post_text stringlengths 0 10k | post_title stringlengths 8 313 | chosen stringlengths 1 39.5k | rejected stringlengths 1 13.8k |
|---|---|---|---|
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | I and he, battled we,
but not did we, fore-see
For I and he, equally
strengthfully, dueling,
"Carnegie", the name of me,
befitted we, archnemeses.
As I and he, took all of we,
to the sea, for fighting we,
I went and flee'd, when he punched me...
And we made be, a tsunami.
A town or three, wiped out complete,
so I decreed, balls fiery,
to go at he, but he doused three.
The rest (three), came unto thee.
I'm so sorry, but R I P. | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | A crushing silence engulfs the landscape. The roar of the fiercest devices of war leave a once verdant field a scarred, scorched, and battered wasteland.
From the smoldering earth littered with twisted steel, hot brass, charred bodies, and blood rises smoke that turns midday into midnight. The sheer absence of life is offensive to the senses.
From the dense smoke, two titans emerge. They are not titans by stature, but by the circumstances they have survived. Both wear uniforms torn and shredded in the fury of battle. Both have their faces caked with dirt and soot. Both have sustained serious injuries, but refuse to show any weakness to each other. Both have blood on their hands.
They are similar in more than just these ways. Both are sworn enemies of each other, but have never met the other in their lives. Both are trained to kill every conceivable adversary on the battlefield in every possible way, but both refrain from combat for the first time in years of unending conflict they have endured. Time stands still as they look at their opponent, but only see a reflection of themselves.
For an instant, there is understanding between the titans. They can see that they are both insignificant cogs in opposing war machines. They can see that they were never meant to meet, only to kill one another or be killed. Each of these titans fights the same war on a different side. A war they had no choice to be in. A war they don't understand.
Both titans turn away from each other and walk back into the smoke. There's no point in fighting a battle you've already lost.
| "You have defied me too long, Shorgen," the man draped in a golden cape made of astral matter, Gerolf the Wise, spat.
Gerolf the Wise was a short, fragile old man of pale skin tone. However, his attire was that of a God. His robes seem to be made of space itself, the aforementioned cape a sign of his enormous magical prowess.
Floating several hundred feet in the air opposite him was Gerolf the Pure's arch enemy, Shorgen.
Shorgen was a stocky man of 6'4, with battle-worn armor he had stolen from a Roman war general from his adventures in time. Enchanted, of course, with the finest magic across the universe, his armor glistened with sheer power.
"You and me both know we would destroy his planet with very little effort, and I've become quite accustomed to this little place. Shall w-" the over-talkative immortal began until a giant piece of rock slammed into his left shoulder, fracturing it and flying past him.
The enormous chunk of earth flew continuously for a few miles, flying towards an intricate building located in a large city of lights and tourist attractions, casting a large shadow.
Before the boulder landed, a large muscular arm made of pure energy formed and, coming from the open hand of Shorgen, a determined look on his face, grabbed it and smashed it in pieces which rained down on city but preserved the building.
"YOU TRIED TO SMASH THE LOUVRE?" Shorgen bellowed towards Gerolf, splitting the clouds in its wake.
A snigger rose on Gerolf's face, before a beam of light smashed into him, dragged him downwards, and sliced through the top of a mountain, his body in a free fall towards the ground. A smoke plume erupted from the spot he landed at.
As the smoke cleared, an inferno of fire and earth rocketed Shorgen through the atmosphere and sent him flying towards the moon.
As Shorgen landed on the dusty surface, he fired a long tendril of magic back through the atmosphere, ripping Gerolf from the clutches of Earth's gravity, He threw the ragdolled body of his arch enemy up through space, before smashing him with the moon that he previously sat on.
He flew through space, landing on the Red Planet. He picked up a small pebble from the Martian surface, and slung it at the speed of light towards Shorgen. It ripped his body apart, before being reformed quickly.
With his newly reformed body, he flew into Mars, a flaming fist forward. He smashed through the thin atmosphere and rocketed towards Gerolf.
Gerolf caught his fist, an enormous explosion resulted, frying out most of the atmosphere on impact and scorched the Martian ground.
He flung Shorgen over his shoulder, somewhere towards Saturn, before kicking Mars out of orbit to give him enough momentum to catch up.
He smashed into the surface of the Ringed Planet, looking around for Shorgen's smoke plume or any hints of his landing.
A large woosh of sound distracted Gerolf as he looked up to see the rings of Saturn shatter as Uranus smashed into the atmosphere.
The two planets crashed together, going on a collision course to the nearest astrological body.
Shorgen then flew to the planets colliding and spun them around in a circle before throwing them several light years away.
He dusted his hands off and spoke to himself, "That'll hold him for a few hours."
He turned and went to explore more of Earth's time line when he saw what had happened.
The Planet he had been aiming to protect was on a spiral off orbit and much of the solar system had been destroyed.
He sighed, "Second solar system this week."
----------------------------------------------------
Hope you enjoyed! Sorry for the length, I was bored with a little too much time on my hands.
Edit: Pardon any breaks in the laws of physics, etc. This story was made for entertainment purposes, not a scientific study.
Edit: This is my first time on r/WritingPrompts and typed this on a phone, any positive or negative feedback is appreciated!
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | "You have defied me too long, Shorgen," the man draped in a golden cape made of astral matter, Gerolf the Wise, spat.
Gerolf the Wise was a short, fragile old man of pale skin tone. However, his attire was that of a God. His robes seem to be made of space itself, the aforementioned cape a sign of his enormous magical prowess.
Floating several hundred feet in the air opposite him was Gerolf the Pure's arch enemy, Shorgen.
Shorgen was a stocky man of 6'4, with battle-worn armor he had stolen from a Roman war general from his adventures in time. Enchanted, of course, with the finest magic across the universe, his armor glistened with sheer power.
"You and me both know we would destroy his planet with very little effort, and I've become quite accustomed to this little place. Shall w-" the over-talkative immortal began until a giant piece of rock slammed into his left shoulder, fracturing it and flying past him.
The enormous chunk of earth flew continuously for a few miles, flying towards an intricate building located in a large city of lights and tourist attractions, casting a large shadow.
Before the boulder landed, a large muscular arm made of pure energy formed and, coming from the open hand of Shorgen, a determined look on his face, grabbed it and smashed it in pieces which rained down on city but preserved the building.
"YOU TRIED TO SMASH THE LOUVRE?" Shorgen bellowed towards Gerolf, splitting the clouds in its wake.
A snigger rose on Gerolf's face, before a beam of light smashed into him, dragged him downwards, and sliced through the top of a mountain, his body in a free fall towards the ground. A smoke plume erupted from the spot he landed at.
As the smoke cleared, an inferno of fire and earth rocketed Shorgen through the atmosphere and sent him flying towards the moon.
As Shorgen landed on the dusty surface, he fired a long tendril of magic back through the atmosphere, ripping Gerolf from the clutches of Earth's gravity, He threw the ragdolled body of his arch enemy up through space, before smashing him with the moon that he previously sat on.
He flew through space, landing on the Red Planet. He picked up a small pebble from the Martian surface, and slung it at the speed of light towards Shorgen. It ripped his body apart, before being reformed quickly.
With his newly reformed body, he flew into Mars, a flaming fist forward. He smashed through the thin atmosphere and rocketed towards Gerolf.
Gerolf caught his fist, an enormous explosion resulted, frying out most of the atmosphere on impact and scorched the Martian ground.
He flung Shorgen over his shoulder, somewhere towards Saturn, before kicking Mars out of orbit to give him enough momentum to catch up.
He smashed into the surface of the Ringed Planet, looking around for Shorgen's smoke plume or any hints of his landing.
A large woosh of sound distracted Gerolf as he looked up to see the rings of Saturn shatter as Uranus smashed into the atmosphere.
The two planets crashed together, going on a collision course to the nearest astrological body.
Shorgen then flew to the planets colliding and spun them around in a circle before throwing them several light years away.
He dusted his hands off and spoke to himself, "That'll hold him for a few hours."
He turned and went to explore more of Earth's time line when he saw what had happened.
The Planet he had been aiming to protect was on a spiral off orbit and much of the solar system had been destroyed.
He sighed, "Second solar system this week."
----------------------------------------------------
Hope you enjoyed! Sorry for the length, I was bored with a little too much time on my hands.
Edit: Pardon any breaks in the laws of physics, etc. This story was made for entertainment purposes, not a scientific study.
Edit: This is my first time on r/WritingPrompts and typed this on a phone, any positive or negative feedback is appreciated!
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | A crushing silence engulfs the landscape. The roar of the fiercest devices of war leave a once verdant field a scarred, scorched, and battered wasteland.
From the smoldering earth littered with twisted steel, hot brass, charred bodies, and blood rises smoke that turns midday into midnight. The sheer absence of life is offensive to the senses.
From the dense smoke, two titans emerge. They are not titans by stature, but by the circumstances they have survived. Both wear uniforms torn and shredded in the fury of battle. Both have their faces caked with dirt and soot. Both have sustained serious injuries, but refuse to show any weakness to each other. Both have blood on their hands.
They are similar in more than just these ways. Both are sworn enemies of each other, but have never met the other in their lives. Both are trained to kill every conceivable adversary on the battlefield in every possible way, but both refrain from combat for the first time in years of unending conflict they have endured. Time stands still as they look at their opponent, but only see a reflection of themselves.
For an instant, there is understanding between the titans. They can see that they are both insignificant cogs in opposing war machines. They can see that they were never meant to meet, only to kill one another or be killed. Each of these titans fights the same war on a different side. A war they had no choice to be in. A war they don't understand.
Both titans turn away from each other and walk back into the smoke. There's no point in fighting a battle you've already lost.
| *I definitely read this as "duet" and will write it as such. *
"Alright, come at me, Taylor, show me what you got," I snarled.
She was perfect. A pretty, blonde soprano who always got the descants in choirs, worshipped by tenors and basses alike. The popular crowd at school often compared us, saying that my soprano complemented hers perfectly--and oh, if only I was hot like her! We'd be so great as a team.
Taylor obviously took me as a threat once these murmurings circulated around the school. She'd put me down every time she could, trying to prove to the school that she was, in fact, the better soprano. I didn't think too much of it until our choir chose to perform "Think of Me" and we both intended to audition. That's when I took these insults personally and knew I had to fix it.
So the Sing-off was born. I planned to humiliate Taylor in front of the choir, proving once and for all that I was superior. No tricks, just my pure talent. As I faced her from the other side of the piano, I could feel the tension rising from the forty something choir members lurking around the corners of the room.
I began to sing up a scale, effortlessly turning on the high C and coming back down. Taylor sniffed haughtily before matching me, swamping each note with wide vibratos.
A few scales later, I tired of this little game and busted out my best pice: Mozart's Queen of the Night Aria. I executed the high F's without a struggle, much to her horror.
Her face turned a bright red (orange?) and she slammed her cup of olive oil on the piano.
The room fell to a hush as she stalked out of the room.
The last thing I heard was Taylor's faint muttering under her breath. I didn't pay too much attention but I know it was something about bad blood.
Who cares?
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | *I definitely read this as "duet" and will write it as such. *
"Alright, come at me, Taylor, show me what you got," I snarled.
She was perfect. A pretty, blonde soprano who always got the descants in choirs, worshipped by tenors and basses alike. The popular crowd at school often compared us, saying that my soprano complemented hers perfectly--and oh, if only I was hot like her! We'd be so great as a team.
Taylor obviously took me as a threat once these murmurings circulated around the school. She'd put me down every time she could, trying to prove to the school that she was, in fact, the better soprano. I didn't think too much of it until our choir chose to perform "Think of Me" and we both intended to audition. That's when I took these insults personally and knew I had to fix it.
So the Sing-off was born. I planned to humiliate Taylor in front of the choir, proving once and for all that I was superior. No tricks, just my pure talent. As I faced her from the other side of the piano, I could feel the tension rising from the forty something choir members lurking around the corners of the room.
I began to sing up a scale, effortlessly turning on the high C and coming back down. Taylor sniffed haughtily before matching me, swamping each note with wide vibratos.
A few scales later, I tired of this little game and busted out my best pice: Mozart's Queen of the Night Aria. I executed the high F's without a struggle, much to her horror.
Her face turned a bright red (orange?) and she slammed her cup of olive oil on the piano.
The room fell to a hush as she stalked out of the room.
The last thing I heard was Taylor's faint muttering under her breath. I didn't pay too much attention but I know it was something about bad blood.
Who cares?
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | A crushing silence engulfs the landscape. The roar of the fiercest devices of war leave a once verdant field a scarred, scorched, and battered wasteland.
From the smoldering earth littered with twisted steel, hot brass, charred bodies, and blood rises smoke that turns midday into midnight. The sheer absence of life is offensive to the senses.
From the dense smoke, two titans emerge. They are not titans by stature, but by the circumstances they have survived. Both wear uniforms torn and shredded in the fury of battle. Both have their faces caked with dirt and soot. Both have sustained serious injuries, but refuse to show any weakness to each other. Both have blood on their hands.
They are similar in more than just these ways. Both are sworn enemies of each other, but have never met the other in their lives. Both are trained to kill every conceivable adversary on the battlefield in every possible way, but both refrain from combat for the first time in years of unending conflict they have endured. Time stands still as they look at their opponent, but only see a reflection of themselves.
For an instant, there is understanding between the titans. They can see that they are both insignificant cogs in opposing war machines. They can see that they were never meant to meet, only to kill one another or be killed. Each of these titans fights the same war on a different side. A war they had no choice to be in. A war they don't understand.
Both titans turn away from each other and walk back into the smoke. There's no point in fighting a battle you've already lost.
| He stared at me as i drank my coffee.
It didnt bother me the first time i noticed it.
Soon it became clear he wanted something from me. So i stared back, looking for signs of his intentions.
"Your shirt" he said, intensifying his eyebrows.
I look down, back at him, and said "what of it?"
His nostrils flared and soon i realized i needed to ready myself for a fight.
The war alarm rang in the café and immediately the patrons folded their plates and drinks to prepare for the worst. At this point i could sense the strange man's power level. Why was he ready for a fight in the peaceful neighborhood. Im glad this establishment has the proper defense systems. I should refuse, really. All stare at me with the hologram slate in from of me asking if i wish to proceed "yes/no". Its my day off, (thats 500 earth hours) im most likely the strongest being in the universe, let alone some mesely vacation planet, so i dont have amything to prove fighting him. But, im curious what he wants from my shirt. So i accept his random duel.
The customers, employees, and managers alike have started retreating. The aura of impenetrable magic now fills the room. Nothing in the planar existences can destroy this from the inside. Until the duel is settled in agreement by all parties inside, it will not relent.
He lunges at me and the fight begins.
I forgot i didnt fold my coffee for later. A convention new to me since i had been on earth so long. I grabbed my cup with the splashes that nearly fell to the floor and drank it all in one go. Almost burned my tounge until i remembered i have to think of being fireproof to be fireproof.
Thats my power. If i think it, it must be.
Yet, none of my conjured idea have any affect on this man. I imagine a saber piercing his heart. The saber appears and lunges at him like i imagined, and as it touches him it begins to dissipate at impact. I imagine flames engulfing him, water drowing him, lightning zapping him, but this man doesnt even notice it all while swinging at me.
Im befuddled and can not solve this mystery. Not once has my powers failed me for eons.
I shuck, jive, twist, and dodge my way from his brutal attacks fearing that it is his touch that eliminates matter from existance. If that is the case i may be able to overload his power's threshold by spamming infinite suns unto him.
The black holes, quasars, white dwarfs and anomalies of matter have all been eradicated as if they do not exist by him.
I decide i am no match, so i copy myself and let him destroy that.
And just as i suspected, one touch, and gone.
"Phew" he said "that was really something huh?"
Somehow i had forgotten he could speak. His ferocity and carnal rage chasing me down led me to believe he was nothing but an instict driven monster.
"Sorry buddy, my bad, lets end this and get out of here" he sais
"What.... are you..." i asked slowly in shock of his turn around of personality.
"Oh, im sorry if i bothered you too much. Its just that my power is the power of focus. Nothing else exists but me and what i see. Im sorry but i just really liked the pattern of your shirt and it seems that i ruined it."
I look down to see that there was a coffee stain on my shirt. His last movement must have spilled the last drop off my cup as i was cloning myself. It hit my shirt and he was distracted by that? Weird.
"So, how could you stop suns with a power of focus?" I asked him
"It is an isolation of existance that forms around my matter. Until i care less about my intention or the subject of my attention changes, i would not relent until i touch it and it becomes a part of me. Anything outside my antimatter state of mind would revert into the universal energy. Other than that, iunno."
Weird... | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | He stared at me as i drank my coffee.
It didnt bother me the first time i noticed it.
Soon it became clear he wanted something from me. So i stared back, looking for signs of his intentions.
"Your shirt" he said, intensifying his eyebrows.
I look down, back at him, and said "what of it?"
His nostrils flared and soon i realized i needed to ready myself for a fight.
The war alarm rang in the café and immediately the patrons folded their plates and drinks to prepare for the worst. At this point i could sense the strange man's power level. Why was he ready for a fight in the peaceful neighborhood. Im glad this establishment has the proper defense systems. I should refuse, really. All stare at me with the hologram slate in from of me asking if i wish to proceed "yes/no". Its my day off, (thats 500 earth hours) im most likely the strongest being in the universe, let alone some mesely vacation planet, so i dont have amything to prove fighting him. But, im curious what he wants from my shirt. So i accept his random duel.
The customers, employees, and managers alike have started retreating. The aura of impenetrable magic now fills the room. Nothing in the planar existences can destroy this from the inside. Until the duel is settled in agreement by all parties inside, it will not relent.
He lunges at me and the fight begins.
I forgot i didnt fold my coffee for later. A convention new to me since i had been on earth so long. I grabbed my cup with the splashes that nearly fell to the floor and drank it all in one go. Almost burned my tounge until i remembered i have to think of being fireproof to be fireproof.
Thats my power. If i think it, it must be.
Yet, none of my conjured idea have any affect on this man. I imagine a saber piercing his heart. The saber appears and lunges at him like i imagined, and as it touches him it begins to dissipate at impact. I imagine flames engulfing him, water drowing him, lightning zapping him, but this man doesnt even notice it all while swinging at me.
Im befuddled and can not solve this mystery. Not once has my powers failed me for eons.
I shuck, jive, twist, and dodge my way from his brutal attacks fearing that it is his touch that eliminates matter from existance. If that is the case i may be able to overload his power's threshold by spamming infinite suns unto him.
The black holes, quasars, white dwarfs and anomalies of matter have all been eradicated as if they do not exist by him.
I decide i am no match, so i copy myself and let him destroy that.
And just as i suspected, one touch, and gone.
"Phew" he said "that was really something huh?"
Somehow i had forgotten he could speak. His ferocity and carnal rage chasing me down led me to believe he was nothing but an instict driven monster.
"Sorry buddy, my bad, lets end this and get out of here" he sais
"What.... are you..." i asked slowly in shock of his turn around of personality.
"Oh, im sorry if i bothered you too much. Its just that my power is the power of focus. Nothing else exists but me and what i see. Im sorry but i just really liked the pattern of your shirt and it seems that i ruined it."
I look down to see that there was a coffee stain on my shirt. His last movement must have spilled the last drop off my cup as i was cloning myself. It hit my shirt and he was distracted by that? Weird.
"So, how could you stop suns with a power of focus?" I asked him
"It is an isolation of existance that forms around my matter. Until i care less about my intention or the subject of my attention changes, i would not relent until i touch it and it becomes a part of me. Anything outside my antimatter state of mind would revert into the universal energy. Other than that, iunno."
Weird... | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | "This is beyond what I imagined our clash would become."
"You think? I hadn't noticed after passing the scope of reality viewable by organic life forms. Oh, wait! I think I had an inkling after you attacked me with the concept of pain and I countered with suffering." His nemesis ended with a scoff.
"Are you done complaining or are you absorbing the abstract and annoying concept of sarcasm?"
"Let's see... Hmmm..."
"Looks its not my fault we're where we are now." If his enemy could still perceive him with eyes, he'd dismiss the entire conflict with a shake of the head. His enemy didn't take this well.
"Oh? "Not my fault" he says. Well just so you fully understand, its thanks to you meddling in whatever it was I was doing, because you **somehow** destroyed the idea of my plan along our struggle to this point, we just became stronger and stronger and stronger. In fact, stregnth isn't even a point anymore! We don't even need to physically touch each other to fight! Just being around each other is all we need to do to battle!"
"Now now, no need to get angry." He shook his metaphorical head.
"Anger isn't even one billionth of what I feel! You know exactly how I feel! We don't have bodies, we don't have any kind of form! Just look at us!! We're soooooo far beyond our own realm that we're not just words on some assholes computer as they read us and the ass typing it out!!"
"Hey, come now, no need to get angry at the reader. And the writer's trying his best. I'm sorry, don't let... Whatever we are now get to you all. He's just himself.
"... I-I... I don't even think there's a thought or idea that can full express itself in any way of understanding that can describe how I feel about you."
"Welp, get ready because we're gonna be like this forever. Well for us. To all of you, as long as this post will exist."
"Oh joy." | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | Do you know why space appears black? The absence of light perhaps? Almost, but not quite.
The darkness that surrounds your galaxy is actually my shadow as I stand in defence of this universe of ours. Stood opposite me is he who wishes for the end of existence as we know it, clad in golden armour that shines brighter than anything comprehensible.
Giant, colossus, momentous. Words that could describe us. But in honesty, there hasn't yet been a definition that quite captures our scale or our conflict.
By force of thought, I will a thousand arms on to my being. They form in synchronisation, emerging from my back and ribs. Bound in black plate, crackling blue with an electric glow they each wield a thousand blades. Longswords, scimitars, katanas, zweihanders. I make my move and assault.
Faster than light itself I charge head-on. Hundreds of blades corrugate in front of me, forming a shield, while another many hundred lash and whip at his golden armour.
His reaction matches my movements. He grows metal tendrils from his spine that wrap around my assaulting blades, constricting and breaking many in half.
The resulting debris causes a great many alterations within the universe. Sharpened edges tear super massive black-holes within space, while sparks from the clashing of metals form solar systems and galaxies.
Our struggle continues, as giant claws erupt from his chest, attempting to pry open the swords guarding my abdomen. He is strong. Just as he is about to shatter open my defence, I flourish my blades in to a parry. Slicing in half many of his claws and releasing myself from his golden, cybernetic tentacles.
We knocked each other away and clumsily tumbled back. The resulting fall creates solar tornadoes that will now blast through space eternally, destroying solar systems in their wake.
I revert to six arms now, wishing away what's left of my previous Nine-hundred and Ninety-four in favour of these larger, titanic limbs. As I lift myself up I see that he's throwing galaxies towards me: Hoag's object, Pinwheel Galaxy, Whirlpool, Boad's Galaxy. They hurtle towards me like sharpened shurikens. My many eyes witness the birth of these galaxies. Each a Tredecillion stars popping in to existence, with a Quindecillion planets and a Centillion lives. On some planets, civilisations are built and razed and built again over what you might perceive to be a millennia.
I shouldn't have thought about those lives. In that split second, I could have defended myself, but I was distracted. Pinwheel and Hoag's Object burst on my chest, piercing my armour. Whirlpool slices through two of my left arms.
I manage to catch Boad's Galaxy in one of my right hands as I stand up. I follow its trajectory and spin around three-hundred and sixty degrees and toss it back at him. He didn't move quickly enough. The galaxy whizzes towards his leg, cleaving through his thigh and ripping out through the other side.
We're paralysed for as long as we will it, and then our skirmish will begin again.
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "You cannot defeat me, fool" He said. The ground erupted rising as the tectonic plates beneath us were shattered and ripped from the ground.
"I can definitely try though." I whispered telepathically into his head. I concentrated all of the Earth's atmosphere into a tight ball of pressure 1 meter wide and dumped the mini-black hole on his head.
"Hahahahaha nice try" He snapped his fingers sending it spiraling into another galaxy.
At this point the earth had crumbled under the spacial distortion and he was lobbing fragments of earth's molten core at me as if it was going to do anything.
I pull 20 moons from Jupiter firing them at him rapidly like a machine gun. He blocked them with Venus.
"Lets raise the stakes a bit girlie and skip the sun" He started collapsing the Milky Way Galaxy in on us.
I decided I was going to end this quickly. The longer this took, the more of a hassle it was going to be to reanimate everyone and put all the planets and atoms back into their proper place. I started channeling my energies to shatter him among infinite dimensions when he reached out of the computer screen and a;kdj;flka;lnlew;;l;
kj;owijo;ibj;boibj;boijbojaknd c;nn
jfee
j
wje
j
jwe
ewj then he totally won the fight
q
q
wje
jqwj
ejqw
j
q
He got momentarily distracted by me deleting his name from the story. Long enough for me to hit the power butto | The first wave of my assault crashed into it's waves of fighters. Space boiled with antimatter detonations, xray laser blasts and decaying neutrino waves. My armada flew on, a massive fleet of ships. The smallest were a mere ten miles long. The largest were so large, that they had to be modularized, and kept from falling apart with magnetic fields under their own gravity. Fusion thrusters flared as the second enemy fighter wave approached. They were small ships, many of them less than nine hundred feet. But they were fast.
The remnants of the first wave lay crushed and dying. They (if it they truly were unique individuals) and not a hive mind as they claimed to no be, lay in the wreckage of my ships. The armada sailed through the wave, while the fighters valiantly tried to engage my starships.
Armor broke. Backup systems took over as primaries were destroyed on multiple ships. However, there were limits to how much matter that an xray laser could punch through. When you had critical system lined with several feet of depleted uranium and lead, lined with water to absorb and boil off the heat... and wrapped in multiple layers of anti emp shielding...there was a limit to how deep an xray laser could punch. Nuclear warheads of course gave massive shocks to the systems, and a few smaller members of the armada met their end in that way, however for the larger starships, shocks were mitigated by the magnetically locked armor modules. They behaved like giant springs, absorbing and mitigating the thunderous blasts.
One of the larger ships ploughed forward, on collision course with the planet these hateful singular entities had come from. No unity. No hive mind. They sent their swarms of fighters, but it was too late. The ship was carrying a full payload of antimatter, nearly two hundred tons. It dropped into the atmosphere, a burning star of hate, and then it was gone in a flash. The side of the planet erupted flinging matter and light across the entire spectrum from lowly radio all the way to gamma rays spaceward.
A massive wave of power swept across the face of the planet, a malevolent swirling cloud of destruction, destroying their cities, and their way of life.
I dropped out of simulation.
Congratulations Xien, you beat the game! The audience cheered. Nobody has killed all opponents off so fast! I looked at the human body count on screen. According to the simulation, with their planet gone, my armada had encircled their last few fleeing ships and killed them off. One by one. I looked out of the habitat, our civilization circled a dying star, and we would one day go the way of the humans I had destroyed so easily. Our deaths sadly wouldn't be anywhere near as quick and merciful. There was no one else. Unless we too were in a simulation. | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | It was a normal Tuesday as I sat on the cosmos watching her hurl gigantic planet after gigantic planet at me. Of course, she didn't actually hurl anything at all, it was Friday morning, and I was playing a charming human game called chess with Bill. As the evening light filtered in through the window, I could smell the aroma of the food from the bedroom. I frowned and sighed as the bare ground began to shake and vines erupted from it, attempting to swallow me whole.
"Stop avoiding me." She was behind me with crossed arms as I sat on the skyscraper, whistling to my own tune.
"Kind of hard to avoid Mother Nature." I tossed a rock from the cliff and frowned as it came right back in the form of a neutron star.
I flicked the neutron star away easily.
"Stop doing that," she growled.
"Hey, it's in my *nature*." I smirked as she rolled her eyes. "As soon as you stop hurling the cosmos at me I will stop bending time."
"No," said the little girl. | The first wave of my assault crashed into it's waves of fighters. Space boiled with antimatter detonations, xray laser blasts and decaying neutrino waves. My armada flew on, a massive fleet of ships. The smallest were a mere ten miles long. The largest were so large, that they had to be modularized, and kept from falling apart with magnetic fields under their own gravity. Fusion thrusters flared as the second enemy fighter wave approached. They were small ships, many of them less than nine hundred feet. But they were fast.
The remnants of the first wave lay crushed and dying. They (if it they truly were unique individuals) and not a hive mind as they claimed to no be, lay in the wreckage of my ships. The armada sailed through the wave, while the fighters valiantly tried to engage my starships.
Armor broke. Backup systems took over as primaries were destroyed on multiple ships. However, there were limits to how much matter that an xray laser could punch through. When you had critical system lined with several feet of depleted uranium and lead, lined with water to absorb and boil off the heat... and wrapped in multiple layers of anti emp shielding...there was a limit to how deep an xray laser could punch. Nuclear warheads of course gave massive shocks to the systems, and a few smaller members of the armada met their end in that way, however for the larger starships, shocks were mitigated by the magnetically locked armor modules. They behaved like giant springs, absorbing and mitigating the thunderous blasts.
One of the larger ships ploughed forward, on collision course with the planet these hateful singular entities had come from. No unity. No hive mind. They sent their swarms of fighters, but it was too late. The ship was carrying a full payload of antimatter, nearly two hundred tons. It dropped into the atmosphere, a burning star of hate, and then it was gone in a flash. The side of the planet erupted flinging matter and light across the entire spectrum from lowly radio all the way to gamma rays spaceward.
A massive wave of power swept across the face of the planet, a malevolent swirling cloud of destruction, destroying their cities, and their way of life.
I dropped out of simulation.
Congratulations Xien, you beat the game! The audience cheered. Nobody has killed all opponents off so fast! I looked at the human body count on screen. According to the simulation, with their planet gone, my armada had encircled their last few fleeing ships and killed them off. One by one. I looked out of the habitat, our civilization circled a dying star, and we would one day go the way of the humans I had destroyed so easily. Our deaths sadly wouldn't be anywhere near as quick and merciful. There was no one else. Unless we too were in a simulation. | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | A crushing silence engulfs the landscape. The roar of the fiercest devices of war leave a once verdant field a scarred, scorched, and battered wasteland.
From the smoldering earth littered with twisted steel, hot brass, charred bodies, and blood rises smoke that turns midday into midnight. The sheer absence of life is offensive to the senses.
From the dense smoke, two titans emerge. They are not titans by stature, but by the circumstances they have survived. Both wear uniforms torn and shredded in the fury of battle. Both have their faces caked with dirt and soot. Both have sustained serious injuries, but refuse to show any weakness to each other. Both have blood on their hands.
They are similar in more than just these ways. Both are sworn enemies of each other, but have never met the other in their lives. Both are trained to kill every conceivable adversary on the battlefield in every possible way, but both refrain from combat for the first time in years of unending conflict they have endured. Time stands still as they look at their opponent, but only see a reflection of themselves.
For an instant, there is understanding between the titans. They can see that they are both insignificant cogs in opposing war machines. They can see that they were never meant to meet, only to kill one another or be killed. Each of these titans fights the same war on a different side. A war they had no choice to be in. A war they don't understand.
Both titans turn away from each other and walk back into the smoke. There's no point in fighting a battle you've already lost.
| The first wave of my assault crashed into it's waves of fighters. Space boiled with antimatter detonations, xray laser blasts and decaying neutrino waves. My armada flew on, a massive fleet of ships. The smallest were a mere ten miles long. The largest were so large, that they had to be modularized, and kept from falling apart with magnetic fields under their own gravity. Fusion thrusters flared as the second enemy fighter wave approached. They were small ships, many of them less than nine hundred feet. But they were fast.
The remnants of the first wave lay crushed and dying. They (if it they truly were unique individuals) and not a hive mind as they claimed to no be, lay in the wreckage of my ships. The armada sailed through the wave, while the fighters valiantly tried to engage my starships.
Armor broke. Backup systems took over as primaries were destroyed on multiple ships. However, there were limits to how much matter that an xray laser could punch through. When you had critical system lined with several feet of depleted uranium and lead, lined with water to absorb and boil off the heat... and wrapped in multiple layers of anti emp shielding...there was a limit to how deep an xray laser could punch. Nuclear warheads of course gave massive shocks to the systems, and a few smaller members of the armada met their end in that way, however for the larger starships, shocks were mitigated by the magnetically locked armor modules. They behaved like giant springs, absorbing and mitigating the thunderous blasts.
One of the larger ships ploughed forward, on collision course with the planet these hateful singular entities had come from. No unity. No hive mind. They sent their swarms of fighters, but it was too late. The ship was carrying a full payload of antimatter, nearly two hundred tons. It dropped into the atmosphere, a burning star of hate, and then it was gone in a flash. The side of the planet erupted flinging matter and light across the entire spectrum from lowly radio all the way to gamma rays spaceward.
A massive wave of power swept across the face of the planet, a malevolent swirling cloud of destruction, destroying their cities, and their way of life.
I dropped out of simulation.
Congratulations Xien, you beat the game! The audience cheered. Nobody has killed all opponents off so fast! I looked at the human body count on screen. According to the simulation, with their planet gone, my armada had encircled their last few fleeing ships and killed them off. One by one. I looked out of the habitat, our civilization circled a dying star, and we would one day go the way of the humans I had destroyed so easily. Our deaths sadly wouldn't be anywhere near as quick and merciful. There was no one else. Unless we too were in a simulation. | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | The first wave of my assault crashed into it's waves of fighters. Space boiled with antimatter detonations, xray laser blasts and decaying neutrino waves. My armada flew on, a massive fleet of ships. The smallest were a mere ten miles long. The largest were so large, that they had to be modularized, and kept from falling apart with magnetic fields under their own gravity. Fusion thrusters flared as the second enemy fighter wave approached. They were small ships, many of them less than nine hundred feet. But they were fast.
The remnants of the first wave lay crushed and dying. They (if it they truly were unique individuals) and not a hive mind as they claimed to no be, lay in the wreckage of my ships. The armada sailed through the wave, while the fighters valiantly tried to engage my starships.
Armor broke. Backup systems took over as primaries were destroyed on multiple ships. However, there were limits to how much matter that an xray laser could punch through. When you had critical system lined with several feet of depleted uranium and lead, lined with water to absorb and boil off the heat... and wrapped in multiple layers of anti emp shielding...there was a limit to how deep an xray laser could punch. Nuclear warheads of course gave massive shocks to the systems, and a few smaller members of the armada met their end in that way, however for the larger starships, shocks were mitigated by the magnetically locked armor modules. They behaved like giant springs, absorbing and mitigating the thunderous blasts.
One of the larger ships ploughed forward, on collision course with the planet these hateful singular entities had come from. No unity. No hive mind. They sent their swarms of fighters, but it was too late. The ship was carrying a full payload of antimatter, nearly two hundred tons. It dropped into the atmosphere, a burning star of hate, and then it was gone in a flash. The side of the planet erupted flinging matter and light across the entire spectrum from lowly radio all the way to gamma rays spaceward.
A massive wave of power swept across the face of the planet, a malevolent swirling cloud of destruction, destroying their cities, and their way of life.
I dropped out of simulation.
Congratulations Xien, you beat the game! The audience cheered. Nobody has killed all opponents off so fast! I looked at the human body count on screen. According to the simulation, with their planet gone, my armada had encircled their last few fleeing ships and killed them off. One by one. I looked out of the habitat, our civilization circled a dying star, and we would one day go the way of the humans I had destroyed so easily. Our deaths sadly wouldn't be anywhere near as quick and merciful. There was no one else. Unless we too were in a simulation. | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "MUAHAHAHAHAHA! BEHOLD, MY DEATHBLOW!"
My blow slammed into my nemesis' tower, knocking it high into the air, and out of sight.
"Really?" She looked at me with disdain. "That's the best you've got?"
With a move so swift I didn't have time to react, she sent my horse flying.
"NOOOOOOOO! SHADEMANE!" I collapsed into sobs. "How could you!? You're a monster!"
She laughed cooly, "And proud of it, love."
Rage boiled up into my throat. The only sound I could hear was my blood rushing through my head. I spat at her. "You leave me no choice, foul enchantress!"
Me, defender of light, shining in brilliant white. Her, mother of evil, cloaked in shadows of darkest black. One move. White to black.
"Checkmate." | The first wave of my assault crashed into it's waves of fighters. Space boiled with antimatter detonations, xray laser blasts and decaying neutrino waves. My armada flew on, a massive fleet of ships. The smallest were a mere ten miles long. The largest were so large, that they had to be modularized, and kept from falling apart with magnetic fields under their own gravity. Fusion thrusters flared as the second enemy fighter wave approached. They were small ships, many of them less than nine hundred feet. But they were fast.
The remnants of the first wave lay crushed and dying. They (if it they truly were unique individuals) and not a hive mind as they claimed to no be, lay in the wreckage of my ships. The armada sailed through the wave, while the fighters valiantly tried to engage my starships.
Armor broke. Backup systems took over as primaries were destroyed on multiple ships. However, there were limits to how much matter that an xray laser could punch through. When you had critical system lined with several feet of depleted uranium and lead, lined with water to absorb and boil off the heat... and wrapped in multiple layers of anti emp shielding...there was a limit to how deep an xray laser could punch. Nuclear warheads of course gave massive shocks to the systems, and a few smaller members of the armada met their end in that way, however for the larger starships, shocks were mitigated by the magnetically locked armor modules. They behaved like giant springs, absorbing and mitigating the thunderous blasts.
One of the larger ships ploughed forward, on collision course with the planet these hateful singular entities had come from. No unity. No hive mind. They sent their swarms of fighters, but it was too late. The ship was carrying a full payload of antimatter, nearly two hundred tons. It dropped into the atmosphere, a burning star of hate, and then it was gone in a flash. The side of the planet erupted flinging matter and light across the entire spectrum from lowly radio all the way to gamma rays spaceward.
A massive wave of power swept across the face of the planet, a malevolent swirling cloud of destruction, destroying their cities, and their way of life.
I dropped out of simulation.
Congratulations Xien, you beat the game! The audience cheered. Nobody has killed all opponents off so fast! I looked at the human body count on screen. According to the simulation, with their planet gone, my armada had encircled their last few fleeing ships and killed them off. One by one. I looked out of the habitat, our civilization circled a dying star, and we would one day go the way of the humans I had destroyed so easily. Our deaths sadly wouldn't be anywhere near as quick and merciful. There was no one else. Unless we too were in a simulation. | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | It was a normal Tuesday as I sat on the cosmos watching her hurl gigantic planet after gigantic planet at me. Of course, she didn't actually hurl anything at all, it was Friday morning, and I was playing a charming human game called chess with Bill. As the evening light filtered in through the window, I could smell the aroma of the food from the bedroom. I frowned and sighed as the bare ground began to shake and vines erupted from it, attempting to swallow me whole.
"Stop avoiding me." She was behind me with crossed arms as I sat on the skyscraper, whistling to my own tune.
"Kind of hard to avoid Mother Nature." I tossed a rock from the cliff and frowned as it came right back in the form of a neutron star.
I flicked the neutron star away easily.
"Stop doing that," she growled.
"Hey, it's in my *nature*." I smirked as she rolled her eyes. "As soon as you stop hurling the cosmos at me I will stop bending time."
"No," said the little girl. | "Pikachu I choose you."
"Dude. Stop"
"No Red. I must defeat you and become the -"
"Im sorry my friend"
Red holstered his shotgun and walked back down the mountain.
"no one can stand in my way. Even you."
He shook his head. "Damn Pokémon battles, didn't even make sense anyway." | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | A crushing silence engulfs the landscape. The roar of the fiercest devices of war leave a once verdant field a scarred, scorched, and battered wasteland.
From the smoldering earth littered with twisted steel, hot brass, charred bodies, and blood rises smoke that turns midday into midnight. The sheer absence of life is offensive to the senses.
From the dense smoke, two titans emerge. They are not titans by stature, but by the circumstances they have survived. Both wear uniforms torn and shredded in the fury of battle. Both have their faces caked with dirt and soot. Both have sustained serious injuries, but refuse to show any weakness to each other. Both have blood on their hands.
They are similar in more than just these ways. Both are sworn enemies of each other, but have never met the other in their lives. Both are trained to kill every conceivable adversary on the battlefield in every possible way, but both refrain from combat for the first time in years of unending conflict they have endured. Time stands still as they look at their opponent, but only see a reflection of themselves.
For an instant, there is understanding between the titans. They can see that they are both insignificant cogs in opposing war machines. They can see that they were never meant to meet, only to kill one another or be killed. Each of these titans fights the same war on a different side. A war they had no choice to be in. A war they don't understand.
Both titans turn away from each other and walk back into the smoke. There's no point in fighting a battle you've already lost.
| "Pikachu I choose you."
"Dude. Stop"
"No Red. I must defeat you and become the -"
"Im sorry my friend"
Red holstered his shotgun and walked back down the mountain.
"no one can stand in my way. Even you."
He shook his head. "Damn Pokémon battles, didn't even make sense anyway." | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | "Pikachu I choose you."
"Dude. Stop"
"No Red. I must defeat you and become the -"
"Im sorry my friend"
Red holstered his shotgun and walked back down the mountain.
"no one can stand in my way. Even you."
He shook his head. "Damn Pokémon battles, didn't even make sense anyway." | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | A crushing silence engulfs the landscape. The roar of the fiercest devices of war leave a once verdant field a scarred, scorched, and battered wasteland.
From the smoldering earth littered with twisted steel, hot brass, charred bodies, and blood rises smoke that turns midday into midnight. The sheer absence of life is offensive to the senses.
From the dense smoke, two titans emerge. They are not titans by stature, but by the circumstances they have survived. Both wear uniforms torn and shredded in the fury of battle. Both have their faces caked with dirt and soot. Both have sustained serious injuries, but refuse to show any weakness to each other. Both have blood on their hands.
They are similar in more than just these ways. Both are sworn enemies of each other, but have never met the other in their lives. Both are trained to kill every conceivable adversary on the battlefield in every possible way, but both refrain from combat for the first time in years of unending conflict they have endured. Time stands still as they look at their opponent, but only see a reflection of themselves.
For an instant, there is understanding between the titans. They can see that they are both insignificant cogs in opposing war machines. They can see that they were never meant to meet, only to kill one another or be killed. Each of these titans fights the same war on a different side. A war they had no choice to be in. A war they don't understand.
Both titans turn away from each other and walk back into the smoke. There's no point in fighting a battle you've already lost.
| It was chaos.
The ground twisted and torn like a creature in it's death throws. Forests burned, oceans dried up, mountains crumbled away like sand in the wind. Pockets of life scrambled for shelter, but there was none. With every moment millions of lives met their end, and billions more were soon to follow.
The stars themselves dimmed. Planets collided with each other with such force, such *violence* pillars of fire spewed into space itself - the shock waves sliced through the stillness of the void and mutilated anything caught in it's path.
Such power even affected nature itself. Gravity loosened it's grip and sent the universe spinning into a blur. Light itself bent into all manner of bizarre contortions. The very fabric of time itself began to rip at the seams.
Two figures stared at each other across a dead land with cold eyes. Once the chaos settled, one spoke.
"Right. I think we are clear now. It's your turn to take a step." | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | It was chaos.
The ground twisted and torn like a creature in it's death throws. Forests burned, oceans dried up, mountains crumbled away like sand in the wind. Pockets of life scrambled for shelter, but there was none. With every moment millions of lives met their end, and billions more were soon to follow.
The stars themselves dimmed. Planets collided with each other with such force, such *violence* pillars of fire spewed into space itself - the shock waves sliced through the stillness of the void and mutilated anything caught in it's path.
Such power even affected nature itself. Gravity loosened it's grip and sent the universe spinning into a blur. Light itself bent into all manner of bizarre contortions. The very fabric of time itself began to rip at the seams.
Two figures stared at each other across a dead land with cold eyes. Once the chaos settled, one spoke.
"Right. I think we are clear now. It's your turn to take a step." | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | A crushing silence engulfs the landscape. The roar of the fiercest devices of war leave a once verdant field a scarred, scorched, and battered wasteland.
From the smoldering earth littered with twisted steel, hot brass, charred bodies, and blood rises smoke that turns midday into midnight. The sheer absence of life is offensive to the senses.
From the dense smoke, two titans emerge. They are not titans by stature, but by the circumstances they have survived. Both wear uniforms torn and shredded in the fury of battle. Both have their faces caked with dirt and soot. Both have sustained serious injuries, but refuse to show any weakness to each other. Both have blood on their hands.
They are similar in more than just these ways. Both are sworn enemies of each other, but have never met the other in their lives. Both are trained to kill every conceivable adversary on the battlefield in every possible way, but both refrain from combat for the first time in years of unending conflict they have endured. Time stands still as they look at their opponent, but only see a reflection of themselves.
For an instant, there is understanding between the titans. They can see that they are both insignificant cogs in opposing war machines. They can see that they were never meant to meet, only to kill one another or be killed. Each of these titans fights the same war on a different side. A war they had no choice to be in. A war they don't understand.
Both titans turn away from each other and walk back into the smoke. There's no point in fighting a battle you've already lost.
| Everything you do is mirrored by the other, so that's leaves you with one choice... Settle it; with a duel! You both whip out a phone and open Clash Royale and do a friendly battle. Four minutes later, something pops up on the screen. "Draw." You both walk away in disappointment. | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | Everything you do is mirrored by the other, so that's leaves you with one choice... Settle it; with a duel! You both whip out a phone and open Clash Royale and do a friendly battle. Four minutes later, something pops up on the screen. "Draw." You both walk away in disappointment. | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | A crushing silence engulfs the landscape. The roar of the fiercest devices of war leave a once verdant field a scarred, scorched, and battered wasteland.
From the smoldering earth littered with twisted steel, hot brass, charred bodies, and blood rises smoke that turns midday into midnight. The sheer absence of life is offensive to the senses.
From the dense smoke, two titans emerge. They are not titans by stature, but by the circumstances they have survived. Both wear uniforms torn and shredded in the fury of battle. Both have their faces caked with dirt and soot. Both have sustained serious injuries, but refuse to show any weakness to each other. Both have blood on their hands.
They are similar in more than just these ways. Both are sworn enemies of each other, but have never met the other in their lives. Both are trained to kill every conceivable adversary on the battlefield in every possible way, but both refrain from combat for the first time in years of unending conflict they have endured. Time stands still as they look at their opponent, but only see a reflection of themselves.
For an instant, there is understanding between the titans. They can see that they are both insignificant cogs in opposing war machines. They can see that they were never meant to meet, only to kill one another or be killed. Each of these titans fights the same war on a different side. A war they had no choice to be in. A war they don't understand.
Both titans turn away from each other and walk back into the smoke. There's no point in fighting a battle you've already lost.
| It was always something, some days it just felt better for both of us to admit we were wrong and go our own way, but we were always stubborn. This fight was no different, her eyes blazing with a passionate fire that burned from within, their gaze set on my own rage-filled gaze. It had started with the occasional prank, then a few yelling matches, then somewhere along the way we found minions to go to war for us, and before we knew it I was standing in the center of a ring of collapsing stars holding a steadily charging singularity while she was summoning forth a radiation storm from deep within her nuclear fueled body.
We glared, her eyes narrowing to slits as she scowled and shouted across the cosmos, "Say you're sorry and I'll forgive you.
The words only angered me, enraged me even, "You want me to apologize?! When you know exactly what you did?! I'll make sure the Universe forgets about you!"
With a gentle movement of my hand, the fully charged Singularity shot towards her glowing form, it's infinitesimally small glow rocketing faster than the eye could perceive straight in her direction. Then, just centimeters from her the singularity activated, pulling the cosmos in on itself, a few of the outlying stars and black holes pulling in towards the absence of space. Her hands began to glow with the power of a billion Neutron Bombs and with a single finger she shot a single ray of atomic energy at my chest, her 'Hadron Ray' as she called it to my utter loathing. The full blast struck my shield, our rage building until finally, the true fight began.
Her body shot towards mine, glowing fists ready for a strike as I pulled my sword from the very aether and readied myself. Shield up, fist exploding against the ancient metallic surface as a small nuclear explosion ignited just beneath her knuckles. My sword swung low at her knees, trying to unbalance her despite of our arena being little more than a patch of darkness on the far side of the Universe. The dark matter that made up my blade barely nicked my nemesises jeans, her eyes glowing even hotter as she pulled her legs up to dodge my attack, only to be met with a hard push of my shield. With a growl of furius rage her hand went through my shield as per her usual tactic of rearranging molecules, but before she could wrap her impossibly strong grip around my throat, I quickly summoned a small dark energy blast around my shield to send her back to hell.
As the blast pushed her back and almost into one of the black holes, she growled in frustration as she shouted, "Damn it, you know we'll never beat each other, Steve!"
"Then apologize and we'll call the matter closed!"
Her fist shot another full blast of atomic energy that burned away a large chunk of my shield and singed my cheek. My retaliation was a large javelin of dark matter slicing her bicep as she deftly dodged my attack, "How the hell was I supposed to know that you don't like Coconut?! I was ten!!"
The rage in my voice shook as my words seemed to reverberate against the black holes around us, "Chocolate! How hard is it to just make a simple CHOCOLATE CAKE?!"
"Uggh, this is why you will never find a girlfriend! All you have to do is forgive me for the cake and say you're sorry for ruining my date with Sandra," she shouted in answer to my retort while I contemplated trying to hit her with another Javelin. The mere mention of Sandra sent my eyes rolling in disdain, "Oh don't you bring up Sandra into this, we both know that she was coo-coo for coacoa puffs crazy and you weren't going to call her back. Hell, only reason you're mad about that is because my operatives blew up the restaraunt you were in and ruined that salad you were eating! Saved you from making a terrible mistake. Should've ordered the burger like I suggested."
"For the smartest person in the Universe with nearly limitless power, you're a real idiot, you know that?!"
Her hands shot two massive blasts of atomic energy at me, smashing against my barely recovering shield and creating a small star that lived for all of three seconds before dying and exploding in a supernova that sent me flying towards one of the black holes. My body felt drained as I tried to balance myself, summoning the full strength of several Singularities and tossing them at her with all my strength. Her arms instinctively moved to block her body from the incoming extreme gravitational force, and as each Singularity detonated, her body was blasted with one thousand times more force than most stars could survive. Her body look near its limits as I slowly struggled to move towards my opponent, "You stubborn ass, I swear, if it weren't for me, you'd probably still be trying to figure out if Tommy Dalton liked yo..." I stopped my sentence knowing I'd gone too far. The one line our battles never crossed. Her face looked away from mine, a slight tinge of pain slid across her face as she was silent for a few moments, a small trickle of teardrops breaking from her skin and floating into space.
"Hey, listen, Jess, I'm so..."
"Shut up. Don't say it. You had nothing to do with it, we both couldn't stop it even if we wanted to," her voice barely holding back the sobs of a broken heart. It was crazy how even though we had both only known Tommy for less than a year how much of an impact he still had on us, in fact, the reason that the woman who could create stars with a simple snap of her fingers was still broken up about a young man she fell in love with in Highschool was a surprising notion to say the least. In fact, it was the one reason we had so many fights, simply because I told her that I was too busy to drive both of them to prom so he drove instead, and the drunk driver never stopped.
I slowly drifted towards Jess's floating form as she began to breakdown into tears, her body's bright white glow dimming to almost nothing as I gently placed my arm around her shoulder, "I'm sorry. I should've been there."
