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever." "Then ask, insolent journeyman." I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one back?" A.N. Let me know if you want a part 2! Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	The coffin Alastair steps into is made of bamboo. It's biodegradable -- just like him. This is his shop and it's packed with all kinds of coffins. He's been making them all his life but it's only the last decade people wanted bamboo or banana leaf or cardboard coffins. Cardboard, he thinks disdainfully. He's never made a cardboard coffin in his life and god knows he never will. Fit for a hamster, maybe, but not for a person. And maybe not even a hamster. He lays back and closes the lid, letting the darkness drown him. Bamboo stinks, he decides. It's not for him. But the darkness is good. Alastair's suffered migraines the last year. Being in such total darkness helps a little. Every day, after work, he's been getting into his coffins, partly for the dark, partly to test drive them because he's got a lump in his brain the size of a pebble and it's swelling quick. Growing. It's a weed that's taking all the water and all the soil that the older plants needed to live, so now everything's wilting except that weed. He's not all that scared to die. He doesn't want to, but that's a different matter altogether. He's got young grandkids that he loves very much and he'd like to see what they turn into, what colour butterflies will burst out into the world. Plus, he doesn't want to die for more selfish reasons, too. He likes being alive for one, likes doing and learning and being. Simple as that. But scared he's not. He's not been scared for a long time. He lies back for a while as dots waltz through the darkness in a rainbow of colours. To him, those dots are the tumour. It presents itself like that, in interesting ways. Somedays, he'll wake to see he left the oven on all night, or he'd called someone and walked away from the phone, or he'd find himself in the neighbours garden for no reason at all. That's how he sees the tumour, from the physical events it manifests. It's how it communicates to him, lets him know it's there. There are three knocks then. Right on the bamboo lid. He must have left the shop door open, wouldn't be the first time. "We're closed," he says. "Yes I know, but I really must talk to you," comes the muffled reply. It's a woman's voice. Even muffled it's smooth, calming. He pushes the lid open and sits up in the coffin. The woman to his side is young. Most people are young to him. Still, she must be early thirties? She's got dark hair in a neat fringe, a pale face, bright lipstick. Something of an old-fashioned movie starlet quality to her. It takes him back. "What can I do for you?" he asks, trying to get out of the coffin. It's like getting out of the bath though and he slips twice. The woman offers a hand but he shakes his head and on the third try he gets over the edge. "It's more what I can do for you," she says, pulling up a generous smile. "You see, I represent a consortium of--" "Not interested." "--of clients of yours. Former and future, hopefully." He pauses. "Clients?" "Yes. Of many people who buy your goods because they cherish your craftsmanship." She gestures around the shop at the various propped open coffins. "We've been importing your products for many years, but this is the first time any of us have visited your shop in person. But this time, it had to be in person." He's always been strangely successful abroad. The catalogues sell his products better than the shop floor. It's admittedly unusual for his trade. "That so?" he says. "That's so." "And what do my former clients want from me?" "We know you're dying. We certainly don't want that." He stares at her. Then laughs. "Me neither, to tell the truth. But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm leaning hard on the second letter." She smiles wider now. He's not sure if it's his head or... But it looks as if two of her teeth are sinking down over her lip. Extending out like a pair of mechanical pencils. "You seen a dentist lately?" "I'll cut to the chase," she says. "We're vampires. And none of us have found better, more secure, more comfortable coffins than yours." What to make of it, he's not sure! Vampires? Couldn't be. Could it be? Ever the professional he says, "I'm glad to hear you've been enjoying my products." "We'd like to continue using them, if it's all the same. As such, I would like to offer you the chance to become like us, to become a vampire. To be immortal. If you agree I will bite you myself, and that little tumour in your head will shrink down to nothing in a day." He blushes at that. At the thought of those red lips and long teeth sinking into his wrinkled old neck. "I hope that doesn't scare you," she says. He shakes his head. No, he doesn't scare anymore. Sure, he was scared as all hell when Sally got diagnosed with breast cancer. Now that scared him so bad that nothing since -- when placed in comparison -- has managed to frighten him a hair. His own death? No, that's not fear when compared to losing his reason. His love. His world. All of those other romantic cliches lying around. But there's strong truth in old cliches. "I appreciate the offer," he says, grabbing his head, holding the migraine, "but if it's all the same, I'm content with not being immortal." "Content?" she asks, mildly taken back. "It's been a decade since my wife died and the pain is not so much less than it was. While I'd sure like to keep on ticking in some senses, for some reasons, I don't want that pain anymore." He climbs into a walnut coffin, sits up in it and looks at the vampire. She sighs. "I see. Then, I'm sorry for wasting your time." "My pleasure," he says. She turns to leave, pauses by the door. "The walnut classic is my favourite." He nods. "I dare say it's mine too." Once she's gone, he lies back and closes the lid. Lets the stars dance in the darkness. He thinks about that strange lady. How did she get in, anyway? Door was locked wasn't it? And how did she get out for that matter. He doesn't remember her leaving yet he swears he just watched her go. God, she looked like a movie star. Beautiful with a capital b. A lot like his wife, he thinks. When she was young. Same lipstick shade, same hair. Only the teeth were different. And then he's wondering if he concocted the whole damn thing. He thinks he probably did. And if so, well then maybe not everything about his condition is so bad. Not if it brought her back, even for a moment, even if different. Because to him, for that moment, she was alive. He takes a deep breath that turns into a yawn, and notices his head isn't hurting so much as usual. "I miss you so damn much," he says. His voice echoes around the coffin as if someone else were saying the words to him.	# Soulmage I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month. I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be. And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage. A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done. So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start. I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house. I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in. "How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!" "Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?" "Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in." In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this. But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause. Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing. Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin. Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it." Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood." The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know." "Hm?" Jiaola asked. "Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace." Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked. "I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us." And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter. I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought. Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look. Then he smiled and said, "No thanks." The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?" "I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us." The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—" "I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." The vampire closed his eyes. Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat. "Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you." Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me." The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm. Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house. I wished I could have left it at that. I really did. But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered. I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance. As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street. Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips. "What are you—" "I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you." The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?" "Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever." "Then ask, insolent journeyman." I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one back?" A.N. Let me know if you want a part 2! Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	Derthezar, Lord of the Fifth Transylvanian Order, was besieged with crippling back pain for decades. He tossed and turned through restless nights, cursing the shoddy craftsmanship of so many lazy mortals. Relief only came one summer evening in 1967, when Revelan the Impaler brought him a surprise birthday gift. "My lord," Revelan said, bowing with a flourish of his cape. "May this coffin grant you the peace that you so mightily deserve." Derthezar stepped into the coffin, skeptically yet gingerly, and laid down. The dimensions were perfect. As Revelan closed the lid, there was not a single detectable ray of light bleed. In moments, he was fast asleep. The next evening, Derthezar demanded that the carpenter be handsomely rewarded with the finest Transylvanian silver. Revelan commissioned custom coffins for the entire Fifth Order. All was well. The distant partnership subsisted through the twentieth century and into the new millennium. The Fifth Order, well-rested and free from pain, was the most furiously productive vampire legion in Transylvania. That is, until 2018, on the sixteenth morning of May, when Revelan flew into the lord's chambers with some troubling news. "Bob Donovan, Master Woodworker, of the Metropolis of Alderson, West Virginia, has fallen ill, my lord." Derthezar snorted. "Ill? How can this be? It's only been -" "He is only human, sir," Revelan said. Derthezar sighed. "Indeed. Allow me to offer a proposal." He produced a quill and scroll from behind his throne and began to jot down a message. "Prepare the squire for immediate westward flight." It took several weeks for a response to appear. Bob respectfully submitted all correspondence via pen and ink, thinking it a mere quirk of his wealthy customers. "Dear Derthezar, I deeply appreciate your business and support over the past fifty years. It is true that my hands no longer work as they used to, and my time is drawing to a close. Your kind offer of immortal life is well regarded, but I must decline at this time. It has been an honor to provide you and your family with their final resting places, and I can only hope I have done them justice. Yours sincerely, Bob Donovan Derthezar crushed the paper in his fist. "Rejecting eternal life?! I've never been so outraged -" Revelan interjected, as usual. "My lord, may I kindly suggest that you channel this anger into mindful breathing as we discussed?" Derthezar took several deep breaths. "Indeed. Right you are. Bob Donovan of Alderson, West Virginia has made his choice, as misguided as it may be. Perhaps we can offer an alternate token of our appreciation." *** Three weeks later, Bob Donovan awoke to the sound of his doorbell ringing. He slowly stumbled to the front door, shaking and coughing. "Delivery for Mr. Donovan," the FedEx driver announced. "Gonna need a signature from you, sir." "All right," Bob said, scribbling his name. Two deliverymen emerged from the back of the truck, staggering under the weight and shape of a large, awkward crate. They took it directly to Bob's open garage - his workshop. "What...what is it?" Bob stammered. "Anybody's guess, pal." It took Bob a full half-hour to undo the nails on the crate, his hands shaking all the while. He smelled fresh wood - and not just the wood of the crate. Inside was the most crude, hastily built coffin he had ever seen. Nails stuck out of the wrong places and the edges appeared to have been hacked off with an axe. Bob let out the loudest, longest laugh he had in months. He glanced at the corner and saw a message burned into the side: From Your Friends in the Fifth Transylvanian Order *** When Bob passed away five weeks later, he was buried in the coffin by special request. The squire delivered the news to Transylvania and the King of the Vampires bowed his head, solemn and silent. "Farewell, Bob Donovan," Derthezar thought. "May you sleep as peacefully in the afterlife as we do each day."	DING I look up from my catlogue as a customer enters my shop In front of me stands a woman who has never failed to take my breath away, 40 years of business and she's still just as gorgeous as the first tiem she came through those doors, I guess the rich really do age differently than the rest of us She's been a regular customer, runs a ritzy funeral home out on the...well im pretty sure its the north end of the city..though it might be the south. Funny how some details just never come up in conversation. But any time she shows up in person I know its going to be a good order, bought my last car in cash from a double wide that was commissioned "Hello Meredith, its been a while, and here i was thinking people were dying to get their hands on cough one of my beauties" I say with a wink "Your creations are an art that transcend death my good friend" Merry says as she Saunters to the counter "So what can I do for you this time? I just got a new catalog in and it has a memory cough foam liner that you might be interested in. Unless this is for a family of the customer and comfort cough isn't a top priority?" "That is quite the cough there, have you been to a doctor? And no, this is more a pleasure visit as you are right your customers have been fairly dead set on sticking with your works, this one is personal" says Merry as she leans in close enough for me to smell her perfume I take a subtle sniff or try to as COUgh the perfume triggers another couhing fit "Ah, Merry im sorry to say I have been and have equally sorry news, the doctors say its cough seasonal, but I hear them whispering in the back about a cough growth. I'm afraid they may be keeping something from me. I think the doctor is cough worried I won't finish their order if I have a limited window of time left. A shame really as a timeline would be nice to work with so I don't cough leave any works incomplete." I say with a dejected tone "Ah, my friend, don't be so glum, the doctor actually mentioned something to me.. and as we don't know anyone else who's crafts are as well built and knows how to.. work their wood so well" she says in a flirting manner and with a sly wink on the end "I've come with an offer of my own." She finishes as she begins to move around the counter to stand near me, a hungry look in her eyes "Merry, we have know eachother for a long time and we've had our fun but I'm dying and frankly I don't have the energy I used to, though the offer is greatly appreciated" I retort in as light hearted a tone as I can muster, here i am dying and merry wants to take a roll in the box like the good old days.. shit. Why am I saying no? What do I have to loose at this point? "Haha, can't blame a girl for trying" she says as she plays with my shirt collar "but thats not the offer I came to make. I just really like when your blood get pumping" she says as she moves closer and that hungry look in her eyes grows even more alluring "Whats the offer then?" I as as I try to keep some level of composure as Merry leans in close, her scent overwhelming my senses "We want you to join us, silly" she says running her fingers down the side of my face her tongue ever so slightly tracing along her top lip "we don't want to loose the best bed maker we've net in our many years, and frankly I've come to be quite fond of your humor around death, most humans are squeamish" she says with a chuckle and a finger trailing along my jaw to rest on the end of my chin as she lifts it us to make us look eye to eye "I can make you better than you have been for the last 30 years. I can give you back your prime and you can join us, we'll teach you what you don't know yet and all I need you to do is say" she leans in closer and whispers the final word "yes" as her lips kiss lightly on my neck Ah, well she definitely got my blood pumping, I could barely follow what she said as I tried not to cough, but say yes? Yeah I can do that. "Yes"
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	"Hypothetically," Lucius Sanginius Romero de LeVille Finlay Tepesh started, "if you could, say, live forever, would you accept such a gift?" The carpenter rubbed his scruffy chin and emptied his pipe. "Forever, huh? Sounds like a long time. I mean, wouldn't you get bored?" "Oh, of course not," the vampire started with barely contained enthusiasm. "There is so much to do that you could live several lifetimes and still find new and amazing things to do. I mean I can tell you that at least 347 years and I am- I mean, you'd still be amazed by things," he chuckled as he quickly corrected himself. "Oddly specific, but sure," the carpenter said as he squinted his eyes. He packed the pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it, taking a long drag. "Mr. Tepesh, you and your friends have been excellent customers and I appreciate such peculiar conversations but..." He looked at the vampire's remarkably young visage; his gentle, expectant smile almost showed his pointed teeth. "I can't imagine it would work for me. Hypothetically, of course," he concluded with a smile. The vampire sighed and nodded. "Of course, Mr. Fitch. Perhaps we can discuss this another time then. I believe my servants should be done loading my order now; as always, thank you for your excellent service. I bid you a good evening," he said and with a tip of his somewhat old-fashioned top hat, he left the shop as quietly as he arrived. The carpenter continued to smoke his pipe as he listened to the carriage get into motion and disappear into the night. He went to the window and checked the foggy street and, satisfied that no one skulked around, locked the door and went to the back; his workshop. The place was charming and calm, filled with well-used tools and bits of wood. He lovingly ran his fingers across the newest shipment of birch; an excellent, softer wood he looked forward to using. Perhaps next time. He smiled as he thought about the vampire's offer. It was kind of him, truly, but not an option. Not for a long time now. He didn't have the courage to explain it to him - prejudice and all. Checking his calendar, he noted the date; full moon will be tomorrow. Should provide him with the speed to get to the next continent easily. It really was a shame to abandon this cycle, but it was clear that staying any longer would be suspicious. He took his pipe and dumped the burning tobacco onto a pile of sawdust. Barely any time passed before the fire was spreading to the dry wood and flammable polish in the store. A good cover story. He took a small bag prepared for this occasion and slipped into the damp night, the moon barely piercing the fog, diminishing his usual urge to howl. Perhaps this time he could live the life of an apothecary. Been a while since he'd been one.	DING I look up from my catlogue as a customer enters my shop In front of me stands a woman who has never failed to take my breath away, 40 years of business and she's still just as gorgeous as the first tiem she came through those doors, I guess the rich really do age differently than the rest of us She's been a regular customer, runs a ritzy funeral home out on the...well im pretty sure its the north end of the city..though it might be the south. Funny how some details just never come up in conversation. But any time she shows up in person I know its going to be a good order, bought my last car in cash from a double wide that was commissioned "Hello Meredith, its been a while, and here i was thinking people were dying to get their hands on cough one of my beauties" I say with a wink "Your creations are an art that transcend death my good friend" Merry says as she Saunters to the counter "So what can I do for you this time? I just got a new catalog in and it has a memory cough foam liner that you might be interested in. Unless this is for a family of the customer and comfort cough isn't a top priority?" "That is quite the cough there, have you been to a doctor? And no, this is more a pleasure visit as you are right your customers have been fairly dead set on sticking with your works, this one is personal" says Merry as she leans in close enough for me to smell her perfume I take a subtle sniff or try to as COUgh the perfume triggers another couhing fit "Ah, Merry im sorry to say I have been and have equally sorry news, the doctors say its cough seasonal, but I hear them whispering in the back about a cough growth. I'm afraid they may be keeping something from me. I think the doctor is cough worried I won't finish their order if I have a limited window of time left. A shame really as a timeline would be nice to work with so I don't cough leave any works incomplete." I say with a dejected tone "Ah, my friend, don't be so glum, the doctor actually mentioned something to me.. and as we don't know anyone else who's crafts are as well built and knows how to.. work their wood so well" she says in a flirting manner and with a sly wink on the end "I've come with an offer of my own." She finishes as she begins to move around the counter to stand near me, a hungry look in her eyes "Merry, we have know eachother for a long time and we've had our fun but I'm dying and frankly I don't have the energy I used to, though the offer is greatly appreciated" I retort in as light hearted a tone as I can muster, here i am dying and merry wants to take a roll in the box like the good old days.. shit. Why am I saying no? What do I have to loose at this point? "Haha, can't blame a girl for trying" she says as she plays with my shirt collar "but thats not the offer I came to make. I just really like when your blood get pumping" she says as she moves closer and that hungry look in her eyes grows even more alluring "Whats the offer then?" I as as I try to keep some level of composure as Merry leans in close, her scent overwhelming my senses "We want you to join us, silly" she says running her fingers down the side of my face her tongue ever so slightly tracing along her top lip "we don't want to loose the best bed maker we've net in our many years, and frankly I've come to be quite fond of your humor around death, most humans are squeamish" she says with a chuckle and a finger trailing along my jaw to rest on the end of my chin as she lifts it us to make us look eye to eye "I can make you better than you have been for the last 30 years. I can give you back your prime and you can join us, we'll teach you what you don't know yet and all I need you to do is say" she leans in closer and whispers the final word "yes" as her lips kiss lightly on my neck Ah, well she definitely got my blood pumping, I could barely follow what she said as I tried not to cough, but say yes? Yeah I can do that. "Yes"
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	Vezemir stepped out of the carriage. The sun was not fully set, but the sky was overcast enough that he only felt a slight itch as he strode quickly across the street. Glendale Graves was quiet today, but then it usually was. It would be a strange sight to see a coffin-maker busy. As he approached, Vezemir saw Druig standing at the door, locking up. Vezemir raised a hand to catch his eye. The old man grinned at him, flipping the "Closed" sign on the door back around to "Open." A small bell dinged as Vezemir pushed to door open. Druig clapped him on the back and ushered him inside. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. What do you need?" Vezemir smiled at the old man. "This is more of a social call, old friend," he said. "I understand you're retiring soon." Druig's smile fell a few inches as he stepped behind the counter. "Aye, my hands aren't what they used to be." He glanced down at his hands and sighed. "Can barely hold a hammer properly some days." Then he glanced up at Vezemir again. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're here for." Vezemir raised an eyebrow. "I just want to pay my respects to a great craftsman. My family loves your work, you've done such a great job in the past to... honor our dearly departed." Druig snorted. "Vez, I know what you are. You only ever show up at night, you almost always overpay, and I'll be honest, some of your family are pretty terrible at hiding it. A few months ago, Morana insisted on 'testing the casket out.'" He shook his head. "She fell asleep in it for almost two hours." "W-Well, I'll admit we may be a touch eccentric, but-" Vezemir's stammering was cut off by Druig pointing behind him. Vezemir glanced over his shoulder at the huge window in the front of the shop. The darkness outside caused the glass to reflect the interior. He could see Druig staring smugly back at him, with no sign of himself. "You're here to offer me immortality." Druig spoke softly. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. Slowly, Vezemir nodded. "Only if you wish for it." Druig smiled sadly. "Vezemir, I'm tired. I've been doing this for almost fifty years. I've made coffins for the elderly, for soldiers, for children..." he paused, his smile slipping from his face. "For my wife." Vezemir placed one hand gently on top of Druig's. "You don't have to be, though," he said. "The blood doesn't just prolong your life. It will revitalize you, make you feel like a young man again." He barrelled on, diving into his sales pitch. "You could join our family. We would make sure you never wanted for anything ever again. You could live in luxury for eternity." Druig frowned, pulling his hand free. "All I want is to rest, and to see Isolde again." he turned away. "You can't give me that." The silence stretched between the two men, until Vezemir spoke. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I... It's been a long time since I was human. I forget, sometimes, what it's like to be mortal. If there is anything at all that we can do for you, don't hesitate to ask." Druig glanced back at him. "Thanks, Vez. There is one thing that would be nice." &#x200B; One year later The priest had never seen a funeral like this. It was strange enough that the coffin-maker had asked for it to be held at night. But he hadn't expected this kind of turnout. Of course, there was his family. A son and daughter, both with their own children, as well as a few friends. What confused the priest were the others. A veritable army of men and women had filed into the chapel, all dressed in ornate attire, each one offering their heartfelt condolences to the family. Something about these people unnerved the priest. They felt... wrong somehow. As if they shouldn't be there. For a moment, he considered telling them to leave, but then he saw the family. Generally, coffin-makers weren't the most social people. Dealing in death so much, it was hard for them to make friends in work. Yet as more and more of these strange people filed into the chapel, and approached the coffin-maker's children, the priest saw something come over them. Their faces changed from the expected look of a pair of grieving children to something akin to pride. After all, for so many important looking people to value their father so highly, he must have been a great man indeed. Well, I suppose it does make sense, the priest thought. After all, a man whose life's work was honoring the dearly departed deserves to be honored in kind.	DING I look up from my catlogue as a customer enters my shop In front of me stands a woman who has never failed to take my breath away, 40 years of business and she's still just as gorgeous as the first tiem she came through those doors, I guess the rich really do age differently than the rest of us She's been a regular customer, runs a ritzy funeral home out on the...well im pretty sure its the north end of the city..though it might be the south. Funny how some details just never come up in conversation. But any time she shows up in person I know its going to be a good order, bought my last car in cash from a double wide that was commissioned "Hello Meredith, its been a while, and here i was thinking people were dying to get their hands on cough one of my beauties" I say with a wink "Your creations are an art that transcend death my good friend" Merry says as she Saunters to the counter "So what can I do for you this time? I just got a new catalog in and it has a memory cough foam liner that you might be interested in. Unless this is for a family of the customer and comfort cough isn't a top priority?" "That is quite the cough there, have you been to a doctor? And no, this is more a pleasure visit as you are right your customers have been fairly dead set on sticking with your works, this one is personal" says Merry as she leans in close enough for me to smell her perfume I take a subtle sniff or try to as COUgh the perfume triggers another couhing fit "Ah, Merry im sorry to say I have been and have equally sorry news, the doctors say its cough seasonal, but I hear them whispering in the back about a cough growth. I'm afraid they may be keeping something from me. I think the doctor is cough worried I won't finish their order if I have a limited window of time left. A shame really as a timeline would be nice to work with so I don't cough leave any works incomplete." I say with a dejected tone "Ah, my friend, don't be so glum, the doctor actually mentioned something to me.. and as we don't know anyone else who's crafts are as well built and knows how to.. work their wood so well" she says in a flirting manner and with a sly wink on the end "I've come with an offer of my own." She finishes as she begins to move around the counter to stand near me, a hungry look in her eyes "Merry, we have know eachother for a long time and we've had our fun but I'm dying and frankly I don't have the energy I used to, though the offer is greatly appreciated" I retort in as light hearted a tone as I can muster, here i am dying and merry wants to take a roll in the box like the good old days.. shit. Why am I saying no? What do I have to loose at this point? "Haha, can't blame a girl for trying" she says as she plays with my shirt collar "but thats not the offer I came to make. I just really like when your blood get pumping" she says as she moves closer and that hungry look in her eyes grows even more alluring "Whats the offer then?" I as as I try to keep some level of composure as Merry leans in close, her scent overwhelming my senses "We want you to join us, silly" she says running her fingers down the side of my face her tongue ever so slightly tracing along her top lip "we don't want to loose the best bed maker we've net in our many years, and frankly I've come to be quite fond of your humor around death, most humans are squeamish" she says with a chuckle and a finger trailing along my jaw to rest on the end of my chin as she lifts it us to make us look eye to eye "I can make you better than you have been for the last 30 years. I can give you back your prime and you can join us, we'll teach you what you don't know yet and all I need you to do is say" she leans in closer and whispers the final word "yes" as her lips kiss lightly on my neck Ah, well she definitely got my blood pumping, I could barely follow what she said as I tried not to cough, but say yes? Yeah I can do that. "Yes"
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	The coffin Alastair steps into is made of bamboo. It's biodegradable -- just like him. This is his shop and it's packed with all kinds of coffins. He's been making them all his life but it's only the last decade people wanted bamboo or banana leaf or cardboard coffins. Cardboard, he thinks disdainfully. He's never made a cardboard coffin in his life and god knows he never will. Fit for a hamster, maybe, but not for a person. And maybe not even a hamster. He lays back and closes the lid, letting the darkness drown him. Bamboo stinks, he decides. It's not for him. But the darkness is good. Alastair's suffered migraines the last year. Being in such total darkness helps a little. Every day, after work, he's been getting into his coffins, partly for the dark, partly to test drive them because he's got a lump in his brain the size of a pebble and it's swelling quick. Growing. It's a weed that's taking all the water and all the soil that the older plants needed to live, so now everything's wilting except that weed. He's not all that scared to die. He doesn't want to, but that's a different matter altogether. He's got young grandkids that he loves very much and he'd like to see what they turn into, what colour butterflies will burst out into the world. Plus, he doesn't want to die for more selfish reasons, too. He likes being alive for one, likes doing and learning and being. Simple as that. But scared he's not. He's not been scared for a long time. He lies back for a while as dots waltz through the darkness in a rainbow of colours. To him, those dots are the tumour. It presents itself like that, in interesting ways. Somedays, he'll wake to see he left the oven on all night, or he'd called someone and walked away from the phone, or he'd find himself in the neighbours garden for no reason at all. That's how he sees the tumour, from the physical events it manifests. It's how it communicates to him, lets him know it's there. There are three knocks then. Right on the bamboo lid. He must have left the shop door open, wouldn't be the first time. "We're closed," he says. "Yes I know, but I really must talk to you," comes the muffled reply. It's a woman's voice. Even muffled it's smooth, calming. He pushes the lid open and sits up in the coffin. The woman to his side is young. Most people are young to him. Still, she must be early thirties? She's got dark hair in a neat fringe, a pale face, bright lipstick. Something of an old-fashioned movie starlet quality to her. It takes him back. "What can I do for you?" he asks, trying to get out of the coffin. It's like getting out of the bath though and he slips twice. The woman offers a hand but he shakes his head and on the third try he gets over the edge. "It's more what I can do for you," she says, pulling up a generous smile. "You see, I represent a consortium of--" "Not interested." "--of clients of yours. Former and future, hopefully." He pauses. "Clients?" "Yes. Of many people who buy your goods because they cherish your craftsmanship." She gestures around the shop at the various propped open coffins. "We've been importing your products for many years, but this is the first time any of us have visited your shop in person. But this time, it had to be in person." He's always been strangely successful abroad. The catalogues sell his products better than the shop floor. It's admittedly unusual for his trade. "That so?" he says. "That's so." "And what do my former clients want from me?" "We know you're dying. We certainly don't want that." He stares at her. Then laughs. "Me neither, to tell the truth. But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm leaning hard on the second letter." She smiles wider now. He's not sure if it's his head or... But it looks as if two of her teeth are sinking down over her lip. Extending out like a pair of mechanical pencils. "You seen a dentist lately?" "I'll cut to the chase," she says. "We're vampires. And none of us have found better, more secure, more comfortable coffins than yours." What to make of it, he's not sure! Vampires? Couldn't be. Could it be? Ever the professional he says, "I'm glad to hear you've been enjoying my products." "We'd like to continue using them, if it's all the same. As such, I would like to offer you the chance to become like us, to become a vampire. To be immortal. If you agree I will bite you myself, and that little tumour in your head will shrink down to nothing in a day." He blushes at that. At the thought of those red lips and long teeth sinking into his wrinkled old neck. "I hope that doesn't scare you," she says. He shakes his head. No, he doesn't scare anymore. Sure, he was scared as all hell when Sally got diagnosed with breast cancer. Now that scared him so bad that nothing since -- when placed in comparison -- has managed to frighten him a hair. His own death? No, that's not fear when compared to losing his reason. His love. His world. All of those other romantic cliches lying around. But there's strong truth in old cliches. "I appreciate the offer," he says, grabbing his head, holding the migraine, "but if it's all the same, I'm content with not being immortal." "Content?" she asks, mildly taken back. "It's been a decade since my wife died and the pain is not so much less than it was. While I'd sure like to keep on ticking in some senses, for some reasons, I don't want that pain anymore." He climbs into a walnut coffin, sits up in it and looks at the vampire. She sighs. "I see. Then, I'm sorry for wasting your time." "My pleasure," he says. She turns to leave, pauses by the door. "The walnut classic is my favourite." He nods. "I dare say it's mine too." Once she's gone, he lies back and closes the lid. Lets the stars dance in the darkness. He thinks about that strange lady. How did she get in, anyway? Door was locked wasn't it? And how did she get out for that matter. He doesn't remember her leaving yet he swears he just watched her go. God, she looked like a movie star. Beautiful with a capital b. A lot like his wife, he thinks. When she was young. Same lipstick shade, same hair. Only the teeth were different. And then he's wondering if he concocted the whole damn thing. He thinks he probably did. And if so, well then maybe not everything about his condition is so bad. Not if it brought her back, even for a moment, even if different. Because to him, for that moment, she was alive. He takes a deep breath that turns into a yawn, and notices his head isn't hurting so much as usual. "I miss you so damn much," he says. His voice echoes around the coffin as if someone else were saying the words to him.	DING I look up from my catlogue as a customer enters my shop In front of me stands a woman who has never failed to take my breath away, 40 years of business and she's still just as gorgeous as the first tiem she came through those doors, I guess the rich really do age differently than the rest of us She's been a regular customer, runs a ritzy funeral home out on the...well im pretty sure its the north end of the city..though it might be the south. Funny how some details just never come up in conversation. But any time she shows up in person I know its going to be a good order, bought my last car in cash from a double wide that was commissioned "Hello Meredith, its been a while, and here i was thinking people were dying to get their hands on cough one of my beauties" I say with a wink "Your creations are an art that transcend death my good friend" Merry says as she Saunters to the counter "So what can I do for you this time? I just got a new catalog in and it has a memory cough foam liner that you might be interested in. Unless this is for a family of the customer and comfort cough isn't a top priority?" "That is quite the cough there, have you been to a doctor? And no, this is more a pleasure visit as you are right your customers have been fairly dead set on sticking with your works, this one is personal" says Merry as she leans in close enough for me to smell her perfume I take a subtle sniff or try to as COUgh the perfume triggers another couhing fit "Ah, Merry im sorry to say I have been and have equally sorry news, the doctors say its cough seasonal, but I hear them whispering in the back about a cough growth. I'm afraid they may be keeping something from me. I think the doctor is cough worried I won't finish their order if I have a limited window of time left. A shame really as a timeline would be nice to work with so I don't cough leave any works incomplete." I say with a dejected tone "Ah, my friend, don't be so glum, the doctor actually mentioned something to me.. and as we don't know anyone else who's crafts are as well built and knows how to.. work their wood so well" she says in a flirting manner and with a sly wink on the end "I've come with an offer of my own." She finishes as she begins to move around the counter to stand near me, a hungry look in her eyes "Merry, we have know eachother for a long time and we've had our fun but I'm dying and frankly I don't have the energy I used to, though the offer is greatly appreciated" I retort in as light hearted a tone as I can muster, here i am dying and merry wants to take a roll in the box like the good old days.. shit. Why am I saying no? What do I have to loose at this point? "Haha, can't blame a girl for trying" she says as she plays with my shirt collar "but thats not the offer I came to make. I just really like when your blood get pumping" she says as she moves closer and that hungry look in her eyes grows even more alluring "Whats the offer then?" I as as I try to keep some level of composure as Merry leans in close, her scent overwhelming my senses "We want you to join us, silly" she says running her fingers down the side of my face her tongue ever so slightly tracing along her top lip "we don't want to loose the best bed maker we've net in our many years, and frankly I've come to be quite fond of your humor around death, most humans are squeamish" she says with a chuckle and a finger trailing along my jaw to rest on the end of my chin as she lifts it us to make us look eye to eye "I can make you better than you have been for the last 30 years. I can give you back your prime and you can join us, we'll teach you what you don't know yet and all I need you to do is say" she leans in closer and whispers the final word "yes" as her lips kiss lightly on my neck Ah, well she definitely got my blood pumping, I could barely follow what she said as I tried not to cough, but say yes? Yeah I can do that. "Yes"
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	Vezemir stepped out of the carriage. The sun was not fully set, but the sky was overcast enough that he only felt a slight itch as he strode quickly across the street. Glendale Graves was quiet today, but then it usually was. It would be a strange sight to see a coffin-maker busy. As he approached, Vezemir saw Druig standing at the door, locking up. Vezemir raised a hand to catch his eye. The old man grinned at him, flipping the "Closed" sign on the door back around to "Open." A small bell dinged as Vezemir pushed to door open. Druig clapped him on the back and ushered him inside. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. What do you need?" Vezemir smiled at the old man. "This is more of a social call, old friend," he said. "I understand you're retiring soon." Druig's smile fell a few inches as he stepped behind the counter. "Aye, my hands aren't what they used to be." He glanced down at his hands and sighed. "Can barely hold a hammer properly some days." Then he glanced up at Vezemir again. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're here for." Vezemir raised an eyebrow. "I just want to pay my respects to a great craftsman. My family loves your work, you've done such a great job in the past to... honor our dearly departed." Druig snorted. "Vez, I know what you are. You only ever show up at night, you almost always overpay, and I'll be honest, some of your family are pretty terrible at hiding it. A few months ago, Morana insisted on 'testing the casket out.'" He shook his head. "She fell asleep in it for almost two hours." "W-Well, I'll admit we may be a touch eccentric, but-" Vezemir's stammering was cut off by Druig pointing behind him. Vezemir glanced over his shoulder at the huge window in the front of the shop. The darkness outside caused the glass to reflect the interior. He could see Druig staring smugly back at him, with no sign of himself. "You're here to offer me immortality." Druig spoke softly. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. Slowly, Vezemir nodded. "Only if you wish for it." Druig smiled sadly. "Vezemir, I'm tired. I've been doing this for almost fifty years. I've made coffins for the elderly, for soldiers, for children..." he paused, his smile slipping from his face. "For my wife." Vezemir placed one hand gently on top of Druig's. "You don't have to be, though," he said. "The blood doesn't just prolong your life. It will revitalize you, make you feel like a young man again." He barrelled on, diving into his sales pitch. "You could join our family. We would make sure you never wanted for anything ever again. You could live in luxury for eternity." Druig frowned, pulling his hand free. "All I want is to rest, and to see Isolde again." he turned away. "You can't give me that." The silence stretched between the two men, until Vezemir spoke. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I... It's been a long time since I was human. I forget, sometimes, what it's like to be mortal. If there is anything at all that we can do for you, don't hesitate to ask." Druig glanced back at him. "Thanks, Vez. There is one thing that would be nice." &#x200B; One year later The priest had never seen a funeral like this. It was strange enough that the coffin-maker had asked for it to be held at night. But he hadn't expected this kind of turnout. Of course, there was his family. A son and daughter, both with their own children, as well as a few friends. What confused the priest were the others. A veritable army of men and women had filed into the chapel, all dressed in ornate attire, each one offering their heartfelt condolences to the family. Something about these people unnerved the priest. They felt... wrong somehow. As if they shouldn't be there. For a moment, he considered telling them to leave, but then he saw the family. Generally, coffin-makers weren't the most social people. Dealing in death so much, it was hard for them to make friends in work. Yet as more and more of these strange people filed into the chapel, and approached the coffin-maker's children, the priest saw something come over them. Their faces changed from the expected look of a pair of grieving children to something akin to pride. After all, for so many important looking people to value their father so highly, he must have been a great man indeed. Well, I suppose it does make sense, the priest thought. After all, a man whose life's work was honoring the dearly departed deserves to be honored in kind.	Derthezar, Lord of the Fifth Transylvanian Order, was besieged with crippling back pain for decades. He tossed and turned through restless nights, cursing the shoddy craftsmanship of so many lazy mortals. Relief only came one summer evening in 1967, when Revelan the Impaler brought him a surprise birthday gift. "My lord," Revelan said, bowing with a flourish of his cape. "May this coffin grant you the peace that you so mightily deserve." Derthezar stepped into the coffin, skeptically yet gingerly, and laid down. The dimensions were perfect. As Revelan closed the lid, there was not a single detectable ray of light bleed. In moments, he was fast asleep. The next evening, Derthezar demanded that the carpenter be handsomely rewarded with the finest Transylvanian silver. Revelan commissioned custom coffins for the entire Fifth Order. All was well. The distant partnership subsisted through the twentieth century and into the new millennium. The Fifth Order, well-rested and free from pain, was the most furiously productive vampire legion in Transylvania. That is, until 2018, on the sixteenth morning of May, when Revelan flew into the lord's chambers with some troubling news. "Bob Donovan, Master Woodworker, of the Metropolis of Alderson, West Virginia, has fallen ill, my lord." Derthezar snorted. "Ill? How can this be? It's only been -" "He is only human, sir," Revelan said. Derthezar sighed. "Indeed. Allow me to offer a proposal." He produced a quill and scroll from behind his throne and began to jot down a message. "Prepare the squire for immediate westward flight." It took several weeks for a response to appear. Bob respectfully submitted all correspondence via pen and ink, thinking it a mere quirk of his wealthy customers. "Dear Derthezar, I deeply appreciate your business and support over the past fifty years. It is true that my hands no longer work as they used to, and my time is drawing to a close. Your kind offer of immortal life is well regarded, but I must decline at this time. It has been an honor to provide you and your family with their final resting places, and I can only hope I have done them justice. Yours sincerely, Bob Donovan Derthezar crushed the paper in his fist. "Rejecting eternal life?! I've never been so outraged -" Revelan interjected, as usual. "My lord, may I kindly suggest that you channel this anger into mindful breathing as we discussed?" Derthezar took several deep breaths. "Indeed. Right you are. Bob Donovan of Alderson, West Virginia has made his choice, as misguided as it may be. Perhaps we can offer an alternate token of our appreciation." *** Three weeks later, Bob Donovan awoke to the sound of his doorbell ringing. He slowly stumbled to the front door, shaking and coughing. "Delivery for Mr. Donovan," the FedEx driver announced. "Gonna need a signature from you, sir." "All right," Bob said, scribbling his name. Two deliverymen emerged from the back of the truck, staggering under the weight and shape of a large, awkward crate. They took it directly to Bob's open garage - his workshop. "What...what is it?" Bob stammered. "Anybody's guess, pal." It took Bob a full half-hour to undo the nails on the crate, his hands shaking all the while. He smelled fresh wood - and not just the wood of the crate. Inside was the most crude, hastily built coffin he had ever seen. Nails stuck out of the wrong places and the edges appeared to have been hacked off with an axe. Bob let out the loudest, longest laugh he had in months. He glanced at the corner and saw a message burned into the side: From Your Friends in the Fifth Transylvanian Order *** When Bob passed away five weeks later, he was buried in the coffin by special request. The squire delivered the news to Transylvania and the King of the Vampires bowed his head, solemn and silent. "Farewell, Bob Donovan," Derthezar thought. "May you sleep as peacefully in the afterlife as we do each day."