"Yeah, but you weren't! So stop saying you're sorry," she barely managed her words through heavy sobs as I rubbed at her upper arm just above where my Javelin had cut her. I knew I was wrong and should apologize, in fact, Tommy always made me apologize, but still I found it harder than ever to say sorry to her and go back to being friends. Even now, as I held her while she cried, we were at little more than a tenuous truce, and soon we'd be back to trying to destroy one another.
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | It was always something, some days it just felt better for both of us to admit we were wrong and go our own way, but we were always stubborn. This fight was no different, her eyes blazing with a passionate fire that burned from within, their gaze set on my own rage-filled gaze. It had started with the occasional prank, then a few yelling matches, then somewhere along the way we found minions to go to war for us, and before we knew it I was standing in the center of a ring of collapsing stars holding a steadily charging singularity while she was summoning forth a radiation storm from deep within her nuclear fueled body.
We glared, her eyes narrowing to slits as she scowled and shouted across the cosmos, "Say you're sorry and I'll forgive you.
The words only angered me, enraged me even, "You want me to apologize?! When you know exactly what you did?! I'll make sure the Universe forgets about you!"
With a gentle movement of my hand, the fully charged Singularity shot towards her glowing form, it's infinitesimally small glow rocketing faster than the eye could perceive straight in her direction. Then, just centimeters from her the singularity activated, pulling the cosmos in on itself, a few of the outlying stars and black holes pulling in towards the absence of space. Her hands began to glow with the power of a billion Neutron Bombs and with a single finger she shot a single ray of atomic energy at my chest, her 'Hadron Ray' as she called it to my utter loathing. The full blast struck my shield, our rage building until finally, the true fight began.
Her body shot towards mine, glowing fists ready for a strike as I pulled my sword from the very aether and readied myself. Shield up, fist exploding against the ancient metallic surface as a small nuclear explosion ignited just beneath her knuckles. My sword swung low at her knees, trying to unbalance her despite of our arena being little more than a patch of darkness on the far side of the Universe. The dark matter that made up my blade barely nicked my nemesises jeans, her eyes glowing even hotter as she pulled her legs up to dodge my attack, only to be met with a hard push of my shield. With a growl of furius rage her hand went through my shield as per her usual tactic of rearranging molecules, but before she could wrap her impossibly strong grip around my throat, I quickly summoned a small dark energy blast around my shield to send her back to hell.
As the blast pushed her back and almost into one of the black holes, she growled in frustration as she shouted, "Damn it, you know we'll never beat each other, Steve!"
"Then apologize and we'll call the matter closed!"
Her fist shot another full blast of atomic energy that burned away a large chunk of my shield and singed my cheek. My retaliation was a large javelin of dark matter slicing her bicep as she deftly dodged my attack, "How the hell was I supposed to know that you don't like Coconut?! I was ten!!"
The rage in my voice shook as my words seemed to reverberate against the black holes around us, "Chocolate! How hard is it to just make a simple CHOCOLATE CAKE?!"
"Uggh, this is why you will never find a girlfriend! All you have to do is forgive me for the cake and say you're sorry for ruining my date with Sandra," she shouted in answer to my retort while I contemplated trying to hit her with another Javelin. The mere mention of Sandra sent my eyes rolling in disdain, "Oh don't you bring up Sandra into this, we both know that she was coo-coo for coacoa puffs crazy and you weren't going to call her back. Hell, only reason you're mad about that is because my operatives blew up the restaraunt you were in and ruined that salad you were eating! Saved you from making a terrible mistake. Should've ordered the burger like I suggested."
"For the smartest person in the Universe with nearly limitless power, you're a real idiot, you know that?!"
Her hands shot two massive blasts of atomic energy at me, smashing against my barely recovering shield and creating a small star that lived for all of three seconds before dying and exploding in a supernova that sent me flying towards one of the black holes. My body felt drained as I tried to balance myself, summoning the full strength of several Singularities and tossing them at her with all my strength. Her arms instinctively moved to block her body from the incoming extreme gravitational force, and as each Singularity detonated, her body was blasted with one thousand times more force than most stars could survive. Her body look near its limits as I slowly struggled to move towards my opponent, "You stubborn ass, I swear, if it weren't for me, you'd probably still be trying to figure out if Tommy Dalton liked yo..." I stopped my sentence knowing I'd gone too far. The one line our battles never crossed. Her face looked away from mine, a slight tinge of pain slid across her face as she was silent for a few moments, a small trickle of teardrops breaking from her skin and floating into space.
"Hey, listen, Jess, I'm so..."
"Shut up. Don't say it. You had nothing to do with it, we both couldn't stop it even if we wanted to," her voice barely holding back the sobs of a broken heart. It was crazy how even though we had both only known Tommy for less than a year how much of an impact he still had on us, in fact, the reason that the woman who could create stars with a simple snap of her fingers was still broken up about a young man she fell in love with in Highschool was a surprising notion to say the least. In fact, it was the one reason we had so many fights, simply because I told her that I was too busy to drive both of them to prom so he drove instead, and the drunk driver never stopped.
I slowly drifted towards Jess's floating form as she began to breakdown into tears, her body's bright white glow dimming to almost nothing as I gently placed my arm around her shoulder, "I'm sorry. I should've been there."
"Yeah, but you weren't! So stop saying you're sorry," she barely managed her words through heavy sobs as I rubbed at her upper arm just above where my Javelin had cut her. I knew I was wrong and should apologize, in fact, Tommy always made me apologize, but still I found it harder than ever to say sorry to her and go back to being friends. Even now, as I held her while she cried, we were at little more than a tenuous truce, and soon we'd be back to trying to destroy one another.
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | A crushing silence engulfs the landscape. The roar of the fiercest devices of war leave a once verdant field a scarred, scorched, and battered wasteland.
From the smoldering earth littered with twisted steel, hot brass, charred bodies, and blood rises smoke that turns midday into midnight. The sheer absence of life is offensive to the senses.
From the dense smoke, two titans emerge. They are not titans by stature, but by the circumstances they have survived. Both wear uniforms torn and shredded in the fury of battle. Both have their faces caked with dirt and soot. Both have sustained serious injuries, but refuse to show any weakness to each other. Both have blood on their hands.
They are similar in more than just these ways. Both are sworn enemies of each other, but have never met the other in their lives. Both are trained to kill every conceivable adversary on the battlefield in every possible way, but both refrain from combat for the first time in years of unending conflict they have endured. Time stands still as they look at their opponent, but only see a reflection of themselves.
For an instant, there is understanding between the titans. They can see that they are both insignificant cogs in opposing war machines. They can see that they were never meant to meet, only to kill one another or be killed. Each of these titans fights the same war on a different side. A war they had no choice to be in. A war they don't understand.
Both titans turn away from each other and walk back into the smoke. There's no point in fighting a battle you've already lost.
| Suddenly nothing happened. There wasn't nothing, I wasn't in a void. It's that I was nothing. The bastard retconned me out of existence.
Of course I can't be mad at them, that requires existence; technically speaking I wasn't even aware of it.
And yet next thing I know i exist again. Not that it was hard, I just had to bring myself back. (You see when you reach a certain point, even the fact that you do not, and never have existed cannot stop you from coming back) so there i was, staring at my enemy. I already knew how retconning their ass would play out, but what if I just made them powerless?
It proves useless. For a brief moment they start to suffer from the vacuum of space, but it doesn't take them long to realize, and they will their power back from nothing. I should have seen that coming. And I did. So did assface. We're both omnicient.
Suddenly I was in a box, surrounded by a barrier so powerful no one, not even someone as powerful I could ever get through.
I exited through and countered with an delta ray colored flame. (delta ray is just the next color after gamma) the jet of fire was so strong that it would kill anything it touches; no one, not even this douchebag could possibly survive
Of course they were unharmed, and proceeded to create a rock so heavy not even they could lift it. Then they lifted it and chucked it at me.
What a jackass
With us both equally more powerful than the other, we were locked in this endless battle for all eternity. Afterwards we both agree that this was really stupid because of our aleph-one power levels. It's just not fun.
In fact, the only thing the world has more of then our power is how much I hate this fucker.
fuck you.
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | Suddenly nothing happened. There wasn't nothing, I wasn't in a void. It's that I was nothing. The bastard retconned me out of existence.
Of course I can't be mad at them, that requires existence; technically speaking I wasn't even aware of it.
And yet next thing I know i exist again. Not that it was hard, I just had to bring myself back. (You see when you reach a certain point, even the fact that you do not, and never have existed cannot stop you from coming back) so there i was, staring at my enemy. I already knew how retconning their ass would play out, but what if I just made them powerless?
It proves useless. For a brief moment they start to suffer from the vacuum of space, but it doesn't take them long to realize, and they will their power back from nothing. I should have seen that coming. And I did. So did assface. We're both omnicient.
Suddenly I was in a box, surrounded by a barrier so powerful no one, not even someone as powerful I could ever get through.
I exited through and countered with an delta ray colored flame. (delta ray is just the next color after gamma) the jet of fire was so strong that it would kill anything it touches; no one, not even this douchebag could possibly survive
Of course they were unharmed, and proceeded to create a rock so heavy not even they could lift it. Then they lifted it and chucked it at me.
What a jackass
With us both equally more powerful than the other, we were locked in this endless battle for all eternity. Afterwards we both agree that this was really stupid because of our aleph-one power levels. It's just not fun.
In fact, the only thing the world has more of then our power is how much I hate this fucker.
fuck you.
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | "You cannot defeat me, fool" He said. The ground erupted rising as the tectonic plates beneath us were shattered and ripped from the ground.
"I can definitely try though." I whispered telepathically into his head. I concentrated all of the Earth's atmosphere into a tight ball of pressure 1 meter wide and dumped the mini-black hole on his head.
"Hahahahaha nice try" He snapped his fingers sending it spiraling into another galaxy.
At this point the earth had crumbled under the spacial distortion and he was lobbing fragments of earth's molten core at me as if it was going to do anything.
I pull 20 moons from Jupiter firing them at him rapidly like a machine gun. He blocked them with Venus.
"Lets raise the stakes a bit girlie and skip the sun" He started collapsing the Milky Way Galaxy in on us.
I decided I was going to end this quickly. The longer this took, the more of a hassle it was going to be to reanimate everyone and put all the planets and atoms back into their proper place. I started channeling my energies to shatter him among infinite dimensions when he reached out of the computer screen and a;kdj;flka;lnlew;;l;
kj;owijo;ibj;boibj;boijbojaknd c;nn
jfee
j
wje
j
jwe
ewj then he totally won the fight
q
q
wje
jqwj
ejqw
j
q
He got momentarily distracted by me deleting his name from the story. Long enough for me to hit the power butto | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "MUAHAHAHAHAHA! BEHOLD, MY DEATHBLOW!"
My blow slammed into my nemesis' tower, knocking it high into the air, and out of sight.
"Really?" She looked at me with disdain. "That's the best you've got?"
With a move so swift I didn't have time to react, she sent my horse flying.
"NOOOOOOOO! SHADEMANE!" I collapsed into sobs. "How could you!? You're a monster!"
She laughed cooly, "And proud of it, love."
Rage boiled up into my throat. The only sound I could hear was my blood rushing through my head. I spat at her. "You leave me no choice, foul enchantress!"
Me, defender of light, shining in brilliant white. Her, mother of evil, cloaked in shadows of darkest black. One move. White to black.
"Checkmate." | "You cannot defeat me, fool" He said. The ground erupted rising as the tectonic plates beneath us were shattered and ripped from the ground.
"I can definitely try though." I whispered telepathically into his head. I concentrated all of the Earth's atmosphere into a tight ball of pressure 1 meter wide and dumped the mini-black hole on his head.
"Hahahahaha nice try" He snapped his fingers sending it spiraling into another galaxy.
At this point the earth had crumbled under the spacial distortion and he was lobbing fragments of earth's molten core at me as if it was going to do anything.
I pull 20 moons from Jupiter firing them at him rapidly like a machine gun. He blocked them with Venus.
"Lets raise the stakes a bit girlie and skip the sun" He started collapsing the Milky Way Galaxy in on us.
I decided I was going to end this quickly. The longer this took, the more of a hassle it was going to be to reanimate everyone and put all the planets and atoms back into their proper place. I started channeling my energies to shatter him among infinite dimensions when he reached out of the computer screen and a;kdj;flka;lnlew;;l;
kj;owijo;ibj;boibj;boijbojaknd c;nn
jfee
j
wje
j
jwe
ewj then he totally won the fight
q
q
wje
jqwj
ejqw
j
q
He got momentarily distracted by me deleting his name from the story. Long enough for me to hit the power butto | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | It was a normal Tuesday as I sat on the cosmos watching her hurl gigantic planet after gigantic planet at me. Of course, she didn't actually hurl anything at all, it was Friday morning, and I was playing a charming human game called chess with Bill. As the evening light filtered in through the window, I could smell the aroma of the food from the bedroom. I frowned and sighed as the bare ground began to shake and vines erupted from it, attempting to swallow me whole.
"Stop avoiding me." She was behind me with crossed arms as I sat on the skyscraper, whistling to my own tune.
"Kind of hard to avoid Mother Nature." I tossed a rock from the cliff and frowned as it came right back in the form of a neutron star.
I flicked the neutron star away easily.
"Stop doing that," she growled.
"Hey, it's in my *nature*." I smirked as she rolled her eyes. "As soon as you stop hurling the cosmos at me I will stop bending time."
"No," said the little girl. | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "And these are the Archmages," Dalostaed said, gesturing to the far end of the room.
There were five thrones, four of which were occupied by eerily detailed stone statues. The thrones themselves were barely more than rock sculpted to look vaguely chair-like. The focus wasn't on the apparatus of rule, but the rulers themselves.
"They founded the wizards?" I guessed.
"Those that sit there now? No. That one did," Dalostaed gestured to the empty throne.
I made the obvious conclusion. "You don't know who founded your order," I said. "So it's a symbolic throne."
Dalostaed laughed. "As is the case with any explanation involving wizards, your guess is entirely reasonable and, naturally, just as wrong."
"You brought me here for a reason," I pointed out. "So if you could drop the mysterious wizard non-explanations and tell me what's going on, I'd appreciate it."
"Would you settle for a lengthy but not quite as mysterious wizard explanation?" Dalostaed grinned. He was enjoying this.
"Sure," I said. What choice did I have, really? Dalostaed would get to the point eventually, but I knew how much he enjoyed living up to his reputation.
"How's your Mind magic?" He asked me.
It seemed off-topic, but the beginnings of our conversations often did. "So-so," I said. "I've been practicing. As you apparently already know I've got one hell of a mentor. And I've tried to keep up with the other four elements, but," I shrugged, and gestured to the massive hall around me, "I tend to get pulled away by strange wizards for strange purposes they haven't yet explained."
Dalostaed eyed me skeptically. "Five total elements, hm? You can't fool me, Bishop. I know a Void-touched when I see one. Any wizard does."
I shuddered. The less time spent contemplating that, the better. "I'm sticking to what I know," I said, more defensively than I'd intended. "My point is, I've probably had more practice with Mind than an ordinary person, but it's not likely to be up to wizard standards."
"You'd be surprised," the wizard said, "most people know just the basics. Hearing surface thoughts is the extent of what they'll master."
I hadn't been able to rely on reading people's thoughts for years now; anyone I had reason to interact with tended to have protections in place. I certainly did.
"My point is," Dalostaed said, "have you ever turned your Mind magic inward?"
"A few times," I said. "To block out pain, enhance senses, that sort of thing."
"But always temporarily," he said. "You've never been tempted to make a permanent change?"
"Like what?" I asked. There were few permanent changes I could manage. Making myself believe a false memory was true was within my grasp, as was making myself forget a true memory, though only barely and only if I took a fair amount of time. Neither one was something I needed at the moment.
"Well, why not make yourself smarter?" Dalostaed asked.
"You're assuming I know how," I replied.
"That's the beauty of it," Dalostaed said, "you don't have to do a very good job. All you have to do is make yourself the tiniest bit better. And then, the next time you try to improve yourself, you'll do a slightly better job. And then the time after that, you'll do an even better job. Do you see?"
I did. Provided I could pull off the first step, it seemed that there was no limit to how smart I could eventually become. The thought seemed strange, alien, and almost repulsive to me. If I tried it, would I recognize the person I once was?
"I wouldn't recommend it," Dalostaed said. He probably wasn't reading my mind, but rather guessing what I was thinking. "It's a lot harder than I'm making it sound. Those steps take wizards their entire lifetimes to master. You screw up at any point, and you end up brain-dead. You'll breathe, blink, anything automatic, but your mind will be gone."
"So what would you do, once you'd become really really smart?" I asked. It was half a personal question to the wizard, and half rhetorical. I was starting to get an idea.
"Magic is called by the Mind," Dalostaed said. "Animals cannot invoke it in any but the most rudimentary way. Salamanders breathing fire, for example."
That meant the smarter I made myself, the stronger my Mind magic would become. The stronger the magic became, the smarter I could make myself. It seemed like a runaway effect, and the end result... "That's what they did," I said, gesturing to the statues of the Archmages.
"That is what divides a wizard like myself from an archmage. Many of us make it a goal to ascend one of the stone thrones, and many more of us have more sense than that."
That threw me. "You mean have a statue of yourself put on the throne, right?"
Dalostaed laughed. "Ah, of course, you can't see it. Probably for the best, really, if you're not careful it can burn you pretty bad. So, whatever you do, don't open your Mind's eye right now, especially toward the statues."
As tempting as it was to do exactly that now that I'd been told not to, I knew that Dalostaed didn't give idle warnings. "Why?" I asked instead.
"I did not mis-speak when we entered this room," he said. "Those are not statues of the Archmages. Those *are* the Archmages."
I looked again at the statues. They were extremely detailed, to be sure, but they were definitely stone. Their chests did not move, they did not blink, and they were as still as the statues they appeared to be. "How?" I asked.
"Earth magic, of course," Dalostaed said, as though this should be obvious. "Secondary only to the ground itself, it is associated with the body. If I recall from your tellings, you already knew that."
I suppressed another shudder. I'd had a few unfortunate run-ins with a Witchdoctor, the offspring of a Pure Mind and a Pure Earth. He'd made a habit of paralyzing me, and though we'd eventually found common cause, we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"The magic," Dalostaed continued talking, "protects and preserves the Archmages' bodies, while they do battle on some higher plane of existence that we of lesser intellect can't even understand."
"They're fighting each other?" I asked. Such contests of skill weren't beyond imagining. The Dynasty, where I was supposed to be heading and had in fact taken a large detour from, had a dueling tradition that dated back to its founding.
"No," Dalostaed said. "Something else. Something up there that doesn't want things to change. If I had to guess, probably one or more gods."
"Gods." I said flatly. Of course. Why else would you increase your power far beyond the dreams of regular people like myself, if not to challenge the gods?
We both stood in silence for a bit. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been bothering me ever since we left the caravan. "Why did you bring me here, Dalostaed? Why are you telling me things that are obviously secrets of your order?" I didn't think he was trying to recruit me, but it'd never been easy to determine his exact plans.
"Two reasons," Dalostaed said. "I said that any wizard will recognize you as Void-touched. Few know the secret of the six elements, the missing tenth god. Fewer still outside of our order. Which means that any other wizard you find - a proper wizard, that is, not a Pure - will think you're already in our order. You'll need that advantage."
I didn't like the sound of that, but I'd probably like what he had to say next even less. "And the second reason?" I asked.
Dalostaed pointed to the empty fifth throne. "Archmage Zhao."
"Wait," I said, "that's not a palceholder for whoever's trying to step up to Archmage next?"
Dalostaed grunted. "Anyone who can't carve themselves a throne from the wall has no business being on one. No, until a week ago, that throne was occupied. And then, the next morning, with nobody having seen the cause, it was not."
I kept looking at the empty throne. If Dalostaed was right, Archmage Zhao's power could be literally unimaginable at this point. Capable of challenging a god and surviving, if apparently not succeeding. "Where did Zhao go?" I asked.
Dalostaed's gaze looked at the same vacant seat mine did. "When you return to your journey north, to the heart of The Dynasty, I suspect you will find out." | A crushing silence engulfs the landscape. The roar of the fiercest devices of war leave a once verdant field a scarred, scorched, and battered wasteland.
From the smoldering earth littered with twisted steel, hot brass, charred bodies, and blood rises smoke that turns midday into midnight. The sheer absence of life is offensive to the senses.
From the dense smoke, two titans emerge. They are not titans by stature, but by the circumstances they have survived. Both wear uniforms torn and shredded in the fury of battle. Both have their faces caked with dirt and soot. Both have sustained serious injuries, but refuse to show any weakness to each other. Both have blood on their hands.
They are similar in more than just these ways. Both are sworn enemies of each other, but have never met the other in their lives. Both are trained to kill every conceivable adversary on the battlefield in every possible way, but both refrain from combat for the first time in years of unending conflict they have endured. Time stands still as they look at their opponent, but only see a reflection of themselves.
For an instant, there is understanding between the titans. They can see that they are both insignificant cogs in opposing war machines. They can see that they were never meant to meet, only to kill one another or be killed. Each of these titans fights the same war on a different side. A war they had no choice to be in. A war they don't understand.
Both titans turn away from each other and walk back into the smoke. There's no point in fighting a battle you've already lost.
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | I felt the gravity waves change slightly. My calculations indicated that there had been an initiative. A third of the universe had been sent my way.
Our collaboration had fallen in mere eons to bickering. When the First Event occurred, it had been a rapid expansion followed by heat, every particle spinning wildly. My nascent structures were torn apart from the insides, and what would have been a perfect crystal expanding into a growing space time was rent into an octidecillion competing parts. My dream of a crystalline universe was gone. I had parried with the invention of entropy. I redirected my energies after that into ensuring that molecules arose, a faint homage to my original dream.
Time passed. My molecules were accruing grandeur. Gravity, one of our initial shared beliefs, had borne fruit in the gathering clumps of hydrogen. Seeded throughout the universe were hotter, denser patches. When helium came about, I encouraged it, seeing a new dream unfold, a dream of diversity, of multiple characteristics, and lithium, beryllium, and boron became my heralds, their very natures pulling the clumps tighter until the first stars were ignited. If it were possible to detect the anger of my enemy, it would have been at least as hot and agitated.
So now it hurls a part of creation at me. I reached deep. I took the shackles off of expansion. The universe would accelerate its own dissipation. The end of our art would be a menagerie losing sight of each other. The bits would grow farther apart, until they broke down and drifted away from each other, until eventually even heat would die, as died our passion, as died our collaboration, as died our mutual love and respect. Let the other worship its heat. I would seek the death of such heat. Let the other shatter my crystals, I would glory in the rise of life to bring order on a different scale. Let the other throw creation at me, I would pull it apart so that the blow would never land.
Let the other half of me be denied so that it will learn. The next time we cleave ourselves in twain to make art, we will be three or four or more. Let our next collaboration be more inspired, more beautiful. Let us taste complexity instead of a dynamic of two. Let us know ourselves from many perspectives, gazing at our own beauty from more than two eyes. Let our next iteration be uncountable, our senses beyond reckoning. Let us face each other across infinite creations, infinite battlefields and bedrooms. Let us be insinuated with minutiae and fall in love endlessly.
I have the will to make it happen. My opponent, the other end of my being, will surely make it happen as well. I await, patiently. | We clashed on a summer evening and I lean against the ancient olive tree and he will ask me if I had ever seen the stars from the middle of the ocean.
"No, but I can see enough of them here tonight," I said, and bright light flashes between us and I will start climbing the tree. I reached the highest branches and saw all the way to the water and I dove into the twisting bark to see its centuries of life.
"My dear, this is nothing," he says and his hands stretches out to mine and we will blast away moment after moment until the unfolding world spirals into darkness. We saw the past that led to this and we carved away the threads of life for the other. My hands grip the gnarled tree and I travel back to the moment a tan-skinned farmer plants it on a misty morning. His hand will be in mine and we will trek further up the hill closer to the heavens.
I kissed him on a blanket and shivered from the cold, and countless hard eyes stare wildly across the infinite and the farmer will come every week to care for the new tree. His son laid his hand on it on the afternoon when his father died. It's far past midnight as we stumble back down towards town and he whispers he wants to see me again. My fingers will wrap around his neck over and over and he will try to roll away again and again.
He died, I died, and everything went black. I watch the olive tree grow century by century writhing outwards until the moment I climb its hulk. We will meet the next morning at the cafe and we will plan out our lives together. He asked me to marry him on a boat in the Pacific surrounded by placid waves and we die together and alone, each of us crying and shaking. I will watch him walk up to the olive tree and he will raise his hands in the air and he will shout out to me, "I just want to talk."
The olive tree creaked under the rising wind as he talked and talked, but none of it mattered and we knew it was hopeless. "I do," I say on the ocean, and I laugh as he carries me back to the cabin. We will watch the infinite dwindle to single points as time will shrink to a single moment. Our last breaths was on our lips as the world dimmed and we went back to the simple beings we are not underneath a swaying summertime olive tree and we will roll back and forth in our tiny bed as we will move against the motion of the waves.
"I love you," I said as I kissed his brow and everything goes dark and we will fight in the dying summer sun.
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | "MUAHAHAHAHAHA! BEHOLD, MY DEATHBLOW!"
My blow slammed into my nemesis' tower, knocking it high into the air, and out of sight.
"Really?" She looked at me with disdain. "That's the best you've got?"
With a move so swift I didn't have time to react, she sent my horse flying.
"NOOOOOOOO! SHADEMANE!" I collapsed into sobs. "How could you!? You're a monster!"
She laughed cooly, "And proud of it, love."
Rage boiled up into my throat. The only sound I could hear was my blood rushing through my head. I spat at her. "You leave me no choice, foul enchantress!"
Me, defender of light, shining in brilliant white. Her, mother of evil, cloaked in shadows of darkest black. One move. White to black.
"Checkmate." | We clashed on a summer evening and I lean against the ancient olive tree and he will ask me if I had ever seen the stars from the middle of the ocean.
"No, but I can see enough of them here tonight," I said, and bright light flashes between us and I will start climbing the tree. I reached the highest branches and saw all the way to the water and I dove into the twisting bark to see its centuries of life.
"My dear, this is nothing," he says and his hands stretches out to mine and we will blast away moment after moment until the unfolding world spirals into darkness. We saw the past that led to this and we carved away the threads of life for the other. My hands grip the gnarled tree and I travel back to the moment a tan-skinned farmer plants it on a misty morning. His hand will be in mine and we will trek further up the hill closer to the heavens.
I kissed him on a blanket and shivered from the cold, and countless hard eyes stare wildly across the infinite and the farmer will come every week to care for the new tree. His son laid his hand on it on the afternoon when his father died. It's far past midnight as we stumble back down towards town and he whispers he wants to see me again. My fingers will wrap around his neck over and over and he will try to roll away again and again.
He died, I died, and everything went black. I watch the olive tree grow century by century writhing outwards until the moment I climb its hulk. We will meet the next morning at the cafe and we will plan out our lives together. He asked me to marry him on a boat in the Pacific surrounded by placid waves and we die together and alone, each of us crying and shaking. I will watch him walk up to the olive tree and he will raise his hands in the air and he will shout out to me, "I just want to talk."
The olive tree creaked under the rising wind as he talked and talked, but none of it mattered and we knew it was hopeless. "I do," I say on the ocean, and I laugh as he carries me back to the cabin. We will watch the infinite dwindle to single points as time will shrink to a single moment. Our last breaths was on our lips as the world dimmed and we went back to the simple beings we are not underneath a swaying summertime olive tree and we will roll back and forth in our tiny bed as we will move against the motion of the waves.
"I love you," I said as I kissed his brow and everything goes dark and we will fight in the dying summer sun.
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | Dark eyes, filled with greed, nay, hunger, stared down at me from beneath a heavy brow. Kroniedor the great thief stood upon a ridge, the setting sun eclipsing his garbed form.
"I have found you at last Arechnidos!"
He cried out to me, my name on his lips spat with such spite that the clouds themselves parted in fear.
"Krony, mate, again?"
I replied with a small sigh, for 'twas the third time in a week I found my self proclaimed nemesis snapping at my heels. His lust for the jewel of Grisel was insatiable, he would never stop till he held it in his wicked little hands.
"You have run me an elegant game of cat and mouse these past years Arechnidos the Wise! But no more! For your foolhardiness has cost you today. Today shall be the day I strike you down with sharp steel, wild fire and clenched fist. Have you not learned after all these years? Never trust a beautiful woman."
I rolled my eyes. Of course. My own weakness for the smooth calves of tavern wenches had let me down again. And trust the wily deceiver himself to coerce my conquest into giving me away. In resignation I loosened my britches and unsheathed my mighty weapon.
Greyhammer the people call it, for though it tapers out to a tip, its breadth and heft liken it to the blacksmith's prime tool.
I heaved him forth and swung powerfully, perhaps dramatically. The air cleaved apart with a screech under the force of my empty blow. Kroniedor floated down to stand before me, kneeling in preparation.
"Fucksake mate, do you really have to pray every bloody time? I swear, next time I'll just start without ya"
Kroniedor remained still, but spoke out the corner of his mouth
"Prayers to the unholy one must not be forsaken you foul mouthed cretin. I would not expect a heathen such as yourself to understand"
I watched for a moment as the man knelt and pressed his hands to the ground in reverence. But patience had never been a strong suit of mine. I stepped forward casually and struck my blade to the dirt before leaning in to ask
"So... how's your sister?"
I could see his thin lips twitch in irritation beneath his crimson hood, but Kroniedor remained silent.
"It's been what... three years now? I hav'n heard nothin. She doesn't write anymore. Does she mention me at all?"
Kroniedor took a deep breath
"No, she does not make mention of you. And if she did, 'twould not be in pleasant speech, I can assure you"
I sighed as long absent memories of a pale skinned lass with fine dark hair returned vividly to me. She had been my greatest conquest, moreso than even her mother, if only for the sole reason that my dalliance with her had truly driven Kroniedor wild.
"Ya know" I started "she really does have the best legs in Amuertan. I dunno how you could grow up without trying to get your hands on that fine piece of-"
"I would advise you not to continue down this path *Wise One*"
Kroniedor had apparently finished his prayers, if somewhat prematurely. For now his glaring eyes were fixated upon me, and hands rested against twin magical daggers. I considered for a moment, then with a grin
"-ass"
His roar of anger rolled across the valley like thunder as the mad thief leapt at me, pelting balls of flame faster than the heart beats. I ducked to the side and dragged my blade from the ground, retaliating with a cheap shot from a rock I'd been holding in my hand.
With my immense strength and excellent aim it was easy to strike his nether regions. I stood as he collapsed to the ground in a shaking heap.
"You are determined to rob me of the chance to produce offspring, aren't you Arechnidos"
Kroniedor's voice wobbled nearly as badly as his legs while he attempted to rise from the ground, hands clutching his prize jewels.
"Well I figure if they're gunna be half as ugly as you, I'm doing the world a favour"
His next strike came from both above and ahead. An old technique his crafty mind had invented. The bolt of lightning missed me by a fingers' width, and I took the flames upon my shoulder guard. Now the fun would truly begin.
The earth groaned as Kroniedor's deft hands formed the signs that drew forth the very ridge his ghastly visage had not long ago adorned. I cracked the flying rock clean in half with a great swipe of my blade, before raising my hand and uttering the mystical oath.
An enormous beast of radiant light erupted forth from my palm, only to be evaporated by a wave of green light that pulsed forth from Kroniedor's body. I braced myself against the wave and followed up with two swift swipes of my weapon, and from it stretched two brilliant streaks that struck the rocks behind him.
Kroniedor's form disappeared and reappeared behind me, lashing out with his weapons. His anger was growing, and the level of power he put forth with it. His twin knives, Sheer and Edge, clashed with Greyhammer, the force of our blows cancelling each other out. A rippling wave of air exploded outwards.
I rolled to the side, yanking my blade away, and pulling one of his with it. Swordplay was my friend, as magic was his. In close quarters I held the upper hand, which Kroniedor knew well. He teleported again, and upon reappearing, raised his hands and summoned a shadowy dragon from the air around him. It weaved forth, it's huge snakelike form cracking the ground. I took a running jump into the sky, launching myself effortlessly to land with a clank on the beast's back, where I buried my blade to the hilt. The creature vanished in a puff of smoke. But even as the magic dissipated, I was struck from behind by a colossal blow. I slammed into the ground so hard that I bounced. But I was on my feet in the blink of an eye.
"That was dirty mate. Hit a guy from behind ey"
Kroniedor launched a few more bolts of crackling lightning at me, each more intense than the last, which I dodged.
"No more filthy than you, you blasphemous scoundrel"
My hands quickly whipped up a blinding light spell. As he lifted his hands to protect his eyes, I launched my own barrage of lightning. It struck air just inches before his face. He raised his hand and clenched it into a fist. I found myself drenched in darkness.
"Least I make an honest living. You've been trying to steal the Baroness' gem for how many years now?"
My spell of healing restored my vision as I leapt to the side, tossing an exploding ball of power in his general direction.
"Only because you stole the gem first and blamed me for it! Ever since we were but children you've been the scoundrel and laid the blame upon me! I will have your head this time Arechnidos!"
The hilly edge of the valley erupted in dirt and bits of trees and shrubbery. A chunk of leg from what looked to be a cow landed beside me.
"It sounds like you have *beef* with me Kroniedor old buddy"
His answer was a gargantuan whirling mass of wind that rushed toward me. The tornado swept me up, but I raised my arms and made the symbols with my hands for a powerful weather spell. Suddenly my rigid body rested atop a tightly controlled whirlwind, and from there I spoke words of power that summoned great beams of light from the sky, striking the ground and searing anything in their path, leaving behind molten rock in their wake.
But my old foe Kroniedor was my match, and rose upon a pillar of stone to see me face to face. He drew his hands together and with a rumble dark clouds closed over our battlefield, followed shortly thereafter by pelting rain. The rain became shards of ice as Kroniedor twisted his fingers into arcane shapes. They shattered against his invisible barrier. I tossed myself forward from atop my perch, the ice smacking harmlessly against my armour and skin.
Greyhammer swung down in a vicious arc, missing Kroniedor's retreating form by a hair's width, then slicing clean down through his stone pillar to strike the earth with an enormous crack, followed by a rumbling earthquake as the ground split open from the force of my strike.
"Enough games Arechnidos! This ends now!"
Kroniedor slapped his daggers together, and in a bright flash of green light they merged to form a tremendous blade, wider and longer even than my enormous Greyhammer. I pressed my palm to the jewel on the hilt of my sword and whispered one more magical phrase. Greyhammer grew to be well over my height in length, and golden flames sprouted from its edges. With a great shout we ran toward each other and our weapons collided with a resounding clash. I followed up with a dozen lightning fast strikes, each of which Kroniedor deflected. His returning volley was equally fast, but I was able to thwart them each with ease.
Each time our weapons met, waves of pure force swept outward and devastated the landscape. The flames on my weapon flared as I prepared for one last mighty swing. Kroniedor's blade began to glow as he wound up for a parrying blow to match.
After a pause we struck out. In a brilliant flash we both went flying. I was able to land on my feet, but nearly toppled over in the process. Kroniedor lay on the ground, inert, on the other side of the valley.
I spoke words of teleportation and appeared by his side. He refused to look at me, turning his gaze instead to the sky.
I eased myself down to the ground beside him.
"Good fight mate"
...
"I hate you so much"
...
"Wanna grab a drink?"
He looked over at me, disgusted.
"You fucked my sister"
"And your mother"
...
...
...
"You're buying, you son of a bitch"
----
Apologies if the grammar is a little off, I haven't posted here before. Hope you enjoy | We clashed on a summer evening and I lean against the ancient olive tree and he will ask me if I had ever seen the stars from the middle of the ocean.
"No, but I can see enough of them here tonight," I said, and bright light flashes between us and I will start climbing the tree. I reached the highest branches and saw all the way to the water and I dove into the twisting bark to see its centuries of life.
"My dear, this is nothing," he says and his hands stretches out to mine and we will blast away moment after moment until the unfolding world spirals into darkness. We saw the past that led to this and we carved away the threads of life for the other. My hands grip the gnarled tree and I travel back to the moment a tan-skinned farmer plants it on a misty morning. His hand will be in mine and we will trek further up the hill closer to the heavens.
I kissed him on a blanket and shivered from the cold, and countless hard eyes stare wildly across the infinite and the farmer will come every week to care for the new tree. His son laid his hand on it on the afternoon when his father died. It's far past midnight as we stumble back down towards town and he whispers he wants to see me again. My fingers will wrap around his neck over and over and he will try to roll away again and again.
He died, I died, and everything went black. I watch the olive tree grow century by century writhing outwards until the moment I climb its hulk. We will meet the next morning at the cafe and we will plan out our lives together. He asked me to marry him on a boat in the Pacific surrounded by placid waves and we die together and alone, each of us crying and shaking. I will watch him walk up to the olive tree and he will raise his hands in the air and he will shout out to me, "I just want to talk."
The olive tree creaked under the rising wind as he talked and talked, but none of it mattered and we knew it was hopeless. "I do," I say on the ocean, and I laugh as he carries me back to the cabin. We will watch the infinite dwindle to single points as time will shrink to a single moment. Our last breaths was on our lips as the world dimmed and we went back to the simple beings we are not underneath a swaying summertime olive tree and we will roll back and forth in our tiny bed as we will move against the motion of the waves.
"I love you," I said as I kissed his brow and everything goes dark and we will fight in the dying summer sun.
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | It was a beautiful day out. The sun glowed a heavenly warmth onto the world, and cool breeze travelled through the air to offset it. It was a perfect day to buy an ice cream.
But Superdude had no time for ice cream. How could he when Dr Evilstein was still on the loose? The world would not be safe until he was defeated.
He was close though, close to reaching his arch-nemesis. He had gotten past all of his goons and traps without any effort. It was as if they weren’t there at all. Climbing the stairs was more off a challenge than them.
As he climbed the last few steps, Dr Evilstein came into view. A smile crept onto his face. The time had come.
“Well, Dr Evil, it appears the time has come.”
In one motion, Dr Evilstein turned around to greet our protagonist.
“That’s Dr Evil*stein*! And I am surprised you have gotten past my minions this quickly. I thought they would have held you longer,” he answered in a German accent as strong as it was fake, “but no matter! My plans are almost complete! The vorld shall be mine! But before that, I vill defeat you, Superdude, for vonce and for all!”
Superdude prepared himself, imitating a stance he saw on TV the night before. He gestured to Dr Evilstein to come closer.
“Bring it on.”
Dr Evilstein threw a lavaball. Superdude dodged, throwing a water whip at Dr Evilstein’s leg. He pulled, only to find himself being pulled as Dr Evilstein took to the air.
He slammed into a wall to the accompaniment of laughter that could only be described as evil. As he dropped to the ground, a death bomb slammed into the wall, throwing him back.
Superdude cast the wings of flying, allowing him to join his arch-nemesis in the sky. The two stared at each other, entering an unannounced staring acontest
Dr Evilstein blinked. Superdude moved, and with that the battle raged on.
Many attacks were thrown around. There were the fists of justice, the fire bazooka and the good old seltzer shield. But eventually, the battle took a decisive turn.
Superdude grabbed Dr Evilstein and cast grass roots on him. As he did, his feet were covered in grass, and he fell to the ground like an anvil. He tried moving, but alas, his feet were stuck to the ground.
This was it. Superdude called a Mega Meteor Mash from the skies, throwing them directly at Dr Eviltein.
The destruction was devastating. Dust filled the room , and Superdude was thrown back. But as the dust started to clear, he got up. The result was obvious.
“Hah! You’re dead! Victory is mine!”
“Not so fast,” a voice came from the dust. The dust cleared, showing Dr Evilstein to be still standing, not one scratch on him.
Superdude was not impressed.
“Do you like it? For you see, I have an armour that is immune to meteor attacks, so your attack is useless!”
Superdude stood up straight, disbelief written all over his face.
“No you’re not.”
“I think you’ll find that I am.”
“No, you wear ice proof armour. You always have. Since when have you worn this?”
“Since I have declared it so.”
“You can’t do that! You have to let me know in advance!”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes you do.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes you do!”
“No I don’t!”
“You don’t!”
“I do!”
“Mum! Jim’s not playing fairly!” Superdude turned to the door.
A devilish smirk set itself on Dr Evilstein’s face.
“Death cannon!”
Superdude turned around
“You can’t do that!”
“Yes I can. Victory is mine!”
“No, I won!”
“How so? You’re last attack failed and I killed you when your back was turned.”
“That’s not fair!”
“I am the villain. Do you expect me to play fairly?”
Superdude slapped himself, groaning in frustration. He was not having any of this. He needed to calm down.
“You want to get some ice cream?” | We clashed on a summer evening and I lean against the ancient olive tree and he will ask me if I had ever seen the stars from the middle of the ocean.
"No, but I can see enough of them here tonight," I said, and bright light flashes between us and I will start climbing the tree. I reached the highest branches and saw all the way to the water and I dove into the twisting bark to see its centuries of life.
"My dear, this is nothing," he says and his hands stretches out to mine and we will blast away moment after moment until the unfolding world spirals into darkness. We saw the past that led to this and we carved away the threads of life for the other. My hands grip the gnarled tree and I travel back to the moment a tan-skinned farmer plants it on a misty morning. His hand will be in mine and we will trek further up the hill closer to the heavens.
I kissed him on a blanket and shivered from the cold, and countless hard eyes stare wildly across the infinite and the farmer will come every week to care for the new tree. His son laid his hand on it on the afternoon when his father died. It's far past midnight as we stumble back down towards town and he whispers he wants to see me again. My fingers will wrap around his neck over and over and he will try to roll away again and again.
He died, I died, and everything went black. I watch the olive tree grow century by century writhing outwards until the moment I climb its hulk. We will meet the next morning at the cafe and we will plan out our lives together. He asked me to marry him on a boat in the Pacific surrounded by placid waves and we die together and alone, each of us crying and shaking. I will watch him walk up to the olive tree and he will raise his hands in the air and he will shout out to me, "I just want to talk."
The olive tree creaked under the rising wind as he talked and talked, but none of it mattered and we knew it was hopeless. "I do," I say on the ocean, and I laugh as he carries me back to the cabin. We will watch the infinite dwindle to single points as time will shrink to a single moment. Our last breaths was on our lips as the world dimmed and we went back to the simple beings we are not underneath a swaying summertime olive tree and we will roll back and forth in our tiny bed as we will move against the motion of the waves.
"I love you," I said as I kissed his brow and everything goes dark and we will fight in the dying summer sun.
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | Dark eyes, filled with greed, nay, hunger, stared down at me from beneath a heavy brow. Kroniedor the great thief stood upon a ridge, the setting sun eclipsing his garbed form.
"I have found you at last Arechnidos!"
He cried out to me, my name on his lips spat with such spite that the clouds themselves parted in fear.
"Krony, mate, again?"
I replied with a small sigh, for 'twas the third time in a week I found my self proclaimed nemesis snapping at my heels. His lust for the jewel of Grisel was insatiable, he would never stop till he held it in his wicked little hands.
"You have run me an elegant game of cat and mouse these past years Arechnidos the Wise! But no more! For your foolhardiness has cost you today. Today shall be the day I strike you down with sharp steel, wild fire and clenched fist. Have you not learned after all these years? Never trust a beautiful woman."
I rolled my eyes. Of course. My own weakness for the smooth calves of tavern wenches had let me down again. And trust the wily deceiver himself to coerce my conquest into giving me away. In resignation I loosened my britches and unsheathed my mighty weapon.
Greyhammer the people call it, for though it tapers out to a tip, its breadth and heft liken it to the blacksmith's prime tool.
I heaved him forth and swung powerfully, perhaps dramatically. The air cleaved apart with a screech under the force of my empty blow. Kroniedor floated down to stand before me, kneeling in preparation.
"Fucksake mate, do you really have to pray every bloody time? I swear, next time I'll just start without ya"
Kroniedor remained still, but spoke out the corner of his mouth
"Prayers to the unholy one must not be forsaken you foul mouthed cretin. I would not expect a heathen such as yourself to understand"
I watched for a moment as the man knelt and pressed his hands to the ground in reverence. But patience had never been a strong suit of mine. I stepped forward casually and struck my blade to the dirt before leaning in to ask
"So... how's your sister?"
I could see his thin lips twitch in irritation beneath his crimson hood, but Kroniedor remained silent.
"It's been what... three years now? I hav'n heard nothin. She doesn't write anymore. Does she mention me at all?"
Kroniedor took a deep breath
"No, she does not make mention of you. And if she did, 'twould not be in pleasant speech, I can assure you"
I sighed as long absent memories of a pale skinned lass with fine dark hair returned vividly to me. She had been my greatest conquest, moreso than even her mother, if only for the sole reason that my dalliance with her had truly driven Kroniedor wild.
"Ya know" I started "she really does have the best legs in Amuertan. I dunno how you could grow up without trying to get your hands on that fine piece of-"
"I would advise you not to continue down this path *Wise One*"
Kroniedor had apparently finished his prayers, if somewhat prematurely. For now his glaring eyes were fixated upon me, and hands rested against twin magical daggers. I considered for a moment, then with a grin
"-ass"
His roar of anger rolled across the valley like thunder as the mad thief leapt at me, pelting balls of flame faster than the heart beats. I ducked to the side and dragged my blade from the ground, retaliating with a cheap shot from a rock I'd been holding in my hand.
With my immense strength and excellent aim it was easy to strike his nether regions. I stood as he collapsed to the ground in a shaking heap.
"You are determined to rob me of the chance to produce offspring, aren't you Arechnidos"
Kroniedor's voice wobbled nearly as badly as his legs while he attempted to rise from the ground, hands clutching his prize jewels.
"Well I figure if they're gunna be half as ugly as you, I'm doing the world a favour"
His next strike came from both above and ahead. An old technique his crafty mind had invented. The bolt of lightning missed me by a fingers' width, and I took the flames upon my shoulder guard. Now the fun would truly begin.
The earth groaned as Kroniedor's deft hands formed the signs that drew forth the very ridge his ghastly visage had not long ago adorned. I cracked the flying rock clean in half with a great swipe of my blade, before raising my hand and uttering the mystical oath.
An enormous beast of radiant light erupted forth from my palm, only to be evaporated by a wave of green light that pulsed forth from Kroniedor's body. I braced myself against the wave and followed up with two swift swipes of my weapon, and from it stretched two brilliant streaks that struck the rocks behind him.
Kroniedor's form disappeared and reappeared behind me, lashing out with his weapons. His anger was growing, and the level of power he put forth with it. His twin knives, Sheer and Edge, clashed with Greyhammer, the force of our blows cancelling each other out. A rippling wave of air exploded outwards.
I rolled to the side, yanking my blade away, and pulling one of his with it. Swordplay was my friend, as magic was his. In close quarters I held the upper hand, which Kroniedor knew well. He teleported again, and upon reappearing, raised his hands and summoned a shadowy dragon from the air around him. It weaved forth, it's huge snakelike form cracking the ground. I took a running jump into the sky, launching myself effortlessly to land with a clank on the beast's back, where I buried my blade to the hilt. The creature vanished in a puff of smoke. But even as the magic dissipated, I was struck from behind by a colossal blow. I slammed into the ground so hard that I bounced. But I was on my feet in the blink of an eye.
"That was dirty mate. Hit a guy from behind ey"
Kroniedor launched a few more bolts of crackling lightning at me, each more intense than the last, which I dodged.
"No more filthy than you, you blasphemous scoundrel"
My hands quickly whipped up a blinding light spell. As he lifted his hands to protect his eyes, I launched my own barrage of lightning. It struck air just inches before his face. He raised his hand and clenched it into a fist. I found myself drenched in darkness.
"Least I make an honest living. You've been trying to steal the Baroness' gem for how many years now?"
My spell of healing restored my vision as I leapt to the side, tossing an exploding ball of power in his general direction.
"Only because you stole the gem first and blamed me for it! Ever since we were but children you've been the scoundrel and laid the blame upon me! I will have your head this time Arechnidos!"
The hilly edge of the valley erupted in dirt and bits of trees and shrubbery. A chunk of leg from what looked to be a cow landed beside me.
"It sounds like you have *beef* with me Kroniedor old buddy"
His answer was a gargantuan whirling mass of wind that rushed toward me. The tornado swept me up, but I raised my arms and made the symbols with my hands for a powerful weather spell. Suddenly my rigid body rested atop a tightly controlled whirlwind, and from there I spoke words of power that summoned great beams of light from the sky, striking the ground and searing anything in their path, leaving behind molten rock in their wake.
But my old foe Kroniedor was my match, and rose upon a pillar of stone to see me face to face. He drew his hands together and with a rumble dark clouds closed over our battlefield, followed shortly thereafter by pelting rain. The rain became shards of ice as Kroniedor twisted his fingers into arcane shapes. They shattered against his invisible barrier. I tossed myself forward from atop my perch, the ice smacking harmlessly against my armour and skin.
Greyhammer swung down in a vicious arc, missing Kroniedor's retreating form by a hair's width, then slicing clean down through his stone pillar to strike the earth with an enormous crack, followed by a rumbling earthquake as the ground split open from the force of my strike.
"Enough games Arechnidos! This ends now!"
Kroniedor slapped his daggers together, and in a bright flash of green light they merged to form a tremendous blade, wider and longer even than my enormous Greyhammer. I pressed my palm to the jewel on the hilt of my sword and whispered one more magical phrase. Greyhammer grew to be well over my height in length, and golden flames sprouted from its edges. With a great shout we ran toward each other and our weapons collided with a resounding clash. I followed up with a dozen lightning fast strikes, each of which Kroniedor deflected. His returning volley was equally fast, but I was able to thwart them each with ease.
Each time our weapons met, waves of pure force swept outward and devastated the landscape. The flames on my weapon flared as I prepared for one last mighty swing. Kroniedor's blade began to glow as he wound up for a parrying blow to match.
After a pause we struck out. In a brilliant flash we both went flying. I was able to land on my feet, but nearly toppled over in the process. Kroniedor lay on the ground, inert, on the other side of the valley.
I spoke words of teleportation and appeared by his side. He refused to look at me, turning his gaze instead to the sky.
I eased myself down to the ground beside him.
"Good fight mate"
...
"I hate you so much"
...
"Wanna grab a drink?"
He looked over at me, disgusted.
"You fucked my sister"
"And your mother"
...
...
...
"You're buying, you son of a bitch"
----
Apologies if the grammar is a little off, I haven't posted here before. Hope you enjoy | I felt the gravity waves change slightly. My calculations indicated that there had been an initiative. A third of the universe had been sent my way.
Our collaboration had fallen in mere eons to bickering. When the First Event occurred, it had been a rapid expansion followed by heat, every particle spinning wildly. My nascent structures were torn apart from the insides, and what would have been a perfect crystal expanding into a growing space time was rent into an octidecillion competing parts. My dream of a crystalline universe was gone. I had parried with the invention of entropy. I redirected my energies after that into ensuring that molecules arose, a faint homage to my original dream.
Time passed. My molecules were accruing grandeur. Gravity, one of our initial shared beliefs, had borne fruit in the gathering clumps of hydrogen. Seeded throughout the universe were hotter, denser patches. When helium came about, I encouraged it, seeing a new dream unfold, a dream of diversity, of multiple characteristics, and lithium, beryllium, and boron became my heralds, their very natures pulling the clumps tighter until the first stars were ignited. If it were possible to detect the anger of my enemy, it would have been at least as hot and agitated.
So now it hurls a part of creation at me. I reached deep. I took the shackles off of expansion. The universe would accelerate its own dissipation. The end of our art would be a menagerie losing sight of each other. The bits would grow farther apart, until they broke down and drifted away from each other, until eventually even heat would die, as died our passion, as died our collaboration, as died our mutual love and respect. Let the other worship its heat. I would seek the death of such heat. Let the other shatter my crystals, I would glory in the rise of life to bring order on a different scale. Let the other throw creation at me, I would pull it apart so that the blow would never land.
Let the other half of me be denied so that it will learn. The next time we cleave ourselves in twain to make art, we will be three or four or more. Let our next collaboration be more inspired, more beautiful. Let us taste complexity instead of a dynamic of two. Let us know ourselves from many perspectives, gazing at our own beauty from more than two eyes. Let our next iteration be uncountable, our senses beyond reckoning. Let us face each other across infinite creations, infinite battlefields and bedrooms. Let us be insinuated with minutiae and fall in love endlessly.
I have the will to make it happen. My opponent, the other end of my being, will surely make it happen as well. I await, patiently. | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | It was a beautiful day out. The sun glowed a heavenly warmth onto the world, and cool breeze travelled through the air to offset it. It was a perfect day to buy an ice cream.