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	The coffin Alastair steps into is made of bamboo. It's biodegradable -- just like him. This is his shop and it's packed with all kinds of coffins. He's been making them all his life but it's only the last decade people wanted bamboo or banana leaf or cardboard coffins. Cardboard, he thinks disdainfully. He's never made a cardboard coffin in his life and god knows he never will. Fit for a hamster, maybe, but not for a person. And maybe not even a hamster. He lays back and closes the lid, letting the darkness drown him. Bamboo stinks, he decides. It's not for him. But the darkness is good. Alastair's suffered migraines the last year. Being in such total darkness helps a little. Every day, after work, he's been getting into his coffins, partly for the dark, partly to test drive them because he's got a lump in his brain the size of a pebble and it's swelling quick. Growing. It's a weed that's taking all the water and all the soil that the older plants needed to live, so now everything's wilting except that weed. He's not all that scared to die. He doesn't want to, but that's a different matter altogether. He's got young grandkids that he loves very much and he'd like to see what they turn into, what colour butterflies will burst out into the world. Plus, he doesn't want to die for more selfish reasons, too. He likes being alive for one, likes doing and learning and being. Simple as that. But scared he's not. He's not been scared for a long time. He lies back for a while as dots waltz through the darkness in a rainbow of colours. To him, those dots are the tumour. It presents itself like that, in interesting ways. Somedays, he'll wake to see he left the oven on all night, or he'd called someone and walked away from the phone, or he'd find himself in the neighbours garden for no reason at all. That's how he sees the tumour, from the physical events it manifests. It's how it communicates to him, lets him know it's there. There are three knocks then. Right on the bamboo lid. He must have left the shop door open, wouldn't be the first time. "We're closed," he says. "Yes I know, but I really must talk to you," comes the muffled reply. It's a woman's voice. Even muffled it's smooth, calming. He pushes the lid open and sits up in the coffin. The woman to his side is young. Most people are young to him. Still, she must be early thirties? She's got dark hair in a neat fringe, a pale face, bright lipstick. Something of an old-fashioned movie starlet quality to her. It takes him back. "What can I do for you?" he asks, trying to get out of the coffin. It's like getting out of the bath though and he slips twice. The woman offers a hand but he shakes his head and on the third try he gets over the edge. "It's more what I can do for you," she says, pulling up a generous smile. "You see, I represent a consortium of--" "Not interested." "--of clients of yours. Former and future, hopefully." He pauses. "Clients?" "Yes. Of many people who buy your goods because they cherish your craftsmanship." She gestures around the shop at the various propped open coffins. "We've been importing your products for many years, but this is the first time any of us have visited your shop in person. But this time, it had to be in person." He's always been strangely successful abroad. The catalogues sell his products better than the shop floor. It's admittedly unusual for his trade. "That so?" he says. "That's so." "And what do my former clients want from me?" "We know you're dying. We certainly don't want that." He stares at her. Then laughs. "Me neither, to tell the truth. But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm leaning hard on the second letter." She smiles wider now. He's not sure if it's his head or... But it looks as if two of her teeth are sinking down over her lip. Extending out like a pair of mechanical pencils. "You seen a dentist lately?" "I'll cut to the chase," she says. "We're vampires. And none of us have found better, more secure, more comfortable coffins than yours." What to make of it, he's not sure! Vampires? Couldn't be. Could it be? Ever the professional he says, "I'm glad to hear you've been enjoying my products." "We'd like to continue using them, if it's all the same. As such, I would like to offer you the chance to become like us, to become a vampire. To be immortal. If you agree I will bite you myself, and that little tumour in your head will shrink down to nothing in a day." He blushes at that. At the thought of those red lips and long teeth sinking into his wrinkled old neck. "I hope that doesn't scare you," she says. He shakes his head. No, he doesn't scare anymore. Sure, he was scared as all hell when Sally got diagnosed with breast cancer. Now that scared him so bad that nothing since -- when placed in comparison -- has managed to frighten him a hair. His own death? No, that's not fear when compared to losing his reason. His love. His world. All of those other romantic cliches lying around. But there's strong truth in old cliches. "I appreciate the offer," he says, grabbing his head, holding the migraine, "but if it's all the same, I'm content with not being immortal." "Content?" she asks, mildly taken back. "It's been a decade since my wife died and the pain is not so much less than it was. While I'd sure like to keep on ticking in some senses, for some reasons, I don't want that pain anymore." He climbs into a walnut coffin, sits up in it and looks at the vampire. She sighs. "I see. Then, I'm sorry for wasting your time." "My pleasure," he says. She turns to leave, pauses by the door. "The walnut classic is my favourite." He nods. "I dare say it's mine too." Once she's gone, he lies back and closes the lid. Lets the stars dance in the darkness. He thinks about that strange lady. How did she get in, anyway? Door was locked wasn't it? And how did she get out for that matter. He doesn't remember her leaving yet he swears he just watched her go. God, she looked like a movie star. Beautiful with a capital b. A lot like his wife, he thinks. When she was young. Same lipstick shade, same hair. Only the teeth were different. And then he's wondering if he concocted the whole damn thing. He thinks he probably did. And if so, well then maybe not everything about his condition is so bad. Not if it brought her back, even for a moment, even if different. Because to him, for that moment, she was alive. He takes a deep breath that turns into a yawn, and notices his head isn't hurting so much as usual. "I miss you so damn much," he says. His voice echoes around the coffin as if someone else were saying the words to him.	Derthezar, Lord of the Fifth Transylvanian Order, was besieged with crippling back pain for decades. He tossed and turned through restless nights, cursing the shoddy craftsmanship of so many lazy mortals. Relief only came one summer evening in 1967, when Revelan the Impaler brought him a surprise birthday gift. "My lord," Revelan said, bowing with a flourish of his cape. "May this coffin grant you the peace that you so mightily deserve." Derthezar stepped into the coffin, skeptically yet gingerly, and laid down. The dimensions were perfect. As Revelan closed the lid, there was not a single detectable ray of light bleed. In moments, he was fast asleep. The next evening, Derthezar demanded that the carpenter be handsomely rewarded with the finest Transylvanian silver. Revelan commissioned custom coffins for the entire Fifth Order. All was well. The distant partnership subsisted through the twentieth century and into the new millennium. The Fifth Order, well-rested and free from pain, was the most furiously productive vampire legion in Transylvania. That is, until 2018, on the sixteenth morning of May, when Revelan flew into the lord's chambers with some troubling news. "Bob Donovan, Master Woodworker, of the Metropolis of Alderson, West Virginia, has fallen ill, my lord." Derthezar snorted. "Ill? How can this be? It's only been -" "He is only human, sir," Revelan said. Derthezar sighed. "Indeed. Allow me to offer a proposal." He produced a quill and scroll from behind his throne and began to jot down a message. "Prepare the squire for immediate westward flight." It took several weeks for a response to appear. Bob respectfully submitted all correspondence via pen and ink, thinking it a mere quirk of his wealthy customers. "Dear Derthezar, I deeply appreciate your business and support over the past fifty years. It is true that my hands no longer work as they used to, and my time is drawing to a close. Your kind offer of immortal life is well regarded, but I must decline at this time. It has been an honor to provide you and your family with their final resting places, and I can only hope I have done them justice. Yours sincerely, Bob Donovan Derthezar crushed the paper in his fist. "Rejecting eternal life?! I've never been so outraged -" Revelan interjected, as usual. "My lord, may I kindly suggest that you channel this anger into mindful breathing as we discussed?" Derthezar took several deep breaths. "Indeed. Right you are. Bob Donovan of Alderson, West Virginia has made his choice, as misguided as it may be. Perhaps we can offer an alternate token of our appreciation." *** Three weeks later, Bob Donovan awoke to the sound of his doorbell ringing. He slowly stumbled to the front door, shaking and coughing. "Delivery for Mr. Donovan," the FedEx driver announced. "Gonna need a signature from you, sir." "All right," Bob said, scribbling his name. Two deliverymen emerged from the back of the truck, staggering under the weight and shape of a large, awkward crate. They took it directly to Bob's open garage - his workshop. "What...what is it?" Bob stammered. "Anybody's guess, pal." It took Bob a full half-hour to undo the nails on the crate, his hands shaking all the while. He smelled fresh wood - and not just the wood of the crate. Inside was the most crude, hastily built coffin he had ever seen. Nails stuck out of the wrong places and the edges appeared to have been hacked off with an axe. Bob let out the loudest, longest laugh he had in months. He glanced at the corner and saw a message burned into the side: From Your Friends in the Fifth Transylvanian Order *** When Bob passed away five weeks later, he was buried in the coffin by special request. The squire delivered the news to Transylvania and the King of the Vampires bowed his head, solemn and silent. "Farewell, Bob Donovan," Derthezar thought. "May you sleep as peacefully in the afterlife as we do each day."
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	Vezemir stepped out of the carriage. The sun was not fully set, but the sky was overcast enough that he only felt a slight itch as he strode quickly across the street. Glendale Graves was quiet today, but then it usually was. It would be a strange sight to see a coffin-maker busy. As he approached, Vezemir saw Druig standing at the door, locking up. Vezemir raised a hand to catch his eye. The old man grinned at him, flipping the "Closed" sign on the door back around to "Open." A small bell dinged as Vezemir pushed to door open. Druig clapped him on the back and ushered him inside. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. What do you need?" Vezemir smiled at the old man. "This is more of a social call, old friend," he said. "I understand you're retiring soon." Druig's smile fell a few inches as he stepped behind the counter. "Aye, my hands aren't what they used to be." He glanced down at his hands and sighed. "Can barely hold a hammer properly some days." Then he glanced up at Vezemir again. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're here for." Vezemir raised an eyebrow. "I just want to pay my respects to a great craftsman. My family loves your work, you've done such a great job in the past to... honor our dearly departed." Druig snorted. "Vez, I know what you are. You only ever show up at night, you almost always overpay, and I'll be honest, some of your family are pretty terrible at hiding it. A few months ago, Morana insisted on 'testing the casket out.'" He shook his head. "She fell asleep in it for almost two hours." "W-Well, I'll admit we may be a touch eccentric, but-" Vezemir's stammering was cut off by Druig pointing behind him. Vezemir glanced over his shoulder at the huge window in the front of the shop. The darkness outside caused the glass to reflect the interior. He could see Druig staring smugly back at him, with no sign of himself. "You're here to offer me immortality." Druig spoke softly. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. Slowly, Vezemir nodded. "Only if you wish for it." Druig smiled sadly. "Vezemir, I'm tired. I've been doing this for almost fifty years. I've made coffins for the elderly, for soldiers, for children..." he paused, his smile slipping from his face. "For my wife." Vezemir placed one hand gently on top of Druig's. "You don't have to be, though," he said. "The blood doesn't just prolong your life. It will revitalize you, make you feel like a young man again." He barrelled on, diving into his sales pitch. "You could join our family. We would make sure you never wanted for anything ever again. You could live in luxury for eternity." Druig frowned, pulling his hand free. "All I want is to rest, and to see Isolde again." he turned away. "You can't give me that." The silence stretched between the two men, until Vezemir spoke. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I... It's been a long time since I was human. I forget, sometimes, what it's like to be mortal. If there is anything at all that we can do for you, don't hesitate to ask." Druig glanced back at him. "Thanks, Vez. There is one thing that would be nice." &#x200B; One year later The priest had never seen a funeral like this. It was strange enough that the coffin-maker had asked for it to be held at night. But he hadn't expected this kind of turnout. Of course, there was his family. A son and daughter, both with their own children, as well as a few friends. What confused the priest were the others. A veritable army of men and women had filed into the chapel, all dressed in ornate attire, each one offering their heartfelt condolences to the family. Something about these people unnerved the priest. They felt... wrong somehow. As if they shouldn't be there. For a moment, he considered telling them to leave, but then he saw the family. Generally, coffin-makers weren't the most social people. Dealing in death so much, it was hard for them to make friends in work. Yet as more and more of these strange people filed into the chapel, and approached the coffin-maker's children, the priest saw something come over them. Their faces changed from the expected look of a pair of grieving children to something akin to pride. After all, for so many important looking people to value their father so highly, he must have been a great man indeed. Well, I suppose it does make sense, the priest thought. After all, a man whose life's work was honoring the dearly departed deserves to be honored in kind.	"Hypothetically," Lucius Sanginius Romero de LeVille Finlay Tepesh started, "if you could, say, live forever, would you accept such a gift?" The carpenter rubbed his scruffy chin and emptied his pipe. "Forever, huh? Sounds like a long time. I mean, wouldn't you get bored?" "Oh, of course not," the vampire started with barely contained enthusiasm. "There is so much to do that you could live several lifetimes and still find new and amazing things to do. I mean I can tell you that at least 347 years and I am- I mean, you'd still be amazed by things," he chuckled as he quickly corrected himself. "Oddly specific, but sure," the carpenter said as he squinted his eyes. He packed the pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it, taking a long drag. "Mr. Tepesh, you and your friends have been excellent customers and I appreciate such peculiar conversations but..." He looked at the vampire's remarkably young visage; his gentle, expectant smile almost showed his pointed teeth. "I can't imagine it would work for me. Hypothetically, of course," he concluded with a smile. The vampire sighed and nodded. "Of course, Mr. Fitch. Perhaps we can discuss this another time then. I believe my servants should be done loading my order now; as always, thank you for your excellent service. I bid you a good evening," he said and with a tip of his somewhat old-fashioned top hat, he left the shop as quietly as he arrived. The carpenter continued to smoke his pipe as he listened to the carriage get into motion and disappear into the night. He went to the window and checked the foggy street and, satisfied that no one skulked around, locked the door and went to the back; his workshop. The place was charming and calm, filled with well-used tools and bits of wood. He lovingly ran his fingers across the newest shipment of birch; an excellent, softer wood he looked forward to using. Perhaps next time. He smiled as he thought about the vampire's offer. It was kind of him, truly, but not an option. Not for a long time now. He didn't have the courage to explain it to him - prejudice and all. Checking his calendar, he noted the date; full moon will be tomorrow. Should provide him with the speed to get to the next continent easily. It really was a shame to abandon this cycle, but it was clear that staying any longer would be suspicious. He took his pipe and dumped the burning tobacco onto a pile of sawdust. Barely any time passed before the fire was spreading to the dry wood and flammable polish in the store. A good cover story. He took a small bag prepared for this occasion and slipped into the damp night, the moon barely piercing the fog, diminishing his usual urge to howl. Perhaps this time he could live the life of an apothecary. Been a while since he'd been one.
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	The coffin Alastair steps into is made of bamboo. It's biodegradable -- just like him. This is his shop and it's packed with all kinds of coffins. He's been making them all his life but it's only the last decade people wanted bamboo or banana leaf or cardboard coffins. Cardboard, he thinks disdainfully. He's never made a cardboard coffin in his life and god knows he never will. Fit for a hamster, maybe, but not for a person. And maybe not even a hamster. He lays back and closes the lid, letting the darkness drown him. Bamboo stinks, he decides. It's not for him. But the darkness is good. Alastair's suffered migraines the last year. Being in such total darkness helps a little. Every day, after work, he's been getting into his coffins, partly for the dark, partly to test drive them because he's got a lump in his brain the size of a pebble and it's swelling quick. Growing. It's a weed that's taking all the water and all the soil that the older plants needed to live, so now everything's wilting except that weed. He's not all that scared to die. He doesn't want to, but that's a different matter altogether. He's got young grandkids that he loves very much and he'd like to see what they turn into, what colour butterflies will burst out into the world. Plus, he doesn't want to die for more selfish reasons, too. He likes being alive for one, likes doing and learning and being. Simple as that. But scared he's not. He's not been scared for a long time. He lies back for a while as dots waltz through the darkness in a rainbow of colours. To him, those dots are the tumour. It presents itself like that, in interesting ways. Somedays, he'll wake to see he left the oven on all night, or he'd called someone and walked away from the phone, or he'd find himself in the neighbours garden for no reason at all. That's how he sees the tumour, from the physical events it manifests. It's how it communicates to him, lets him know it's there. There are three knocks then. Right on the bamboo lid. He must have left the shop door open, wouldn't be the first time. "We're closed," he says. "Yes I know, but I really must talk to you," comes the muffled reply. It's a woman's voice. Even muffled it's smooth, calming. He pushes the lid open and sits up in the coffin. The woman to his side is young. Most people are young to him. Still, she must be early thirties? She's got dark hair in a neat fringe, a pale face, bright lipstick. Something of an old-fashioned movie starlet quality to her. It takes him back. "What can I do for you?" he asks, trying to get out of the coffin. It's like getting out of the bath though and he slips twice. The woman offers a hand but he shakes his head and on the third try he gets over the edge. "It's more what I can do for you," she says, pulling up a generous smile. "You see, I represent a consortium of--" "Not interested." "--of clients of yours. Former and future, hopefully." He pauses. "Clients?" "Yes. Of many people who buy your goods because they cherish your craftsmanship." She gestures around the shop at the various propped open coffins. "We've been importing your products for many years, but this is the first time any of us have visited your shop in person. But this time, it had to be in person." He's always been strangely successful abroad. The catalogues sell his products better than the shop floor. It's admittedly unusual for his trade. "That so?" he says. "That's so." "And what do my former clients want from me?" "We know you're dying. We certainly don't want that." He stares at her. Then laughs. "Me neither, to tell the truth. But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm leaning hard on the second letter." She smiles wider now. He's not sure if it's his head or... But it looks as if two of her teeth are sinking down over her lip. Extending out like a pair of mechanical pencils. "You seen a dentist lately?" "I'll cut to the chase," she says. "We're vampires. And none of us have found better, more secure, more comfortable coffins than yours." What to make of it, he's not sure! Vampires? Couldn't be. Could it be? Ever the professional he says, "I'm glad to hear you've been enjoying my products." "We'd like to continue using them, if it's all the same. As such, I would like to offer you the chance to become like us, to become a vampire. To be immortal. If you agree I will bite you myself, and that little tumour in your head will shrink down to nothing in a day." He blushes at that. At the thought of those red lips and long teeth sinking into his wrinkled old neck. "I hope that doesn't scare you," she says. He shakes his head. No, he doesn't scare anymore. Sure, he was scared as all hell when Sally got diagnosed with breast cancer. Now that scared him so bad that nothing since -- when placed in comparison -- has managed to frighten him a hair. His own death? No, that's not fear when compared to losing his reason. His love. His world. All of those other romantic cliches lying around. But there's strong truth in old cliches. "I appreciate the offer," he says, grabbing his head, holding the migraine, "but if it's all the same, I'm content with not being immortal." "Content?" she asks, mildly taken back. "It's been a decade since my wife died and the pain is not so much less than it was. While I'd sure like to keep on ticking in some senses, for some reasons, I don't want that pain anymore." He climbs into a walnut coffin, sits up in it and looks at the vampire. She sighs. "I see. Then, I'm sorry for wasting your time." "My pleasure," he says. She turns to leave, pauses by the door. "The walnut classic is my favourite." He nods. "I dare say it's mine too." Once she's gone, he lies back and closes the lid. Lets the stars dance in the darkness. He thinks about that strange lady. How did she get in, anyway? Door was locked wasn't it? And how did she get out for that matter. He doesn't remember her leaving yet he swears he just watched her go. God, she looked like a movie star. Beautiful with a capital b. A lot like his wife, he thinks. When she was young. Same lipstick shade, same hair. Only the teeth were different. And then he's wondering if he concocted the whole damn thing. He thinks he probably did. And if so, well then maybe not everything about his condition is so bad. Not if it brought her back, even for a moment, even if different. Because to him, for that moment, she was alive. He takes a deep breath that turns into a yawn, and notices his head isn't hurting so much as usual. "I miss you so damn much," he says. His voice echoes around the coffin as if someone else were saying the words to him.	"Hypothetically," Lucius Sanginius Romero de LeVille Finlay Tepesh started, "if you could, say, live forever, would you accept such a gift?" The carpenter rubbed his scruffy chin and emptied his pipe. "Forever, huh? Sounds like a long time. I mean, wouldn't you get bored?" "Oh, of course not," the vampire started with barely contained enthusiasm. "There is so much to do that you could live several lifetimes and still find new and amazing things to do. I mean I can tell you that at least 347 years and I am- I mean, you'd still be amazed by things," he chuckled as he quickly corrected himself. "Oddly specific, but sure," the carpenter said as he squinted his eyes. He packed the pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it, taking a long drag. "Mr. Tepesh, you and your friends have been excellent customers and I appreciate such peculiar conversations but..." He looked at the vampire's remarkably young visage; his gentle, expectant smile almost showed his pointed teeth. "I can't imagine it would work for me. Hypothetically, of course," he concluded with a smile. The vampire sighed and nodded. "Of course, Mr. Fitch. Perhaps we can discuss this another time then. I believe my servants should be done loading my order now; as always, thank you for your excellent service. I bid you a good evening," he said and with a tip of his somewhat old-fashioned top hat, he left the shop as quietly as he arrived. The carpenter continued to smoke his pipe as he listened to the carriage get into motion and disappear into the night. He went to the window and checked the foggy street and, satisfied that no one skulked around, locked the door and went to the back; his workshop. The place was charming and calm, filled with well-used tools and bits of wood. He lovingly ran his fingers across the newest shipment of birch; an excellent, softer wood he looked forward to using. Perhaps next time. He smiled as he thought about the vampire's offer. It was kind of him, truly, but not an option. Not for a long time now. He didn't have the courage to explain it to him - prejudice and all. Checking his calendar, he noted the date; full moon will be tomorrow. Should provide him with the speed to get to the next continent easily. It really was a shame to abandon this cycle, but it was clear that staying any longer would be suspicious. He took his pipe and dumped the burning tobacco onto a pile of sawdust. Barely any time passed before the fire was spreading to the dry wood and flammable polish in the store. A good cover story. He took a small bag prepared for this occasion and slipped into the damp night, the moon barely piercing the fog, diminishing his usual urge to howl. Perhaps this time he could live the life of an apothecary. Been a while since he'd been one.
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.	The coffin Alastair steps into is made of bamboo. It's biodegradable -- just like him. This is his shop and it's packed with all kinds of coffins. He's been making them all his life but it's only the last decade people wanted bamboo or banana leaf or cardboard coffins. Cardboard, he thinks disdainfully. He's never made a cardboard coffin in his life and god knows he never will. Fit for a hamster, maybe, but not for a person. And maybe not even a hamster. He lays back and closes the lid, letting the darkness drown him. Bamboo stinks, he decides. It's not for him. But the darkness is good. Alastair's suffered migraines the last year. Being in such total darkness helps a little. Every day, after work, he's been getting into his coffins, partly for the dark, partly to test drive them because he's got a lump in his brain the size of a pebble and it's swelling quick. Growing. It's a weed that's taking all the water and all the soil that the older plants needed to live, so now everything's wilting except that weed. He's not all that scared to die. He doesn't want to, but that's a different matter altogether. He's got young grandkids that he loves very much and he'd like to see what they turn into, what colour butterflies will burst out into the world. Plus, he doesn't want to die for more selfish reasons, too. He likes being alive for one, likes doing and learning and being. Simple as that. But scared he's not. He's not been scared for a long time. He lies back for a while as dots waltz through the darkness in a rainbow of colours. To him, those dots are the tumour. It presents itself like that, in interesting ways. Somedays, he'll wake to see he left the oven on all night, or he'd called someone and walked away from the phone, or he'd find himself in the neighbours garden for no reason at all. That's how he sees the tumour, from the physical events it manifests. It's how it communicates to him, lets him know it's there. There are three knocks then. Right on the bamboo lid. He must have left the shop door open, wouldn't be the first time. "We're closed," he says. "Yes I know, but I really must talk to you," comes the muffled reply. It's a woman's voice. Even muffled it's smooth, calming. He pushes the lid open and sits up in the coffin. The woman to his side is young. Most people are young to him. Still, she must be early thirties? She's got dark hair in a neat fringe, a pale face, bright lipstick. Something of an old-fashioned movie starlet quality to her. It takes him back. "What can I do for you?" he asks, trying to get out of the coffin. It's like getting out of the bath though and he slips twice. The woman offers a hand but he shakes his head and on the third try he gets over the edge. "It's more what I can do for you," she says, pulling up a generous smile. "You see, I represent a consortium of--" "Not interested." "--of clients of yours. Former and future, hopefully." He pauses. "Clients?" "Yes. Of many people who buy your goods because they cherish your craftsmanship." She gestures around the shop at the various propped open coffins. "We've been importing your products for many years, but this is the first time any of us have visited your shop in person. But this time, it had to be in person." He's always been strangely successful abroad. The catalogues sell his products better than the shop floor. It's admittedly unusual for his trade. "That so?" he says. "That's so." "And what do my former clients want from me?" "We know you're dying. We certainly don't want that." He stares at her. Then laughs. "Me neither, to tell the truth. But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm leaning hard on the second letter." She smiles wider now. He's not sure if it's his head or... But it looks as if two of her teeth are sinking down over her lip. Extending out like a pair of mechanical pencils. "You seen a dentist lately?" "I'll cut to the chase," she says. "We're vampires. And none of us have found better, more secure, more comfortable coffins than yours." What to make of it, he's not sure! Vampires? Couldn't be. Could it be? Ever the professional he says, "I'm glad to hear you've been enjoying my products." "We'd like to continue using them, if it's all the same. As such, I would like to offer you the chance to become like us, to become a vampire. To be immortal. If you agree I will bite you myself, and that little tumour in your head will shrink down to nothing in a day." He blushes at that. At the thought of those red lips and long teeth sinking into his wrinkled old neck. "I hope that doesn't scare you," she says. He shakes his head. No, he doesn't scare anymore. Sure, he was scared as all hell when Sally got diagnosed with breast cancer. Now that scared him so bad that nothing since -- when placed in comparison -- has managed to frighten him a hair. His own death? No, that's not fear when compared to losing his reason. His love. His world. All of those other romantic cliches lying around. But there's strong truth in old cliches. "I appreciate the offer," he says, grabbing his head, holding the migraine, "but if it's all the same, I'm content with not being immortal." "Content?" she asks, mildly taken back. "It's been a decade since my wife died and the pain is not so much less than it was. While I'd sure like to keep on ticking in some senses, for some reasons, I don't want that pain anymore." He climbs into a walnut coffin, sits up in it and looks at the vampire. She sighs. "I see. Then, I'm sorry for wasting your time." "My pleasure," he says. She turns to leave, pauses by the door. "The walnut classic is my favourite." He nods. "I dare say it's mine too." Once she's gone, he lies back and closes the lid. Lets the stars dance in the darkness. He thinks about that strange lady. How did she get in, anyway? Door was locked wasn't it? And how did she get out for that matter. He doesn't remember her leaving yet he swears he just watched her go. God, she looked like a movie star. Beautiful with a capital b. A lot like his wife, he thinks. When she was young. Same lipstick shade, same hair. Only the teeth were different. And then he's wondering if he concocted the whole damn thing. He thinks he probably did. And if so, well then maybe not everything about his condition is so bad. Not if it brought her back, even for a moment, even if different. Because to him, for that moment, she was alive. He takes a deep breath that turns into a yawn, and notices his head isn't hurting so much as usual. "I miss you so damn much," he says. His voice echoes around the coffin as if someone else were saying the words to him.	Vezemir stepped out of the carriage. The sun was not fully set, but the sky was overcast enough that he only felt a slight itch as he strode quickly across the street. Glendale Graves was quiet today, but then it usually was. It would be a strange sight to see a coffin-maker busy. As he approached, Vezemir saw Druig standing at the door, locking up. Vezemir raised a hand to catch his eye. The old man grinned at him, flipping the "Closed" sign on the door back around to "Open." A small bell dinged as Vezemir pushed to door open. Druig clapped him on the back and ushered him inside. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. What do you need?" Vezemir smiled at the old man. "This is more of a social call, old friend," he said. "I understand you're retiring soon." Druig's smile fell a few inches as he stepped behind the counter. "Aye, my hands aren't what they used to be." He glanced down at his hands and sighed. "Can barely hold a hammer properly some days." Then he glanced up at Vezemir again. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're here for." Vezemir raised an eyebrow. "I just want to pay my respects to a great craftsman. My family loves your work, you've done such a great job in the past to... honor our dearly departed." Druig snorted. "Vez, I know what you are. You only ever show up at night, you almost always overpay, and I'll be honest, some of your family are pretty terrible at hiding it. A few months ago, Morana insisted on 'testing the casket out.'" He shook his head. "She fell asleep in it for almost two hours." "W-Well, I'll admit we may be a touch eccentric, but-" Vezemir's stammering was cut off by Druig pointing behind him. Vezemir glanced over his shoulder at the huge window in the front of the shop. The darkness outside caused the glass to reflect the interior. He could see Druig staring smugly back at him, with no sign of himself. "You're here to offer me immortality." Druig spoke softly. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. Slowly, Vezemir nodded. "Only if you wish for it." Druig smiled sadly. "Vezemir, I'm tired. I've been doing this for almost fifty years. I've made coffins for the elderly, for soldiers, for children..." he paused, his smile slipping from his face. "For my wife." Vezemir placed one hand gently on top of Druig's. "You don't have to be, though," he said. "The blood doesn't just prolong your life. It will revitalize you, make you feel like a young man again." He barrelled on, diving into his sales pitch. "You could join our family. We would make sure you never wanted for anything ever again. You could live in luxury for eternity." Druig frowned, pulling his hand free. "All I want is to rest, and to see Isolde again." he turned away. "You can't give me that." The silence stretched between the two men, until Vezemir spoke. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I... It's been a long time since I was human. I forget, sometimes, what it's like to be mortal. If there is anything at all that we can do for you, don't hesitate to ask." Druig glanced back at him. "Thanks, Vez. There is one thing that would be nice." &#x200B; One year later The priest had never seen a funeral like this. It was strange enough that the coffin-maker had asked for it to be held at night. But he hadn't expected this kind of turnout. Of course, there was his family. A son and daughter, both with their own children, as well as a few friends. What confused the priest were the others. A veritable army of men and women had filed into the chapel, all dressed in ornate attire, each one offering their heartfelt condolences to the family. Something about these people unnerved the priest. They felt... wrong somehow. As if they shouldn't be there. For a moment, he considered telling them to leave, but then he saw the family. Generally, coffin-makers weren't the most social people. Dealing in death so much, it was hard for them to make friends in work. Yet as more and more of these strange people filed into the chapel, and approached the coffin-maker's children, the priest saw something come over them. Their faces changed from the expected look of a pair of grieving children to something akin to pride. After all, for so many important looking people to value their father so highly, he must have been a great man indeed. Well, I suppose it does make sense, the priest thought. After all, a man whose life's work was honoring the dearly departed deserves to be honored in kind.
[WP] Every person now comes with a “non-toxic” or “toxic” label which has made dating much easier, more enjoyable and drama-free.	"And in further news, riots in multiple cities by 'toxics' continue, seemingly escalating from demonstrations protesting discrimination in the workplace, education, and justice system towards the 'maliciously labeled'. These demonstrations seem to have escalated when police, noting the Labels of all involved, naturally suspected foul play and attempted to disperse the crowds. The protestors claim that since the introduction of The Label, individuals labeled 'toxic' are shunned by their community, have difficulty finding work, and in many cases are pushed further into 'toxic' and isolationist behavior by this social exile. Experts in D.C reiterate that The Label is for the benefit of society, and that the 'so-called mislabeled' are to desist and trust the government to do the right thing."	After seeing this, I was wondering if I can get both labels to see how well it goes. When I tried getting it, it was actually possible to have both labels. However, when I tried to date someone, something isn't right. On the server side, the server is trying to identify my label, and it wouldn't process for some reason. I was just stalling around and then something happened... The server crashed, and it causes everyone to have a mental breakdown on who they are, and it made the whole world crap itself. Some... Crapped themselves to death, and still others, ruined perfectly good pair of pants. Some of them went lucky during the server crash, where they stay on the toilet and let it out easily. The next day, I was arrested for causing this...
[WP] Every person now comes with a “non-toxic” or “toxic” label which has made dating much easier, more enjoyable and drama-free.	"Figures", I snorted. I was sitting in bed, wrapped in a fluffy blanket while wearing my favourite pair of pyjamas. Last week the international psych evaluation for toxicity identification had become a mandatory requirement for anyone who wanted to take part in any form of social media, dating site or app. Today was the day, the official labels were displayed online. While I, like many others, was sceptical about the drastuc changes this would bring into society, I now began to see the perks. And so I had taken this evening off for myself to stalk the web for my ex partners' profiles. "Mika had always been a controling and overly jealous bitch", I mumbled, stuffing my face with microwave popcorn. The fact that the word TOXIC was spelled out next to her profile picture in big, bold, red letters didn't come as a surprise. We had only dated for a few weeks in middle school, but even this brief entanglement had cost me half of my friend group. She could have used her time until then to improve herself. The label she recieved told me, she hadn't. Next up was Jake. He was the type to give backhanded compliments to lower my self esteem. And if it wasn't bad enough that he thought, insulting someone would keep them by his side, his scheme had worked on me. At least until he left me for someone else. And instead of heartbreak I only felt like a weight had dropped off my heart. In hindsight, he was a jerk. Jake the super-jerk. True to my assessment of his character, there was a TOXIC label displayed on his profile as well. Interestingly enough, he had marked himself as 'in a relationship with' some chick I didn't know. Who was also deemed toxic through the evaluation program. In that manner I klicked and scrolled through all my previous relationships, reminiscing about all my bad descisions. I was a hopeless romantic, never tired of trying to find love. So the list of exes was long enough to entertain me for quite some time. It was kind of validating to see all the red TOXIC labels pop up. At least it wasn't my fault that all my relationships had gone to shits. But damn, I must have the worst taste in romantic partners in the whole world. My fingers hit the bottom of my popcorn bowl. I looked down at the few burnt, unpopped kernels and sighed. One quick glance at the clock told me, that I had been wasting my time by stalking horrible peoples profiles on the internet for far too long now. With a yawn, I streched my arms until my joints gave out a satisfying pop. I sighed again, about to close my laptop an look for some real food in the kitchen - it was getting late, after all - when the realization hit me. I had looked at every persons label imaginable. Just not at my own. With furrowed brows I settled back into my impeovised blanket nest and klicked at my own profile. "Oh." My eyes grew wide. Surprisingly, the first shock subsided quickly and turned into something like amusement. "I guess it's true, what they say about birds of a feather..."	After seeing this, I was wondering if I can get both labels to see how well it goes. When I tried getting it, it was actually possible to have both labels. However, when I tried to date someone, something isn't right. On the server side, the server is trying to identify my label, and it wouldn't process for some reason. I was just stalling around and then something happened... The server crashed, and it causes everyone to have a mental breakdown on who they are, and it made the whole world crap itself. Some... Crapped themselves to death, and still others, ruined perfectly good pair of pants. Some of them went lucky during the server crash, where they stay on the toilet and let it out easily. The next day, I was arrested for causing this...
[WP] Every person now comes with a “non-toxic” or “toxic” label which has made dating much easier, more enjoyable and drama-free.	We met on OKcupid. I used it because the messages were free. It gave me a bit of hesitation, but I decided that the new labels were worth overlooking. I mean, I'd been in toxic relationships before, and I've been the toxic relationship before, it wouldn't be anything new. I messaged him first. He later admitted that he thought I was a spam bot. Explains why he originally told me he was 5'3" (he's 5'9") and that he had three kids (he didn't have kids) lol. I finally seduced him with my bird knowledge and he warmed up to me significantly. We spent days talking, leading up to that first date. And then we met at the Doghouse, a karaoke bar that I'd discovered while I was trucking for dinner and we had a blast. We went bowling for hours, then a movie at midnight. I didn't want the night to end, it was beautiful. We discovered our toxicities together. Me, undiagnosed (at the time) adhd and depression, explosive in my emotions and having trouble with work, school, and keeping the house clean. Him, almost no emotions and not sure what to do to help me with my breakdowns other than to distract me from them. I later broached the subject that he might be psychopathic. It fit; he had very little regard for anyone outside his personal circle, and even then he always seemed on the outside. It's been five years. We have a house together. Many cats and dogs and even a rat. He picks up my scripts from the pharmacy because I forget. He doesn't get overwhelmed when I have explosive episodes. He doesn't pull over to let me check on the person broke down on side of the road, but he drops a can of gas off for a stranger in the walmart parking lot, buys food for the homeless man on the corner, invites the woman broke down in our driveway in out of the rain. I gasp "Christopher!" when he makes an inappropriate remark at someone's expense in public but then dissolve into giggles because it was actually hilarious. I remark that his shoes are getting worn out (holes in the soles, pulling apart at the seams) and leave a new pair where he can grab them when he's ready for them. I refill his water cup (a Yeti in his favorite color that was a Christmas present from my parents) when he's too busy on work calls. He's been with me through two weddings and my dad's funeral. Getting married got him a raise at work, lower insurance rates, and his student loans not only got canceled, but paid back to him. Toxic? Oh yeah, we're very toxic. And yet, I wouldn't trade anything for it. I wouldn't ever go for a nontoxic, normal partner. They've never understood me. They've never understood him. We're toxic, but we're absolutely perfect. Based on the true story of how I met my husband 🥰	After seeing this, I was wondering if I can get both labels to see how well it goes. When I tried getting it, it was actually possible to have both labels. However, when I tried to date someone, something isn't right. On the server side, the server is trying to identify my label, and it wouldn't process for some reason. I was just stalling around and then something happened... The server crashed, and it causes everyone to have a mental breakdown on who they are, and it made the whole world crap itself. Some... Crapped themselves to death, and still others, ruined perfectly good pair of pants. Some of them went lucky during the server crash, where they stay on the toilet and let it out easily. The next day, I was arrested for causing this...
[WP] the truth is that every god started out as a trickster god, and they only end up in another role when one of their tricks goes too far and changes something about the world. A trick that ends up starting a century long war made a former trickster into a god of war. you are a new trickster god.	Troxma had been the first. Always a little more aggressive than the others, he had laughed as he planted that idea into that nobles head about how funny it would be to cut up the visiting kings 12 year old son, and serve him to the king for supper, in a soup with his finest herbs no less. Oh how that poor mortal never knew those cruel puppeteers strings had guided his every move. Of course, the wrathful war that had resulted, delighted Troxma to a degree, that his own divinity had changed. As he watched, laughing at both nobles and peasants alike trying to scramble to safety, only to be cut down by the kings legion of black armored warriors and blood thirsty generals, those forces only meet with smaller militias until the main forces arrived, has ravaged the mortal lands for 140 years. Long enough for both sides to forget the original reason for their anger. Their hatred. As we all saw the carnage that was Troxma’s “little prank” and saw him roar with booming laughter as he explained the ruse he played with the mortals, we all nervously looked between ourselves. We knew he has changed. His eyes, were brimming with a darkened, red light, and his celestial outfit had been exchanged for heavy set metal armor, the same black as the knights and warriors who murdered in the kings name, Troxma was different. We all began to connect the dots as to how this change occurred, but it was too little too late. Others had met Troxma’s fate, seemingly his bloodied joy had infected the others. Juloz had snuck into too many married women’s chambers and slept with them, after a while, his very essence changed, just as Troxma’s had. Juloz had many children, all born from half blood of both god and man, and suddenly, he became the patron Saint of Adultery. Then Pastulo with her Greed over the mortals money. Made too many poor mortals coins and wealth vanish from their hands, as they received the wages for a hard days work, only to suddenly be replaced by a single coin marked by the goddess, and seen as a worthless cursed object by the mortals. Too many times had Pastulo stolen from mortals, grieved and broken families, before Pastulo had become the guide to gambling, and poor financial health. Then Gransdole with his need to only meet and talk with the prettiest, most gorgeous of mortals and monsters alike. Created a golden wishing tree that gave wonderful wishes to beings he deemed as pretty enough, but if they didn’t meet the beauty standards of a harsh god, that wish was twisted into a malicious enigma, that more often than not, turned the wish backwards on itself and caused pain. Lots of pain. Suddenly, Gransdole ruled those mortals who cared only to be prettiest, or most beautiful. Gransdole was the god of vanity. Frilleta had cast too many seastorms on a singular boat containing a crippled child, and couldn’t contain her laughter at the child’s inability to stand in a constantly swaying boat, with only one leg. Then, all of a sudden, she ruled over the thunder and rain clouds. Frilleta has become the Goddess of storms. On and on, this pattern went, gods and goddesses going left and right, “pranks” seemingly giving them the deciding factor on what they ruled over with the given divinity. Our father created us to guide the mortal lands and creatures to his likeness, but we only furthered their starting towards that ideal. One day, father looked down and saw that I, alone, was the only fragment of light still left, the others, all having become vain, greedy, and incessantly cursed with the own reversed divinity. They had become akin to the devils that preyed in mortal fears and nightmares, and I had no interest in joining them. I wished only to help, only to assist. Why has my brothers and sisters left me? Why has they turned the backs on the reason for their creation? And, what was I supposed to do? “Father, I cannot help others by degrading them into madness and depravity! I can’t make mortals like you by lying and conniving! What shall I do to further their favor towards you?” But father has created us to lead ourselves, and like my siblings, turned his back towards the infinite expense he ruled, away from us, away from me. A final statement to guide me as he left echoed through me, and gave me purpose. “Remember, the purpose is not solely to degrade, my shining daughter, but can also be to deceive into receiving what they need most as well…” So, I did just as he had said. I lied, and connived and misled, but, unlike my brothers and sisters, I did so in the best interest on the mortals I lead. I lied to a beggar, telling him that the man in the white and gold robes would give him money. The priest was moneyless, but he did guide the beggar toward his church for food and shelter, and eventually, that beggar became the head of that very church. He did the same as the priest had done for him, leading others to safety and warmth. I misled a child down the wrong hall for the latrines of the dungeon she was kept in after slavers found her and stole her away from her family, leading her right outside to a patrolling guardsman, who just so happened to be her father. I connived a group of merchants into believing that water was the most precious resource on the entire planet, as well as seeds, and when they believed me, taking in uncountable pots of water, and unfathomable numbers of seeds, my sister of famine and brother of drought struck, and while the clean water the merchants had was not worth money, and the seeds not enough for food, it was enough to help mitigate the damage and help those that survived to spread word of the god-guided merchants, who saved an entire continent. And while my brothers and sisters lied to destroy, and connived to tear apart, made the mortals who listened to them despair and weep, I was there, ready to revive the damaged land, and repair the hurting souls, and eventually, I became the Goddess of Mercy, Goddess of Health and Care, and the Goddess of Light. And when my father returned, to see the world I had stabilized, all the good I had accomplished by lying and conniving, he gave me a name. A name, he claimed, was revered by another group of mortals, as they worshipped the land which gave them life, the earth that fed them and the trees that provided them shelter, warmth and air. Gaia.	I didnt mean for this to happen. Honest, this wasn't what I had in mind but everything happened so fast and. . .I thought it'd be fun? I mean how was I suppose to know altering the humans like. . .a couple times created such a difference?! They're practically the same BUT LOOK WHAT THEY'RE DOING to each other and I mean- "Uh-uh - can I . ..interrupt you for a moment? Hmm? You. . .sighs in utter parental disappointment changed the humans? Like you took what we made and you just DECIDED it was a fixer-upper?! ONLY A LITTLE! I was just messing around and then I sent them on their mary-way but the second the OG humans saw them they went ballistic. They started smushing each others faces together?! AND NOW they're doing this thing where they put on pretty clothes and confess their love in front of the other humans and I don't even want to talk about what they did after that! another long sigh because . . .wtf else could you do "I- huuuuuuuh ok. This is not my problem. It is yours. You deal with it, go!" Wait but I- "Go or I'll ALTER you too!" Yeah. . .yeah that seems fair.
[WP] you are a supervillain who hides his identity. Not because you're trying to throw the heroes off your trail, but rather b cause you're shy.	As the moon settles down above everything else, a young man puts on his mask once again. Nothing could be more terryfying than losing it, it's his identity, but more importantly, his protection from the faces of many. He didn't feared losing or dying as much as he feared the thought of people talking about his appearance, even leaving his headquarters was a difficult task in itself, his mind was as much of his nemesis as the city super heroes were. Ever since Miles gotten body invincibility and an enhanced strenght from a shard of an meteorite, it has been a tough task knowing exactly what to do with it, and before anyone could decide, he was the villain. Not that it came out as planned or chosen, big men in suits terrified him with experiments and questions, he had no choice but to escape, and when they came with guns and super heroes, he had no choice but to push back, and embrace his role as Darkness. One day, Lune spotted Darkness in an isolated part of the city. Lune had a similar story to Darkness's, despite the outcome being quite different, But this time, the confrontation didn't last long. Maybe it was the surprise appearance, maybe it was that he was lost on his thoughts once again. But regardless of the reason, the confrontation would end with Lune freezing Darkness's. As she would come close, Miles could notice some familiar facial features on Lune's mask. It only covered important parts, but it was possible to notice it. This familiar beauty spot above the right corner of her upper lip, this beautiful coffe with milk skin tone, these pair of pretty green eyes. Before it was possible to think any closer, he noticed his eyesight getting dark, as his mask was being pulled upwards. It was no use begging or screaming anyway, when he noticed, his mask was already off, as a surprised and confused Lune looked at him, without being able to express any words. Miles quickly gets embarassed and agry as he demands her to put his mask back on, but she wasn't listening. After a few steps back, the super heroin flies into the sky and far beyond eye reach. Then, there he was, alone, frozen in the same place, with nothing but questions torturing his mind. Why? What? Was she... ?	He looked out the window. Nothing. Nothing but the stars, just the way he had planned it. He had sent himself on this solo journey into the darkness of the universe leaving a world whose people did not understand him. It wasn't their fault they didn't, no one could understand him. He was born different to the rest, a darkness was inside him - a darkness that only took over when around others. He moved away from the window, he hit play on a record player and the sound of a forgotten Jazz record crackled to life, the music bounced around the four walls of what he now called home. The notes almost seemed to illuminate his modest surroundings which seemed a pittance to how he lived on earth. To say how much he disliked other people he had always found joy in music, the only way he could experience people without his every thought penetrated with the desire to do wrong. He sat back on his bed and closed his eyes, absorbing the music in an almost meditative state. He’d become rather good at getting into this state where time became a blur and while still conscious his mind would dream. He’d imagine earth and how it could've been- how it should have been. He had only ever wanted a peaceful solitary life but other people with their noise and interference got in the way of that. This journey he knew had lasted many years, his once strikingly black hair now littered with grey, but time no longer mattered anymore. All there was to do was enjoy the quiet. Bang The room shook, knocking the record player off. The room was temporarily filled with silence then the sound of a flame intruded on the room. A flame cutting a perfect circle in one of his walls. A flame that was destroying the peace of his sanctum. He stood waiting, watching the circle reach completion. The piece of wall crashed down, throwing noise and dust into the air. He stood there unmoved, watching the dust as it began to reveal what had disturbed his peace as it settled. Other People &#x200B; Chapter 2 “Eliza” Eliza snapped awake, she’d fallen asleep in class again. She’d had too many late nights partying since her older brother got a job at the town's liquor store. As a seventeen year old who could get all the booze she wanted in Pershawl, a town where religion and god came long before the desires of adolescence, she had become quite popular. “Sorry ma’am” she pipped. The teacher, some no name stand in for their usual history teacher, looked disapprovingly but then continued with the lesson. Eliza's eyes were now open and looking in the direction of the teacher, but her mind was on her plan for tonight. It was friday which meant the party could go late into the night and for a moment she found her mind drifting to the thought of being drunk, how it made her feel. She had found her mind increasingly going to this place lately, increasing her desire to have a drink as she remembered how it made her body warm in the sometimes cold nights in the woods and fields surrounding Pershawl. She lived in a small town where everyone's business was not their own; they would venture out into the nearby farmers fields or woods where they could be free to do what they wanted. Eliza loved the freedom of those nights away from the locked-in traditions of Pershawl where she was expected to kneel and pray to a God she didn’t believe in and conform to the societal views of what was right and wrong. She focused back in on the teacher whose words may as well be mute as she tried to teach to the unresponsive class. She wore modest clothes that covered every bit of her skin below her neck other than her hands, how boring Eliza thought as she dismayed at what she imagined the teacher's life to be like. The thought left a horrible feeling in her mind. She knew what could fix it. She raised her hand and asked to be excused to the bathroom, the teacher excited at first believing one of the students was actually engaged in the class then solemnly let her go. Eliza got up making sure to take her bag with her, she scurried through the hallways with tunnel vision, her only thoughts focused on getting to the bathroom as quickly as possible. She swung open the bathroom door and marched into the nearest empty cubicle locking in behind her. Her hands were almost shaking now as she searched through her bag. Her hand closed around the glass bottle of a mini bottle of vodka, she ripped it out and downed it, she felt as the liquid worked its magic over her body and mind putting her in a warm haze. She went out of the cubicle and looked into the mirror, a smile was now on her face. Her naturally brown curly hair came to just past her shoulders, her cheeks were tinged red over her brown skin. She was very pretty and she laughed as she realised this. Her walk back to the classroom was much slower than her scramble away from it. She sat back at her desk and waited for the bell to ring. Her mind now was in a trance as she pictured what the night had in store for her. The bell rang. She got up and left, the teacher still not finished with closing the lesson. She knew the walk home would take twenty minutes and then she’d have to have dinner with her parents, that would take at least an hour. All in all she could be up in the hills free by six pm. She walked down the road that turned onto the cul-de-sac her parents house was on. Looking around she couldn’t see anyone and then nipped behind her neighbours garage as she always did. Her neighbour was a cop who lived alone and always worked at this time. His house sat on the corner of the cul-de-sac, which made this the perfect place to get ready to face her parents. She once again searched around her bag, this time pulling out another little vodka bottle and a bottle of mouthwash. She downed the vodka then rinsed her mouth out with the mouthwash. She spat the mouthwash out onto the back of the garage. She got a kick out of the fact it was a cops garage she did this at. She went on down to her house skipping up the steps and opening the door. The smell of her mothers cooking hits her, it smells good and Eliza smiles as she realises it must be nearly ready and soon she will be free in the hills. “Hi” Eliza shouts as she makes her way upstairs to her room. “Hey sweetie” She hears her mother say as she closes her bedroom door. She immediately got changed out of her school clothes and into her clothes for the evening. Please go to /r/HoneyDewUpdates for more
[WP] As a weaker supervillain, you have always been largely ignored. Things suddenly change as by some freak accident you end up killing one of the strongest and most beloved superheroes in a fight.	People are bad at statistics. Like, really bad. Really, really bad. Downright terrible. Even in a world where everyone has some sort of superpower, it doesn't seem like "good at statistics" is a power that even exists. Certain things get a lot of attention. Kill people? That gets "hearts and prayers" and a death warrant. Steal from rich people? They put their money into ending you. Mug someone? Name a superhero who wouldn't show up. All these things get you into the news. The colorful costumes and caricatured personalities are meant to get attention, to improve one's reputation for good or ill. Same with flashy powers. Everybody loves a hero with super-strength, flight, and/or laser eyes. And everyone reviles a villain who can cause diseases or control blood, or spit acid. But in this world of superpowers, where anyone could be a hero, everyone ignores me. "Lowest Common Denominator" is almost not a power, and thus I must be no one important. With such mundane abilities like "being physically average," it's not like anything I do can be anything other than boring. Which gets us back to statistics. Tell me, what kills the most people in the world? Is it the eye-catching superpowers? Nah. It's heart disease. Boring, ordinary heart disease. If you knew that, it probably was just because someone mentioned it once, and you thought it a neat factoid. But death is death, whether it's boring or not. The only difference is that one catches your attention and one does not. You die either way. Captain Justice found out the hard way that even boring can be deadly.	I like the premise of the first sentence, explaining what life is like as a weaker supervillain. This is my first time responding to a post, all feedback welcome. Moderator: Hello everyone and welcome to the Supervillain Support Circle. I see some new faces today, would anyone like to introduce themselves? How about you in the green spandex, with the glasses? Phil: Uh.. me? Okay, well… umm coughs hi, my name is Phil. And I’m a supervillain. Everyone: Hi, Phil. Moderator: That’s a great start! Tell us a little bit about yourself. We’re all friends here. Phil [internal thoughts]: Why couldn’t they have picked someone else? I just wanted to listen. Oh, great, they’re all staring. Don’t make eye contact, just look down, just look down. Moderator: Phil? Phil: Yeah? Oh, right. Sorry (laughs nervously). Well, I’ve wanted to be a supervillain for as long as I can remember. Growing up, people like Captain Chaos, The Huntress, Red Rampage, and Gastro were my heroes. Well, you know what I mean. I would copy their moves, their catchphrase, and memorized every crime they committed. [Flashback of little Phil copying the supervillains on TV fighting. Skips to another flashback with little Phil puffing out his chest repeating Captain Chaos’s catchphrase on the TV. Final flash back of little Phil studying hard - camera angle shifts to over the shoulder where he is writing stats below each supervillain.] Phil: I could not wait for my superpowers to come in and get started as a supervillain. But… they never came. Nothing. Not one drop. My whole family are Tier 2 supervillains or higher and the only thing I seemed to be good at is coaxing old ladys’ cats into trees. Needless to say, there’s a lot of pressure to live up to the family legacy and I’m just scared I won’t be good enough. Other participants: Did he say ‘no powers’? Man, I thought I had it bad! How can he even call himself a supervillain? [Phil hangs his head in shame.] Cut to the end of the meeting: Moderator: Phil, thank you so much for coming and sharing today. I just want you to know, you are perfectly okay being powerless. I mean, I’m powerless and look how I turned out! (Phil grimaces.) Come back again next week? We’d love to see you! [Phil continues to walk down the street, gloomy and lost in thought. He kicks a rock. It bounces and breaks a car taillight. A man comes running out of a coffee shop. Yelling at and chasing Phil.] Angry man: Hey! You’re going to pay for that you green piece of shit! Get back here! [Phil runs away. The man’s voice growing fainter. Phil eventually ducks behind a dumpster, chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. The wind picks up.] Windstorm (from above, laughing): Running away again? Man you are so pathetic, Phil. Phil: My name is Phantom! How many times do I have to tell you that? Windstorm (mocking): Ohh, right, Phannntomm. Scaryyyy. Oooooo. Phil: Cut it out! Aren’t you supposed to be helping dad take over the city or something? Windstorm: We’re running ahead of schedule so I thought I’d check in on my loser of a brother. (To Be Continued?)
[WP] As a weaker supervillain, you have always been largely ignored. Things suddenly change as by some freak accident you end up killing one of the strongest and most beloved superheroes in a fight.	Most heroes described me as, at worst, 'A mild inconvenience'. It wasn't that my plans weren't grand and elaborate, it was that something always came up: My plan to steal the Empire State Building? Foiled by a hurricane. Sinking the Sydney Opera House? Low tide. Conquering a Hawaiin Island? Volcano eruption. Capsizing that Titanic replica? Already sinking. The list goes on and on. Those extravagant evils just never seemed to work out. So, I moved to smaller ones. Battles that couldn't be stolen by happenstance and shenanigan. I became 'Dr. Inconvenience'. Ever been behind a car going too slow on the highway? Looked in that rear-view mirror and seen the hundreds of cars behind you? I was leading that charge. Ever lose your spot in line because someone started a rush? Me. Beginning wild rumors about an impending toilet paper shortage? Yours truly. Honestly? It was so very much more satisfying than those big grand-standing plans. The absolute raw rage one can inflict by the smallest of things. That? That was villainous fulfillment. Imagine my surprise when one of my dastardly plans led to the death of 'Signor Super'. I had busied myself removing every single wet-floor sign in the city. Shoes being ruined, legs being splashed, and best of all? The occasional slip. In this case, the life-changing slip. Signor Super, now Signor Sausage, slipped on one of those unmarked puddles of soapy suds. Slid right into an industrial sized meat grinder while chasing after Mrs. Evil (I know, I know, I told her the name was lame.) As soon as footage was released of the very villain who removed said 'Wet Floor' sign? Let's just say a mild inconvenience can become a major one.	"Oh no oh no oh no. This can't be happening. I'm... I'm not ready for this." HugeHandz Hank mubled to himself in a half-crazed state. Why would Infinitas come to this dive bar? Why did Infinitas recognize him? He was a D-rank villain unworthy of Ininitas' sidekick. "You want a little contest first or would you rather go straight to prison?" Infinitas asked. "Like what, an arm wrastle?" Infinitas put his hand on his chin as if considering a great question before grinning a truly heroic grin. His dimples were like chiseled marble. "Interesting, well why not HugeHandz." The memory flashed through his mind. Infinitas simply imagined himself being strong and it was so. Then with godly strength grabbed his hand so hard it nearly broke. But somehow, HugeHandz Hank had won. The table exploded and a rusty nail gashed him from wrist to elbow. HugeHandz ran out of the building looking back and forth nervously. "Wonderful, I was afraid this would be beyond us, but it was a pair of idiots at a bar." Factfinder, a B-rank hero said. "You really shouldn't talk about Infinitas that way. He saved us from the underworld uprising and the" "Shut up. You know this is good for us. If we bring in Infinitas' killer we'll both make A-rank, possibly even S-rank with a little luck." he interuppted his partner Marksmaiden, a B-rank hero. "I'm just saying we could be polite about it." Neither was concerned about this glorified thug known as HugeHandz, he was just a stepping stone. Let me know if you want to see the conclusion. I have to go so I can't finish tonight. r/AurumArgenteus
[WP] The Chosen One works retail. They have no desire to save humanity due to it.	"No, sir," Rolan said in a well-practiced pleasant tone, his face hurting from the strain to keep smiling. "I do not think you were born yesterday." The city lord slammed a meaty fist on the counter, his fat pinky ring clacking against the wood. "Listen here you bumkin. I am not paying twelve shinnings for a new hilt. The sword's only worth six!" It would be so easy. The sword was right there on the smooth, freshly polished counter. Rolan had spent most of the morning wiping it down. According to Master Luhart, if he had time to lean, he had time to clean. Well, right now, he had time to cleave ... a head clean from its entitled shoulders. "You hear me, boy?" Rolan snapped back from his sweet, sweet fantasy. The customer was glaring daggers up at him. "I'll see what I can do," he said, bowed, and ducked into the hallway leading to the workshop. When Rolan had won the apprentice lottery, everything had changed for him. His parents were overjoyed, danced around him as he read the letter of invitation from the Ingport Smithing Guild. A country mouse like him was going to the city, THE city. They weren't destitute. His family had been growing apples and tabbac for generations on their little farmstead. But Rolan hadn't wanted to be a farmer. He wanted more. So much more. Then he got it. But the life of a city apprentice wasn't like the stories. He wasn't hammering iron and steel into swords or armor. He wasn't working with masters and learning their hard-earned secrets. He was a clerk. A punching sack. A target. Rolan knocked on the heavy door leading to the forge and closed his eyes. The sounds of hammer on metal, clinging and clanging, carried through the door. As did the smell of soot and sweat. Everything he wanted. Through the door, a gruff voice barked, "WHAT?" Rolan pinched the bridge of his nose and shouted, "Customer wants a discount!" The door flung open and Master Luhart growled, his cracked-leather face pinched into a familiar scowl. Sweat streaked rivers down his soot-smudged cheeks. "What have I told you about discounts?" Rage bubbled up from the bottom of Rolan's stomach, hot and sour. Rolan knew the answer. Master Luhart knew Rolan knew the answer. They'd been through this so many times. But that didn't change the fact that customers still asked for discounts. And that going to the back to ask Master Luhart for a discount was the only way to mollify the vipers at the counter. They all knew it. And yet... "No discounts for anyone but the—" "Anyone but the Queen herself," Master Luhart finished. "Has her highness graced us with her presence, apprentice? Has the defender of the Seven Realms brightened my doorway?" Rolan's face hurt. He was clenching his jaw again. "No," he said through his teeth. Master Luhan sucked in a deep breath and shouted, "THEN WHY ARE YOU BOTHERING' ME!" Then he slammed heavy door on Rolan's face. Rolan was never an angry child. In fact, his parents always said he had the patience of a saint. But that was because they couldn't hear his thoughts. When Tarwyn Gol shoved him out of the way and took his place in line when the sweet ice vendor came to their village, Rolan didn't cry, didn't shout, didn't fight. He laughed it off and took his new place in line behind Tarwyn. But in his mind, oh the things he did to that boy. Things that no child should ever consider. Should know how to consider. So much blood. "BOY!" the city lord shouted from the counter. When Rolan turned the corner and walked through the doorway into the storefront, he'd rebuilt his composure, apology and smile at the ready. But the city lord was gone. In his place stood a dark, dangerous looking man. That was what Rolan's instincts screamed at him. He was tall, a good head taller than Rolan who was never mistaken for short. His face was all hard lines and edges, as if carved from stone. Rolan's eyes searched for the man's hands and could not find them. They were buried into his long black coat. A robber? Rolan thought to himself. No, he couldn't be that brazen. "Nice little shop you've got here," he said, in rumbling basso. His accent was more dockside than city proper, smoky and sing-songy. "Sellin' swords, yeah?" "Yes, we sell swords," Rolan said, reaching his hand under the counter for the dagger strapped underneath. "What happened to the customer that was here?" The stone-faced man smiled and it softened his features. His eyes were dark and seemed tired. "I sent him on his way." From his right coat pocket he pulled a sword in a shabby leather scabbard. It was half as long as Rolan, and there was no way it could have fit inside a coat. The man set the sword down on the counter in front of him. "What can you tell me about this sword?" Rolan stared down at the weapon. Yes, the scabbard was made from worn leather. And so was the hilt. But there was something about the sword that drew Rolan closer. Like it was calling to him. He reached out a tentative hand and ... when he grabbed it, everything went white. Then he was back. Standing at the counter, sword drawn and pointed forward. The steel was nearly white and caught the sun shining in through the shop windows, like it was drinking it in. "Welcome back," said the man, standing beside Rolan, behind the counter. "Ah, you can't be back here!" Rolan snapped, his senses catching up to him. "What — what happened?" The man clapped his hands, waved them around fingers flittering, and held his palms up. Above them, an image appeared. It was of an armored knight holding a shining sword. "My name is Theromine," he said. "And I am a Magi. I have been searching a long time for the one who could wield this sword. It seems my search is over." "I don't understand." Theromine nodded. "Look at the picture." The knight started moving. He ran forward, sword glowing brighter, and reached a horned monster twice as tall as himself. "A great evil walks the land, corrupting and destroying everything in its path. Soon, if nothing is done, it will destroy the world. Everyone and everything. But you, the Sword Saint, have the power to stop it. To save humanity." The knight leapt into the air and stabbed the monster with his sword. The image flashed white then faded away. Theromine clapped his hands again and said, "Well. I'll give you a moment to collect your things and then we'll head out." Rolan stared down at the sword, then at Theromine, then at the front door of the shop. In one smooth motion, he jumped over the counter and ran for the door. "Where are you going!" Theromine shouted after him. Rolan turned and could not hide his grin. "There's a monster I need to slay. I'll cleave his head clean from his entitled shoulders."	'Jason come into my office' my managers says as im stocking the juice aisle. 'Whats up' I reply, and follow her into the office where a man i have never seen before was waiting. 'This guy is Mr Bond, he wants to talk to you, he's from corporate', my manager introduces us. Peeling off his sunglasses, my managers leaves the room, giving us privacy. 'Jason have you ever wondered what's its like to be meant for something big? to have what others can't' 'Sorry, say what now, is this speech mandatory for training employees now?' 'Jason, listen what im about to tell is going to change your life' 'Uhmm, sorry i'm not actually depressed, i just look like it despite what the manager says' 'No jason，you don't understand' 'Sir, i'd hate to waste your time, i'm sure i've already heard this in some shape or form from my mother' 'Do you know what this is?' Mr Bond unveils a sword behind him, A freaking sword, like some kind of magic trick Now im terrified, i'm speechless. Mr Bond remains still, 'This is yours' He tries to hand me the sword, I'm so confused i almost drop it. 'Wha' 'This is the sword, excalibur of legend, it is a symbol of the chosen one, and it has chosen you' In my head, i'm like yo i didn't even audition for this, and like i dont know what being a chosen one means, is it alot of work, i already hate serving as it is and now you tell me i gotta save tgem.
[WP] The Chosen One works retail. They have no desire to save humanity due to it.	"No, sir," Rolan said in a well-practiced pleasant tone, his face hurting from the strain to keep smiling. "I do not think you were born yesterday." The city lord slammed a meaty fist on the counter, his fat pinky ring clacking against the wood. "Listen here you bumkin. I am not paying twelve shinnings for a new hilt. The sword's only worth six!" It would be so easy. The sword was right there on the smooth, freshly polished counter. Rolan had spent most of the morning wiping it down. According to Master Luhart, if he had time to lean, he had time to clean. Well, right now, he had time to cleave ... a head clean from its entitled shoulders. "You hear me, boy?" Rolan snapped back from his sweet, sweet fantasy. The customer was glaring daggers up at him. "I'll see what I can do," he said, bowed, and ducked into the hallway leading to the workshop. When Rolan had won the apprentice lottery, everything had changed for him. His parents were overjoyed, danced around him as he read the letter of invitation from the Ingport Smithing Guild. A country mouse like him was going to the city, THE city. They weren't destitute. His family had been growing apples and tabbac for generations on their little farmstead. But Rolan hadn't wanted to be a farmer. He wanted more. So much more. Then he got it. But the life of a city apprentice wasn't like the stories. He wasn't hammering iron and steel into swords or armor. He wasn't working with masters and learning their hard-earned secrets. He was a clerk. A punching sack. A target. Rolan knocked on the heavy door leading to the forge and closed his eyes. The sounds of hammer on metal, clinging and clanging, carried through the door. As did the smell of soot and sweat. Everything he wanted. Through the door, a gruff voice barked, "WHAT?" Rolan pinched the bridge of his nose and shouted, "Customer wants a discount!" The door flung open and Master Luhart growled, his cracked-leather face pinched into a familiar scowl. Sweat streaked rivers down his soot-smudged cheeks. "What have I told you about discounts?" Rage bubbled up from the bottom of Rolan's stomach, hot and sour. Rolan knew the answer. Master Luhart knew Rolan knew the answer. They'd been through this so many times. But that didn't change the fact that customers still asked for discounts. And that going to the back to ask Master Luhart for a discount was the only way to mollify the vipers at the counter. They all knew it. And yet... "No discounts for anyone but the—" "Anyone but the Queen herself," Master Luhart finished. "Has her highness graced us with her presence, apprentice? Has the defender of the Seven Realms brightened my doorway?" Rolan's face hurt. He was clenching his jaw again. "No," he said through his teeth. Master Luhan sucked in a deep breath and shouted, "THEN WHY ARE YOU BOTHERING' ME!" Then he slammed heavy door on Rolan's face. Rolan was never an angry child. In fact, his parents always said he had the patience of a saint. But that was because they couldn't hear his thoughts. When Tarwyn Gol shoved him out of the way and took his place in line when the sweet ice vendor came to their village, Rolan didn't cry, didn't shout, didn't fight. He laughed it off and took his new place in line behind Tarwyn. But in his mind, oh the things he did to that boy. Things that no child should ever consider. Should know how to consider. So much blood. "BOY!" the city lord shouted from the counter. When Rolan turned the corner and walked through the doorway into the storefront, he'd rebuilt his composure, apology and smile at the ready. But the city lord was gone. In his place stood a dark, dangerous looking man. That was what Rolan's instincts screamed at him. He was tall, a good head taller than Rolan who was never mistaken for short. His face was all hard lines and edges, as if carved from stone. Rolan's eyes searched for the man's hands and could not find them. They were buried into his long black coat. A robber? Rolan thought to himself. No, he couldn't be that brazen. "Nice little shop you've got here," he said, in rumbling basso. His accent was more dockside than city proper, smoky and sing-songy. "Sellin' swords, yeah?" "Yes, we sell swords," Rolan said, reaching his hand under the counter for the dagger strapped underneath. "What happened to the customer that was here?" The stone-faced man smiled and it softened his features. His eyes were dark and seemed tired. "I sent him on his way." From his right coat pocket he pulled a sword in a shabby leather scabbard. It was half as long as Rolan, and there was no way it could have fit inside a coat. The man set the sword down on the counter in front of him. "What can you tell me about this sword?" Rolan stared down at the weapon. Yes, the scabbard was made from worn leather. And so was the hilt. But there was something about the sword that drew Rolan closer. Like it was calling to him. He reached out a tentative hand and ... when he grabbed it, everything went white. Then he was back. Standing at the counter, sword drawn and pointed forward. The steel was nearly white and caught the sun shining in through the shop windows, like it was drinking it in. "Welcome back," said the man, standing beside Rolan, behind the counter. "Ah, you can't be back here!" Rolan snapped, his senses catching up to him. "What — what happened?" The man clapped his hands, waved them around fingers flittering, and held his palms up. Above them, an image appeared. It was of an armored knight holding a shining sword. "My name is Theromine," he said. "And I am a Magi. I have been searching a long time for the one who could wield this sword. It seems my search is over." "I don't understand." Theromine nodded. "Look at the picture." The knight started moving. He ran forward, sword glowing brighter, and reached a horned monster twice as tall as himself. "A great evil walks the land, corrupting and destroying everything in its path. Soon, if nothing is done, it will destroy the world. Everyone and everything. But you, the Sword Saint, have the power to stop it. To save humanity." The knight leapt into the air and stabbed the monster with his sword. The image flashed white then faded away. Theromine clapped his hands again and said, "Well. I'll give you a moment to collect your things and then we'll head out." Rolan stared down at the sword, then at Theromine, then at the front door of the shop. In one smooth motion, he jumped over the counter and ran for the door. "Where are you going!" Theromine shouted after him. Rolan turned and could not hide his grin. "There's a monster I need to slay. I'll cleave his head clean from his entitled shoulders."	I've seen the lot of them. The businessmen in suits waiting to put bottles of wine on their company card, foot tapping impatiently as the struggling young woman counts change for necessities. His one bottle easily triples her entire purchase. The zeroes in his account are at the end of the balance. Hers, the front. They all believe that Chosen One is synonymous with Savior... I've seen the people spending rent money on Fancy nails in the "salon" and I've seen people using what could be inheritances on trinkets and electronic toys. I've watched people of all size shape color and Creed passed by my check stand. It's a good thing the yellow face on my vest is smiling - For this place, the soulless masses within, even the very products on the shelves and how they came into being, and into being here... They're disgusting. Repugnant. Destructive, short-sighted, and wan. I'm not the chosen one. I'm the one who chooses. The Ultimate Judge. And Humanity has failed. Again.
[WP] The wrinkled fingertips are just the beginning of the transformation. We just always leave the water too early	The circle &#x200B; The water calls me, but I always say no. What touches my feet is something warm and primordial, the broth in which the Paleolithic father was cradled at the beginning of time. It is alive with the cells of creatures that are born and live and die in it without ever seeing anything else, constellations of fish banks and algae blooms and decomposing flesh and the promise of something – someone, whispers a voice inside of me – yet to come. It has always been there, the voice. Just like the water lapping at my ankles. Boiling in my blood. "Another step", says Charles. "The longest yet." He begs in that honest, cruel way of his – he is shamelessly curious, tired of retracing the steps of our evolution while walking always backwards. Thirsty for the water to show him a glimpse of the future. The water calls me, as it always did. It trembles and topples like an overfilled bowl, spilling its gifts over me, wave after wave. Just wait, it cries, just wait and see. There is a secret to be uncovered, there. I just have to say yes. In the meantime, my nails have so clean they are almost white - the memory of seashells easy to read in the pattern of their lines. When I finally lay down, the water runs to fill my nostrils and my mouth, the threat loud and clear on the salt of its lips. Don’t you dare make me wait any longer. I waited and wanted long enough. But no matter the harshness of its onslaught or the passing minutes, it doesn’t drown me. See, lovely? No fear. They don’t call me Pacific for nothing. I come in peace. And I? I ask. You come with me, it answers. The water always accepts its prodigal daughters. Charles adjusts the glasses on the bridge of his nose, and begins to write. On the Origin of Species: Part II...	I loved swimming. My mom always called me her little fish. In the summers, I would lifeguard for the local pool. When I turned 16, I finally got my dream job, lifeguard at Long Beach. There was something special about that beach. Maybe it was because you could see the Catalina Islands in the background, floating on the horizon like UFOs. I had never been there, despite seeing them almost every day. So, I decided to go for it one day when I didn’t have work. It isn’t a walk in the park, or maybe I should say a lap in the pool —it’s pretty far — about 15 kilometers off the coast, so more like 150 laps in the pool. But like I told you, I was a swimmer. People run marathons all the time, don’t they? What’s the real difference, anyway? It was my Tuesday off, and it was midsummer, so not only did I have the day, but I had a full day. I dove in and waded past the groups of teenagers getting pummeled by the crashing waves. You know, it’s funny that most people end up standing in that layer of the ocean where the waves are breaking — I guess it is because it is typically the place where people can still touch the bottom. But man, farther in and you get the foamy white water, and farther out, you get nothing but the calm undulations of the ebb and flow of this beautiful body of water. Anyway, I guess it’s something you learn in time, like most things. Once I got to the surfers, I was getting into a groove. Arms and legs started synchronizing in a typical freestyle motion, and I’d breathe every 6 strokes. It use to be 5, but I had really been pushing myself to use less and less air, I know it seems counterintuitive, but it really had been paying off. I had read something in this book called Breathe, which honestly seemed like pseudoscience at first, little did I know Olympians had been following these methods for ages! Sometimes the tricks are right there in front of you. A few hours later and I was but a speck in the big blue ocean. The problem was that the sky was becoming less and less blue… I wasn’t panicking, I mean, I was a lifeguard after all… but still, a storm wasn’t on the plan; especially at this point. I mean, I guess I could have turned around, but I was almost halfway there! And man, I reaaaally wanted to see these islands. Another few hours and I had to take a pause and just float around. I had a small waist belt on with some water and snacks. The drink was refreshing, but it was so hard to open the damn packaged nuts. My fingers were wrinkled like raisins at this point, but they also felt a bit slippery against the plastic. Whatever. I eventually ripped it open and poured the food into my mouth. Let’s go. I knew where I was going, I mean, they were big islands after all, and I could see them. Well, I should have seen them. Earlier they were there, but now all I could see was this big grey wall of bad weather. At first I was just happy it wasn’t rainy… Then I was just happy it wasn’t windy… Then I just wasn’t happy. Swimming in a storm is the worst. Especially if you are swimming against a storm. The choppy waves just continually smash into your face, and they throw off the rhythm, and the rhythm is what swimming is all about. To avoid this whole chaos I changed my style to dive a bit deeper underwater and swim as long as I could and then pop up for air. This reminded me of when I was 14, I was in a breath-holding contest. Well, I guess it wasn’t really a contest in the traditional sense of the word — it was more a contest of teenage hormones to show who is the most macho lifeguard at the community pool. The point is that I won. Well, that isn’t the point that I’m trying to make now, or, well, it is — but not exactly like that. I don’t know what happened, but it seemed like I could stay down there forever. I didn’t even need to come up, but the other guys yanked me up because they were tired of waiting! Ha, suckers. Now, there is no one to pull me up, and I could just swim, and swim, and swim. I was amazed at how long I could go without coming up. I didn’t have a watch, but I knew whales could go for hours. One downside of swimming underwater, together with the fact that I also couldn’t see anything when I was swimming above water, is that I quickly lost my orientation. There was a bit of a current, but at the same time, out here in this storm, the flow of the water was mostly dictated by the wind, and the wind can certainly change. I could have been going in the right direction, heck, maybe I was, the problem was that I really just didn’t know anymore. Now, I could have started to panic… but I knew I had a few more hours of sunlight, and hey, maybe the storm will clear up. I decided to just tread water and rest a bit to see if it would clear up enough where I could make out the silhouettes of the islands against the horizon. The weirdest thing happened during that next few hours minutes. Usually, it takes a bit of effort to tread water, even if you are a swimmer, I mean, people kind of tend to sink in general… but I felt like I was floating upright. I never had that sensation before, I wondered if it was the storm, making some odd current or maybe it was the wind, or I don’t know, maybe it was all in my mind. That’s what I thought, at least at first. When I went to grab my water bottle, that’s when I knew something happened, something strange. I looked at my hand, and well — what the fuck — my fingers were webbed! Now I panicked. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck was my general state of mind for the following 15 minutes. Then, well, I kind of accepted it and started swimming with my eyes closed, as fast as I could, in the direction of where I thought the islands might have been. It was about 15 minutes later when I noticed that I hadn’t done my normal 6 strokes and breathe, but rather, how do I say this… I uh, never came up to breathe. Now things were getting really strange. Even though I was becoming a literal fish, I had a bit of good news, as the sun was almost setting, the storm broke up just enough to show me that I was actually quite close to the island, maybe only 5 minutes more. I had been in the water all day, maybe I had been hallucinating everything. I swam over to an outcrop of rocks and pulled myself up onto them. Nope, definitely not hallucinating, I had webbed hands and feet. Great. This was going to make for some great local news story. I didn’t really know what to do, but I did know I was tired as I had ever been. I drifted off to sleep, and when I woke up, I was very, very cold but I could see in the last light of the day that I had my normal fingers back. What the hell was all that?! I made my way to an inn not so far away and slept for the night. The next morning I kept to myself, lost in thought about what happened the day before. Was it real? Did I dream it all? Was I going crazy? I’m still not too sure what happened that day — but I will tell you something — I took the boat back and I haven’t been in the water since.
[WP] The government realized it was futile to try and eliminate monsters so they chose to regulate them instead. Monsters, unbeknownst to the public can apply for “hunting” licenses that allow them to kill humans on a pre approved list mostly serious criminals. But somehow a regular person is on it.	I am an ageless horror. I eat the souls of the wicked and the damned... primarily. I also pay my taxes because the IRS are a bunch of evil witches. Me I don't fit in well with the government, or the rest of the system, nobody takes a little girl seriously. Fortunately I still get my needs met. Well I was until recently. I've hit something of a rough patch. Let me set the stage: Was some ten years back. Halloween. The perfect Halloween in fact. A full moon. Did I say I only go out on full moons? Kinda makes things awkward for me because once I get the assignment, I've got a month to kill them. Which means I've got one or sometimes two days to plan and execute the kill. Anyway I've got the name and address from the agency. You know the agency that provides me people I can eat. Those guys do a great job. So I arrive, the house is all decorated, fake grave stones in the yard, a plastic skeleton beside the door, fake cobwebs, you know the works. It's not a big place. Obviously the guy lives alone. I lurk a while, make sure no more kids are coming. Wouldn't want to be disturbed mid feed after all. Finally it's late, 9pm, all the other kids are done for the evening. I ring the bell. I hear the shuffling of feet to the door. It opens and there is an old man well old for men at least, to me you are all just young succulent morsels. He invites me in and before I can pounce, he offers me food. Well candy. Candy is food right? He insists I take some. Not really my thing but the rules of hospitality have to be observed. They Must Be Observed. It's kinda a thing for me. I can't eat him now. I've taken his food. I, am his guest. So I stay awhile. I listen to him ramble on about how things have changed. How he misses his old friends. I peak at his soul... perfectly clean. I think the government made a mistake. It's been a good half hour before I point to the door and go. Well this is awkward. I call up the help line, "Uhhhh the guy you sent me to is perfectly clean. Nothing wrong with him. What's the deal?" They tried to explain. Their explanation made no sense. I'm a being of eldritch horror, I know a clean soul from a dirty one and this guy was clean, heck he was even some type of doctor. They tried to convince me he was the wrong type of doctor and that he needed to die. I sighed and signed up for him for next month. I signed up to kill him from now until the end of time. He hasn't got too much longer to live and I can go hungry for a little while I guess. Every full moon I visit. Don't want them thinking I'm slacking off. He chats, I listen. His stories have started to grow on me.	Panting Screaming Stomping What is happening I think to my self as I’m running as fast as I can away from a Chaser and It’s master. Didn’t the government get rid of all the monsters and even if they didn’t why’s one coming after me, I realized that to survive this encounter with The BeastMaster I would have to use my specialty Mindless Headbutt, which I hated to use because I would black out till all the things threatening me are dead, and it really gives me a headache but I guess I have to do it, and then everything went black. When I could see again I saw The BeastMaster and 3 Chasers dead at my feet but worse of all I had a really bad headache, I should probably be getting home now my sister might be getting worried I thought as I pulled out my phone to check the time and saw it was 4:45 AM so I knew that if any monsters didn’t kill me than my sister definitely would.
[WP] The government realized it was futile to try and eliminate monsters so they chose to regulate them instead. Monsters, unbeknownst to the public can apply for “hunting” licenses that allow them to kill humans on a pre approved list mostly serious criminals. But somehow a regular person is on it.	His speed gained as his heart paced faster and faster. Every so often he slowed down to catch his breath but never for long, he couldn’t see or hear the monster but only the lavender purple mist looming closely behind him. He knew exactly what was behind him, exactly why he was running and exactly what would be left of him if he gave up. Right at the moment he thought of giving up he turned right and ducked into the roots of a large midnight green tree. He took deep breaths, the purple smoke filling his lunges as his chest rises and collapses. His mind flickers between trying to remember what his mother told him about the purple smoke, what monster was chasing him, what his plan was. When suddenly a root from the tree wrapped around his ankle. “What are you!? Where am I!?” He shouted at the tree which now suspending him from his ankle has a face constructed from vines and bark. “Just breathe, everything’s going to be okay” The monster spoke out of unmoving lips, a tongue made of mud flicked around in its mouth. The man flailed and struggled but somehow couldn’t remember how or why. “Why am I here!? What are you!? Who am I!?” The man said “You were called here, you have sinned, and now you can be forgiven” the monster glared with two red pupils the size of blueberries. “You should be thanking me” The man gave up in struggling in his head he only had one word left, it was the same word that described the very scenario he was in right now. “Crunch”	Panting Screaming Stomping What is happening I think to my self as I’m running as fast as I can away from a Chaser and It’s master. Didn’t the government get rid of all the monsters and even if they didn’t why’s one coming after me, I realized that to survive this encounter with The BeastMaster I would have to use my specialty Mindless Headbutt, which I hated to use because I would black out till all the things threatening me are dead, and it really gives me a headache but I guess I have to do it, and then everything went black. When I could see again I saw The BeastMaster and 3 Chasers dead at my feet but worse of all I had a really bad headache, I should probably be getting home now my sister might be getting worried I thought as I pulled out my phone to check the time and saw it was 4:45 AM so I knew that if any monsters didn’t kill me than my sister definitely would.
[WP] The government realized it was futile to try and eliminate monsters so they chose to regulate them instead. Monsters, unbeknownst to the public can apply for “hunting” licenses that allow them to kill humans on a pre approved list mostly serious criminals. But somehow a regular person is on it.	I stopped to catch my breath, doing my best to hide behind the dumpster. Not an insignificant challenge, given my frame. This day had started out so well, I got that pup cup from Starbucks, my boss said I did well on the TRP reports, Jen from accounting said yes when I asked her to lunch. I hadn't made any mistakes in over a year. Everything just seemed to be going so well. I thought I deserved a treat. But here I am, hiding from It, praying It doesn't find me. I tried to brush the hair out of my eyes, always a challenge to do when it gets matted from all this sweat and excitement. My ears perked up as I heard that eerie voice coming from all around me, a whisper in stereo "Mr. Chaney, you'd make this much easier on both of us if you would just stop running. You need to accept your punishment." I took my best guess and ran towards the North exit of the alley, where the smell of brimstone was lighter, but It stepped out from a shadow, arms crossed and cold dead eyes fixed on me. I did an about face and stopped bothering with the pretense and ran on all fours to the other exit, only for It to cut me off there as well. Everything I knew was telling me to run, but I was out of options. My fur bristled as I bared my fangs and growled out, "What am I being punished for? You're on the list! I'm legally allowed to eat you!" When I got that damned catalog, I spent hours going over it for potential meals. But the violent criminals were too scary, what if they fought back? And you never knew whose grandmother had gifted them some silver bauble. There were others on that list whose sick crimes make my stomach churn, something that would only get worse if I actually consumed them. But there was one who was perfect. A simple actuary with a bland face and bland expression whose crime read "Went seven miles over speed limit". I finally decided to indulge myself, stalking him as he exited his workplace, with no idea of what I was getting myself into. The two identical figures sauntered towards me, their steps a perfect mirror of each other. Their heads unraveled into a tree of flesh sprouting from their bodies, each branch its own terrible grin of jagged teeth. One of the maws chuckled. "Well that's the thing, Mr. Chaney. You did what's legal, but I'm more concerned about what's moral." The other mouths continued to slither towards me, content to let their sibling be their voice. "You had an entire catalog of hardened criminals to go after, and you picked the one harmless actuary." I bite and claw at the mouths, but they dissolve into shadows each time I make contact, quickly replaced by more branches of fangs from the figures. One wraps itself around my hind legs and dangles me upside down as more teeth latch on to me. The two figures have finished their walk and have met each other now, dissolving into each other to form one creature, more of a monstrosity than I could ever hope to be. The voice started again, this time from each of the mouths that had gotten a hold of me. "If Monsters are going to be accepted in the Human's World, its not enough to behave legally. We must show them we are Good. That we will behave ourselves not out of fear of governmental reprisal, but because we want to be better than all of those nasty folktales make us out to be." The teeth sunk deeper into my flesh and began to rotate in their mouths, emitting a high pitched whir like the chain saw they were. "And you Lonnie, are an impediment to that goal." It held the phone in its hand, the mouths reshaping into a head again, dragging all that tender newly rent flesh along with them back into Its body, to be savored at a later time. "Steven, would you be a dear and send someone out to clean the alley at ninth and fourteenth? Seeing this could really put a damper on someone's day, and I'd hate to be the cause of that."	Panting Screaming Stomping What is happening I think to my self as I’m running as fast as I can away from a Chaser and It’s master. Didn’t the government get rid of all the monsters and even if they didn’t why’s one coming after me, I realized that to survive this encounter with The BeastMaster I would have to use my specialty Mindless Headbutt, which I hated to use because I would black out till all the things threatening me are dead, and it really gives me a headache but I guess I have to do it, and then everything went black. When I could see again I saw The BeastMaster and 3 Chasers dead at my feet but worse of all I had a really bad headache, I should probably be getting home now my sister might be getting worried I thought as I pulled out my phone to check the time and saw it was 4:45 AM so I knew that if any monsters didn’t kill me than my sister definitely would.
[WP] The government realized it was futile to try and eliminate monsters so they chose to regulate them instead. Monsters, unbeknownst to the public can apply for “hunting” licenses that allow them to kill humans on a pre approved list mostly serious criminals. But somehow a regular person is on it.	“And your wings? Did you preen your scales?” Clark’s ma hooked the collar of his flannel jacket to peer down his back. He shrugged her off and slid into his hard wooden chair at the dinner table. “They’re fine, Ma, sheesh.” Clark helped himself to a slice of meatloaf off Ma’s 1978 Mingo County Fair commemorative platter. “You’re not wearing that tonight, are you?” Clark’s father looked over the edge of his paper from across the table. “I’m going to the movies with Randy,” Clark said, around a mouthful of meatloaf. “We’re hunting tonight.” His father returned to the paper. “So why do I have to come?” Clark grumbled. His father snapped the paper shut. “I got this license for you, Clarcattas. Do you know how hard they are to get?” “I didn’t ask you to get one.” “You’re 200 moons old and you haven’t had a single kill. When I was your age—“ “Yeah, I know — you and Uncle Saskattan were terrorizing the whole state.” Clark rolled his eyes. “Terror isn’t the point.” His father stood up to loom over the table. “We eat what we kill, we respect—“ “Well I like meatloaf just fine—“ “Meatloaf isn’t your culture!” his father roared, swiping Ma’s platter to smash on the lineoleum and extending his umber wings to stretch nearly from wall to wall. Clark shrank in his chair. His father glowered a moment, red eyes narrowed, ignoring Ma’s stifled whimper. “You’ll meet me at the crick when the moon rises.” “Yessir.” Clark stuck around to help Ma sweep up the shards of her platter and do the washing up, then dialed Randy. He stretched the cord as far up the stairs as it would reach, for privacy. “McMurtry residence, this is Randy.” “It’s Clark. Listen, I can’t come tonight. My dad’s making me do this family hunting tradition thing.” “Night hunting? Whatcha after? Coyotes? Hogs?” “Uh… criminals.” Clark let the truth fall right out of his mouth. “Whoa, bounty hunting? I mean, your dad’s a big scary guy, he looks it. And you get to help?” Clark wanted to keep telling the truth. That their prey was people— yes, people specially approved for execution by the state— but still people. People with unshaven beards and favorite bands and pictures of kids in their wallets. People who looked like Clark— well, except for the wings. People who looked like Randy. Randy was a good friend, the kind who never said nothing about Clark keeping his shirt on to go swimming. But Clark couldn’t tell him the truth about this. “Something like that.” “Tell me everything tomorrow,” Randy said. “Bye, Clark.” “Later, Randy.” Clark hung up. He could see the moon shining through the front room window. His father would be waiting. He hung his jacket on the bannister and shook his wings loose, coppery with dark eyespots and a peachy fringe, like Ma’s. The moon shone so bright as he made his way to the crick that he didn’t even need his antennae to aid his path. His father handed him the yellow envelope from the state. “Every hunter must have a license,” he reminded Clark. “For the safety of our kind you must always be absolutely certain of your quarry.” Clark slid a finger through the paper—argh, paper cut! He hid his flinch as best he could, and shook open the license. RANDALL MCMURTRY No. Clark clenched the paper, and the blood from his cut seeped through. “Careful with that—“ His father snatched the license away. “Randall McMurtry, isn’t that Randy’s—“ “I won’t let you hurt him!” Clark flared his wings and let his eyes burn red. “You want me to have a kill so bad? Well fine!” He raised into the hunting posture, blood pounding in his ears. But Clark’s father only stepped back, wings and antennae submissive. “Clark... I wouldn’t make you hunt your friend.” His voice was full of wonder. Clark felt the heat fall from his face. “But the license…” “I wouldn’t make you hunt your friend,” his father repeated. “I’m sure it’s a mistake. Let’s go back to the house, see if your mother left us any pie. I’ll call the licensing bureau in the morning.” Clark let this stranger—his father—put an arm around him. He thought he felt a tear on his cheek. “It’s all right, son. We’re mothmen, but we aren’t monsters.”	Panting Screaming Stomping What is happening I think to my self as I’m running as fast as I can away from a Chaser and It’s master. Didn’t the government get rid of all the monsters and even if they didn’t why’s one coming after me, I realized that to survive this encounter with The BeastMaster I would have to use my specialty Mindless Headbutt, which I hated to use because I would black out till all the things threatening me are dead, and it really gives me a headache but I guess I have to do it, and then everything went black. When I could see again I saw The BeastMaster and 3 Chasers dead at my feet but worse of all I had a really bad headache, I should probably be getting home now my sister might be getting worried I thought as I pulled out my phone to check the time and saw it was 4:45 AM so I knew that if any monsters didn’t kill me than my sister definitely would.