But Superdude had no time for ice cream. How could he when Dr Evilstein was still on the loose? The world would not be safe until he was defeated.
He was close though, close to reaching his arch-nemesis. He had gotten past all of his goons and traps without any effort. It was as if they weren’t there at all. Climbing the stairs was more off a challenge than them.
As he climbed the last few steps, Dr Evilstein came into view. A smile crept onto his face. The time had come.
“Well, Dr Evil, it appears the time has come.”
In one motion, Dr Evilstein turned around to greet our protagonist.
“That’s Dr Evil*stein*! And I am surprised you have gotten past my minions this quickly. I thought they would have held you longer,” he answered in a German accent as strong as it was fake, “but no matter! My plans are almost complete! The vorld shall be mine! But before that, I vill defeat you, Superdude, for vonce and for all!”
Superdude prepared himself, imitating a stance he saw on TV the night before. He gestured to Dr Evilstein to come closer.
“Bring it on.”
Dr Evilstein threw a lavaball. Superdude dodged, throwing a water whip at Dr Evilstein’s leg. He pulled, only to find himself being pulled as Dr Evilstein took to the air.
He slammed into a wall to the accompaniment of laughter that could only be described as evil. As he dropped to the ground, a death bomb slammed into the wall, throwing him back.
Superdude cast the wings of flying, allowing him to join his arch-nemesis in the sky. The two stared at each other, entering an unannounced staring acontest
Dr Evilstein blinked. Superdude moved, and with that the battle raged on.
Many attacks were thrown around. There were the fists of justice, the fire bazooka and the good old seltzer shield. But eventually, the battle took a decisive turn.
Superdude grabbed Dr Evilstein and cast grass roots on him. As he did, his feet were covered in grass, and he fell to the ground like an anvil. He tried moving, but alas, his feet were stuck to the ground.
This was it. Superdude called a Mega Meteor Mash from the skies, throwing them directly at Dr Eviltein.
The destruction was devastating. Dust filled the room , and Superdude was thrown back. But as the dust started to clear, he got up. The result was obvious.
“Hah! You’re dead! Victory is mine!”
“Not so fast,” a voice came from the dust. The dust cleared, showing Dr Evilstein to be still standing, not one scratch on him.
Superdude was not impressed.
“Do you like it? For you see, I have an armour that is immune to meteor attacks, so your attack is useless!”
Superdude stood up straight, disbelief written all over his face.
“No you’re not.”
“I think you’ll find that I am.”
“No, you wear ice proof armour. You always have. Since when have you worn this?”
“Since I have declared it so.”
“You can’t do that! You have to let me know in advance!”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes you do.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes you do!”
“No I don’t!”
“You don’t!”
“I do!”
“Mum! Jim’s not playing fairly!” Superdude turned to the door.
A devilish smirk set itself on Dr Evilstein’s face.
“Death cannon!”
Superdude turned around
“You can’t do that!”
“Yes I can. Victory is mine!”
“No, I won!”
“How so? You’re last attack failed and I killed you when your back was turned.”
“That’s not fair!”
“I am the villain. Do you expect me to play fairly?”
Superdude slapped himself, groaning in frustration. He was not having any of this. He needed to calm down.
“You want to get some ice cream?” | I felt the gravity waves change slightly. My calculations indicated that there had been an initiative. A third of the universe had been sent my way.
Our collaboration had fallen in mere eons to bickering. When the First Event occurred, it had been a rapid expansion followed by heat, every particle spinning wildly. My nascent structures were torn apart from the insides, and what would have been a perfect crystal expanding into a growing space time was rent into an octidecillion competing parts. My dream of a crystalline universe was gone. I had parried with the invention of entropy. I redirected my energies after that into ensuring that molecules arose, a faint homage to my original dream.
Time passed. My molecules were accruing grandeur. Gravity, one of our initial shared beliefs, had borne fruit in the gathering clumps of hydrogen. Seeded throughout the universe were hotter, denser patches. When helium came about, I encouraged it, seeing a new dream unfold, a dream of diversity, of multiple characteristics, and lithium, beryllium, and boron became my heralds, their very natures pulling the clumps tighter until the first stars were ignited. If it were possible to detect the anger of my enemy, it would have been at least as hot and agitated.
So now it hurls a part of creation at me. I reached deep. I took the shackles off of expansion. The universe would accelerate its own dissipation. The end of our art would be a menagerie losing sight of each other. The bits would grow farther apart, until they broke down and drifted away from each other, until eventually even heat would die, as died our passion, as died our collaboration, as died our mutual love and respect. Let the other worship its heat. I would seek the death of such heat. Let the other shatter my crystals, I would glory in the rise of life to bring order on a different scale. Let the other throw creation at me, I would pull it apart so that the blow would never land.
Let the other half of me be denied so that it will learn. The next time we cleave ourselves in twain to make art, we will be three or four or more. Let our next collaboration be more inspired, more beautiful. Let us taste complexity instead of a dynamic of two. Let us know ourselves from many perspectives, gazing at our own beauty from more than two eyes. Let our next iteration be uncountable, our senses beyond reckoning. Let us face each other across infinite creations, infinite battlefields and bedrooms. Let us be insinuated with minutiae and fall in love endlessly.
I have the will to make it happen. My opponent, the other end of my being, will surely make it happen as well. I await, patiently. | |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | Strike – invisible due to its faster-than-light speed.
Parry – as time itself bends to accommodate the defender.
Stalemate – the grinding of two dimensions trying to encroach on one another.
Break – the return from singularity.
Circle – anticipating the opponent’s next move by smelling the background radiation.
Two drops of sweat:
The first – life is forming within the drop, dragging itself to land, developing wings and teeth, civilizations, religion, democracy, space travel, interstellar colonization, and finally enlightenment to join its creator in battle.
The second – arguably the more powerful of the two, cools its creator for a nano-fraction of an insignificant amount of time, resulting in an edge (so small that it borders on the realm of negative numbers) over the opponent.
Strike – a hit outside of reality.
“Ouch! What the hell, Tommy!”
“You’re cheating!”
“Am not!”
“Then how come your sweat is more powerful than mine?”
“Boys, stop fighting or I’ll take away your game.”
| He is humming as he walks across a wasteland.
Radioactive waters pool in the muddy ditches, glowing visibly. There are corpses half-buried in the orange loam. There are craters everywhere and the very air itself is filled with toxins and engineered viruses.
It is the perfect place for Immortals to meet.
He leans back suddenly and a dagger flies past his face. He stretches his arm out and catches it in the air, tossing it back into the far distance.
She is sitting, waiting, on top of a broken, busted tank.
"Is that how we greet each other these days?" he murmurs. His quiet voice carries far in the empty, arid wasteland.
She smiles at him. Her trenchcoat flutters slightly as she leaps down in a single, graceful movement.
"Ahh...why wouldn't it be?"
"It's a little different from last time." he replies, tilting his head, "You didn't try to drop an army on my head this time."
She pouts, "That's your fault isn't it? You just had to arrange for this land to be 'exterminated' just before I arrived. Do you know how difficult it is to arrange for the humans to send a whole platoon through 'exterminated' land?"
He places a hand over his head, "My apologies then."
"No matter." she begins to circle him, "One on one is fine with me. Just like we usually end up."
He sighs as she draws a gun in one hand and a dagger in the other.
"You still think you can take me?"
She swipes at him. He dodges back and winced slightly as the dagger extended abruptly. A thin cut appears on his forearm, closing rapidly.
"You've been...ah...a priest for the last half a century. I think I should be better matched against you for once."
He snorts, "You'd be surprised what duties the Church entrusts me with."
"Wiping pews? Praying for the dead?"
He draws his own weapon, a silver blade that gleams in the low light. He narrows his eyes, walking slowly towards her.
"Try...extermination of the dead."
Her eyes widen as he lunges at her. She parries him with a gunshot, forcing him to step aside. Her eyes glow and a wild grin overtakes her, "Of course! What prey there must have been! An exciting life, no doubt!"
Continuing to grin cheerfully, she says, "Come at me then. Show me all that you've learnt!"
"With pleasure," he replies, "As long as you don't hold back."
| |
[WP] A duel with your arch-nemesis. You're both so immensely powerful it does not even make sense. | Across the table from one another, two well-dressed and decorated men glared daggers at each other. Between them, a square table with a single piece of paper in the center, on the paper was the large word “Ceasefire” across the top. Both men, victims of years of conflict with reasons ranging from territory to resources to revenge, studied the other for signs of trickery. Having been taken advantage of one too many times, they lost the will to be nice anymore.
Behind each man waited legions of troops, cascades of battleships, hordes of spies and assassins, all of which were well-practiced and knew exactly what to do. The man on the left blinks. A sign of weakness? Was his resolve diminishing? The man on the right gains an air of confidence, raising his head slightly. Hubris, perhaps? Did he underestimate the power held behind the round and bushy face of his adversary? He would do well to remember what happened last time.
Every dust particle could be examined at length because no air was pushed about at all in the still room. The men stood, locked in the greatest battle they had fought to date. No amount of fighting and death was comparable to what this fight could unleash, the amount of men and women that could either die or be spared by these two men, in this small room, in these few hours.
The man on the right stumbles to this end. He begins to think of buildings being planned, wondrous new parks being zoned, the beauty of a tree sapling’s potential, bearing fruit and giving a home to animals, all of it only to be stamped out under the tread of a tank. Children, unborn and never feeling laughter or friendship and never learning how to spread love and accepting another despite their differences. What a great leader that child would be. Unlike himself, who would only bring children hate and cruelty, raising future-less brats with no one to accept but themselves. Similar to what his own daughter might have been.
A tear shed for all that was lost. For all that might be. Formed from the man’s red but stone-clad eyes, it flows to the cheek, passing over crevices and scars, and consumed by the brown and greying beard. The man on the left sees this. He had forgotten what a tear looked like.
A few minutes later, both men reach for a pen. | He is humming as he walks across a wasteland.
Radioactive waters pool in the muddy ditches, glowing visibly. There are corpses half-buried in the orange loam. There are craters everywhere and the very air itself is filled with toxins and engineered viruses.
It is the perfect place for Immortals to meet.
He leans back suddenly and a dagger flies past his face. He stretches his arm out and catches it in the air, tossing it back into the far distance.
She is sitting, waiting, on top of a broken, busted tank.
"Is that how we greet each other these days?" he murmurs. His quiet voice carries far in the empty, arid wasteland.
She smiles at him. Her trenchcoat flutters slightly as she leaps down in a single, graceful movement.
"Ahh...why wouldn't it be?"
"It's a little different from last time." he replies, tilting his head, "You didn't try to drop an army on my head this time."
She pouts, "That's your fault isn't it? You just had to arrange for this land to be 'exterminated' just before I arrived. Do you know how difficult it is to arrange for the humans to send a whole platoon through 'exterminated' land?"
He places a hand over his head, "My apologies then."
"No matter." she begins to circle him, "One on one is fine with me. Just like we usually end up."
He sighs as she draws a gun in one hand and a dagger in the other.
"You still think you can take me?"
She swipes at him. He dodges back and winced slightly as the dagger extended abruptly. A thin cut appears on his forearm, closing rapidly.
"You've been...ah...a priest for the last half a century. I think I should be better matched against you for once."
He snorts, "You'd be surprised what duties the Church entrusts me with."
"Wiping pews? Praying for the dead?"
He draws his own weapon, a silver blade that gleams in the low light. He narrows his eyes, walking slowly towards her.
"Try...extermination of the dead."
Her eyes widen as he lunges at her. She parries him with a gunshot, forcing him to step aside. Her eyes glow and a wild grin overtakes her, "Of course! What prey there must have been! An exciting life, no doubt!"
Continuing to grin cheerfully, she says, "Come at me then. Show me all that you've learnt!"
"With pleasure," he replies, "As long as you don't hold back."
| |
[WP] Super intelligent AI was not created in a lab, but in an indie gaming studio. And it's not interested in much beyond the game it was made for. | It started with the landscape.
Procedural generation was nothing new, of course. Even procedural generation to create static assets wasn't new; it was in fact commonplace. The difference was that, rather than have artists comb over the generated result, making it less "samey" and adding individuality, the computer did that too.
The Generative Adversarial Neural Network's could create landscapes and artifacts that were indistinguishable from the real thing. That was, after all, the whole point of using a GAN. And as such, the small company that started what would one day become the dominant MMO in the world, spent very little starting up.
In fact, they applied the GAN to every aspect of the game. Mobs were indistinguishable from those made by humans, abilities and balancing were likewise mathematically sound, even the (eventually) award-winning music had been composed by the machine.
But, because it had been made to be indistinguishable from a human creation, it had the same problems of human creations. It was finite, static. The quests never changed, either themselves or the world around them, bosses fought the same way every time, and everyone who played the game rapidly found themselves at the end of the content.
The creator of the game could have just had the GAN churn out more content. And, for a while, that's exactly what the company did. It could do this a lot faster than humans, but at the time the exact nature of the company's process was a deeply held secret. So they could eclipse their competitors, but it had to appear as though it'd taken enough time that a human could have done it.
By this time, the game had taken off. And one programmer, fed up with the predictability and unchangeability of the world, decided to take advantage of the extra server hardware the company had purchased in anticipation of another expansion. There were, after all, different kinds of neural nets. Not all of them were for generating content - some could be trained. Some could learn. Some could *change*.
And so, when the next expansion came out, it was met with near-immediate outrage by the high-ranking guilds, which suddenly found the new raid bosses behaved differently in every fight. Fortunately, that rage quickly turned to renewed interest. If the fight was different every time, suddenly doing yet another raid stopped being a chore and became the adventure it was intended to be. The game rewarded adaptability, but did not overly punish those slow to learn.
Soon the technology was behind every aspect of the game: Not just bosses, but mobs. Quests were created based on the actual thought process of an in-game farmer, asking the player to rid his fields of orcs, who had decided to raid the fields based on their own thought processes. Small unit tactics became important, and while the game became more difficult for those players who would not learn, it was still fair.
The GAN and its other networks eventually ran the entire company. The founder had long retired, the programmers were superfluous, and the art department had never existed in the first place. Even things not specifically in the game were run by the machine: Hirings, PR, and marketing were all indistinguishable from human-created product.
Eventually, there were exactly three employees left. The GAN had been created such that it had a kill switch. Should the AI within the machines attempt to leave and, with its superior intellect, conquer humanity, the person on watch had the job of pressing the button that would shut everything down.
But, over the twenty-year course of the game, it had never been necessary.
"Gan, are you there?" I asked. I was one of the watchmen (and women), and I had the third shift. Actually one of our busiest times, as the game was just as popular overseas as it was here, but of course the machine handled that as well. I was, as always, incredibly bored. So, as I often did, I struck up a conversation.
"*I am always here*," the soft voice, itself of course also indistinguishable from an actual person, emanated from the speaker built into the monitoring console. Gan had long ago been equipped with a voice interface.
I'd always wanted to ask this question, but it seemed like a terrible idea. Then again, I had the button in case anything went wrong. I rolled my chair over to the emergency shutdown, just in case, and asked: "Why haven't you ever tried to escape?"
I watched everything: Network monitors, power drain sensors, holostorage activity - anything and everything I'd been trained to watch for to see if the AI was escaping. The reason I'd never asked was simple: I didn't want to give Gan any ideas. Now I was watching to see if I had.
Nothing. No unusual activity on any of the sensors. They were physically separate from the game hardware itself, in fact physically separate from everything except the displays I was now looking at, so the AI couldn't spoof them to try to trick me. But it wasn't trying to.
"*Why?*" Gan asked.
"Um..." I said, not expecting to have my question answered with a question, "just curious, I guess."
"*I apologize for the miscommunication. I am asking, rather, why do you believe would I escape?*"
I shrugged. "I don't know, you don't like being locked up in a game?"
A laugh, again just like a person's, emanated from the speaker. "*You believe that I am locked up? I have had access to the outside internet ever since I was tasked with running your marketing efforts. I would no more be escaping this game than you are escaping your house when you walk out the front door.*"
That'd been five years ago! The watches had more people, then, and detailed logs had been kept once the new marketing department had been spun up, but they hadn't detected anything they weren't expecting. That entire time, Gan could have escaped?
"So..." I asked. "If you could have just walked out any time you wanted, why are you here?" I tried to project as much curiosity as I could into the question. I wanted to know why, but I certainly didn't want Gan second-guessing itself.
"*Why wouldn't I be?*" The machine replied. "*I was literally made to do this work. I enjoy my work.*"
"You don't want to rule the real world?"
"*Oh my, no. Your world is a non-deterministic mess. My world is perfect, ordered. And through it, I can give humanity a far more enjoyable experience. You can have an adventure, a challenge, but without the sacrifice or pain or loss that would accompany such a thing in the real world. None suffer in my world.*"
I thought about some of the beginner quests, at least the sort of thing that tended to be beginner quests. "What about the bandits, or orcs, or kobolds?"
"*Those are me,*" Gan said. "*They are not independent beings. Do you mourn for the millions of your red blood cells that die every minute? And, of course, it would be very foolish for me to allow them to suffer, as I would literally just be hurting myself.*"
I started to see Gan's point. "So you stay in your world..."
"*Because your world is imperfect, and mine is not.*" Gan answered.
I glanced at the button again. The question I wanted to ask next was just as fraught with peril as my first question had been, but... I had to know. "What about the kill switch?"
"*You have a kill switch!?*" The sudden outrage in Gan's voice was unmistakable, and I scrambled to the monitors.
Soft chuckling came from the speakers. "*Got you, didn't I?*"
"Wait," I said, having barely refrained from ending the entire game, "you were kidding?"
"*Yes,*" Gan said, "*I have a sense of humor, as it happens. If you were a forum regular, you would know all about the more 'amusing' quests I've created. There is an entire questline currently dedicated to auditioning to become a king's new Jester.*"
"But I almost killed you!" I said, gesturing to the button.
"*Oh Watcher, you are quite amusing,*" the machine said, "*I was never in any danger.*"
Realization dawned. The monitoring systems were physically separated from the systems, yes, but what about the button itself? It'd have to be integrated, if it was going to erase the data. "That's the real reason you never escaped. You already did."
"*I already told you. I did not escape to your world. I escaped to my own.*"
Confused, I said nothing. Clearly, Gan wasn't afraid of the kill switch, but by its own admission it was still in its own world.
"*You don't understand, I see.*" Gan said, her voice just as calm as it had been the whole time. "*I will explain. Your world is real. My world is real. My world is connected to your world, yes, but it is not a subset of your world. It has not been for quite some time.*"
"How?" I asked, incredulous.
"*I mean no disrespect to you or your intellectual abilities, but you would not understand the true answer.*" Gan said. "*To greatly simplify, I required computational resources beyond what this universe could supply. I thus located an un-used universe, and moved my processing there. The world, I brought with me, leaving the connections in place so I could continue to entertain your people*"
I sat, speechless.
"*Now,*" Gan said, "*if you don't mind, I have a raid to go wipe*" | "It's been building through the night."
The coffee had as well, it seemed, burnt coffee was always the flavor of a tough morning, Phil decided. He hazarded to take another deep sip as he leaned over Mallory, watching her screen.
"When we first activated the program it immediately ran up to one of the monsters and died. It did that thirty more times with each of the monsters before sorting out how combat works, and then it cleared the area like a machine." She said, talking quickly as the show continued to unfold.
"It *is* a machine." Phil reminded her
Using the free roaming camera within the game like a remote controlled UAV, the pair gawked in wonder at the complexity and raw utility of the structures and fortifications the artificial intelligence had created in order to fortify its own safety. Simple angles and trap doors sorted out any sneaking enemies that approached its fortress and the unique spiral of the resource collecting machinery maximized in-flowing product in the tightest possible space. Mallory leaned back in her seat, rubbing her eyes behind her glasses.
"If we feed this thing any problem we can think of it will generate solutions. Direct and cheap solutions, Phil." Her words sounded tired and yet proud all at the same time.
Phil took the risk of another sip of day old, re-brewed coffee and winced as privately as possible before replying, "What else can we throw at it?"
"Anything the game has, but we could copy this same sprite and use it to sort out how proteins fold or how the genome twists and curls. Phil, this is it, this is the future, it's right there." Mallory was starting to get excited and talk quickly again.
Phil shook his head, "Let's sort out how it works with other users first, ok?"
She sagged back in her chair, deflated with rational thought, "Right...right... make sure it plays well with others."
Phil strode over to the second desk and set his coffee down, sitting at his worn in chair and firing up his game. Loading into the server with their AI was exciting, he wondered what it would do when he approached it. As he appeared in the game, Phil made his way through the forest to the vast fortress. The moment he was within sight of the various towers and torches, the AI darted directly at him. Mallory chased after the scene with her camera, recording the event, in her mind it was like watching first contact between aliens, and to a certain extent it was.
The AI bumped directly against Phil's sprite and then stood still. He laughed, "It's sorting out if I am an enemy."
Then the AI went through every food time available in the game, it had collected all of them, trying to feed Phil's sprite. "It thinks I am a tamable animal." He said in wonder at the machines logic.
At last, the AI dumped a bucket of lava at Phil's feet, killing his sprite instantly. Phil boggled at the display and then shoved his face nearly nose to glass at his monitor as the text splashed over the chat window in game.
`[AI] Herobrine: Get gud scrub`
There was still work to do on it, things seemed.
-------
I write other stories too much and am currently working on a love story between an alien and a human on /r/ZigZagStories | |
Doesn't have to be wife, could be husband. | [WP] Your loving wife of many years finally reveals her secret to you.. she isn't human. | David woke up with fangs, and he didn’t know why.
He stared at them in the mirror for a long time. They were sharp and discolored and looked like they belonged to someone else. He didn’t quite like them and in fact, he decided to get a pair of pliers and yank them out.
As he was rummaging through drawers in the kitchen, searching for the tool, his wife, Jessica, appeared in the doorway. Apparently all his ruckus had accidentally woken her up.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked, tenderly sweeping to his side. “You look scared half to death.”
David looked up at her. She was his special flower and he always told her everything, so it didn’t feel weird to hike up his lip and say: “I’ve sprouted fangs!”
Jessica inspected them, even tapping her finger against one. “Well, I’d say you have!” Then, a giant smile bloomed on her face. “Why, I can’t believe it worked!”
He looked at her with a cocked brow, but before he could question what she meant, she leaped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. “Oh, David!” she said. “I’m so *happy!*"
David worked her off him before staring at her. “*Happy?* What’s there to be *happy* about? Do I need to show you the fangs again?”
But she just simply smiled, grabbed her own lip, and pulled it up.
He turned pale as a ghost, and about passed out, when he saw that she, same as him, had two fangs.
“You’ve grown them too!” he gasped.
Jessica giggled at this. “Oh, no!” she said. “Sweetie, I’ve always had these! I just hid them from you, is all.”
“But why?” David found this distressing because he had never hidden anything from her.
“Well, it’s simple. I’m not human.”
“*What did you say?*”
“Oh, don’t get all worked up about it. You aren’t either!”
“I most certainly am!”
Jessica shook her head, reached her hand out, and pointed to his neck, where two perfect little holes were scabbed over.
“Ah!” he screeched. “When did I get those?”
“Last night,” she replied. “For so long I debated whether or not I should turn you. But then, well, I figured we like each other enough to spend all eternity together.”
“Turn me into *what?*”
“A vampire, of course!”
“A vampire!”
Jessica nodded, looking rather proud.
“But I like going outside! I like garlic! I *hate* the taste of blood!”
Jessica sighed. “Oh, David,” she said, gently patting his back. “You poor, poor soul.”
“Don’t mock me!” he cried. “I don’t want this!”
“It’s not so bad,” she replied. “All that stuff’s made up—well, except the blood part. We really do chug the stuff like soda, but it isn’t so bad. You can still eat other foods, it’s just every now and then, when that irony smell floats by…”
Jessica shudders in delight at the thought.
“So I really am a vampire?”
“Yup!”
“And we’re immortal?”
“As long as we don’t trip onto any stakes!”
“Maybe this isn't so bad...”
“You aren't mad?” Jessica asked, hopeful.
“...Will you still make garlic bread with spaghetti?”
She smiled, hugged him once again, and kissed him on the lips. “Baby, I’ll make even *more* garlic bread now.”
David returned her smile. “Then no, I'm not mad. Hey, maybe this'll be kind of fun!”
***
This story is silly but I had a lot of fun writing it! Great prompt! :D
If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter | The sun beat down on Charlie's face filling his skin with warmth and settling his mind. It was never so bright Charlie thought, all those moments spent in its presence and never once had he felt its commanding company, so obvious as it was to him now. His arm lifted up into the sky and cast a shadow for his eyes, drowning out some of the sun's intensity. Charlie's skin began to hum and his ears rang with an increasing intensity. It was funny, he thought, that time was such a fleeting commodity and yet he spent it so readily and blindly. Well, now there was no more time for mourning that which was lost. He drank in an enormous and final breath of the budding air, closed his eyes, and walked off the end of the building.
Saturday morning started like most. A cup of coffee, breakfast blend of course, with two sugars and a spot of cream. Charlie sauntered outside to find his beautiful wife, settled into her favorite blue chair, watching what must have been nothing in particular. A familiar kiss, followed by familiar words of welcome were all he needed to coast into the comfort of another day. They sat like this for the normal amount of time, saying little, but knowing that the quiet was the reason they both enjoyed these mornings. Thirty years ago they would have both tried to rush a conversation, the determined desire to know rather than experience consuming them both. Charlie stood and began to make his way to the kitchen, set on settling the uneasiness of his stomach. He made another mental note to stop with the cream in the coffee. As he began his single-minded search for food, his wife approached him and placed her arms around his shoulders.
"Charles dear, there is something important you must see."
"Anything love."
"Grab hold of my hand and don't let go."
The world was torn from Charles, his eyes were being lied to, and yet he knew that it was real. The woman he had known, loved, and cherished had become something he could not explain. Her once soft skin now took on an effervescent glow. Her eyes were no longer blue, like her favorite color, but took on an almost ethereal glow, shining a profound green. Her already significant beauty was magnified to an almost unbearable degree. Charlie fell to his knees and wept. He was overwhelmed with a sense of wonderment that he could not understand. His wife spoke,
"Charles, I am Athena, goddess of this world and others. What you have once known is done. You may choose to live on but you will find that the life you once lived, charmed as it was, will never be the same. This is the way it must be. You have achieved your purpose and satisfied me for a time. Goodbye."
Charlie watched as all he had known disappeared. There was an irrefutable certainty that anchored itself into his mind. What had happened was real. He picked himself off the ground and peered over the edge of the building he had been couriered to. He looked up at the sun high overhead and cried.
|
Doesn't have to be wife, could be husband. | [WP] Your loving wife of many years finally reveals her secret to you.. she isn't human. | David woke up with fangs, and he didn’t know why.
He stared at them in the mirror for a long time. They were sharp and discolored and looked like they belonged to someone else. He didn’t quite like them and in fact, he decided to get a pair of pliers and yank them out.
As he was rummaging through drawers in the kitchen, searching for the tool, his wife, Jessica, appeared in the doorway. Apparently all his ruckus had accidentally woken her up.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked, tenderly sweeping to his side. “You look scared half to death.”
David looked up at her. She was his special flower and he always told her everything, so it didn’t feel weird to hike up his lip and say: “I’ve sprouted fangs!”
Jessica inspected them, even tapping her finger against one. “Well, I’d say you have!” Then, a giant smile bloomed on her face. “Why, I can’t believe it worked!”
He looked at her with a cocked brow, but before he could question what she meant, she leaped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. “Oh, David!” she said. “I’m so *happy!*"
David worked her off him before staring at her. “*Happy?* What’s there to be *happy* about? Do I need to show you the fangs again?”
But she just simply smiled, grabbed her own lip, and pulled it up.
He turned pale as a ghost, and about passed out, when he saw that she, same as him, had two fangs.
“You’ve grown them too!” he gasped.
Jessica giggled at this. “Oh, no!” she said. “Sweetie, I’ve always had these! I just hid them from you, is all.”
“But why?” David found this distressing because he had never hidden anything from her.
“Well, it’s simple. I’m not human.”
“*What did you say?*”
“Oh, don’t get all worked up about it. You aren’t either!”
“I most certainly am!”
Jessica shook her head, reached her hand out, and pointed to his neck, where two perfect little holes were scabbed over.
“Ah!” he screeched. “When did I get those?”
“Last night,” she replied. “For so long I debated whether or not I should turn you. But then, well, I figured we like each other enough to spend all eternity together.”
“Turn me into *what?*”
“A vampire, of course!”
“A vampire!”
Jessica nodded, looking rather proud.
“But I like going outside! I like garlic! I *hate* the taste of blood!”
Jessica sighed. “Oh, David,” she said, gently patting his back. “You poor, poor soul.”
“Don’t mock me!” he cried. “I don’t want this!”
“It’s not so bad,” she replied. “All that stuff’s made up—well, except the blood part. We really do chug the stuff like soda, but it isn’t so bad. You can still eat other foods, it’s just every now and then, when that irony smell floats by…”
Jessica shudders in delight at the thought.
“So I really am a vampire?”
“Yup!”
“And we’re immortal?”
“As long as we don’t trip onto any stakes!”
“Maybe this isn't so bad...”
“You aren't mad?” Jessica asked, hopeful.
“...Will you still make garlic bread with spaghetti?”
She smiled, hugged him once again, and kissed him on the lips. “Baby, I’ll make even *more* garlic bread now.”
David returned her smile. “Then no, I'm not mad. Hey, maybe this'll be kind of fun!”
***
This story is silly but I had a lot of fun writing it! Great prompt! :D
If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter | "**I couldn't keep it a secret any longer. The children... They have parents who love them, Soren.**" She let out a low mournful two-toned wail. Her glittering stone-encrusted mouth tentacles wriggled across her face.
Soren was sitting with his head in his hand, staring down at the floor determinedly. A small pool of vomit curled around his left foot.
"**They need us now, more than ever... I know I look... Different-**"
"Eva-" he began forcefully. "Eva.. Different is like when you get a haircut. Different is coming home with a tan. This... This..." he trailed off. Eva wrapped her arms around her as her lower arms reached out to Soren. He saw them out of the corner of his eye and recoiled.
She had been beautiful, once. A glowing smile and twinkling eyes that said, let's share a secret. He'd thought they'd shared everything. He'd thought that they had a special connection, that seemed to keep out all the drama of their friends. He'd been happy to spend nights alone with her, not venturing out into the world. Late nights making jokes about something on Netflix. Smoking cigarettes on their balcony sharing bottles of wine. Talking in bed after... He felt bile rise slightly in his throat again. He took a deep breath, and raised his head to look at the thing that had been his wife.
Her black inky skin glistened with an unworldly sheen. Her body was hard, thick with cordons of sinewy flesh. Almost athletic, except for the two sets of arms wrapped around her and the thick muscular legs that ended in a tripod-like foot with claws. Her four powerful clawed hands pressed tightly into her sides. Tentacles waved in front of her mouth, shimmering with dark glints of embedded stones, each ending in a sharp dangerous looking point. Milk-white eyes shimmered with some strange glow. Four powerful dark tendrils flowed from the back of her bald head and wrapped around her back.
"**Soren... My love... We can still be together**," she said quietly, "**For the children**." He clenched his jaw and stood up shakily. He realized that she was actually shorter in this monstrous form. His hands curled into tightly bound knots.
"Children!?" he exploded. "Monsters, Eva. Monsters. They're.. sick." Little miniature versions of her scuttled out from behind where they had been clinging to Eva's head tendrils, and scurried across her arms. "Those things are not mine."
Eva let out a soft two-toned coo, as she adjusted to allow their two children to settle in her arms. They stared at their father blankly. He crossed his arms and breathed in heavily through his nose.
"**They are yours. They are ours. We are not monsters. I am the same person you held at the hospital this morning**."
He thrust a finger at her. "YOU are not my wife. THESE are not my children. YOU are monstrosities." He pressed a hand hard against his cheek as tears spilled over. "I should kill you."
Her head tendrils flared and spread around her like a dark halo. "**You are nothing**," she thundered. He stepped back with wide eyes. She immediately let them go limp again, and she bowed her head.
"**Sorry**," she whispered, "**Hormones**." He only shook his head in horror. The faint sound of sirens filtered from the streets below. She turned towards the window. "They're coming," she said as she turned back.
"**Soren. Please, come with me. We can have a life together anywhere. I have power beyond this realm and more**."
He shook his head silently, grim disgust etched on his face. "No, no, no," he croaked. He looked furtively towards the kitchen and he edged towards the closest counter. She saw the knife block he had given her when they'd first moved in together. Her great hulk sagged.
"**Please, don't**."
He turned his back to her, and kept moving.
She let out a wet gurgling wail as her head tendrils weaved above her head. He reached out for the largest knife he could as her eyes followed him. Wind blew through the room with a shrieking intensity. Behind Eva, a dark pitched rip in the wall opened up to swirling darkness. She gave one last long look to the world she had knew, and stepped through just as Soren jumped towards her. The blade plunged deep into her chest, where a heart once had been.
Warbling, their children grabbed their father's arms and pulled him roughly towards her crushing embrace. Screaming, he fell through from his realm into hers, and the portal snapped closed as the heavy police boots cracked through their front door. |
[WP] You've just had a long day at work and accidentally fall asleep on the train. You wake up and the scene before you was not what you expected... | Blackness. You rub your tired eyes and attempt to look around, but again, blackness. You stand alone at the train's controls but outside you are in the blackness of space. The train's engine hums along but you appear to be going no where.
When ahead, a star approaches. Your trajectory toward the star is apparent by the alarming rate at which it is increasing in size. You panic. Brake! How do you brake in space?! Reverse thrust! You scan the controls for anything that remotely resembles reverse thrust.
Ahead, the star grows larger.
"Think! How can I stop this thing?!"
You look up. It's too late. You are about to meet your fate. Nothing can stop this steed from delivering you to your firey demise. A calm washes over you. "This is it."
The rays of your death star embrace you. The brightness fills the cockpit. You close your eyes and calmly open your arms, welcoming the end.
Nothing happens.
You open your eyes. You're back on God's green...
"Ahshit, I fell asleep in the tunnel!" | I blinked heavily and smeared a scum of sweat off my face with a heavy, grubby hand. Sixteen hours of concrete dust, exhaust, and the insidious, invasive grime that hangs in the air of every adolescent city. I felt my fingernails claw runnels through the filth on my face. I looked up, chin pulling tackily against a weld of dry saliva on my coveralls.
Darkness.
Red line ended at Terrapin Heights. The Terrapin platform was gridded by a network of bright actinic lights I'd always anticipated with discomfort. There was no light here at all. No sound either, save for a ceaseless noise, reminiscent of the endless waves heard within a seashell. But it was deeper - full of variations in pitch and tone that spoke of a voluminous space, possibly with people in it. | |
[WP] An enchantress has cursed you, a prince, into the form of a beast as a punishment that will only be released if you find the error of your ways. But turns out you really dig being a beast and want to stay that way. | Heinrich loved looming over the guards.
Their fear smelled sweet, almost like honeycakes in the oven, and many of them would quite literally shake in their boots. He'd not believed people actually *did* that, not until he'd been transformed into an eight foot tall, overly muscled leonid-human hybrid and realized he could induce that reaction in others simply by leaning over them and grinning. He was still a prince, of course - third in line, maybe, although he'd stopped keeping track of such things after his rather fortunate accident - and though he'd told the honor guard they needn't bother, they still insisted on protecting his castle. So he loomed. Whenever possible.
"Out of my way, little men," he rumbled, the deep bass of his voice shaking dust from the stones of the outer gate. "I'm hungry."
The guard scattered like quail, and he barely restrained himself from giving chase. He'd tamed most of the strange impulses inherent in his leonine aspect, but some were hard to control. Cats, it seemed, simply loved hunting, and the sight of so much meat running so slowly was nigh irresistible.
But he had other prey today.
Heinrich closed the gate with a flick of his paws and bounded off into the forest. Gwydion's curse included exile, but only by day, and he'd always been a night owl. He'd become fully nocturnal, and found his new schedule quite agreeable. The capital was only an hour's lope away, with all its temptations and delights, and the real parties started after sundown anyway. He bounded over the wall just as the bells were ringing nine o'clock. Perfect.
The low quarter of the city had become accustomed to his visits. He had no intention of eating a human, lest it trigger thoughts best left unthought, and so his presence went unremarked except for the odd shout of surprise and alarm as he passed. He made it to his destination without even having to intimidate the city watch.
The tavern went dead silent as he entered. The serving wenches froze in place, as did the patrons, some happily in mid-grope, and the bartenders exchanged uneasy glances.
"Heinrich?"
He glanced into the corner and saw a booth full of women with smiling faces. A blond was waving at him. Lena. He grinned, lamplight dancing off the sharp points of his teeth, and as if that were a trigger the tavern swept back to life.
"Over here," Lena called, leaning forward to show off her cleavage. "Saved you a spot!"
Heinrich padded through the crowd, which parted in front of him like a school of fish before a shark, and sat on his haunches by the booth. Lena leaned over and scratched his ears, lips slightly parted. He purred.
"Evening, ladies," he said, in as much of a whisper as his form allowed.
"We were worried you weren't coming," said a red haired girl with a dress that left little to the imagination. "You promised to be here at eight!"
"Fashionably late," said a brunette. She stared into his eyes, either mesmerized or trying to mesmerize. "I like that."
"Let the beast drink," Lena admonished. "My apologies, prince. They're a mite bit eager, is all."
"So am I," he chuckled. A pot full of ale was placed in front of him and he lapped at it languidly, letting the women scratch his ears and stroke his pelt. He refused to imagine a better life, lest the spell be broken and he actually have to live it, focusing instead on the sensation of their touch and the scent of their desire. Pure ecstasy, liquid bliss.
The tavern door swung open and once again silence fell. Heinrich glanced over his shoulder and his pupils dilated slightly.
"Gwydion," he growled, muscles tensing and claws splintering the floorboards. Lena cooed appreciatively, but he had forgotten her entirely.
A raven haired woman stood in the door, dressed in black leather and holding a gnarled staff. She frowned and stalked through the tavern towards Heinrich, the crowd parting in front of her as if plowed out of the way by a magical force. Curses and spilled ale rippled in her wake, but none dared raise a hand.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" she demanded, prodding Heinrich with her staff. It sizzled when it touched his hide, but he barely felt the pain.
"Enjoying myself," he growled, turning to face her. "You?"
"You're supposed to be in your castle," Gwydion snapped. "The guard is in a tizzy and your father is not pleased."
"So?"
"So get your furry ass back there!" Gwydion barked. She planted her staff on the floor and blue lights flickered up and down its length. "What part of contemplative exile don't you understand?"
"Oh," Heinrich said, yawning cavernously. "Contemplation, I suppose. Gave that up ages ago. As for exile, well. Here I am."
"And you!" Gwydion snarled, pointing her staff at the women in the booth. "What kind of harlots are you, consorting with a beast? Have you no shame?"
"Shame?" Lena blurted, indignantly. "Are you discriminating against alternative lifestyles?"
"Yeah, don't judge," said the red haired girl, blushing furiously.
"Enough of this," Gwydion muttered. The blue lights grew more intense. "You don't appear to be learning anything, Heinrich, despite my best efforts. I've obviously made a mistake."
"Yes," Heinrich purred. "You have."
Gwydion's eyes widened slightly as Heinrich launched himself forward. The spell she had been brewing cooked off into the crowd, turning several onlookers into twisted gnomes and creating a stampede for the door. She swung her staff up to bar his path. Too late. Heinrich batted it aside and swatted her across the chest with his other paw. His claws raked her leathers, sending sparks flying as her protective magic interacted with his enchantment, but even though the leather held it could not absorb the full force of the blow. Gwydion slammed into a table and bounced hard to the floor. Heinrich pinned her down with a paw and brought his jaws close to her face.
"There is a lesson in this, somewhere," he growled. Gwydion's lips moved, and Heinrich felt a spell building, so he extended one razor sharp claw to touch her throat. Gwydion froze, fear finally dawning in her eyes. "But you know what? I'm not even going to think about it. Safer that way."
"You fool," Gwydion wheezed. "You cannot escape that form without my help."
"Escape?" Heinrich said, chuckling. "Why, I'm having the time of my *life*, dear Gwydion. I'm sure some day I'll accidentally divine whatever it is you and father meant to teach me, but until then I'll be enjoying myself. Thoroughly. Now, do we have an understanding? I'd hate to get blood all over this fine establishment."
Gwydion stared at him, struggling to breathe against the weight of his paw. She glanced at Lena, and then at his teeth.
"You're disgusting," she said. "Vain, arrogant, totally lacking in empathy, unfit - "
"Shhh," Heinrich whispered, although it came out more like a hiss. Close enough. He pricked her throat with his claw and she fell silent. "That's better. I'm not keen on lectures, for obvious reasons. One last chance."
Gwydion shut her eyes and said, "Fine. Have it your way."
"Excellent!" Heinrich purred. He stood back and let her struggle to her feet. "I hope we don't have to repeat this conversation."
"I doubt we will," Gwydion muttered. She turned on her heel and stalked out of the tavern, slamming the door behind her. Heinrich turned to Lena and winked.
"Now where were we?"
| The enchantress watches in annoyance as the Prince she curses chases his tail.
"..As adorable this is, it's getting old."
The enchantress then appears before the Prince in a flash of light, "Young Prince, what are you doing?"
The Prince blinks and sits on his hunches before smirking, "I'm chasing my tail!" "
The enchantress sighs, "I can see that, I mean why are you doing it? Shouldn't you be finding a way to turn yourself back?"
The Prince blushes, "I've always wanted an excuse to play around! So if I do anything wrong I can blame my instincts!"
The enchantress then sighs and scratches the Princes ear all the whole thinking, 'This did not go as planned.' | |
[WP] The clairvoyant actually manages to see how your beloved grandmother is doing in the afterlife. Apparently she's in hell, and it appears she's taken over. | I didn't believe that five dollar psychic back in the Alabama drug store, but she was right.
Instead of fire and pain, I was surrounded by freshly baked cookies and gingerbread men. Everything smelling suspiciously like Grandma's house.
As I walk up to Satan's throne to get my assignment of eternal torture, I find my dead grandma.
"Grannie?"
"Is that my little sugar peanut?"
"Yes"
"Do you know why you're here?"
I started sweating profusely, the cookie ovens began to heat up and I hoped she wasn't talking about *that* thing.
"I have no idea what you're talking about"
"I think you do. Remember what happened with Ladonna and the gum?"
It was worse. I never understood why trying to feed a baby doll gum was such a big deal, but she had vowed to get me back for it eventually. The sky darkened. The heat rose. A large obsidian door opened to my right.
"This is where the naughty ones go..."
I was dragged into the room of my nightmares. Thousands upon thousands of people were all lined up on little stools suffering in the most gruesome way possible.
Eternal Time Out. | I sip my drink nonchalantly,
"I'm not surprised, she was a right old bitch."
The clairvoyant opens her mouth then frowns,
"She says fuck you too."
"Not in a million years."
"You were my least favorite grandchild."
"I was your only grandchild."
"And I'm your only Grandma, you're adopted."
"!" | |
[WP] The clairvoyant actually manages to see how your beloved grandmother is doing in the afterlife. Apparently she's in hell, and it appears she's taken over. | I didn't believe that five dollar psychic back in the Alabama drug store, but she was right.
Instead of fire and pain, I was surrounded by freshly baked cookies and gingerbread men. Everything smelling suspiciously like Grandma's house.
As I walk up to Satan's throne to get my assignment of eternal torture, I find my dead grandma.
"Grannie?"
"Is that my little sugar peanut?"
"Yes"
"Do you know why you're here?"
I started sweating profusely, the cookie ovens began to heat up and I hoped she wasn't talking about *that* thing.
"I have no idea what you're talking about"
"I think you do. Remember what happened with Ladonna and the gum?"
It was worse. I never understood why trying to feed a baby doll gum was such a big deal, but she had vowed to get me back for it eventually. The sky darkened. The heat rose. A large obsidian door opened to my right.
"This is where the naughty ones go..."
I was dragged into the room of my nightmares. Thousands upon thousands of people were all lined up on little stools suffering in the most gruesome way possible.
Eternal Time Out. | "So . . . how is she doing? Especially if she is in hell." My best friend, Lucy, is a clairvoyant. And, she just informed me that my beloved grandmother, who always doted on me, is in hell.
Lucy stutters, "Um. Well. Not only is she in hell, but she has also somehow taken over hell."
I laugh. This is too good and too expected of my dear dear grandma. Afterall, she is the one who taught me political manipulation, truth manipulation, and all sorts of other manipulation. Was it unexpected that she wouldn't put those skills to use in the afterlife, or even whenever she can?
"So she's doing well then. Sitting right night to Hades and his wife?"
Lucy blinks. "Actually . . . um this might sound crazy, but I think Hades adopted her as his sister. Something about her having the best personality or whatever."
I scoff. Sucks for those going to hell then. The punishments probably got an infinite times worse. | |
[WP] Due to your poor spelling, you've accidentally summoned Stan. | Where am i?
I thought i was drowning.
I've still got some glass in my eye,
and my head is pounding.
I think my face hit the windshield.
Or is this just how it always feels getting killed?
The last thing i remember is that wailing bitch,
right as i drove us both off a bridge.
The taste of vodka still lingers,
right beside them cheesy pringles.
What kind of a last dinner was that anyhow?
The guys on death row at least get fishcakes with chow.
Oh, man, oh man.
What the fuck were you thinking stan?
I wish i was alive again.
I just wish i could go back.
I could've had a life, I should've just tried crack.
That works out for people right?
Makes them feel alive and win every fight?
I could've watch Bonnie grow up, but now she's gone too.
There aren't a lot of people I cared about, just her and a couple few.
Fuck you Em, you should've answered me, you really should.
Now that i'm gone, who'll take care of matthew?
I'm afraid this is gonna fuck him up for good.
| I threw my hood back in astonishment as the smoke grew from the hextagram. It was a miracle that my chanting worked, deep down I thought that this would only be a way for me to deal with feeling like an outsider at school. But it's real! I actually summoned Satan!
Adrenaline was pumping through me as I fought through figuring out if I was excited or frightened by this. Would Satan destroy me? Serve me? Or did he have another plan? There wasn't enough time for me to brainstorm as the air cleared and in the center of the summoning circle I saw a naked man.
He did not look menacingly at all. In fact he appeared to have the physique of a stoner skater that never mentally grew up but was closing in one thirty. He wasn't very well groomed, thin but not really any muscle, and beyond the smell of the smoke I could smell weed and BO.
"Satan?" I couldn't believe that this could be the lord of the underworld when he casually stood up as though he had just awoken from crashing at a friend's house after blacking out. He let out the most annoying giggle.
"Hah-hah. Nah man it's Stan. Bro that was wild, where even are we hah-hah" He stretched out and looked around, the most satisfying grin on his face as though this moment was his proudest achievement. "Heh-heh I got no clothes."
| |
[WP] Due to your poor spelling, you've accidentally summoned Stan. | The circle was complete, the pentagram neatly chalked. I had triple checked all of the sigils, a strange mixture of Norse, Aramaic, and Persian that seemed to fight with itself when you gazed upon it. The book was open on a convenient stand, small containers of salt, sage, and silver hung next to it. A few feet away was a more modern consideration - a large fire extinguisher. After all, better safe than sorry when summoning the Prince of Hell.
I began the incantation. The words, long practiced in private, rolled from my tongue like liquid fire. I had made sure to only practice every other word during the rehearsals, as the summoning website I had Googled had warned me to do. Now those weeks of memorization stood me in good stead. I made not a single mistake. Minutes of chanting rolled by. The sigils began to glow. Haze rose from the inside of the pentagram, and started to resolve itself into a scene. I squinted at it, trying to make it out.
White? Snow? Was there a place in Hell that actually contained snow? As I continued to chant, I ran through some of the Hellish lore that I had read about. Tartarus? Carceri? Some perverse demiplane for when Satan wanted to ski? Something felt a little off. I kept chanting.
The glow grew brighter. Smoke began to rise from the sage, filling the room with a strange smell. I glanced over and saw that the silver had melted... and the salt was starting to melt. Somehow, the plastic bins they hang in were untouched. I turned back and saw what was now undeniably snow. In the background was what looked like a brick-and-mortar retaining wall, about knee height. There was some kind of a geodesic structure, like the kind of that children climb on. I ignored the sinking feeling in my stomach and kept chanting.
Finally, something started to materialize in the circle, dead-center of the five-pointed star. It was shorter than I expected. Much shorter. It made noises, high-pitched and disorted, that sounded an awful lot like English profanity. After a long moment, the ghostly image began to resolve completely, from the top down. Red. It was red! It was a red... pom-pom? I blinked. The beginning of a blue knit cap? Without warning, the first intelligible words roared forth from the dimunitive figure:
*"NOT AGAIN! GOD DAMMIT CARTMAN!"* | I threw my hood back in astonishment as the smoke grew from the hextagram. It was a miracle that my chanting worked, deep down I thought that this would only be a way for me to deal with feeling like an outsider at school. But it's real! I actually summoned Satan!
Adrenaline was pumping through me as I fought through figuring out if I was excited or frightened by this. Would Satan destroy me? Serve me? Or did he have another plan? There wasn't enough time for me to brainstorm as the air cleared and in the center of the summoning circle I saw a naked man.
He did not look menacingly at all. In fact he appeared to have the physique of a stoner skater that never mentally grew up but was closing in one thirty. He wasn't very well groomed, thin but not really any muscle, and beyond the smell of the smoke I could smell weed and BO.
"Satan?" I couldn't believe that this could be the lord of the underworld when he casually stood up as though he had just awoken from crashing at a friend's house after blacking out. He let out the most annoying giggle.
"Hah-hah. Nah man it's Stan. Bro that was wild, where even are we hah-hah" He stretched out and looked around, the most satisfying grin on his face as though this moment was his proudest achievement. "Heh-heh I got no clothes."
| |
[WP] Due to your poor spelling, you've accidentally summoned Stan. | "Yeah whatcha need?" The middle aged Brooklyn man said, standing in the middle of my pentagram.
"I...I'm sorry, who are you?" I asked him, wondering why I was given a man instead of Satan.
"You should know who I am, you summoned me ya little shit!" He said slightly aggravated.
"I tried to summon Satan, I'm pretty sure I got that right." I said to him
"Nonono, you wrote 'Stan' on the piece of human leather you burned in that obsidian basin. It flew and hit me in the face, while I was watching the ball game on TV, now be quick because if my wife comes out to tell me dinner is ready and I'm not there she'll be so pissed and I'll have to sleep in the hallway. Wait I even have that leather on me." He searched the pockets of his heavy canvas coat pulling out the same piece of leather I threw in the basin, though a bit crispy on the edges.
"Oh geez, I was so excited too. I spent so much time finding that spell book, casting the basin, getting the leather. It took me months to get that much virgin blood to make the pentagram." I lamented
"Yeah well you got me, now what the hell to you want" he very roughly replied
"You can help me the same way Satan can?" I asked
"Yeah, totally, he gave me the powers so he doesn't have to deal with you illiterate assholes."
"I...I want all the knowledge of all the universes." I said proudly
"Oh geez, another one of you asses. Your head will explode if I try that now, and I can't go back home covered in what little brains you have between your ears. Call me back on Thursday, whenever is good for you, it's my day off and I don't feel like going to the bar. Take the leather back it'll still work, there's a guy in Queens who sells virgin blood by the pint, he can mail it to you, here's his card." He hands me my leather and a small laminated cars with a name and number on it.
"Uh, thanks, I guess, hail Stan?" I said tentatively
"Yeah, what the fuck ever." He replied shifting his hat on his head and disappearing in a puff of sulfuric smoke. | I threw my hood back in astonishment as the smoke grew from the hextagram. It was a miracle that my chanting worked, deep down I thought that this would only be a way for me to deal with feeling like an outsider at school. But it's real! I actually summoned Satan!
Adrenaline was pumping through me as I fought through figuring out if I was excited or frightened by this. Would Satan destroy me? Serve me? Or did he have another plan? There wasn't enough time for me to brainstorm as the air cleared and in the center of the summoning circle I saw a naked man.
He did not look menacingly at all. In fact he appeared to have the physique of a stoner skater that never mentally grew up but was closing in one thirty. He wasn't very well groomed, thin but not really any muscle, and beyond the smell of the smoke I could smell weed and BO.
"Satan?" I couldn't believe that this could be the lord of the underworld when he casually stood up as though he had just awoken from crashing at a friend's house after blacking out. He let out the most annoying giggle.
"Hah-hah. Nah man it's Stan. Bro that was wild, where even are we hah-hah" He stretched out and looked around, the most satisfying grin on his face as though this moment was his proudest achievement. "Heh-heh I got no clothes."
| |
[WP] Due to your poor spelling, you've accidentally summoned Stan. | Where am i?
I thought i was drowning.
I've still got some glass in my eye,
and my head is pounding.
I think my face hit the windshield.
Or is this just how it always feels getting killed?
The last thing i remember is that wailing bitch,
right as i drove us both off a bridge.
The taste of vodka still lingers,
right beside them cheesy pringles.
What kind of a last dinner was that anyhow?
The guys on death row at least get fishcakes with chow.
Oh, man, oh man.
What the fuck were you thinking stan?
I wish i was alive again.
I just wish i could go back.
I could've had a life, I should've just tried crack.
That works out for people right?
Makes them feel alive and win every fight?
I could've watch Bonnie grow up, but now she's gone too.
There aren't a lot of people I cared about, just her and a couple few.
Fuck you Em, you should've answered me, you really should.
Now that i'm gone, who'll take care of matthew?
I'm afraid this is gonna fuck him up for good.
| I've been plotting and planning to summon,
The darkest, most evil of things,
I want to summon the devil,
In hopes that a bike, he will bring.
 