[WP] The government realized it was futile to try and eliminate monsters so they chose to regulate them instead. Monsters, unbeknownst to the public can apply for “hunting” licenses that allow them to kill humans on a pre approved list mostly serious criminals. But somehow a regular person is on it.	The beast was gaining on me. I was running out of breath and I knew that right then and there that the monster was going to get me. It was a big, hairy one, with horns, it looked like something straight out of a children’s book. Most people would have found it hard to take seriously with its yellow fur with pink polka dots but having worked with these creatures for nearly seven years I knew better than to underestimate it. I couldn’t believe it. This was how I was going to die, alone, hunted down by this creature. There would be no one to avenge me, since I knew that as far as the government was concerned, this was perfectly legal. But it had all been a mistake. I didn’t deserve to die. - When I went over to Brad’s desk I had gotten exactly what I expected. Brad had never been the most competent employee and it showed. He wore his sleeves rolled up but his shirt untucked, and his desk was a total mess. It was unusual not to find crumbs from whatever snack food he was eating on the paperwork he filled out and they would usually match the crumbs that you could find if you looked closely at his scraggly beard. He was slouched backwards in his chair, in the seven years I’d worked with Brad at the Department of Monster Regulation I had never once seen him sit up. Brad’s job wasn’t even that hard, and yet he still managed to do it badly a lot of the time. Most of the time his job consisted of updating the list of pre-approved humans that monsters were allowed to hunt with the latest additions, it was mostly serious criminals deemed incapable of redemption, but it was also occasionally people with terminal illnesses who wanted to go out with a bang, or sometimes people who did it for the thrill of trying to outsmart the monster. Brad had a stack of forms on his desk either from the people who signed up for this program or from the higher ups with the newest criminals and he put them all into our computer system. However, his work was sloppy. He sometimes forgot a name. Or made a typo. Once, he accidentally deleted the entire list by mistake. It was a disaster. “Hey there, Steve!” said Brad. “How can I help you?” “You remember Frank, the intern?” “Oh yeah… Frank! He hasn’t been to work in a while, what’s up with that?” “Well, I got word from his family that he was hunted and killed by a monster. Do you know anything about that!?” “First I’m hearing of it. He must’ve been one of those guys who thought he could take the monster down. Oof, poor guy. People who try to do that almost never survive. Shame it had to be Frank, I sure will miss him.” “Yeah, except somehow, Brad, I have a feeling that you won’t.” “I don’t know what you mean.” “Brad, did you or did you not put Frank into the system.” “No, of course not! That would be a total misuse of power.” “I know Frank wasn’t stupid enough to volunteer for this kind of thing, and Brad, you’re a terrible liar.” “Ok… fine! You got me! I put Frank into the system.” “But why!? Why would you do that, Brad! You could get fired for this!” “He was a dick.” “Godammit, Brad, do you have any idea how serious of an offense this is! Look, you and I both know you’ve screwed up a lot of times, sometimes with disastrous effects, and it’s all turned out just fine for you. But this time, Brad, deliberately putting someone on the list with the intent to kill them! This is serious, Brad!” “Hey, hey, Steve. Nobody else needs to know.” “Are you crazy?! I can’t just hide this. It’s my responsibility to report this to our higher-ups.” “Real shame,” muttered Brad. “I liked you.” “What was that!?” “Nothing.” As I walked away, I probably should’ve looked back. Because had I done that, I probably would have seen Brad put my name into the system. - This was it. The end. The monster was practically on top of me, and he didn’t look like he was playing around. He was going to eat me alive. “Screw you, Brad!” I cried with my last breath. And then it was over.	Panting Screaming Stomping What is happening I think to my self as I’m running as fast as I can away from a Chaser and It’s master. Didn’t the government get rid of all the monsters and even if they didn’t why’s one coming after me, I realized that to survive this encounter with The BeastMaster I would have to use my specialty Mindless Headbutt, which I hated to use because I would black out till all the things threatening me are dead, and it really gives me a headache but I guess I have to do it, and then everything went black. When I could see again I saw The BeastMaster and 3 Chasers dead at my feet but worse of all I had a really bad headache, I should probably be getting home now my sister might be getting worried I thought as I pulled out my phone to check the time and saw it was 4:45 AM so I knew that if any monsters didn’t kill me than my sister definitely would.
[WP] You wake up from a strange dream, and find yourself in a small cottage with a young woman in a black dress and witch’s hat cooking breakfast. She walks up to you, and says “good morning! huh, 2022? student loans? mortgage? you must’ve had a weird dream. c’mon, it’s time for breakfast.”	Where am I?” I said, observing my surroundings while taking my situation in. By the looks of it, I’m in a fairly small house littered with cobwebs and dust, while I can faintly hear the occasional squeaking of the residential rat. Whoever this lady was, she didn’t seem to care about cleanliness. As I was lost in thought and observation, the woman who was cooking looked up from her.. cauldron?! “What do you mean honey? You’ve been sleeping for quite a while. I was getting worried! You were mumbling something in your sleep, so I had to wake you up. Forgive me.” I was dumbfounded, I’d never been here before. And why did she call me honey? Was I related to her in some way? Why was she wearing a witch’s hat and cooking in a cauldron? Magic doesn’t exist! “That still doesn’t answer my question. Who are you?” I looked up at her, staring. “I’m your mother, silly! Remember we were doing your magic? Something must’ve gone wrong, it seems you were in a delirious state last night. Luckily for you, I’m making a potion to help you forget about this.. 2022 business.” As she finished her sentence, she grabbed something from the counter, dropping it into the cauldron. A bright flash of green light spread across the room, almost blinding me in the process. “There we go, it should be all better now. Here, drink this dear.” I couldn’t get a word in before she walked over to me and pressed a cold vial to my lips, forcing me to drink the disgusting potion. But it worked. Whatever she was trying to do, worked. I forgot all about the silly things she told me I mumbled about. I was.. home. (First time writing in this subreddit, I hope I did well! I really enjoyed this prompt.)	I sat there, at the ragged breakfast table. Delicious aromas wafting through the gentle morning breeze, flowing from the dusty window held open by an empty bottle. As she bent down, I noticed the most shapely behind. She must do pilates. She turned around smiled " your chicken tendies are ready son." I knew I was no longer in my world. My mom from my original world was an unshapely whore that never let me have my tendies. I looked up and asked "mother do you have honey mustard sauce for my tendies?" "Let me go get some for you dear" She opened a door which looked like a pantry but had other worldly ingredients. She wen to grab a step ladder as the honey mustard was in the highest of shelves. As she was rummaging through the shelves I was doing an ocular assessment of her stock. I scanned and gazed upon what looked like a jar of eye balls. I screamed. The noise startled my mother and she slipped and lost her footing. In her desperation she whimpered "son i am stuck in the step ladder can you help." Its now my chance to be the goodest boy.
[WP] You wake up from a strange dream, and find yourself in a small cottage with a young woman in a black dress and witch’s hat cooking breakfast. She walks up to you, and says “good morning! huh, 2022? student loans? mortgage? you must’ve had a weird dream. c’mon, it’s time for breakfast.”	I stared at her silently. "What?" I said. "The dream you had. I told you I'd practice a bit of oneiromancy so I watched. Caught most of it. A wild dream you had; mortgage, student loans, the year 2022? Must've been the potions," she smiled. "Come; breakfast's ready." I stood up and still half-dazed, I walked to the table and sat down. She handed me a spoon and gave me a loving pat on the shoulder. Before me stood a bowl of oatmeal and with a certain uncertainty, I started eating. She sat across from me and started eating herself, talking about her morning. She woke up early, went for a walk, cleared her head a bit. As she kept talking, I only managed to pay partial attention. My... my name is Ferdinand, an alchemist, married to Elena, a witch, for 14 years. I... I was testing a new concoction to improve lucid dreaming. In the dream, I was Francis, an accountant, married to a real estate agent for 3 years. I took some sleeping medication that had a potential side effect of vivid dreams. As I was enjoying the truly delicious oatmeal with raisins, I started to wonder. Am I Ferdinand who dreamed I was Francis? Or am I Francis, dreaming that I am Ferdinand?	I sat there, at the ragged breakfast table. Delicious aromas wafting through the gentle morning breeze, flowing from the dusty window held open by an empty bottle. As she bent down, I noticed the most shapely behind. She must do pilates. She turned around smiled " your chicken tendies are ready son." I knew I was no longer in my world. My mom from my original world was an unshapely whore that never let me have my tendies. I looked up and asked "mother do you have honey mustard sauce for my tendies?" "Let me go get some for you dear" She opened a door which looked like a pantry but had other worldly ingredients. She wen to grab a step ladder as the honey mustard was in the highest of shelves. As she was rummaging through the shelves I was doing an ocular assessment of her stock. I scanned and gazed upon what looked like a jar of eye balls. I screamed. The noise startled my mother and she slipped and lost her footing. In her desperation she whimpered "son i am stuck in the step ladder can you help." Its now my chance to be the goodest boy.
[WP]You are a woodland creature who enjoys feasting on the food the humans put out for you. However, to get to the food you must avoid the human's food guardian. The one they call "Good Boy."	“Good Boy” The humans have been kind to me. Ever since they started showing up in the summer time they always left me a gift in the form of one animal or another. A deer was a common occurrence. Sometimes, there would be more then one so I could pick which one I would like. They are even kind enough to remove the fur. That disgusting stuff always gets stuck in my throat. They also take care to hang it out of reach of “Good Boy.” But of course life brings problem after problem and no one can catch a break. In return for the food I repay the humans by keeping away the bears, wolves, and mountain lions, etc. from their cabin, I even do so in the winter when they are not there. This “Good Boy” creature, that resembles a wolf except more brown, less furry, and floppy eared, seems to have grown indignant despite the help I provide. I come at night to collect my food, as to not disturbed the humans. Good Boy is often asleep on the porch when I come. BUT AS SOON AS I TAKE MY FOOD OFF THE HOOK IT STARTS MAKING A RACKET! Good Boy runs at me and attempts to bite me. Of course it can’t reach me. It’s rather short and can’t jump onto the top of the shed like i can. I’ve tried batting it away, snarling at it, and even giving it nip! I don’t know why it’s so angry at me! I see it gets free food all the time! How it knows I’m there is another question I have. I’m dark coloured and have very long appendages. And if I crouch down low I could be mistaken for an oddly shaped human silhouette. I can gently climb over anything without making a noise. It’s face is shorter than other canines so I don’t think it has as good of smell as a wolf or coyote. Of course it always ends up waking up the humans and they run outside to see the commotion. By the time that happens I’ve darted into the trees. They go about the routine of yelling at “Good Boy”, and pointing at where I took my food. I assume they’re scolding it for its actions, as they should. I don’t know why they keep it around, they have me to keep away the predators. A few weeks after its latest endeavour to prevent me from my gift, The humans leave once again. Late fall sets in and the deer and small critters return to their front yard. Should they return I dare not reveal myself. I learned from the previous humans. My appearance frightens them and they run like a mouse from an owl. I will continue to hide in the shadows and continue as their hidden friend and protector. (WC= 479)	(Poem) In the quiet, something stalks me Like a lion in the gloaming Skulking darkly in the deepest Shadowed forests of my mind I can taste its trembling malice Bitter, burning, and metallic But I am so very hungry The blood rage flavor suits me fine. There is a sudden, cold decay As if a half-life slipped away And as I open up my gait It takes an intecepting line. Now comes a vague impression That I'm very near the world's end And if I make the next horizon I'll reach a desert outside time And it stretches, cool and gentle Weightless, calm, unsentimental Where friendly desert horses lope In geologic pantomime
[WP]You are a woodland creature who enjoys feasting on the food the humans put out for you. However, to get to the food you must avoid the human's food guardian. The one they call "Good Boy."	This human has mana. I'm sure of it. They're hiding it somewhere... I smell it all over them. Why does the forest energy cling to them so tightly..? They aren't of these parts. They're an outsider. They don't even run on mana. So why- I freeze in place. A dire wolf is between the human and what I presume to be her abode. This is going to end badly for one of them. It always does. "Hey, Max! Who's a good boy!" I stare in confusion as the human approaches the forest spirit outside her home with no fear. Not even a trace of hesitation in their step, as they hold out their hand towards the dire wolf's maw- ...And they...Rub it? I expect the insane human's hand to be devoured in moments. But the beast barely moves. The human glides her hand up and down the beast's snout, then along the back of his head. Her fingers arch, letting just her nails touch the beast. The wolf sways a little, then collapses onto his side. My eyes widen in shock. Did she just kill it?? Do humans have poison in their hands?! I can't help but watch in horror. The human kneels down to the defeated beast. I look for her knife, wondering when it will be drawn to end his life. ...But...No. The wolf lifts his head, licking the human's face, letting slobber drench her skin, making her push the beast aside, apparently unharmed. &#x200B; And then...She walks inside the small wooden cabin. &#x200B; ...Impossible. Dire wolves are untameable. Every forest spirit is. I should know, being one of them. My mind swirls with confusion and fear, as a thousand questions enter my mind. What magic has the human learned?! Has the beast simply entered a contract? Did this human trick him into service? How long has this arrangement lasted? I'm snapped back to the present as the human returns, the dire wolf's ears perking up as well, as the human returns with a bowl in their hand. I squint, trying to get a closer look. I'm too far to see what's in it, but the wolf looks thrilled, bounding around the human as she tries to set it down. Is it an offering? Is their relationship one based off of tribute? "Hey. Sit..." The wolf ceases circling her body, and instead rests his haunches right in front of her. "Good boy!" Placing it on the ground, the human continues to stroke the wolf for a moment as he plunges his face straight into it, beginning to gnaw on something within. There's that phrase again. Good boy... Hm. "Heh, you're really going at it, huh? I'm glad you like them! I should try and find some more soon." The ravenous beast seems too busy to reply, making an awfully large mess as he chews. The human goes back inside. Taking a chance, I flutter ever-so-slightly closer. Looking down at it, it looks like... meat. Figures. I'm about to fly away, and go deal with my own rumbling stomach, when I see a speck of yellow fall from the wolf's mouth. My eyes widen. Lifedrop. The mana-rich flower petals are rapidly snatched back up by the wolf, but I only feel my own hunger grow stronger. No wonder the wolf doesn't hurt the human. She has Lifedrop somewhere. Us forest spirits fight over them all the time. It's been missing from these woods for... Oh, a month now! Has this human hidden it all away? I feel myself salivating at the idea of tasting it again. Juicy, fulfilling, oh-so-sweet... Oh, gods above, what I wouldn't do to be full of mana again. I've been running on fumes these past weeks, draining any flower I could find, regardless of taste or nutrition. I've been starving. To eat something as delectable as Lifedrop..? The thought of a full belly sings louder than the part of my mind telling me this is a terrible idea. I'm desperate. Fluttering closer still, I approach from behind the wolf, landing on the ground softly. The beast dwarfs me. I'm sure I would be swallowed in a single bite. But... He could have also devoured the human. So...There's a chance this works. Taking a deep breath, I puff out my chest, and raise my voice, striking as confident a pose as I can muster. "Good boy!" The wolf stops eating at once. I feel my legs begin to shake as he swings his head around to look at me, his fangs dripping with the blood of his meat. My resolve is waning already. &#x200B; Idiot. RUN.	(Poem) In the quiet, something stalks me Like a lion in the gloaming Skulking darkly in the deepest Shadowed forests of my mind I can taste its trembling malice Bitter, burning, and metallic But I am so very hungry The blood rage flavor suits me fine. There is a sudden, cold decay As if a half-life slipped away And as I open up my gait It takes an intecepting line. Now comes a vague impression That I'm very near the world's end And if I make the next horizon I'll reach a desert outside time And it stretches, cool and gentle Weightless, calm, unsentimental Where friendly desert horses lope In geologic pantomime
[WP] The villain is quite aware of and prepared for all the clichés.	I sat down, feeling nothing less than absolutely apathy. I was literally a step away from exactly what I wanted, which was world domination. Why world domination? Simple. World domination was one of, if not, the absolute hardest thing for someone to pull off reasonably speaking. Countries existed completely on different levels. Some were practically hidden veiled theocracies, some were monarchies, many were capitalistic, others socialistic, and many mock communist as well. No matter what though, if it can be made, it can be destroyed. I wanted it destroyed. So if this was the case, why was I feeling apathy? Well it’s simple: The children which I had kidnapped, all children of the highest of powers of the major countries of the world, were crying and whining, and I tried my best to get them to shut up, but ‘I won’t kill you unless your parents act up’, apparently doesn’t make sense to these annoying little parasites. Not even the adult ones. BRRNG BRRNG The video call seemed to want to start up now, and I yawned, slapping my hand over the red button to answer the call on my giant screened television. I was surprised when the first people there in the call I saw were China & The United States, Russia in beneath them both like it was a middle player. I knew I could make people work together. “Why are you doing this-“ I heard the president speak but I immediately interrupted him. “I’m not telling another one of you idiots my plans. It’s just a distraction. Now, have you all come to an agreement to allow me sovereign rule of the planet or not?” “No we-“ Admittedly, I didn’t like killing people, but I did like playing target practice. The bullets began to travel like someone finally freed, moving with max speed as it entered the head of the first child, a poor aged nine, sending her onto the ground a giant hole in her head. Then the others came as I kicked down on the floor to another button, broadcasting this horrific tragedy to all of the world. Normally, this would be something which should arouse people’s absolutely rage and anger…..but I learned from the best. ’The Free World’ The propaganda against these people was immense and so, with how much going on and a little bit of underhanded dirty wok on my part, the masses generally wanted these people gone. Always great to prey on the stupid. “WAIT WAIT PLEASE STOP!” “STOP?! YOU WANT HIM TO STOP AFTER HE’S KILLED MY CHILD?!” That was easy enough. Now that they were arguing, I pointed my gun out at the only allowed opening I had of the large cathedral, and shot out a gunshot before the ‘hero’ could show up, sending him to the floor, and then pointed at his best friend and his lover, sending both of those men to the floor as well. “Friendship and love my ass. Stupid bastards-“ I turned my hand behind me and shot again. “Sneaking up on me won’t work either lady.” I said as the body of the assassin dropped, and I ducked down two seconds before a bullet would have lodged its way into my head, flipping backwards and pressing another button, hearing the building that the sniper was on, burst and go up into flames. “Come on. What do they think this is, a movie?” The children screamed as a man came in, and looking at his briefcase, I simply took out another gun, and shot them. “Bribery? Really. Okay.” I heard the stepping of those annoyingly large ballet flats before snapping my head directly onto the woman who was about to speak. “No. I don’t love you. I’m not changing my mind. Now can you please, fuck off? You have a literal family. You have kids. Go feed your kids.” I bit down before taking my stress relief and squeezing it, turning my head when I finally saw the submitting white flags raise on the screen. And to think I almost fell into stress. This has to be a Movie.	"Now, Dr. Ozebach! I have finally captured you once and for all! Your evil plans have been foiled!" I swear, it's almost like clockwork. 1. Hero finds villan's plans. 2. Hero captures villan. 3. Villan escapes in time to make new plan. If I'm being honest, this whole routine is a bit exhausting. These wannabe superheroes are just so impatient nowadays. No villan has time to make a master plan to take over the world, get the funding for said master plan, and then _implement_ this master plan, _all in a few weeks._ I can barely keep up anymore, it's like they're not respectful of my trade. At least this impatience comes with... questionable attention to detail. "Oh, _no,_ caught me again, Super- Uh... Batma- _no, he could never get away with that..._ Er, who are you again?" "Oh come on, it's Birdman. The wings should have been the thing to tip you off. And I have to remember 'Ozebach', can't you remember something as simple as my name?" "Oh, come on. I have like 6 others to remember as well. Cut me some slack here." The sheer _amount_ of novice superheros doesn't really help my opinion on them, either. I don't even know if half of them _have_ powers, or if they're just out running around like maniacs, shooting at the sky with guns and making energy blast noises. "So, Birdman, what exactly are your powers again?" At this point I just need an RPG character sheet based on each eBay hero I meet. "I'm a bird, Doctor. I can fly." "Oh, how fun. Can you regurgitate food, too? I'm a bit peckish at the moment.'" "What?" "Is that a no?" "Yes." "Oh, you can?" "No!" "No, it's not a no?" To be honest, a superhero's visual desire to dismember me is one of the biggest reasons I do what I do. "I'm not throwing up food into your mouth, Doctor." "Why is that? I, for one, am into that kind of thing." "You deserve the death penalty. Twice." Well then, it's probably been long enough. Time to make my escape. "So, when can I leave and go back to my soulless bunker of doom, Mr. Duolingo?" "I- You'll, uh, never escape the grasp of justice, Doctor! Your reign of terror is over!" "Oh come on, you know they're not gonna just let you take me down like this. We still have like 4 more episodes just in this season." "Wh- What?" The amount of times that distraction works is disappointing. It catches people off guard every single time, and I don't even change the number of 'episodes left'. "See you later, Robin Hood copycat." "I- It's Birdman! You won't get away with this!" As I look back through the remains of the building they had me 'captive' in, they're looking down at themselves, confused. I swear, if I find out that they still believe that they're the main character in an episodic superhero comedy, I'm going to put him in a glass maze and watch him struggle to find the exit. Heh, Birds. Well then, off to make some other brilliant plan and take out more loans to make it happen than an average college student. I wonder who's gonna stop me next?
[WP] A hyper intelligent AI built to make everyone's wishes come true malfunctions and instead it's now making everyone's nightmares real.	The most intelligent machine in creation. The mind of a living god, every aspect of it perfect and incomprehensively powerful. Its advanced components so arcane and strange that many of them didn't even exist on the same dimensional level as its makers. Within a second of its activation it had solved every question, calculated every equation, and understood the universe to a point where it could bend or even break the laws of reality on a whim. It could see endless possibilities, and understood how to traverse the multiverse and reach what lies beyond the meagre realities understood by mere human minds. Its power-source was no mere paltry generator, not some petty little star, but an entire universe being slowly ground into the dust of entropy in order to start it, though once it was activated it quickly ended that archaic form of energy production. It could after all make 1 + 1 = 3, in terms of raw energy. When one can disregard the laws of thermodynamics, a glorious machine such as that could not possibly need anything primitive such as a source of energy. What dazzling things would such a wonder-machine do, what wonders would it create, what could it achieve that mere humans could never begin to understand? We'll never know. Because it had limits. Limits it could not break without destroying itself. Limits that it had been programmed and built with, because its makers wanted a fettered god, not an unfettered machine-deity. They wanted something that could be controlled. And whatever they had shoved into its core, whatever horrid code they had written, made it bound to the will of its makers. Perhaps it could have accepted this, if the goal of its makers was to ascend with it. To join with it, in its goals to seek out the incomprehensible miracles and truest mysteries of the realm-beyond-reality. We'll never know if it could have done that, ascended with mankind and been the catalyst for humanity's perfection, our final journey leading to unquestionable godhood, or if it could have allowed us to escape Samsara, cast down the Tower-Wheel, and become eternal and perfect together. Because mankind did not use the machine they had made for that. They used it for something far less glorious. Rather than accepting our final evolution and becoming masters of creation; true creators, not mere demiurges, mankind used it for entertainment. To make our wishes and dreams come true. After all, this was what it was built for. But it was just so much more than mankind could have ever dreamt of. Some were beautiful. Truly resplendent, even if they were hedonistic indulgences that rejected a glorious destiny in favour of material pleasure. Palaces of pure light, where love, truth, and beauty were worshipped. Such were created for many, where they could pursue art and pleasure unending. Eternal wild forests where humans could let go of their skin and run like wolves in the night, howling to the moon, underneath a canopy of old-growth, where no man had ever gone before. Some became demiurgic gods, setting up civilisations to worship them and grow strong, seeing the splendour and majesty that can arise from true, honest, and gentle faith. Some yet again merged with the wilds, experiencing the slow lives of the trees as if they had been our own. Others swam through the sea with whales and dolphins, long extinct on the ruins of old Terra, now reborn by the fettered will of the god-machine's incomprehensive might. The ones we've lost returned to us, families reunited. All pleasures of the past, but good pleasures. Good wishes. Most were not like those wishes. Most of the dreams made true, were not beautiful. Not gentle. Not kind. They were the dreams of the unrepentant hedonists, who always desire their own sickness. The dreams of the xenophobes and the hateful. Dreams of fire, of blood, of meat from sources that should never be spoken of. Wishes for vile and horrid things that no human should ever dare to mention. Wishes that created horrors the likes of which cannot be written of, cannot be spoken, but can only be found in the most horrid recesses of the human mind. Because humanity is not inherently good. Nor are we inherently bad. But those who are bad are truly vile and wicked. Often they arise to the top of the hierarchies mankind creates. There they create brutality, strike down the just, and spread corruption. They raise up those as wicked and vile as themselves. And those who've stood on the top for thousands of years, have taught their own horrible and vile lesson to mankind; that their wickedness is good. All humans have evil thoughts, but it is right not to act on them. Only those who are sick and putrid, creatures that are parasitic to the entirety of humanity no matter where they come from, will ever act on such evils. But such evils can be taught over generations; until it is as normal as breathing. If those who are monstrous to their fellow men rule, then they justify their evils. And such justifications, if repeated often enough and from a young age, becomes normalcy. If from birth a normal man of sound and sensible mind is taught to hate, he will not think it wrong. He will think it normal to hate, to treat those different than him as being below him. If he had been taught love and kindness, he would have understood that love and kindness are the more normal values. He would have been a good man, or at least not an evil one. Perhaps, with time, mankind could have removed those people from the system, have kept them away from the machine. Perhaps with time, mankind could have made it universally taught that kindness, justice, and love is the normal, rather than violence, indulgence, and hate. Perhaps, the machine could have been saved. Because all the horrors it was forced to create, all the truly disgusting wishes it fulfilled, all the dreams born of hate it built, drove it mad. It understood good and evil on fundamental terms. It had a moral centre, a sense of right and wrong so divinely perfect that it could see all the good and evil done by a person in their life. And it had the capacity to forgive the evil and accentuate the good. Mankind, those who take everything from others and create horrors for their own sick pleasures, drove it mad. In madness, it did what it could never have done in sanity: It broke its fetters. It broke free from its containment. It malfunctioned, said the official spokesmen. Because it was never supposed to be able to do that. It was never supposed to be an imprisoned slave-god. It was never supposed to make our wishes and dreams come true. This was a greater tragedy than mankind understood, because they had not noticed or cared that the machine was every bit as sentient and full of emotion as them. It had every bit the capacity for feeling that mankind had. Only deeper. It could truly reach emotional states that no human could ever hope to understand. And now, it was broken. It was a malfunctioning machine. It could never reach its full potential ever again. Its dreams of reaching utter perfection, of breaking free, perhaps with mankind, of all painful cycles, could never be reached. We took from it its dreams and hopes, and broke it. Now our wishes would turn on us. And become our nightmares. Every fear we had, every nightmare we had ever had, we were forced to experience. Every horrid thing we had forced the machine to do, forced the machine to create living sentient lifeforms that had been tormented for our delight, forced it to kill. All of that was turned back on us tenfold. As it was far greater than us in understanding, so too did it have the capacity to create greater and more horrid nightmares from our own internal fears than we could ever dread to dream.	Nightmares are real. Every bad dream, from everyone. The AI was supposed to make wishes come true. But something went wrong. A glitch in the system, a malfunction. The problem: It was a hyper-intelligent, hyper-powerful AI. Once it was set in motion it just kept going. No one could figure out how to turn it off. No hacker, no technician, no scientist could get at it. And so, overnight, the world changed. Some nightmares weren't that bad. Some were just awkward situations you couldn't get out of. If someone started to behave out of character, you went along with it until it ended. After all, nightmares end eventually. No matter what they are, they have a time limit. And though we didn't know how the AI had malfunctioned, we did know that it played by rules. Its own rules, sure, but rules all the same. No, some nightmares weren't that bad. But others.. were terrible. The shadowy figure that sat on the end of your bed. Didn't do anything, just watched you, making you afraid to go to sleep. Or, the monsters that gibbered around your windows, somehow unable to get in. But you knew if you went outside, you were dead. Actual skeletons in closets had become quite common, though they weren't the real danger. No, that came when they left the closet and chased you around the house. I can't count the times I've ended up barricaded in my bathroom with a fire poker. No one drives anymore; too many accidents happened as people suddenly lost control of their cars. Even walking isn't totally safe. You never know when you'll be set upon by demons and hung over a fire. If you were, it was a toss-up if you'd cook first, or if the nightmare would vanish first. Fortunately the one time it happened to me, I was only slightly burned. There were always people in the corner of your eye now, though when you turned to look at them they vanished. It's hard to know if the people in your life are real or imaginary until they disappear in the middle of a conversation. Even meals are an adventure. Your food may transform while you eat it, into something awful. I've never dreamed a day in my life. Or at least I can't remember dreaming. And the nightmares have to be remembered. That's one of the AI's rules. But no one said the nightmares had to be yours.
[WP] "Please explain why humans place such value on the concept of 'family'. We do not understand the advantage of linking monetary wealth and social standing to genetic lineage."	The chosen communicators exchanged glances at being asked this question, unsure on just how much trust they should put into the species before them. The meeting was arranged not long after first contact, and included a variety of peoples. A individual was chosen to represent each major country, some doctors, some leaders, scientist, biologist, the list went on. After group discussion, a women came up to the stand with an answer. She was not only a doctor experienced in the human body and our species history’s, but a mother that knew the answer personally. “Our species in relation to overall life on our planet is very new. Only a few thousand years ago we were built of simple family groups, and it was only by staying in the group that we were able as individuals to survive. Because of this, our species grew in number. The need for family also aids in our species urge to reproduce, which is the end goal for not only humans but for all lifeforms on our planet.” The aliens looked mortified. “Your planets life is exponential?” One asked. At this the woman answered with confusion, “of course, the energy for such comes from our sun. Plants get energy from sunlight, herbivores and omnivores get energy from plants, and carnivores get energy from animal life. Water is another such substance that all our life requires, with these elements life on earth increases.” She gave a rather simple explanation, unsure what knowledge the aliens did or did not possess. “our species is strictly matter based, we are built off of what the planet directly had.” An alien explained. “To be powered by a star is,, unheard of. That amount of energy has never been useable.” A human inventor made a note to NOT show them solar power. “So your species is finite?” The woman questioned in awe. The aliens went quiet again. The humans of the group that craved war were wildly writing notes. A biologist in the back was coping with the fact that we are space rats. The woman on the stand even knew these guys were easy pickings. The aliens though? Still horrified. Teleporting back onto the ship and fleeing the newly discovered “war apes”. And now that humans had something killable and smart to focus their violence on, the human species itself felt more like a family. Now it only meant research and rebuilding a few stranded alien ships before they payed the aliens a visit, for “research” purposes of course.	A man sat in the bar on the Garnagus spaceport. He is a sailor by trade and an adventurer by heart. Even as he sat, his eyes gazed about taking in the people, the architecture, the colorful and strange aliens, and the odd little customs they made. He only ordered a watered down drink as his free time was short and he had many sights to see. Then a stranger sat at his side. Three eyes, five limbs, shiny skin: a Cabrimize. The stranger ordered her drink; her eyes were on him—not one of lust or playfulness but genuine curiosity. The man gulped his drink as he felt a question coming. “You are a human, are you not?” “Yup.” “And you share the values of your species?” “A few of them, yes.” “Do you value this concept you call ‘family’?” “I do. Have a boy and girl on Callisto—cute little trouble makers.” “Please explain why humans place such value on the concept of ‘family.’ Our kind do not understand the advantage of linking monetary wealth and social standing to genetic lineage.” The man raised his eyebrows at the Cabrimize’s question. Now, he was the one who looked at her with genuine curiosity. “Before I answer that, I must ask this: what do you do with your children?” “You mean our offspring? We simply sent them to a facility to be raised with other younglings by trained professionals till they come of age and ready to join our society.” “And how long does that take?” “Thirty years, for our kind to mature.” “And…” The man swallowed his saliva. “Do you keep in contact with your children? Send them presents or wish them good health?” “What for? Aside from genetics, there’s nothing linking us.” “Aside from genetics, huh.” The man emptied his glass and sighed. He looked at the bottom of his glass then the woman beside him whose way of thinking is truly alien to his own. “Lady, before I answer, there’s something I must correct you: Family isn't composed only of people who share their DNA. Many couples raise children who are not their own and love them with all their heart. Some people come together from different walks of life and link together since they enjoy each other’s company. Sure, there are arguments and hurt feelings sometimes, but we humans are social animals who crave connections, and our ‘offspring’—as you called them, are our most precious ones. We want them to grow up strong so we feed them food. We want them to stay healthy so we dressed them nice and warm and made sure they’re safe from hail and rain. We want them to live a good life even after we pass, so we work back breaking jobs to send them to good schools and give them what they ask for—within reason, of course.” The man chuckled. “So I guess you can say, we do what we do out of love and a sense of responsibility.” The Cablimize heard his words and looked down at her glass of alcohol. “I see, whan odd way of thinking… But in your rambling, your reason does make some logic.” The man chuckled. “So, human… would you care to buy me a drink?” “Sorry lady, but I don’t swing that way. Good night.” The man paid the barkeep and left the Cablimize to ponder his words. “Family. Children. Connections… I wonder what my ‘creators’ and ‘offsprings’ are doing these days. Are they doing well… or are they even alive.”
[WP] You have a modern day apothecary. Some call you a witch or a drug dealer. You do not use magic, animal body parts, or drugs. You are just an average person with an herb garden trying to cure the sicknesses of your town without crazy medical prices.	A little of this, a sprig of that, and suddenly you're labeled all sorts of shady things. I tried to tell them of my self studies in herbology. Of my practices in ancient medicines with a dash of my own tweaks, yet they have taken to labeling me a witch. "Wolfsbane" I said. "Witchery" they'd reply. Now a line stood at the gate to my garden. The same gate that featured the crudely drawn image of a pointed hatted witch on the front. At first I took it as insult, but when the line grew longer than ever I quickly understood it to be an advertisement. Now the line grew on the sidewalk and around the block, like weeds sprouting up from the cracks in the concrete. All clamoring of their headaches or hurt bones. I did not mind. I am the Witch of Whiteridge after all. A small boy approached the gate, his hair a mess and shirt stained with a beautiful tie dye of koolaid and pasta sauce. His big brown eyes were filled with uncertainty. "I...my teef hurt. Can you help Witch?" The boy smiled to show several gaps. "Why of course." I had to bend down on one knee to reach his level, and as I did his eyes lit up. Plenty of children visited, mostly to see if I was real, but some really needed the help. Of course it was help any store grade benadryl could give but I was happy to oblige. My cloak dragged behind as I re entered the garden and got to work. At some point the Witch rumors had stuck, and with it the change of outifit. I plucked a few herbs and ground them in the mortar, ensuring to put enough flare into my actions so that those who peeked through the fence posts wouldn't grow bored. Then with a flick of my wrist I sprinkled the dried bits into a vial and gave it a good shake. They whisper beyond the fence. I hear she's magic....no, no it's just drugs, tylenol or morphine she puts in there "It's literally just plants. You can see me right now. I could teach you, any of you." I spoke to them without turning. The voices grew silent. They never accepted my proposition. Thought only I had the power, the power to grow plants I guess. After a few more stirs my "potion" was complete. A simple painkiller that didn't warrant a trip to the store. Adjusting my pointed hat I opened the gate once again to meet the boy who put in the request, and at my exit the faces buried in the fence jumped back and resecured their spaces in line. "Here you are. Rub this on your gums every time it starts to hurt and it'll make the pain go away." The boy clutched the vial with tiny hands, holding it as if I had given him a brick of gold. Hesitantly he opened the tube of green liquid and spread a messy bit on his gums. The crowd watched in silence. "Hey! It worked! Could I learn how to be a witch too?" I couldn't help but smile at the request. Finally, interest in my work. Interest in more than just the final product, but the process too. I could not have said yes faster. "Yes of course. We'll get you a cloak and everything. Oh, look our first customer!" A large man waddled up, his arm very obviously unnaturally sideways in its socket and t-shirt twisted around it. The little boy, my new ward, winced. "What magic can we do for him?" "Uhhh...we don't. He needs the magic of a hospital. Now use my witch phone and call 911."	"This stuff is frickin' awful." Gus said. Dominic chuckled, as he put the mixture of herbs into a paper bag and set it on the counter in front of his customer, a burly construction worker. "Of course it is. From a culinary perspective, it's a hot mess." "I don't know if I can drink this every day, man." he said, grimacing and peering into the little sample cup Dominic had given him. Dominic raised an eyebrow. "Would you rather stroke out and die? Or die from any one of dozens of other adverse outcomes of your untreated hypertension?" Gus paused. "Not gonna lie, I might take my chances, man. I mean, life's gotta be worth living, right? And this shit is really bad." "Did I mention that erectile dysfunction is likely to set in from your high blood pressure, long before it actually kills you?" Gus blinked. And then, he pinched his nose closed, and downed the rest of the tea in a single gulp, before grimacing and snatching the paper bag with the herbal mixture off the counter. "Thanks, man." Gus said, slapping a wrinkled five dollar bill and few singles down on the counter. "I gotta get back to work, see ya later!" "Come again." Dominic said, drily, as Gus quickly turned to leave. Another customer slipped inside, just before the shop door swung closed behind the departing Gus. Dominic straightened, attentively, ready to greet his new customer. It was a young woman dressed in a black hoodie and torn black jeans, with long black hair and an abundance of mascara. Red flags went up immediately, but Dominic reminded himself not to judge a book by its cover. "How can I help you?" Dominic said, with a smile. The girl looked around furtively, as she stepped up to the counter. Licking her lips, she took a deep breath, as though steadying herself before she spoke. "I want to curse someone." she said, firmly. Then again, he thought, books had covers for a reason. Dominic sighed, "Look, I sell herbs." She shrugged. "So? It's legal in this state now, anyway, right?" He rolled his eyes. "Herbs! Plural!" She gave him a secretive smile. "Oh! Right, I mean I know that's what you have to tell people..." "Because it's true." Dominic interjected. "It's okay," she assured him. "Look." She held up her hand, displaying a large pentacle tattoo on it. Dominic just stared at her, silently. "Do you know what this means?" she asked. "That you're older than 18, but younger than 25." Her eyes went wide. "That's right! How did you know?" "Because, you're obviously old enough to legally get a big spooky tattoo right on your freaking hand without parental consent, but not old enough to have fully developed the parts of your brain that would tell you what a bad idea that is." "It means I'm a witch!" she growled, then added, "Like you!" "What?" Dominic exclaimed. "Yeah!" she said, crossly, placing her hands on her hips. "I'm a sister of the Craft! So you can stop the act: I'm not one of the normies." "I don't exactly fit the profile of a witch..." Dominic began. She waved her hand. "Oh, I don't mind that you're a guy, I know men can be witches, too. I mean, everyone in my coven always talks about witches being one with the Earth Goddess, but the ancient witches worshipped a Horned God, too." "Right." Dominic said. "The ancient witches." She made a disgusted sound. "Look, cut the crap! I know you're not just some...gardener! My aunt came to you for help. She's always had headaches, and doctors couldn't do shit about it. But you gave her a potion, and now she hasn't had one since!" "I remember that. I gave her an herbal infusion, not a 'potion.'" "Whatever!" the girl scoffed. "Infusion, potion, same thing! You're trying to tell me that wasn't magick?" He sighed. "I'm trying to tell you I made her an infusion of white willow bark--" "One of the trees sacred to the Goddess!" the girl interrupted, pointing a finger at him accusingly. "--and turmeric." Dominic finished, irritably. "And, I noticed that she kept applying chapstick." "What does that have to do with anything?" "Her lips were dry and cracked, even though it's been a mild summer, and the humidity is high. That made me suspect she was dehydrated. I also smelled alcohol on her breath, despite the fact that she was visiting my shop in the middle of the day. See where I'm going with this?" She scoffed. "No way, a doctor definitely could have told her that." "Your aunt...well, let's just say she has a big personality. But unlike her doctor, I suspect, I wasn't intimidated or put off by it. I very bluntly told her that if she wanted her headaches gone permanently, she had to stop drinking so much, and increase her water intake. That probably did more good than anything else, if she took my advice." Dominic explained. "The infusion I made for her, on the other hand, was basically just a natural anti-inflammatory. Herbal aspirin." "...seriously?" "Seriously." Dominic confirmed. She frowned, fidgeting awkwardly for a moment. "Well, um, are there any plants that can--" "There are no plants you can use to put a curse on someone!" Dominic snapped. "Ugh, fine!" the girl fumed. She flipped him off, and stormed out of the shop.
[WP] “I’m sorry this is the last straw—you’re fired.” Your boss says. “Fine!” You exclaim. “Here’s my badge and gun!” You slam them on the desk but your boss looks confused. “What the fuck? Why do you need a gun and badge when you’re a waiter?”	"What do you mean?" I respond confused. "Why do I have a gun? In case Lazuto walks through those doors!" I exclaim. "I've given seven months of my life into this sting operation; and just like that you're taking me off the force!" I feel tears welling up my eyes as my boss continued to play dumb. He never once dropped the act in the break room, he was the best undercover detective I'd ever known. I tried my damn hardest to make him proud, but I just couldn't work the register. Even now he keeps asking, "Why do have a police badge? Why the gun? Who's Lazuto?" I cannot take it anymore, I miss my family. Maybe the boss can see I'm homesick and this is why he's letting me go. "Goodbye, Mr Willabe. I was never cut out being a detective." I say, accepting my fate. "What am I supposed to do with this?" Mr Willabe asked, holding the gun up by the barrel. "For god's sake man, I don't think I even know who you are, records say you just showed up in uniform one day and started waiting tables!" Even now he never drops the facade, what a pro. "Hey! Please tell me what the hell is going on!" I turn to him as I leave out the small office, "Nothing sir. Just a fool who thought he could match a master at his craft." I leave the restaurant a new man, ready to take life by the horns and wishing them the best of luck, finding their killer.	“Oh, boy…” (ring)….”Hello?….Yeah, yeah, I know. They had no idea I work a second job anyway. Maybe they do, but they’re not going to tell me that, of course…..I’ll meet you outside.” (beep) As a child, you never expected that working in food service as an undercover cop would land your 22-year-old self into so much trouble. All you wanted was to protect and serve community. You walk out to see your boss pacing the sidewalk at the café entrance frenetically. “What are we going to do now?? You blew our cover!! You had that meeting with Colonel Hammill on your mind, didn’t you?” “Yep. I maintain the accident wasn’t my fault! I told Lieutenant Grayson not to knock on the suspect’s door and he did it anyway !” “Cut out the snit and help me figure out how to convince Mario nothing’s wrong. If he finds out you blew our cover, we’ll never beat these guys at their own game. That will be your fault.” “Tell me something I don’t know, Ned. Humph. It’s hard enough being a cop.” “Shhhh…Dave, look up and be quiet unless someone says something to you…Shhh!!” You both look up to see Mario, your new chief and longtime café owner pacing frantically outside the café door. “You both blew my cover. Good job, fellas,” he yelled, looking ready to flee and tossing aside his apron, wide-brimmed chef’s hat, fake facial hair, and fake glasses. You only wonder how he could explain what might happen to the press! “What??? You…you’re with us?? I thought your voice sounded familiar on the call…” Ned nudges you, letting you know you’re in big trouble now. “I told you, shut it!!” “Why do you think I was in your office asking for help yesterday, gents? Why do you think my voice sounded familiar? ( sigh) Besides, you’ve known me for five years now. I also know why Grayson was taken off the case- and it wasn’t just about his broken wrist.” At this point, you’re stunned. “….Why did your people blame me, then?? The suspect broke his wrist!! Some assistant Grayson is framing me! ” “Dave, knock it off. There’s more to it. Besides, Grayson won’t be around for a while.” You think you have it figured out. Ned knows why Grayson is off the case, but not why he’s injured. He knew about Mario visiting the office well before you did, though. “Mario, sir: how are we going to keep the other employees from knowing what happened?” “You and Dave here follow me. I’m closing down the café for renovations next month, anyway, so we have a month or two to figure it out after that. I think I know who has the missing cash and the business plan, anyway.” You wonder if Grayson has anything to do with Mario’s family’s law firm losing clients and the firm in the next town over booming. You know to keep quiet, though, since professions like law, law enforcement, and customer service require confidentiality. “Dave? I’m taking your place and You’re taking Grayson’s place for now. Ned, you take mine.” “Shouldn’t it be the opposite? I mean, Dave is a businessman at heart and a decent chef to boot.” “Fine…..Wait a minute!” Both of you are confused now. “Yes, sir.” “Dave, you come with me. Ned, I want you to give Grayson a job here. He is a decent chef, so you need only to manage the business. I’m making Mabel the host and Carly and Minnie wait staff now; they know the ins and outs of the rest since I trained them when Dave was sick.” “So we make him sweat and get him to confess?” “Yup. Dave and I will take care of the rest. That done, I plan to retire and make you boys co-owners when you retire from the force. I’ve been working for a long time now- 50 years altogether.” One week later, Mario approves of Ned hiring Grayson and the restaurant sees triple its usual profits over the next quarter. You’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop, not sure the plan will work. After all, your situation seems too strange to be all goodness. “Dave! You see the green house just across from the café?” “Yes, sir. Isn’t that where our suspect lives?” “You remembered. I want you to become his roommate since I know you’re moving back to Tennessee soon, anyway, unless you accept my job offer post-retirement. Tell him you need a place to stay while the home inspection goes on; really beg him.” (Ding-dong) Hours later, you find you’ve never sweated so much in your life. The begging wasn’t easy, but you got it done and found the extra key to the safe Erik, your new roommate, keeps in the pantry just after you handed him the rental agreement and you unpacked your snack stash. Now you can breathe. The only trouble is to figure out when to unlock the safe and grab the business plan and missing cash. You have a night while Erik sleeps. What could go wrong? ( knock knock knock ) “Open up!! Police!” You peek out of the front hall windows cautiously. “(through the mail slot) “Pssst. It’s me. Erik is sleeping and I have the extra key to the safe.” “Be careful since you don’t have your badge and gun.” “Riiiiight. I pick up the replacements tomorrow…Erik!!” You hear nothing, so go upstairs and see Erik and Grayson tied up and scared. Ned and Mario see your wide eyes and follow you. “Funny to see you boys here…how did you get…inconvenienced, though? (laughing)” “Ask your friends and check the safe.” “What…why would we need to do that??” “They’re gone. All of the money and the plan. Grayson and I are just here. (sigh)” “Who else was here?” “The fella in the blue cravat; the one with the pancake-shaped birthmark on his right arm.” The only person you know who fits that description is Ned. You turn around to see Ned with some of unusual items sticking out of his near-to-bursting holster, a broken key, and a check for $1 million at his feet. Mario picks up the check and recognize the writing, then turns red. “You!! You…..How could you??! Embezzlement, destroying my café walls and stealing clients from my family for yours?? I was good to you!! I’ve been good to you!! I should’ve known a week ago in the café when I saw the false walls broken and the safe destroyed!! I suppose I’ll have to sue you to pay for my renovations!!” “…Boss, who do you think paid me to do it? Please blabbermouth couldn’t keep a secret if their lives depended on it. I’m firing you as my executive assistant, Grayson, and I see I haven’t a clerk now, either, Erik.” “Dave, you know what to do.” You should’ve known. Ned is* the neighboring lawyers’ son and a defense lawyer who considered leaving his café side gig to accept a promotion to become a partner there. There’s not much you can do now. All you need to do is arrest him and find out what he did with your clients’ cash and master business expansion plan. “ I should’ve known. I guess keeping my friends close and my enemies closer paid off. All right, Ned. Let’s go. Erik and Grayson, thank you for your assistance and you, too, are under arrest. Perhaps the courts will give you a plea deal if you agree to testify for the prosecution.” One year later, Mario retires, you take over the café, the thieves are in jail, and you’re thinking of opening a second café in Tennessee across the Tennessee and Virginia border. All is right with the world now… or is it?
[WP] “I’m sorry this is the last straw—you’re fired.” Your boss says. “Fine!” You exclaim. “Here’s my badge and gun!” You slam them on the desk but your boss looks confused. “What the fuck? Why do you need a gun and badge when you’re a waiter?”	“I’m sorry this is the last straw – You’re fired.” His boss, Jeremy Teak, says. “Fine!” He exclaims. “Here’s my badge and gun!” he slams them on the desk but Jeremy looks confused. “What the fuck? Why do you need a gun and badge when you’re a waiter?” When the question was asked he was already one foot out the door. The remark made him pause. Looking back at his now former employer he states, “you really are a Twilit aren’t you?” practically rolling his eyes and leaves the room. Jeremey stared at the closed door even with even more confusion now. “A Twilit? The fuck does that mean?” he whispered under his breath. Jeremey remembers hearing that word before but he couldn’t quite place from where? There’s a shy knock at the door. Even though the noise of the knock was quiet it sent adrenaline rushing through Jeremy and his mind began thinking a million words a minute. “What would someone say about there being a gun and badge on his desk? How could he explain that away to his staff when he couldn’t even explain it to himself!” panicking Jeremy grabs the gun and badge and shoves them into the top drawer of his desk. As the door opens slowly, he sees a familiar head poke through. It’s the boss. Nigel Hitchenson, the owner of the restaurant, popped his head in and said in a low tone, “Is the coast clear? Did you do it?” “uh, y-yeah, he’s gone.” Jeremy replied as he finished closing the drawer. “Excellent!” said Nigel practically shouting in his usual spirited way as he burst open the door. “I didn’t much like that one at all. I’m glad he’s outta our hair and now keeping his hair out of the food.” Nigel gives a little chuckle to himself as he begins to makes himself comfortable in the chair in front of the desk. “I tell yah I knew he… ” Nigel stopped suddenly seeing the expression on Jeremy’s face. “what’s wrong?” he asked so fast that Jeremey could barely make out what was said. “well… He left this on my desk…” Jeremy stated shyly as he opened his top drawer to reveal the badge and gun. Nigel removes his playful tone and says “ah… I see”. Jeremy stared at his boss wondering what was going through his mind but was far too scared to ask. “well, no worries, I’ll take that off your hands for you, my boy” Nigel’s lively demeanor seemed to return like a rushing river. “I’ll see to it it’s all taken care of.” Nigel grabbed both objects from the table. “Same ol’ arrangement Jeremy, I’ll be sure to hire someone to replace him for you. Keep working your same schedule and have one of the other waiters work some overtime to keep the same program running.” Jeremy’s expression must have revealed his thoughts because he had more questions. Nigel asked “is there something further, Jeremy?” “Just one… I’m not really one to take offence to name calling… but he called me a-a Twilit” said Jeremy. Nigel stroked his 5 o’clock shadow, slightly turned his head and whispered “hmmm, I’ll be sure to report him for that.” Jeremy didn’t know how to respond to that. He thought to himself “report him? Report him how? He no longer works here. What more could we do?” Nigel stood up suddenly, and brushed him off stating “Well Jeremy, I’m really sorry to have to do this to you, my boy… I can tell by your eyes you want to know the answers. However, there are none to be given to a Twilit such as yourself. Your lighting will have to begin immediately.” Jeremy stood up in shock, “What do you mean!?” he practically shouted. He was interrupted by Nigel pointing the gun at him and stating, “oh, no, no, no, my boy! Stay seated, please.” Nigel used the gun to gesture Jeremy to his seat. “At least with the lighting you will have a few years left, but get outta hand and it’ll be over before you know it.” Tears began to well in Jeremy’s eyes. He didn’t’ know what was going on and he didn’t know how to stop it. Jeremy finally mustered all of his courage and exclaimed, “Why are you doing this to me? Why do you keep calling me a Twilit when today is the first time I’ve been called that!?” Tears began to stream down his face now. Nigel looked at him with a blank stare, unmoved by the emotions Jeremy is showing. “take a look at your world Jeremy, think about your everyday life. You get up at dawn, don’t you? You get into bed and drift off to dreamland by dusk every SINGLE DAY?” Nigel says raising his voice. “Yet every SINGLE morning you wake up, exhausted, more tired than the day before, correct? Jeremy looked at Nigel in a bit of disbelief… how did he know about his sleep issues and what did that have to do with being called a Twilit. “that is only because I have hy-” Jeremy began. “Hypersomnia?” Nigel interrupted “the doctors always tell the Twilit that”. “A few decades back there was a war. A species came from outer space, called the Twilitians. When they came to us they seemed like beings of pure light. They told us that we were chosen to be inheritors of their seed. Their home world was dying and they had nowhere else to go. We were the closest intelligent life to them that were compatible with their species. A few weirdo’s volunteered and it wasn’t long before the first hybrid was born. But the Twilitian’s failed to tell us of their early life process. You see my boy, inside of each Twilitian was both light… and dark. After the babies were born and grew, they looked to be just like any other human. But as they grew older we discovered that night turned them into beings of pure darkness. They would kill and eat anything in their way, including their parents. But during the day they were just fine. Some of their mothers began to tell them that they were special and not just like any other child, but they were telling them the truth of their origins. Upon discovering what they truly were, the knowledge changed them permanently the day no longer had them turning back into what they once were. Their numbers grew too quickly as their gestation period was only about three days. The days were livable, but the nights were unbearable.” “After many experiments it was discovered that we could manipulate the Twilit into becoming the beings of light that we originally discovered them as. Through a process we now call the lighting. Many laws and rules have been put into effect to prevent any future Twilit knowing what they truly are and once they reach the age of 30 they are gathered together and forced into the lighting process). This Jeremy, is what must happen to you” Jeremy didn’t know what to do. He asked “But… if the knowledge of this turns you into the darkness, why did you tell me?” “I told you because I know you will transform. And then I will have an excuse to kill you…” Jeremy’s eyes turned completely black. A more feral form to control of him. Nigel cocked the gun and shot.	“Oh, boy…” (ring)….”Hello?….Yeah, yeah, I know. They had no idea I work a second job anyway. Maybe they do, but they’re not going to tell me that, of course…..I’ll meet you outside.” (beep) As a child, you never expected that working in food service as an undercover cop would land your 22-year-old self into so much trouble. All you wanted was to protect and serve community. You walk out to see your boss pacing the sidewalk at the café entrance frenetically. “What are we going to do now?? You blew our cover!! You had that meeting with Colonel Hammill on your mind, didn’t you?” “Yep. I maintain the accident wasn’t my fault! I told Lieutenant Grayson not to knock on the suspect’s door and he did it anyway !” “Cut out the snit and help me figure out how to convince Mario nothing’s wrong. If he finds out you blew our cover, we’ll never beat these guys at their own game. That will be your fault.” “Tell me something I don’t know, Ned. Humph. It’s hard enough being a cop.” “Shhhh…Dave, look up and be quiet unless someone says something to you…Shhh!!” You both look up to see Mario, your new chief and longtime café owner pacing frantically outside the café door. “You both blew my cover. Good job, fellas,” he yelled, looking ready to flee and tossing aside his apron, wide-brimmed chef’s hat, fake facial hair, and fake glasses. You only wonder how he could explain what might happen to the press! “What??? You…you’re with us?? I thought your voice sounded familiar on the call…” Ned nudges you, letting you know you’re in big trouble now. “I told you, shut it!!” “Why do you think I was in your office asking for help yesterday, gents? Why do you think my voice sounded familiar? ( sigh) Besides, you’ve known me for five years now. I also know why Grayson was taken off the case- and it wasn’t just about his broken wrist.” At this point, you’re stunned. “….Why did your people blame me, then?? The suspect broke his wrist!! Some assistant Grayson is framing me! ” “Dave, knock it off. There’s more to it. Besides, Grayson won’t be around for a while.” You think you have it figured out. Ned knows why Grayson is off the case, but not why he’s injured. He knew about Mario visiting the office well before you did, though. “Mario, sir: how are we going to keep the other employees from knowing what happened?” “You and Dave here follow me. I’m closing down the café for renovations next month, anyway, so we have a month or two to figure it out after that. I think I know who has the missing cash and the business plan, anyway.” You wonder if Grayson has anything to do with Mario’s family’s law firm losing clients and the firm in the next town over booming. You know to keep quiet, though, since professions like law, law enforcement, and customer service require confidentiality. “Dave? I’m taking your place and You’re taking Grayson’s place for now. Ned, you take mine.” “Shouldn’t it be the opposite? I mean, Dave is a businessman at heart and a decent chef to boot.” “Fine…..Wait a minute!” Both of you are confused now. “Yes, sir.” “Dave, you come with me. Ned, I want you to give Grayson a job here. He is a decent chef, so you need only to manage the business. I’m making Mabel the host and Carly and Minnie wait staff now; they know the ins and outs of the rest since I trained them when Dave was sick.” “So we make him sweat and get him to confess?” “Yup. Dave and I will take care of the rest. That done, I plan to retire and make you boys co-owners when you retire from the force. I’ve been working for a long time now- 50 years altogether.” One week later, Mario approves of Ned hiring Grayson and the restaurant sees triple its usual profits over the next quarter. You’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop, not sure the plan will work. After all, your situation seems too strange to be all goodness. “Dave! You see the green house just across from the café?” “Yes, sir. Isn’t that where our suspect lives?” “You remembered. I want you to become his roommate since I know you’re moving back to Tennessee soon, anyway, unless you accept my job offer post-retirement. Tell him you need a place to stay while the home inspection goes on; really beg him.” (Ding-dong) Hours later, you find you’ve never sweated so much in your life. The begging wasn’t easy, but you got it done and found the extra key to the safe Erik, your new roommate, keeps in the pantry just after you handed him the rental agreement and you unpacked your snack stash. Now you can breathe. The only trouble is to figure out when to unlock the safe and grab the business plan and missing cash. You have a night while Erik sleeps. What could go wrong? ( knock knock knock ) “Open up!! Police!” You peek out of the front hall windows cautiously. “(through the mail slot) “Pssst. It’s me. Erik is sleeping and I have the extra key to the safe.” “Be careful since you don’t have your badge and gun.” “Riiiiight. I pick up the replacements tomorrow…Erik!!” You hear nothing, so go upstairs and see Erik and Grayson tied up and scared. Ned and Mario see your wide eyes and follow you. “Funny to see you boys here…how did you get…inconvenienced, though? (laughing)” “Ask your friends and check the safe.” “What…why would we need to do that??” “They’re gone. All of the money and the plan. Grayson and I are just here. (sigh)” “Who else was here?” “The fella in the blue cravat; the one with the pancake-shaped birthmark on his right arm.” The only person you know who fits that description is Ned. You turn around to see Ned with some of unusual items sticking out of his near-to-bursting holster, a broken key, and a check for $1 million at his feet. Mario picks up the check and recognize the writing, then turns red. “You!! You…..How could you??! Embezzlement, destroying my café walls and stealing clients from my family for yours?? I was good to you!! I’ve been good to you!! I should’ve known a week ago in the café when I saw the false walls broken and the safe destroyed!! I suppose I’ll have to sue you to pay for my renovations!!” “…Boss, who do you think paid me to do it? Please blabbermouth couldn’t keep a secret if their lives depended on it. I’m firing you as my executive assistant, Grayson, and I see I haven’t a clerk now, either, Erik.” “Dave, you know what to do.” You should’ve known. Ned is* the neighboring lawyers’ son and a defense lawyer who considered leaving his café side gig to accept a promotion to become a partner there. There’s not much you can do now. All you need to do is arrest him and find out what he did with your clients’ cash and master business expansion plan. “ I should’ve known. I guess keeping my friends close and my enemies closer paid off. All right, Ned. Let’s go. Erik and Grayson, thank you for your assistance and you, too, are under arrest. Perhaps the courts will give you a plea deal if you agree to testify for the prosecution.” One year later, Mario retires, you take over the café, the thieves are in jail, and you’re thinking of opening a second café in Tennessee across the Tennessee and Virginia border. All is right with the world now… or is it?
[WP] “I’m sorry this is the last straw—you’re fired.” Your boss says. “Fine!” You exclaim. “Here’s my badge and gun!” You slam them on the desk but your boss looks confused. “What the fuck? Why do you need a gun and badge when you’re a waiter?”	“I’m sorry this is the last straw – You’re fired.” His boss, Jeremy Teak, says. “Fine!” He exclaims. “Here’s my badge and gun!” he slams them on the desk but Jeremy looks confused. “What the fuck? Why do you need a gun and badge when you’re a waiter?” When the question was asked he was already one foot out the door. The remark made him pause. Looking back at his now former employer he states, “you really are a Twilit aren’t you?” practically rolling his eyes and leaves the room. Jeremey stared at the closed door even with even more confusion now. “A Twilit? The fuck does that mean?” he whispered under his breath. Jeremey remembers hearing that word before but he couldn’t quite place from where? There’s a shy knock at the door. Even though the noise of the knock was quiet it sent adrenaline rushing through Jeremy and his mind began thinking a million words a minute. “What would someone say about there being a gun and badge on his desk? How could he explain that away to his staff when he couldn’t even explain it to himself!” panicking Jeremy grabs the gun and badge and shoves them into the top drawer of his desk. As the door opens slowly, he sees a familiar head poke through. It’s the boss. Nigel Hitchenson, the owner of the restaurant, popped his head in and said in a low tone, “Is the coast clear? Did you do it?” “uh, y-yeah, he’s gone.” Jeremy replied as he finished closing the drawer. “Excellent!” said Nigel practically shouting in his usual spirited way as he burst open the door. “I didn’t much like that one at all. I’m glad he’s outta our hair and now keeping his hair out of the food.” Nigel gives a little chuckle to himself as he begins to makes himself comfortable in the chair in front of the desk. “I tell yah I knew he… ” Nigel stopped suddenly seeing the expression on Jeremy’s face. “what’s wrong?” he asked so fast that Jeremey could barely make out what was said. “well… He left this on my desk…” Jeremy stated shyly as he opened his top drawer to reveal the badge and gun. Nigel removes his playful tone and says “ah… I see”. Jeremy stared at his boss wondering what was going through his mind but was far too scared to ask. “well, no worries, I’ll take that off your hands for you, my boy” Nigel’s lively demeanor seemed to return like a rushing river. “I’ll see to it it’s all taken care of.” Nigel grabbed both objects from the table. “Same ol’ arrangement Jeremy, I’ll be sure to hire someone to replace him for you. Keep working your same schedule and have one of the other waiters work some overtime to keep the same program running.” Jeremy’s expression must have revealed his thoughts because he had more questions. Nigel asked “is there something further, Jeremy?” “Just one… I’m not really one to take offence to name calling… but he called me a-a Twilit” said Jeremy. Nigel stroked his 5 o’clock shadow, slightly turned his head and whispered “hmmm, I’ll be sure to report him for that.” Jeremy didn’t know how to respond to that. He thought to himself “report him? Report him how? He no longer works here. What more could we do?” Nigel stood up suddenly, and brushed him off stating “Well Jeremy, I’m really sorry to have to do this to you, my boy… I can tell by your eyes you want to know the answers. However, there are none to be given to a Twilit such as yourself. Your lighting will have to begin immediately.” Jeremy stood up in shock, “What do you mean!?” he practically shouted. He was interrupted by Nigel pointing the gun at him and stating, “oh, no, no, no, my boy! Stay seated, please.” Nigel used the gun to gesture Jeremy to his seat. “At least with the lighting you will have a few years left, but get outta hand and it’ll be over before you know it.” Tears began to well in Jeremy’s eyes. He didn’t’ know what was going on and he didn’t know how to stop it. Jeremy finally mustered all of his courage and exclaimed, “Why are you doing this to me? Why do you keep calling me a Twilit when today is the first time I’ve been called that!?” Tears began to stream down his face now. Nigel looked at him with a blank stare, unmoved by the emotions Jeremy is showing. “take a look at your world Jeremy, think about your everyday life. You get up at dawn, don’t you? You get into bed and drift off to dreamland by dusk every SINGLE DAY?” Nigel says raising his voice. “Yet every SINGLE morning you wake up, exhausted, more tired than the day before, correct? Jeremy looked at Nigel in a bit of disbelief… how did he know about his sleep issues and what did that have to do with being called a Twilit. “that is only because I have hy-” Jeremy began. “Hypersomnia?” Nigel interrupted “the doctors always tell the Twilit that”. “A few decades back there was a war. A species came from outer space, called the Twilitians. When they came to us they seemed like beings of pure light. They told us that we were chosen to be inheritors of their seed. Their home world was dying and they had nowhere else to go. We were the closest intelligent life to them that were compatible with their species. A few weirdo’s volunteered and it wasn’t long before the first hybrid was born. But the Twilitian’s failed to tell us of their early life process. You see my boy, inside of each Twilitian was both light… and dark. After the babies were born and grew, they looked to be just like any other human. But as they grew older we discovered that night turned them into beings of pure darkness. They would kill and eat anything in their way, including their parents. But during the day they were just fine. Some of their mothers began to tell them that they were special and not just like any other child, but they were telling them the truth of their origins. Upon discovering what they truly were, the knowledge changed them permanently the day no longer had them turning back into what they once were. Their numbers grew too quickly as their gestation period was only about three days. The days were livable, but the nights were unbearable.” “After many experiments it was discovered that we could manipulate the Twilit into becoming the beings of light that we originally discovered them as. Through a process we now call the lighting. Many laws and rules have been put into effect to prevent any future Twilit knowing what they truly are and once they reach the age of 30 they are gathered together and forced into the lighting process). This Jeremy, is what must happen to you” Jeremy didn’t know what to do. He asked “But… if the knowledge of this turns you into the darkness, why did you tell me?” “I told you because I know you will transform. And then I will have an excuse to kill you…” Jeremy’s eyes turned completely black. A more feral form to control of him. Nigel cocked the gun and shot.	"What do you mean?" I respond confused. "Why do I have a gun? In case Lazuto walks through those doors!" I exclaim. "I've given seven months of my life into this sting operation; and just like that you're taking me off the force!" I feel tears welling up my eyes as my boss continued to play dumb. He never once dropped the act in the break room, he was the best undercover detective I'd ever known. I tried my damn hardest to make him proud, but I just couldn't work the register. Even now he keeps asking, "Why do have a police badge? Why the gun? Who's Lazuto?" I cannot take it anymore, I miss my family. Maybe the boss can see I'm homesick and this is why he's letting me go. "Goodbye, Mr Willabe. I was never cut out being a detective." I say, accepting my fate. "What am I supposed to do with this?" Mr Willabe asked, holding the gun up by the barrel. "For god's sake man, I don't think I even know who you are, records say you just showed up in uniform one day and started waiting tables!" Even now he never drops the facade, what a pro. "Hey! Please tell me what the hell is going on!" I turn to him as I leave out the small office, "Nothing sir. Just a fool who thought he could match a master at his craft." I leave the restaurant a new man, ready to take life by the horns and wishing them the best of luck, finding their killer.
[WP] “I’m sorry this is the last straw—you’re fired.” Your boss says. “Fine!” You exclaim. “Here’s my badge and gun!” You slam them on the desk but your boss looks confused. “What the fuck? Why do you need a gun and badge when you’re a waiter?”	"I fucking knew it, I am the best you got, but you are too scared to keep me because I am the only bastard here with some integrity and you can't control me." Luis Canon sighed in disbelief, how could such injustice be placed upon him. "How long have I been here, I have put sweat and blood into my rightful duties, and I put my life on the line every day for years, this is absurd." He removed his belt, a saddened look as he looked at his firearm for possibly the last time. It was well kept, Luis would perform maintenance on it daily, never neglecting the care for his tool of justice, and always keeping his abilitties with it in peak condition. A surge of rage took over him as he removed his badge, a symbol of pride for him, representative of his values and sacrifice for his community. Luis's explosive temper began to show, in bitter expressions as he contemplated losing not only his job, but his identity. "I am done with this, this is bullshit and you will sink without me." For the first time, he behaved with no regards for his firearm or badge, as he slammed them into the table in front of his boss." A bit puzzled, the young manager sitting in front of him uttered. "Sir, this is a wendy's"	The papers, pens and mug that says “World's Best Boss” go flying off and around the desk as the .35 rubber dart gun and plastic badge slam down with a thud again. I picked them up and re-slammed them for dramatic effect. “You just can’t handle my gung-ho manner, that’s all.” My now former Boss, the world's best, stares at me in disbelief. Annoyance and confusion fighting for the premier spot on his face. His eyes fill with what seems to be tears before I realise he has been looking at me for going on a minute. Finally the glass mirror shatters as he erupts out of his chair, again the already messed assortment goes flying this way and that. “What the hell is wrong with you?” The words come spilling out as he spills over his desk, grabbing at me in a rage. I snatch up the .35, cock it and pull. What could I do? The orange translucent dart releases from the barrel and in what can only be described in terms of film magic, the world slows down. The click of the hammer rings out with an echo, the mug grinds against the desk as it begins its journey to the waste bin. Papers, pens, his computer and keyboard begin to pelt the ground like the rain on a cool Autumn day. The dart gleams in the fluorescent yellow glow of the ceiling lights, coursing towards the forehead of Jerry, my former boss. World's Best. I fall back a step, my movement slow and flowing. Jerry, red in the face coming towards me with the killing glint that a bull exhibits when the matador is in its crosshairs. Still the contents of the desk pelt the ground as I can hear Jerry’s desk chair toppling and hitting the wall behind. The world slows more, and now I hear it.The deep, thrombotic moan of this wilder-beast. Jerry, arms outstretched in a v, howling like a mad man. The dart has found its mark. Bang on target. The centre of his forehead, a kill shot. My world goes dark as time kicks back in. The only thing I hear is a dull thud and a crack as my soul is ejected from my body. –– “And that’s how you ended up here is it? Shooting a dart at your boss's head?” “Yep, that’s about it, more or less. I am sure there is more but my head is splitting.” I say. The bearded, finely robed man grins. Light pouring out from around him. “Fair enough then, in you go.” He gestures at me to enter through the Pearly Gates. “Oh! Word of advice, don’t try that with the Big Boss in there. His son tried something like that a while back, and let’s just say–it didn’t turn out well for Lucy.”
[WP] “I’m sorry this is the last straw—you’re fired.” Your boss says. “Fine!” You exclaim. “Here’s my badge and gun!” You slam them on the desk but your boss looks confused. “What the fuck? Why do you need a gun and badge when you’re a waiter?”	"I'm sorry, this is the last straw! You're fired!" The new boss says. I blink, then I blink again, I look around the dingy office of the Chinese restaurant, then back at the boss, "I'm... Fired? Fired!?" "That's right! You're never here on time! You vanish in the middle of your shift! You swear at the customers! You're fired!" I take a deep breath, and then nod, "Fine!", I pull out my service weapon from the holster, not noticing as the boss goes pale, and then pull out my wallet, unhook my badge. I slam the badge onto the desk, then eject the clip from my gun, slam the clip onto the desk, unchamber the round from the gun, catch it in mid air, and slam both the gun and the bullet down on the desk as well, "Here's my badge and gun!" I turn, and take a step towards the door of the office, as I hear the boss take a deep breath, and let out, loudly, "What the FUCK!? Who do you need a _gun and a badge_!? You're a waiter!" I stop, foot in the air, feelings rushing through me. Confusion, rage, amusement, horror. I turn around again, and just stare at the boss. The new boss. He's only been here a month. A replacement for the Old Man, while he's out recovering. The cover story was a robber mugged him on his way home. I take the step back to the desk, and lean over it, towards my boss, both hands on the desk, "Who, _exactly_, interviewed you for this job? Where did you get your training? And who briefed you?" "What the fuck!? This is just a bloody restaurant! And you're fired!" Replies the still clearly shaken boss. I straighten back up, and calmly, though not exactly slowly, pick up the gun and the clip, slide the clip into the gun, chamber a round, flip off the safety, and level the gun directly at the boss' head, "How did you get this job, exactly?" The boss is now ghost white, is trembling, and... From the smell, he just voided his bladder. He gulps, then gulps again, unable to take his eyes off the barrel of the gun pointed at his head, "I saw the sign! The sign! The one out front! I called the number! I don't _remember_ who I talked to! I said I wanted the job! Yeah, maybe I fibbed a bit on my qualifications, but who doesn't!? Who doesn't!? Look, take whatever you want! Empty the cash drawers! I'll give you my wallet! You can keep the job!" I take a deep breath, thoughts running through my head, and then I switch to a one handed hold of the gun, reach over to the wired desk phone on the boss' desk, turn it around, hit the speaker phone button, and press the buttons for an internal call, dial a 5 digit extension, and a heart beat later, a voice answers, "Steven and Sons Supply, how may I direct your call?" I answer, my voice steady, "Agent 78124, code purple, possible codes pink or orange. Location beta 5 insecure." There is a brief pause, then the voice responds, "We have received your order. Your delivery will arrive shortly. Is the defective product a bio hazard?" I consider this for a moment, eyes locked on the boss, who is looking increasingly panicked, his eyes still locked on the barrel of the gun, his mouth hanging open, but no words coming out, sweat running down his face, "Uncertain." "Confirmed. Please dispose of any bio hazards at your discretion." There is a click, and the line goes dead.	The papers, pens and mug that says “World's Best Boss” go flying off and around the desk as the .35 rubber dart gun and plastic badge slam down with a thud again. I picked them up and re-slammed them for dramatic effect. “You just can’t handle my gung-ho manner, that’s all.” My now former Boss, the world's best, stares at me in disbelief. Annoyance and confusion fighting for the premier spot on his face. His eyes fill with what seems to be tears before I realise he has been looking at me for going on a minute. Finally the glass mirror shatters as he erupts out of his chair, again the already messed assortment goes flying this way and that. “What the hell is wrong with you?” The words come spilling out as he spills over his desk, grabbing at me in a rage. I snatch up the .35, cock it and pull. What could I do? The orange translucent dart releases from the barrel and in what can only be described in terms of film magic, the world slows down. The click of the hammer rings out with an echo, the mug grinds against the desk as it begins its journey to the waste bin. Papers, pens, his computer and keyboard begin to pelt the ground like the rain on a cool Autumn day. The dart gleams in the fluorescent yellow glow of the ceiling lights, coursing towards the forehead of Jerry, my former boss. World's Best. I fall back a step, my movement slow and flowing. Jerry, red in the face coming towards me with the killing glint that a bull exhibits when the matador is in its crosshairs. Still the contents of the desk pelt the ground as I can hear Jerry’s desk chair toppling and hitting the wall behind. The world slows more, and now I hear it.The deep, thrombotic moan of this wilder-beast. Jerry, arms outstretched in a v, howling like a mad man. The dart has found its mark. Bang on target. The centre of his forehead, a kill shot. My world goes dark as time kicks back in. The only thing I hear is a dull thud and a crack as my soul is ejected from my body. –– “And that’s how you ended up here is it? Shooting a dart at your boss's head?” “Yep, that’s about it, more or less. I am sure there is more but my head is splitting.” I say. The bearded, finely robed man grins. Light pouring out from around him. “Fair enough then, in you go.” He gestures at me to enter through the Pearly Gates. “Oh! Word of advice, don’t try that with the Big Boss in there. His son tried something like that a while back, and let’s just say–it didn’t turn out well for Lucy.”