My mum and my daddy are too broke,
And Santa's the biggest cheapskate,
I'm praying that Satan will come through,
If he doesn't I'll be quite irate.
 
With candles lit and pentagram drawn,
It was all according to plan,
But instead of summoning Satan,
I summoned this idiot Stan!
 
When the smoke cleared out he looked at me,
I could tell he was just as confused,
He clearly wasn't the one that I wanted,
And for that, my ego was bruised.
 
A dirty housecoat on and hair a mess,
A toothbrush still jammed in his mouth,
This wasn't the man I was hoping for,
It was clear that my plan had gone south.
 
"Where the hell am I?" asked the man,
As he glanced around the room,
His mouth was full of toothpaste,
My face turned from shock to gloom.
 
"I want a bike." I proclaimed to him pointedly,
And the man just stood with a grin,
"I am Stan, not the man you are looking for."
He mumbled this to my chagrin.
 
As he left my house I wondered,
How and why this error occurred,
The spell was pretty simple,
I made sure I followed every word.
 
I checked it again and I saw my mistake,
A simple missing "a",
So I tried it again and got my bike,
And my parents went up in flames.
 
The moral here is pretty clear,
And I think you should take heed,
If you ask for what you want,
Then, you shall receive.
| |
[WP] Due to your poor spelling, you've accidentally summoned Stan. | The circle was complete, the pentagram neatly chalked. I had triple checked all of the sigils, a strange mixture of Norse, Aramaic, and Persian that seemed to fight with itself when you gazed upon it. The book was open on a convenient stand, small containers of salt, sage, and silver hung next to it. A few feet away was a more modern consideration - a large fire extinguisher. After all, better safe than sorry when summoning the Prince of Hell.
I began the incantation. The words, long practiced in private, rolled from my tongue like liquid fire. I had made sure to only practice every other word during the rehearsals, as the summoning website I had Googled had warned me to do. Now those weeks of memorization stood me in good stead. I made not a single mistake. Minutes of chanting rolled by. The sigils began to glow. Haze rose from the inside of the pentagram, and started to resolve itself into a scene. I squinted at it, trying to make it out.
White? Snow? Was there a place in Hell that actually contained snow? As I continued to chant, I ran through some of the Hellish lore that I had read about. Tartarus? Carceri? Some perverse demiplane for when Satan wanted to ski? Something felt a little off. I kept chanting.
The glow grew brighter. Smoke began to rise from the sage, filling the room with a strange smell. I glanced over and saw that the silver had melted... and the salt was starting to melt. Somehow, the plastic bins they hang in were untouched. I turned back and saw what was now undeniably snow. In the background was what looked like a brick-and-mortar retaining wall, about knee height. There was some kind of a geodesic structure, like the kind of that children climb on. I ignored the sinking feeling in my stomach and kept chanting.
Finally, something started to materialize in the circle, dead-center of the five-pointed star. It was shorter than I expected. Much shorter. It made noises, high-pitched and disorted, that sounded an awful lot like English profanity. After a long moment, the ghostly image began to resolve completely, from the top down. Red. It was red! It was a red... pom-pom? I blinked. The beginning of a blue knit cap? Without warning, the first intelligible words roared forth from the dimunitive figure:
*"NOT AGAIN! GOD DAMMIT CARTMAN!"* | I've been plotting and planning to summon,
The darkest, most evil of things,
I want to summon the devil,
In hopes that a bike, he will bring.
 
My mum and my daddy are too broke,
And Santa's the biggest cheapskate,
I'm praying that Satan will come through,
If he doesn't I'll be quite irate.
 
With candles lit and pentagram drawn,
It was all according to plan,
But instead of summoning Satan,
I summoned this idiot Stan!
 
When the smoke cleared out he looked at me,
I could tell he was just as confused,
He clearly wasn't the one that I wanted,
And for that, my ego was bruised.
 
A dirty housecoat on and hair a mess,
A toothbrush still jammed in his mouth,
This wasn't the man I was hoping for,
It was clear that my plan had gone south.
 
"Where the hell am I?" asked the man,
As he glanced around the room,
His mouth was full of toothpaste,
My face turned from shock to gloom.
 
"I want a bike." I proclaimed to him pointedly,
And the man just stood with a grin,
"I am Stan, not the man you are looking for."
He mumbled this to my chagrin.
 
As he left my house I wondered,
How and why this error occurred,
The spell was pretty simple,
I made sure I followed every word.
 
I checked it again and I saw my mistake,
A simple missing "a",
So I tried it again and got my bike,
And my parents went up in flames.
 
The moral here is pretty clear,
And I think you should take heed,
If you ask for what you want,
Then, you shall receive.
| |
[WP] Due to your poor spelling, you've accidentally summoned Stan. | "Yeah whatcha need?" The middle aged Brooklyn man said, standing in the middle of my pentagram.
"I...I'm sorry, who are you?" I asked him, wondering why I was given a man instead of Satan.
"You should know who I am, you summoned me ya little shit!" He said slightly aggravated.
"I tried to summon Satan, I'm pretty sure I got that right." I said to him
"Nonono, you wrote 'Stan' on the piece of human leather you burned in that obsidian basin. It flew and hit me in the face, while I was watching the ball game on TV, now be quick because if my wife comes out to tell me dinner is ready and I'm not there she'll be so pissed and I'll have to sleep in the hallway. Wait I even have that leather on me." He searched the pockets of his heavy canvas coat pulling out the same piece of leather I threw in the basin, though a bit crispy on the edges.
"Oh geez, I was so excited too. I spent so much time finding that spell book, casting the basin, getting the leather. It took me months to get that much virgin blood to make the pentagram." I lamented
"Yeah well you got me, now what the hell to you want" he very roughly replied
"You can help me the same way Satan can?" I asked
"Yeah, totally, he gave me the powers so he doesn't have to deal with you illiterate assholes."
"I...I want all the knowledge of all the universes." I said proudly
"Oh geez, another one of you asses. Your head will explode if I try that now, and I can't go back home covered in what little brains you have between your ears. Call me back on Thursday, whenever is good for you, it's my day off and I don't feel like going to the bar. Take the leather back it'll still work, there's a guy in Queens who sells virgin blood by the pint, he can mail it to you, here's his card." He hands me my leather and a small laminated cars with a name and number on it.
"Uh, thanks, I guess, hail Stan?" I said tentatively
"Yeah, what the fuck ever." He replied shifting his hat on his head and disappearing in a puff of sulfuric smoke. | I've been plotting and planning to summon,
The darkest, most evil of things,
I want to summon the devil,
In hopes that a bike, he will bring.
 
My mum and my daddy are too broke,
And Santa's the biggest cheapskate,
I'm praying that Satan will come through,
If he doesn't I'll be quite irate.
 
With candles lit and pentagram drawn,
It was all according to plan,
But instead of summoning Satan,
I summoned this idiot Stan!
 
When the smoke cleared out he looked at me,
I could tell he was just as confused,
He clearly wasn't the one that I wanted,
And for that, my ego was bruised.
 
A dirty housecoat on and hair a mess,
A toothbrush still jammed in his mouth,
This wasn't the man I was hoping for,
It was clear that my plan had gone south.
 
"Where the hell am I?" asked the man,
As he glanced around the room,
His mouth was full of toothpaste,
My face turned from shock to gloom.
 
"I want a bike." I proclaimed to him pointedly,
And the man just stood with a grin,
"I am Stan, not the man you are looking for."
He mumbled this to my chagrin.
 
As he left my house I wondered,
How and why this error occurred,
The spell was pretty simple,
I made sure I followed every word.
 
I checked it again and I saw my mistake,
A simple missing "a",
So I tried it again and got my bike,
And my parents went up in flames.
 