[WP] “I’m sorry this is the last straw—you’re fired.” Your boss says. “Fine!” You exclaim. “Here’s my badge and gun!” You slam them on the desk but your boss looks confused. “What the fuck? Why do you need a gun and badge when you’re a waiter?”	"I'm sorry, this is the last straw! You're fired!" The new boss says. I blink, then I blink again, I look around the dingy office of the Chinese restaurant, then back at the boss, "I'm... Fired? Fired!?" "That's right! You're never here on time! You vanish in the middle of your shift! You swear at the customers! You're fired!" I take a deep breath, and then nod, "Fine!", I pull out my service weapon from the holster, not noticing as the boss goes pale, and then pull out my wallet, unhook my badge. I slam the badge onto the desk, then eject the clip from my gun, slam the clip onto the desk, unchamber the round from the gun, catch it in mid air, and slam both the gun and the bullet down on the desk as well, "Here's my badge and gun!" I turn, and take a step towards the door of the office, as I hear the boss take a deep breath, and let out, loudly, "What the FUCK!? Who do you need a _gun and a badge_!? You're a waiter!" I stop, foot in the air, feelings rushing through me. Confusion, rage, amusement, horror. I turn around again, and just stare at the boss. The new boss. He's only been here a month. A replacement for the Old Man, while he's out recovering. The cover story was a robber mugged him on his way home. I take the step back to the desk, and lean over it, towards my boss, both hands on the desk, "Who, _exactly_, interviewed you for this job? Where did you get your training? And who briefed you?" "What the fuck!? This is just a bloody restaurant! And you're fired!" Replies the still clearly shaken boss. I straighten back up, and calmly, though not exactly slowly, pick up the gun and the clip, slide the clip into the gun, chamber a round, flip off the safety, and level the gun directly at the boss' head, "How did you get this job, exactly?" The boss is now ghost white, is trembling, and... From the smell, he just voided his bladder. He gulps, then gulps again, unable to take his eyes off the barrel of the gun pointed at his head, "I saw the sign! The sign! The one out front! I called the number! I don't _remember_ who I talked to! I said I wanted the job! Yeah, maybe I fibbed a bit on my qualifications, but who doesn't!? Who doesn't!? Look, take whatever you want! Empty the cash drawers! I'll give you my wallet! You can keep the job!" I take a deep breath, thoughts running through my head, and then I switch to a one handed hold of the gun, reach over to the wired desk phone on the boss' desk, turn it around, hit the speaker phone button, and press the buttons for an internal call, dial a 5 digit extension, and a heart beat later, a voice answers, "Steven and Sons Supply, how may I direct your call?" I answer, my voice steady, "Agent 78124, code purple, possible codes pink or orange. Location beta 5 insecure." There is a brief pause, then the voice responds, "We have received your order. Your delivery will arrive shortly. Is the defective product a bio hazard?" I consider this for a moment, eyes locked on the boss, who is looking increasingly panicked, his eyes still locked on the barrel of the gun, his mouth hanging open, but no words coming out, sweat running down his face, "Uncertain." "Confirmed. Please dispose of any bio hazards at your discretion." There is a click, and the line goes dead.	"I fucking knew it, I am the best you got, but you are too scared to keep me because I am the only bastard here with some integrity and you can't control me." Luis Canon sighed in disbelief, how could such injustice be placed upon him. "How long have I been here, I have put sweat and blood into my rightful duties, and I put my life on the line every day for years, this is absurd." He removed his belt, a saddened look as he looked at his firearm for possibly the last time. It was well kept, Luis would perform maintenance on it daily, never neglecting the care for his tool of justice, and always keeping his abilitties with it in peak condition. A surge of rage took over him as he removed his badge, a symbol of pride for him, representative of his values and sacrifice for his community. Luis's explosive temper began to show, in bitter expressions as he contemplated losing not only his job, but his identity. "I am done with this, this is bullshit and you will sink without me." For the first time, he behaved with no regards for his firearm or badge, as he slammed them into the table in front of his boss." A bit puzzled, the young manager sitting in front of him uttered. "Sir, this is a wendy's"
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	“How many?” Jedediah looked around the room as he spoke, his hand raised to the ceiling. He stared at each person, his gaze steady, unwavering. His subordinates nicknamed him Sniper, he could pierce anyone with just a look. Jedediah knew grief like no other person, he lost his parents, his wife, his child in a brutal way. They chose his family for experiment A, but deemed him worthy to serve them. At one point, Jedidiah wished they had let him perish with his family. But now, he was glad he could live to see the destruction of the very entities who ruined the world he once knew and called home. One thing Jedediah would never lose was his reason to fight. He would never give up, as long as those aliens attacked them, burned their homes, took their people and tortured them. As long as they conducted their sick experiments. In the distance, an alarm sounded, the low-pitched siren a warning to all the humans aboard the spaceship. The stolen spaceship would be found soon. The Grogs were on their tail. Jedidiah made eye contact with his second-in-command Dawson who nodded and went to check the perimeter. One by one, everyone in the room lifted their hands. “That’s all of us.” Jedidiah nodded, not expecting any less. His team agreed to go on the mission, even if death awaited. They were loyal to Jedidiah. They would follow him until the end. He was the one who rescued their family members and provided all they needed. He was the one who always knew what to do. Everyone suited up, and made sure their weapons weren’t faulty. Their favorite weapon was something they called a torchgun, though the name was probably different in Grogian. Efficient and quick with devastating impact. Jedidiah remembered the first time he saw a Grog use one. He also remembered the first time he used a torchgun on a Grog. The prey became predator, the hunted became the hunter. Together as one unit, they charged out of the room, their torchguns lighting the way. Every person was hungry, hungry for alien blood. Jedidiah ushered his team forward. Dawson appeared by the door and Jedidiah acknowledged him with a firm thwack against his arm. Jogging forward, they moved in sync, as one group. “Let’s get these motherfuckers.”	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	Ulzin watched the small blue, green, and white planet grow in his monitor. Radio waves from the planet called Earth had been picked up during their search through the void for a planet to colonize, and the dreadnaught Crakzien had immediately changed course to take the inhabited world. Ulzin had been monitoring these transmissions for the last dozen ‘years’ as the humans called them. The concept was foreign to a ship-born like himself, but his generation of Khexziun would be the one to finally colonize this Earth, and Ulzin wanted to know the specifics of planetary living by the time they touched down. The humans would make a great labor force. Several centuries prior, the humans would have been too primitive for anything besides menial labor, and a century ago, they might have been a threat. The timing seemed too perfect that just as the dreadnaught approached, the humans had abandoned their warlike tendencies to peacefully coexist. Ulzin had seen some transmissions of what seemed to be war propaganda, but further investigation revealed this to be a form of entertainment. In recent years, these had become increasingly unflattering in their depiction of combat, reflecting the similarly increasing pacifist tendencies among the humans. In the last century, during their Great War spanning thirty years, the humans had advanced their technology purely to kill each other. They learned to fly so they could drop bombs on each other, the learned to traverse the depths, only to better drag eachother below the waves. So great and terrible was their war that when peace was finally attained, they never let it go. Even the two great nations of the humans could not bring themselves to fight, so they competed instead. They raced to the stars, and when smaller nations would fight, these two would intervene. They formed Treaties and Pacts, and while their depictions of war and the weapons they would dream up would seem increasingly destructive, they would instead use these discoveries to create energy and further explore the nature of reality. And so, Ulzin thought, these humans would make the perfect slave race. So terrified of violence, they would need to make some kind of deal before the might of the Khexziun. The Humans knew they were coming. They possessed several orbital telescopes and monitored the celestial bodies in their system consistently, and after Ulzin detected some form of communication detailing the approach of an unnatural object, he sent his own message in the human language declaring their imminent arrival and the impending takeover. Knowing the diplomatic nature of the humans, he made sure to include an offer to negotiate. All that was left now was to wait until they took the bait. The little colorful ball grew in size on his screen, and Ulzin watched the system’s star as it was eclipsed by the little world, the place he would soon call home. Earzian would be a good name, one that honored the name given by its original inhabitants, Ulzin thought. A flash. A bright blinding light filled his screen as the star returned to foreground. Ulzin was stunned. The star? Impossible, that couldn’t… Ulzin had seen flashes like these before. In the transmissions the humans had leaked out, there were tests of weapons like this. They hadn’t detonated one in decades though! The research was abandoned for peace! At least, that is what Ulzin and the Khexziun had concluded. Ulzin’s mind raced, he reconsidered the possibilities. The competitiveness, the smaller wars, the violent entertainment… Humanity hadn’t ceased their violent ways out of some newfound sense of compassion, it was survival. Humanity couldn’t survive another total war, so they sharpened their fangs, crouched low and waited for new prey. Prey such as the Crakzien. Ulzin sat in silence as alarms blared and Khexziun hurried to battlestations. Another flash on his screen matched the violent shaking of the hull, and all Ulzin could do was sit. Their fangs were indeed sharp, and humanity was going in for the kill. EDIT: Formatting	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The Galactic Monarch knew very little beyond word of mouth of the Terran Forces or their population, but what they did know was that Terrans Used "False-stars" to hide their homeworld and it's surrounding system from other intergalactic nations. Not only do they Hide but they also send messages to potential enemies claiming to "come in peace" a ridiculous claim. These peaceful messages did not only make them look weak but to hear that they have never raged war against any other species besides themselves was laughable. So when the Galactic Monarch heard there was gold within their Terran system and that the Terrans homeworlds core was surrounded by gold as well they thought it would be an easily earned victory against these peaceful terrans. The orders were simple find the Terran homeworld decimate what little troops they have and begin the mining of their pathetic planets resources but as the battle comes just outside the Terran system they soon realized how wrong they would be. Captain Al'tek: "Your Majesty, the entire Armada has been deployed and are now in position to enter Terran space. The Terran Admiral is hailing in hopes of Peace" King of the Galactic Monarch: "Peace they say? What peace can space debris offer in the wake of a black hole. We offer no peace here, the Terrans will not be able to turn me away with peace. Ignore all hails and commence with the attack" //The Armada continues to encroach into Terran space// CA: "Your Greatness, they are attempting an Emergency hail" 'Final warning!" "Stop now or risk Total Annihilation." Kogm: "End all communication and engage them now! CA: "As you command your Greatness! All Battle cruisers prepare to enter Terran space in 5..4..3.. " click CA: "Your Majesty! We no longer have communication or visual confirmation of the Terrans or our forces. It appears we've taken massive casualties!" Koqm: "Send another Wave!" CA: "Your Greatness! Forgive me, but I don't think you understand." The entire Armada of over 5 million ships and over a trillion Galactic troops.. are gone.. every last one of them" I believe we are the only surviving ship." Kogm: "What!? How is that possible we've only just entered their system!? CA: "I.. I.. I don't know sir" What!? It looks like the Terrans are overriding our ships Comms." Kogm: "I don't understand, how this is possible!? How can these peace makers with no prior experience destroy our entire Armada!? I wan.. Chhchh* click "Attention* John Blake: Invaders this is Admiral John Blake of the Terran Ministry of Peace, I'm sorry to interrupt but we've had control over your comms the moment you decided to ignore our hails. I understand you are wondering how we've come to win this " battle "today when you call us peace makers. I must say, you really should have done your homework on our planet's History if you planned to defeat us. In fact, until very recently humanity has only ever known to be at war with ourselves.We've fought wars because of races, classes, rights, and intellectualism. No matter what we did or how much we thought we had progressed it seemed there was a war around every corner.. We developed weapons that would cause an insurmountable amount of pain and suffering to our world and peace never seemed to be in reach. That is until we had an encounter with beings of another world. We realized our differences, in the grand scheme of things, we're pointless and meaningless when compared to others in the cosmos. So we decided to make a change and end all wars in pursuit of Peace, and not only peace with ourselves, but with everyone in the universe. BUT we can Not forget our past or we would be doomed to repeat it, you see we know exactly what would eventually happen, someone always wants more. Whether it's, land, money or power there will always be someone who wants more. So we armed ourselves, every single one of our 17billion strong population. You see, Terrans are soldiers first and Terran citizens second so when we heard news of your Armada coming into our little corner of the universe we prepared a little welcoming party and launched millions of antimatter torpedoes the very second we took your comms because we know all too well that when someone like you wants more they aren't going to stop with a friendly word, we know that all too well. So we gave you more, more death and destruction you could ever imagine, in order to preserve our peace.But we know beings like you will always want more and more... so we will give you more, in the name of Peace.". "Launch the torpedos"	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	Sergeant Deshaun Raymond Jones looked up to see them, standing there in utter terror at a sight they couldn’t have ever imagined. At least, he guesses it was terror. If they even felt terror. He’d always said he’d wanted to die in Dallas. It was his home, after all. His mind drifted through the memories he’d collected along the way, smiling softly as he did. He first recalled his mother’s soft voice, singing “Amazing Grace” to him when the storms had kept him awake, shivering in his racecar bed. He then thought back on the first touchdown pass he’d ever caught, beaming with pride as he looked to see if that girl was watching. “Oh man, her…” he said to himself absent-mindedly. He remembered her better than anything else. He remembered how he nervously changed clothes before their first high-school date. He remembered how she held him close and wiped away his tears when he got injured and lost his athletic scholarship to the University of Texas. He remembered how he held her and wiped her tears when he told her that he was going to the army. She made him promise he’d come back home safe. He promised her a lot of things, and he’d kept those promises. Well, all expect one. After a near lethal alcohol poisoning in the dark and depressing time after he lost his scholarship, promised her he’d never drink again. He’d been stone cold sober since. He promised her he’d find work get his life back together when he’d recovered. He did. After he found work, he’d promised her he’d come back home to her after his four years with the army were up. He fought like hell let loose in Brazil during the second South American War back in 2035. He got a medal for his valor, but the only thing on his mind when he was surrounded in that trench was her. When he surprised her on that beach in Destin and dropped to a knee, he promised her he’d never leave her again. He’d kept that promise, and reaffirmed it on the altar. That was until they showed up. He remembered sitting there on that November morning, watching the news as they asked for humanity’s surrender and subsequent assimilation to their empire. He remembered curling up on the floor, sobbing and shaking as they fired their orbital cannons into San Francisco as a show of might. Truth be told, he would have still stayed home with her if she’d asked him to, but she knew. She knew that this wasn’t about getting free college and a sense of brotherhood. This wasn’t about fighting for the interests of your country. This was survival. The survival of their home, the survival of their daughter, the survival of their species. So she let him go. He tried to promise her that he’d come home this time, but she stopped him. All she told him to do was call whenever he could. He remembered looking back over his shoulder at her, their baby in her arms, as he got on that bus belonging to the newly formed International Coalition of Humanity. He remembered. He realized, grimly, that it’d be the last thing he’d do. These invaders thought that humanity would simply kneel to their new gods. They didn’t. They thought that humanity would die making their last stand in Moscow. They didn’t. They thought that humanity would lose the will to fight as the years dragged on. They didn’t. They thought that they’d hold back the human counter-assault in Madrid. They didn’t. They thought a lot of things, but unlike Sergeant Jones, they couldn’t make good on it. But humanity, and Jones by extension, made their enemy one last promise. They promised them that they would die here. And here they were. These aliens before him were watching their people’s last capital ship, the one they were all about to evacuate and escape on, fall from the sky and into the heart of Dallas. They’d captured him a week back, and they were probably going to try and ransom him in a bid for more time, but there’d be no mercy now. As they watched the reactor go critical and meltdown, Deshaun couldn’t help but smile through the tears. In their collective final moments, words came to Deshaun Jones. Every moment of his life, every moment of love and loss, every valley and mountain, every lost comrade and battle won, everything had led to this, and he couldn’t help himself. As the catastrophic blast engulfed him, he reminded them of their fatal mistake. “Don’t mess with Texas.”	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	We knew humans were weak. There wasn’t any possible doubt, as their military fleet was almost inexistant, and had for sole purpose to protect their ships against pirates. They only focused on diplomacy, and seemed to see any threat toward their world as a joke, saying that only a mad leader would declare war against another space empire. With all those signs, it wasn’t much a surprise when the Nexelion’s empire declared war on humanity. What was surprising however, was human’s plea to end this conflict immediately, else they would use the power of mutually assured destruction. None of us understood what they meant back then, and assumed it as an empty threat. War against humanity began as easily as the Nexilions had imagined, but as their campagne progressed, report of humanity abandoning their world to flee on untraceable ships began to multiply. Then, the first human ship crashed into a Nexilion’s planet, soon followed by dozens of identical ships. Those empty husk, only designed to transcend the speed of light were humanity backing of their claim, as a simple strike erased planets and their armada from existence, and for the first time, all empires felt fear facing an unblockable strike that would instantly erase a civilization. The Nexilion empire was reduced in a day to a couple of isolated planets, incapable of subsisting on their own. This, young ones, is the history of our lost empire, and the reason diplomacy became so important trough the galaxies, as no one want to share the fate of our people, the Nexilions. As for the humans, they are still out there, on their world ships, an invisible threat that almost devastated galaxies trough their of power	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	My kind has always seen violence as a pragmatic tool to get our ends. We don't indulge in violence out of any primitive instinct; we have long since killed those. To us, whom the humans call the Amphitilians - to note that we can exist in more forms of matter than they can, "war" has a been way to resolve in unresolvable. We have known of the humans for almost 100 Terran years, a period that we understand is less than half a generation to the humans of this time. The humans we have seen across their tiny colonies and mining belts were not warriors - there seemed to be no warriors across the sectors of space they had infested. We warned them for long to not come inside the boundary that our kind has controlled for as long as we can remember, but yet little seemingly unaffiliated groups of humans kept infesting every corner they could. And before long they created a network amongst themselves, infesting tactfully and with coordination across half a sector. At first, they were little more than an eyesore but within a decade they became an inconvenience in every outer area controlled. And so we did what we felt we must, we attacked them interplanetary ballistics and sent clean-up crews to their illegal mining colonies. At first, we crushed them without much resistance. The humans were poorly armed and had no training. But soon, we started encountering violent, out-of-control rag-tag groups and mobs. Suicide bombers, Stealth fighters, child soldiers - these are merely the surface of the horrific lengths this species was capable of. But that was just the beginning. What we didn't understand was that our infestation problem was an unauthorized migration of errant human groups and colony ships. But when their federations learned of what we were doing to exterminate humans across our sector - they did not take it kindly. "Total War" protocol was engaged by their federations against the Amphitilians across our entire sector. Their warriors were armed to the teeth, hidden inside mechanical constructions and energy weapons that were out of our league. And not to mention they outnumbered us ten to one, their warriors to our entire population. Their warriors were creatures of horror, that indulged in pain to satisfy their blood rage. Each of them proudly boasted a kill count, some even keep tokens of our kind they killed. Humans were no weak infestation. They are a threat to this entire galaxy. No, they are a threat to every type of civilized life out there. They do not negotiate, they do not honor their word, and they are not creatures of sanity. I send this message, not in the hope that we may somehow save our species. It is too late for us. There are less than a few million of us left now, limited to just one planet and its two moons. We will not live to tell our tale for another decade. So for anyone that might receive this message, be warned of the humans. Do not underestimate them, do not let them find you. And if you find yourself invaded by this hostile species, just run. If you run, you may avoid our fate. It is better to live somewhere than die protecting mere rock and space. Let our fate be a warning and a beacon. Do not mess with the humans. Hide from them. Run from them. Lie to them. But do not engage them in violence.	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	We ravaged our planet with war. Nuclear weapons once turned our planet into a desert hellscape and we killed each other for shiny rocks and imaginary lines. When it was all said and done, and it was time to rebuild, we vowed to learn from the mistakes of our ancestors. We came together, no ideology worth another’s life. We grew our numbers, scrapped old technology and invented better ones. But old habits die hard. We knew we were peaceful, but when we found alien species amongst the stars, we knew not everyone would have learned the lessons we did a millennia before. We grew our Arsenal, and vowed never to use it unless absolutely necessary. No ideology was worth another’s life. Then, the Akshara arrived. A race of hulking creatures that took what they wanted when they wanted. We did not mind and told them they could have any planet not colonized by humans. We gave an inch, they took their mile. They took the planets closest to every human colony we laid down. Until the day came, until war came. They fired the first shot, or first thousand shots. They attacked every planet at once, a carefully planned engagement. That day, we decided we would be peaceful, and so would the rest of the galaxy. We used a quarter of our stockpiled technology, ships, and weapons, wiping out every ship near us first in 10 days. In 7 days, we bombarded every planet they occupied near ours. Every building, ship yard, house and school. Every trench, mess hall and bunker they had. We had terraforming technology to fix the planets, and we didn’t stop until every single Akshara was dead within 3 light years. In 3 days, we moved to their home worlds and did the same. We recorded everything and sent it in every direction across the galaxy. Today the galaxy would learn, we are peaceful. We are not harmless.	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The invasion was fast. Very fast. In only a few cycles, every single human planet had been subjugated by the so called Galactic Empire. Hundreds of billions of humans were enslaved, families torn apart, monuments destroyed. The emperor was very happy. How had no other civilizations noticed that the humans lacked a proper military? That their economical empire was weak, and open to invasion? With minimal losses, the biggest organization in the galaxy had been taken down. Oh, they tried to talk their way out of it. They tried to reach an agreement, a contract, they tried to bribe them. The emperor had felt insulted when he was presented with those offers. And so he had conquered them. But then, something started happening. Humans did not have any communication among them, spread through thousands of worlds, all under the Empire’s control, they could not possibly organize an effective resistance. And yet, in every single planet, small groups were attacking docking stations, refueling facilities, repair stations. All of the infrastructure was being destroyed by completely independent groups. The humans called it “guerrilla”. If the Galactic Empire sent resources to stop these guerrilla groups in one planet, three other planets would start attacking the weakened forces. And so it was that the empire realized that it was doomed. The harder they tried to force the humans into submission, the harder they fought back. It was almost like they knew they had nothing to loose, like that didn’t care about themselves, their families, or their planets. They only cared about destroying the oppressor. Not one battle was fought. There were no epic stories to be told. No super weapons, no incredible tactics. There was no propaganda, no martyrs, no grand objectives. And yet, the Galactic Empire was absolutely destroyed. The invasion had been fast. But the counter attack was slow, and bloody. In the end, a small group of humans managed to infiltrate the emperor’s ship and shoot him in the head before anyone noticed. They were killed almost instantly by the guards, but it was too late. Humanity reclaimed every single one of its planets, plus all of the planets under the Galactic Empire’s control that didn’t belong to enslaved civilizations. They sold the empire’s ships to rebuild their economy and become and even stronger force than they had ever been. When the dust settled, humanity was stronger than it had ever been, and the Galactic Empire had been absolutely obliterated. So it was that the rest of the galaxy understood the saying, “I fear nothing, but the anger of a gentle man”	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	It was strange. A civilisation which lacked war. Which sought out peace. Which endeavoured to save sentient life, to ensure conflicts were focused solely on the soldiers, the warrior class. The humans behaved in this manner. They treated war as a elaborate facade, to be regulated and controlled by pacts and laws and rules. Bizarre, but we had made common cause with stranger species. It was only when we encountered outpost 371 that we understood the intent of these rules. Outpost 371, a place that still causes the shaking of mandibles and the quivering of antennae. On outpost 371, we encountered the confederacy. Humans, biologically identical to the ones we had met before. Some lost colony, sent out before humanity had met us. Our scientists couldn’t understand how similar these creatures were. Because These humans lacked rules. Lacked empathy. In their first foray, they butchered an entire colony, burning nests without hesitation, slaughtering warriors and workers in equal measure. There were no calls for diplomacy from these humans. No asks for peace. Only barbarity. We counter attacked, only to find scenes out of our nightmares. Eggs cracked open for some horrendous ritual feeding called “breakfast”. Irreplaceable artwork crushed under leather clothes human boots. It was then that we learned the bizarre rules of the humans were not there to control us. No, they were intended to protect us, to prevent the darker elements of humanity from being used on intelligent species.	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	"Dragons Teeth" "What?" snarled the ambassador of Grrekxt Empire The weakling human gave him what accounts as a sad smile among those primates "In our mythology there is the story of when a dragon is defeated, its teeth spread across the field slumbering for the future. Once called, each awakens as a new Dragon, ready to rampage once more" "So what? you fluff yourself up with some beast as if you entire species isnt one of cowards. You have been given your ultimatum, you will submit to our empire, or your federation will be ground to dust." A heavy sigh "A Dragon is a mighty beast, indomitable and unbreakable except through the hardest opposition. It is the creature we show on our flag, curled around Earth, our lost home. Have you never once questioned why we have chosen such a display when we so openly embrace pacifism?" "You should take that call" as he said that the ambassadors communicator ringed and he snarled a angry tone towards whoever dared interupt him. Mere seconds later his aggresive stance flattened. "You have assaulted our colonies, our civilians, murdered children and innocents. The Dragons have answered the call." A hundred lightyears away within the Grrekxt borders, thousands of ships emerge from impossible fractures in realspace and without word begin firing. Weapons impossible to describe tear fleets and moons apart with equal ease. This is why humans have no home. Their War does not know anything but the absolute elimination of the other. The Total Annihilation of their opponent. "We have chosen peace not because we fear War. But because our species revels in it." Ambassador Johns said before firing his hidden weapon.	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The old human in a white robe closed the door behind him as he left. The hulking being known as HiveKing grabbed and threw an underling against the door. The carapace of the poor serving boy cracked and ichor spilled slowly out. "Father, it is insufferable that they once again talk of peace. He cites old laws in languages of people we conquered many turnings ago. That he refuses honorable combat between our species is insulting. That YOU say nothing is even more so." Still breathing heavily, his outer eye shields still down he glared over at the old man. "It is not without guilt that I speak of this to you now, I did not think you would push so far" the older being huffed, mandibles weakly clacking to indicate distress. "Sit and I would tell you the great secret of the humans Angels and Devils" "many turnings ago I was a young ruler such as you. Battle is the life blood of our species and the weaker races are nothing but interesting diversions and ways to sharpen our claws. This was until we came across the dark sphere of Humanity." The older being shifted, obviously uncomfortable as he continued. "You see they had blinded the greater races to their sun by encapsulating their entire system in one giant sphere. Diverting even the heat of their sun so they were effectively missing from the galaxy. One of the servitor races accidentally crashed into this sphere which brought our attention to them, and theirs to us" The younger interrupted, hands clenching and unclenching slowly so that he could admire the muscles under his skin move "Yes, this is known, then Humanity became the talkers and none can now make them mad enough for proper combat, They speak and speak and speak and know every law of every race and talk out of any insult. Pathetic" "Yes, but what has been hidden from all is why we allow this. Listen, I bring truth to you now. We met the humans in the white robes who dwell on the surface of their sphere. They called themselves angels and recited the laws of many people, and sang us versus from their holy writ." The older shifted again and shook his head "I laughed at them, slaughtered these angels, mocked their holy Abrahamavitta with great joy. We bombed them with the weapons of power, then we used the ancient weapons just to feel their blood on us. It was a day of great joy for all the people. We took the leader, the one they called Christohammed and put him on display in our throne room" A long sigh and several minutes went by before the older continued, his voice taking on a much different tone than the younger had ever heard. "And then they opened the great gates and the devils, as we heard them called, emerged. Great, hulking ships the size of planets appeared out of the darkness. Each ship sent out squadrons of lesser ships, which sent out smaller until the universe seemed nothing but the devil ships of humanity. Weapons we can not even explain lashed out at our people and they disappeared, or burst into flames, or melted into puddles of protoplasm. Nothing was allowed to live..." "Then they came, this unending horde, slicing through the worlds of all the people and slaughtered. Nothing was allowed to live, down to the grasses of the hills and the running food, all was killed. We never spoke to them, they never asked to speak to us. They killed and killed until we begged the angels of the sphere to stop them." The younger stood, looking astounded, almost crouching in a defensive posture at the horror and pain in the older voice. "This is not what is taught" he managed after a moment. Thinking of the dead worlds he had learned of, but was taught that a great cataclysm had befallen the galaxy. "They killed everything you see. The few angels we found and tortured called it 'the crusade' and they did not relent until they reached our throne room and took their Christohammed back. Then they stopped and turned around and left. Shortly after the angels came back as if nothing had happened. Unfazed by any insult, never angry, citing only the old laws to get out of any incidents" "I beg of you, do not make the mistakes I have made, let them talk. For when they stop speaking everything dies"	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	From the chornicles of the last days of Etheria, Author unknown: We are not going to win this war. Nobody could win this. We have to end it, to surrender, to run, to do something but we can not win. At first everything was going fine for us. We were winning battles, every battle. Nothing they did could stop us. And in our victories we became cruel and evil. We really left them no choice. What else could they have done? Wait for their extinction? Desperate times lead to desperate measures and we made them so very desperate. The first stories started to be whispered in the third year of the war. I thought it were ghost stories. We were, at most, one year away from completely wiping them from the face of the galaxy. Of course they would try to spread propaganda to make us slow down. That was, until I saw it myself. It wasn't all of them. Maybe 1 in 5000. Maybe less, maybe more. But those few, they had done something to them. They wouldn't die anymore. I shot him. I know I shot him. Square in the center of the chest. And he fell. I saw the blood on the ground but then he got back up. He just got back up and kept coming. And I shot him again. And he got back up. In the end, he got hit by an explosion. With enough damage they don't come back. But he killed dozens of ours before. I am sure they feel the pain. I heard them scream as they are hit and when we managed to capture one and experiment on him he even cried. They feel the pain but they don't slow down and they do not stop...and they learn. What type of species does that to themselves? What type of species turns themselves into monsters? And what type of people will keep running head on into death over and over again? We call them "the numbers" now. Each one of them has a number written on their shoulder, the number of deaths they faced. Last week I saw one attacking a fortified position. 50 of our people inside, one of him. His number was 378. He learned from 378 mistakes. He had the experience of 378 deaths and probably taken 20 times that number of lives. Even if we had a reliable way to kill them, we couldn't stop them. This one didn't even get shot once in that assault. He just went through our defenders like they were sheep being slaughtered. But that's not even the worst thing. 1 in 5000, we could deal with. it's not that many. Heavy caliber shots to the head or explosions work. Maybe we would have to sacrifice some of our men but we could do it. But the humans rallied behind the numbers. With hope came the will to fight and with that every man and woman became a warrior, all with the same determination as the numbers. Those who can't die lead those who aren't afraid to. Those who can't fight anymore work to make weapons for those who can. Their entire species has turned themselves into a war machine. They fight, they train, they build. They do not stop. That first time I saw a number is now 7 years ago. The tide of the war has shifted long ago. I can't even remember the last time I heard about a victory on our side. That battle 6 months ago where they retreated after having killed 5 times as many of us as we killed of them? Should we call that a victory? We pulled all we had together for that fight and they retreated, regrouped, hit our unguarded flanks and broke our line the next day. Nobody who "won" that battle ever left the site of it. They encircled them and killed them all. Our leadership still hopes they can win. They hope some new technology or new allies will turn the tide of battle. It wont. Nothing can stop people like that. We have made a terrible mistake. We thought they wanted peace because they were afraid of fighting. That wasn't true. They wanted peace because they were afraid of what fighting again would turn them into. They knew that, deep down, they were warriors and monsters. They were afraid to ever let that side of them out again. I can only pray that they will forgive us this mistake. That they will want to be those good peaceful people again. Because we can not stop them. Only they can stop themselves. And if they do not want to, I am certain that the Etherian Empire will only live on in history books. If you ever read those words and find the humans to be a peaceful people who strive for diplomacy and friendship with all species, understand that this is their decision, not their nature. And if you make them abandon that choice, you will face a storm that you can't imagine. I can hear the sirens now. I need to get back to my post. They have already taken the access road and the second post yesterday. We have set up defensive positions but I don't think they will hold. But I will go out, I will man my station. I will fight like they do, without fear. I can hear the sirens. Our positions won't hold.	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We should have realized, should have listen, when Ensign Blaagk , played that recording he found from Earth's History. "It is our Love of Nation , our way of life , of those we serve side by side with. We Defend we Avenge, we sacrifice, we bleed, and we are willing to Die for this unique creation. We Have been honed into a machine of lethal moving parts that you would be wise to avoid if you kno whats good for you. We will not be intimidated, we will not back down. We seen war, we don't want WAR. But if you Want WAR, there is one thing I can promise you, someone else will raise your sons and daughters." All at high command thought this to be a comedy broadcast of forgotten ages. It was soo funny how tough the Humans were acting on the show. It must not be real. Or so High Command believed. When the first wave of landing ships touchdown on the planet. The troops spilled out onto the open fields, still no humans there to meet them and bow down to our might. But when our troops marched away from the drop ships. That is when All Hell Broke Loose. The drop ships came under direct attack. within 30 minutes the Humans had captured all the drop ships. In 3 hours our own drop ships were heading into orbit and began attacking the mother ship. Painted on the sides of all drop ships "TOTAL WAR" Our ground troops had been ambushed several miles away from each landing site. The Humans had been hiding, in trees, under ground, in buildings, they dressed themselves like bushes, like rocks. Bombs, Bullets, Mortars, Rockets, Missiles slammed into our ground forces from every direction. Our troops had No time to get into formation, to get their kill ranks and squads formed up before the Humans cut them down. And cut our troops apart they did. Near one Landing site, Black clad small men with curved shiny blades dropped out of trees and cut our troops in half. Our comms channels was blocked by a Human saying repeating over and over, "Cry Havoc, and Loose the Dogs of WAR!" We Never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them The Mother ship has crashed into their planet, shield are down, all defenses are down, the crew is fighting compartment to compartment to try and hold the Humans back while they try and fix the interstellar emergency be-can. But the Humans destroyed the array in the first strike, and as soon as they breached the hull the made their way to command deck and executed all the officers there, by cutting their heads off, so the entire crew could see over vid screen. They then seized engineering and crashed the ship on purpose. There are Humans all over the ship. Those that are not fighting and killing the crew are stealing everything they can get their hands on. I am hiding in a escape pod , watching the monitor screens, Lt. Blaagk last living officer of Earth Invasion Fleet.	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The expansion into the Sol system was supposed to be the latest iteration in a pattern I had repeated dozens of times across my career. for civilisations falling just below type I, we would initiate first contact, and demand vassalisation. seventy five percent of all civilisations we encountered stopped at this step, in face of our overwhelming technological superiority it was the logical choice. The remaining twenty five mounted a quick but often bloodless defence, followed by an honorable surrender and assecsion to the empire. The humans of Earth returned our ambassador flayed and mutilated. The humans, who up until our arrival had been at each other's throats owing to petty tribalism and coveting each other's natural resources united virtually overnight against us. Nearly every object they produced was hastily retooled into a weapon of war. When we expended their supply of military atmospheric craft, they turned to crashing civillian transports laden with chemical explosives into our installations. The closer we came to defeating them, the more brutal they became. They hurled chemicals of crude noxious gasses at our soldiers, scorching their repsiratory organs. Platoons of soldiers that surrendered en-masse turned out to be infected with a genetically engineered plague tailored for our biology. Children approached our armored columns, seemingly out of curiosity, which we had seen before. Except these children had explosive vests hidden under their coats, remote triggered by a vengeful parent hiding in rubble nearby. We had been begrudgingly compared to "Romans" by more cooperative humans, refering to an ancient power that while imperialist, maintained a strong sense of professionalism and discipline. Yet in the face of such a brutal enemy, the discipline our combat units, trained for dozens of human years and battlehardened from dozens more of interplanetary campaigns began to break down. Twitchy commanders, suffering from a mental illness we had never seen, yet humans easily diagnosed as "post traumatic stress syndrome" soon gunned down approaching humans on sight, and prisoners were seldom taken. All this only had the effect of intensifying humanity's burning hatred for our empire. What should have taken less than half of their years instead took a decade, and four armies worth of reinforcements. Finally, we had reduced their regular militaries to haggard fanatics hiding in subterranean bunkers across the planet. Yet just before we breached the final bunker containing their leadership, and remaining military infrastructure, the leadership activated a network of missiles containing fusion warheads, hidden in previously unencountered submersible vehicles scattered across their oceans. If we couldn't have earth, nobody could. These missiles were not powerful enough to even make orbit around their planet, much less strike our staging bases on their moon. This told us that the humans had built such a destructive weapons system not for use on us, but on each other. The results of the campaign had a traumatic effect not only on our soldiers, but the entire empire. The value of earth was it's breathable atmosphere, a perfect target for colonisation. Yet in the push of a button, humans made a decade of war, the deaths of hundreds of millions of our soldiers, and quintillions of credits meaningless. We evacuated and quarantined Earth, and the entire system was seen as effectively haunted. I never saw another human again after their species' self immolation. Yet I remain haunted by one thought: If even a dozen breeding pairs of humans were to survive and persist, then our civilisation is in mortal danger. Their children would grow up in caves with respirator masks permanantly affixed to their heads, hearing tales of burning hatred, consecrating themselves as avatars of vengence before they could read. Even if it took a thousand years, they would crawl groaning and screaming out of the ashes until they could stand, and they would not sit until vengence for our crimes against their ancestors had been extracted ten times over.	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The great Kreen empire had ruled for millennia, ever expanding with trillions of souls on thousands of worlds all toiling away for the benefit of the Dai'Kreen, the God Kings who ruled with an iron fist. The Kreen first learned of the humans through rumors of encounters on the outer fringes of the empire. Stories of underwhelming ships approaching Kreen vessels, attempting to hail them with declarations of peace and desire for trade. The humans knew not of the ways of the Kreen, the Kreen have no need for trade, they take what they desire, nor do they care for peace, the only peace is subjugation under the Dai'Kreen. Conflict began gradually, the negotiations of the humans, begging for peace, groveling for the mercy of the Dai'Kreen to "spare innocent lives" but the Kreen cared not for the wishes of lesser beings. The Dai'Kreen were destined to own the galaxy and any within it belonged to the empire, the Kreen would enlighten the humans of this truth. The Dai'Kreen gave the humans one last warning. "Hundreds of races have faced the might of the Kreen empire and all have fallen. Those who willingly embraced the empire were accepted with open arms. Prepare your world's for Kreen rule, yield to the empire and we will be lenient. Resist and face decimation." The human's reply was slow coming, but brief. "So be it." The Dai'Kreen struck first. The skies of a dozen human worlds were shattered at once as rift gates opened high above them. Relativistic darts, rods of ultra high density material accelerated to near the speed of light, tore through the rifts and impacted the human worlds with phenomenal force. Planets broke, billions died in an instant. The Kreen expected humanity to fold in the face of such horror, but the Dai'Kreen did not know humans. They did not know that every major scientific advancement in human history had been a a direct result of conflict. They didn't know that humanity had unlocked the power of the atom all in an attempt to more efficiently kill their own kind. The Kreen did not know that humanity had pushed itself to the brink of extinction on multiple occasions because of precisely how effecient they were at warfare. The Dai'Kreen did not know they were not the first empire to make this grave mistake in judgement. Billions of humans died in the initial salvo but the Kreen were unaware of the psychological effect that would have on humanity. The Kreen expected the humans to see the destruction caused and be awestruck by its majesty, paralyzed in the face of annihilation. They were not aware of the single most unique trait of the humans. Tenacity. When the humans broke the seals on the Armory Wolrds that housed their hidden armadas, hundreds of planet sized hangars released hundreds of thousands of warships all with the sole purpose of avenging the lives lost in the Kreen's techerous opening attack. Human fleets pushed deep into the core of the Kreen empire, world after world systematically pacified or liberated by the sheer overwhelming capacity for violence the humans possessed. The humans pushed the Dai'Kreen back to their ancient seats of power, the Throne Worlds of their home system. Here the remaining Dai'Kreen in a desperate attempt at reconciliation begged the humans for mercy. "Surely there is a way that both our great races can thrive? None could withstand the might of our great empires, together the Kreen and humanity could rule the galaxy unapposed." The encroaching human fleet did not initially respond, but they briefly held their fire. Seeing a potential the Dai'Kreen hailed them once more. "We hoped reason would prevail, we know now what a grave mistake we made refusing your attempts at peace -" The human's leader abruptly cut into the Dai'Kreen broadcast. "No, I don't think you realize just how big a mistake you made, but you will. You fucked around, now find out." Suddenly the Kreen sensors were blinded by thousands of simultaneous bursts of Gama radiation as the human ships tore open space time and jumped away from the Throne Worlds. Moments later another far brighter flash of light engulfed the Throne Worlds. The super weapon deployed by the humans during the lull in fighting had accomplished its goal, the sun at the center of the Throne Worlds went nova incinerating the Dai'Kreen and any left loyal to their rule. Humanity reshackled its weapons of war, returned to its ways of peace and continued to explore the cosmos under a white flag. Not because they feared for their own survival, but for the survival of anyone else.	"Sire. . .we have a message from the Terrans" The Grand Courier announces as his holo-image displays on the Kings Bridge. "If its their terms of surrender I'm not interested" The king dismisses and turns to leave. "Well, thats the thing Sire, it is a request to discuss the terms of surrender, specifically, ours." The Courier replies. The King stops, ". . .Please tell me your jesting." he looks back, unamused. "My jokes are better than this weak attempt at sarcasm Sire, you know that. I'm sorry to say but this is a legitimate proposal. There is, a second message attached to the back of it, after all the legal documentation." The king pauses, thinking for a minute before finally responding. ". . .read it, I'm curious where they've gotten such bravery." &#x200B; The Courier nodded and opened the note in his hands. "Very well. Ahem. To King Rathmor of the Wrevan Interstellar Monarchy, we send you this letter in the hopes that it finds your fleet in pristine condition and your ammunition stocks full. As you may have guessed per the last message, we don't desire to fight. Not for our sake no, but rather for the continual habitability of the surrounding systems and economic stability of our nearby stellar neighbors." The king listens intently, sitting down in his chair as the Courier continued. &#x200B; "If you had done your due diligence in studying your quarry before sending your hastily written declaration of war, you would have no doubt discovered that we are no strangers to weapons of mass destruction, and are not shy in using them to deter an enemy from following a famous ancient saying among my people. So unless you wish to 'fuck around and find out', as the saying goes, I would highly encourage you to take the offer we have presented you. If you don't, we will kill every last one of you until the only thing that remains of your once expansive empire is tally marks on the barrels of our guns and an example in the dictionary for 'failed empires'." &#x200B; The king sits there, twitching a little in anger. &#x200B; "Sire?" The Courier asks. &#x200B; "They dare disgrace my empire?. . .they will taste nothing but blood" The king replies. "Tell all fleets to push forward." &#x200B; "Shall I inform the Terrans we have refused their offer then?" The Courier asks, sounding a bit concerned now. &#x200B; "No need, they'll get the message when we lay waste to the 'Maginot' system." The king smiles menacingly. &#x200B; "Very well Sire. . .I look forward to seeing what hell is like then. . ." The Courier sighs, and fades from view.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The old human in a white robe closed the door behind him as he left. The hulking being known as HiveKing grabbed and threw an underling against the door. The carapace of the poor serving boy cracked and ichor spilled slowly out. "Father, it is insufferable that they once again talk of peace. He cites old laws in languages of people we conquered many turnings ago. That he refuses honorable combat between our species is insulting. That YOU say nothing is even more so." Still breathing heavily, his outer eye shields still down he glared over at the old man. "It is not without guilt that I speak of this to you now, I did not think you would push so far" the older being huffed, mandibles weakly clacking to indicate distress. "Sit and I would tell you the great secret of the humans Angels and Devils" "many turnings ago I was a young ruler such as you. Battle is the life blood of our species and the weaker races are nothing but interesting diversions and ways to sharpen our claws. This was until we came across the dark sphere of Humanity." The older being shifted, obviously uncomfortable as he continued. "You see they had blinded the greater races to their sun by encapsulating their entire system in one giant sphere. Diverting even the heat of their sun so they were effectively missing from the galaxy. One of the servitor races accidentally crashed into this sphere which brought our attention to them, and theirs to us" The younger interrupted, hands clenching and unclenching slowly so that he could admire the muscles under his skin move "Yes, this is known, then Humanity became the talkers and none can now make them mad enough for proper combat, They speak and speak and speak and know every law of every race and talk out of any insult. Pathetic" "Yes, but what has been hidden from all is why we allow this. Listen, I bring truth to you now. We met the humans in the white robes who dwell on the surface of their sphere. They called themselves angels and recited the laws of many people, and sang us versus from their holy writ." The older shifted again and shook his head "I laughed at them, slaughtered these angels, mocked their holy Abrahamavitta with great joy. We bombed them with the weapons of power, then we used the ancient weapons just to feel their blood on us. It was a day of great joy for all the people. We took the leader, the one they called Christohammed and put him on display in our throne room" A long sigh and several minutes went by before the older continued, his voice taking on a much different tone than the younger had ever heard. "And then they opened the great gates and the devils, as we heard them called, emerged. Great, hulking ships the size of planets appeared out of the darkness. Each ship sent out squadrons of lesser ships, which sent out smaller until the universe seemed nothing but the devil ships of humanity. Weapons we can not even explain lashed out at our people and they disappeared, or burst into flames, or melted into puddles of protoplasm. Nothing was allowed to live..." "Then they came, this unending horde, slicing through the worlds of all the people and slaughtered. Nothing was allowed to live, down to the grasses of the hills and the running food, all was killed. We never spoke to them, they never asked to speak to us. They killed and killed until we begged the angels of the sphere to stop them." The younger stood, looking astounded, almost crouching in a defensive posture at the horror and pain in the older voice. "This is not what is taught" he managed after a moment. Thinking of the dead worlds he had learned of, but was taught that a great cataclysm had befallen the galaxy. "They killed everything you see. The few angels we found and tortured called it 'the crusade' and they did not relent until they reached our throne room and took their Christohammed back. Then they stopped and turned around and left. Shortly after the angels came back as if nothing had happened. Unfazed by any insult, never angry, citing only the old laws to get out of any incidents" "I beg of you, do not make the mistakes I have made, let them talk. For when they stop speaking everything dies"	“How many?” Jedediah looked around the room as he spoke, his hand raised to the ceiling. He stared at each person, his gaze steady, unwavering. His subordinates nicknamed him Sniper, he could pierce anyone with just a look. Jedediah knew grief like no other person, he lost his parents, his wife, his child in a brutal way. They chose his family for experiment A, but deemed him worthy to serve them. At one point, Jedidiah wished they had let him perish with his family. But now, he was glad he could live to see the destruction of the very entities who ruined the world he once knew and called home. One thing Jedediah would never lose was his reason to fight. He would never give up, as long as those aliens attacked them, burned their homes, took their people and tortured them. As long as they conducted their sick experiments. In the distance, an alarm sounded, the low-pitched siren a warning to all the humans aboard the spaceship. The stolen spaceship would be found soon. The Grogs were on their tail. Jedidiah made eye contact with his second-in-command Dawson who nodded and went to check the perimeter. One by one, everyone in the room lifted their hands. “That’s all of us.” Jedidiah nodded, not expecting any less. His team agreed to go on the mission, even if death awaited. They were loyal to Jedidiah. They would follow him until the end. He was the one who rescued their family members and provided all they needed. He was the one who always knew what to do. Everyone suited up, and made sure their weapons weren’t faulty. Their favorite weapon was something they called a torchgun, though the name was probably different in Grogian. Efficient and quick with devastating impact. Jedidiah remembered the first time he saw a Grog use one. He also remembered the first time he used a torchgun on a Grog. The prey became predator, the hunted became the hunter. Together as one unit, they charged out of the room, their torchguns lighting the way. Every person was hungry, hungry for alien blood. Jedidiah ushered his team forward. Dawson appeared by the door and Jedidiah acknowledged him with a firm thwack against his arm. Jogging forward, they moved in sync, as one group. “Let’s get these motherfuckers.”