The moral here is pretty clear,
And I think you should take heed,
If you ask for what you want,
Then, you shall receive.
| |
[WP] Due to your poor spelling, you've accidentally summoned Stan. | The circle was complete, the pentagram neatly chalked. I had triple checked all of the sigils, a strange mixture of Norse, Aramaic, and Persian that seemed to fight with itself when you gazed upon it. The book was open on a convenient stand, small containers of salt, sage, and silver hung next to it. A few feet away was a more modern consideration - a large fire extinguisher. After all, better safe than sorry when summoning the Prince of Hell.
I began the incantation. The words, long practiced in private, rolled from my tongue like liquid fire. I had made sure to only practice every other word during the rehearsals, as the summoning website I had Googled had warned me to do. Now those weeks of memorization stood me in good stead. I made not a single mistake. Minutes of chanting rolled by. The sigils began to glow. Haze rose from the inside of the pentagram, and started to resolve itself into a scene. I squinted at it, trying to make it out.
White? Snow? Was there a place in Hell that actually contained snow? As I continued to chant, I ran through some of the Hellish lore that I had read about. Tartarus? Carceri? Some perverse demiplane for when Satan wanted to ski? Something felt a little off. I kept chanting.
The glow grew brighter. Smoke began to rise from the sage, filling the room with a strange smell. I glanced over and saw that the silver had melted... and the salt was starting to melt. Somehow, the plastic bins they hang in were untouched. I turned back and saw what was now undeniably snow. In the background was what looked like a brick-and-mortar retaining wall, about knee height. There was some kind of a geodesic structure, like the kind of that children climb on. I ignored the sinking feeling in my stomach and kept chanting.
Finally, something started to materialize in the circle, dead-center of the five-pointed star. It was shorter than I expected. Much shorter. It made noises, high-pitched and disorted, that sounded an awful lot like English profanity. After a long moment, the ghostly image began to resolve completely, from the top down. Red. It was red! It was a red... pom-pom? I blinked. The beginning of a blue knit cap? Without warning, the first intelligible words roared forth from the dimunitive figure:
*"NOT AGAIN! GOD DAMMIT CARTMAN!"* | Where am i?
I thought i was drowning.
I've still got some glass in my eye,
and my head is pounding.
I think my face hit the windshield.
Or is this just how it always feels getting killed?
The last thing i remember is that wailing bitch,
right as i drove us both off a bridge.
The taste of vodka still lingers,
right beside them cheesy pringles.
What kind of a last dinner was that anyhow?
The guys on death row at least get fishcakes with chow.
Oh, man, oh man.
What the fuck were you thinking stan?
I wish i was alive again.
I just wish i could go back.
I could've had a life, I should've just tried crack.
That works out for people right?
Makes them feel alive and win every fight?
I could've watch Bonnie grow up, but now she's gone too.
There aren't a lot of people I cared about, just her and a couple few.
Fuck you Em, you should've answered me, you really should.
Now that i'm gone, who'll take care of matthew?
I'm afraid this is gonna fuck him up for good.
| |
[WP] Due to your poor spelling, you've accidentally summoned Stan. | The circle was complete, the pentagram neatly chalked. I had triple checked all of the sigils, a strange mixture of Norse, Aramaic, and Persian that seemed to fight with itself when you gazed upon it. The book was open on a convenient stand, small containers of salt, sage, and silver hung next to it. A few feet away was a more modern consideration - a large fire extinguisher. After all, better safe than sorry when summoning the Prince of Hell.
I began the incantation. The words, long practiced in private, rolled from my tongue like liquid fire. I had made sure to only practice every other word during the rehearsals, as the summoning website I had Googled had warned me to do. Now those weeks of memorization stood me in good stead. I made not a single mistake. Minutes of chanting rolled by. The sigils began to glow. Haze rose from the inside of the pentagram, and started to resolve itself into a scene. I squinted at it, trying to make it out.
White? Snow? Was there a place in Hell that actually contained snow? As I continued to chant, I ran through some of the Hellish lore that I had read about. Tartarus? Carceri? Some perverse demiplane for when Satan wanted to ski? Something felt a little off. I kept chanting.
The glow grew brighter. Smoke began to rise from the sage, filling the room with a strange smell. I glanced over and saw that the silver had melted... and the salt was starting to melt. Somehow, the plastic bins they hang in were untouched. I turned back and saw what was now undeniably snow. In the background was what looked like a brick-and-mortar retaining wall, about knee height. There was some kind of a geodesic structure, like the kind of that children climb on. I ignored the sinking feeling in my stomach and kept chanting.
Finally, something started to materialize in the circle, dead-center of the five-pointed star. It was shorter than I expected. Much shorter. It made noises, high-pitched and disorted, that sounded an awful lot like English profanity. After a long moment, the ghostly image began to resolve completely, from the top down. Red. It was red! It was a red... pom-pom? I blinked. The beginning of a blue knit cap? Without warning, the first intelligible words roared forth from the dimunitive figure:
*"NOT AGAIN! GOD DAMMIT CARTMAN!"* | She didn't think it would actually work.
But it did. And she was horribly disappointed. You could hear her heart drop to the floor and see the life leave her eyes as she stared blankly at the man who's head had somehow appeared right in the middle of the pentagram she had drawn. From the neck up, a frowning face looked up at Isabella. He, also, was horribly disappointed. "You're fucking with me right?" She groaned, and the man pursed his lips. "Oh, I wish honey."
"You're like the low budget version of-"
"Please, don't say his name. You're just trying to spite me now." Stan interrupted her, a hand now popping up from the floor and signaling with his palm, flat and up. "If it helps, do think of me as the low budget version, it lowers expectations." He sighed, and slowly, Stan began to pull himself up and out from the ground. His body at first just a black misty mass, but then turning out to just be an average guy, dressing in a plain off white T-shirt and baggy jeans. Isabella had hoped for maybe scales, or goats legs. Maybe cracked broken skin, and a tail, with spikes lined down his back with little wings-
"Okay, now that's just stereotyping. Rude. First off, Satan doesn't even have wings-"
Isabella flushed, and balked at Stan. "You can read my-"
"Yes, I can. I may not be the devil, but I'm here aren't I? Certainly that signals that I'm not just your regular ol' Stan." He grinned. Isabella frowned even more, "I slit my wrists for this?" She scowled while Stan crossed his arms, and rolled his eyes. "I mean, with all that teenage angst, you were probably going to do that on your own kid."
Isabella only groaned. Not-Satan had a point...
(( and that's all I feel like writing lol )) | |
[WP] Due to your poor spelling, you've accidentally summoned Stan. | "Yeah whatcha need?" The middle aged Brooklyn man said, standing in the middle of my pentagram.
"I...I'm sorry, who are you?" I asked him, wondering why I was given a man instead of Satan.
"You should know who I am, you summoned me ya little shit!" He said slightly aggravated.
"I tried to summon Satan, I'm pretty sure I got that right." I said to him
"Nonono, you wrote 'Stan' on the piece of human leather you burned in that obsidian basin. It flew and hit me in the face, while I was watching the ball game on TV, now be quick because if my wife comes out to tell me dinner is ready and I'm not there she'll be so pissed and I'll have to sleep in the hallway. Wait I even have that leather on me." He searched the pockets of his heavy canvas coat pulling out the same piece of leather I threw in the basin, though a bit crispy on the edges.
"Oh geez, I was so excited too. I spent so much time finding that spell book, casting the basin, getting the leather. It took me months to get that much virgin blood to make the pentagram." I lamented
"Yeah well you got me, now what the hell to you want" he very roughly replied
"You can help me the same way Satan can?" I asked
"Yeah, totally, he gave me the powers so he doesn't have to deal with you illiterate assholes."
"I...I want all the knowledge of all the universes." I said proudly
"Oh geez, another one of you asses. Your head will explode if I try that now, and I can't go back home covered in what little brains you have between your ears. Call me back on Thursday, whenever is good for you, it's my day off and I don't feel like going to the bar. Take the leather back it'll still work, there's a guy in Queens who sells virgin blood by the pint, he can mail it to you, here's his card." He hands me my leather and a small laminated cars with a name and number on it.
"Uh, thanks, I guess, hail Stan?" I said tentatively
"Yeah, what the fuck ever." He replied shifting his hat on his head and disappearing in a puff of sulfuric smoke. | She didn't think it would actually work.
But it did. And she was horribly disappointed. You could hear her heart drop to the floor and see the life leave her eyes as she stared blankly at the man who's head had somehow appeared right in the middle of the pentagram she had drawn. From the neck up, a frowning face looked up at Isabella. He, also, was horribly disappointed. "You're fucking with me right?" She groaned, and the man pursed his lips. "Oh, I wish honey."
"You're like the low budget version of-"
"Please, don't say his name. You're just trying to spite me now." Stan interrupted her, a hand now popping up from the floor and signaling with his palm, flat and up. "If it helps, do think of me as the low budget version, it lowers expectations." He sighed, and slowly, Stan began to pull himself up and out from the ground. His body at first just a black misty mass, but then turning out to just be an average guy, dressing in a plain off white T-shirt and baggy jeans. Isabella had hoped for maybe scales, or goats legs. Maybe cracked broken skin, and a tail, with spikes lined down his back with little wings-
"Okay, now that's just stereotyping. Rude. First off, Satan doesn't even have wings-"
Isabella flushed, and balked at Stan. "You can read my-"
"Yes, I can. I may not be the devil, but I'm here aren't I? Certainly that signals that I'm not just your regular ol' Stan." He grinned. Isabella frowned even more, "I slit my wrists for this?" She scowled while Stan crossed his arms, and rolled his eyes. "I mean, with all that teenage angst, you were probably going to do that on your own kid."
Isabella only groaned. Not-Satan had a point...
(( and that's all I feel like writing lol )) | |
[WP]You get a new roommate: A carpenter named Jesus. At first you shake it off as a coincidence, until one day you find all your bottled water has suddenly been turned into wine. | As I stood in the kitchen fixing up my lunch, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. Jesus was sitting in the living room, his tools sprawled across the coffee table in front of him. He was building a wood box from scratch. As he tinkered, drilled, hammered, and sanded, I could see the box becoming more refined. *He's good,* I thought to myself before glancing at my water bottle.
It was blood red, smelling strongly of alcohol. I was in disbelief when I found it earlier this morning, and was even more shocked when I hesitantly tasted it. *Wine?! How could it be wine? I haven't had wine in forever. This makes no sense.* The thought had crossed my mind about Jesus, but I couldn't believe it to be true. Could it really be that Jesus existed here and now, sitting on my couch making a wooden box and paying for half of the utilities?
It was crazy. Too crazy to be true. But I had to figure it out.
I looked down at the lunch I was fixing: a tuna sandwich on white bread. An idea then crossed my mind, as I took a single piece of bread and covertly tossed the rest of the loaf back into the cabinet.
"Oh no," I said.
"What?" I heard Jesus call from the living room.
"I don't have enough bread to finish my sandwich," I said.
"That sucks."
"Wouldn't it be useful if I could multiply this somehow? It would save me a trip to the store." I held my breath, my heart pounding slightly in my chest.
"That would be useful," Jesus replied numbly, his focus attached solely to his box. I exhaled disappointedly. That was anticlimactic. But then another idea crossed my mind, and I threw open the fridge door to grab two water bottles.
I walked into the living room and sat next to Jesus on the couch. I opened a bottle and took a nice, deep sip of the chilled water. Jesus glanced over to me, and I outstretched the hand holding the other bottle.
"Here, you look like you're thirsty," I said.
"Oh, no, I'm good," Jesus said quickly. Was it just me, or did he seem nervous?
"I insist. You're working pretty hard."
Jesus sighed, and looked at the bottle apprehensively. This time there was no mistaking it. He looked askance, and he knew that he would have to think of some excuse to not take the water. Moments passed, and slowly, he reached his hand out to take the water. Eager, I dropped the bottle in his hand. The water turned blood red the moment the bottle made contact with his skin.
"Yes! I knew it!" I said excitedly as I jumped from the couch with triumph.
"So wait," I said, coming back to earth, " why are you here? Is it going to be your second coming?"
"No," Jesus replied, smiling slightly. "We just don't get Netflix in heaven." | "Dude, was this you?"
"Yeah"
"Dude. You know how much money we can make out of this?"
"I don't want to make a big deal out of this, it's just a little hobby of mine."
Jesus went and laid down on the top bunk of the bed. Michael sits on the sofa besides him watching the basketball game.
"Dude, I think college is gonna get lit. Like, haven't you done this before?"
"Well there was this one time where this punk dude and doll were trying to get a wedding. She waz already pregnant, so they were just sealing the deal. I felt bad for that homie. He was poor and broke, and mama was like "yo there's no wine here" and all. Mz. Daufful was there and she gets pissed off with like underage alcohol and stuff, so being the rebel rouser I am, I turned all the water at the whole party and turned it to wine."
"What?! You just turned all the water into wine? What'd they do? What'd they say?"
"Well, those peeps were balls out stupid. Witch huntin', yelling to God, murdering their sons and all trying to make God happy and all. It wasn't that big a deal."
"Wasn't a big deal?!?!"
"They got trashed. I soaked in all da glory. My disciples were like "F*** Yeah" and they got turnt."
"Didn't you get burned at the steak or something?"
"All dem passed out. Nonea dem remembered nothin."
"There had to be someone that remembered that?"
"Yeah there were some folks, but nobody cared bout them."
"Well Jesus, that's pretty dope. College is gonna get lit"
Michael leaves to go to class. The administration sees all the wine in the whole building. They see Jesus holding a water bottle filled with wine. They ask him what happened. Jesus told him he did this. He was promptly arrested as he told the officers and the administration and told them that God will torture them and they'll burn in hell and stuff. The officers saw his record with quite a few courts wanting him for floods, water poisonings, and some torture, and Jesus was given the death penalty.
| |
[WP]You get a new roommate: A carpenter named Jesus. At first you shake it off as a coincidence, until one day you find all your bottled water has suddenly been turned into wine. | As I stood in the kitchen fixing up my lunch, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. Jesus was sitting in the living room, his tools sprawled across the coffee table in front of him. He was building a wood box from scratch. As he tinkered, drilled, hammered, and sanded, I could see the box becoming more refined. *He's good,* I thought to myself before glancing at my water bottle.
It was blood red, smelling strongly of alcohol. I was in disbelief when I found it earlier this morning, and was even more shocked when I hesitantly tasted it. *Wine?! How could it be wine? I haven't had wine in forever. This makes no sense.* The thought had crossed my mind about Jesus, but I couldn't believe it to be true. Could it really be that Jesus existed here and now, sitting on my couch making a wooden box and paying for half of the utilities?
It was crazy. Too crazy to be true. But I had to figure it out.
I looked down at the lunch I was fixing: a tuna sandwich on white bread. An idea then crossed my mind, as I took a single piece of bread and covertly tossed the rest of the loaf back into the cabinet.
"Oh no," I said.
"What?" I heard Jesus call from the living room.
"I don't have enough bread to finish my sandwich," I said.
"That sucks."
"Wouldn't it be useful if I could multiply this somehow? It would save me a trip to the store." I held my breath, my heart pounding slightly in my chest.
"That would be useful," Jesus replied numbly, his focus attached solely to his box. I exhaled disappointedly. That was anticlimactic. But then another idea crossed my mind, and I threw open the fridge door to grab two water bottles.
I walked into the living room and sat next to Jesus on the couch. I opened a bottle and took a nice, deep sip of the chilled water. Jesus glanced over to me, and I outstretched the hand holding the other bottle.
"Here, you look like you're thirsty," I said.
"Oh, no, I'm good," Jesus said quickly. Was it just me, or did he seem nervous?
"I insist. You're working pretty hard."
Jesus sighed, and looked at the bottle apprehensively. This time there was no mistaking it. He looked askance, and he knew that he would have to think of some excuse to not take the water. Moments passed, and slowly, he reached his hand out to take the water. Eager, I dropped the bottle in his hand. The water turned blood red the moment the bottle made contact with his skin.
"Yes! I knew it!" I said excitedly as I jumped from the couch with triumph.
"So wait," I said, coming back to earth, " why are you here? Is it going to be your second coming?"
"No," Jesus replied, smiling slightly. "We just don't get Netflix in heaven." | My latest greatest roomie, jesus speaks English as a second language. I thought originally he was from over the border, working hard to earn money to send to the third world country his fam lives in. He works long hours, looks kinda grunge with his long hair, the lengthy beard. His deep tanned flesh is Smooth and ruddy. A soft spoken gentleman, he waxes poetic, kind of preachy, kind of wise. He favors the golden rule, do unto others...Yada Yada ya...then he's all eye for an eye. He credits his dad for his strong moral character. Rarely speaks of his mom ironically, but he's put her on a pedestal the few times he's mentioned her. She can do no wrong despite the broken then blended family upbringing. He gets along great with his step dad too.
One day he says he has a trick to show me. This is before he goes to work. He's looking for a carpenter gig, wants to go union, but for now he does odd jobs.
So jesus whips out a water bottle from his lunch cooler and- poof- a slight of the hand and there's red liquid in place of the clear liquid. Once he leaves, though, I realized all the water bottles had magically changed. I tasted it, kinda sour. Jesus is fucking with me, I said to myself, but I don't care. I continue to imbibe.
A case of bottles later, jesus comes home from a long day's work. He sits, we eat fish and bread, kind of doughy, but he's a novice baker. The tilapia tasted fresh out of the water. The apartment smells like a restaurant.
As he sits, talking again- he never shuts up about his dad, like he's some kinds of God or saint, he takes off his work boots, peels off his socks, to reveal stained feet. So stained in fact, the maroon hue covers his ankles and reaches his toned calves. He works in a vineyard, stomping all day. He motions across the room to the shelf. Another case of wine.
| |
It could be something like threats to real life, or scandals, or some conspiracy, its up to you | [WP] Tell the story of an unmasked, public superhero and the horrifying descent to understanding why heroes wear masks | A wisp of smoke curled up from the smoldering ashes. Fiery tendrils crept along the dusty grey road, flickering over gaping cracks in the pavement.
Hypatia leaned back against a ruined building and winced when glass shards bit through her clothes. The villain Xanthe had been defeated; her body was sprawled gracefully on the dirt.
It was not silent. The crackling flames, the frantic car alarms, the blaring police sirens—the cacophony made an interesting orchestra. Hypatia leaned deeper into the glass shards, ignoring the trickle of blood. The wounds would heal fast.
"It's what we do, isn't it?" she whispered. "We kill fast and we heal fast and we keep on going. Do-gooders, aren't we?" She sighed and let her eyes close.
"Hypatia! Excuse me, miss!" A little boy was running through the street. There was a scratch across his forehead. "Hypatia!" He launched himself at her and wrapped his little arms around her waist. "You saved the city!"
A radiant smile was plastered on her face. "And I'd do it again in a heartbeat," she lied.
Then came the news reporters, draped in headlines and armed with questions. She smiled and laughed and smiled and laughed. She gave modest answers and graciously accepted compliments.
It was what she did, as a hero.
"Hypatia!"
Her phone was ringing. "I'm so sorry, but I just have to go."
"Wait! One more question! Hypatia!"
She felt power flutter up inside her. With a shaking resolve, she floated up, hovering inches above the ground.
"Why do you wear a mask?"
Her feet were touching the ground again. The world tilted sideways.
"Is it to protect your identity?"
The words bounced off her skull and ricocheted through her mind.
Without thinking, Hypatia crossed the distance to the side of her fallen foe. "She called herself Xanthe."
"Hypatia! I'd like to know— "
"Her real name was Catherine. With a 'c.' Why did she wear a mask?" She paused before reaching down and gently uncovering Xanthe's face. Brown eyes made of glass stared unseeing into the sky, and there were freckles like stars scattered across her pointed nose. "Doesn't she look human?" Hypatia said softly, brushing strands of hair out of her enemy's face. "Isn't she only human?"
The car alarms had stopped. The sirens' wails had gone dead.
"Her name was Catherine. Brown hair, brown eyes, five-foot-six. An unexceptional, painfully average girl." Hypatia' eyebrows drew together. "Under the mask, that is. But Xanthe?" She smiled. "Xanthe was a force to be reckoned with, an uncontainable energy that knew no boundaries. The world was infinite."
Their microphones were still out, recording. She realized somewhere in the back of her mind that all of this would be heard by a million people, and that maybe that wasn't good.
"Why do we wear masks? It's simple, really." Hypatia drew in a trembling breath. "We just don't want to be human anymore." | No…
Please…
“That’s right Mister Smith. I killed her. Your beautiful wife is gone forever!” the Trickster said.
I lunged at him, and began pummeling him. All the while he laughed. Even if I killed him, he had won. I should have known. All these psychotic enemies, and it finally hurt my loved ones. She was dead, he had killed her. Just to get to me.
|
[WP] A person is stuck in a game (like Hack or SAO), their quest is to find out whether they are human or AI | For what seemed like an eternity, I had been trapped in a land of fantasy. I knew that it was a video game; I always had, for whatever odd reason.
The world was inhabited by all kinds of creatures: humans, elves, orcs, dragons... you name it. I spent my days adventuring, and I grew rich and even bought a house. Before long, I had a family.
Then, I sustained an injury. Some maniac guardian of a dungeon shot me with a crossbow. I was lucky I had a friend with me, otherwise I would've surely been finished.
The problem was that the game didn't exactly have modern medicine. The bolt had pierced my leg, and I was told I could never run again, and I'd have trouble even walking.
My days of being a hero were over.
Then came the identity crisis.
Was I truly the main character of the game? What kind of stupid video game would be based around losing the ability to walk and spending your life cooped up in a small village?
But I couldn't be an AI; I controlled who I was, what I did.
Those years were rough. After many an existential crisis, I gave up on searching for the answer and accepted my boring fate.
As I sat at a bar, sipping mead and thinking about my glory days, a young man came in. He had a sword in a scabbard, a quiver across his back, and a dangerous gleam in his eyes. I saw myself in him.
He took a seat next to me and ordered a drink. I took a sip as I looked over at him.
"I used to be an adventurer like you," I spoke. "Then I took an arrow in the knee." | I've been in this game for God knows how long. It was widely popular for being the first virtual mmorpg. Though shortly after it's launch, a fatal error was discovered. Dying in the game carried the penalty of dying in real life. People haven't tried logging off for fear of it being another way to die. The only hope the players have to escape is that beating the final boss will end the game and set them free. Many have attempted his dungeon, but all have either died before the end or ran for their lives, choosing to instead accept their fate in this game. However, I have other concerns.
I don't know if I'm real.
Normally, a name appears above all players. Green font for the players, white for the surprisingly advanced AI civilians, and red for the enemies. By some strange glitch, no name appeard above me.
My memories from before this game have left me. The earliest thing I remember is the sight of a man, sword in hand, screaming as he died. I don't remember who he was or what he meant to me. I've just been left to assume he was a friend. A friend who died infront of me and I was left to mourn him. I looked around, questioning anyone I could for any information about who I am or who that man was. Try as I might, no one knew anything. Eventually, only one idea came to mind. If I could find and beat the final boss, maybe my memories could come back.
I was at a loss there, however. I only knew some weak magic attacks and I never seemed to level up. My only hope was to find a group I could join who could beat the game. While wandering around, I found them. A team, powerful enough that I knew they could be the ones to end this. I begged them to let me join, but they refused. They already had a mage and had no use of a nameless man with such weak magic. I tried to persuade them, I couldn't let this opportunity pass me. When I explained my situation, their healer took pity on me. They finally relented and agreed to take me along, I just had to stay out of their way, not that I was really planning to do any fighting.
They prepared themselves, equipped their best weapons and armor, and head off for the final dungeon. I was instantly terrified. The monsters in there were nothing like what I tried to xp grind. I hid behind, watching as the heroes fought through. It got more difficult the further in we went. They kept fighting, no plans to run away, determined to get through or die trying.
Finally, after the umpteenth room of beasts, we had reached the boss's throne room. They healed up and proceeded through. I would fibally have my answers.
The throne room was disappointingly empty. Just a demonically decorated room with a large empty throne at the far end. The heroes looked around, weapons ready for an ambush. I stared on at the throne, something clicked in my head.
As ready as they were, nothing could have prepared them for the lighting spell that struck them, quickly draining their health. They each fell to the ground and looked up at me, a mixture of anger and fear in their eyes. They died and I marched up to the throne, ready to take back my rightful place in it. My memories came flooding back.
That man I had seen die, he was just a filthy hacker. A cheater who managed to spawn me in some field. He drained my powers and took my memories, hoping to make me a weak target he could easily kill and make his escape. He had been caught before he could go through with it and was promptly executed. Now that I was back in my home, I was reverting back to my former glory.
Now I know who I am. I'm no player and I'm not just some AI. I'm the goddamn final boss. Now I'm ready to continue with my purpose. I will see to it that no one leaves this game alive. | |
[WP] By law, criminal punishment factors in the awesomeness of the method used. Even the worst crimes may escape punishment if the execution was amazingly, creatively badass. Penalties increase the lamer, lazier, or dumber the crime is. | "And by that measure, we have deemed that it is fitting for Bill Ahsom to be placed in house arrest in his own home for exactly 15 minutes. Court dismissed." The judge finished, and promptly booked it out the door, surely glad that the whole case was over, and ready to go back home.
The entire courtroom instantly erupted into a huge clamor, reporters reaching out their microphones to Bill Ahsom, the most famous criminal in the world, as he shuffled by dejectedly.
"Mr. Ahsom!" One particularly energetic reporter screeches into his ears, "This is for the Awesome Crimes Daily! Can you briefly describe just *what* you did to receive such a lenient punishment?"
"Lenient?" Bill retorts quickly, his eyes suddenly transforming from dull and downcast to burning with rage, "You think 15 minutes is *LENIENT?* I've been trying for my whole life to commit a crime so awesome that I'd receive NO punishment whatsoever. I've gotten so close. So. Close. But 15 minutes, that is not close."
The reporter nods furiously as he jots down Bill's every word. This was going to be a Pulitzer, he could feel it. "Yes, yes. Can we get a clue for what you may plan to do next? A crime so amazingly amazing that you would go completely unpunished? Perhaps murder by trained laser sharks, like you tried last year?"
Bill smiled sinisterly. "Oh... laser sharks... No, no, no.... that is much too basic for the likes of the Ahsom man I have become! No! I plan to commit a most heinous crime, and execute it like the most badass man alive..."
The reporter stops scribbling for a moment, and looks up. "Yes? And what is this... amazing crime? If we may know, of course."
Bill began laughing maniacally. "Leaving an audience in suspense." And he walked out the door. Like a badass. | "So what exactly was the reasoning behind this new law?"
The talkshow host looked intently at Dr. David Simmons. The doctor ran a large hand through his perfectly styled hair, leaned back in his chair slightly, and paused a moment, hand caressing his chiseled jawline. The large man was impressive not only physically, but also intellectually. The numerous international awards in a number of diverse fields, from biology to sociology to civil engineering, showed that his mind was incredibly sharp, and the numerous theories and discoveries that he had made over his brilliant but relatively short career was unparalleled. His latest, and most controversial effort, however, was what had brought him to this show today, and the concern of his audience, and by extension the nation, were evident in the attention the audience in the studio was giving him.
The thirty-three-year-old looked into the camera, clear, blue eyes enchanting the hundred-or-so attendees, as he replied.
"Basically, Steve, it comes down to natural selection and its roll in our society." His words were each delivered with a precision and rhythm that only enhanced his charisma.
"We all understand, of course, that our society, our world, is in trouble," he continued. "The fact that our environment has been neglected and destroyed over the past several centuries is a truth that only the most narrow-minded deny, and the ongoing global conflicts have only escalated these problems. In the end," he said intently, leaning forward in his chair, "it came down to extending a very simple concept that we all use every day to our fellow man--resource conservation."
He paused a moment, and Steve could have heard a pin drop in the studio. All eyes were fixed upon their speaker.
"When we incarcerate a man who had done a crime, there are several schools of thought on the reasoning behind it. Many will say that it is for rehabilitation and deterrence, which is an admirable concept, but one that many studies have shown is flawed. Many criminals are released after their sentence only to return shortly after, and increasing the severity of already-long and arduous punishments have been shown to have little-to-no effect on crime rates."
Dr. Simmons paused a moment for emphasis. "The real reason behind why we lock up individuals who commit crimes is to better society, wrapped up in the idea that our nation would be better off without these individuals. My assertion, with which the senate agreed, was that some of these individuals showed more promise and potential to help society than many law-abiding citizens, and this fact should factor into sentencing."
"Isn't that dangerous ground to trod?" Steve asked, giving voice to much of the concern that had been expressed since the adoption of this law just two days before. "These people have committed crimes, and in many cases, atrocities, and lightening their sentencing could actually incentivize further criminal activity."
"I can understand the concerns," Dr. Simmons responded calmly, "But I want to give you some perspective. Many assume that individuals who commit crimes do so because they are inherently evil, and that there is no redemption. It may even seem to some that the argument for incarceration in general hinges on that viewpoint. However," he said, holding a hand out in front of him for emphasis, "is it not also possible that many resort to crimes simply because they have no other option? Take Jean Valjean, for instance. Most of you know the classic *Les Miserable*. Valjean was imprisoned because he stole a loaf of bread to keep his daughter from starving, and his already harsh sentence was extended greatly because he tried to evade arrest because he knew that he needed to be there to take care of his family. A victim of circumstances, unable to provide because of the political and socioeconomic climate of his time. And yet, despite his long prison sentencing and troubles even after his release, he was able to do great things. How much more could he have done had he not lost more than 20 years of his life to imprisonment? This," Dr. Simmons said emphatically, "is the core thought at the heart of the Jensen Act."
"It is an admirable sentiment, certainly," Steve said, "but is it really practical? I mean, how many dangerous people are we going to release alongside of those from your example? Simply because some could contribute to society doesn't mean that all will; it is likely, in fact, that the opposite is true."
"I agree, there is certainly some danger that some who escape longer sentences will not perform in the ideal way post-release," Dr. Simmons conceded. "That is why none of these individuals will be truly free. An important aspect of this act demands that they be on parole, monitored by the government. This is our safety net, a way to help insure that those who are allowed this second chance have less opportunity and incentive to squander it."
Steve nodded after a moment. "Well, I think that this could definitely help alleviate at least some concerns that many have felt about this new law." Turning to the camera, his voice livened as he switched gears. "We'll be back for more discussion about the Jensen Act after this short break."
* * * *
As David watched the lights dim for the commercial break on set, he couldn't help but smile to himself. The irony of the whole situation was evident only to himself, at least for now. Here he was, defending the new law that he himself had introduced just months before on national television, the same act he hoped would help make his dreams a reality.
*No one here could possibly imagine my plans,* he thought as he scanned the audience who seemed to be accepting his arguments, *but when I am finished, it won't even matter. I'll get away with it all.*
| |
[WP] You visit a mystic who can tell with 100% accuracy if you're in the first or second half of your life. When you walk in, her crystal ball explodes. | The witch lived in the little house at the edge of the forest away from the village of Ebonfor. The town people all regarded her as a mystic, one who can look into the future like a window. But I knew better. Every Inquisitor knew the truth behind those lies.
I kick in the door with my heavy mailed boot. It gives in like clay as I step through the entryway, sword first into the dark and dusty home. I only see the witch for a second before her crystal ball explodes into a deadly spray of death that peppers my armor. Falling backwards I fling the holding spell i had been casting at the shadow flying towards the door before crashing into a bookcase full of books.
"You filthy monster!" the witch shrieks from the wall where I had trapped her. Sitting up I look at her cast in the light from the open door.
Her features are stunning one moment and horribly evil the next as they twist and mash. Her voice is a mix of rage and terror
"You have been clever to hide like this Jezebel. There are tons of con artists selling fortunes and reading tarot cards." I say, getting to my feet. "But only one witch requires a drop of blood to bind the magic my dear."
"Show me your face! How do you know who I am?" she screams, struggling against my spell.
Unlacing the straps I slowly pull off the full helm of the Inquisition from my head and smile as the realization flows through her eyes. A sense of joy fills my heart as the next words come out of my mouth, years rehearsed. "Till death do us part my dear wife. By order of the Pope, I sentence you to death by my sword."
"Joseph..." She says, "please..."
"You aren't my wife anymore. Satan is your husband now." I say as I pick up my sword. It shines in the light as I step forward. "Allow me to consummate the marriage."
That night the town heard screams echoing along every rafter of every house. In the morning, the little house by the woods was burned to ashes.
| "AH!" I jumped back and shielded my face. "Don't worry hun it was just my crack pipe, happens all da time" the old woman smiled and turned to face a box on the floor. She produced a new pipe and a bulging Ziplock bag. She placed a lighter on the table. "Wanna see ya future?"
I quickly scanned the room. The walls were bare except for a single frame that held a poorly torn calendar page with *March* in the corner. The single window was covered in torn tin foil and duct tape. In the corner on the floor laid a man with a needle dangling from his arm, filthy pants around his ankles.
"Thank you ma'am but uh, um I have to go, I'm ahem late for work. Thank you!" I quickly made my way back down the concrete steps and back to my Sedan. Gravel and dust flew as I sped out of the trailer park, back on to the highway. | |
[WP] Colleges are offering a new BS degree: Bachelor of Science in Bullshit (otherwise known as a BS in BS) | "I'm so proud of you, honey. I never thought you'd graduate!"
"Thanks mom, you're the best mom I could ever ask for."
I was never a smart kid, nor a smart teenager, nor a smart adult. For that matter, I'm sure I will never be smart. I tried getting a regular degree but that was just too hard, too much work, too much studying. But if there was one thing I could do, it was BS. So I decided to enroll in the nearby University's new program. In fact, I showed so much promise they gave me a full ride scholarship after my entrance interview where I sent my brother to take it while I stayed home and got drunk.
"Ooooh, a BS! Bachelor of Science! I'm so proud of you sweetie!"
My mom was sure I'd end up as some trailer trash drug dealer or a beggar on the streets. Yet, here I was, in her eyes getting a legitimate degree. She does not need to know that BS in my case did not mean what she thought. All she needed to know was that her underachieving son was a college graduate.
"All this time you've never even told me about what you've learned. Tell me a little bit of something that you now have a degree in!"
"Well, mom. The first year was filled with history classes. Say, did you know that the term 'Booty' (in referring to war loot, of course.) first originated in Qing Dynasty era china during the Taiping Rebellion? It's recorded that after the siege of Nanjing Hong Xiuquan motivated his troops by allowing them to loot the city and all the booty within. Usage spread over time and in modern days 'Booty' does not just mean raping the locals but also refers to stealing their valuables as well."
"Oh my, sweetie! That's so interesting! I never knew that, I'll have to share that at my next bingo meeting!"
I didn't get my full ride scholarship for no reason. I was great at BS. I graduate high school that way, I got my college degree in it and now it was my way of life.
"But that's just the first year, what else have you learned?"
"Well, my 2nd year was more of a mixed bag. I studied Einstein's Theory of Relativity as well as the theory of Evolution. Those were boring, but the 2nd semester I learned about the history of the beautiful game of basketball. Did you know that Basketball was founded by James Naismith in 1891 as a sport to play indoors during the cold winter months? It was first used with actual peach baskets! Did you also know that James Naismith himself has the worst coaching recording at the University of Kans-"
"Sweetie, I know when you're lying to me. I know that isn't true. Please tell me what you learned that year."
"I guess you're right. Sometimes I get facts mixed up with fiction and I apologize mother. Basketball was invented by the Dinka tribe of Sudan as a way to assert their superiority over others by way of sport. I do not know how I got my facts mixed up mother, and I do apologize. Say, speaking of the Dinka tribe, did you know that..."
And so on I fed my mother tale after tale, her never getting tired of my constant BS knowledge. I can't believe she falls for it, every single time. It's been that way my whole life. I hugged her goodbye and watched her drive away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Harold?"
"Yeah, what's up babe?"
"He finally graduated and he thinks I didn't know what his degree is in. There's one thing he's good at and it's Bullshitting people."
"That's great! I can't believe it, your grooming his whole life actually worked?"
"I know, I knew it would work out. Now that his schooling done he can begin to work his way up. There will never be a better politician than him." | Syllabus for Illusion-Setting 101, Spring Semester 2018
First Module:
Defining the relationships between equivocation and success, and theorizing about the nonexistence of "truth with a capital T."
Second Module:
Bluffing vs. Gaslighting, the fingers-crossed-behind-the-back negotiation technique, and how to keep your story straight.
Third Module:
Making up excuses, creating false alibis, and what to do when you're caught.
Fourth Module:
How to gut a fish. | |
[WP] "Of course humans aren't intelligent. They don't even have glurbleflukers. If you can't glurblefluke, you're not sentient." | The Cyclodian ambassador's words echoed throughout the chamber, marching about like a parade master with an overinflated ego.
The Haulachan assembly shuddered, their amoebic bodies turning a bright shade of green. A Turbinshtock clerk spat excess brain fluid against his tablet. The petite bodies of a few Vikti representatives fell to the floor, wings frozen from shock.
United Earth Secretary Gregory Hartwell only felt oily beads of sweat bunching up on his forehead. His spine, both figurative and literal, had lost its famed rigidity, folding and unfolding underneath him like a particularly cheap accordion. The room was tilting backwards, threatening to send him and the rest of Earth tumbling towards the mess they were trying to crawl out of.
"You see? No glurblefluking capacity," the Cyclodian ambassador, casting a hand towards the trembling Hartwell.
"Beg your... Beg your pardon?" Hartwell's voice sounded small and empty inside the chamber.
The Cyclodian chortled, in a purely Cyclodian fashion. Sparks flew from its mouth plate, accompanied by the sounds of monotone buzzing and grinding metal. Hartwell felt it sounded like a computer going through labor.
"My fellow counselors and I have just discussed several thousand different ways to prepare sechuni salarifish," it said.
"Yes, but -" Hartwell paused, licking his lips, perusing his mental dictionary. "How were you able to do this mundane task?"
The Cyclodian turned towards the center of the room. Addressing the black robed Deliberator, it only bowed. When it rose again, its face plates were tight, rubbing against one another. Then, with much pomp and ceremony, gas flew from the back of its head, followed by a quiet but distinct noise.
The Deliberator bowed in response and performed a similar action. Nodding, the Cyclodian turned towards Hartwell.
"Due to the Accords of Fairness, I am bound to inform you of the glurblefluker, even though your non-sentient status does not warrant it." The Cyclodian looked back and clapped its hands. "Service drone!"
The drone, one of the court's many multi-eyed servitors, flew across the chamber and stopped extremely close to Hartwell. Hartwell leaned back and tugged at his lapels, unenthusiastic for the task at hand.
"It's for the good of the planet," he muttered to himself. His words had little effect, just as they had throughout the entire session.
He lifted his hair, revealing the wrinkled, pale skin of his forehead to the drone. Its several eyes fixed themselves on it, and a long proboscis jutted from its gray flesh with alarming speed. Without hesitation, the proboscis was jammed into Hartwell's forehead, pulsing as its conduits set about carving new furrows into Hartwell's brain.
The procedure was mercifully brief, though that didn't stop it from feeling like the grand dad of all inoculations. Hartwell obsessively tapped his fingers against his cranium, but, as usual, found nothing. He looked back to the representatives.
"This glurblefluker... I understand." He inhaled and closed his eyes. When his eyelids reopened, he could feel the comfortable, stiff weight of his spine again.
"Ladies, gentlemen, gender binary, gender fluid, and genderless, I understand the nature of this glurblefluker that you all seem to possess. I also know that it is the standard by which the Federation judges all other species." Hartwell paused, reorganizing his thoughts. "You need not question humanity's sentient nature any further, then. We have already created devices capable of imitating the glurblefluke."
The Cyclodian barked off a few derisive sparks. "Secretary, the glurblefluker is an inherent part of every organism here. A device you slap with your sensory organs is not an inherent part of you."
"But," Hartwell gasped. "They accomplish the very same actions as a glurblefluker, regardless."
A diminutive Vikti piped up in response. "Secretary Hartwell, according to Article 230.27 and six Zeytons, Subsection Floredas-93 of the Universal Constitution, the glurblefluker must be an organic part of the species. Aids, technological or cybernetic, do not constitute as an organic part of the species."
"Exactly," the Cyclodian purred. "In fact, your devices have already surpassed the Constitution's standards. You may take some comfort knowing they will carry on your pest species's legacy after the building measure is seen through."
The Cyclodian had intended this to be the killing blow, the point where the earthling secretary would be reduced to a quivering pile of nerves, like the verbal-sensitive Kandaran monkeys. But instead, the earthling had become as stiff and tough as a shaft of plastelic. Its face bore an unsettling grin.
"Counselors, you may think me ill-educated, but I have gone through your regulations and articles quite thoroughly," Hartwell said. "If you abide by your law so much, then answer my question. Why would you allow a species, whose glurbleflukes are an *artificial* part of their organic being, a seat in the highest echelons of your government?"
"Secretary, you are in no position to make such accusations," the Deliberator burbled. It shifted its gargantuan weight from the center of the floor. "We are willing to forgive this misstep if you rescind your words."
"Negative, Deliberator," Hartwell said. He paused again, channeling this newfound fire within him. "I simply ask why the Federation would give the Cyclodian race the privilege of sitting in government, when they too are guilty of housing artificial glurbleflukers?"
Even more gasping, color changing, and brain fluid spewing occurred. The representatives looked back and forth between Hartwell and the Cyclodian ambassador.
"Secretary, you DARE to make such brash accusations?!" the Cyclodian shrieked, like an angry wind turbine. "My people have faithfully served the Federation for years, and we would never -"
"Counselors, scientist on Earth have been able to autopsy the remains of Cyclodian foot soldiers after the NightFall Conflict, and we believe the Cyclopian equivalent of a glurblefluker -" Hartwell stopped and pulled out his phone, presenting the research photos taken of the Cyclodian bodies. "- is nothing more than an artificial construct, inserted into Cyclodians at birth."
Hartwell flashed the photo at all the shocked faces around him. "You see, the glurblefluker of the Cyclodians is of a different material than the Cyclodians. While most Cyclodians on Alua are born from the living metal found across the planet, the glurblefluker on display here was made from a mineral that is nonnative to Alua. I believe it is safe to say, that the Cyclodians are guilty of using artificial glurbleflukers."
The chamber began to thrum. Anger-filled gas was expelled from glurbleflukers of all shapes and sizes, filling the atmosphere with a buzzing, red cloud. Hostile eyes turned towards the Cyclodian ambassador, hemming it into a corner.
"Ambassador," the Deliberator said, a deadly, low thrumming in its voice. "What say you to these charges?"
The ambassador sparked and gawked, but eventually found its wits.
"I can only say," it began. "That we are not the only race that has used artificial means to replicate a glurblefluker." It pointed to the Vikti assembly above it. "The glurblefluker of the Vikti assembly, as noted by our intelligence agency, is nothing more than a collection of parasites which are mandatorily inserted into all Vikti who engage in public service!"
The accusation raised a collective shrieking from the Vikti assembly. One of the small creatures swooped down and landed against the Cyclodian's collar.
"You swore!" she spat. "You took the credits! The Bureau's hookers! You swore!"
Cyclodian reached up and tried to throttle the impertinent creature, but several more of her compatriots swarmed down and started to gnaw away at the Cyclodian's plating.
"Counselors, counselors!" the Deliberator yelled. "I will have order in this room!"
"Just wait, Deliberator!" a Vikti politician hollered. "We have dossiers on the Haulachan and Turbinshtock races, both of whom also use artificial glurbleflukers! They shall be declassified on the morrow!"
Clamor overtook the entire chamber. The Haulachans started to blurble out, in their trademark, hive mind chorus, the names of other races, but they were cut short as a Chilintu bailiff began cutting a bloody swathe through them with its back spikes. The Turbinshtock clerks tried to make their way towards the traitorous Vikti, but were rebuffed by an angry crowd of Cyclodians. Someone fired a laser at the Deliberator, who fell back and crushed the Kulu, Chundra, and Angerel assemblies.
As light fixtures and service drones clattered against the ground in a gruesome rain around him, Hartwell produced a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. He'd been lucky with this save. He'd have to read up and come back more prepared tomorrow.
After all, humanity would still need to clear up the thousand other cases it had racked up in traffic court.
| "Of course humans aren’t intelligent. The don’t have glurbleflukes. If you can’t glurblefluke, you’re not sentient," Silas scoffed as he picked at a scab of dirt on his chin.
"Always so sure of yourself, Silas… Your mother was right, you’ve always been thickheaded and you always will be. I swear, it’s just like the time you creamed on the Blarbacan waiter for mixing up our drinks!" Silu's voice wavered, tinged with a bubbling of long pent up anger.
"Oh you just had to bring up the Blarbacan waiter AGAIN, didn’t you, Silu? It was a week ago! Get over it…” He paused as he flicked the unidentified crust from his tentacle. “Look, I’m not having this debate with you here. We came out for a nice day in the suns... people are starting to stare. Don’t embarrass yourself."
Silu turned slowly towards the glass wall with a heavy sigh. She pressed her tentacles against it’s cold surface softly, gently. Silas rolled his eyes wearily. With a quiet huff he reluctantly placed a sweaty tentacle on her collar and squeezed half-heartedly.
"Don't be like that, Silu. It’s just a human, why are we even arguing about this?"
Silu winced with irritation at the sound of Silas’ voice and continued to stare intently at the figure through the glass of the enclosure. The tiny, frail human inside had turned her eyes from a small television set and locked contact with Silu. She munched deflatedly on a french fry, her eyes tired and pained.
"Glurbleflukes or not, humans shouldn’t be kept in captivity!" Silu cried, teary eyed.
Silas slowly dropped and shook his head so that the smooth glurbleflukes twitched in unison, almost as if dancing to his disappointment. He latched at her tentacle and pulled her away from the zoo enclosure.
"Come on, Silu. That’s enough for today," Silas sighed.
He glurblefluked towards the exit door.
Silu did not move. | |
[WP] "Of course humans aren't intelligent. They don't even have glurbleflukers. If you can't glurblefluke, you're not sentient." | The Cyclodian ambassador's words echoed throughout the chamber, marching about like a parade master with an overinflated ego.
The Haulachan assembly shuddered, their amoebic bodies turning a bright shade of green. A Turbinshtock clerk spat excess brain fluid against his tablet. The petite bodies of a few Vikti representatives fell to the floor, wings frozen from shock.
United Earth Secretary Gregory Hartwell only felt oily beads of sweat bunching up on his forehead. His spine, both figurative and literal, had lost its famed rigidity, folding and unfolding underneath him like a particularly cheap accordion. The room was tilting backwards, threatening to send him and the rest of Earth tumbling towards the mess they were trying to crawl out of.
"You see? No glurblefluking capacity," the Cyclodian ambassador, casting a hand towards the trembling Hartwell.
"Beg your... Beg your pardon?" Hartwell's voice sounded small and empty inside the chamber.
The Cyclodian chortled, in a purely Cyclodian fashion. Sparks flew from its mouth plate, accompanied by the sounds of monotone buzzing and grinding metal. Hartwell felt it sounded like a computer going through labor.
"My fellow counselors and I have just discussed several thousand different ways to prepare sechuni salarifish," it said.
"Yes, but -" Hartwell paused, licking his lips, perusing his mental dictionary. "How were you able to do this mundane task?"
The Cyclodian turned towards the center of the room. Addressing the black robed Deliberator, it only bowed. When it rose again, its face plates were tight, rubbing against one another. Then, with much pomp and ceremony, gas flew from the back of its head, followed by a quiet but distinct noise.
The Deliberator bowed in response and performed a similar action. Nodding, the Cyclodian turned towards Hartwell.
"Due to the Accords of Fairness, I am bound to inform you of the glurblefluker, even though your non-sentient status does not warrant it." The Cyclodian looked back and clapped its hands. "Service drone!"
The drone, one of the court's many multi-eyed servitors, flew across the chamber and stopped extremely close to Hartwell. Hartwell leaned back and tugged at his lapels, unenthusiastic for the task at hand.
"It's for the good of the planet," he muttered to himself. His words had little effect, just as they had throughout the entire session.
He lifted his hair, revealing the wrinkled, pale skin of his forehead to the drone. Its several eyes fixed themselves on it, and a long proboscis jutted from its gray flesh with alarming speed. Without hesitation, the proboscis was jammed into Hartwell's forehead, pulsing as its conduits set about carving new furrows into Hartwell's brain.
The procedure was mercifully brief, though that didn't stop it from feeling like the grand dad of all inoculations. Hartwell obsessively tapped his fingers against his cranium, but, as usual, found nothing. He looked back to the representatives.
"This glurblefluker... I understand." He inhaled and closed his eyes. When his eyelids reopened, he could feel the comfortable, stiff weight of his spine again.
"Ladies, gentlemen, gender binary, gender fluid, and genderless, I understand the nature of this glurblefluker that you all seem to possess. I also know that it is the standard by which the Federation judges all other species." Hartwell paused, reorganizing his thoughts. "You need not question humanity's sentient nature any further, then. We have already created devices capable of imitating the glurblefluke."
The Cyclodian barked off a few derisive sparks. "Secretary, the glurblefluker is an inherent part of every organism here. A device you slap with your sensory organs is not an inherent part of you."
"But," Hartwell gasped. "They accomplish the very same actions as a glurblefluker, regardless."
A diminutive Vikti piped up in response. "Secretary Hartwell, according to Article 230.27 and six Zeytons, Subsection Floredas-93 of the Universal Constitution, the glurblefluker must be an organic part of the species. Aids, technological or cybernetic, do not constitute as an organic part of the species."
"Exactly," the Cyclodian purred. "In fact, your devices have already surpassed the Constitution's standards. You may take some comfort knowing they will carry on your pest species's legacy after the building measure is seen through."
The Cyclodian had intended this to be the killing blow, the point where the earthling secretary would be reduced to a quivering pile of nerves, like the verbal-sensitive Kandaran monkeys. But instead, the earthling had become as stiff and tough as a shaft of plastelic. Its face bore an unsettling grin.
"Counselors, you may think me ill-educated, but I have gone through your regulations and articles quite thoroughly," Hartwell said. "If you abide by your law so much, then answer my question. Why would you allow a species, whose glurbleflukes are an *artificial* part of their organic being, a seat in the highest echelons of your government?"
"Secretary, you are in no position to make such accusations," the Deliberator burbled. It shifted its gargantuan weight from the center of the floor. "We are willing to forgive this misstep if you rescind your words."
"Negative, Deliberator," Hartwell said. He paused again, channeling this newfound fire within him. "I simply ask why the Federation would give the Cyclodian race the privilege of sitting in government, when they too are guilty of housing artificial glurbleflukers?"
Even more gasping, color changing, and brain fluid spewing occurred. The representatives looked back and forth between Hartwell and the Cyclodian ambassador.
"Secretary, you DARE to make such brash accusations?!" the Cyclodian shrieked, like an angry wind turbine. "My people have faithfully served the Federation for years, and we would never -"
"Counselors, scientist on Earth have been able to autopsy the remains of Cyclodian foot soldiers after the NightFall Conflict, and we believe the Cyclopian equivalent of a glurblefluker -" Hartwell stopped and pulled out his phone, presenting the research photos taken of the Cyclodian bodies. "- is nothing more than an artificial construct, inserted into Cyclodians at birth."
Hartwell flashed the photo at all the shocked faces around him. "You see, the glurblefluker of the Cyclodians is of a different material than the Cyclodians. While most Cyclodians on Alua are born from the living metal found across the planet, the glurblefluker on display here was made from a mineral that is nonnative to Alua. I believe it is safe to say, that the Cyclodians are guilty of using artificial glurbleflukers."
The chamber began to thrum. Anger-filled gas was expelled from glurbleflukers of all shapes and sizes, filling the atmosphere with a buzzing, red cloud. Hostile eyes turned towards the Cyclodian ambassador, hemming it into a corner.
"Ambassador," the Deliberator said, a deadly, low thrumming in its voice. "What say you to these charges?"
The ambassador sparked and gawked, but eventually found its wits.
"I can only say," it began. "That we are not the only race that has used artificial means to replicate a glurblefluker." It pointed to the Vikti assembly above it. "The glurblefluker of the Vikti assembly, as noted by our intelligence agency, is nothing more than a collection of parasites which are mandatorily inserted into all Vikti who engage in public service!"
The accusation raised a collective shrieking from the Vikti assembly. One of the small creatures swooped down and landed against the Cyclodian's collar.
"You swore!" she spat. "You took the credits! The Bureau's hookers! You swore!"
Cyclodian reached up and tried to throttle the impertinent creature, but several more of her compatriots swarmed down and started to gnaw away at the Cyclodian's plating.
"Counselors, counselors!" the Deliberator yelled. "I will have order in this room!"
"Just wait, Deliberator!" a Vikti politician hollered. "We have dossiers on the Haulachan and Turbinshtock races, both of whom also use artificial glurbleflukers! They shall be declassified on the morrow!"
Clamor overtook the entire chamber. The Haulachans started to blurble out, in their trademark, hive mind chorus, the names of other races, but they were cut short as a Chilintu bailiff began cutting a bloody swathe through them with its back spikes. The Turbinshtock clerks tried to make their way towards the traitorous Vikti, but were rebuffed by an angry crowd of Cyclodians. Someone fired a laser at the Deliberator, who fell back and crushed the Kulu, Chundra, and Angerel assemblies.
As light fixtures and service drones clattered against the ground in a gruesome rain around him, Hartwell produced a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. He'd been lucky with this save. He'd have to read up and come back more prepared tomorrow.
After all, humanity would still need to clear up the thousand other cases it had racked up in traffic court.
| My ears perked after hearing the outburst, several booths over. The creature who had loudly spoke was one of the newer races that had appeared on the Ark, only a few sun rotations ago. I sighed, a human sigh, which I made sure was quiet enough not to invoke the wrath of whoever it was that had a problem with humanity. I stared down at my drink, a murky amber liquid that had enough viscosity to be sold as either a meal or beverage, and took another hearty swig. It burned as it entered my mouth, and it burned as it made its way down to my stomach. Hell, I really had to stop drinking so late in the evening, especially with another early rise in the morning. For the fourth half-cycle in a row I was being shipped off into hyperspace, another desperate mining expedition that I was nobly tasked to be a part of to help with the additional races that crowded down onto an already crowded NAVship. Humans, TECHbots, Martians, Varnians, Quizners, the Ark already had little room to separate the incredibly different species, and with more appearing every half-cycle, the already apparent oxygen problem was only going to get worse.
"I mean seriously, a bipedal creature in the year 3100? How have they not vanished from existence already?" Continued the creature, visibly drunk and whose bar tab had no end in sight.
It's friends all surrounded it, nodding along to it's words. If it was trying to get a reaction from the bar's human occupants it was going to have to try harder, as humans had already face enough oppression on the Ark than any other sentient species. They had a point however, which was not lost on me. What were we doing here? Dwelling in a metal ship hurtling away from our Mother Earth, whose fields of grass and oceans of water I had never touched or seen. Of course no human had for several generations, not after we, as a collective species had doomed her to rot as we fled into the stars with our newly found interstellar allies. I sighed again, and drained my glass, dropping it on the SERVEbot that circled between each of the occupied booths.
"Another round Marsh?" came a voice from behind the bar.
I turned slowly towards the speaker and smiled directly in the eyes of the barkeep, a female Martian who went by the name of Ashka. She was pretty by her people's standards, and I had to agree with that notion
"No thanks, Ash. Stars knows that I should call it quits while I'm ahead."
"Big man with his big new job in the morning?" Laughed Ashka, knowing full well the dangerous implications of interstellar travel that the miners had to undergo.
"Of course" I laughed, "How else am I going to afford this sewage you call a drink"
"Hey now, that right there just so happens to be our bestseller, three cycles in a row"
I stood suddenly, and wavered as the alien alcohol made its way through my systems.
"Catch you in a few Ash, this human needs his beauty sleep"
Ashka walked around the bar and placed one of her arms on my shoulder.
"You be careful okay Marsh? You may be the ugliest human I've ever met but you're still one of my favourites." Her face became serene and friendly in that moment, as genuine emotion was displayed on her face.
"My dear Ash, you know I can't go to any bars on this damned ship other than yours." I returned the gesture and placed my hand on her shoulder, completing the Martian friend ritual. "I'll be back before you know it."
The walk back to my quarters was not far, but the drink made it harder all the same. Twisting and turning down the long corridors, I made my way through each of the Ark's living section, inhabiting all manners of creatures. Voices of several creatures rose in the din of each races evening rituals, making for comforting background noise. I patted the metal walls as I walked, once again marvelling at the alien engineering which kept all breathing souls alive. How lucky humans had been to be given the chance of survival, especially after decimating Mother Earth with our pollution and weaponry. It had been the martians who had offered us help, after going through the same planetary woes that we had. And we jumped at the opportunity of course, revelling in our fortune as another force saved us from ourselves. I shook my head and laughed again.
Finally, after what seemed like eternity, I strolled up to my room, and hazily punched in the four-digit combination, allowing for my quarters to open to me. Stumbling in I undressed down into my sleep-suit and made my way over to my sleep-pod. It was hard not to feel claustrophobic in such instances, but it definitely beat floating in the vacuum of space. In fact I was lucky enough to have room for *two* sleep-pods, rather than just one. That's what being the best interstellar human miner had to offer apparently. I hovered over the second pod, much smaller and cramped than mine.
"Hello my little love" I said. Bending over I was only inches away from my daughter's face. My daughter, forever suspended in deep-sleep, unable to wake without permission from higher forces. My daughter, whose face reminded me so of her Martian mother, a raw beauty that had stolen my heart another lifetime ago. "One day little bird, you're going to fly, and I can't wait to see you soar." Tears streaked my face now, which was spurned not only of memories of a family I once had, but by the nostalgia that my drunken stupor brought on. Her mother, my dear Sylvan, had died on a previous mining expedition, right after she was born. The pain of that loss had never subsided, and I carry it with me wherever I go. My little love would have to wait to see the stars, as anyone under working age was committed to deep-sleep as a way of preserving the fleeting oxygen on the Ark. I leaned over and kissed the pod that held my daughter, still caught in the emotion. Suddenly, a loud voice played over the intercom
"Warning, oxygen deprivation will be conducted in 15 ark-minutes. It is advised to return to your sleep-pods immediately."
Well, guess that was my cue. Another long day and another long one awaited me tomorrow. I turned to my dresser and pulled another alcoholic beverage from its storage space. Smiling, I took a half-swig of the Old-Earth brandy which I had traded for cycles ago, continuing my tradition of having some before every new mining job. Slowly, I pulled my pod's lid down and settled in for the deep-sleep. Closing my eyes, I felt every hum and metallic clang the Ark had to offer, and brought a knowing smile to my lips. Yeah, she wasn't much, but this was home for now. Until I stood planet-side, on our new home, with my daughter's hand in mine.
Finally, I drifted off into a restful sleep. | |
[WP] Everyone on Earth is assigned a number indicating their importance in worldly events. The lower the number the more important the person. These numbers change each day. All your life you've been in the high 6 billions. One day you wake up and your number is one. | Classifying people by numbers wasn’t a new idea, it had always just been sneakier.
Before The Scale, people had been forced to guess their social status relative to everyone else. The fluidity was painful and people struggled to understand their place. Depression was a common side-effect, suicides happened, even wars resulted from the uncertainty.
The Scale was designed to solve all those problems. A massive computer in Almaty ingested everything about everyone. The size of checking accounts, social media feeds, and job status were just a few of the factors used to create live rankings of every individual on earth. The idea, and it seemed to be working, was that knowing exactly where you stood, and how you could improve your standing, would create a more peaceful and prosperous world.
For most of us, of course, we’d never get out of the middle billions. Still, we were all motivated to move a little higher by doing things the computer approved of, and that knowledge gave us a sense of purpose.
Myself? The evening before it happened, I crawled into bed with my ranking resting just above 3 billion. Given that the world population exceed 30 billion, I felt pretty good about my ranking, and was excited about the possibility of breaking into the 2 billions with a new promotion I was working towards. Now that would be cause for a party.
Six hours later, my alarm blared and I rolled over to glance at my rank, displayed on the leaderboard beside my bed. Oddly, it was exactly the same as it had been the night before. Normally, my rank fell while I slept, as the waking side of the world population worked to improve their standing. I flipped on my wall screen, expecting all the stations to be covering a horrible tragedy in some corner of the world. Disaster, the death of millions, was often the only explanation for not waking up with a lower rank.
As I flipped through the channels, however, everything seemed normal. The newscasters were using the standard dull nonsense to try and fill airtime, talking about pets and the most recent pronouncements by the western consortium about risk of war. Nothing new. I turned into the kitchen and glanced at the leaderboard as I headed towards the fridge.
There were a lot of rumors about what it was like to be ranked number one. Since The Scale had first been introduced, it had always made sense who was ranked number one. It had often been held by one of two people. Either the Prime Minister of the Western Consortium or the Sultan of the Eastern Consortium. For the six months leading up to that morning, it had been held by Tashkent, the leader of the West.
As I stood in my kitchen, however, frozen mid step on my way to the fridge, Tashkent was no longer ranked number one. I was. | The second I woke up, I knew today wouldn't be like a normal one. I sat up in my bed, checked my phone, and right underneath the time was a large number 1.
I practically choked on my own drool when I saw it. I reached over to my desk and picked up my glasses. I put them on and looked again. I wasn't mistaken, it wasn't 1,000, it wasn't 100, heck, I'd have even been fine if it was 10 but it wasn't. Today, I was the most important man in the world.
I contemplated what might happen today but decided not to dwell on it for too long. I got out of bed, threw on shorts and a shirt and headed to the kitchen.
As I picked up the box of cereal, I heard an odd creak come from my room. I set down the box and walked back toward it. I was a little on edge from being number 1 but I decided to check what it was.
As I opened the door, I saw a person standing in my room. It looked like he had just crawled through my unlocked window. Whoever he was wore a black mask and was holding a pistol.
Needless to say, I hightailed it out of my apartment. I don't care if it alerted him, I wasn't going to let my importance be from bullets in my skull.
As I ran down the hallway, I yelled that somebody else was inside. I also heard things being knocked over from behind my door.
I barely made it to the elevator, smacking the button like a madman, before I heard gunshots from down the hall.
I could heard footsteps growing closer but, just in time, the elevator opened. I ran inside and mashed the button for ground level.
That was when the person turned the corner and aimed. That was also when I realized that I wasn't a hero, I wasn't a savior, I wasn't even the villain, I was the victim.
I had a split second to think about everything that led up to it before I heard a gunshot, felt a horrible pain in my chest, fell to the ground, and suddenly I saw nothing but black... | |
[WP] Everyone on Earth is assigned a number indicating their importance in worldly events. The lower the number the more important the person. These numbers change each day. All your life you've been in the high 6 billions. One day you wake up and your number is one. | I didn't see any point in acting on the number. Probably, someone was fucking with me. Occasionally that happened. Someone hacked the site, all the outputs got messed up, and it took some time for the Bureau of Significance to get things up and running. Probably, it was nothing. Sharon looked at those ratings too damn often anyway. She was a politician, and it made sense to check to see where big changes or decisions would be coming from, I guess, but she put too much stock in it. The numbers were descriptive, not prescriptive. Telling people to go do something interesting because their number was a hundred or whatever was just a self-fulfilling prophecy--if they had been going to do it a different day the BoS would have marked them higher that day. The whole construct was stupid.
So I put on my hat, shoved a chunk of baguette in my mouth, and instead of calling up some news agency, telling them my number, spewing some agenda to the world, and reinforcing a popular misconception like my sister wanted me to, I walked to the bus stop and waited. I stood, because there was a young girl curled up at one end of the bench with her face in her knees, and sitting down would have been awkward.
My bus was late. I took out my cell and played 2048.
The bus running my route should have come twice by now. I was late for work, I'd lost three times, and my feet were getting sore. I looked over at the bench. The girl hadn't moved, except that she was staring out at the road. Her eyes were red, with deep bags under them, and her face was settled in an absent, melancholy frown. Not my problem, but I did want to sit down if I was going to be killing another hour.
"Can I sit," I asked, indicating the other side of the bench. She looked at me quickly and nodded with a mumbled "sure," so I did. I tabbed over to the BoS entry Sharon had sent me. Still one. Whatever. Then I called my employer.
"Hello, this is Dale."
"Hello Dale, this is Yohan. Where the fuck are you?"
"Is that any way to talk to the most important person in the world?" Yohan snorted. "My bus is real goddamn late. I'm considering walking at this point, seriously."
"Hell. You're still in Scottsdale?"
"That's what I'm saying, yes."
"Look, at this point? Just stay home and I'll tell Tammy you called in sick."
"...how pissed is she, exactly?"
"Very. Less so if you're sick, trust me." I waited. "She likes you, she'll worry about you, and she won't get pissed at me for not carpooling with you."
I snorted. "Alright, fine, see you tomorrow." I hung up the phone and took another glance up and down the road.
The girl was looking at me.
"Can I do something for you?" I asked her.
"Were you for real?" she asked. "About being the most important person?" Her voice was soft and wobbly.
"The BoS website says so," I said, grinning. "Fucking nonsense though."
"Why?" she asked.
"I work at a bookstore a city away. So, uh. Somebody fucked up or hacked the site, I'm pretty sure." I paused. The girl looked maybe thirteen. "I'm not s'posed to swear around you, am I?"
"I can swear," she said indignantly, glaring at me through puffy red eyes. "I'm not a kid." She hunched forward then, resting her chin on her knees. "I'm never important."
"Of course you aren't. All due respect, but you're what, a preteen? You're still a kid. If I'm never important, somebody who can't even vote sure isn't. Not in the grand scheme of things."
"I'm fourteen," she said. There wasn't a lot of energy to it. "And you are. You said you were. I'm not. I'm nothing."
"Kiddo, I've never been in the top six billion except when somebody hacks the site. That shit doesn't matter."
"Maybe not to you." She looked away. "The world's full of wars and people starve and education is stupid and--" Her voice broke, and I kind of regretted engaging. "--and if I'm never going to matter enough to fix it I at least want to matter to somebody."
I sighed. "Okay. Two things. Three things. And then I'm going home." She looked at me without moving her head. She was crying. Great. "One, you're in fucking middle school, if some people don't like you, find different people. Two, you don't get to be important and fix the world's shit because of a number. Seriously. You want your number to get better, you *do* things. The numbers describe you, they don't limit what you can do. Okay?"
She stared out at the road with tears rolling down her face. "It's not that easy."
"Of course not. My sister's a politician. She works her ass off campaigning, reading bills, figuring out how to get people to compromise on things. And half of everybody thinks she's some kind of duplicitous bitch, but you know what, she carried a bill that expanded funding for rehabilitation and support of folks after they get out of jail so they don't end up going back in, and it's not well understood, and the people who love her for it are often not allowed to vote because they're felons. But it makes the world better. I'm not important because it's not worth the effort, even though I was born with near every advantage you can think of. So I work in a bookstore and do jack shit. You can be me, you can be my sister, you can't be both."
The girl didn't respond for a while. She cried, and there was hiccuping and sobbing and she looked like a goddamn mess. In all my incredible patience, I waited. Finally, she looked back at me, teary-eyed. "W-what was the third thing?"
"Why the hell aren't you in school?"
Her response was almost sullen. "I d-didn't want to go in l-like this. My parents think I'm there, b-but I'm pretending I'm sick."
I sighed. "Yeah, I'm faking a sick day too." I paused. "Look, all I'm gonna do with my day is go home and play video games. If you want me to walk you to the library first, I will."
"Okay," she said. | The second I woke up, I knew today wouldn't be like a normal one. I sat up in my bed, checked my phone, and right underneath the time was a large number 1.
I practically choked on my own drool when I saw it. I reached over to my desk and picked up my glasses. I put them on and looked again. I wasn't mistaken, it wasn't 1,000, it wasn't 100, heck, I'd have even been fine if it was 10 but it wasn't. Today, I was the most important man in the world.
I contemplated what might happen today but decided not to dwell on it for too long. I got out of bed, threw on shorts and a shirt and headed to the kitchen.
As I picked up the box of cereal, I heard an odd creak come from my room. I set down the box and walked back toward it. I was a little on edge from being number 1 but I decided to check what it was.
As I opened the door, I saw a person standing in my room. It looked like he had just crawled through my unlocked window. Whoever he was wore a black mask and was holding a pistol.
Needless to say, I hightailed it out of my apartment. I don't care if it alerted him, I wasn't going to let my importance be from bullets in my skull.
As I ran down the hallway, I yelled that somebody else was inside. I also heard things being knocked over from behind my door.
I barely made it to the elevator, smacking the button like a madman, before I heard gunshots from down the hall.
I could heard footsteps growing closer but, just in time, the elevator opened. I ran inside and mashed the button for ground level.
That was when the person turned the corner and aimed. That was also when I realized that I wasn't a hero, I wasn't a savior, I wasn't even the villain, I was the victim.
I had a split second to think about everything that led up to it before I heard a gunshot, felt a horrible pain in my chest, fell to the ground, and suddenly I saw nothing but black... | |
[WP] Everyone on Earth is assigned a number indicating their importance in worldly events. The lower the number the more important the person. These numbers change each day. All your life you've been in the high 6 billions. One day you wake up and your number is one. | Classifying people by numbers wasn’t a new idea, it had always just been sneakier.
Before The Scale, people had been forced to guess their social status relative to everyone else. The fluidity was painful and people struggled to understand their place. Depression was a common side-effect, suicides happened, even wars resulted from the uncertainty.
The Scale was designed to solve all those problems. A massive computer in Almaty ingested everything about everyone. The size of checking accounts, social media feeds, and job status were just a few of the factors used to create live rankings of every individual on earth. The idea, and it seemed to be working, was that knowing exactly where you stood, and how you could improve your standing, would create a more peaceful and prosperous world.
For most of us, of course, we’d never get out of the middle billions. Still, we were all motivated to move a little higher by doing things the computer approved of, and that knowledge gave us a sense of purpose.
Myself? The evening before it happened, I crawled into bed with my ranking resting just above 3 billion. Given that the world population exceed 30 billion, I felt pretty good about my ranking, and was excited about the possibility of breaking into the 2 billions with a new promotion I was working towards. Now that would be cause for a party.
Six hours later, my alarm blared and I rolled over to glance at my rank, displayed on the leaderboard beside my bed. Oddly, it was exactly the same as it had been the night before. Normally, my rank fell while I slept, as the waking side of the world population worked to improve their standing. I flipped on my wall screen, expecting all the stations to be covering a horrible tragedy in some corner of the world. Disaster, the death of millions, was often the only explanation for not waking up with a lower rank.
As I flipped through the channels, however, everything seemed normal. The newscasters were using the standard dull nonsense to try and fill airtime, talking about pets and the most recent pronouncements by the western consortium about risk of war. Nothing new. I turned into the kitchen and glanced at the leaderboard as I headed towards the fridge.
There were a lot of rumors about what it was like to be ranked number one. Since The Scale had first been introduced, it had always made sense who was ranked number one. It had often been held by one of two people. Either the Prime Minister of the Western Consortium or the Sultan of the Eastern Consortium. For the six months leading up to that morning, it had been held by Tashkent, the leader of the West.
As I stood in my kitchen, however, frozen mid step on my way to the fridge, Tashkent was no longer ranked number one. I was. | The alarm beeped and I immediately smashed the ON/OFF button. I had been awake for a long time now, was too anxious to sleep. I looked at the time, **8:00 AM**. I still had time. Still, I hurried to the kitchen and turned on the tv. Ads, of course. The Status Board wasn't up for 10 more minutes. I tried to calm myself with a deep breath, but to no avail. Mark's dog barked happily outside, as if completely unaware of the time-changing events that were about to unfold. I, of course, couldn't get my mind off of it.
Shakily I turned on the coffee machine while I waited. Might as well. It wasn't like I could do anything now. I had already regretted my choice about a thousand times during the night. And I had come to the decision that the choice had been made for me a long time ago. If I had the means should I just stand there and do nothing?
No, this was the right choice, the *only* choice. There was nothing I could do about it now anyways.
The sudden silence woke me from my thoughts. I poured some coffee and quietly drank it while I looked at the time. **8:08 AM**. Two more minutes and the wait would be over. I mean, I didn't even know if it worked. The system was made to be safe and impenetrable, I of all people knew that. But it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that the people *they* thought were "important" were treated like kings and queens while the rest of us "not relevant" were treated like slaves. We were literally their work robots. And there was no *actual* evidence of their importance! None other than their name on a stupid board.
"Hello Earth. It's 8 AM and we are pleased to bring you the Status Board as of today, 8th of March of 2036."
The chirpy voice made me quickly turn to the tv. I scanned the board from the bottom to the top and stopped at number 2. Suddenly I was very nervous. What if it didn't work? Worst of all, what if it did? I took a deep breath and looked up.
*1 - Ashley Johnson (3'266'301'541), Albuquerque NM, USA*
That was my name. I looked at the side of my arm. The number 3'266'301'541 printed in black bold numbers now had a bright blue 1 next to it. Holy shit. I checked it again, nothing changed. That was me. I was number one. It worked! Oh fuck. It worked. | |
[WP] Everyone on Earth is assigned a number indicating their importance in worldly events. The lower the number the more important the person. These numbers change each day. All your life you've been in the high 6 billions. One day you wake up and your number is one. | I didn't see any point in acting on the number. Probably, someone was fucking with me. Occasionally that happened. Someone hacked the site, all the outputs got messed up, and it took some time for the Bureau of Significance to get things up and running. Probably, it was nothing. Sharon looked at those ratings too damn often anyway. She was a politician, and it made sense to check to see where big changes or decisions would be coming from, I guess, but she put too much stock in it. The numbers were descriptive, not prescriptive. Telling people to go do something interesting because their number was a hundred or whatever was just a self-fulfilling prophecy--if they had been going to do it a different day the BoS would have marked them higher that day. The whole construct was stupid.
So I put on my hat, shoved a chunk of baguette in my mouth, and instead of calling up some news agency, telling them my number, spewing some agenda to the world, and reinforcing a popular misconception like my sister wanted me to, I walked to the bus stop and waited. I stood, because there was a young girl curled up at one end of the bench with her face in her knees, and sitting down would have been awkward.
My bus was late. I took out my cell and played 2048.
The bus running my route should have come twice by now. I was late for work, I'd lost three times, and my feet were getting sore. I looked over at the bench. The girl hadn't moved, except that she was staring out at the road. Her eyes were red, with deep bags under them, and her face was settled in an absent, melancholy frown. Not my problem, but I did want to sit down if I was going to be killing another hour.
"Can I sit," I asked, indicating the other side of the bench. She looked at me quickly and nodded with a mumbled "sure," so I did. I tabbed over to the BoS entry Sharon had sent me. Still one. Whatever. Then I called my employer.
"Hello, this is Dale."
"Hello Dale, this is Yohan. Where the fuck are you?"
"Is that any way to talk to the most important person in the world?" Yohan snorted. "My bus is real goddamn late. I'm considering walking at this point, seriously."
"Hell. You're still in Scottsdale?"
"That's what I'm saying, yes."
"Look, at this point? Just stay home and I'll tell Tammy you called in sick."
"...how pissed is she, exactly?"
"Very. Less so if you're sick, trust me." I waited. "She likes you, she'll worry about you, and she won't get pissed at me for not carpooling with you."
I snorted. "Alright, fine, see you tomorrow." I hung up the phone and took another glance up and down the road.
The girl was looking at me.
"Can I do something for you?" I asked her.
"Were you for real?" she asked. "About being the most important person?" Her voice was soft and wobbly.
"The BoS website says so," I said, grinning. "Fucking nonsense though."
"Why?" she asked.
"I work at a bookstore a city away. So, uh. Somebody fucked up or hacked the site, I'm pretty sure." I paused. The girl looked maybe thirteen. "I'm not s'posed to swear around you, am I?"
"I can swear," she said indignantly, glaring at me through puffy red eyes. "I'm not a kid." She hunched forward then, resting her chin on her knees. "I'm never important."
"Of course you aren't. All due respect, but you're what, a preteen? You're still a kid. If I'm never important, somebody who can't even vote sure isn't. Not in the grand scheme of things."
"I'm fourteen," she said. There wasn't a lot of energy to it. "And you are. You said you were. I'm not. I'm nothing."
"Kiddo, I've never been in the top six billion except when somebody hacks the site. That shit doesn't matter."
"Maybe not to you." She looked away. "The world's full of wars and people starve and education is stupid and--" Her voice broke, and I kind of regretted engaging. "--and if I'm never going to matter enough to fix it I at least want to matter to somebody."
I sighed. "Okay. Two things. Three things. And then I'm going home." She looked at me without moving her head. She was crying. Great. "One, you're in fucking middle school, if some people don't like you, find different people. Two, you don't get to be important and fix the world's shit because of a number. Seriously. You want your number to get better, you *do* things. The numbers describe you, they don't limit what you can do. Okay?"
She stared out at the road with tears rolling down her face. "It's not that easy."
"Of course not. My sister's a politician. She works her ass off campaigning, reading bills, figuring out how to get people to compromise on things. And half of everybody thinks she's some kind of duplicitous bitch, but you know what, she carried a bill that expanded funding for rehabilitation and support of folks after they get out of jail so they don't end up going back in, and it's not well understood, and the people who love her for it are often not allowed to vote because they're felons. But it makes the world better. I'm not important because it's not worth the effort, even though I was born with near every advantage you can think of. So I work in a bookstore and do jack shit. You can be me, you can be my sister, you can't be both."
The girl didn't respond for a while. She cried, and there was hiccuping and sobbing and she looked like a goddamn mess. In all my incredible patience, I waited. Finally, she looked back at me, teary-eyed. "W-what was the third thing?"
"Why the hell aren't you in school?"
Her response was almost sullen. "I d-didn't want to go in l-like this. My parents think I'm there, b-but I'm pretending I'm sick."
I sighed. "Yeah, I'm faking a sick day too." I paused. "Look, all I'm gonna do with my day is go home and play video games. If you want me to walk you to the library first, I will."
"Okay," she said. | The alarm beeped and I immediately smashed the ON/OFF button. I had been awake for a long time now, was too anxious to sleep. I looked at the time, **8:00 AM**. I still had time. Still, I hurried to the kitchen and turned on the tv. Ads, of course. The Status Board wasn't up for 10 more minutes. I tried to calm myself with a deep breath, but to no avail. Mark's dog barked happily outside, as if completely unaware of the time-changing events that were about to unfold. I, of course, couldn't get my mind off of it.
Shakily I turned on the coffee machine while I waited. Might as well. It wasn't like I could do anything now. I had already regretted my choice about a thousand times during the night. And I had come to the decision that the choice had been made for me a long time ago. If I had the means should I just stand there and do nothing?
No, this was the right choice, the *only* choice. There was nothing I could do about it now anyways.
The sudden silence woke me from my thoughts. I poured some coffee and quietly drank it while I looked at the time. **8:08 AM**. Two more minutes and the wait would be over. I mean, I didn't even know if it worked. The system was made to be safe and impenetrable, I of all people knew that. But it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that the people *they* thought were "important" were treated like kings and queens while the rest of us "not relevant" were treated like slaves. We were literally their work robots. And there was no *actual* evidence of their importance! None other than their name on a stupid board.
"Hello Earth. It's 8 AM and we are pleased to bring you the Status Board as of today, 8th of March of 2036."
The chirpy voice made me quickly turn to the tv. I scanned the board from the bottom to the top and stopped at number 2. Suddenly I was very nervous. What if it didn't work? Worst of all, what if it did? I took a deep breath and looked up.
*1 - Ashley Johnson (3'266'301'541), Albuquerque NM, USA*
That was my name. I looked at the side of my arm. The number 3'266'301'541 printed in black bold numbers now had a bright blue 1 next to it. Holy shit. I checked it again, nothing changed. That was me. I was number one. It worked! Oh fuck. It worked. | |
[WP] Everyone on Earth is assigned a number indicating their importance in worldly events. The lower the number the more important the person. These numbers change each day. All your life you've been in the high 6 billions. One day you wake up and your number is one. | When the Oracle went live 20 years ago, there was little fanfare to the predictive AI developed in a garage in Silicon Valley. Initially, the string of numbers produced each morning, running into the billions and billions, were thought to be random. By chance, no one understood its significance until Oracle was purchased and incorporated into Facebook.
Then, Oracle began to assign the numbers to random individuals based off of metadata. Eventually, it settled into a pattern where high ranking numbers often went to those in power. It wasn't until the death of Caylee Anthony and the murder charges against Casey Anthony did Oracle's predictive nature become known. For weeks, Casey Anthony was ranked number one or in the top ten. After this, Oracle became a predictive news aggregator for the days event.
On May 1st, 2011, Oracle placed Osama Bin Laden as its Number One. People speculated widely that another terrorist attack was about to occur. After President Obama's announcement of Bin Laden's death, everyone became addicted to the power of Oracle.
Dave Kowalski consistently ranked between 6.700 to 6.900 billion on his daily Oracle Score. After signing up through Facebook in the fall of 2011, the novelty wore off after the first two months of allowing Oracle push notifications to his iPhone. The following three months were of a deep depression where Dave contemplated suicide. Out of a planet of 7 billion, he was practically worthless. After five months of receiving his Oracle Score, Dave accepted his allotment in life and trudged on.
The morning of July 2, 2017 in New York City was like any other for Dave. He woke up, dressed for work at the local book store, and left to grab his morning coffee. Waiting in the Starbucks, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Absentmindedly, Dave pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the screen.
*Oracle Score for July 2, 2017: 1*
Dave blinked. 1? That can't be right, he thought. Years of seeing 6,xxx,xxx,xxx daily etched itself into the mind and the solitary number, the most solitary of numbers, burned like a cigarette in the moonless night.
He shoved the phone back into his pocket, paid for his black coffee, and walked out the door. The book store was three blocks away, so Dave pulled the phone back out to stare at the screen as he walked.
*Oracle Score for July 2, 2017: 1*
What did it mean? What greatness was Dave meant for today? Should he skip work to find his calling? Was he meant to save a life? To take one? Should he stop and buy a lottery ticket?
Dave furrowed his brow and took a sip of his coffee. If he did anything, he thought, then that might put him off the path towards greatness. Then again, whatever action he might take could be predestined to occur. At the very least, he should post to Facebook that he's 1 and receive the adulation of his friends and family. Dave stopped so he could type out the message. Perhaps he'll find eternal love today?
Oracle Score 2 belonged to Nina Masterson. She was 62, widowed, in deteriorating health, and lived alone on the 4th floor in a mid-town building. She loved her corgis, playing the piano, and distilled water. Nina did not have Facebook so she didn't receive her Oracle Score. Her 1902 Wing and Son upright piano was currently being wrenched out her window to be sold to help pay for her medical bills.
The piano snapped off the rope, and plunged to the ground. Dave was just about to hit "Post" on his score when the piano crushed him like a cockroach. The force of the impact caused Dave's thumb to post his message to his friends and family of his Oracle Score while around the bloody pulp of his remains, people screamed. Dave Kowalski's death was reported widely around the world, mostly due to his post of his Oracle Score and his status as Oracle Score 1.
Distraught over the loss of her piano, Nina Masterson had a massive heart attack and passed away before paramedics could arrive. Her connection to Dave's death and her uncovered Oracle Score by Facebook were incorporated into the news reports.
Oracle Score 3 for that day was a hipster named D.S. Hardie, who had given up Facebook because of their intrusive policies and, like Nina, was unaware of that day's Oracle Score. Walking the same street as Dave, Hardie witnessed his death and instead of calling 911, took a photo with his iPhone of the spilled coffee mixing with Dave's blood as it poured down a storm drain. He posted the photo to /r/pics and became the top post. | I wake up every morning shaming myself for being such an unimportant person. My sister is number 100. My brother, 80. They are both very important while I am number 78,000,000,000. Not important at all.
While my brother is away and my sister is engulfed in her popular group I stay at home writing stories. I imagine I may be a low number one day. Maybe...
As I get ready for bed I see my mother. Her number is 1,600. She's lower than most people in the world. But she is still a bit high. My father, always in the basement doing important work. His number? 65. Very low. He and my mother fell in love. They married and had four children. One was a miscarriage.
Once I fell asleep, I dreamed I woke up and was number 1. It was a nice dream. Everyone loved me. I was on tv and the front page of the newspaper was all about me. My fame and humbleness.
My sister woke me up and smiled. "Guess what my number is!" She pulled up her pajama sleeve to reveal a number in black ink on her arm. It read 97. She was in the two digits. My eyes flew wide and I rolled up my pants to reveal my own number written in ink. Blue ink. High numbers were written in red. Lower numbers were written in black. One digit numbers were written in blue. As my sister gasped and fell to the ground, I squealed. "Mom!! Dad!!" I screamed. My mother rushed into the room and covered her mouth. "Daniel!" She yelled. My father ran to the doorway and saw my number. He stumbled back and rubbed his eyes. "Your number ONE!!" My mother screamed happily. "Oh my GOD!" My father picked me up and twirled me around. My sister stood up and stomped out of the room. I smiled and kissed my mother on the cheek before hearing the doorbell. As I opened it, a young woman walked in and sat on our couch. A camera crew walked in after her. They started filming. "Hello America. I'm your broadcaster Emily Davids here on Channel 27 bring you the latest news." The woman said. She waved for me to come over and I did. We did a tiny interview and my heart was pounded out of my chest.
I talked on tv and made the front page on the newspaper!!
I even had a large popularity group! My brother even came home to celebrate with me. Everything was perfect.
When the day was over I fell asleep quickly after watching my favorite movies and eating pie and ice cream.
When I woke up I looked at my leg to see the number. I smiled when the number was 1.
Everything happened all over again. The second time around wasn't as good. I did really care for more interviews and parties. The only thing that got me pumped was when I watched my favorite movies and new ones that just came out with my family at home all snuggled up together. My moms number went down. My fathers number went down. My sister and brothers number went down too. We all ate amazing food and drinks. That was my favorite part.
The next day, I looked at my leg and laughed. My number was 10. Finally. Something higher. Everything after that was perfect. We stayed in the two digit range for the rest of our lives. Living happily together and doing the things we all love. One happy family. | |
[WP] Everyone on Earth is assigned a number indicating their importance in worldly events. The lower the number the more important the person. These numbers change each day. All your life you've been in the high 6 billions. One day you wake up and your number is one. | I didn't see any point in acting on the number. Probably, someone was fucking with me. Occasionally that happened. Someone hacked the site, all the outputs got messed up, and it took some time for the Bureau of Significance to get things up and running. Probably, it was nothing. Sharon looked at those ratings too damn often anyway. She was a politician, and it made sense to check to see where big changes or decisions would be coming from, I guess, but she put too much stock in it. The numbers were descriptive, not prescriptive. Telling people to go do something interesting because their number was a hundred or whatever was just a self-fulfilling prophecy--if they had been going to do it a different day the BoS would have marked them higher that day. The whole construct was stupid.
So I put on my hat, shoved a chunk of baguette in my mouth, and instead of calling up some news agency, telling them my number, spewing some agenda to the world, and reinforcing a popular misconception like my sister wanted me to, I walked to the bus stop and waited. I stood, because there was a young girl curled up at one end of the bench with her face in her knees, and sitting down would have been awkward.
My bus was late. I took out my cell and played 2048.
The bus running my route should have come twice by now. I was late for work, I'd lost three times, and my feet were getting sore. I looked over at the bench. The girl hadn't moved, except that she was staring out at the road. Her eyes were red, with deep bags under them, and her face was settled in an absent, melancholy frown. Not my problem, but I did want to sit down if I was going to be killing another hour.
"Can I sit," I asked, indicating the other side of the bench. She looked at me quickly and nodded with a mumbled "sure," so I did. I tabbed over to the BoS entry Sharon had sent me. Still one. Whatever. Then I called my employer.
"Hello, this is Dale."
"Hello Dale, this is Yohan. Where the fuck are you?"
"Is that any way to talk to the most important person in the world?" Yohan snorted. "My bus is real goddamn late. I'm considering walking at this point, seriously."
"Hell. You're still in Scottsdale?"
"That's what I'm saying, yes."
"Look, at this point? Just stay home and I'll tell Tammy you called in sick."
"...how pissed is she, exactly?"
"Very. Less so if you're sick, trust me." I waited. "She likes you, she'll worry about you, and she won't get pissed at me for not carpooling with you."
I snorted. "Alright, fine, see you tomorrow." I hung up the phone and took another glance up and down the road.
The girl was looking at me.
"Can I do something for you?" I asked her.
"Were you for real?" she asked. "About being the most important person?" Her voice was soft and wobbly.
"The BoS website says so," I said, grinning. "Fucking nonsense though."
"Why?" she asked.
"I work at a bookstore a city away. So, uh. Somebody fucked up or hacked the site, I'm pretty sure." I paused. The girl looked maybe thirteen. "I'm not s'posed to swear around you, am I?"
"I can swear," she said indignantly, glaring at me through puffy red eyes. "I'm not a kid." She hunched forward then, resting her chin on her knees. "I'm never important."
"Of course you aren't. All due respect, but you're what, a preteen? You're still a kid. If I'm never important, somebody who can't even vote sure isn't. Not in the grand scheme of things."
"I'm fourteen," she said. There wasn't a lot of energy to it. "And you are. You said you were. I'm not. I'm nothing."
"Kiddo, I've never been in the top six billion except when somebody hacks the site. That shit doesn't matter."
"Maybe not to you." She looked away. "The world's full of wars and people starve and education is stupid and--" Her voice broke, and I kind of regretted engaging. "--and if I'm never going to matter enough to fix it I at least want to matter to somebody."
I sighed. "Okay. Two things. Three things. And then I'm going home." She looked at me without moving her head. She was crying. Great. "One, you're in fucking middle school, if some people don't like you, find different people. Two, you don't get to be important and fix the world's shit because of a number. Seriously. You want your number to get better, you *do* things. The numbers describe you, they don't limit what you can do. Okay?"
She stared out at the road with tears rolling down her face. "It's not that easy."
"Of course not. My sister's a politician. She works her ass off campaigning, reading bills, figuring out how to get people to compromise on things. And half of everybody thinks she's some kind of duplicitous bitch, but you know what, she carried a bill that expanded funding for rehabilitation and support of folks after they get out of jail so they don't end up going back in, and it's not well understood, and the people who love her for it are often not allowed to vote because they're felons. But it makes the world better. I'm not important because it's not worth the effort, even though I was born with near every advantage you can think of. So I work in a bookstore and do jack shit. You can be me, you can be my sister, you can't be both."
The girl didn't respond for a while. She cried, and there was hiccuping and sobbing and she looked like a goddamn mess. In all my incredible patience, I waited. Finally, she looked back at me, teary-eyed. "W-what was the third thing?"
"Why the hell aren't you in school?"
Her response was almost sullen. "I d-didn't want to go in l-like this. My parents think I'm there, b-but I'm pretending I'm sick."
I sighed. "Yeah, I'm faking a sick day too." I paused. "Look, all I'm gonna do with my day is go home and play video games. If you want me to walk you to the library first, I will."
"Okay," she said. | I wake up every morning shaming myself for being such an unimportant person. My sister is number 100. My brother, 80. They are both very important while I am number 78,000,000,000. Not important at all.
While my brother is away and my sister is engulfed in her popular group I stay at home writing stories. I imagine I may be a low number one day. Maybe...
As I get ready for bed I see my mother. Her number is 1,600. She's lower than most people in the world. But she is still a bit high. My father, always in the basement doing important work. His number? 65. Very low. He and my mother fell in love. They married and had four children. One was a miscarriage.
Once I fell asleep, I dreamed I woke up and was number 1. It was a nice dream. Everyone loved me. I was on tv and the front page of the newspaper was all about me. My fame and humbleness.
My sister woke me up and smiled. "Guess what my number is!" She pulled up her pajama sleeve to reveal a number in black ink on her arm. It read 97. She was in the two digits. My eyes flew wide and I rolled up my pants to reveal my own number written in ink. Blue ink. High numbers were written in red. Lower numbers were written in black. One digit numbers were written in blue. As my sister gasped and fell to the ground, I squealed. "Mom!! Dad!!" I screamed. My mother rushed into the room and covered her mouth. "Daniel!" She yelled. My father ran to the doorway and saw my number. He stumbled back and rubbed his eyes. "Your number ONE!!" My mother screamed happily. "Oh my GOD!" My father picked me up and twirled me around. My sister stood up and stomped out of the room. I smiled and kissed my mother on the cheek before hearing the doorbell. As I opened it, a young woman walked in and sat on our couch. A camera crew walked in after her. They started filming. "Hello America. I'm your broadcaster Emily Davids here on Channel 27 bring you the latest news." The woman said. She waved for me to come over and I did. We did a tiny interview and my heart was pounded out of my chest.
I talked on tv and made the front page on the newspaper!!
I even had a large popularity group! My brother even came home to celebrate with me. Everything was perfect.
When the day was over I fell asleep quickly after watching my favorite movies and eating pie and ice cream.
When I woke up I looked at my leg to see the number. I smiled when the number was 1.
Everything happened all over again. The second time around wasn't as good. I did really care for more interviews and parties. The only thing that got me pumped was when I watched my favorite movies and new ones that just came out with my family at home all snuggled up together. My moms number went down. My fathers number went down. My sister and brothers number went down too. We all ate amazing food and drinks. That was my favorite part.
The next day, I looked at my leg and laughed. My number was 10. Finally. Something higher. Everything after that was perfect. We stayed in the two digit range for the rest of our lives. Living happily together and doing the things we all love. One happy family. | |
[WP] Everyone on Earth is assigned a number indicating their importance in worldly events. The lower the number the more important the person. These numbers change each day. All your life you've been in the high 6 billions. One day you wake up and your number is one. | "Wake up Josh!"
"What is it mom?" I muttered with a miserable tone of voice.
"Look at your score!"
"What?"
"Your score! Your score is number one!"
I suddenly opened my eyes wide awake and rushed out of bed past mom to check the family scoreboard in the living room.
"Holy fuck." I stared at the monitor dumbfounded.
"Pretty impressive, buttman." My sister Shellsie said with a mocking grin.
I looked down, and sure enough I had forgotten to put on my clothes in the rush of the moment.
"You can't save the world naked, can you?" She continued.
"Save the world?"
It was too much to take.
That was the last thing I remembered before waking up again, this time staring up at a shining grey metal ceiling.
"He's awake now, Mr President." An unknown voice said.
Is this a dream? Am I turning insane?
"Hello Number one." a somewhat familiar voice said.
I looked in the direction of the voice, and sure enough, the President stood right next to me. But then I noticed something odd in the windows behind him. There were stars and there was... Fuck, I'm in space.
"You are currently on the Western military space station, and you are about to drop down and assassinate the President of the Democratic People's Republic of the East, in about..." He looked down at his watch. "18 seconds. Any questions?"
I stared at him in bewilderment.
"Didn't think so. Now I'd lay down and not move if I were you. Good luck."
The floor started moving down into the floor and tiny robot arms started to transform my hospital bed into a tiny escape pod.
"Five seconds until drop." A computerised female voice said.
"HOLYFUCKHOLYFUCKHOLYFUCKHOLYFUCK..."
"4, 3, 2, 1, drop."
There was an audible thud.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
"Turn on the live news broadcasts" The President said.
The TV turned on, showing the clearly panicked face of Mr Josh Smith as he screamed violently.
"Should we just tell him that this is the most expensive practical joke in history before he gets an heart attack?" One of the doctors asked, concern evident in her voice.
"Nah, just a little longer."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is my first writing prompt, I hope you liked it! | I wake up every morning shaming myself for being such an unimportant person. My sister is number 100. My brother, 80. They are both very important while I am number 78,000,000,000. Not important at all.
While my brother is away and my sister is engulfed in her popular group I stay at home writing stories. I imagine I may be a low number one day. Maybe...
As I get ready for bed I see my mother. Her number is 1,600. She's lower than most people in the world. But she is still a bit high. My father, always in the basement doing important work. His number? 65. Very low. He and my mother fell in love. They married and had four children. One was a miscarriage.
Once I fell asleep, I dreamed I woke up and was number 1. It was a nice dream. Everyone loved me. I was on tv and the front page of the newspaper was all about me. My fame and humbleness.
My sister woke me up and smiled. "Guess what my number is!" She pulled up her pajama sleeve to reveal a number in black ink on her arm. It read 97. She was in the two digits. My eyes flew wide and I rolled up my pants to reveal my own number written in ink. Blue ink. High numbers were written in red. Lower numbers were written in black. One digit numbers were written in blue. As my sister gasped and fell to the ground, I squealed. "Mom!! Dad!!" I screamed. My mother rushed into the room and covered her mouth. "Daniel!" She yelled. My father ran to the doorway and saw my number. He stumbled back and rubbed his eyes. "Your number ONE!!" My mother screamed happily. "Oh my GOD!" My father picked me up and twirled me around. My sister stood up and stomped out of the room. I smiled and kissed my mother on the cheek before hearing the doorbell. As I opened it, a young woman walked in and sat on our couch. A camera crew walked in after her. They started filming. "Hello America. I'm your broadcaster Emily Davids here on Channel 27 bring you the latest news." The woman said. She waved for me to come over and I did. We did a tiny interview and my heart was pounded out of my chest.
I talked on tv and made the front page on the newspaper!!
I even had a large popularity group! My brother even came home to celebrate with me. Everything was perfect.
When the day was over I fell asleep quickly after watching my favorite movies and eating pie and ice cream.
When I woke up I looked at my leg to see the number. I smiled when the number was 1.
Everything happened all over again. The second time around wasn't as good. I did really care for more interviews and parties. The only thing that got me pumped was when I watched my favorite movies and new ones that just came out with my family at home all snuggled up together. My moms number went down. My fathers number went down. My sister and brothers number went down too. We all ate amazing food and drinks. That was my favorite part.
The next day, I looked at my leg and laughed. My number was 10. Finally. Something higher. Everything after that was perfect. We stayed in the two digit range for the rest of our lives. Living happily together and doing the things we all love. One happy family. | |
[WP] Everyone on Earth is assigned a number indicating their importance in worldly events. The lower the number the more important the person. These numbers change each day. All your life you've been in the high 6 billions. One day you wake up and your number is one. | I woke up in a bad mood, as usual. Roger was barking at the birds in the garden, as usual. And, as usual, I still have to go to work.
I headed downstairs for my muesli and stared out of the windows, watching the birds carry out their morning waltz. The world seemed more hectic than usual. There were quite a few helicopters overhead, along with a notable increase in pedestrians (they always seemed to be in a hurry). There was probably a football game going on. I turned on the TV top catch up on the news, mainly to see who was at The Top.
The Top was a term used to describe who the most influential person was for the day (usually some politician threatening war, such was the state of the world). The stat table hadn't been released yet, which was slightly unusual but not abnormal. I sighed, and continued eating my muesli. Today was a slow day.
Roger had stopped barking. He had probably dozed of somewhere, into a blissful, unaware sleep. I've always wondered what it would be like to have such a simple life.
I still had am hour before I had to get to work. Spare time was such a rare occurrence in this busy world, that I had to make sure I had it all to myself. To relax, to unwind, that was the purpose of this hour.
I wistfully stared at the sky, spotting the different shapes that the clouds seemed to take a fancy to. One of the clouds looked like a UFO. It seemed so realistic as well. I spent a few more minutes starting at it, pondering whether it was actually a cloud or not. I decided upon the former.
I got the urge to look at my Stat Card, to see if I had become any more insignificant overnight. I got up, stretched my legs, and reached for the top of the fridge. I proceeded to look at my card.
I rubbed my eyes and looked again.
*Number 1?*
No, this couldn't be right. Had everyone important in the world just died, and all that was left were insignificant nobodies like myself, of which I was the least insignificant? I needed time to process my thoughts. I turned on the television.
*Breaking News*
*An alien craft is hovering above the Houses of Parliament as we speak. Officials are unsure about what to do, as The Top still hasn't been identified yet.*
*What?* God himself must have had an aneurysm. Humanity received its first contact on the same day that I happen to be at The Top?
And then, something interesting occurred.
A landing pad extended from the front of the ship. All of the cameras present zoomed in, reporters held their breath and all traffic came to a halt. The shroud of mist cleared, and a figure could be seen. It descended the steps in a regal fashion.
*There is no way this is happening. This isn't possible.*
"Roger?" | I wake up every morning shaming myself for being such an unimportant person. My sister is number 100. My brother, 80. They are both very important while I am number 78,000,000,000. Not important at all.
While my brother is away and my sister is engulfed in her popular group I stay at home writing stories. I imagine I may be a low number one day. Maybe...
As I get ready for bed I see my mother. Her number is 1,600. She's lower than most people in the world. But she is still a bit high. My father, always in the basement doing important work. His number? 65. Very low. He and my mother fell in love. They married and had four children. One was a miscarriage.
Once I fell asleep, I dreamed I woke up and was number 1. It was a nice dream. Everyone loved me. I was on tv and the front page of the newspaper was all about me. My fame and humbleness.
My sister woke me up and smiled. "Guess what my number is!" She pulled up her pajama sleeve to reveal a number in black ink on her arm. It read 97. She was in the two digits. My eyes flew wide and I rolled up my pants to reveal my own number written in ink. Blue ink. High numbers were written in red. Lower numbers were written in black. One digit numbers were written in blue. As my sister gasped and fell to the ground, I squealed. "Mom!! Dad!!" I screamed. My mother rushed into the room and covered her mouth. "Daniel!" She yelled. My father ran to the doorway and saw my number. He stumbled back and rubbed his eyes. "Your number ONE!!" My mother screamed happily. "Oh my GOD!" My father picked me up and twirled me around. My sister stood up and stomped out of the room. I smiled and kissed my mother on the cheek before hearing the doorbell. As I opened it, a young woman walked in and sat on our couch. A camera crew walked in after her. They started filming. "Hello America. I'm your broadcaster Emily Davids here on Channel 27 bring you the latest news." The woman said. She waved for me to come over and I did. We did a tiny interview and my heart was pounded out of my chest.
I talked on tv and made the front page on the newspaper!!
I even had a large popularity group! My brother even came home to celebrate with me. Everything was perfect.
When the day was over I fell asleep quickly after watching my favorite movies and eating pie and ice cream.
When I woke up I looked at my leg to see the number. I smiled when the number was 1.
Everything happened all over again. The second time around wasn't as good. I did really care for more interviews and parties. The only thing that got me pumped was when I watched my favorite movies and new ones that just came out with my family at home all snuggled up together. My moms number went down. My fathers number went down. My sister and brothers number went down too. We all ate amazing food and drinks. That was my favorite part.
The next day, I looked at my leg and laughed. My number was 10. Finally. Something higher. Everything after that was perfect. We stayed in the two digit range for the rest of our lives. Living happily together and doing the things we all love. One happy family. | |
[WP] Everyone on Earth is assigned a number indicating their importance in worldly events. The lower the number the more important the person. These numbers change each day. All your life you've been in the high 6 billions. One day you wake up and your number is one. | I didn't see any point in acting on the number. Probably, someone was fucking with me. Occasionally that happened. Someone hacked the site, all the outputs got messed up, and it took some time for the Bureau of Significance to get things up and running. Probably, it was nothing. Sharon looked at those ratings too damn often anyway. She was a politician, and it made sense to check to see where big changes or decisions would be coming from, I guess, but she put too much stock in it. The numbers were descriptive, not prescriptive. Telling people to go do something interesting because their number was a hundred or whatever was just a self-fulfilling prophecy--if they had been going to do it a different day the BoS would have marked them higher that day. The whole construct was stupid.
So I put on my hat, shoved a chunk of baguette in my mouth, and instead of calling up some news agency, telling them my number, spewing some agenda to the world, and reinforcing a popular misconception like my sister wanted me to, I walked to the bus stop and waited. I stood, because there was a young girl curled up at one end of the bench with her face in her knees, and sitting down would have been awkward.
My bus was late. I took out my cell and played 2048.
The bus running my route should have come twice by now. I was late for work, I'd lost three times, and my feet were getting sore. I looked over at the bench. The girl hadn't moved, except that she was staring out at the road. Her eyes were red, with deep bags under them, and her face was settled in an absent, melancholy frown. Not my problem, but I did want to sit down if I was going to be killing another hour.
"Can I sit," I asked, indicating the other side of the bench. She looked at me quickly and nodded with a mumbled "sure," so I did. I tabbed over to the BoS entry Sharon had sent me. Still one. Whatever. Then I called my employer.
"Hello, this is Dale."
"Hello Dale, this is Yohan. Where the fuck are you?"
"Is that any way to talk to the most important person in the world?" Yohan snorted. "My bus is real goddamn late. I'm considering walking at this point, seriously."
"Hell. You're still in Scottsdale?"
"That's what I'm saying, yes."
"Look, at this point? Just stay home and I'll tell Tammy you called in sick."
"...how pissed is she, exactly?"
"Very. Less so if you're sick, trust me." I waited. "She likes you, she'll worry about you, and she won't get pissed at me for not carpooling with you."
I snorted. "Alright, fine, see you tomorrow." I hung up the phone and took another glance up and down the road.
The girl was looking at me.
"Can I do something for you?" I asked her.
"Were you for real?" she asked. "About being the most important person?" Her voice was soft and wobbly.
"The BoS website says so," I said, grinning. "Fucking nonsense though."
"Why?" she asked.
"I work at a bookstore a city away. So, uh. Somebody fucked up or hacked the site, I'm pretty sure." I paused. The girl looked maybe thirteen. "I'm not s'posed to swear around you, am I?"
"I can swear," she said indignantly, glaring at me through puffy red eyes. "I'm not a kid." She hunched forward then, resting her chin on her knees. "I'm never important."
"Of course you aren't. All due respect, but you're what, a preteen? You're still a kid. If I'm never important, somebody who can't even vote sure isn't. Not in the grand scheme of things."
"I'm fourteen," she said. There wasn't a lot of energy to it. "And you are. You said you were. I'm not. I'm nothing."
"Kiddo, I've never been in the top six billion except when somebody hacks the site. That shit doesn't matter."
"Maybe not to you." She looked away. "The world's full of wars and people starve and education is stupid and--" Her voice broke, and I kind of regretted engaging. "--and if I'm never going to matter enough to fix it I at least want to matter to somebody."
I sighed. "Okay. Two things. Three things. And then I'm going home." She looked at me without moving her head. She was crying. Great. "One, you're in fucking middle school, if some people don't like you, find different people. Two, you don't get to be important and fix the world's shit because of a number. Seriously. You want your number to get better, you *do* things. The numbers describe you, they don't limit what you can do. Okay?"
She stared out at the road with tears rolling down her face. "It's not that easy."
"Of course not. My sister's a politician. She works her ass off campaigning, reading bills, figuring out how to get people to compromise on things. And half of everybody thinks she's some kind of duplicitous bitch, but you know what, she carried a bill that expanded funding for rehabilitation and support of folks after they get out of jail so they don't end up going back in, and it's not well understood, and the people who love her for it are often not allowed to vote because they're felons. But it makes the world better. I'm not important because it's not worth the effort, even though I was born with near every advantage you can think of. So I work in a bookstore and do jack shit. You can be me, you can be my sister, you can't be both."
The girl didn't respond for a while. She cried, and there was hiccuping and sobbing and she looked like a goddamn mess. In all my incredible patience, I waited. Finally, she looked back at me, teary-eyed. "W-what was the third thing?"
"Why the hell aren't you in school?"
Her response was almost sullen. "I d-didn't want to go in l-like this. My parents think I'm there, b-but I'm pretending I'm sick."
I sighed. "Yeah, I'm faking a sick day too." I paused. "Look, all I'm gonna do with my day is go home and play video games. If you want me to walk you to the library first, I will."
"Okay," she said. | When the Oracle went live 20 years ago, there was little fanfare to the predictive AI developed in a garage in Silicon Valley. Initially, the string of numbers produced each morning, running into the billions and billions, were thought to be random. By chance, no one understood its significance until Oracle was purchased and incorporated into Facebook.
Then, Oracle began to assign the numbers to random individuals based off of metadata. Eventually, it settled into a pattern where high ranking numbers often went to those in power. It wasn't until the death of Caylee Anthony and the murder charges against Casey Anthony did Oracle's predictive nature become known. For weeks, Casey Anthony was ranked number one or in the top ten. After this, Oracle became a predictive news aggregator for the days event.
On May 1st, 2011, Oracle placed Osama Bin Laden as its Number One. People speculated widely that another terrorist attack was about to occur. After President Obama's announcement of Bin Laden's death, everyone became addicted to the power of Oracle.
Dave Kowalski consistently ranked between 6.700 to 6.900 billion on his daily Oracle Score. After signing up through Facebook in the fall of 2011, the novelty wore off after the first two months of allowing Oracle push notifications to his iPhone. The following three months were of a deep depression where Dave contemplated suicide. Out of a planet of 7 billion, he was practically worthless. After five months of receiving his Oracle Score, Dave accepted his allotment in life and trudged on.
The morning of July 2, 2017 in New York City was like any other for Dave. He woke up, dressed for work at the local book store, and left to grab his morning coffee. Waiting in the Starbucks, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Absentmindedly, Dave pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the screen.
*Oracle Score for July 2, 2017: 1*
Dave blinked. 1? That can't be right, he thought. Years of seeing 6,xxx,xxx,xxx daily etched itself into the mind and the solitary number, the most solitary of numbers, burned like a cigarette in the moonless night.
He shoved the phone back into his pocket, paid for his black coffee, and walked out the door. The book store was three blocks away, so Dave pulled the phone back out to stare at the screen as he walked.
*Oracle Score for July 2, 2017: 1*
What did it mean? What greatness was Dave meant for today? Should he skip work to find his calling? Was he meant to save a life? To take one? Should he stop and buy a lottery ticket?
Dave furrowed his brow and took a sip of his coffee. If he did anything, he thought, then that might put him off the path towards greatness. Then again, whatever action he might take could be predestined to occur. At the very least, he should post to Facebook that he's 1 and receive the adulation of his friends and family. Dave stopped so he could type out the message. Perhaps he'll find eternal love today?
Oracle Score 2 belonged to Nina Masterson. She was 62, widowed, in deteriorating health, and lived alone on the 4th floor in a mid-town building. She loved her corgis, playing the piano, and distilled water. Nina did not have Facebook so she didn't receive her Oracle Score. Her 1902 Wing and Son upright piano was currently being wrenched out her window to be sold to help pay for her medical bills.
The piano snapped off the rope, and plunged to the ground. Dave was just about to hit "Post" on his score when the piano crushed him like a cockroach. The force of the impact caused Dave's thumb to post his message to his friends and family of his Oracle Score while around the bloody pulp of his remains, people screamed. Dave Kowalski's death was reported widely around the world, mostly due to his post of his Oracle Score and his status as Oracle Score 1.
Distraught over the loss of her piano, Nina Masterson had a massive heart attack and passed away before paramedics could arrive. Her connection to Dave's death and her uncovered Oracle Score by Facebook were incorporated into the news reports.
Oracle Score 3 for that day was a hipster named D.S. Hardie, who had given up Facebook because of their intrusive policies and, like Nina, was unaware of that day's Oracle Score. Walking the same street as Dave, Hardie witnessed his death and instead of calling 911, took a photo with his iPhone of the spilled coffee mixing with Dave's blood as it poured down a storm drain. He posted the photo to /r/pics and became the top post. | |
[WP] You find a magical GPS that doesn't give you directions to places, but rather directions on getting through tough times in life. One day, the only thing it can say is, "Recalculating..." | I've been sitting out here by the beach for the past couple of hours just waiting on this app to finish calculating, but, it's not going to. The only reason I started following it's directions was because of that stupid pirate movie... I actually believed in a device that could show my true heart's desire. More than that, I believed that following what I truly wanted was the best way to live my life. That it would be the guiding light I needed to follow when I was at my most lost.
But what is that saying about people replacing abilities with technology? I forget, probably because I don't really pay attention to much anymore. I just keep my eyes focused on the directions.
Sure, it started out as something I used pretty sparingly, only when I was really confused. It was like when I flipped a quarter to make a 50/50 decision about what flavor of ice cream I wanted. "You'll know your heart's desire before it hits the ground." This was just a lot more reliable.
For a while it was really helpful, I kept the app on a back page of my phone screen tucked away for when I really wanted to dig it out and help out with a decision. It also seemed to know a little more about me than I gave it credit for originally because it would send me notifications every once in a while when I needed to make a U-Turn. Saved my relationship with Justine for a little while, those were some good times.... and better sex.
However, I started leaning on it more and more over the years. It just seemed foolish not to after a while. Why lead your life by thinking through your problems when you had the guidebook to what would really make you happy in your pocket? After ignoring that U-Turn pop-up a couple times led to some dark places, I stayed glued to the app.
I moved it to the home screen, and from there, well the rest is history. I started my own business, met some lovely women, met the loveliest one of them all, found my dream house, had the right number of kids (two boys, one girl in the middle), bought the right boat, sold my company, traveled the world, and then settled down to raise the grand kids.
I did everything exactly to my hearts desire, right up to coming out to this beach tonight to watch the sunset. And now I'm here, staring out at the water, waiting.
I didn't want to go out fishing today because I was tired. I get seasick when I'm tired, and that's just the worst feeling at my age. But it's family reunion weekend, and with the weather the way it'd been the past few days, everyone else really wanted to go, if only for a couple of hours before it got dark.
I'm sitting here on the beach, looking out at the sunset, waiting for my family to come back... | You know how I knew I should apply for Harvard Law? A GPS.
No.
Really.
You want to know how I knew which city to move to? Or which women to date? Or, at this point, something as small as deciding what restaurant to eat at?
Yup.
GPS again.
I really don't remember a time before it. Or, should I say, I remember, I just chose to ignore. Because my life was shit before the GPS. Literally, nothing. Shit. Pointless.
I don't believe in God. But I fucking believe in that magic box of wires. I would follow it to the ends of the earth if it asked me to. In the fifteen years since I had it, it's yet to steer me wrong.
Until today. Funny thing. The day of my divorce. Debora's sitting in that room, in a leather chair next to an oak table, arms folded, just waiting for the kill. She wants to ruin my life. Come on, GPS. You gotta start working now. I don't know what to do.
Well, come to think of it, you're the one that suggested I sleep with my secretary. You're also the one that said I shouldn't use a rubber. Which is how she got pregnant. Which is how Debora found out. Which why I'm here in the first place.
Really, GPS, this kind of your fault. Like that time you told me to punch that cop on St. Patty's day.
Holy shit, you even told me to eat peanut butter last week. I'm allergic. I would have fucking died if I didn't have my epi pen with me.
Wait a minute, GPS, you're not calibrating. You want me to fail. You want Deb to suck every last ounce of dignity I have left.
You know what, suck it, GPS. I'm going in there and, for the first time in a very long time, I'm gonna try and make my own choices. Recalculate. If you will. I'll probably lose my shirt. But, come what may, it'll be choices of my own making. | |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | They tell me it's a curse... Yeah Right, it stopped being that Oh so long ago.
I go see my "Artist", I have had many over the years
It's his life's work a masterpiece of the painters art subtle, perfect. I have told him it's going to take pride of place at a gallery to the greatest art of the age, I sit him down and set fire to it.
I Tell Him that's it 2nd rate hack work and I should fire him...he's paid a lot of money after all and without his job and his last 20 years for doing anything publicly he's history, I tell him he can earn his job back.
He does.. I can see the tear's welling up in his eyes, as I leave I tell him to Feel that emotion and use it... He has no idea that he's not my only artist... I can barely keep a straight face.
I pass a mirror the tiny flecks of grey hair are gone... I'll get an assistant to check on him in few days some don't do well after their life's work have been destroyed and they have debased themselves for my pleasure in a single morning doubly so the straight ones. The bight side is if he does top himself, that will make me younger again. however to replace him with a bright young thing I can break later will take time and money but when you have been doing this for a while you get good at the process of feeding on the suffering.
As I get to my Car I feel the skin on my hands become firmer my flesh tone changes ... I am going to need the bright young thing sooner than expected. Oh well no need to check then.
I look at my watch I can't get used to it sitting on my arm. I know it's been years I was never quite used to pocket watches before that.
I head to work I have a charity to run... in the last 30 years it had made world worse in so many fun and interesting ways it had given food to warlords. caused floods to promote nature, ensured that key technology would stay off the market though pointless cases in the patent courts.
They tell me that the sun will burn out in 5 billion years, my only question is will there be things for me to be needless cruel towards then?
I have to take the long view of my "curse". | As the man was nearing the end of his natural life, he realized he had done a lot in his life to wrong people, which had probably extended his life quite a bit. At the same time, he knew his time was coming to an end and he would need something else to drastically extend his life. So he ran for president. #Trump2016 |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "You get it? Or do I have to repeat myself *again*?"
"No, no, I get it. The more bad stuff I do, the longer I live, more good stuff, means I have a shorter life," I said to the man at my bedside, so much for sleeping in, it was still 3:30am. "Can I go back to bed now?"
"I was hoping you would use your curse to go out and look for things to do. But if you want, go to sleep."
"Thanks, now one quick question, how long do I have to live right now?"
"66 years."
Only 66. Wow, I always thought of myself as a more neutral person, what the hell have I been doing that's so good? I'm already half way done my life! "Oh, ok. Well I better go do something about that then." I got out of bed and walked towards my closet. I always kept a gun close at hand, just in case someone tries to break in. I grabbed my gun, a rifle, and just went walking around my neighbourhood.
I lived in a rich part of town, filled with obnoxious rich kids, and even more obnoxious rich parents. I don't see why some can't, disappear per say. I got to a house filled with complete jackasses, always being to loud, having parties almost every night, and I swear one of the lids stole my car. Time for some revenge. I aimed my rifle at the windows, not like anyone would get to hurt. I shot at as many windows as I could before my magazine ran out of bullets.
After I did that, I began to feel a really hot burning sensation on my left arm. I looked to see what it was, and the number *70* had been tattooed on to me. Does that mean I raised my life to 70 years? I went to another house in another neighbourhood close by and did the same thing, I felt it again and it was at *72* now. This is great.
After doing this to a few more houses I had managed to raise it up to *83*. Guess that wasn't to hard. Just shooting some windows. I went home and went to bed, that's enough for tonight.
I woke up to the news turned on my TV. I don't remember turning it on before going to sleep, and I sure as hell don't fall asleep to the news. The guy was reporting on multiple shooting incidents in my neighbourhood. Apparently one died by a ricochet bullet, and another was gravely injured. I began to feel the burning sensation again, I checked, *108*. I guess it only advanced once I found out about a deed I did. But if killing and gravely injuring someone raised me up by 25 years, that means I could have a nice long life, for a few deaths.
What could go wrong if a few people disappeared? | As the man was nearing the end of his natural life, he realized he had done a lot in his life to wrong people, which had probably extended his life quite a bit. At the same time, he knew his time was coming to an end and he would need something else to drastically extend his life. So he ran for president. #Trump2016 |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Tom smiled as his friend joined him on the familiar bench at the park. The stream of life flowed by them in the form of parents and children, lovers and friends, colleagues and strangers. The two men sat in silence for a moment, taking it all in.
The older man reached into his coat pocket and removed a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper. His newly arrived friend received it with his usual courteous confusion; the package was nondescript but for the number **3973** written across the front in black ink. The younger man opened his briefcase and slid the package in with a sigh.
"Tom..." he began, finally initiating an exchange he'd rehearsed a hundred times. "I think you know what I'm going to ask you."
Tom nodded, smiling.
"This is the same thing as usual, right?"
Another nod.
"Yankees versus Mariners, Oct. 8, 1995?"
The same smile.
"Tom, you know I'd do anything for you, and I've been receiving this strange little bit of baseball history from you every day now for over a decade. Never complained, never asked questions. But..." he shrugged, giving up; "I just have to know... *why*?"