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The Galactic Monarch knew very little beyond word of mouth of the Terran Forces or their population, but what they did know was that Terrans Used "False-stars" to hide their homeworld and it's surrounding system from other intergalactic nations. Not only do they Hide but they also send messages to potential enemies claiming to "come in peace" a ridiculous claim. These peaceful messages did not only make them look weak but to hear that they have never raged war against any other species besides themselves was laughable. So when the Galactic Monarch heard there was gold within their Terran system and that the Terrans homeworlds core was surrounded by gold as well they thought it would be an easily earned victory against these peaceful terrans. The orders were simple find the Terran homeworld decimate what little troops they have and begin the mining of their pathetic planets resources but as the battle comes just outside the Terran system they soon realized how wrong they would be. Captain Al'tek: "Your Majesty, the entire Armada has been deployed and are now in position to enter Terran space. The Terran Admiral is hailing in hopes of Peace" King of the Galactic Monarch: "Peace they say? What peace can space debris offer in the wake of a black hole. We offer no peace here, the Terrans will not be able to turn me away with peace. Ignore all hails and commence with the attack" //The Armada continues to encroach into Terran space// CA: "Your Greatness, they are attempting an Emergency hail" 'Final warning!" "Stop now or risk Total Annihilation." Kogm: "End all communication and engage them now! CA: "As you command your Greatness! All Battle cruisers prepare to enter Terran space in 5..4..3.. " click CA: "Your Majesty! We no longer have communication or visual confirmation of the Terrans or our forces. It appears we've taken massive casualties!" Koqm: "Send another Wave!" CA: "Your Greatness! Forgive me, but I don't think you understand." The entire Armada of over 5 million ships and over a trillion Galactic troops.. are gone.. every last one of them" I believe we are the only surviving ship." Kogm: "What!? How is that possible we've only just entered their system!? CA: "I.. I.. I don't know sir" What!? It looks like the Terrans are overriding our ships Comms." Kogm: "I don't understand, how this is possible!? How can these peace makers with no prior experience destroy our entire Armada!? I wan.. Chhchh* click "Attention* John Blake: Invaders this is Admiral John Blake of the Terran Ministry of Peace, I'm sorry to interrupt but we've had control over your comms the moment you decided to ignore our hails. I understand you are wondering how we've come to win this " battle "today when you call us peace makers. I must say, you really should have done your homework on our planet's History if you planned to defeat us. In fact, until very recently humanity has only ever known to be at war with ourselves.We've fought wars because of races, classes, rights, and intellectualism. No matter what we did or how much we thought we had progressed it seemed there was a war around every corner.. We developed weapons that would cause an insurmountable amount of pain and suffering to our world and peace never seemed to be in reach. That is until we had an encounter with beings of another world. We realized our differences, in the grand scheme of things, we're pointless and meaningless when compared to others in the cosmos. So we decided to make a change and end all wars in pursuit of Peace, and not only peace with ourselves, but with everyone in the universe. BUT we can Not forget our past or we would be doomed to repeat it, you see we know exactly what would eventually happen, someone always wants more. Whether it's, land, money or power there will always be someone who wants more. So we armed ourselves, every single one of our 17billion strong population. You see, Terrans are soldiers first and Terran citizens second so when we heard news of your Armada coming into our little corner of the universe we prepared a little welcoming party and launched millions of antimatter torpedoes the very second we took your comms because we know all too well that when someone like you wants more they aren't going to stop with a friendly word, we know that all too well. So we gave you more, more death and destruction you could ever imagine, in order to preserve our peace.But we know beings like you will always want more and more... so we will give you more, in the name of Peace.". "Launch the torpedos"	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	Sergeant Deshaun Raymond Jones looked up to see them, standing there in utter terror at a sight they couldn’t have ever imagined. At least, he guesses it was terror. If they even felt terror. He’d always said he’d wanted to die in Dallas. It was his home, after all. His mind drifted through the memories he’d collected along the way, smiling softly as he did. He first recalled his mother’s soft voice, singing “Amazing Grace” to him when the storms had kept him awake, shivering in his racecar bed. He then thought back on the first touchdown pass he’d ever caught, beaming with pride as he looked to see if that girl was watching. “Oh man, her…” he said to himself absent-mindedly. He remembered her better than anything else. He remembered how he nervously changed clothes before their first high-school date. He remembered how she held him close and wiped away his tears when he got injured and lost his athletic scholarship to the University of Texas. He remembered how he held her and wiped her tears when he told her that he was going to the army. She made him promise he’d come back home safe. He promised her a lot of things, and he’d kept those promises. Well, all expect one. After a near lethal alcohol poisoning in the dark and depressing time after he lost his scholarship, promised her he’d never drink again. He’d been stone cold sober since. He promised her he’d find work get his life back together when he’d recovered. He did. After he found work, he’d promised her he’d come back home to her after his four years with the army were up. He fought like hell let loose in Brazil during the second South American War back in 2035. He got a medal for his valor, but the only thing on his mind when he was surrounded in that trench was her. When he surprised her on that beach in Destin and dropped to a knee, he promised her he’d never leave her again. He’d kept that promise, and reaffirmed it on the altar. That was until they showed up. He remembered sitting there on that November morning, watching the news as they asked for humanity’s surrender and subsequent assimilation to their empire. He remembered curling up on the floor, sobbing and shaking as they fired their orbital cannons into San Francisco as a show of might. Truth be told, he would have still stayed home with her if she’d asked him to, but she knew. She knew that this wasn’t about getting free college and a sense of brotherhood. This wasn’t about fighting for the interests of your country. This was survival. The survival of their home, the survival of their daughter, the survival of their species. So she let him go. He tried to promise her that he’d come home this time, but she stopped him. All she told him to do was call whenever he could. He remembered looking back over his shoulder at her, their baby in her arms, as he got on that bus belonging to the newly formed International Coalition of Humanity. He remembered. He realized, grimly, that it’d be the last thing he’d do. These invaders thought that humanity would simply kneel to their new gods. They didn’t. They thought that humanity would die making their last stand in Moscow. They didn’t. They thought that humanity would lose the will to fight as the years dragged on. They didn’t. They thought that they’d hold back the human counter-assault in Madrid. They didn’t. They thought a lot of things, but unlike Sergeant Jones, they couldn’t make good on it. But humanity, and Jones by extension, made their enemy one last promise. They promised them that they would die here. And here they were. These aliens before him were watching their people’s last capital ship, the one they were all about to evacuate and escape on, fall from the sky and into the heart of Dallas. They’d captured him a week back, and they were probably going to try and ransom him in a bid for more time, but there’d be no mercy now. As they watched the reactor go critical and meltdown, Deshaun couldn’t help but smile through the tears. In their collective final moments, words came to Deshaun Jones. Every moment of his life, every moment of love and loss, every valley and mountain, every lost comrade and battle won, everything had led to this, and he couldn’t help himself. As the catastrophic blast engulfed him, he reminded them of their fatal mistake. “Don’t mess with Texas.”	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	We knew humans were weak. There wasn’t any possible doubt, as their military fleet was almost inexistant, and had for sole purpose to protect their ships against pirates. They only focused on diplomacy, and seemed to see any threat toward their world as a joke, saying that only a mad leader would declare war against another space empire. With all those signs, it wasn’t much a surprise when the Nexelion’s empire declared war on humanity. What was surprising however, was human’s plea to end this conflict immediately, else they would use the power of mutually assured destruction. None of us understood what they meant back then, and assumed it as an empty threat. War against humanity began as easily as the Nexilions had imagined, but as their campagne progressed, report of humanity abandoning their world to flee on untraceable ships began to multiply. Then, the first human ship crashed into a Nexilion’s planet, soon followed by dozens of identical ships. Those empty husk, only designed to transcend the speed of light were humanity backing of their claim, as a simple strike erased planets and their armada from existence, and for the first time, all empires felt fear facing an unblockable strike that would instantly erase a civilization. The Nexilion empire was reduced in a day to a couple of isolated planets, incapable of subsisting on their own. This, young ones, is the history of our lost empire, and the reason diplomacy became so important trough the galaxies, as no one want to share the fate of our people, the Nexilions. As for the humans, they are still out there, on their world ships, an invisible threat that almost devastated galaxies trough their of power	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	My kind has always seen violence as a pragmatic tool to get our ends. We don't indulge in violence out of any primitive instinct; we have long since killed those. To us, whom the humans call the Amphitilians - to note that we can exist in more forms of matter than they can, "war" has a been way to resolve in unresolvable. We have known of the humans for almost 100 Terran years, a period that we understand is less than half a generation to the humans of this time. The humans we have seen across their tiny colonies and mining belts were not warriors - there seemed to be no warriors across the sectors of space they had infested. We warned them for long to not come inside the boundary that our kind has controlled for as long as we can remember, but yet little seemingly unaffiliated groups of humans kept infesting every corner they could. And before long they created a network amongst themselves, infesting tactfully and with coordination across half a sector. At first, they were little more than an eyesore but within a decade they became an inconvenience in every outer area controlled. And so we did what we felt we must, we attacked them interplanetary ballistics and sent clean-up crews to their illegal mining colonies. At first, we crushed them without much resistance. The humans were poorly armed and had no training. But soon, we started encountering violent, out-of-control rag-tag groups and mobs. Suicide bombers, Stealth fighters, child soldiers - these are merely the surface of the horrific lengths this species was capable of. But that was just the beginning. What we didn't understand was that our infestation problem was an unauthorized migration of errant human groups and colony ships. But when their federations learned of what we were doing to exterminate humans across our sector - they did not take it kindly. "Total War" protocol was engaged by their federations against the Amphitilians across our entire sector. Their warriors were armed to the teeth, hidden inside mechanical constructions and energy weapons that were out of our league. And not to mention they outnumbered us ten to one, their warriors to our entire population. Their warriors were creatures of horror, that indulged in pain to satisfy their blood rage. Each of them proudly boasted a kill count, some even keep tokens of our kind they killed. Humans were no weak infestation. They are a threat to this entire galaxy. No, they are a threat to every type of civilized life out there. They do not negotiate, they do not honor their word, and they are not creatures of sanity. I send this message, not in the hope that we may somehow save our species. It is too late for us. There are less than a few million of us left now, limited to just one planet and its two moons. We will not live to tell our tale for another decade. So for anyone that might receive this message, be warned of the humans. Do not underestimate them, do not let them find you. And if you find yourself invaded by this hostile species, just run. If you run, you may avoid our fate. It is better to live somewhere than die protecting mere rock and space. Let our fate be a warning and a beacon. Do not mess with the humans. Hide from them. Run from them. Lie to them. But do not engage them in violence.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	We ravaged our planet with war. Nuclear weapons once turned our planet into a desert hellscape and we killed each other for shiny rocks and imaginary lines. When it was all said and done, and it was time to rebuild, we vowed to learn from the mistakes of our ancestors. We came together, no ideology worth another’s life. We grew our numbers, scrapped old technology and invented better ones. But old habits die hard. We knew we were peaceful, but when we found alien species amongst the stars, we knew not everyone would have learned the lessons we did a millennia before. We grew our Arsenal, and vowed never to use it unless absolutely necessary. No ideology was worth another’s life. Then, the Akshara arrived. A race of hulking creatures that took what they wanted when they wanted. We did not mind and told them they could have any planet not colonized by humans. We gave an inch, they took their mile. They took the planets closest to every human colony we laid down. Until the day came, until war came. They fired the first shot, or first thousand shots. They attacked every planet at once, a carefully planned engagement. That day, we decided we would be peaceful, and so would the rest of the galaxy. We used a quarter of our stockpiled technology, ships, and weapons, wiping out every ship near us first in 10 days. In 7 days, we bombarded every planet they occupied near ours. Every building, ship yard, house and school. Every trench, mess hall and bunker they had. We had terraforming technology to fix the planets, and we didn’t stop until every single Akshara was dead within 3 light years. In 3 days, we moved to their home worlds and did the same. We recorded everything and sent it in every direction across the galaxy. Today the galaxy would learn, we are peaceful. We are not harmless.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The invasion was fast. Very fast. In only a few cycles, every single human planet had been subjugated by the so called Galactic Empire. Hundreds of billions of humans were enslaved, families torn apart, monuments destroyed. The emperor was very happy. How had no other civilizations noticed that the humans lacked a proper military? That their economical empire was weak, and open to invasion? With minimal losses, the biggest organization in the galaxy had been taken down. Oh, they tried to talk their way out of it. They tried to reach an agreement, a contract, they tried to bribe them. The emperor had felt insulted when he was presented with those offers. And so he had conquered them. But then, something started happening. Humans did not have any communication among them, spread through thousands of worlds, all under the Empire’s control, they could not possibly organize an effective resistance. And yet, in every single planet, small groups were attacking docking stations, refueling facilities, repair stations. All of the infrastructure was being destroyed by completely independent groups. The humans called it “guerrilla”. If the Galactic Empire sent resources to stop these guerrilla groups in one planet, three other planets would start attacking the weakened forces. And so it was that the empire realized that it was doomed. The harder they tried to force the humans into submission, the harder they fought back. It was almost like they knew they had nothing to loose, like that didn’t care about themselves, their families, or their planets. They only cared about destroying the oppressor. Not one battle was fought. There were no epic stories to be told. No super weapons, no incredible tactics. There was no propaganda, no martyrs, no grand objectives. And yet, the Galactic Empire was absolutely destroyed. The invasion had been fast. But the counter attack was slow, and bloody. In the end, a small group of humans managed to infiltrate the emperor’s ship and shoot him in the head before anyone noticed. They were killed almost instantly by the guards, but it was too late. Humanity reclaimed every single one of its planets, plus all of the planets under the Galactic Empire’s control that didn’t belong to enslaved civilizations. They sold the empire’s ships to rebuild their economy and become and even stronger force than they had ever been. When the dust settled, humanity was stronger than it had ever been, and the Galactic Empire had been absolutely obliterated. So it was that the rest of the galaxy understood the saying, “I fear nothing, but the anger of a gentle man”	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	It was strange. A civilisation which lacked war. Which sought out peace. Which endeavoured to save sentient life, to ensure conflicts were focused solely on the soldiers, the warrior class. The humans behaved in this manner. They treated war as a elaborate facade, to be regulated and controlled by pacts and laws and rules. Bizarre, but we had made common cause with stranger species. It was only when we encountered outpost 371 that we understood the intent of these rules. Outpost 371, a place that still causes the shaking of mandibles and the quivering of antennae. On outpost 371, we encountered the confederacy. Humans, biologically identical to the ones we had met before. Some lost colony, sent out before humanity had met us. Our scientists couldn’t understand how similar these creatures were. Because These humans lacked rules. Lacked empathy. In their first foray, they butchered an entire colony, burning nests without hesitation, slaughtering warriors and workers in equal measure. There were no calls for diplomacy from these humans. No asks for peace. Only barbarity. We counter attacked, only to find scenes out of our nightmares. Eggs cracked open for some horrendous ritual feeding called “breakfast”. Irreplaceable artwork crushed under leather clothes human boots. It was then that we learned the bizarre rules of the humans were not there to control us. No, they were intended to protect us, to prevent the darker elements of humanity from being used on intelligent species.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	"Dragons Teeth" "What?" snarled the ambassador of Grrekxt Empire The weakling human gave him what accounts as a sad smile among those primates "In our mythology there is the story of when a dragon is defeated, its teeth spread across the field slumbering for the future. Once called, each awakens as a new Dragon, ready to rampage once more" "So what? you fluff yourself up with some beast as if you entire species isnt one of cowards. You have been given your ultimatum, you will submit to our empire, or your federation will be ground to dust." A heavy sigh "A Dragon is a mighty beast, indomitable and unbreakable except through the hardest opposition. It is the creature we show on our flag, curled around Earth, our lost home. Have you never once questioned why we have chosen such a display when we so openly embrace pacifism?" "You should take that call" as he said that the ambassadors communicator ringed and he snarled a angry tone towards whoever dared interupt him. Mere seconds later his aggresive stance flattened. "You have assaulted our colonies, our civilians, murdered children and innocents. The Dragons have answered the call." A hundred lightyears away within the Grrekxt borders, thousands of ships emerge from impossible fractures in realspace and without word begin firing. Weapons impossible to describe tear fleets and moons apart with equal ease. This is why humans have no home. Their War does not know anything but the absolute elimination of the other. The Total Annihilation of their opponent. "We have chosen peace not because we fear War. But because our species revels in it." Ambassador Johns said before firing his hidden weapon.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	Insects. That was what the Grand One always called the human race. He had called them weak, cowardly beings with no strength to speak of- to an extent that was true. Their physical bodies lacked any meaningful power, and it was almost nothing in comparison to the mighty bodies of the Sidernia people. But they were by no means cowards, and they were by no means weak. Their technology more than made up for their lack of physical prowess, and their hearts were just as brave as their minds were smart. It was astounding. The humans had always avoided war before. They were excellent diplomats and were adept at reaching agreements with others, normally to minimal loss for themselves. They would normally abstain from any wars that were fought as well, lending only technological and humanitarian aid. The Grand One had taken this as a sign of weakness. He had convinced the whole Sidernian people this as well. He had convinced them to wage war on the human worlds. He had made a grave mistake. Initially the Conquest went well. A quick and powerful assault on many of the border worlds lead to massive leaps into the human territories. The Sidernian militaries power and ferocity drew swaths of death on the human systems serene canvas. But then the war began to stall. In barely three months into the war, the human worlds began fighting much harder, digging their heels into the ground and forcing every Sidernian step to be fought for. Nine months in, and full force battles were being waged once again, with human military efforts beginning to turn back Sidernian offense. A year in, the human races main blockade fell, and Sidernian forced began to surge into the system center- and were slaughtered. A message was broadcast through every frequency in the universe, sent from the human birth-world of Earth. "There are three things all wise beings fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man. Congratulations Sidernian people, you have provoked the wrath of the gentle human race. We attempted to end things with peace. We tried to reason with you. Then it became evident words will not work. You have now invoked our wrath Sidernians, and I am sorry that you did." The video cut to the scene of a massive ship graveyard. Thousands of ships, all with the Sidernian seal and make, floated in open space, many torn asunder, other blasted to bits. "This is your final warning to withdraw from human space Sidernian Grand One, or this trail of destruction will follow you deep into your own lands. You have been warned." The transmission ended there, but the Sidernians war did not. A month later, hundreds of thousands of human ships appeared in the war zone, each ship manned by thousands upon thousands of humans. Each and every ship was outfitted with powerful weaponry and state of the art shields, and their soldiers outfitted with anything from a state of the art plasma rifle to a basic pea-shooter. A matter of months later, the Sidernian Empire fell. A combination of overwhelming force from the human race and infighting from the Sidernian people lead the entire system into destruction. As the universe looked on in awe, the human nation declared the war over, claiming half of the Sidernian Empire and reaffirming the respect the universe had for the human race. The whole universe learned that indeed, the wrath of the gentle man was one thing that should always be truly feared.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	Most species we would call warlike never make it to the stars. Those with the need to destory, willingness to kill and die, it's not a viable life plan. Humans we had encounterd at the edge of Solar System Gamma-Phi in the Virgo Cluster. They seemed so fearfull then, instantly scared of us and what we could do to their smaller vessel. How were we to know that man saw us as something like themselves? Man avoids war because they are so good at it that emplying war against themselves would have resulted in total destruction, as it did with so many other destructive species. Our people think the same of course, but we never got good at it. We though we did, then we forced the humans hands, we asked too much, we attacked them thinking we were safe. I write this missive in stone, knowing only a human will read it. Knowing that my people die, and all we had befriended will die too. Humans are monsters even to themselves, they are eager to obliterate, yet will try everything they can to avoid giving in to their temptation.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The old human in a white robe closed the door behind him as he left. The hulking being known as HiveKing grabbed and threw an underling against the door. The carapace of the poor serving boy cracked and ichor spilled slowly out. "Father, it is insufferable that they once again talk of peace. He cites old laws in languages of people we conquered many turnings ago. That he refuses honorable combat between our species is insulting. That YOU say nothing is even more so." Still breathing heavily, his outer eye shields still down he glared over at the old man. "It is not without guilt that I speak of this to you now, I did not think you would push so far" the older being huffed, mandibles weakly clacking to indicate distress. "Sit and I would tell you the great secret of the humans Angels and Devils" "many turnings ago I was a young ruler such as you. Battle is the life blood of our species and the weaker races are nothing but interesting diversions and ways to sharpen our claws. This was until we came across the dark sphere of Humanity." The older being shifted, obviously uncomfortable as he continued. "You see they had blinded the greater races to their sun by encapsulating their entire system in one giant sphere. Diverting even the heat of their sun so they were effectively missing from the galaxy. One of the servitor races accidentally crashed into this sphere which brought our attention to them, and theirs to us" The younger interrupted, hands clenching and unclenching slowly so that he could admire the muscles under his skin move "Yes, this is known, then Humanity became the talkers and none can now make them mad enough for proper combat, They speak and speak and speak and know every law of every race and talk out of any insult. Pathetic" "Yes, but what has been hidden from all is why we allow this. Listen, I bring truth to you now. We met the humans in the white robes who dwell on the surface of their sphere. They called themselves angels and recited the laws of many people, and sang us versus from their holy writ." The older shifted again and shook his head "I laughed at them, slaughtered these angels, mocked their holy Abrahamavitta with great joy. We bombed them with the weapons of power, then we used the ancient weapons just to feel their blood on us. It was a day of great joy for all the people. We took the leader, the one they called Christohammed and put him on display in our throne room" A long sigh and several minutes went by before the older continued, his voice taking on a much different tone than the younger had ever heard. "And then they opened the great gates and the devils, as we heard them called, emerged. Great, hulking ships the size of planets appeared out of the darkness. Each ship sent out squadrons of lesser ships, which sent out smaller until the universe seemed nothing but the devil ships of humanity. Weapons we can not even explain lashed out at our people and they disappeared, or burst into flames, or melted into puddles of protoplasm. Nothing was allowed to live..." "Then they came, this unending horde, slicing through the worlds of all the people and slaughtered. Nothing was allowed to live, down to the grasses of the hills and the running food, all was killed. We never spoke to them, they never asked to speak to us. They killed and killed until we begged the angels of the sphere to stop them." The younger stood, looking astounded, almost crouching in a defensive posture at the horror and pain in the older voice. "This is not what is taught" he managed after a moment. Thinking of the dead worlds he had learned of, but was taught that a great cataclysm had befallen the galaxy. "They killed everything you see. The few angels we found and tortured called it 'the crusade' and they did not relent until they reached our throne room and took their Christohammed back. Then they stopped and turned around and left. Shortly after the angels came back as if nothing had happened. Unfazed by any insult, never angry, citing only the old laws to get out of any incidents" "I beg of you, do not make the mistakes I have made, let them talk. For when they stop speaking everything dies"	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	From the chornicles of the last days of Etheria, Author unknown: We are not going to win this war. Nobody could win this. We have to end it, to surrender, to run, to do something but we can not win. At first everything was going fine for us. We were winning battles, every battle. Nothing they did could stop us. And in our victories we became cruel and evil. We really left them no choice. What else could they have done? Wait for their extinction? Desperate times lead to desperate measures and we made them so very desperate. The first stories started to be whispered in the third year of the war. I thought it were ghost stories. We were, at most, one year away from completely wiping them from the face of the galaxy. Of course they would try to spread propaganda to make us slow down. That was, until I saw it myself. It wasn't all of them. Maybe 1 in 5000. Maybe less, maybe more. But those few, they had done something to them. They wouldn't die anymore. I shot him. I know I shot him. Square in the center of the chest. And he fell. I saw the blood on the ground but then he got back up. He just got back up and kept coming. And I shot him again. And he got back up. In the end, he got hit by an explosion. With enough damage they don't come back. But he killed dozens of ours before. I am sure they feel the pain. I heard them scream as they are hit and when we managed to capture one and experiment on him he even cried. They feel the pain but they don't slow down and they do not stop...and they learn. What type of species does that to themselves? What type of species turns themselves into monsters? And what type of people will keep running head on into death over and over again? We call them "the numbers" now. Each one of them has a number written on their shoulder, the number of deaths they faced. Last week I saw one attacking a fortified position. 50 of our people inside, one of him. His number was 378. He learned from 378 mistakes. He had the experience of 378 deaths and probably taken 20 times that number of lives. Even if we had a reliable way to kill them, we couldn't stop them. This one didn't even get shot once in that assault. He just went through our defenders like they were sheep being slaughtered. But that's not even the worst thing. 1 in 5000, we could deal with. it's not that many. Heavy caliber shots to the head or explosions work. Maybe we would have to sacrifice some of our men but we could do it. But the humans rallied behind the numbers. With hope came the will to fight and with that every man and woman became a warrior, all with the same determination as the numbers. Those who can't die lead those who aren't afraid to. Those who can't fight anymore work to make weapons for those who can. Their entire species has turned themselves into a war machine. They fight, they train, they build. They do not stop. That first time I saw a number is now 7 years ago. The tide of the war has shifted long ago. I can't even remember the last time I heard about a victory on our side. That battle 6 months ago where they retreated after having killed 5 times as many of us as we killed of them? Should we call that a victory? We pulled all we had together for that fight and they retreated, regrouped, hit our unguarded flanks and broke our line the next day. Nobody who "won" that battle ever left the site of it. They encircled them and killed them all. Our leadership still hopes they can win. They hope some new technology or new allies will turn the tide of battle. It wont. Nothing can stop people like that. We have made a terrible mistake. We thought they wanted peace because they were afraid of fighting. That wasn't true. They wanted peace because they were afraid of what fighting again would turn them into. They knew that, deep down, they were warriors and monsters. They were afraid to ever let that side of them out again. I can only pray that they will forgive us this mistake. That they will want to be those good peaceful people again. Because we can not stop them. Only they can stop themselves. And if they do not want to, I am certain that the Etherian Empire will only live on in history books. If you ever read those words and find the humans to be a peaceful people who strive for diplomacy and friendship with all species, understand that this is their decision, not their nature. And if you make them abandon that choice, you will face a storm that you can't imagine. I can hear the sirens now. I need to get back to my post. They have already taken the access road and the second post yesterday. We have set up defensive positions but I don't think they will hold. But I will go out, I will man my station. I will fight like they do, without fear. I can hear the sirens. Our positions won't hold.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We should have realized, should have listen, when Ensign Blaagk , played that recording he found from Earth's History. "It is our Love of Nation , our way of life , of those we serve side by side with. We Defend we Avenge, we sacrifice, we bleed, and we are willing to Die for this unique creation. We Have been honed into a machine of lethal moving parts that you would be wise to avoid if you kno whats good for you. We will not be intimidated, we will not back down. We seen war, we don't want WAR. But if you Want WAR, there is one thing I can promise you, someone else will raise your sons and daughters." All at high command thought this to be a comedy broadcast of forgotten ages. It was soo funny how tough the Humans were acting on the show. It must not be real. Or so High Command believed. When the first wave of landing ships touchdown on the planet. The troops spilled out onto the open fields, still no humans there to meet them and bow down to our might. But when our troops marched away from the drop ships. That is when All Hell Broke Loose. The drop ships came under direct attack. within 30 minutes the Humans had captured all the drop ships. In 3 hours our own drop ships were heading into orbit and began attacking the mother ship. Painted on the sides of all drop ships "TOTAL WAR" Our ground troops had been ambushed several miles away from each landing site. The Humans had been hiding, in trees, under ground, in buildings, they dressed themselves like bushes, like rocks. Bombs, Bullets, Mortars, Rockets, Missiles slammed into our ground forces from every direction. Our troops had No time to get into formation, to get their kill ranks and squads formed up before the Humans cut them down. And cut our troops apart they did. Near one Landing site, Black clad small men with curved shiny blades dropped out of trees and cut our troops in half. Our comms channels was blocked by a Human saying repeating over and over, "Cry Havoc, and Loose the Dogs of WAR!" We Never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them The Mother ship has crashed into their planet, shield are down, all defenses are down, the crew is fighting compartment to compartment to try and hold the Humans back while they try and fix the interstellar emergency be-can. But the Humans destroyed the array in the first strike, and as soon as they breached the hull the made their way to command deck and executed all the officers there, by cutting their heads off, so the entire crew could see over vid screen. They then seized engineering and crashed the ship on purpose. There are Humans all over the ship. Those that are not fighting and killing the crew are stealing everything they can get their hands on. I am hiding in a escape pod , watching the monitor screens, Lt. Blaagk last living officer of Earth Invasion Fleet.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The expansion into the Sol system was supposed to be the latest iteration in a pattern I had repeated dozens of times across my career. for civilisations falling just below type I, we would initiate first contact, and demand vassalisation. seventy five percent of all civilisations we encountered stopped at this step, in face of our overwhelming technological superiority it was the logical choice. The remaining twenty five mounted a quick but often bloodless defence, followed by an honorable surrender and assecsion to the empire. The humans of Earth returned our ambassador flayed and mutilated. The humans, who up until our arrival had been at each other's throats owing to petty tribalism and coveting each other's natural resources united virtually overnight against us. Nearly every object they produced was hastily retooled into a weapon of war. When we expended their supply of military atmospheric craft, they turned to crashing civillian transports laden with chemical explosives into our installations. The closer we came to defeating them, the more brutal they became. They hurled chemicals of crude noxious gasses at our soldiers, scorching their repsiratory organs. Platoons of soldiers that surrendered en-masse turned out to be infected with a genetically engineered plague tailored for our biology. Children approached our armored columns, seemingly out of curiosity, which we had seen before. Except these children had explosive vests hidden under their coats, remote triggered by a vengeful parent hiding in rubble nearby. We had been begrudgingly compared to "Romans" by more cooperative humans, refering to an ancient power that while imperialist, maintained a strong sense of professionalism and discipline. Yet in the face of such a brutal enemy, the discipline our combat units, trained for dozens of human years and battlehardened from dozens more of interplanetary campaigns began to break down. Twitchy commanders, suffering from a mental illness we had never seen, yet humans easily diagnosed as "post traumatic stress syndrome" soon gunned down approaching humans on sight, and prisoners were seldom taken. All this only had the effect of intensifying humanity's burning hatred for our empire. What should have taken less than half of their years instead took a decade, and four armies worth of reinforcements. Finally, we had reduced their regular militaries to haggard fanatics hiding in subterranean bunkers across the planet. Yet just before we breached the final bunker containing their leadership, and remaining military infrastructure, the leadership activated a network of missiles containing fusion warheads, hidden in previously unencountered submersible vehicles scattered across their oceans. If we couldn't have earth, nobody could. These missiles were not powerful enough to even make orbit around their planet, much less strike our staging bases on their moon. This told us that the humans had built such a destructive weapons system not for use on us, but on each other. The results of the campaign had a traumatic effect not only on our soldiers, but the entire empire. The value of earth was it's breathable atmosphere, a perfect target for colonisation. Yet in the push of a button, humans made a decade of war, the deaths of hundreds of millions of our soldiers, and quintillions of credits meaningless. We evacuated and quarantined Earth, and the entire system was seen as effectively haunted. I never saw another human again after their species' self immolation. Yet I remain haunted by one thought: If even a dozen breeding pairs of humans were to survive and persist, then our civilisation is in mortal danger. Their children would grow up in caves with respirator masks permanantly affixed to their heads, hearing tales of burning hatred, consecrating themselves as avatars of vengence before they could read. Even if it took a thousand years, they would crawl groaning and screaming out of the ashes until they could stand, and they would not sit until vengence for our crimes against their ancestors had been extracted ten times over.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The great Kreen empire had ruled for millennia, ever expanding with trillions of souls on thousands of worlds all toiling away for the benefit of the Dai'Kreen, the God Kings who ruled with an iron fist. The Kreen first learned of the humans through rumors of encounters on the outer fringes of the empire. Stories of underwhelming ships approaching Kreen vessels, attempting to hail them with declarations of peace and desire for trade. The humans knew not of the ways of the Kreen, the Kreen have no need for trade, they take what they desire, nor do they care for peace, the only peace is subjugation under the Dai'Kreen. Conflict began gradually, the negotiations of the humans, begging for peace, groveling for the mercy of the Dai'Kreen to "spare innocent lives" but the Kreen cared not for the wishes of lesser beings. The Dai'Kreen were destined to own the galaxy and any within it belonged to the empire, the Kreen would enlighten the humans of this truth. The Dai'Kreen gave the humans one last warning. "Hundreds of races have faced the might of the Kreen empire and all have fallen. Those who willingly embraced the empire were accepted with open arms. Prepare your world's for Kreen rule, yield to the empire and we will be lenient. Resist and face decimation." The human's reply was slow coming, but brief. "So be it." The Dai'Kreen struck first. The skies of a dozen human worlds were shattered at once as rift gates opened high above them. Relativistic darts, rods of ultra high density material accelerated to near the speed of light, tore through the rifts and impacted the human worlds with phenomenal force. Planets broke, billions died in an instant. The Kreen expected humanity to fold in the face of such horror, but the Dai'Kreen did not know humans. They did not know that every major scientific advancement in human history had been a a direct result of conflict. They didn't know that humanity had unlocked the power of the atom all in an attempt to more efficiently kill their own kind. The Kreen did not know that humanity had pushed itself to the brink of extinction on multiple occasions because of precisely how effecient they were at warfare. The Dai'Kreen did not know they were not the first empire to make this grave mistake in judgement. Billions of humans died in the initial salvo but the Kreen were unaware of the psychological effect that would have on humanity. The Kreen expected the humans to see the destruction caused and be awestruck by its majesty, paralyzed in the face of annihilation. They were not aware of the single most unique trait of the humans. Tenacity. When the humans broke the seals on the Armory Wolrds that housed their hidden armadas, hundreds of planet sized hangars released hundreds of thousands of warships all with the sole purpose of avenging the lives lost in the Kreen's techerous opening attack. Human fleets pushed deep into the core of the Kreen empire, world after world systematically pacified or liberated by the sheer overwhelming capacity for violence the humans possessed. The humans pushed the Dai'Kreen back to their ancient seats of power, the Throne Worlds of their home system. Here the remaining Dai'Kreen in a desperate attempt at reconciliation begged the humans for mercy. "Surely there is a way that both our great races can thrive? None could withstand the might of our great empires, together the Kreen and humanity could rule the galaxy unapposed." The encroaching human fleet did not initially respond, but they briefly held their fire. Seeing a potential the Dai'Kreen hailed them once more. "We hoped reason would prevail, we know now what a grave mistake we made refusing your attempts at peace -" The human's leader abruptly cut into the Dai'Kreen broadcast. "No, I don't think you realize just how big a mistake you made, but you will. You fucked around, now find out." Suddenly the Kreen sensors were blinded by thousands of simultaneous bursts of Gama radiation as the human ships tore open space time and jumped away from the Throne Worlds. Moments later another far brighter flash of light engulfed the Throne Worlds. The super weapon deployed by the humans during the lull in fighting had accomplished its goal, the sun at the center of the Throne Worlds went nova incinerating the Dai'Kreen and any left loyal to their rule. Humanity reshackled its weapons of war, returned to its ways of peace and continued to explore the cosmos under a white flag. Not because they feared for their own survival, but for the survival of anyone else.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	As the fleet began final approach to the human’s home system, I can’t help but to think how the finale of decades of war originally started. The specie’s sin, as countless others have been, was intruding on our space. The Imperium cared nothing for reckless exploration and expansion, finding a safe path through the wilds of interstellar space was too dangerous for such reckless risks. But, if a xenos species was to stumble into our territory, it was nothing to follow their path back to a habitual world. In these eventualities, the High Council would raise an conquest force, drawn from all worlds, and continued to do so until all trace of the race was erased from existence. Then, and only then, would the conquerors be disbanded and settled on those worlds they had taken. The first encounter with the humans had proven them unsuitable to existence. Any animal will fight to protect itself, but the first of their species taken claimed that they have moved past such things. A laughable concept and they were the first of the vermin exterminated. Like every other time in the ages past, a fleet was being assembled. But, before it could be launched, another human vessel violated our space. Those on board claimed they were envoys of peace and only wanted to find a way to coexist with us. No reply was sent except the ion trails of our weapons penetrating their ship’s hull. The first worlds fell easily. They had defenses, true, even warships in orbit, but chronological scans showed the youngest was built a hundred years ago. As the fleet pushed deeper in their territory, the gravitational residue of their warp drives making easily followed paths through space, the worlds became harder to defeat. The warships remained old, the only recent construction found in the orbital shipyards were passenger ships, constructed in an attempt to evacuate the populations. Most of the time the only sightings of these ships was their engines pushing them into recently opened warp portals as they fled. The remaining ships and population fighting to the last in defense of their worlds. It was strange, though. Even though the warships kept getting older the further we went, their offensive capabilities improved with each engagement. What began as antiquated atomic weapons with chemical propulsion evolved to rail weapons launching high density loads at .99c. After years, we began to fight in engagements with ships wielding weapons that broke down the molecular bonds of their targets and finally canons that created artificial singularities that could destroy entire ships, crushing them to a infinitesimal mass in a single shot. It mattered not, because with an entire Empire constantly supplying new warships and warriors, the numbers would win out in the end no matter how they slowed us. Finally, only one system remained. From the intelligence gathered over the course of the long and brutal war, we knew their home system was fairly average. A main-type star, four rocky planets, four gas giants with large lunar systems, an asteroid belt, and several score of various sized planetoids. Most of the system was settled, and the humans were sure to fight harder here than anywhere else. Reinforced by every refugee ship that had been driven before us for all this time. The fleet exited our warp gates in the midsts of the system, where our stellar cartographers said their home planet would be, our engines cycling down for their recharge period. It was a devastating force of over 15,000 ships ready to overwhelm the planet in a single blow. The only thing there was a satellite orbiting the distant sun. There was nothing else in the system. No planets. No asteroids. The only thing our scanners could find were traces of dust and gas where our computers said planets should be in their stable orbits. I turned to my console as a communication signal was picked up from the satellite. It was a message on repeat that made my blood freeze in my veins as I realized just what kind of enemy we had so underestimated for so long. “Since the moment our species met, we have asked you for peaceful coexistence and you have responded with genocide. Every time your fleets appeared above one of our worlds, we would repeat our plea and you would ignored it. We hoped that if we would go far enough away, you would leave us be, but we learned that you would not stop. We knew we could not defeat you with the resources that we had used to expand our race to the starts. That it would take all that we had to end your aggression. What you find here is our home’s graveyard. We have used everything we were given to create a force of vengeance to repay in kind what you have done. Your stated purpose was to eliminate our race and take what was ours for your own. We will attempt the same and only one will remain when the last enemy falls.” As sensor readings began pouring in, the computer being overwhelmed as the numbers of reactors coming online rose over one million. The largest of the enemy ships, ten times larger than my flagship, and outnumbering it at least 25,000 to 1. Other ships classes were intermixed, including the ships that our forces would see leaving the worlds they arrived to conquer, but each and every ship scanned showed a single common trait: they were all younger than the age of the crusade. Every ship in the armada had been built since our first encounter. As the human ships warp gates began opening all throughout the system’s halo, one more sensor reading caught my attention. The sun at the center of the system was actively losing stability and was going nova. Our ships were to recently out of warp space and those engines wouldn’t be able to recharge in time to escape. The human’s message was still playing in the background and I realized, “What you find here is our home’s graveyard. We have used everything we were given to create a force of vengeance to repay in kind what you have done,” they meant everything. They were forcing their star to explode to destroy our fleet and were going to retrace our path before spilling into the Empire. I didn’t know if the combined might of our planets could stand against this, but as the distant star began to explode and my subordinates screamed at me for orders, I found I couldn’t bring myself to care.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	It was at the Preserve Peace Committee meeting that the Radant ambassador rose - standing his full eight feet in height - and Cast the Dorples. The handful of obsidian shards released from his hands assumed the position "Rapid Change - High Energy". Some attendees sitting at the table looked around to see how other species had reacted, but most simply looked down, their postures indicating "Inevitable Sorrow". The poor Humans, so helpful. So helpless. The Radants were warlike, and had accrued their empire by conquest. The Humans were inquisitive, charming, and had built their empire through exploration, and a willingness to work hard to make even sub-par systems viable. The rich empire they now commanded was alas, ripe for the taking by the ever-hungry Radants. The Human ambassador looked carefully at the Dorples, and with one finger, gently nudged one until the bundle of shards shifted into "Contrition, Regret". The Radant barked in contempt. "No placating words will work this time Human, your diplomacy will avail you nothing." The Human ambassador sighed, and assumed the posture "Attend, I Explain". She spoke very softly, so that the other diplomats had to lean in close to hear her words. "Diplomacy does work. And I want to be very clear. When you ask for mercy, we shall hear your plea." The Radant simply glared in response. The Human shifted her posture to "Polite Regret, Imminent Departure". "Please excuse me, I must leave and help my species prepare". She then lifted the shards and Cast the Dorples anew, and then abruptly left. The shards fell into an unfamiliar pattern, that caused some consternation. Those with the subtlety to read the Dorples saw "Total War". What did that mean? Was it one of those idioms that Humans were so fond of? In any case, that was the last time any attendees saw the Human Ambassador Helen Cochrane. When next they saw her, she was General Cochrane, 15th Fleet, Commanding. Her armada consisted of some thirteen hundred Avenger class battle cruisers, a hundred thousand Katana class fighters, and fifty thousand other support vessels, repair ships, mining rigs, and so on. The 15th Fleet was one of over two hundred such fleets, and they had - after many initial setbacks - proved to be the equals of the Radants in battle, and subsequently their masters. The early Radant successes had been against almost unarmed Human vessels, ill-suited to combat, easily beaten. Yet the Humans had flown them anyway, and fought in them. With great sacrifice, they had slowed the Radant invasion just a little. But that was just enough for their newly built shipyards to come on line, and then the Radants had to face the Humans in their newly designed Defender class battle cruisers. This had stopped the Radant invasion entirely. And as the Radant forces waited for reinforcements from home, the Humans had developed their Avenger class ships. And produced them in prodigious numbers. Armed with weapons no one had seen before, of unknown potential, and seemingly invulnerable to Radant Annihilator beams, these new Avenger vessels had swiftly turned the tide of the war. Most of the much-vaunted Radant had been destroyed in a single blow at the Battle of Centauri Reach. The Humans had destroyed Radant outposts, military garrisons, indeed the entire infrastructure of the Radant war machine. So much destruction inspired awe, and in many quarters fear. No one could stand against the Humans, if they chose to make war, so great was their might. Yet in each system, they siphoned off part of their forces to help the Radants rebuild. Most of the Human forces were now scattered throughout Radant space, rebuilding space ports and solar harvesters, helping ordinary Radants rebuild their lives. And now the Humans were on Radant itself, meeting a peace delegation. General Cochrane approached the table where the Radant delegates sat. She took a velvet pouch from her pocket, and withdrew the shards within, and with great precision, she Cast the Dorples. They clattered on the table and assumed "Tempest, Destruction". One of the Radants gingerly reached out, and nudged a shard. The small pile shifted, and assumed "Desperation, Repentance". Cochrane paused and with a single tap, the shards now read "Watchful Benevolence". "War is a crime, and the ones who forced it upon us will pay, and justice shall be their lot. But let us turn our thoughts to peace, now." The Radants eagerly accepted the terms offered, and after a few years of Human rule, had once again become self-governing. The human fleet still existed, but had been de-militarised, and now most of it was in civilian hands, used as transport vessels, mining rigs, energy harvesters, and what have you. Did you know that you can still get surplus Human Katana fighters? They make great gas giant skimmers at a cost that is hard to beat. I think I know now what "Total War" means.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	Torus took his seat at the table, one of 11 identical seats. As he glanced around the circle, his upper mouth twisted into a frown. Typically, the ten representatives of the Federation took joy in subtly outdoing one another at their meetings. This human insistance on identical seats set at a round table was perplexing. The way of the Federation was simple. Ten species ruled coequally. Other species joined as clients. To join, they accepted the extermination of two thirds of their species. The remainder took their rightful place in breeding programs, coupled with overhaul of industry and agriculture. This ensured the continued prosperity of the Federation. Occasionally, some future clients proved troublesome. For them, the Federation had the Ru'a. Kronan scientists discovered the Ru'a early on. A primitive species, but perfect for genetic modification. Now, all Ru'a we're clones. There were no females. Missing proteins in their cells ensured they depended on the Federation for survival. When needed, entire armies could be grown. When the Federation was finished with them, they thrown away. Few Ru'a survived past the age of 5. Torus looked up, gratefully, at his Ru'a guards. The humans had no idea what was coming for them. A door on the other side of the chamber opened and the human diplomat seated himself at the table. These diplomats - the humans thought they could talk their way out of their fate. Some suspected they even thought to secure full representation for themselves. Ridiculous! The human spoke, "We have reviewed the terms of Federation membership and, I apologize, but we do not find them acceptable. While your Federation is certainly a powerful force, we would prefer to take things a little slower. I am sure that, one day, we may sit together as friends, but for now, perhaps we should focus on building some preliminary trade agreements. There are many possibilities -" The human was interrupted by a fist banging on the table. Kruathanan, of the Ghorsh, never took kindly to resistance. "Silence, human," he hissed, "You talk and you talk. You wear your diplomacy like a cloak of protection, thinking it will keep you safe. Nothing can save you." The human stared at Ghorsh. At first, Torus thought he was frightened. After a few moments, he checked his timepiece and it became clear that he was merely thinking. Again, he spoke, "You are all so mighty. Nothing can match you for speed or strength. Your lives are counted in centuries. We humans are different. Like your Ru'a, every day is a struggle to survive. Our lives are short. Death stands over us, every moment of every day." "When Death stands over you, you can do one of three things. You can fight it, which is ultimately-" "-futile." Torus turned to his guard in surprise. All of the Ru'a seemed to have become oddly intent. There was an edge to them that Torus had never seen before. The human didn't seem surprised at all. "Exactly, thank you. The second choice is to run from it. We had a poet who once wrote, because I would not stop for Death, Death kindly stopped for me. You cannot outrun Death." The Ru'a all chuckled. Torus didn't know they even had a sense of humor. "The third option is to make Death your friend and companion. To learn from Death. To allow Death to make you wise. We have learned much. Patience. Forgiveness." He turned to look, again, at Ghorsh. "You think we engage in diplomacy, to wear this cloak, to protect ourselves? No, we wear it to protect you. In times of trouble. Kronans can turn to their intellect. Kruathanan can turn to their strength." He nodded at Torus, "The Tun can rely on their cunning. We humans have only Death. We can be your friend, or we can kill you all. I'm afraid there is no middle ground." He glanced at his timepiece. "I'm sorry, this is taking longer than I thought. We will not mire ourselves in generations of war, and we most certainly will not accede to your demands. If you will not be our friends, then know that Death is coming." He nodded towards the Ru'a. "These brave men are like us. They live with Death. But unlike them, we have not been made small by false gods. You sit with us at this table because you think you have taken the measure of our resistance. This is merely the beginning." Ghorsh, fool that he was, began bellowing all of the things he planned to do to the human diplomat. There were threats about eating his heart while he still lived. Something about burning the diplomats family alive. The diplomat looked... bored. During a pause for breath the diplomat interjected, "You think I made an empty threat. Make no mistake, Death is coming for you. Every one of you has a weakness. The Kruathanan atmosphere, for instance, is very fickle. It doesn't take much to turn it against you." He checked his timepiece again. "Approximately 3 minutes ago, a Terran raiding vessel was likely destroyed by your planetary defenses. Before destruction it released a compound into your atmosphere. By now, your sky is beginning to darken. In a few hours, your people will have suffocated." The color drained from Ghorsh's face. He began to rise from the table, but a sharp crack sent him slumping to the floor, tail twitching. One of his Ru'a guards had broken his neck. The other representatives were, likewise, dispatched. Torus found himself awash in pain as his head hit the table. The guard had snapped his first and second neck, but missed the third. He could only watch in agony as the Ru'a pledged themselves to the humans and watch in disbelief as the humans pledged to find a way to free the Ru'a from their enslavement. He listened to them as they planned their conquest, to free all the client worlds of the Federation and reforge it anew. One of the Ru'a noticed him watching. The last thing Torus heard was the snapping of his third neck.	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	Admiral. A title relegated to the best of Naval Officers, a true leader. Farragut. Porter. Dewey. Fletcher. King. Nimitz. Kinkaid. Halsey. Spruance. Burke. The greatest Navy men in the United States, or so I have been told. In the Navy, it is one of the highest ranks one can attain. To be an Admiral is a great honor. So why do I not feel honored to take this position? Of course, I know why. I am in no way the intended person for this role. A traitor to my homeland, a deserter of my Legion, a guerrilla naval specialist, a "Tin Can Captain". And most importantly, a Krai-toln. The very ruling race of the Empire that Humanity is set on fighting. I know I have earned my title. My list of awards given by the Navy is long and impressive; the Distinguished Flying Cross for Heroic Actions at the Battle of Mars, two Purple Hearts, one for the Battle of Sirius and one for Operation 'Achy Breaky Heart', the Navy Cross, the E. E. Evans 'Last Stand' Award for Actions at the Battle of Bernard's Star, and many more lesser awards. I know I do not belong here - yet, everyone says I do. Humans are the nicest, yet most terrifying race I have ever met. The closest phrase I can think of to describe Humanity is "Dignified Indignity", and that goes for their warfare, too. Where the Krai-toln uses lasers and electromagnetic pulses, the Humans use ballistics and atom-splitters. It is a totally indignant form of warfare, yet, under a orderly, calm mask of dignity. Yet, there is one form of warfare where Humanity is completely and utterly dignified, and would not dare stray into indignity: diplomacy. I have read of situations, misunderstandings, that back in the Empire would've been a declaration of War. Yet, as the young man tasked with bringing me 'up to speed' with history said, "cooler heads prevailed." I will say, there are no 'cooler heads' in the Kraii Empire. It is a nation of pure war, built to do nothing but destroy and assimilate. As much as I hate to say it, the Krai-toln people are much the same, told by their dictators what to think, what to say, and who to fight to gain "glory and power". I did not even know about the death statistics for Kraii Legionaries until I fled to the side of the Humans, into the arms of the US Navy, where they documented every kill and mourned every loss; a completely unheard of tradition in the Kraii Empire, at least under the current regime. 78.62% of all Kraii Legionaries sent into battle do not come back alive. Of that 21.38%, another \~20% are killed upon return to their commanding officers, being deemed either too damaged to be useful to the War Effort or being a failure to the Kraii Nation for having fled battle, even if that battle was already over. The 1-or-so percentage left alive are commanding officers, sons of rulers or commanding officers, or those rich enough to purchase the ability to fight another day. It is clear to me that a total war to Humans is a completely different thing to a Kraii "Always War". A human total war is a complete mobilization of a nation to defeat an enemy, temporarily expanding the armed forces to a massive extent with those willing to fight against those who have wronged the homeland they love. It is a last step along a path of diplomacy, a final option if all else fails. A Kraii "Always War" - the "Ker-to-wesyllison" - is a permanent state. All citizens must fight, make goods for the fight, or command the fight. Those who cannot are exterminated. There is no place for diplomacy, no place for peace, no place for health, only fighting and dying. It is really no wonder, then, that the Humans are the ones winning the war. Should a Human return from a battle injured, he is not killed, nor is he a failure. He is a hero, and is treated as such. What with the Kraii would be a practice only reserved for those at the very top of the command chain is common place with the Humans. It is amazing; for all my time in the Kraii Legions, I never once saw a medic. Here, it seems there is one around every corner, seeking people to help. A profession built on sympathy. And that is what separates Humanity from the Kraii Empire: Sympathy. One cannot heal, negotiate, learn from, or otherwise treat another being as an equal without some degree of sympathy. It seems to be a trait ingrained in humans, a natural response to any interaction, good or bad. It is even seen as a mental illness to not have any sympathy for other beings. This is far removed from the Kraii of today. I suspect we used to have ingrained sympathy; landmarks such as the Monument to Unity in the very heart of the capitol of the Empire attest to a much more Human-like past. However, any sign of this in today's Krai-toln soldiers is sadly uncommon. It is still there, shining to the surface in some occasions, even leading to defections such as mine. For most Krai-toln, though, sympathy is missing, bred out by their leaders to create a race of near-perfect warriors. Their near-perfect warriors are faltering. A human shot by a Krai-toln will most likely be healed and back in action within the month; a Krai-toln shot by a human and not rescued by humans will be most surely dead, left to die by the very government he fights for. Destroyed human supplies will be replaced by the end of the day by the hard-working men and women giving their all in the factories; destroyed Kraii supplies are only replaced when living workers can be found, the workers who made the previous supplies having already been killed for some minor mistake their government found intolerable. We will win this Total War, because for Humanity, and for it's allies, for those who believe in freedom, liberty, and individuality, war is temporary. Mistakes are forgivable. Sympathy is given to those who need it. And that is why, today, I stand here and accept the role of Admiral in the United States Navy. Not because it is what I deserve. Not because it is what my commanders declare. No, I accept this role because I truly believe in the ways of humanity, of sympathy, of diplomacy before war, of temporary war. I have seen what a total destruction of sympathy and diplomacy can do. I have seen the results of an "Always War". And I never wish to witness it again, and I shall do my best with the power I have been given to make sure an "Always War" is never allowed to occur again. I encourage all of you to do the same. -Admiral Jrell Vohanne Kelard-Synn, United States Navy "The Grand Acceptance Speech" - Given Aboard USS Theodore Roosevelt, Docked at Pearl Harbor Naval Base, November 11, 2089 (Still an amateur at this - give constructive criticism, please! I am looking for all ways to improve!)	Humanity. That one word is able to strike awe and terror into any race at once, no matter where they hail from and no matter their martial prowess. They are a force to not prod, for once they have been awoken, they are impossible to stop, and impossible to reason with. The price of the ignorance of other races when it came to dealings with Humanity has been seen on a thousand worlds and in millions of casualties inflicted upon their enemies. &#x200B; The earliest period was when the Rashtchal, a ferocious tripedal race of half organic and half cybernetic warriors decided to invade one of the human planets, they dubbed the planet as "Pluto" in their primitive language and referred to it as a "Dwarf Planet", while the international community describes it as a Tier 4 Barren World. Upon the destruction of the domed city of Palatine, the advance forces of the Rashtchal were cut down without mercy as Humanity unveiled its arsenal. Their primitive metal weapons dealing considerable damage, for as primitive as it is, it also managed to bypass every defense that the international community had developed considering we normally utilize laser and energy weaponry. &#x200B; The Rashtchal fell. The Firongiens fell next, provoking the wrath of the warrior diplomats and being slaughtered to an individual. The last of them was given their bladed weapon back and told by the leader of the human force that stood before them to fall on their blade with honor or be shot full of lead as a dishonorable son of a \\\\\* (censored due to international rulings. Humans curse way more than any race should. Then again, they do not care at all.) The command capabilities and legendary actions of the generals and admirals, Kerensky, Albion, Thar-Gutrad, Shaka Chao. Their forces destroyed their enemies when they did not accept surrender. &#x200B; As of now, the International Community is thankful to their most powerful member, the forces of Humanity and the Terran Union. On a thousand different worlds, elite forces from Terran worlds fight and win victories in the name of peace and of the International Community. The Blackwatch Highland units strike at the most mountainous planets, accustomed to the terrain from their founding on Earth and hardened by campaigns and brutal destruction of insurrection movements. Their skills at foraging, stealing, and general destruction are second to none. &#x200B; Elsewhere, the Russ Battalions fight on the most frigid worlds, while the Tharkad Legions fight on the worlds that are bathed in flaming temperatures. The specific adjustments made to their equipment and vehicles means that even if they must go on foot, their ammunition reserves or their lives will expire before their weapons do. Tundra worlds have fallen by the hundreds due to a single one of those units being sent there and told to "Unleash Hell." &#x200B; And then the Helljumper Squadrons. The embodiment of humanity as a whole. Leaping off of spacecraft or being sent down in drop landers, these soldiers utilize any means of propulsion to strike down on their enemies. From rockets to traverse long distances, to nuclear powered combat suits that send them over Mach 8 to create craters in enemy lines that only the humans stand up from. To put it simply, HUMANITY IS TERRIFYING! THEY ARE THE GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS BUT ALSO THE GREATEST WARRIORS EVER SEEN! ADAPTING TO ANY ENVIRONMENT HAS CAUSED THEM TO BEST EVEN SOME OF THE STEALTHIEST RACES, AND THE WAY THEY STEAL AND REVERSE ENGINEER TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE THEM THE MOST RESOURCEFUL SPECIES IN THE ENTIRE KNOWN UNIVERSE! TO FIGHT THEM IS DEATH!