Tom settled back and looked at the river. A group of teenagers were passing by on the opposite shore in a canoe, laughing and shouting at each other. Ducks landed and took off. Clouds were clouds.
"I guess I do have one small confession to make," said Tom, turning to his friend. A moment of anticipation stretched out, and then -- "Do you know that I've been making video recordings of this game with Major League Baseball's implied oral consent, but *without* its express written consent?"
If the younger man was scandalized by this, he concealed it heroically. His dissatisfaction with the answer was less easy to hide.
"But why on earth have you been copying the same game for over ten years and giving it to me? Nobody even uses tapes anymore; this must be costing you a fortune."
Tom turned once more to look out over the path and the river, with all its pageant of happy humanity passing by.
"Well," said Tom, "let's just call it your good deed for the day." | As the man was nearing the end of his natural life, he realized he had done a lot in his life to wrong people, which had probably extended his life quite a bit. At the same time, he knew his time was coming to an end and he would need something else to drastically extend his life. So he ran for president. #Trump2016 |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | In every war, someone has to produce a factor that will decide the victory or defeat of both sides. In my case, that factor happened to be a "curse". No one knew how it worked- magical or mechanical, but there was but one thing known about it.
Whatever is considered evil would be rewarded, and good punished.
So, bearing the curse, I was forced to be on the front lines of war, because my superiors couldn't trust me enough. They thought that on the off chance that I decided to live forever, all I needed was a weapon and enough teammates.
I'm not dead yet.
I was the first to get attacked, but it was fine. If this continued, I would live forever.
After all, I was fighting for the Nazis.
_____________________________________________________
This is my first story and I did this in like 5 minutes please don't kill me | As the man was nearing the end of his natural life, he realized he had done a lot in his life to wrong people, which had probably extended his life quite a bit. At the same time, he knew his time was coming to an end and he would need something else to drastically extend his life. So he ran for president. #Trump2016 |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | It's been four hundred years.
Grueling years at first, when obeying my mother's orders scraped my soul raw. If she caught me doing a kindness or saying my prayers, she would pull me to her, crying, fearing that the curse would be fulfilled in that moment and I would wither in my goodness.
"Old witch," she would wail, loud enough for my grandmother to hear her in Hell. It was her words laid on my head like an ever-tightening crown of thorns: *Better that she die now with love than to live on in sin.* A heartless thing to say to a new mother and widow after a string of miscarriages and stillbirths, but a credit to her Puritan beliefs. The old bitch had known herself to be among the Elect; everyone else knew better. Especially my mother, who screamed her defiance into the flames on the hearth.
She took me to church to avoid suspicion, trained me to preserve an appearance of perfect propriety, all while encouraging evils appropriate to my age. My childhood was spent stealing from my playmates. I pushed, slapped, pinched with such ferocity that even the rowdiest boys teared up at the sight of me. When I was caught misbehaving, I lied. And each night I listed my sins for my mother, and she praised each one.
"Live, my darling," she told me as she kissed me and pulled the blankets snug around me. "Whatever it takes, live."
At sixteen, my aging began to slow: an infinite girlhood stretched to its limits with the increased gravity of my peccadilloes. From immodesty I crept into coquetry, from fornication to adultery. I supplemented theft with prostitution. In her dotage, my mother grew more enthusiastic about her damnation. "If teaching you to preserve your life is wrong, then I will gladly take my place at Satan's feet," she declared to me one night as I undressed, the day's booty spilling out of the layers of clothes.
By the end of the war in 1763, I did not believe in Satan or God, only the madness of men. Yet I sat through Sunday services every week, missing them only when my mother deteriorated. I watched her shrink to a husk, and as I cared for her, I felt myself age. By the time of her death, I knew I would never escort another wretched soul to the gates of Death. I flung myself headfirst into a libertinism worthy of Casanova. My strength returned; my wrinkles smoothed.
Soon revolution was on the tip of every tongue. I moved to Philadelphia, took a new name, and whipped the local boys into a frenzy with talk of courage and cowardice. When they marched off to fight, I hosted Loyalists and charmed Redcoats. I had taken no side. All I cared for was the thrill of their hate for each other, an electric current beneath their skin. It was the same in 1812.
By 1860, I had had a dozen names and three husbands, all of whom I'd left in the middle of the night for some handsome young fop waiting outside my window. Breaking hearts was my specialty, in every possible way. Many wives and fiancees hated me for stealing their lovers. Girls who called me their dearest friend were heartbroken by my social climbing, my cruel jabs, my matter-of-fact letters terminating the correspondence.
Each day, I stole some jewel or heart, emptying out my collection when it suited me to make room for more. When the states began fighting amongst themselves, I supposed I had enough enemies, so I exchanged my stolen goods for money and went West.
The girls I bought were young, desperate. I pitied them sometimes, but my mother's words echoed in my head. *Whatever it takes, live.* I grew to dread the shadow of Death, the threat of nothing, and redoubled my efforts to add to my life. Hedonism was as charming as ever, but gained a new attraction when contrasted with the deprivation I forced on my girls when they displeased me. I learned to wield a riding crop in ways that made me famous in sinister circles.
But times changed and charity became the fashion. I gave away most of my money, knowing I could get more whenever I wanted, and settled into a cozy, retired existence in a mansion. These were my years of solitary pleasure, when a constant torrent of alcohol and opium coursed through my body as I read the quaint blasphemies of occultists. How the authorities of my youth would have blanched, bug-eyed in fear of their Lord!
I had no fear. War was no longer a diversion for me, just an excuse to use the black market more often. I smoked the cigarettes our troops deserved, bought up silk stockings enough to last a decade. I didn't buy war bonds either time. The few taxes I did pay were enough for some bullets, surely.
It was the bomb and the camps that got to me. Such sins could purchase immortality. I was not the virtuoso if thought myself. Just a thief. Just a whore. Never a killer. So I made up my mind to waste away. I would die as I had lived: in a blur of apathetic pleasure.
I have watched the tides rise and fall for seventy-two years. I sprinkle crumbs to the gulls, drop stolen antique bills, am kind as can be, but still I linger on. I have donated to charity and given up my vices. Yet here I am, intact, no more aged than before.
My mother had it all wrong. As long as the heart beats, it is a selfish act; all humanity is biologically inclined towards the evil of ego. And my grandmother knew. Would that I had died, that my mother had let me rest rather than feeding the narcissistic beast within.
But in all this, I have honored my mother. I have done despicable things to find a foothold in this world, all for the love of the one person who believed in me.
The skin on my hands feels tight. I look down and watch the wrinkles form, the youthful plumpness vanishing. My bones reach the surface. My heart blossoms in my chest. I have kept one Commandment, have kept my mother alive inside me. Her love, the rose, with its thorn of human darkness.
I have lived in sin, mother, but I die with love. | As the man was nearing the end of his natural life, he realized he had done a lot in his life to wrong people, which had probably extended his life quite a bit. At the same time, he knew his time was coming to an end and he would need something else to drastically extend his life. So he ran for president. #Trump2016 |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. |
Preface To The Compendium of Humanity
Entry #1,843,241
I sit here in the bunker I call home, writing with the final pen from my collection, hoping the ink reserve will last until I have written the words that I wish I could have spoken so long ago. I have waited a long time for this, contemplating what I wish to say, for if anything finds my bunker, my writings will be the only evidence of humanity left on Earth.
I have bookshelves full of memories, past lives that I have outlived. They are my only respite from the loneliness the surface offers. I fear I am running out of time, so I must finally conclude the story. I must admit that I do not wish for the story to end; even after all this time I stay accustomed to existence.
I believe my birthday came and passed again recently. I would not be able to tell you my exact age, but I can say with confidence that I have seen most of what this world has to offer. It is strange that the longer we experience time, the faster it seems to go until it is slipping through our hands like quicksilver. Even the most resolute of men cannot stay against its flow, eventually time catches us all.
Much from my childhood is lost to me, but there is a deep sadness felt when I try to remember. Perhaps regret for the person I was, for the person I became. I do not remember when I first noticed, but I did not age like the others. I aged well until my thirties, and then I just seemed to... stop. I was never a good person, never claimed to be. I made a series of mistakes that landed me in prison. My family abandoned me, not once coming to visit. I grew bitter, resentful. I was alone.
I do not recall exactly what I had done, but I do remember the exact amount of time I was there. Eighty years. The original sentence was forty, out in twenty with good behavior. I got the extra forty tacked on while I was in there. Eighty years in a concrete box, and I didn't look more than fifty.
At that point I knew something was different about me. Whether it be some deity playing a cruel prank, or a hiccup in genetics I am uncertain, but over time I have figured out the restrictions of my affliction.
The rules are simple. If I did a good deed, I would age much faster than a normal human. The amount aged varies, depending on the deed. I have done small good deeds and felt no change. I have performed grand gestures of goodwill, and felt myself age years on the spot.
On the opposite end, I can perform evil deeds and live longer. Simple as that, same variation in time spent un-aged. It is like a bodily stasis. I do not grow, I do not hunger. There is no need for me to breathe but my body forces me to do so.
I like to think of it like a concept from an old religion, long dead. You have positive and negative energy, the more negative energy you have the more positive energy it takes to get back to a neutral point, a point of balance.
Once I came to realize the rules, I had no difficulty making my choice. My time in prison turned me into a bitter, wretch of a human being. On top of that, I had the audacity to think of myself as special. I committed many atrocities, never being caught because I could not be killed. I outlived generations, using them as tools to fuel my immortality. This carried on for centuries.
Eventually I grew tired of taking what I wanted using force. Impressed by the progress the human society had made, I decided to integrate once more. I realized that, as the longest living creature on Earth, I had much more experience than the average human. I had watched as millions were born and watched as they died, I knew humans to their core. Using this advantage, I got into politics. I spent a few decades as a politician, ending in me securing leadership of their global alliance.
I aged a little during this process, but soon people noticed that I was different. Questions were starting to be asked, and nobody had any answers.
I revealed myself as an immortal. People did not believe me, at first. Then, I declared that I would not resign as leader. That didn't go over well. After a few failed execution attempts, which led to me executing the executioners, they ran out of things to try. The planet was mine.
Next came thousands of years of peace. This was not caused by me directly, it was more a collective fear of what the Immortal Leader would do if angered. Luckily that didn't count as doing good, and I fed off of their fear. There were even some religions started in my name, probably an attempt to gain my favor, perhaps a hope to join me in immortality.
Over time, a rebellion started far from what I called home. Turns out, people don't like having an immortal for a leader. Before I knew it they were on my doorstep, more than half of the planet's population calling for my head. I had foreseen a situation like this, and had prepared for it. I had no earthly attachments, no love for these people. They were ants compared to me, mine to do with as I chose.
I retreated to the bunker that now serves as my home. I had stored up all that I thought I would need for eternity and sealed myself in. There was no hesitation as I pressed the button that would lead to the destruction of every living thing on the planet.
That was millions of years ago. I am starting to feel things coming into balance, my stomach is wracked with hunger pangs. My time draws near, to me it will be in the blink of an eye. I have outlived stars, it will be a shame for all my knowledge to die with me. I have done my best to catalogue the history of humanity as I know it. It will not be perfect, and it won't undo what I have done, but it is something. Humanity lives on in my writings, as I have through the years. I have come to realize that I was not blessed, nor was I special. In fact, I was the most deserving of this curse. Who better to curse with immortality than one who would commit evil to achieve it. It has changed me to the point where I do not consider myself as human, but as an abomination. Humans feel a wide range of emotions, from anger to love, sadness to joy. The only thing I've felt for as long as I can remember is regret, and loneliness.
After everything is said and done, I have learned one thing. It is better to do good and die for it than to do evil and live for one's self. Should life find its way to Earth again I hope they will learn of the old inhabitants, and learn from their (and my) mistakes. With that, I go to the surface once more, with hopes of finally being able to rest. | As the man was nearing the end of his natural life, he realized he had done a lot in his life to wrong people, which had probably extended his life quite a bit. At the same time, he knew his time was coming to an end and he would need something else to drastically extend his life. So he ran for president. #Trump2016 |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Click.
Click.
Clickety- click click click.
"Would you PLEASE stop with that incessant pen clicking, Paul? It's driving me crazy" pleaded Sue.
"Sorry, Sue, nervous habit," said Paul as he felt the small tingles of a few more seconds of life added. He got up to go to the break room. He saw that Danny had put a delicious looking lunch into the refrigerator earlier that day... | As the man was nearing the end of his natural life, he realized he had done a lot in his life to wrong people, which had probably extended his life quite a bit. At the same time, he knew his time was coming to an end and he would need something else to drastically extend his life. So he ran for president. #Trump2016 |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | I am not a good person. I have lived for far too long. People believe that living so long is bad for one's humanity. That the longer a person lives that less and less that they care about others and themselves. The more disconnected they become from the important parts of what it means to be human. Happiness. Joy. Friendship. Belonging. Isolation. Anger. Hate. Power. Love. I have experienced all of these in my elongated timeline. Happiness and Joy go hand in hand, but lead to complacency. Belonging only lasts long enough to become isolation. Somebody once said, and I agree, that anger leads to hate, but holding on to those feelings for long is more effort than it is worth. Power and Love are the most governing over one’s soul.
“I itch.” his voice was louder than normal and had an edge to it.
“I do too, do you think that this emptiness doesn’t effect me?!” I snapped back.
I did not like this feeling. In fact, it was my most hated feeling. I felt it weigh on me immensely as a child. I was always slight of frame and showed signs of some sickness. Many of the shamans and medicine men assumed I was cursed by the gods. The divine channelers were right of course, but my parents refused to believe it. I don’t blame them, they were good people. They helped the weaker of the tribe, gave them respect and worshiped their gods fervently. They could not know that all these ideals they were imprinting on their only child made him weaker and more sickly. I couldn't tell them about the voice I carried with me. He always seemed like he was looking out for my best interest. Always telling me to stand up for the small guy, feed this traveler, or give my prized bone knife up as homage to the elders. It never helped. I never got any better. He was a liar.
I turned down one of the darker alleys in the city. I abhorred coming to this part of the city. I wanted to be back up near The Senate and in my villa. The homeless were less than and they served one purpose. To scratch my itch.
“Yes, yes. He will do, he will do nicely. I suppose we will let the fates decide.” the tone was trembling and excited.
I answered aloud, “I do believe you are correct. This is what he was born for.”
I pulled my xiphos from it’s scabbard. The slight ringing noise was a sound I never grew tired of. It also caught the attention of the slumped man on the ground as I approached.
“What was that good master?” the skin and bones man said through a ragged, patchy beard and cracked, dry lips.
“I was not speaking to you.” I retorted. “Congratulations! Today is the day I set you free.” A welcoming smile adorned my face.
The wretch reached for me. ME. I grabbed his wrist. My hand would have to be thoroughly washed.
“Quench me!” the voice rang inside my head.
I matched his tone as I tended to do in these situations. “Be Quenched!”
My xiphos plunged into his chest and through his heart. I savored the moment and pushed the fine crafted blade through flesh and bone until I felt the hilt against his skin. I then let my tool go as I began to shiver and have minor convulsions as the old man collapsed in a heap on the ground without a sound. This happened every time. It washed over me like waterfall. In their final moments I was privy to all of their previous deeds. I saw them weighed on a massive scale. I must remove overall good people from this existence to keep gaining power and prolong my life. If he was evil, that feeling would turn cold. The emptiness would subside, but I would feel weaker. If he was good, the feeling would warm me, bolster me and make me feel invigorated. Invigorated to the point of near immortality. Evil acts stretched my life. Good ones shortened it.
“He was a loving parent. Ugh.” the gravelly voice told me.
“He shared his food with other homeless.” he continued irritated.
“He used the last of his money to bury his wife and family, NO! This cannot be, he, he is garbage!” The voice was livid.
“Wait…” it was odd playing devil’s advocate with who I assumed was the devil himself.
A cold shiver ran through my spine. “He was the one who murdered his family.” I disdainfully spat at the dead body and slammed my fist upon the wall.
“YESSS!” the elation rang throughout my skull. It was infuriating.
He calmed, “How fortuitous for me. It would seem our time together has lessened. If you keep murdering those who hold evil in their heart I will be free in no time.”
I flippantly replied, “Just bad luck, that’s all. I can always just start murdering newborns as a backup plan.” I tried to sound like it didn’t matter. That I could do it without blinking an eye. People had their place and they had their own fate to deal with. I am not a good person, but I would rather not lose the last shred of humanity I had left.
People were right. I feel myself slowly become more and more callous. I am isolated. It is bad for me. I no longer am angry at the gods or hate the voice within me. Power is what I crave. The power to live and not set him loose. The power to keep loving humanity. | As the man was nearing the end of his natural life, he realized he had done a lot in his life to wrong people, which had probably extended his life quite a bit. At the same time, he knew his time was coming to an end and he would need something else to drastically extend his life. So he ran for president. #Trump2016 |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | **Author's Note:** I'm doing my best to adhere to the community rules here by not being explicit in my descriptions. I hope I am successful in doing so. If in my failure to do so I offend or transgress, I offer my sincere apologies.
************************
He screamed as I did my bloody work on his face. When he lost consciousness I sighed and put my knife away. This one had been unusually resilient. It had taken him far too long to pass out.
They always screamed. If it wasn't the pain, it was the fear of the disfigurement. I suppose by this point they all knew what came next. They had plenty to scream about.
"When he wakes up, give him the usual treatment," I told my men. They nodded grimly.
I left the tent and strode through the small compound. None of the dead were on the ground. In truth, none of the dead's hearts had stopped beating just yet. But they were dead all the same.
I had to hand it to the Romans. They were a twisted lot, and good at torture. Particularly torture leading to death. And as an added bonus, it sent a hell of a message.
With each second I ignored the cries of the men I'd had crucified, the power seeped into me. It was like oil and tar and rot, running over my skin, seeping into my pores, crawling over the fibers of my muscles and sinew, and slicking along the blackened surface of my bones. It wrapped its warm, slick hand around my heart, and I felt stronger.
I suppressed the twin surges of ecstasy and revulsion boiling up within me. There was more work to be done.
The warlord to whom I had just given a woodshed facelift had been particularly cruel, but his inventiveness was nothing compared to mine. His folly was his choice of target and his motive. He murdered and tormented to sate his black heart. I did it to survive. He targeted the weak and oppressed. I targeted the predators.
Fortunately for me, motive didn't factor into whatever cosmic scale was weighing my actions. Suffering was suffering, no matter the reason. Death was death. And I was a mass distributor, as far as my dealer was concerned.
"Boss," one of my men said from my left. I turned to him. Ramirez. A vicious psychopath I'd leashed and turned to my own purposes. He didn't feel things like empathy or remorse. I used him and he thanked me for it. He was one of my early converts. His hair had gone silver and gray since I'd first pinned him to a wall with a car and given the choice of dying or working for me.
Mine hadn't changed for twice that time.
"What is it?" I asked, dreading the look in his eye. He looked... reticent.
"We got kids. Couple mothers, too."
I struggled to suppress a groan. It was too late. I knew about it. It was in my hands.
"Why didn't you deal with them yourself?" I asked, maybe too harshly. Ramirez didn't notice.
"Apparently some of them are his." He motioned to the tent I'd just emerged from. "Didn't know if you wanted to...?"
I shook my head. "We don't do kids. Ever. You know that."
"What do then, boss?"
I grunted. "Make sure *all* of them and their mothers make it to the nearest village to tell them what we did here. Even *his*. They may as well serve as messengers."
"They won't make it on foot."
"Then give them a fucking car and some food and water. Messengers are no good if they're dead."
I could justify it all I wanted, but charity was charity. Life was life. Mercy was mercy.
A pleasant warmth built up in my chest, a light that suffused my lungs and poured out of my throat like a sweet song on a summer day. Ramirez didn't notice; no one ever did. It was beautiful. It was blissful. And it left me weaker. More frail. And more fleeting.
I mentally checked my reserves. I'd still gained more from this raid than I was losing. I could make the same sacrifice five more times and I'd still come out better for the trade. We had shed a lot of blood today. A lot of men were dying up on those stakes. And the fear would spread over the next few weeks when they heard what my marauders had done here. It would crawl into me like the agony was now, but less, and over a longer period of time. Like macabre returns on a grisly investment.
"You find anyone else like that, you know what to do," I told Ramirez. "Don't bring it to me."
"You got it, boss."
It didn't cost him anything. And if I didn't know about it... I felt a little more of the light suffuse my chest and escape me. Well, I didn't lose quite as much if I didn't know about it. More insulation. More degrees of separation.
A thought stopped me in my tracks. Was I reforming Ramirez? The others? Was I teaching them mercy? Would I be taxed for that?
I shook my head. No matter. I needed my pawns. I couldn't do enough myself. I couldn't delegate and insulate without them. Soon I would have more units, platoons, entire armies. I could bring war with a word and reap the benefits. But it was a knife's edge I walked on. Plunge off one side and I defeated the purpose of my prolonged life. Dive off the other and my life would be over all too quickly, and I wouldn't be able to do anything.
I pondered, not for the first time, what I would do when I was the biggest, meanest fish in the pond. When the greatest evil that could be removed from the world was me. Would I have the guts? Would it even be right? Someone else would fill that power vacuum. Someone without my compunctions or restraint. Better that I continue as a Sin Eater become real. Better that I take those burdens on myself so that others could not seize those reins.
I felt the light leaking out again, like a pinhole in a tire. Even contemplating the ultimate reasons for this bloody work had that effect. It wasn't enough to make a difference either way; seconds, at most. But it was a reminder. A reminder of that balance. A reminder of how hard it is to walk that line. Evil for good's sake. What a nasty cosmic joke.
An agonized moan issued from inside the tent. I went back inside to find the warlord waking up. I motioned my men out. They knew the drill.
"I want you to understand something," I said, leaning down to level my face with his. I felt the pinhole open wider, more warm light streaming out, even as I drank in the oily rot of his agony. "I want you to understand that I'm not doing this because you were on my turf. I'm not doing it for your resources, though I'll gladly take them all. I'm doing this because of that little village twenty klicks back. The one you set ablaze, the one where you killed everyone just because they wouldn't act as your pack mules."
The man's eyes widened in comprehension. His fear fed me, and I vented it as... something. Something good, because it was weakening me. Justice? Maybe. Probably. I mentally grabbed that feeling for later analysis. It wouldn't do to forget what that was.
"Your boys out there know why they're dying. It's because they were loyal to the wrong son of a bitch. You need to know why you're dying, too. You're dying because you killed those people."
"You crazy fuck," the warlord murmured.
"You have no idea."
"I'll see you in hell."
I smiled. "You'd better pray I drag my feet on the way down, asshole." | As the man was nearing the end of his natural life, he realized he had done a lot in his life to wrong people, which had probably extended his life quite a bit. At the same time, he knew his time was coming to an end and he would need something else to drastically extend his life. So he ran for president. #Trump2016 |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | The line burned into the skin on my inner forearm was shorter than ever. Originally it had stretched from the garish line of scar tissue on my wrist, all the way up my arm, spreading into several black tendrils. All that remained now was one thin line, about an inch long. You could almost miss it. But it felt worse now than it ever had. Before it had given me power, made me stronger than any normal person. Now though… now it just hurt. It’s dying. This curse, whatever it is, is fading, and it’s taking me with it. I don’t know how, but I know that I only have a week left at best.
I step out of the car, into the cold morning air. Not quite cold enough for snow, but it’s coming. I sigh, and the breath fogs my vision for a moment.
It’s too early, but I’m content waiting.
I open the trunk, look down at the contents. A shovel, some spare clothes, a jack, couple of bottles of water. And a rifle.
I grab a water bottle. Takes a few minutes, but I drink the full litre. Toss the empty bottle into the back seat.
I stop, staring at the rifle. The stinging on my wrist eases.
It knows what I’m about to do.
I walk around the roof of the parking garage, checking different angles. There’s not much difference. There’s already a crowd of people outside the mall across the street. I check my watch. Not even six am, and there’s already at least twenty people waiting.
I move the car to the furthest corner of the parking garage, away from the entrance. I’d dropped a couple of traffic cones blocking access to the roof, so it was unlikely I’d be disturbed, but I still didn’t want to risk anyone from the lower level seeing me. I park, diagonally cutting across the corner of the roof. I lay my rifle on the ground. I pop up a camping chair from the car, and I wait.
8:43. The mall officially opens at 9, but on days like today they will often open the outer doors early. There are people milling about just inside the glass doors, occasionally checking their phones. They’ll do it at 8:45.
Or at least, they would.
I have my rifle propped up on the parapet, any my eye lightly pressed to the scope.
There’s easily over a hundred people milling about just outside the doors, waiting for them to open.
I take a breath.
8:44.
I see one guy pressing forward, pushing past people that had been there for hours.
Well, someone’s gotta be first.
I train my sights on the back of his head, at the base of his hairline.
In my peripheral vision, I see one of the people inside fiddling with keys, slowly moving to open the doors.
8:45.
I breathe in.
For the first time in a long time, I can’t feel the curse in my wrist.
I pull the trigger.
Before I can even watch the head explode, the euphoria kicks in. Time slows, my eyes roll back in my head. The inky tendrils snake their way back up my arm, and I feel powerful again.
I snap back into focus, just as the guy’s neck snaps back and blood mists over the crowd.
There’s about a second of silence before someone screams.
I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline, or the curse, but time slows to an absolute crawl. I can’t feel my heartbeat. I can’t breathe.
All I can feel is the curse, and I keep shooting. | As the man was nearing the end of his natural life, he realized he had done a lot in his life to wrong people, which had probably extended his life quite a bit. At the same time, he knew his time was coming to an end and he would need something else to drastically extend his life. So he ran for president. #Trump2016 |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "...and on the lighter side of the news, we have a remarkable event today. We're delighted to be with Roger Albertson on his 118th birthday. Since Margaret Hitchcock died this April, you are now recognized as the oldest person in the world. However, you continue to stun the medical profession with your health and youthfulness. In fact, just last month you completed a marathon -- most people 80 years younger than you couldn't manage that feat! I'm sure what all our viewers really want to know is, what's your secret, Senator?" | As the man was nearing the end of his natural life, he realized he had done a lot in his life to wrong people, which had probably extended his life quite a bit. At the same time, he knew his time was coming to an end and he would need something else to drastically extend his life. So he ran for president. #Trump2016 |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | God, but do I ever love stupid witches. I was cursed a long time ago by one of those shriveled bats after I rescued her soon to be victim from having her vitality stolen. "Good deeds shall steal your life, while evil ones shall extend it," the dumb cow crowed with her last breath, "we'll see how long you remain righteous after this!"
Turns out? The answer is "basically forever, you idiot". Do you have any idea how many evil actions lead to greater goods? Killing is a sin, so I go to war torn regions to kill dictators and their followers. Lying is a sin, so I go around giving complements to ugly people. Blasphemy and swearing are sins, so I call God a dried up cunt a few times a day. Casting curses is sinful as fuck, so I tortured a witch I caught murdering maidens (what is it with witches and blonde bombshells anyway?) until she coughed up how to learn magic, then I was off to the races cursing tyrants and telemarketers. Fucking without the intention of marrying? You got it, sin city over here.
Loopholes are great. The best part of it all, though? The witch that cursed me in the first place cast it as a death curse, and part of the whole "balance of the universe" thing magic has going for it is that you can only ever have one of those at a time. Dumb bitch might as well have given me perfect magic armour and a Ring of Infinite Blowjobs.
It's good to be me. | As the man was nearing the end of his natural life, he realized he had done a lot in his life to wrong people, which had probably extended his life quite a bit. At the same time, he knew his time was coming to an end and he would need something else to drastically extend his life. So he ran for president. #Trump2016 |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | They tell me it's a curse... Yeah Right, it stopped being that Oh so long ago.
I go see my "Artist", I have had many over the years
It's his life's work a masterpiece of the painters art subtle, perfect. I have told him it's going to take pride of place at a gallery to the greatest art of the age, I sit him down and set fire to it.
I Tell Him that's it 2nd rate hack work and I should fire him...he's paid a lot of money after all and without his job and his last 20 years for doing anything publicly he's history, I tell him he can earn his job back.
He does.. I can see the tear's welling up in his eyes, as I leave I tell him to Feel that emotion and use it... He has no idea that he's not my only artist... I can barely keep a straight face.
I pass a mirror the tiny flecks of grey hair are gone... I'll get an assistant to check on him in few days some don't do well after their life's work have been destroyed and they have debased themselves for my pleasure in a single morning doubly so the straight ones. The bight side is if he does top himself, that will make me younger again. however to replace him with a bright young thing I can break later will take time and money but when you have been doing this for a while you get good at the process of feeding on the suffering.
As I get to my Car I feel the skin on my hands become firmer my flesh tone changes ... I am going to need the bright young thing sooner than expected. Oh well no need to check then.
I look at my watch I can't get used to it sitting on my arm. I know it's been years I was never quite used to pocket watches before that.
I head to work I have a charity to run... in the last 30 years it had made world worse in so many fun and interesting ways it had given food to warlords. caused floods to promote nature, ensured that key technology would stay off the market though pointless cases in the patent courts.
They tell me that the sun will burn out in 5 billion years, my only question is will there be things for me to be needless cruel towards then?
I have to take the long view of my "curse". | (While I don’t want to ‘spoil’ the piece given the source I feel it’s necessary; this is a forewarning for anyone who hasn’t read Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson, and wants to. I can’t avoid spoilers, however vague I might try to make them!)
=-=-=-=-=
A millennia ago, I did the unthinkable.
Words sounded to my left, the gravelly tones of one of my Inquisitors reporting on current events. The Nobility had gone to war with each other yet again. I had lost track of how many House Wars there had been. Every couple generations one would pop up, as tensions rose to the breaking point among the Noble Houses. They would fight at night and in the shadows, killing each other and eliminating entire Houses, making room for others to eventually rise to power. I nodded. It was the way of things. This would thin out their numbers, and dampen their resolve, ensuring that no one House – or alliance of Houses – could grow strong enough to rival my regime. Yet, even if they did somehow gain that power, they would never dare challenge me. Even now, as they fight to the death, they do so only at night as if to keep the fighting a secret from me.
There are no secrets kept from me. What my eyes do not see, my Inquisitors see for me.
With my wordless reply, the Inquisitor rose back up and stepped away from my chair, there in the study within which I took refuge. It moved to stand by the door, across from its second, guarding it against all intruders. It was an amusing thought – that any intruder could hope to cause me harm. I have lived for over a thousand years now. I was – I am – immortal. Even should my Inquisitors fail to protect me, there is nothing any assailant could do to harm me. My actions on that fateful day granted me unspeakable power, and the people knew it. It was a part of their religion. None dared challenge me, because none could challenge me. And yet…
Not a week prior, someone had. A man, some skaa with a taste of the power I had granted the Nobility, confronted me in public, in the light of day. He stood proud and defiant before me, challenging me openly, for all eyes to see. All watched, noble and skaa alike, as he died for his insolence. Even with all his hope and confidence, he was but a tiny insect to me, not even worthy of being considered an annoyance. With him, many, many skaa had died as I set my Inquisitors upon the crowd of thousands. The skaa were as I made them; hardy in body but weak in spirit; the perfect slave workers to tend the fields and factories of my Empire. They did not have the strength of will to rise up in rebellion, as several thousand had not two months ago. They would only do so if they had someone with them, poisoning their minds against me, their ruler. A symbol of hope, hope that I might be killed, my reign ended. I killed their symbol, and killed a few hundred skaa just to make a point.
Noise sounded from outside my study. The two Inquisitors turned, curious. A commotion… uncommon, but no worry. Likely an argument among the palace guard. A distraction, nothing more.
The Nobility and the Skaa. Two peoples so alike and yet so different. A class divide that I had created, in those few moments during which I held divine power. The skaa, the perfect slaves, to feed and supply my Empire, and the Nobility to organize them, to keep them working and to keep them subdued. It was their reward, in truth – a reward to those who stood with me when I began my conquests in those early years. So many wars, so many bloody victories, so many deaths at my hands, all for what? Stability. Prosperity. An empire that would stand the test of time, that would stand against the ages. The Final Empire.
At times I wonder what might have happened had a better man stood in that cavern that fateful day. Each time I do, I come to the same conclusion I made that day. The world would have ended, if not right there, then within a year at the absolute most. No, had I not made that terrible choice, there would be no world left to rule. The world might be darker now, dreary as a direct result of my fumbling in those brief moments of divinity, but it exists. It exists because of what I did. I think that is why I harbor no regrets over what I have done. Countless people killed, tortured, butchered, and enslaved at my hand… all for the greater good. All because I knew that one day, the time would come when I would have to do it again. Once more I will take that divine power, and this time, I will do things right. I was wrong to leave the Nobility with the power they have. They do not fully understand it, they have abused it. Because of them, these rebellions happen. No, they have squandered that right, and will keep it no more.
God whispers in my ear, decrying what I have done and what I plan to do, pleading me to relent. I ignore it. I saved the world, after all. Enslaving all of humanity was necessary, to ensure that I could do so again. To ensure that the world continued to survive.
The commotion beyond my study drew closer, and my Inquisitors drew their axes. This was no argument among the guards. There was an intruder in the palace, someone coming for me. My heart skipped a beat. This had happened but once before, and even that one time, there had been no intent to kill me. They had been after my treasury, not my head, and they had used stealth, unlike this assailant. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to dream. Perhaps this would be it. Perhaps this time, someone would finally succeed, where all others had failed. I have been impaled, beheaded, eviscerated, and burned to the very bone… and I survived. Had this person discovered a way to finally kill me? Would this person finally save me from the constant whispers of God, and punish me for all the crimes I have committed? I hoped, for that brief moment, that this would be true. Finally, I could rest. Finally, that voice inside my head would go quiet.
The door swung open.
No, there is no hope. I cannot be killed. I cannot be defeated.
I am the Lord Ruler, the savior of mankind.
=-=-=-=-=
Not a long piece, and certainly not my best written... but I wanted to get it down while the idea was in my head. The prompt came across my feed in the middle of a reread of the series, and I instantly thought of this, for better or worse! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "You get it? Or do I have to repeat myself *again*?"
"No, no, I get it. The more bad stuff I do, the longer I live, more good stuff, means I have a shorter life," I said to the man at my bedside, so much for sleeping in, it was still 3:30am. "Can I go back to bed now?"
"I was hoping you would use your curse to go out and look for things to do. But if you want, go to sleep."
"Thanks, now one quick question, how long do I have to live right now?"
"66 years."
Only 66. Wow, I always thought of myself as a more neutral person, what the hell have I been doing that's so good? I'm already half way done my life! "Oh, ok. Well I better go do something about that then." I got out of bed and walked towards my closet. I always kept a gun close at hand, just in case someone tries to break in. I grabbed my gun, a rifle, and just went walking around my neighbourhood.
I lived in a rich part of town, filled with obnoxious rich kids, and even more obnoxious rich parents. I don't see why some can't, disappear per say. I got to a house filled with complete jackasses, always being to loud, having parties almost every night, and I swear one of the lids stole my car. Time for some revenge. I aimed my rifle at the windows, not like anyone would get to hurt. I shot at as many windows as I could before my magazine ran out of bullets.
After I did that, I began to feel a really hot burning sensation on my left arm. I looked to see what it was, and the number *70* had been tattooed on to me. Does that mean I raised my life to 70 years? I went to another house in another neighbourhood close by and did the same thing, I felt it again and it was at *72* now. This is great.
After doing this to a few more houses I had managed to raise it up to *83*. Guess that wasn't to hard. Just shooting some windows. I went home and went to bed, that's enough for tonight.
I woke up to the news turned on my TV. I don't remember turning it on before going to sleep, and I sure as hell don't fall asleep to the news. The guy was reporting on multiple shooting incidents in my neighbourhood. Apparently one died by a ricochet bullet, and another was gravely injured. I began to feel the burning sensation again, I checked, *108*. I guess it only advanced once I found out about a deed I did. But if killing and gravely injuring someone raised me up by 25 years, that means I could have a nice long life, for a few deaths.
What could go wrong if a few people disappeared? | (While I don’t want to ‘spoil’ the piece given the source I feel it’s necessary; this is a forewarning for anyone who hasn’t read Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson, and wants to. I can’t avoid spoilers, however vague I might try to make them!)
=-=-=-=-=
A millennia ago, I did the unthinkable.
Words sounded to my left, the gravelly tones of one of my Inquisitors reporting on current events. The Nobility had gone to war with each other yet again. I had lost track of how many House Wars there had been. Every couple generations one would pop up, as tensions rose to the breaking point among the Noble Houses. They would fight at night and in the shadows, killing each other and eliminating entire Houses, making room for others to eventually rise to power. I nodded. It was the way of things. This would thin out their numbers, and dampen their resolve, ensuring that no one House – or alliance of Houses – could grow strong enough to rival my regime. Yet, even if they did somehow gain that power, they would never dare challenge me. Even now, as they fight to the death, they do so only at night as if to keep the fighting a secret from me.
There are no secrets kept from me. What my eyes do not see, my Inquisitors see for me.
With my wordless reply, the Inquisitor rose back up and stepped away from my chair, there in the study within which I took refuge. It moved to stand by the door, across from its second, guarding it against all intruders. It was an amusing thought – that any intruder could hope to cause me harm. I have lived for over a thousand years now. I was – I am – immortal. Even should my Inquisitors fail to protect me, there is nothing any assailant could do to harm me. My actions on that fateful day granted me unspeakable power, and the people knew it. It was a part of their religion. None dared challenge me, because none could challenge me. And yet…
Not a week prior, someone had. A man, some skaa with a taste of the power I had granted the Nobility, confronted me in public, in the light of day. He stood proud and defiant before me, challenging me openly, for all eyes to see. All watched, noble and skaa alike, as he died for his insolence. Even with all his hope and confidence, he was but a tiny insect to me, not even worthy of being considered an annoyance. With him, many, many skaa had died as I set my Inquisitors upon the crowd of thousands. The skaa were as I made them; hardy in body but weak in spirit; the perfect slave workers to tend the fields and factories of my Empire. They did not have the strength of will to rise up in rebellion, as several thousand had not two months ago. They would only do so if they had someone with them, poisoning their minds against me, their ruler. A symbol of hope, hope that I might be killed, my reign ended. I killed their symbol, and killed a few hundred skaa just to make a point.
Noise sounded from outside my study. The two Inquisitors turned, curious. A commotion… uncommon, but no worry. Likely an argument among the palace guard. A distraction, nothing more.
The Nobility and the Skaa. Two peoples so alike and yet so different. A class divide that I had created, in those few moments during which I held divine power. The skaa, the perfect slaves, to feed and supply my Empire, and the Nobility to organize them, to keep them working and to keep them subdued. It was their reward, in truth – a reward to those who stood with me when I began my conquests in those early years. So many wars, so many bloody victories, so many deaths at my hands, all for what? Stability. Prosperity. An empire that would stand the test of time, that would stand against the ages. The Final Empire.
At times I wonder what might have happened had a better man stood in that cavern that fateful day. Each time I do, I come to the same conclusion I made that day. The world would have ended, if not right there, then within a year at the absolute most. No, had I not made that terrible choice, there would be no world left to rule. The world might be darker now, dreary as a direct result of my fumbling in those brief moments of divinity, but it exists. It exists because of what I did. I think that is why I harbor no regrets over what I have done. Countless people killed, tortured, butchered, and enslaved at my hand… all for the greater good. All because I knew that one day, the time would come when I would have to do it again. Once more I will take that divine power, and this time, I will do things right. I was wrong to leave the Nobility with the power they have. They do not fully understand it, they have abused it. Because of them, these rebellions happen. No, they have squandered that right, and will keep it no more.
God whispers in my ear, decrying what I have done and what I plan to do, pleading me to relent. I ignore it. I saved the world, after all. Enslaving all of humanity was necessary, to ensure that I could do so again. To ensure that the world continued to survive.
The commotion beyond my study drew closer, and my Inquisitors drew their axes. This was no argument among the guards. There was an intruder in the palace, someone coming for me. My heart skipped a beat. This had happened but once before, and even that one time, there had been no intent to kill me. They had been after my treasury, not my head, and they had used stealth, unlike this assailant. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to dream. Perhaps this would be it. Perhaps this time, someone would finally succeed, where all others had failed. I have been impaled, beheaded, eviscerated, and burned to the very bone… and I survived. Had this person discovered a way to finally kill me? Would this person finally save me from the constant whispers of God, and punish me for all the crimes I have committed? I hoped, for that brief moment, that this would be true. Finally, I could rest. Finally, that voice inside my head would go quiet.
The door swung open.
No, there is no hope. I cannot be killed. I cannot be defeated.
I am the Lord Ruler, the savior of mankind.
=-=-=-=-=
Not a long piece, and certainly not my best written... but I wanted to get it down while the idea was in my head. The prompt came across my feed in the middle of a reread of the series, and I instantly thought of this, for better or worse! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Tom smiled as his friend joined him on the familiar bench at the park. The stream of life flowed by them in the form of parents and children, lovers and friends, colleagues and strangers. The two men sat in silence for a moment, taking it all in.
The older man reached into his coat pocket and removed a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper. His newly arrived friend received it with his usual courteous confusion; the package was nondescript but for the number **3973** written across the front in black ink. The younger man opened his briefcase and slid the package in with a sigh.
"Tom..." he began, finally initiating an exchange he'd rehearsed a hundred times. "I think you know what I'm going to ask you."
Tom nodded, smiling.
"This is the same thing as usual, right?"
Another nod.
"Yankees versus Mariners, Oct. 8, 1995?"
The same smile.
"Tom, you know I'd do anything for you, and I've been receiving this strange little bit of baseball history from you every day now for over a decade. Never complained, never asked questions. But..." he shrugged, giving up; "I just have to know... *why*?"
Tom settled back and looked at the river. A group of teenagers were passing by on the opposite shore in a canoe, laughing and shouting at each other. Ducks landed and took off. Clouds were clouds.
"I guess I do have one small confession to make," said Tom, turning to his friend. A moment of anticipation stretched out, and then -- "Do you know that I've been making video recordings of this game with Major League Baseball's implied oral consent, but *without* its express written consent?"
If the younger man was scandalized by this, he concealed it heroically. His dissatisfaction with the answer was less easy to hide.
"But why on earth have you been copying the same game for over ten years and giving it to me? Nobody even uses tapes anymore; this must be costing you a fortune."
Tom turned once more to look out over the path and the river, with all its pageant of happy humanity passing by.
"Well," said Tom, "let's just call it your good deed for the day." | (While I don’t want to ‘spoil’ the piece given the source I feel it’s necessary; this is a forewarning for anyone who hasn’t read Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson, and wants to. I can’t avoid spoilers, however vague I might try to make them!)
=-=-=-=-=
A millennia ago, I did the unthinkable.
Words sounded to my left, the gravelly tones of one of my Inquisitors reporting on current events. The Nobility had gone to war with each other yet again. I had lost track of how many House Wars there had been. Every couple generations one would pop up, as tensions rose to the breaking point among the Noble Houses. They would fight at night and in the shadows, killing each other and eliminating entire Houses, making room for others to eventually rise to power. I nodded. It was the way of things. This would thin out their numbers, and dampen their resolve, ensuring that no one House – or alliance of Houses – could grow strong enough to rival my regime. Yet, even if they did somehow gain that power, they would never dare challenge me. Even now, as they fight to the death, they do so only at night as if to keep the fighting a secret from me.
There are no secrets kept from me. What my eyes do not see, my Inquisitors see for me.
With my wordless reply, the Inquisitor rose back up and stepped away from my chair, there in the study within which I took refuge. It moved to stand by the door, across from its second, guarding it against all intruders. It was an amusing thought – that any intruder could hope to cause me harm. I have lived for over a thousand years now. I was – I am – immortal. Even should my Inquisitors fail to protect me, there is nothing any assailant could do to harm me. My actions on that fateful day granted me unspeakable power, and the people knew it. It was a part of their religion. None dared challenge me, because none could challenge me. And yet…
Not a week prior, someone had. A man, some skaa with a taste of the power I had granted the Nobility, confronted me in public, in the light of day. He stood proud and defiant before me, challenging me openly, for all eyes to see. All watched, noble and skaa alike, as he died for his insolence. Even with all his hope and confidence, he was but a tiny insect to me, not even worthy of being considered an annoyance. With him, many, many skaa had died as I set my Inquisitors upon the crowd of thousands. The skaa were as I made them; hardy in body but weak in spirit; the perfect slave workers to tend the fields and factories of my Empire. They did not have the strength of will to rise up in rebellion, as several thousand had not two months ago. They would only do so if they had someone with them, poisoning their minds against me, their ruler. A symbol of hope, hope that I might be killed, my reign ended. I killed their symbol, and killed a few hundred skaa just to make a point.
Noise sounded from outside my study. The two Inquisitors turned, curious. A commotion… uncommon, but no worry. Likely an argument among the palace guard. A distraction, nothing more.
The Nobility and the Skaa. Two peoples so alike and yet so different. A class divide that I had created, in those few moments during which I held divine power. The skaa, the perfect slaves, to feed and supply my Empire, and the Nobility to organize them, to keep them working and to keep them subdued. It was their reward, in truth – a reward to those who stood with me when I began my conquests in those early years. So many wars, so many bloody victories, so many deaths at my hands, all for what? Stability. Prosperity. An empire that would stand the test of time, that would stand against the ages. The Final Empire.
At times I wonder what might have happened had a better man stood in that cavern that fateful day. Each time I do, I come to the same conclusion I made that day. The world would have ended, if not right there, then within a year at the absolute most. No, had I not made that terrible choice, there would be no world left to rule. The world might be darker now, dreary as a direct result of my fumbling in those brief moments of divinity, but it exists. It exists because of what I did. I think that is why I harbor no regrets over what I have done. Countless people killed, tortured, butchered, and enslaved at my hand… all for the greater good. All because I knew that one day, the time would come when I would have to do it again. Once more I will take that divine power, and this time, I will do things right. I was wrong to leave the Nobility with the power they have. They do not fully understand it, they have abused it. Because of them, these rebellions happen. No, they have squandered that right, and will keep it no more.
God whispers in my ear, decrying what I have done and what I plan to do, pleading me to relent. I ignore it. I saved the world, after all. Enslaving all of humanity was necessary, to ensure that I could do so again. To ensure that the world continued to survive.
The commotion beyond my study drew closer, and my Inquisitors drew their axes. This was no argument among the guards. There was an intruder in the palace, someone coming for me. My heart skipped a beat. This had happened but once before, and even that one time, there had been no intent to kill me. They had been after my treasury, not my head, and they had used stealth, unlike this assailant. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to dream. Perhaps this would be it. Perhaps this time, someone would finally succeed, where all others had failed. I have been impaled, beheaded, eviscerated, and burned to the very bone… and I survived. Had this person discovered a way to finally kill me? Would this person finally save me from the constant whispers of God, and punish me for all the crimes I have committed? I hoped, for that brief moment, that this would be true. Finally, I could rest. Finally, that voice inside my head would go quiet.
The door swung open.
No, there is no hope. I cannot be killed. I cannot be defeated.
I am the Lord Ruler, the savior of mankind.
=-=-=-=-=
Not a long piece, and certainly not my best written... but I wanted to get it down while the idea was in my head. The prompt came across my feed in the middle of a reread of the series, and I instantly thought of this, for better or worse! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | In every war, someone has to produce a factor that will decide the victory or defeat of both sides. In my case, that factor happened to be a "curse". No one knew how it worked- magical or mechanical, but there was but one thing known about it.
Whatever is considered evil would be rewarded, and good punished.
So, bearing the curse, I was forced to be on the front lines of war, because my superiors couldn't trust me enough. They thought that on the off chance that I decided to live forever, all I needed was a weapon and enough teammates.
I'm not dead yet.
I was the first to get attacked, but it was fine. If this continued, I would live forever.
After all, I was fighting for the Nazis.
_____________________________________________________
This is my first story and I did this in like 5 minutes please don't kill me | (While I don’t want to ‘spoil’ the piece given the source I feel it’s necessary; this is a forewarning for anyone who hasn’t read Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson, and wants to. I can’t avoid spoilers, however vague I might try to make them!)
=-=-=-=-=
A millennia ago, I did the unthinkable.
Words sounded to my left, the gravelly tones of one of my Inquisitors reporting on current events. The Nobility had gone to war with each other yet again. I had lost track of how many House Wars there had been. Every couple generations one would pop up, as tensions rose to the breaking point among the Noble Houses. They would fight at night and in the shadows, killing each other and eliminating entire Houses, making room for others to eventually rise to power. I nodded. It was the way of things. This would thin out their numbers, and dampen their resolve, ensuring that no one House – or alliance of Houses – could grow strong enough to rival my regime. Yet, even if they did somehow gain that power, they would never dare challenge me. Even now, as they fight to the death, they do so only at night as if to keep the fighting a secret from me.
There are no secrets kept from me. What my eyes do not see, my Inquisitors see for me.
With my wordless reply, the Inquisitor rose back up and stepped away from my chair, there in the study within which I took refuge. It moved to stand by the door, across from its second, guarding it against all intruders. It was an amusing thought – that any intruder could hope to cause me harm. I have lived for over a thousand years now. I was – I am – immortal. Even should my Inquisitors fail to protect me, there is nothing any assailant could do to harm me. My actions on that fateful day granted me unspeakable power, and the people knew it. It was a part of their religion. None dared challenge me, because none could challenge me. And yet…
Not a week prior, someone had. A man, some skaa with a taste of the power I had granted the Nobility, confronted me in public, in the light of day. He stood proud and defiant before me, challenging me openly, for all eyes to see. All watched, noble and skaa alike, as he died for his insolence. Even with all his hope and confidence, he was but a tiny insect to me, not even worthy of being considered an annoyance. With him, many, many skaa had died as I set my Inquisitors upon the crowd of thousands. The skaa were as I made them; hardy in body but weak in spirit; the perfect slave workers to tend the fields and factories of my Empire. They did not have the strength of will to rise up in rebellion, as several thousand had not two months ago. They would only do so if they had someone with them, poisoning their minds against me, their ruler. A symbol of hope, hope that I might be killed, my reign ended. I killed their symbol, and killed a few hundred skaa just to make a point.
Noise sounded from outside my study. The two Inquisitors turned, curious. A commotion… uncommon, but no worry. Likely an argument among the palace guard. A distraction, nothing more.
The Nobility and the Skaa. Two peoples so alike and yet so different. A class divide that I had created, in those few moments during which I held divine power. The skaa, the perfect slaves, to feed and supply my Empire, and the Nobility to organize them, to keep them working and to keep them subdued. It was their reward, in truth – a reward to those who stood with me when I began my conquests in those early years. So many wars, so many bloody victories, so many deaths at my hands, all for what? Stability. Prosperity. An empire that would stand the test of time, that would stand against the ages. The Final Empire.
At times I wonder what might have happened had a better man stood in that cavern that fateful day. Each time I do, I come to the same conclusion I made that day. The world would have ended, if not right there, then within a year at the absolute most. No, had I not made that terrible choice, there would be no world left to rule. The world might be darker now, dreary as a direct result of my fumbling in those brief moments of divinity, but it exists. It exists because of what I did. I think that is why I harbor no regrets over what I have done. Countless people killed, tortured, butchered, and enslaved at my hand… all for the greater good. All because I knew that one day, the time would come when I would have to do it again. Once more I will take that divine power, and this time, I will do things right. I was wrong to leave the Nobility with the power they have. They do not fully understand it, they have abused it. Because of them, these rebellions happen. No, they have squandered that right, and will keep it no more.
God whispers in my ear, decrying what I have done and what I plan to do, pleading me to relent. I ignore it. I saved the world, after all. Enslaving all of humanity was necessary, to ensure that I could do so again. To ensure that the world continued to survive.
The commotion beyond my study drew closer, and my Inquisitors drew their axes. This was no argument among the guards. There was an intruder in the palace, someone coming for me. My heart skipped a beat. This had happened but once before, and even that one time, there had been no intent to kill me. They had been after my treasury, not my head, and they had used stealth, unlike this assailant. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to dream. Perhaps this would be it. Perhaps this time, someone would finally succeed, where all others had failed. I have been impaled, beheaded, eviscerated, and burned to the very bone… and I survived. Had this person discovered a way to finally kill me? Would this person finally save me from the constant whispers of God, and punish me for all the crimes I have committed? I hoped, for that brief moment, that this would be true. Finally, I could rest. Finally, that voice inside my head would go quiet.
The door swung open.
No, there is no hope. I cannot be killed. I cannot be defeated.
I am the Lord Ruler, the savior of mankind.
=-=-=-=-=
Not a long piece, and certainly not my best written... but I wanted to get it down while the idea was in my head. The prompt came across my feed in the middle of a reread of the series, and I instantly thought of this, for better or worse! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | It's been four hundred years.
Grueling years at first, when obeying my mother's orders scraped my soul raw. If she caught me doing a kindness or saying my prayers, she would pull me to her, crying, fearing that the curse would be fulfilled in that moment and I would wither in my goodness.
"Old witch," she would wail, loud enough for my grandmother to hear her in Hell. It was her words laid on my head like an ever-tightening crown of thorns: *Better that she die now with love than to live on in sin.* A heartless thing to say to a new mother and widow after a string of miscarriages and stillbirths, but a credit to her Puritan beliefs. The old bitch had known herself to be among the Elect; everyone else knew better. Especially my mother, who screamed her defiance into the flames on the hearth.
She took me to church to avoid suspicion, trained me to preserve an appearance of perfect propriety, all while encouraging evils appropriate to my age. My childhood was spent stealing from my playmates. I pushed, slapped, pinched with such ferocity that even the rowdiest boys teared up at the sight of me. When I was caught misbehaving, I lied. And each night I listed my sins for my mother, and she praised each one.
"Live, my darling," she told me as she kissed me and pulled the blankets snug around me. "Whatever it takes, live."
At sixteen, my aging began to slow: an infinite girlhood stretched to its limits with the increased gravity of my peccadilloes. From immodesty I crept into coquetry, from fornication to adultery. I supplemented theft with prostitution. In her dotage, my mother grew more enthusiastic about her damnation. "If teaching you to preserve your life is wrong, then I will gladly take my place at Satan's feet," she declared to me one night as I undressed, the day's booty spilling out of the layers of clothes.
By the end of the war in 1763, I did not believe in Satan or God, only the madness of men. Yet I sat through Sunday services every week, missing them only when my mother deteriorated. I watched her shrink to a husk, and as I cared for her, I felt myself age. By the time of her death, I knew I would never escort another wretched soul to the gates of Death. I flung myself headfirst into a libertinism worthy of Casanova. My strength returned; my wrinkles smoothed.
Soon revolution was on the tip of every tongue. I moved to Philadelphia, took a new name, and whipped the local boys into a frenzy with talk of courage and cowardice. When they marched off to fight, I hosted Loyalists and charmed Redcoats. I had taken no side. All I cared for was the thrill of their hate for each other, an electric current beneath their skin. It was the same in 1812.
By 1860, I had had a dozen names and three husbands, all of whom I'd left in the middle of the night for some handsome young fop waiting outside my window. Breaking hearts was my specialty, in every possible way. Many wives and fiancees hated me for stealing their lovers. Girls who called me their dearest friend were heartbroken by my social climbing, my cruel jabs, my matter-of-fact letters terminating the correspondence.
Each day, I stole some jewel or heart, emptying out my collection when it suited me to make room for more. When the states began fighting amongst themselves, I supposed I had enough enemies, so I exchanged my stolen goods for money and went West.
The girls I bought were young, desperate. I pitied them sometimes, but my mother's words echoed in my head. *Whatever it takes, live.* I grew to dread the shadow of Death, the threat of nothing, and redoubled my efforts to add to my life. Hedonism was as charming as ever, but gained a new attraction when contrasted with the deprivation I forced on my girls when they displeased me. I learned to wield a riding crop in ways that made me famous in sinister circles.
But times changed and charity became the fashion. I gave away most of my money, knowing I could get more whenever I wanted, and settled into a cozy, retired existence in a mansion. These were my years of solitary pleasure, when a constant torrent of alcohol and opium coursed through my body as I read the quaint blasphemies of occultists. How the authorities of my youth would have blanched, bug-eyed in fear of their Lord!
I had no fear. War was no longer a diversion for me, just an excuse to use the black market more often. I smoked the cigarettes our troops deserved, bought up silk stockings enough to last a decade. I didn't buy war bonds either time. The few taxes I did pay were enough for some bullets, surely.
It was the bomb and the camps that got to me. Such sins could purchase immortality. I was not the virtuoso if thought myself. Just a thief. Just a whore. Never a killer. So I made up my mind to waste away. I would die as I had lived: in a blur of apathetic pleasure.
I have watched the tides rise and fall for seventy-two years. I sprinkle crumbs to the gulls, drop stolen antique bills, am kind as can be, but still I linger on. I have donated to charity and given up my vices. Yet here I am, intact, no more aged than before.
My mother had it all wrong. As long as the heart beats, it is a selfish act; all humanity is biologically inclined towards the evil of ego. And my grandmother knew. Would that I had died, that my mother had let me rest rather than feeding the narcissistic beast within.