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	Sergeant Deshaun Raymond Jones looked up to see them, standing there in utter terror at a sight they couldn’t have ever imagined. At least, he guesses it was terror. If they even felt terror. He’d always said he’d wanted to die in Dallas. It was his home, after all. His mind drifted through the memories he’d collected along the way, smiling softly as he did. He first recalled his mother’s soft voice, singing “Amazing Grace” to him when the storms had kept him awake, shivering in his racecar bed. He then thought back on the first touchdown pass he’d ever caught, beaming with pride as he looked to see if that girl was watching. “Oh man, her…” he said to himself absent-mindedly. He remembered her better than anything else. He remembered how he nervously changed clothes before their first high-school date. He remembered how she held him close and wiped away his tears when he got injured and lost his athletic scholarship to the University of Texas. He remembered how he held her and wiped her tears when he told her that he was going to the army. She made him promise he’d come back home safe. He promised her a lot of things, and he’d kept those promises. Well, all expect one. After a near lethal alcohol poisoning in the dark and depressing time after he lost his scholarship, promised her he’d never drink again. He’d been stone cold sober since. He promised her he’d find work get his life back together when he’d recovered. He did. After he found work, he’d promised her he’d come back home to her after his four years with the army were up. He fought like hell let loose in Brazil during the second South American War back in 2035. He got a medal for his valor, but the only thing on his mind when he was surrounded in that trench was her. When he surprised her on that beach in Destin and dropped to a knee, he promised her he’d never leave her again. He’d kept that promise, and reaffirmed it on the altar. That was until they showed up. He remembered sitting there on that November morning, watching the news as they asked for humanity’s surrender and subsequent assimilation to their empire. He remembered curling up on the floor, sobbing and shaking as they fired their orbital cannons into San Francisco as a show of might. Truth be told, he would have still stayed home with her if she’d asked him to, but she knew. She knew that this wasn’t about getting free college and a sense of brotherhood. This wasn’t about fighting for the interests of your country. This was survival. The survival of their home, the survival of their daughter, the survival of their species. So she let him go. He tried to promise her that he’d come home this time, but she stopped him. All she told him to do was call whenever he could. He remembered looking back over his shoulder at her, their baby in her arms, as he got on that bus belonging to the newly formed International Coalition of Humanity. He remembered. He realized, grimly, that it’d be the last thing he’d do. These invaders thought that humanity would simply kneel to their new gods. They didn’t. They thought that humanity would die making their last stand in Moscow. They didn’t. They thought that humanity would lose the will to fight as the years dragged on. They didn’t. They thought that they’d hold back the human counter-assault in Madrid. They didn’t. They thought a lot of things, but unlike Sergeant Jones, they couldn’t make good on it. But humanity, and Jones by extension, made their enemy one last promise. They promised them that they would die here. And here they were. These aliens before him were watching their people’s last capital ship, the one they were all about to evacuate and escape on, fall from the sky and into the heart of Dallas. They’d captured him a week back, and they were probably going to try and ransom him in a bid for more time, but there’d be no mercy now. As they watched the reactor go critical and meltdown, Deshaun couldn’t help but smile through the tears. In their collective final moments, words came to Deshaun Jones. Every moment of his life, every moment of love and loss, every valley and mountain, every lost comrade and battle won, everything had led to this, and he couldn’t help himself. As the catastrophic blast engulfed him, he reminded them of their fatal mistake. “Don’t mess with Texas.”	Ulzin watched the small blue, green, and white planet grow in his monitor. Radio waves from the planet called Earth had been picked up during their search through the void for a planet to colonize, and the dreadnaught Crakzien had immediately changed course to take the inhabited world. Ulzin had been monitoring these transmissions for the last dozen ‘years’ as the humans called them. The concept was foreign to a ship-born like himself, but his generation of Khexziun would be the one to finally colonize this Earth, and Ulzin wanted to know the specifics of planetary living by the time they touched down. The humans would make a great labor force. Several centuries prior, the humans would have been too primitive for anything besides menial labor, and a century ago, they might have been a threat. The timing seemed too perfect that just as the dreadnaught approached, the humans had abandoned their warlike tendencies to peacefully coexist. Ulzin had seen some transmissions of what seemed to be war propaganda, but further investigation revealed this to be a form of entertainment. In recent years, these had become increasingly unflattering in their depiction of combat, reflecting the similarly increasing pacifist tendencies among the humans. In the last century, during their Great War spanning thirty years, the humans had advanced their technology purely to kill each other. They learned to fly so they could drop bombs on each other, the learned to traverse the depths, only to better drag eachother below the waves. So great and terrible was their war that when peace was finally attained, they never let it go. Even the two great nations of the humans could not bring themselves to fight, so they competed instead. They raced to the stars, and when smaller nations would fight, these two would intervene. They formed Treaties and Pacts, and while their depictions of war and the weapons they would dream up would seem increasingly destructive, they would instead use these discoveries to create energy and further explore the nature of reality. And so, Ulzin thought, these humans would make the perfect slave race. So terrified of violence, they would need to make some kind of deal before the might of the Khexziun. The Humans knew they were coming. They possessed several orbital telescopes and monitored the celestial bodies in their system consistently, and after Ulzin detected some form of communication detailing the approach of an unnatural object, he sent his own message in the human language declaring their imminent arrival and the impending takeover. Knowing the diplomatic nature of the humans, he made sure to include an offer to negotiate. All that was left now was to wait until they took the bait. The little colorful ball grew in size on his screen, and Ulzin watched the system’s star as it was eclipsed by the little world, the place he would soon call home. Earzian would be a good name, one that honored the name given by its original inhabitants, Ulzin thought. A flash. A bright blinding light filled his screen as the star returned to foreground. Ulzin was stunned. The star? Impossible, that couldn’t… Ulzin had seen flashes like these before. In the transmissions the humans had leaked out, there were tests of weapons like this. They hadn’t detonated one in decades though! The research was abandoned for peace! At least, that is what Ulzin and the Khexziun had concluded. Ulzin’s mind raced, he reconsidered the possibilities. The competitiveness, the smaller wars, the violent entertainment… Humanity hadn’t ceased their violent ways out of some newfound sense of compassion, it was survival. Humanity couldn’t survive another total war, so they sharpened their fangs, crouched low and waited for new prey. Prey such as the Crakzien. Ulzin sat in silence as alarms blared and Khexziun hurried to battlestations. Another flash on his screen matched the violent shaking of the hull, and all Ulzin could do was sit. Their fangs were indeed sharp, and humanity was going in for the kill. EDIT: Formatting
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The old human in a white robe closed the door behind him as he left. The hulking being known as HiveKing grabbed and threw an underling against the door. The carapace of the poor serving boy cracked and ichor spilled slowly out. "Father, it is insufferable that they once again talk of peace. He cites old laws in languages of people we conquered many turnings ago. That he refuses honorable combat between our species is insulting. That YOU say nothing is even more so." Still breathing heavily, his outer eye shields still down he glared over at the old man. "It is not without guilt that I speak of this to you now, I did not think you would push so far" the older being huffed, mandibles weakly clacking to indicate distress. "Sit and I would tell you the great secret of the humans Angels and Devils" "many turnings ago I was a young ruler such as you. Battle is the life blood of our species and the weaker races are nothing but interesting diversions and ways to sharpen our claws. This was until we came across the dark sphere of Humanity." The older being shifted, obviously uncomfortable as he continued. "You see they had blinded the greater races to their sun by encapsulating their entire system in one giant sphere. Diverting even the heat of their sun so they were effectively missing from the galaxy. One of the servitor races accidentally crashed into this sphere which brought our attention to them, and theirs to us" The younger interrupted, hands clenching and unclenching slowly so that he could admire the muscles under his skin move "Yes, this is known, then Humanity became the talkers and none can now make them mad enough for proper combat, They speak and speak and speak and know every law of every race and talk out of any insult. Pathetic" "Yes, but what has been hidden from all is why we allow this. Listen, I bring truth to you now. We met the humans in the white robes who dwell on the surface of their sphere. They called themselves angels and recited the laws of many people, and sang us versus from their holy writ." The older shifted again and shook his head "I laughed at them, slaughtered these angels, mocked their holy Abrahamavitta with great joy. We bombed them with the weapons of power, then we used the ancient weapons just to feel their blood on us. It was a day of great joy for all the people. We took the leader, the one they called Christohammed and put him on display in our throne room" A long sigh and several minutes went by before the older continued, his voice taking on a much different tone than the younger had ever heard. "And then they opened the great gates and the devils, as we heard them called, emerged. Great, hulking ships the size of planets appeared out of the darkness. Each ship sent out squadrons of lesser ships, which sent out smaller until the universe seemed nothing but the devil ships of humanity. Weapons we can not even explain lashed out at our people and they disappeared, or burst into flames, or melted into puddles of protoplasm. Nothing was allowed to live..." "Then they came, this unending horde, slicing through the worlds of all the people and slaughtered. Nothing was allowed to live, down to the grasses of the hills and the running food, all was killed. We never spoke to them, they never asked to speak to us. They killed and killed until we begged the angels of the sphere to stop them." The younger stood, looking astounded, almost crouching in a defensive posture at the horror and pain in the older voice. "This is not what is taught" he managed after a moment. Thinking of the dead worlds he had learned of, but was taught that a great cataclysm had befallen the galaxy. "They killed everything you see. The few angels we found and tortured called it 'the crusade' and they did not relent until they reached our throne room and took their Christohammed back. Then they stopped and turned around and left. Shortly after the angels came back as if nothing had happened. Unfazed by any insult, never angry, citing only the old laws to get out of any incidents" "I beg of you, do not make the mistakes I have made, let them talk. For when they stop speaking everything dies"	Ulzin watched the small blue, green, and white planet grow in his monitor. Radio waves from the planet called Earth had been picked up during their search through the void for a planet to colonize, and the dreadnaught Crakzien had immediately changed course to take the inhabited world. Ulzin had been monitoring these transmissions for the last dozen ‘years’ as the humans called them. The concept was foreign to a ship-born like himself, but his generation of Khexziun would be the one to finally colonize this Earth, and Ulzin wanted to know the specifics of planetary living by the time they touched down. The humans would make a great labor force. Several centuries prior, the humans would have been too primitive for anything besides menial labor, and a century ago, they might have been a threat. The timing seemed too perfect that just as the dreadnaught approached, the humans had abandoned their warlike tendencies to peacefully coexist. Ulzin had seen some transmissions of what seemed to be war propaganda, but further investigation revealed this to be a form of entertainment. In recent years, these had become increasingly unflattering in their depiction of combat, reflecting the similarly increasing pacifist tendencies among the humans. In the last century, during their Great War spanning thirty years, the humans had advanced their technology purely to kill each other. They learned to fly so they could drop bombs on each other, the learned to traverse the depths, only to better drag eachother below the waves. So great and terrible was their war that when peace was finally attained, they never let it go. Even the two great nations of the humans could not bring themselves to fight, so they competed instead. They raced to the stars, and when smaller nations would fight, these two would intervene. They formed Treaties and Pacts, and while their depictions of war and the weapons they would dream up would seem increasingly destructive, they would instead use these discoveries to create energy and further explore the nature of reality. And so, Ulzin thought, these humans would make the perfect slave race. So terrified of violence, they would need to make some kind of deal before the might of the Khexziun. The Humans knew they were coming. They possessed several orbital telescopes and monitored the celestial bodies in their system consistently, and after Ulzin detected some form of communication detailing the approach of an unnatural object, he sent his own message in the human language declaring their imminent arrival and the impending takeover. Knowing the diplomatic nature of the humans, he made sure to include an offer to negotiate. All that was left now was to wait until they took the bait. The little colorful ball grew in size on his screen, and Ulzin watched the system’s star as it was eclipsed by the little world, the place he would soon call home. Earzian would be a good name, one that honored the name given by its original inhabitants, Ulzin thought. A flash. A bright blinding light filled his screen as the star returned to foreground. Ulzin was stunned. The star? Impossible, that couldn’t… Ulzin had seen flashes like these before. In the transmissions the humans had leaked out, there were tests of weapons like this. They hadn’t detonated one in decades though! The research was abandoned for peace! At least, that is what Ulzin and the Khexziun had concluded. Ulzin’s mind raced, he reconsidered the possibilities. The competitiveness, the smaller wars, the violent entertainment… Humanity hadn’t ceased their violent ways out of some newfound sense of compassion, it was survival. Humanity couldn’t survive another total war, so they sharpened their fangs, crouched low and waited for new prey. Prey such as the Crakzien. Ulzin sat in silence as alarms blared and Khexziun hurried to battlestations. Another flash on his screen matched the violent shaking of the hull, and all Ulzin could do was sit. Their fangs were indeed sharp, and humanity was going in for the kill. EDIT: Formatting
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	We knew humans were weak. There wasn’t any possible doubt, as their military fleet was almost inexistant, and had for sole purpose to protect their ships against pirates. They only focused on diplomacy, and seemed to see any threat toward their world as a joke, saying that only a mad leader would declare war against another space empire. With all those signs, it wasn’t much a surprise when the Nexelion’s empire declared war on humanity. What was surprising however, was human’s plea to end this conflict immediately, else they would use the power of mutually assured destruction. None of us understood what they meant back then, and assumed it as an empty threat. War against humanity began as easily as the Nexilions had imagined, but as their campagne progressed, report of humanity abandoning their world to flee on untraceable ships began to multiply. Then, the first human ship crashed into a Nexilion’s planet, soon followed by dozens of identical ships. Those empty husk, only designed to transcend the speed of light were humanity backing of their claim, as a simple strike erased planets and their armada from existence, and for the first time, all empires felt fear facing an unblockable strike that would instantly erase a civilization. The Nexilion empire was reduced in a day to a couple of isolated planets, incapable of subsisting on their own. This, young ones, is the history of our lost empire, and the reason diplomacy became so important trough the galaxies, as no one want to share the fate of our people, the Nexilions. As for the humans, they are still out there, on their world ships, an invisible threat that almost devastated galaxies trough their of power	The sky burns. The ocean boils. The earth cracks and spikes towards the heavens. Earth is dying. Civilization fell. But you still breathe, so you will fight to the bitter end. You’re standing on a precipice, below is an army of fresh eating monsters stretched into the red horizon. Fields: Invaders from the nether realm. Dead set on the destruction of all life. They are legions. You are one. You like those odds. In your hands is a double barrel shotgun. In your holsters are a pair of silver magnums. Your back carries a machine gun and a rocket launcher. None have bullets. They are unnecessary. Dead weight. Rage is all you need. Their rage gives you strength. Their souls feed your weapons. Your bottomless rage shall spell their doom. You cock your shotgun. Its metallic clang sounds like heavenly trumpets. “Fiend Butcher!” A voice roars like thunder and yellow embers gather in the sky, creating the face of your greatest foe. “You have done well to come this far, mortal! Lay down your arms and face death, or I—The Great Usurper—shall torture your soul for all eternity!” You narrow your eyes and gaze at a giant cathedral in the distance. He is there, you can feel it in your blood. “I’m coming for you,” you say in calm guise as you blast the projection. “Fool! You sealed your fate!” the enemy says and fades away. The army below comes alive with war-cries and growlings. You leap down. Your mighty boot stomps on a field’s head, bursting it like watermelons. You aim your double barrel steel at its friends, and with a single squeeze, BOOM! three fiends explode into bloody gibs. “SKREEEK!” A tiger-shaped fiend leaps at you. You hold your shotgun like a baseball bat and smack its head towards the sky. You reach for your magnums and unload on the monster’s soft belly. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! The tiger fiend’s intestines burst, as you feel hot blood pouring on you. The red liquid gets absorbed into your weapons and the enemy’s screeching soul heals your torn muscles. You switch to the machine gun and dash into the frey of teeth and claws. Each fiend you slaughter makes you faster, stronger, and more determined. You cut through the army from hell like hot blades, weaving your way to the Usurper’s throne while killing as many foes as your two arms allow. But try as you may, there is only so much genocide one can accomplish. But you’re not worried. No. For even if they are legion and you are one… you can hear metallic thunder booming in the distant sky. Not one, not two, but many… You can feel it in your blood that you’re no longer fighting this war alone. There are others, and they are just as vengeful as you. Good. They are legions, but you are many. You like those odds. You switch to your locket launcher, and use it to launch yourself across the crimson sky like a raging meteor. “I’m coming for you… and I’m not alone.” For the first time in years, you crack a smile and laugh.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	My kind has always seen violence as a pragmatic tool to get our ends. We don't indulge in violence out of any primitive instinct; we have long since killed those. To us, whom the humans call the Amphitilians - to note that we can exist in more forms of matter than they can, "war" has a been way to resolve in unresolvable. We have known of the humans for almost 100 Terran years, a period that we understand is less than half a generation to the humans of this time. The humans we have seen across their tiny colonies and mining belts were not warriors - there seemed to be no warriors across the sectors of space they had infested. We warned them for long to not come inside the boundary that our kind has controlled for as long as we can remember, but yet little seemingly unaffiliated groups of humans kept infesting every corner they could. And before long they created a network amongst themselves, infesting tactfully and with coordination across half a sector. At first, they were little more than an eyesore but within a decade they became an inconvenience in every outer area controlled. And so we did what we felt we must, we attacked them interplanetary ballistics and sent clean-up crews to their illegal mining colonies. At first, we crushed them without much resistance. The humans were poorly armed and had no training. But soon, we started encountering violent, out-of-control rag-tag groups and mobs. Suicide bombers, Stealth fighters, child soldiers - these are merely the surface of the horrific lengths this species was capable of. But that was just the beginning. What we didn't understand was that our infestation problem was an unauthorized migration of errant human groups and colony ships. But when their federations learned of what we were doing to exterminate humans across our sector - they did not take it kindly. "Total War" protocol was engaged by their federations against the Amphitilians across our entire sector. Their warriors were armed to the teeth, hidden inside mechanical constructions and energy weapons that were out of our league. And not to mention they outnumbered us ten to one, their warriors to our entire population. Their warriors were creatures of horror, that indulged in pain to satisfy their blood rage. Each of them proudly boasted a kill count, some even keep tokens of our kind they killed. Humans were no weak infestation. They are a threat to this entire galaxy. No, they are a threat to every type of civilized life out there. They do not negotiate, they do not honor their word, and they are not creatures of sanity. I send this message, not in the hope that we may somehow save our species. It is too late for us. There are less than a few million of us left now, limited to just one planet and its two moons. We will not live to tell our tale for another decade. So for anyone that might receive this message, be warned of the humans. Do not underestimate them, do not let them find you. And if you find yourself invaded by this hostile species, just run. If you run, you may avoid our fate. It is better to live somewhere than die protecting mere rock and space. Let our fate be a warning and a beacon. Do not mess with the humans. Hide from them. Run from them. Lie to them. But do not engage them in violence.	The sky burns. The ocean boils. The earth cracks and spikes towards the heavens. Earth is dying. Civilization fell. But you still breathe, so you will fight to the bitter end. You’re standing on a precipice, below is an army of fresh eating monsters stretched into the red horizon. Fields: Invaders from the nether realm. Dead set on the destruction of all life. They are legions. You are one. You like those odds. In your hands is a double barrel shotgun. In your holsters are a pair of silver magnums. Your back carries a machine gun and a rocket launcher. None have bullets. They are unnecessary. Dead weight. Rage is all you need. Their rage gives you strength. Their souls feed your weapons. Your bottomless rage shall spell their doom. You cock your shotgun. Its metallic clang sounds like heavenly trumpets. “Fiend Butcher!” A voice roars like thunder and yellow embers gather in the sky, creating the face of your greatest foe. “You have done well to come this far, mortal! Lay down your arms and face death, or I—The Great Usurper—shall torture your soul for all eternity!” You narrow your eyes and gaze at a giant cathedral in the distance. He is there, you can feel it in your blood. “I’m coming for you,” you say in calm guise as you blast the projection. “Fool! You sealed your fate!” the enemy says and fades away. The army below comes alive with war-cries and growlings. You leap down. Your mighty boot stomps on a field’s head, bursting it like watermelons. You aim your double barrel steel at its friends, and with a single squeeze, BOOM! three fiends explode into bloody gibs. “SKREEEK!” A tiger-shaped fiend leaps at you. You hold your shotgun like a baseball bat and smack its head towards the sky. You reach for your magnums and unload on the monster’s soft belly. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! The tiger fiend’s intestines burst, as you feel hot blood pouring on you. The red liquid gets absorbed into your weapons and the enemy’s screeching soul heals your torn muscles. You switch to the machine gun and dash into the frey of teeth and claws. Each fiend you slaughter makes you faster, stronger, and more determined. You cut through the army from hell like hot blades, weaving your way to the Usurper’s throne while killing as many foes as your two arms allow. But try as you may, there is only so much genocide one can accomplish. But you’re not worried. No. For even if they are legion and you are one… you can hear metallic thunder booming in the distant sky. Not one, not two, but many… You can feel it in your blood that you’re no longer fighting this war alone. There are others, and they are just as vengeful as you. Good. They are legions, but you are many. You like those odds. You switch to your locket launcher, and use it to launch yourself across the crimson sky like a raging meteor. “I’m coming for you… and I’m not alone.” For the first time in years, you crack a smile and laugh.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	We ravaged our planet with war. Nuclear weapons once turned our planet into a desert hellscape and we killed each other for shiny rocks and imaginary lines. When it was all said and done, and it was time to rebuild, we vowed to learn from the mistakes of our ancestors. We came together, no ideology worth another’s life. We grew our numbers, scrapped old technology and invented better ones. But old habits die hard. We knew we were peaceful, but when we found alien species amongst the stars, we knew not everyone would have learned the lessons we did a millennia before. We grew our Arsenal, and vowed never to use it unless absolutely necessary. No ideology was worth another’s life. Then, the Akshara arrived. A race of hulking creatures that took what they wanted when they wanted. We did not mind and told them they could have any planet not colonized by humans. We gave an inch, they took their mile. They took the planets closest to every human colony we laid down. Until the day came, until war came. They fired the first shot, or first thousand shots. They attacked every planet at once, a carefully planned engagement. That day, we decided we would be peaceful, and so would the rest of the galaxy. We used a quarter of our stockpiled technology, ships, and weapons, wiping out every ship near us first in 10 days. In 7 days, we bombarded every planet they occupied near ours. Every building, ship yard, house and school. Every trench, mess hall and bunker they had. We had terraforming technology to fix the planets, and we didn’t stop until every single Akshara was dead within 3 light years. In 3 days, we moved to their home worlds and did the same. We recorded everything and sent it in every direction across the galaxy. Today the galaxy would learn, we are peaceful. We are not harmless.	The sky burns. The ocean boils. The earth cracks and spikes towards the heavens. Earth is dying. Civilization fell. But you still breathe, so you will fight to the bitter end. You’re standing on a precipice, below is an army of fresh eating monsters stretched into the red horizon. Fields: Invaders from the nether realm. Dead set on the destruction of all life. They are legions. You are one. You like those odds. In your hands is a double barrel shotgun. In your holsters are a pair of silver magnums. Your back carries a machine gun and a rocket launcher. None have bullets. They are unnecessary. Dead weight. Rage is all you need. Their rage gives you strength. Their souls feed your weapons. Your bottomless rage shall spell their doom. You cock your shotgun. Its metallic clang sounds like heavenly trumpets. “Fiend Butcher!” A voice roars like thunder and yellow embers gather in the sky, creating the face of your greatest foe. “You have done well to come this far, mortal! Lay down your arms and face death, or I—The Great Usurper—shall torture your soul for all eternity!” You narrow your eyes and gaze at a giant cathedral in the distance. He is there, you can feel it in your blood. “I’m coming for you,” you say in calm guise as you blast the projection. “Fool! You sealed your fate!” the enemy says and fades away. The army below comes alive with war-cries and growlings. You leap down. Your mighty boot stomps on a field’s head, bursting it like watermelons. You aim your double barrel steel at its friends, and with a single squeeze, BOOM! three fiends explode into bloody gibs. “SKREEEK!” A tiger-shaped fiend leaps at you. You hold your shotgun like a baseball bat and smack its head towards the sky. You reach for your magnums and unload on the monster’s soft belly. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! The tiger fiend’s intestines burst, as you feel hot blood pouring on you. The red liquid gets absorbed into your weapons and the enemy’s screeching soul heals your torn muscles. You switch to the machine gun and dash into the frey of teeth and claws. Each fiend you slaughter makes you faster, stronger, and more determined. You cut through the army from hell like hot blades, weaving your way to the Usurper’s throne while killing as many foes as your two arms allow. But try as you may, there is only so much genocide one can accomplish. But you’re not worried. No. For even if they are legion and you are one… you can hear metallic thunder booming in the distant sky. Not one, not two, but many… You can feel it in your blood that you’re no longer fighting this war alone. There are others, and they are just as vengeful as you. Good. They are legions, but you are many. You like those odds. You switch to your locket launcher, and use it to launch yourself across the crimson sky like a raging meteor. “I’m coming for you… and I’m not alone.” For the first time in years, you crack a smile and laugh.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	The invasion was fast. Very fast. In only a few cycles, every single human planet had been subjugated by the so called Galactic Empire. Hundreds of billions of humans were enslaved, families torn apart, monuments destroyed. The emperor was very happy. How had no other civilizations noticed that the humans lacked a proper military? That their economical empire was weak, and open to invasion? With minimal losses, the biggest organization in the galaxy had been taken down. Oh, they tried to talk their way out of it. They tried to reach an agreement, a contract, they tried to bribe them. The emperor had felt insulted when he was presented with those offers. And so he had conquered them. But then, something started happening. Humans did not have any communication among them, spread through thousands of worlds, all under the Empire’s control, they could not possibly organize an effective resistance. And yet, in every single planet, small groups were attacking docking stations, refueling facilities, repair stations. All of the infrastructure was being destroyed by completely independent groups. The humans called it “guerrilla”. If the Galactic Empire sent resources to stop these guerrilla groups in one planet, three other planets would start attacking the weakened forces. And so it was that the empire realized that it was doomed. The harder they tried to force the humans into submission, the harder they fought back. It was almost like they knew they had nothing to loose, like that didn’t care about themselves, their families, or their planets. They only cared about destroying the oppressor. Not one battle was fought. There were no epic stories to be told. No super weapons, no incredible tactics. There was no propaganda, no martyrs, no grand objectives. And yet, the Galactic Empire was absolutely destroyed. The invasion had been fast. But the counter attack was slow, and bloody. In the end, a small group of humans managed to infiltrate the emperor’s ship and shoot him in the head before anyone noticed. They were killed almost instantly by the guards, but it was too late. Humanity reclaimed every single one of its planets, plus all of the planets under the Galactic Empire’s control that didn’t belong to enslaved civilizations. They sold the empire’s ships to rebuild their economy and become and even stronger force than they had ever been. When the dust settled, humanity was stronger than it had ever been, and the Galactic Empire had been absolutely obliterated. So it was that the rest of the galaxy understood the saying, “I fear nothing, but the anger of a gentle man”	The sky burns. The ocean boils. The earth cracks and spikes towards the heavens. Earth is dying. Civilization fell. But you still breathe, so you will fight to the bitter end. You’re standing on a precipice, below is an army of fresh eating monsters stretched into the red horizon. Fields: Invaders from the nether realm. Dead set on the destruction of all life. They are legions. You are one. You like those odds. In your hands is a double barrel shotgun. In your holsters are a pair of silver magnums. Your back carries a machine gun and a rocket launcher. None have bullets. They are unnecessary. Dead weight. Rage is all you need. Their rage gives you strength. Their souls feed your weapons. Your bottomless rage shall spell their doom. You cock your shotgun. Its metallic clang sounds like heavenly trumpets. “Fiend Butcher!” A voice roars like thunder and yellow embers gather in the sky, creating the face of your greatest foe. “You have done well to come this far, mortal! Lay down your arms and face death, or I—The Great Usurper—shall torture your soul for all eternity!” You narrow your eyes and gaze at a giant cathedral in the distance. He is there, you can feel it in your blood. “I’m coming for you,” you say in calm guise as you blast the projection. “Fool! You sealed your fate!” the enemy says and fades away. The army below comes alive with war-cries and growlings. You leap down. Your mighty boot stomps on a field’s head, bursting it like watermelons. You aim your double barrel steel at its friends, and with a single squeeze, BOOM! three fiends explode into bloody gibs. “SKREEEK!” A tiger-shaped fiend leaps at you. You hold your shotgun like a baseball bat and smack its head towards the sky. You reach for your magnums and unload on the monster’s soft belly. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! The tiger fiend’s intestines burst, as you feel hot blood pouring on you. The red liquid gets absorbed into your weapons and the enemy’s screeching soul heals your torn muscles. You switch to the machine gun and dash into the frey of teeth and claws. Each fiend you slaughter makes you faster, stronger, and more determined. You cut through the army from hell like hot blades, weaving your way to the Usurper’s throne while killing as many foes as your two arms allow. But try as you may, there is only so much genocide one can accomplish. But you’re not worried. No. For even if they are legion and you are one… you can hear metallic thunder booming in the distant sky. Not one, not two, but many… You can feel it in your blood that you’re no longer fighting this war alone. There are others, and they are just as vengeful as you. Good. They are legions, but you are many. You like those odds. You switch to your locket launcher, and use it to launch yourself across the crimson sky like a raging meteor. “I’m coming for you… and I’m not alone.” For the first time in years, you crack a smile and laugh.
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	It was strange. A civilisation which lacked war. Which sought out peace. Which endeavoured to save sentient life, to ensure conflicts were focused solely on the soldiers, the warrior class. The humans behaved in this manner. They treated war as a elaborate facade, to be regulated and controlled by pacts and laws and rules. Bizarre, but we had made common cause with stranger species. It was only when we encountered outpost 371 that we understood the intent of these rules. Outpost 371, a place that still causes the shaking of mandibles and the quivering of antennae. On outpost 371, we encountered the confederacy. Humans, biologically identical to the ones we had met before. Some lost colony, sent out before humanity had met us. Our scientists couldn’t understand how similar these creatures were. Because These humans lacked rules. Lacked empathy. In their first foray, they butchered an entire colony, burning nests without hesitation, slaughtering warriors and workers in equal measure. There were no calls for diplomacy from these humans. No asks for peace. Only barbarity. We counter attacked, only to find scenes out of our nightmares. Eggs cracked open for some horrendous ritual feeding called “breakfast”. Irreplaceable artwork crushed under leather clothes human boots. It was then that we learned the bizarre rules of the humans were not there to control us. No, they were intended to protect us, to prevent the darker elements of humanity from being used on intelligent species.	The sky burns. The ocean boils. The earth cracks and spikes towards the heavens. Earth is dying. Civilization fell. But you still breathe, so you will fight to the bitter end. You’re standing on a precipice, below is an army of fresh eating monsters stretched into the red horizon. Fields: Invaders from the nether realm. Dead set on the destruction of all life. They are legions. You are one. You like those odds. In your hands is a double barrel shotgun. In your holsters are a pair of silver magnums. Your back carries a machine gun and a rocket launcher. None have bullets. They are unnecessary. Dead weight. Rage is all you need. Their rage gives you strength. Their souls feed your weapons. Your bottomless rage shall spell their doom. You cock your shotgun. Its metallic clang sounds like heavenly trumpets. “Fiend Butcher!” A voice roars like thunder and yellow embers gather in the sky, creating the face of your greatest foe. “You have done well to come this far, mortal! Lay down your arms and face death, or I—The Great Usurper—shall torture your soul for all eternity!” You narrow your eyes and gaze at a giant cathedral in the distance. He is there, you can feel it in your blood. “I’m coming for you,” you say in calm guise as you blast the projection. “Fool! You sealed your fate!” the enemy says and fades away. The army below comes alive with war-cries and growlings. You leap down. Your mighty boot stomps on a field’s head, bursting it like watermelons. You aim your double barrel steel at its friends, and with a single squeeze, BOOM! three fiends explode into bloody gibs. “SKREEEK!” A tiger-shaped fiend leaps at you. You hold your shotgun like a baseball bat and smack its head towards the sky. You reach for your magnums and unload on the monster’s soft belly. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! The tiger fiend’s intestines burst, as you feel hot blood pouring on you. The red liquid gets absorbed into your weapons and the enemy’s screeching soul heals your torn muscles. You switch to the machine gun and dash into the frey of teeth and claws. Each fiend you slaughter makes you faster, stronger, and more determined. You cut through the army from hell like hot blades, weaving your way to the Usurper’s throne while killing as many foes as your two arms allow. But try as you may, there is only so much genocide one can accomplish. But you’re not worried. No. For even if they are legion and you are one… you can hear metallic thunder booming in the distant sky. Not one, not two, but many… You can feel it in your blood that you’re no longer fighting this war alone. There are others, and they are just as vengeful as you. Good. They are legions, but you are many. You like those odds. You switch to your locket launcher, and use it to launch yourself across the crimson sky like a raging meteor. “I’m coming for you… and I’m not alone.” For the first time in years, you crack a smile and laugh.

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