But in all this, I have honored my mother. I have done despicable things to find a foothold in this world, all for the love of the one person who believed in me.
The skin on my hands feels tight. I look down and watch the wrinkles form, the youthful plumpness vanishing. My bones reach the surface. My heart blossoms in my chest. I have kept one Commandment, have kept my mother alive inside me. Her love, the rose, with its thorn of human darkness.
I have lived in sin, mother, but I die with love. | (While I don’t want to ‘spoil’ the piece given the source I feel it’s necessary; this is a forewarning for anyone who hasn’t read Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson, and wants to. I can’t avoid spoilers, however vague I might try to make them!)
=-=-=-=-=
A millennia ago, I did the unthinkable.
Words sounded to my left, the gravelly tones of one of my Inquisitors reporting on current events. The Nobility had gone to war with each other yet again. I had lost track of how many House Wars there had been. Every couple generations one would pop up, as tensions rose to the breaking point among the Noble Houses. They would fight at night and in the shadows, killing each other and eliminating entire Houses, making room for others to eventually rise to power. I nodded. It was the way of things. This would thin out their numbers, and dampen their resolve, ensuring that no one House – or alliance of Houses – could grow strong enough to rival my regime. Yet, even if they did somehow gain that power, they would never dare challenge me. Even now, as they fight to the death, they do so only at night as if to keep the fighting a secret from me.
There are no secrets kept from me. What my eyes do not see, my Inquisitors see for me.
With my wordless reply, the Inquisitor rose back up and stepped away from my chair, there in the study within which I took refuge. It moved to stand by the door, across from its second, guarding it against all intruders. It was an amusing thought – that any intruder could hope to cause me harm. I have lived for over a thousand years now. I was – I am – immortal. Even should my Inquisitors fail to protect me, there is nothing any assailant could do to harm me. My actions on that fateful day granted me unspeakable power, and the people knew it. It was a part of their religion. None dared challenge me, because none could challenge me. And yet…
Not a week prior, someone had. A man, some skaa with a taste of the power I had granted the Nobility, confronted me in public, in the light of day. He stood proud and defiant before me, challenging me openly, for all eyes to see. All watched, noble and skaa alike, as he died for his insolence. Even with all his hope and confidence, he was but a tiny insect to me, not even worthy of being considered an annoyance. With him, many, many skaa had died as I set my Inquisitors upon the crowd of thousands. The skaa were as I made them; hardy in body but weak in spirit; the perfect slave workers to tend the fields and factories of my Empire. They did not have the strength of will to rise up in rebellion, as several thousand had not two months ago. They would only do so if they had someone with them, poisoning their minds against me, their ruler. A symbol of hope, hope that I might be killed, my reign ended. I killed their symbol, and killed a few hundred skaa just to make a point.
Noise sounded from outside my study. The two Inquisitors turned, curious. A commotion… uncommon, but no worry. Likely an argument among the palace guard. A distraction, nothing more.
The Nobility and the Skaa. Two peoples so alike and yet so different. A class divide that I had created, in those few moments during which I held divine power. The skaa, the perfect slaves, to feed and supply my Empire, and the Nobility to organize them, to keep them working and to keep them subdued. It was their reward, in truth – a reward to those who stood with me when I began my conquests in those early years. So many wars, so many bloody victories, so many deaths at my hands, all for what? Stability. Prosperity. An empire that would stand the test of time, that would stand against the ages. The Final Empire.
At times I wonder what might have happened had a better man stood in that cavern that fateful day. Each time I do, I come to the same conclusion I made that day. The world would have ended, if not right there, then within a year at the absolute most. No, had I not made that terrible choice, there would be no world left to rule. The world might be darker now, dreary as a direct result of my fumbling in those brief moments of divinity, but it exists. It exists because of what I did. I think that is why I harbor no regrets over what I have done. Countless people killed, tortured, butchered, and enslaved at my hand… all for the greater good. All because I knew that one day, the time would come when I would have to do it again. Once more I will take that divine power, and this time, I will do things right. I was wrong to leave the Nobility with the power they have. They do not fully understand it, they have abused it. Because of them, these rebellions happen. No, they have squandered that right, and will keep it no more.
God whispers in my ear, decrying what I have done and what I plan to do, pleading me to relent. I ignore it. I saved the world, after all. Enslaving all of humanity was necessary, to ensure that I could do so again. To ensure that the world continued to survive.
The commotion beyond my study drew closer, and my Inquisitors drew their axes. This was no argument among the guards. There was an intruder in the palace, someone coming for me. My heart skipped a beat. This had happened but once before, and even that one time, there had been no intent to kill me. They had been after my treasury, not my head, and they had used stealth, unlike this assailant. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to dream. Perhaps this would be it. Perhaps this time, someone would finally succeed, where all others had failed. I have been impaled, beheaded, eviscerated, and burned to the very bone… and I survived. Had this person discovered a way to finally kill me? Would this person finally save me from the constant whispers of God, and punish me for all the crimes I have committed? I hoped, for that brief moment, that this would be true. Finally, I could rest. Finally, that voice inside my head would go quiet.
The door swung open.
No, there is no hope. I cannot be killed. I cannot be defeated.
I am the Lord Ruler, the savior of mankind.
=-=-=-=-=
Not a long piece, and certainly not my best written... but I wanted to get it down while the idea was in my head. The prompt came across my feed in the middle of a reread of the series, and I instantly thought of this, for better or worse! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. |
Preface To The Compendium of Humanity
Entry #1,843,241
I sit here in the bunker I call home, writing with the final pen from my collection, hoping the ink reserve will last until I have written the words that I wish I could have spoken so long ago. I have waited a long time for this, contemplating what I wish to say, for if anything finds my bunker, my writings will be the only evidence of humanity left on Earth.
I have bookshelves full of memories, past lives that I have outlived. They are my only respite from the loneliness the surface offers. I fear I am running out of time, so I must finally conclude the story. I must admit that I do not wish for the story to end; even after all this time I stay accustomed to existence.
I believe my birthday came and passed again recently. I would not be able to tell you my exact age, but I can say with confidence that I have seen most of what this world has to offer. It is strange that the longer we experience time, the faster it seems to go until it is slipping through our hands like quicksilver. Even the most resolute of men cannot stay against its flow, eventually time catches us all.
Much from my childhood is lost to me, but there is a deep sadness felt when I try to remember. Perhaps regret for the person I was, for the person I became. I do not remember when I first noticed, but I did not age like the others. I aged well until my thirties, and then I just seemed to... stop. I was never a good person, never claimed to be. I made a series of mistakes that landed me in prison. My family abandoned me, not once coming to visit. I grew bitter, resentful. I was alone.
I do not recall exactly what I had done, but I do remember the exact amount of time I was there. Eighty years. The original sentence was forty, out in twenty with good behavior. I got the extra forty tacked on while I was in there. Eighty years in a concrete box, and I didn't look more than fifty.
At that point I knew something was different about me. Whether it be some deity playing a cruel prank, or a hiccup in genetics I am uncertain, but over time I have figured out the restrictions of my affliction.
The rules are simple. If I did a good deed, I would age much faster than a normal human. The amount aged varies, depending on the deed. I have done small good deeds and felt no change. I have performed grand gestures of goodwill, and felt myself age years on the spot.
On the opposite end, I can perform evil deeds and live longer. Simple as that, same variation in time spent un-aged. It is like a bodily stasis. I do not grow, I do not hunger. There is no need for me to breathe but my body forces me to do so.
I like to think of it like a concept from an old religion, long dead. You have positive and negative energy, the more negative energy you have the more positive energy it takes to get back to a neutral point, a point of balance.
Once I came to realize the rules, I had no difficulty making my choice. My time in prison turned me into a bitter, wretch of a human being. On top of that, I had the audacity to think of myself as special. I committed many atrocities, never being caught because I could not be killed. I outlived generations, using them as tools to fuel my immortality. This carried on for centuries.
Eventually I grew tired of taking what I wanted using force. Impressed by the progress the human society had made, I decided to integrate once more. I realized that, as the longest living creature on Earth, I had much more experience than the average human. I had watched as millions were born and watched as they died, I knew humans to their core. Using this advantage, I got into politics. I spent a few decades as a politician, ending in me securing leadership of their global alliance.
I aged a little during this process, but soon people noticed that I was different. Questions were starting to be asked, and nobody had any answers.
I revealed myself as an immortal. People did not believe me, at first. Then, I declared that I would not resign as leader. That didn't go over well. After a few failed execution attempts, which led to me executing the executioners, they ran out of things to try. The planet was mine.
Next came thousands of years of peace. This was not caused by me directly, it was more a collective fear of what the Immortal Leader would do if angered. Luckily that didn't count as doing good, and I fed off of their fear. There were even some religions started in my name, probably an attempt to gain my favor, perhaps a hope to join me in immortality.
Over time, a rebellion started far from what I called home. Turns out, people don't like having an immortal for a leader. Before I knew it they were on my doorstep, more than half of the planet's population calling for my head. I had foreseen a situation like this, and had prepared for it. I had no earthly attachments, no love for these people. They were ants compared to me, mine to do with as I chose.
I retreated to the bunker that now serves as my home. I had stored up all that I thought I would need for eternity and sealed myself in. There was no hesitation as I pressed the button that would lead to the destruction of every living thing on the planet.
That was millions of years ago. I am starting to feel things coming into balance, my stomach is wracked with hunger pangs. My time draws near, to me it will be in the blink of an eye. I have outlived stars, it will be a shame for all my knowledge to die with me. I have done my best to catalogue the history of humanity as I know it. It will not be perfect, and it won't undo what I have done, but it is something. Humanity lives on in my writings, as I have through the years. I have come to realize that I was not blessed, nor was I special. In fact, I was the most deserving of this curse. Who better to curse with immortality than one who would commit evil to achieve it. It has changed me to the point where I do not consider myself as human, but as an abomination. Humans feel a wide range of emotions, from anger to love, sadness to joy. The only thing I've felt for as long as I can remember is regret, and loneliness.
After everything is said and done, I have learned one thing. It is better to do good and die for it than to do evil and live for one's self. Should life find its way to Earth again I hope they will learn of the old inhabitants, and learn from their (and my) mistakes. With that, I go to the surface once more, with hopes of finally being able to rest. | (While I don’t want to ‘spoil’ the piece given the source I feel it’s necessary; this is a forewarning for anyone who hasn’t read Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson, and wants to. I can’t avoid spoilers, however vague I might try to make them!)
=-=-=-=-=
A millennia ago, I did the unthinkable.
Words sounded to my left, the gravelly tones of one of my Inquisitors reporting on current events. The Nobility had gone to war with each other yet again. I had lost track of how many House Wars there had been. Every couple generations one would pop up, as tensions rose to the breaking point among the Noble Houses. They would fight at night and in the shadows, killing each other and eliminating entire Houses, making room for others to eventually rise to power. I nodded. It was the way of things. This would thin out their numbers, and dampen their resolve, ensuring that no one House – or alliance of Houses – could grow strong enough to rival my regime. Yet, even if they did somehow gain that power, they would never dare challenge me. Even now, as they fight to the death, they do so only at night as if to keep the fighting a secret from me.
There are no secrets kept from me. What my eyes do not see, my Inquisitors see for me.
With my wordless reply, the Inquisitor rose back up and stepped away from my chair, there in the study within which I took refuge. It moved to stand by the door, across from its second, guarding it against all intruders. It was an amusing thought – that any intruder could hope to cause me harm. I have lived for over a thousand years now. I was – I am – immortal. Even should my Inquisitors fail to protect me, there is nothing any assailant could do to harm me. My actions on that fateful day granted me unspeakable power, and the people knew it. It was a part of their religion. None dared challenge me, because none could challenge me. And yet…
Not a week prior, someone had. A man, some skaa with a taste of the power I had granted the Nobility, confronted me in public, in the light of day. He stood proud and defiant before me, challenging me openly, for all eyes to see. All watched, noble and skaa alike, as he died for his insolence. Even with all his hope and confidence, he was but a tiny insect to me, not even worthy of being considered an annoyance. With him, many, many skaa had died as I set my Inquisitors upon the crowd of thousands. The skaa were as I made them; hardy in body but weak in spirit; the perfect slave workers to tend the fields and factories of my Empire. They did not have the strength of will to rise up in rebellion, as several thousand had not two months ago. They would only do so if they had someone with them, poisoning their minds against me, their ruler. A symbol of hope, hope that I might be killed, my reign ended. I killed their symbol, and killed a few hundred skaa just to make a point.
Noise sounded from outside my study. The two Inquisitors turned, curious. A commotion… uncommon, but no worry. Likely an argument among the palace guard. A distraction, nothing more.
The Nobility and the Skaa. Two peoples so alike and yet so different. A class divide that I had created, in those few moments during which I held divine power. The skaa, the perfect slaves, to feed and supply my Empire, and the Nobility to organize them, to keep them working and to keep them subdued. It was their reward, in truth – a reward to those who stood with me when I began my conquests in those early years. So many wars, so many bloody victories, so many deaths at my hands, all for what? Stability. Prosperity. An empire that would stand the test of time, that would stand against the ages. The Final Empire.
At times I wonder what might have happened had a better man stood in that cavern that fateful day. Each time I do, I come to the same conclusion I made that day. The world would have ended, if not right there, then within a year at the absolute most. No, had I not made that terrible choice, there would be no world left to rule. The world might be darker now, dreary as a direct result of my fumbling in those brief moments of divinity, but it exists. It exists because of what I did. I think that is why I harbor no regrets over what I have done. Countless people killed, tortured, butchered, and enslaved at my hand… all for the greater good. All because I knew that one day, the time would come when I would have to do it again. Once more I will take that divine power, and this time, I will do things right. I was wrong to leave the Nobility with the power they have. They do not fully understand it, they have abused it. Because of them, these rebellions happen. No, they have squandered that right, and will keep it no more.
God whispers in my ear, decrying what I have done and what I plan to do, pleading me to relent. I ignore it. I saved the world, after all. Enslaving all of humanity was necessary, to ensure that I could do so again. To ensure that the world continued to survive.
The commotion beyond my study drew closer, and my Inquisitors drew their axes. This was no argument among the guards. There was an intruder in the palace, someone coming for me. My heart skipped a beat. This had happened but once before, and even that one time, there had been no intent to kill me. They had been after my treasury, not my head, and they had used stealth, unlike this assailant. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to dream. Perhaps this would be it. Perhaps this time, someone would finally succeed, where all others had failed. I have been impaled, beheaded, eviscerated, and burned to the very bone… and I survived. Had this person discovered a way to finally kill me? Would this person finally save me from the constant whispers of God, and punish me for all the crimes I have committed? I hoped, for that brief moment, that this would be true. Finally, I could rest. Finally, that voice inside my head would go quiet.
The door swung open.
No, there is no hope. I cannot be killed. I cannot be defeated.
I am the Lord Ruler, the savior of mankind.
=-=-=-=-=
Not a long piece, and certainly not my best written... but I wanted to get it down while the idea was in my head. The prompt came across my feed in the middle of a reread of the series, and I instantly thought of this, for better or worse! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Click.
Click.
Clickety- click click click.
"Would you PLEASE stop with that incessant pen clicking, Paul? It's driving me crazy" pleaded Sue.
"Sorry, Sue, nervous habit," said Paul as he felt the small tingles of a few more seconds of life added. He got up to go to the break room. He saw that Danny had put a delicious looking lunch into the refrigerator earlier that day... | (While I don’t want to ‘spoil’ the piece given the source I feel it’s necessary; this is a forewarning for anyone who hasn’t read Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson, and wants to. I can’t avoid spoilers, however vague I might try to make them!)
=-=-=-=-=
A millennia ago, I did the unthinkable.
Words sounded to my left, the gravelly tones of one of my Inquisitors reporting on current events. The Nobility had gone to war with each other yet again. I had lost track of how many House Wars there had been. Every couple generations one would pop up, as tensions rose to the breaking point among the Noble Houses. They would fight at night and in the shadows, killing each other and eliminating entire Houses, making room for others to eventually rise to power. I nodded. It was the way of things. This would thin out their numbers, and dampen their resolve, ensuring that no one House – or alliance of Houses – could grow strong enough to rival my regime. Yet, even if they did somehow gain that power, they would never dare challenge me. Even now, as they fight to the death, they do so only at night as if to keep the fighting a secret from me.
There are no secrets kept from me. What my eyes do not see, my Inquisitors see for me.
With my wordless reply, the Inquisitor rose back up and stepped away from my chair, there in the study within which I took refuge. It moved to stand by the door, across from its second, guarding it against all intruders. It was an amusing thought – that any intruder could hope to cause me harm. I have lived for over a thousand years now. I was – I am – immortal. Even should my Inquisitors fail to protect me, there is nothing any assailant could do to harm me. My actions on that fateful day granted me unspeakable power, and the people knew it. It was a part of their religion. None dared challenge me, because none could challenge me. And yet…
Not a week prior, someone had. A man, some skaa with a taste of the power I had granted the Nobility, confronted me in public, in the light of day. He stood proud and defiant before me, challenging me openly, for all eyes to see. All watched, noble and skaa alike, as he died for his insolence. Even with all his hope and confidence, he was but a tiny insect to me, not even worthy of being considered an annoyance. With him, many, many skaa had died as I set my Inquisitors upon the crowd of thousands. The skaa were as I made them; hardy in body but weak in spirit; the perfect slave workers to tend the fields and factories of my Empire. They did not have the strength of will to rise up in rebellion, as several thousand had not two months ago. They would only do so if they had someone with them, poisoning their minds against me, their ruler. A symbol of hope, hope that I might be killed, my reign ended. I killed their symbol, and killed a few hundred skaa just to make a point.
Noise sounded from outside my study. The two Inquisitors turned, curious. A commotion… uncommon, but no worry. Likely an argument among the palace guard. A distraction, nothing more.
The Nobility and the Skaa. Two peoples so alike and yet so different. A class divide that I had created, in those few moments during which I held divine power. The skaa, the perfect slaves, to feed and supply my Empire, and the Nobility to organize them, to keep them working and to keep them subdued. It was their reward, in truth – a reward to those who stood with me when I began my conquests in those early years. So many wars, so many bloody victories, so many deaths at my hands, all for what? Stability. Prosperity. An empire that would stand the test of time, that would stand against the ages. The Final Empire.
At times I wonder what might have happened had a better man stood in that cavern that fateful day. Each time I do, I come to the same conclusion I made that day. The world would have ended, if not right there, then within a year at the absolute most. No, had I not made that terrible choice, there would be no world left to rule. The world might be darker now, dreary as a direct result of my fumbling in those brief moments of divinity, but it exists. It exists because of what I did. I think that is why I harbor no regrets over what I have done. Countless people killed, tortured, butchered, and enslaved at my hand… all for the greater good. All because I knew that one day, the time would come when I would have to do it again. Once more I will take that divine power, and this time, I will do things right. I was wrong to leave the Nobility with the power they have. They do not fully understand it, they have abused it. Because of them, these rebellions happen. No, they have squandered that right, and will keep it no more.
God whispers in my ear, decrying what I have done and what I plan to do, pleading me to relent. I ignore it. I saved the world, after all. Enslaving all of humanity was necessary, to ensure that I could do so again. To ensure that the world continued to survive.
The commotion beyond my study drew closer, and my Inquisitors drew their axes. This was no argument among the guards. There was an intruder in the palace, someone coming for me. My heart skipped a beat. This had happened but once before, and even that one time, there had been no intent to kill me. They had been after my treasury, not my head, and they had used stealth, unlike this assailant. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to dream. Perhaps this would be it. Perhaps this time, someone would finally succeed, where all others had failed. I have been impaled, beheaded, eviscerated, and burned to the very bone… and I survived. Had this person discovered a way to finally kill me? Would this person finally save me from the constant whispers of God, and punish me for all the crimes I have committed? I hoped, for that brief moment, that this would be true. Finally, I could rest. Finally, that voice inside my head would go quiet.
The door swung open.
No, there is no hope. I cannot be killed. I cannot be defeated.
I am the Lord Ruler, the savior of mankind.
=-=-=-=-=
Not a long piece, and certainly not my best written... but I wanted to get it down while the idea was in my head. The prompt came across my feed in the middle of a reread of the series, and I instantly thought of this, for better or worse! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | I am not a good person. I have lived for far too long. People believe that living so long is bad for one's humanity. That the longer a person lives that less and less that they care about others and themselves. The more disconnected they become from the important parts of what it means to be human. Happiness. Joy. Friendship. Belonging. Isolation. Anger. Hate. Power. Love. I have experienced all of these in my elongated timeline. Happiness and Joy go hand in hand, but lead to complacency. Belonging only lasts long enough to become isolation. Somebody once said, and I agree, that anger leads to hate, but holding on to those feelings for long is more effort than it is worth. Power and Love are the most governing over one’s soul.
“I itch.” his voice was louder than normal and had an edge to it.
“I do too, do you think that this emptiness doesn’t effect me?!” I snapped back.
I did not like this feeling. In fact, it was my most hated feeling. I felt it weigh on me immensely as a child. I was always slight of frame and showed signs of some sickness. Many of the shamans and medicine men assumed I was cursed by the gods. The divine channelers were right of course, but my parents refused to believe it. I don’t blame them, they were good people. They helped the weaker of the tribe, gave them respect and worshiped their gods fervently. They could not know that all these ideals they were imprinting on their only child made him weaker and more sickly. I couldn't tell them about the voice I carried with me. He always seemed like he was looking out for my best interest. Always telling me to stand up for the small guy, feed this traveler, or give my prized bone knife up as homage to the elders. It never helped. I never got any better. He was a liar.
I turned down one of the darker alleys in the city. I abhorred coming to this part of the city. I wanted to be back up near The Senate and in my villa. The homeless were less than and they served one purpose. To scratch my itch.
“Yes, yes. He will do, he will do nicely. I suppose we will let the fates decide.” the tone was trembling and excited.
I answered aloud, “I do believe you are correct. This is what he was born for.”
I pulled my xiphos from it’s scabbard. The slight ringing noise was a sound I never grew tired of. It also caught the attention of the slumped man on the ground as I approached.
“What was that good master?” the skin and bones man said through a ragged, patchy beard and cracked, dry lips.
“I was not speaking to you.” I retorted. “Congratulations! Today is the day I set you free.” A welcoming smile adorned my face.
The wretch reached for me. ME. I grabbed his wrist. My hand would have to be thoroughly washed.
“Quench me!” the voice rang inside my head.
I matched his tone as I tended to do in these situations. “Be Quenched!”
My xiphos plunged into his chest and through his heart. I savored the moment and pushed the fine crafted blade through flesh and bone until I felt the hilt against his skin. I then let my tool go as I began to shiver and have minor convulsions as the old man collapsed in a heap on the ground without a sound. This happened every time. It washed over me like waterfall. In their final moments I was privy to all of their previous deeds. I saw them weighed on a massive scale. I must remove overall good people from this existence to keep gaining power and prolong my life. If he was evil, that feeling would turn cold. The emptiness would subside, but I would feel weaker. If he was good, the feeling would warm me, bolster me and make me feel invigorated. Invigorated to the point of near immortality. Evil acts stretched my life. Good ones shortened it.
“He was a loving parent. Ugh.” the gravelly voice told me.
“He shared his food with other homeless.” he continued irritated.
“He used the last of his money to bury his wife and family, NO! This cannot be, he, he is garbage!” The voice was livid.
“Wait…” it was odd playing devil’s advocate with who I assumed was the devil himself.
A cold shiver ran through my spine. “He was the one who murdered his family.” I disdainfully spat at the dead body and slammed my fist upon the wall.
“YESSS!” the elation rang throughout my skull. It was infuriating.
He calmed, “How fortuitous for me. It would seem our time together has lessened. If you keep murdering those who hold evil in their heart I will be free in no time.”
I flippantly replied, “Just bad luck, that’s all. I can always just start murdering newborns as a backup plan.” I tried to sound like it didn’t matter. That I could do it without blinking an eye. People had their place and they had their own fate to deal with. I am not a good person, but I would rather not lose the last shred of humanity I had left.
People were right. I feel myself slowly become more and more callous. I am isolated. It is bad for me. I no longer am angry at the gods or hate the voice within me. Power is what I crave. The power to live and not set him loose. The power to keep loving humanity. | (While I don’t want to ‘spoil’ the piece given the source I feel it’s necessary; this is a forewarning for anyone who hasn’t read Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson, and wants to. I can’t avoid spoilers, however vague I might try to make them!)
=-=-=-=-=
A millennia ago, I did the unthinkable.
Words sounded to my left, the gravelly tones of one of my Inquisitors reporting on current events. The Nobility had gone to war with each other yet again. I had lost track of how many House Wars there had been. Every couple generations one would pop up, as tensions rose to the breaking point among the Noble Houses. They would fight at night and in the shadows, killing each other and eliminating entire Houses, making room for others to eventually rise to power. I nodded. It was the way of things. This would thin out their numbers, and dampen their resolve, ensuring that no one House – or alliance of Houses – could grow strong enough to rival my regime. Yet, even if they did somehow gain that power, they would never dare challenge me. Even now, as they fight to the death, they do so only at night as if to keep the fighting a secret from me.
There are no secrets kept from me. What my eyes do not see, my Inquisitors see for me.
With my wordless reply, the Inquisitor rose back up and stepped away from my chair, there in the study within which I took refuge. It moved to stand by the door, across from its second, guarding it against all intruders. It was an amusing thought – that any intruder could hope to cause me harm. I have lived for over a thousand years now. I was – I am – immortal. Even should my Inquisitors fail to protect me, there is nothing any assailant could do to harm me. My actions on that fateful day granted me unspeakable power, and the people knew it. It was a part of their religion. None dared challenge me, because none could challenge me. And yet…
Not a week prior, someone had. A man, some skaa with a taste of the power I had granted the Nobility, confronted me in public, in the light of day. He stood proud and defiant before me, challenging me openly, for all eyes to see. All watched, noble and skaa alike, as he died for his insolence. Even with all his hope and confidence, he was but a tiny insect to me, not even worthy of being considered an annoyance. With him, many, many skaa had died as I set my Inquisitors upon the crowd of thousands. The skaa were as I made them; hardy in body but weak in spirit; the perfect slave workers to tend the fields and factories of my Empire. They did not have the strength of will to rise up in rebellion, as several thousand had not two months ago. They would only do so if they had someone with them, poisoning their minds against me, their ruler. A symbol of hope, hope that I might be killed, my reign ended. I killed their symbol, and killed a few hundred skaa just to make a point.
Noise sounded from outside my study. The two Inquisitors turned, curious. A commotion… uncommon, but no worry. Likely an argument among the palace guard. A distraction, nothing more.
The Nobility and the Skaa. Two peoples so alike and yet so different. A class divide that I had created, in those few moments during which I held divine power. The skaa, the perfect slaves, to feed and supply my Empire, and the Nobility to organize them, to keep them working and to keep them subdued. It was their reward, in truth – a reward to those who stood with me when I began my conquests in those early years. So many wars, so many bloody victories, so many deaths at my hands, all for what? Stability. Prosperity. An empire that would stand the test of time, that would stand against the ages. The Final Empire.
At times I wonder what might have happened had a better man stood in that cavern that fateful day. Each time I do, I come to the same conclusion I made that day. The world would have ended, if not right there, then within a year at the absolute most. No, had I not made that terrible choice, there would be no world left to rule. The world might be darker now, dreary as a direct result of my fumbling in those brief moments of divinity, but it exists. It exists because of what I did. I think that is why I harbor no regrets over what I have done. Countless people killed, tortured, butchered, and enslaved at my hand… all for the greater good. All because I knew that one day, the time would come when I would have to do it again. Once more I will take that divine power, and this time, I will do things right. I was wrong to leave the Nobility with the power they have. They do not fully understand it, they have abused it. Because of them, these rebellions happen. No, they have squandered that right, and will keep it no more.
God whispers in my ear, decrying what I have done and what I plan to do, pleading me to relent. I ignore it. I saved the world, after all. Enslaving all of humanity was necessary, to ensure that I could do so again. To ensure that the world continued to survive.
The commotion beyond my study drew closer, and my Inquisitors drew their axes. This was no argument among the guards. There was an intruder in the palace, someone coming for me. My heart skipped a beat. This had happened but once before, and even that one time, there had been no intent to kill me. They had been after my treasury, not my head, and they had used stealth, unlike this assailant. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to dream. Perhaps this would be it. Perhaps this time, someone would finally succeed, where all others had failed. I have been impaled, beheaded, eviscerated, and burned to the very bone… and I survived. Had this person discovered a way to finally kill me? Would this person finally save me from the constant whispers of God, and punish me for all the crimes I have committed? I hoped, for that brief moment, that this would be true. Finally, I could rest. Finally, that voice inside my head would go quiet.
The door swung open.
No, there is no hope. I cannot be killed. I cannot be defeated.
I am the Lord Ruler, the savior of mankind.
=-=-=-=-=
Not a long piece, and certainly not my best written... but I wanted to get it down while the idea was in my head. The prompt came across my feed in the middle of a reread of the series, and I instantly thought of this, for better or worse! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | **Author's Note:** I'm doing my best to adhere to the community rules here by not being explicit in my descriptions. I hope I am successful in doing so. If in my failure to do so I offend or transgress, I offer my sincere apologies.
************************
He screamed as I did my bloody work on his face. When he lost consciousness I sighed and put my knife away. This one had been unusually resilient. It had taken him far too long to pass out.
They always screamed. If it wasn't the pain, it was the fear of the disfigurement. I suppose by this point they all knew what came next. They had plenty to scream about.
"When he wakes up, give him the usual treatment," I told my men. They nodded grimly.
I left the tent and strode through the small compound. None of the dead were on the ground. In truth, none of the dead's hearts had stopped beating just yet. But they were dead all the same.
I had to hand it to the Romans. They were a twisted lot, and good at torture. Particularly torture leading to death. And as an added bonus, it sent a hell of a message.
With each second I ignored the cries of the men I'd had crucified, the power seeped into me. It was like oil and tar and rot, running over my skin, seeping into my pores, crawling over the fibers of my muscles and sinew, and slicking along the blackened surface of my bones. It wrapped its warm, slick hand around my heart, and I felt stronger.
I suppressed the twin surges of ecstasy and revulsion boiling up within me. There was more work to be done.
The warlord to whom I had just given a woodshed facelift had been particularly cruel, but his inventiveness was nothing compared to mine. His folly was his choice of target and his motive. He murdered and tormented to sate his black heart. I did it to survive. He targeted the weak and oppressed. I targeted the predators.
Fortunately for me, motive didn't factor into whatever cosmic scale was weighing my actions. Suffering was suffering, no matter the reason. Death was death. And I was a mass distributor, as far as my dealer was concerned.
"Boss," one of my men said from my left. I turned to him. Ramirez. A vicious psychopath I'd leashed and turned to my own purposes. He didn't feel things like empathy or remorse. I used him and he thanked me for it. He was one of my early converts. His hair had gone silver and gray since I'd first pinned him to a wall with a car and given the choice of dying or working for me.
Mine hadn't changed for twice that time.
"What is it?" I asked, dreading the look in his eye. He looked... reticent.
"We got kids. Couple mothers, too."
I struggled to suppress a groan. It was too late. I knew about it. It was in my hands.
"Why didn't you deal with them yourself?" I asked, maybe too harshly. Ramirez didn't notice.
"Apparently some of them are his." He motioned to the tent I'd just emerged from. "Didn't know if you wanted to...?"
I shook my head. "We don't do kids. Ever. You know that."
"What do then, boss?"
I grunted. "Make sure *all* of them and their mothers make it to the nearest village to tell them what we did here. Even *his*. They may as well serve as messengers."
"They won't make it on foot."
"Then give them a fucking car and some food and water. Messengers are no good if they're dead."
I could justify it all I wanted, but charity was charity. Life was life. Mercy was mercy.
A pleasant warmth built up in my chest, a light that suffused my lungs and poured out of my throat like a sweet song on a summer day. Ramirez didn't notice; no one ever did. It was beautiful. It was blissful. And it left me weaker. More frail. And more fleeting.
I mentally checked my reserves. I'd still gained more from this raid than I was losing. I could make the same sacrifice five more times and I'd still come out better for the trade. We had shed a lot of blood today. A lot of men were dying up on those stakes. And the fear would spread over the next few weeks when they heard what my marauders had done here. It would crawl into me like the agony was now, but less, and over a longer period of time. Like macabre returns on a grisly investment.
"You find anyone else like that, you know what to do," I told Ramirez. "Don't bring it to me."
"You got it, boss."
It didn't cost him anything. And if I didn't know about it... I felt a little more of the light suffuse my chest and escape me. Well, I didn't lose quite as much if I didn't know about it. More insulation. More degrees of separation.
A thought stopped me in my tracks. Was I reforming Ramirez? The others? Was I teaching them mercy? Would I be taxed for that?
I shook my head. No matter. I needed my pawns. I couldn't do enough myself. I couldn't delegate and insulate without them. Soon I would have more units, platoons, entire armies. I could bring war with a word and reap the benefits. But it was a knife's edge I walked on. Plunge off one side and I defeated the purpose of my prolonged life. Dive off the other and my life would be over all too quickly, and I wouldn't be able to do anything.
I pondered, not for the first time, what I would do when I was the biggest, meanest fish in the pond. When the greatest evil that could be removed from the world was me. Would I have the guts? Would it even be right? Someone else would fill that power vacuum. Someone without my compunctions or restraint. Better that I continue as a Sin Eater become real. Better that I take those burdens on myself so that others could not seize those reins.
I felt the light leaking out again, like a pinhole in a tire. Even contemplating the ultimate reasons for this bloody work had that effect. It wasn't enough to make a difference either way; seconds, at most. But it was a reminder. A reminder of that balance. A reminder of how hard it is to walk that line. Evil for good's sake. What a nasty cosmic joke.
An agonized moan issued from inside the tent. I went back inside to find the warlord waking up. I motioned my men out. They knew the drill.
"I want you to understand something," I said, leaning down to level my face with his. I felt the pinhole open wider, more warm light streaming out, even as I drank in the oily rot of his agony. "I want you to understand that I'm not doing this because you were on my turf. I'm not doing it for your resources, though I'll gladly take them all. I'm doing this because of that little village twenty klicks back. The one you set ablaze, the one where you killed everyone just because they wouldn't act as your pack mules."
The man's eyes widened in comprehension. His fear fed me, and I vented it as... something. Something good, because it was weakening me. Justice? Maybe. Probably. I mentally grabbed that feeling for later analysis. It wouldn't do to forget what that was.
"Your boys out there know why they're dying. It's because they were loyal to the wrong son of a bitch. You need to know why you're dying, too. You're dying because you killed those people."
"You crazy fuck," the warlord murmured.
"You have no idea."
"I'll see you in hell."
I smiled. "You'd better pray I drag my feet on the way down, asshole." | (While I don’t want to ‘spoil’ the piece given the source I feel it’s necessary; this is a forewarning for anyone who hasn’t read Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson, and wants to. I can’t avoid spoilers, however vague I might try to make them!)
=-=-=-=-=
A millennia ago, I did the unthinkable.
Words sounded to my left, the gravelly tones of one of my Inquisitors reporting on current events. The Nobility had gone to war with each other yet again. I had lost track of how many House Wars there had been. Every couple generations one would pop up, as tensions rose to the breaking point among the Noble Houses. They would fight at night and in the shadows, killing each other and eliminating entire Houses, making room for others to eventually rise to power. I nodded. It was the way of things. This would thin out their numbers, and dampen their resolve, ensuring that no one House – or alliance of Houses – could grow strong enough to rival my regime. Yet, even if they did somehow gain that power, they would never dare challenge me. Even now, as they fight to the death, they do so only at night as if to keep the fighting a secret from me.
There are no secrets kept from me. What my eyes do not see, my Inquisitors see for me.
With my wordless reply, the Inquisitor rose back up and stepped away from my chair, there in the study within which I took refuge. It moved to stand by the door, across from its second, guarding it against all intruders. It was an amusing thought – that any intruder could hope to cause me harm. I have lived for over a thousand years now. I was – I am – immortal. Even should my Inquisitors fail to protect me, there is nothing any assailant could do to harm me. My actions on that fateful day granted me unspeakable power, and the people knew it. It was a part of their religion. None dared challenge me, because none could challenge me. And yet…
Not a week prior, someone had. A man, some skaa with a taste of the power I had granted the Nobility, confronted me in public, in the light of day. He stood proud and defiant before me, challenging me openly, for all eyes to see. All watched, noble and skaa alike, as he died for his insolence. Even with all his hope and confidence, he was but a tiny insect to me, not even worthy of being considered an annoyance. With him, many, many skaa had died as I set my Inquisitors upon the crowd of thousands. The skaa were as I made them; hardy in body but weak in spirit; the perfect slave workers to tend the fields and factories of my Empire. They did not have the strength of will to rise up in rebellion, as several thousand had not two months ago. They would only do so if they had someone with them, poisoning their minds against me, their ruler. A symbol of hope, hope that I might be killed, my reign ended. I killed their symbol, and killed a few hundred skaa just to make a point.
Noise sounded from outside my study. The two Inquisitors turned, curious. A commotion… uncommon, but no worry. Likely an argument among the palace guard. A distraction, nothing more.
The Nobility and the Skaa. Two peoples so alike and yet so different. A class divide that I had created, in those few moments during which I held divine power. The skaa, the perfect slaves, to feed and supply my Empire, and the Nobility to organize them, to keep them working and to keep them subdued. It was their reward, in truth – a reward to those who stood with me when I began my conquests in those early years. So many wars, so many bloody victories, so many deaths at my hands, all for what? Stability. Prosperity. An empire that would stand the test of time, that would stand against the ages. The Final Empire.
At times I wonder what might have happened had a better man stood in that cavern that fateful day. Each time I do, I come to the same conclusion I made that day. The world would have ended, if not right there, then within a year at the absolute most. No, had I not made that terrible choice, there would be no world left to rule. The world might be darker now, dreary as a direct result of my fumbling in those brief moments of divinity, but it exists. It exists because of what I did. I think that is why I harbor no regrets over what I have done. Countless people killed, tortured, butchered, and enslaved at my hand… all for the greater good. All because I knew that one day, the time would come when I would have to do it again. Once more I will take that divine power, and this time, I will do things right. I was wrong to leave the Nobility with the power they have. They do not fully understand it, they have abused it. Because of them, these rebellions happen. No, they have squandered that right, and will keep it no more.
God whispers in my ear, decrying what I have done and what I plan to do, pleading me to relent. I ignore it. I saved the world, after all. Enslaving all of humanity was necessary, to ensure that I could do so again. To ensure that the world continued to survive.
The commotion beyond my study drew closer, and my Inquisitors drew their axes. This was no argument among the guards. There was an intruder in the palace, someone coming for me. My heart skipped a beat. This had happened but once before, and even that one time, there had been no intent to kill me. They had been after my treasury, not my head, and they had used stealth, unlike this assailant. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to dream. Perhaps this would be it. Perhaps this time, someone would finally succeed, where all others had failed. I have been impaled, beheaded, eviscerated, and burned to the very bone… and I survived. Had this person discovered a way to finally kill me? Would this person finally save me from the constant whispers of God, and punish me for all the crimes I have committed? I hoped, for that brief moment, that this would be true. Finally, I could rest. Finally, that voice inside my head would go quiet.
The door swung open.
No, there is no hope. I cannot be killed. I cannot be defeated.
I am the Lord Ruler, the savior of mankind.
=-=-=-=-=
Not a long piece, and certainly not my best written... but I wanted to get it down while the idea was in my head. The prompt came across my feed in the middle of a reread of the series, and I instantly thought of this, for better or worse! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | The line burned into the skin on my inner forearm was shorter than ever. Originally it had stretched from the garish line of scar tissue on my wrist, all the way up my arm, spreading into several black tendrils. All that remained now was one thin line, about an inch long. You could almost miss it. But it felt worse now than it ever had. Before it had given me power, made me stronger than any normal person. Now though… now it just hurt. It’s dying. This curse, whatever it is, is fading, and it’s taking me with it. I don’t know how, but I know that I only have a week left at best.
I step out of the car, into the cold morning air. Not quite cold enough for snow, but it’s coming. I sigh, and the breath fogs my vision for a moment.
It’s too early, but I’m content waiting.
I open the trunk, look down at the contents. A shovel, some spare clothes, a jack, couple of bottles of water. And a rifle.
I grab a water bottle. Takes a few minutes, but I drink the full litre. Toss the empty bottle into the back seat.
I stop, staring at the rifle. The stinging on my wrist eases.
It knows what I’m about to do.
I walk around the roof of the parking garage, checking different angles. There’s not much difference. There’s already a crowd of people outside the mall across the street. I check my watch. Not even six am, and there’s already at least twenty people waiting.
I move the car to the furthest corner of the parking garage, away from the entrance. I’d dropped a couple of traffic cones blocking access to the roof, so it was unlikely I’d be disturbed, but I still didn’t want to risk anyone from the lower level seeing me. I park, diagonally cutting across the corner of the roof. I lay my rifle on the ground. I pop up a camping chair from the car, and I wait.
8:43. The mall officially opens at 9, but on days like today they will often open the outer doors early. There are people milling about just inside the glass doors, occasionally checking their phones. They’ll do it at 8:45.
Or at least, they would.
I have my rifle propped up on the parapet, any my eye lightly pressed to the scope.
There’s easily over a hundred people milling about just outside the doors, waiting for them to open.
I take a breath.
8:44.
I see one guy pressing forward, pushing past people that had been there for hours.
Well, someone’s gotta be first.
I train my sights on the back of his head, at the base of his hairline.
In my peripheral vision, I see one of the people inside fiddling with keys, slowly moving to open the doors.
8:45.
I breathe in.
For the first time in a long time, I can’t feel the curse in my wrist.
I pull the trigger.
Before I can even watch the head explode, the euphoria kicks in. Time slows, my eyes roll back in my head. The inky tendrils snake their way back up my arm, and I feel powerful again.
I snap back into focus, just as the guy’s neck snaps back and blood mists over the crowd.
There’s about a second of silence before someone screams.
I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline, or the curse, but time slows to an absolute crawl. I can’t feel my heartbeat. I can’t breathe.
All I can feel is the curse, and I keep shooting. | (While I don’t want to ‘spoil’ the piece given the source I feel it’s necessary; this is a forewarning for anyone who hasn’t read Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson, and wants to. I can’t avoid spoilers, however vague I might try to make them!)
=-=-=-=-=
A millennia ago, I did the unthinkable.
Words sounded to my left, the gravelly tones of one of my Inquisitors reporting on current events. The Nobility had gone to war with each other yet again. I had lost track of how many House Wars there had been. Every couple generations one would pop up, as tensions rose to the breaking point among the Noble Houses. They would fight at night and in the shadows, killing each other and eliminating entire Houses, making room for others to eventually rise to power. I nodded. It was the way of things. This would thin out their numbers, and dampen their resolve, ensuring that no one House – or alliance of Houses – could grow strong enough to rival my regime. Yet, even if they did somehow gain that power, they would never dare challenge me. Even now, as they fight to the death, they do so only at night as if to keep the fighting a secret from me.
There are no secrets kept from me. What my eyes do not see, my Inquisitors see for me.
With my wordless reply, the Inquisitor rose back up and stepped away from my chair, there in the study within which I took refuge. It moved to stand by the door, across from its second, guarding it against all intruders. It was an amusing thought – that any intruder could hope to cause me harm. I have lived for over a thousand years now. I was – I am – immortal. Even should my Inquisitors fail to protect me, there is nothing any assailant could do to harm me. My actions on that fateful day granted me unspeakable power, and the people knew it. It was a part of their religion. None dared challenge me, because none could challenge me. And yet…
Not a week prior, someone had. A man, some skaa with a taste of the power I had granted the Nobility, confronted me in public, in the light of day. He stood proud and defiant before me, challenging me openly, for all eyes to see. All watched, noble and skaa alike, as he died for his insolence. Even with all his hope and confidence, he was but a tiny insect to me, not even worthy of being considered an annoyance. With him, many, many skaa had died as I set my Inquisitors upon the crowd of thousands. The skaa were as I made them; hardy in body but weak in spirit; the perfect slave workers to tend the fields and factories of my Empire. They did not have the strength of will to rise up in rebellion, as several thousand had not two months ago. They would only do so if they had someone with them, poisoning their minds against me, their ruler. A symbol of hope, hope that I might be killed, my reign ended. I killed their symbol, and killed a few hundred skaa just to make a point.
Noise sounded from outside my study. The two Inquisitors turned, curious. A commotion… uncommon, but no worry. Likely an argument among the palace guard. A distraction, nothing more.
The Nobility and the Skaa. Two peoples so alike and yet so different. A class divide that I had created, in those few moments during which I held divine power. The skaa, the perfect slaves, to feed and supply my Empire, and the Nobility to organize them, to keep them working and to keep them subdued. It was their reward, in truth – a reward to those who stood with me when I began my conquests in those early years. So many wars, so many bloody victories, so many deaths at my hands, all for what? Stability. Prosperity. An empire that would stand the test of time, that would stand against the ages. The Final Empire.
At times I wonder what might have happened had a better man stood in that cavern that fateful day. Each time I do, I come to the same conclusion I made that day. The world would have ended, if not right there, then within a year at the absolute most. No, had I not made that terrible choice, there would be no world left to rule. The world might be darker now, dreary as a direct result of my fumbling in those brief moments of divinity, but it exists. It exists because of what I did. I think that is why I harbor no regrets over what I have done. Countless people killed, tortured, butchered, and enslaved at my hand… all for the greater good. All because I knew that one day, the time would come when I would have to do it again. Once more I will take that divine power, and this time, I will do things right. I was wrong to leave the Nobility with the power they have. They do not fully understand it, they have abused it. Because of them, these rebellions happen. No, they have squandered that right, and will keep it no more.
God whispers in my ear, decrying what I have done and what I plan to do, pleading me to relent. I ignore it. I saved the world, after all. Enslaving all of humanity was necessary, to ensure that I could do so again. To ensure that the world continued to survive.
The commotion beyond my study drew closer, and my Inquisitors drew their axes. This was no argument among the guards. There was an intruder in the palace, someone coming for me. My heart skipped a beat. This had happened but once before, and even that one time, there had been no intent to kill me. They had been after my treasury, not my head, and they had used stealth, unlike this assailant. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to dream. Perhaps this would be it. Perhaps this time, someone would finally succeed, where all others had failed. I have been impaled, beheaded, eviscerated, and burned to the very bone… and I survived. Had this person discovered a way to finally kill me? Would this person finally save me from the constant whispers of God, and punish me for all the crimes I have committed? I hoped, for that brief moment, that this would be true. Finally, I could rest. Finally, that voice inside my head would go quiet.
The door swung open.
No, there is no hope. I cannot be killed. I cannot be defeated.
I am the Lord Ruler, the savior of mankind.
=-=-=-=-=
Not a long piece, and certainly not my best written... but I wanted to get it down while the idea was in my head. The prompt came across my feed in the middle of a reread of the series, and I instantly thought of this, for better or worse! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "...and on the lighter side of the news, we have a remarkable event today. We're delighted to be with Roger Albertson on his 118th birthday. Since Margaret Hitchcock died this April, you are now recognized as the oldest person in the world. However, you continue to stun the medical profession with your health and youthfulness. In fact, just last month you completed a marathon -- most people 80 years younger than you couldn't manage that feat! I'm sure what all our viewers really want to know is, what's your secret, Senator?" | (While I don’t want to ‘spoil’ the piece given the source I feel it’s necessary; this is a forewarning for anyone who hasn’t read Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson, and wants to. I can’t avoid spoilers, however vague I might try to make them!)
=-=-=-=-=
A millennia ago, I did the unthinkable.
Words sounded to my left, the gravelly tones of one of my Inquisitors reporting on current events. The Nobility had gone to war with each other yet again. I had lost track of how many House Wars there had been. Every couple generations one would pop up, as tensions rose to the breaking point among the Noble Houses. They would fight at night and in the shadows, killing each other and eliminating entire Houses, making room for others to eventually rise to power. I nodded. It was the way of things. This would thin out their numbers, and dampen their resolve, ensuring that no one House – or alliance of Houses – could grow strong enough to rival my regime. Yet, even if they did somehow gain that power, they would never dare challenge me. Even now, as they fight to the death, they do so only at night as if to keep the fighting a secret from me.
There are no secrets kept from me. What my eyes do not see, my Inquisitors see for me.
With my wordless reply, the Inquisitor rose back up and stepped away from my chair, there in the study within which I took refuge. It moved to stand by the door, across from its second, guarding it against all intruders. It was an amusing thought – that any intruder could hope to cause me harm. I have lived for over a thousand years now. I was – I am – immortal. Even should my Inquisitors fail to protect me, there is nothing any assailant could do to harm me. My actions on that fateful day granted me unspeakable power, and the people knew it. It was a part of their religion. None dared challenge me, because none could challenge me. And yet…
Not a week prior, someone had. A man, some skaa with a taste of the power I had granted the Nobility, confronted me in public, in the light of day. He stood proud and defiant before me, challenging me openly, for all eyes to see. All watched, noble and skaa alike, as he died for his insolence. Even with all his hope and confidence, he was but a tiny insect to me, not even worthy of being considered an annoyance. With him, many, many skaa had died as I set my Inquisitors upon the crowd of thousands. The skaa were as I made them; hardy in body but weak in spirit; the perfect slave workers to tend the fields and factories of my Empire. They did not have the strength of will to rise up in rebellion, as several thousand had not two months ago. They would only do so if they had someone with them, poisoning their minds against me, their ruler. A symbol of hope, hope that I might be killed, my reign ended. I killed their symbol, and killed a few hundred skaa just to make a point.
Noise sounded from outside my study. The two Inquisitors turned, curious. A commotion… uncommon, but no worry. Likely an argument among the palace guard. A distraction, nothing more.
The Nobility and the Skaa. Two peoples so alike and yet so different. A class divide that I had created, in those few moments during which I held divine power. The skaa, the perfect slaves, to feed and supply my Empire, and the Nobility to organize them, to keep them working and to keep them subdued. It was their reward, in truth – a reward to those who stood with me when I began my conquests in those early years. So many wars, so many bloody victories, so many deaths at my hands, all for what? Stability. Prosperity. An empire that would stand the test of time, that would stand against the ages. The Final Empire.
At times I wonder what might have happened had a better man stood in that cavern that fateful day. Each time I do, I come to the same conclusion I made that day. The world would have ended, if not right there, then within a year at the absolute most. No, had I not made that terrible choice, there would be no world left to rule. The world might be darker now, dreary as a direct result of my fumbling in those brief moments of divinity, but it exists. It exists because of what I did. I think that is why I harbor no regrets over what I have done. Countless people killed, tortured, butchered, and enslaved at my hand… all for the greater good. All because I knew that one day, the time would come when I would have to do it again. Once more I will take that divine power, and this time, I will do things right. I was wrong to leave the Nobility with the power they have. They do not fully understand it, they have abused it. Because of them, these rebellions happen. No, they have squandered that right, and will keep it no more.
God whispers in my ear, decrying what I have done and what I plan to do, pleading me to relent. I ignore it. I saved the world, after all. Enslaving all of humanity was necessary, to ensure that I could do so again. To ensure that the world continued to survive.
The commotion beyond my study drew closer, and my Inquisitors drew their axes. This was no argument among the guards. There was an intruder in the palace, someone coming for me. My heart skipped a beat. This had happened but once before, and even that one time, there had been no intent to kill me. They had been after my treasury, not my head, and they had used stealth, unlike this assailant. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to dream. Perhaps this would be it. Perhaps this time, someone would finally succeed, where all others had failed. I have been impaled, beheaded, eviscerated, and burned to the very bone… and I survived. Had this person discovered a way to finally kill me? Would this person finally save me from the constant whispers of God, and punish me for all the crimes I have committed? I hoped, for that brief moment, that this would be true. Finally, I could rest. Finally, that voice inside my head would go quiet.
The door swung open.
No, there is no hope. I cannot be killed. I cannot be defeated.
I am the Lord Ruler, the savior of mankind.
=-=-=-=-=
Not a long piece, and certainly not my best written... but I wanted to get it down while the idea was in my head. The prompt came across my feed in the middle of a reread of the series, and I instantly thought of this, for better or worse! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "You get it? Or do I have to repeat myself *again*?"
"No, no, I get it. The more bad stuff I do, the longer I live, more good stuff, means I have a shorter life," I said to the man at my bedside, so much for sleeping in, it was still 3:30am. "Can I go back to bed now?"
"I was hoping you would use your curse to go out and look for things to do. But if you want, go to sleep."
"Thanks, now one quick question, how long do I have to live right now?"
"66 years."
Only 66. Wow, I always thought of myself as a more neutral person, what the hell have I been doing that's so good? I'm already half way done my life! "Oh, ok. Well I better go do something about that then." I got out of bed and walked towards my closet. I always kept a gun close at hand, just in case someone tries to break in. I grabbed my gun, a rifle, and just went walking around my neighbourhood.
I lived in a rich part of town, filled with obnoxious rich kids, and even more obnoxious rich parents. I don't see why some can't, disappear per say. I got to a house filled with complete jackasses, always being to loud, having parties almost every night, and I swear one of the lids stole my car. Time for some revenge. I aimed my rifle at the windows, not like anyone would get to hurt. I shot at as many windows as I could before my magazine ran out of bullets.
After I did that, I began to feel a really hot burning sensation on my left arm. I looked to see what it was, and the number *70* had been tattooed on to me. Does that mean I raised my life to 70 years? I went to another house in another neighbourhood close by and did the same thing, I felt it again and it was at *72* now. This is great.
After doing this to a few more houses I had managed to raise it up to *83*. Guess that wasn't to hard. Just shooting some windows. I went home and went to bed, that's enough for tonight.
I woke up to the news turned on my TV. I don't remember turning it on before going to sleep, and I sure as hell don't fall asleep to the news. The guy was reporting on multiple shooting incidents in my neighbourhood. Apparently one died by a ricochet bullet, and another was gravely injured. I began to feel the burning sensation again, I checked, *108*. I guess it only advanced once I found out about a deed I did. But if killing and gravely injuring someone raised me up by 25 years, that means I could have a nice long life, for a few deaths.
What could go wrong if a few people disappeared? | It was October Sunday to be exact. I made a death contract with the unknown, which can make me immortal but at a price. The price was rather a easy one not even the slightest a burden. The price after all was helping others will shorten my life span, while torturing others will give me immortality.
It was the next day and to fill you in we live in the old 1900s. I went on my Mary way and I got a funny idea. I grabbed the money I had with me and bought me a good ole colt revolver. I then headed out to find me my accomplices, which we then BANG BANG shooting our revolvers to scare the local, we yelled jewelry n money in the bag now. We then grabbed our revolver and oh did we have fun bang oh my life span went up bang more life bang even more life. After we killed off the locals we took all their belongings and make it a funny crime scene we yanked all their teeth out disfigured their corpse and oh sweet ole petroleum we burnt these little rich boys. After finishing the job me and the accomplices got us self a cigar and we hunted down some of our recruits (kids) and gave them a cigar to smoke
TBC at school can't Finnish grammar is bad as it isn't my first language will try to fix everything later cheers any feed back? |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Tom smiled as his friend joined him on the familiar bench at the park. The stream of life flowed by them in the form of parents and children, lovers and friends, colleagues and strangers. The two men sat in silence for a moment, taking it all in.
The older man reached into his coat pocket and removed a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper. His newly arrived friend received it with his usual courteous confusion; the package was nondescript but for the number **3973** written across the front in black ink. The younger man opened his briefcase and slid the package in with a sigh.
"Tom..." he began, finally initiating an exchange he'd rehearsed a hundred times. "I think you know what I'm going to ask you."
Tom nodded, smiling.
"This is the same thing as usual, right?"
Another nod.
"Yankees versus Mariners, Oct. 8, 1995?"
The same smile.
"Tom, you know I'd do anything for you, and I've been receiving this strange little bit of baseball history from you every day now for over a decade. Never complained, never asked questions. But..." he shrugged, giving up; "I just have to know... *why*?"
Tom settled back and looked at the river. A group of teenagers were passing by on the opposite shore in a canoe, laughing and shouting at each other. Ducks landed and took off. Clouds were clouds.
"I guess I do have one small confession to make," said Tom, turning to his friend. A moment of anticipation stretched out, and then -- "Do you know that I've been making video recordings of this game with Major League Baseball's implied oral consent, but *without* its express written consent?"
If the younger man was scandalized by this, he concealed it heroically. His dissatisfaction with the answer was less easy to hide.
"But why on earth have you been copying the same game for over ten years and giving it to me? Nobody even uses tapes anymore; this must be costing you a fortune."
Tom turned once more to look out over the path and the river, with all its pageant of happy humanity passing by.
"Well," said Tom, "let's just call it your good deed for the day." | It was October Sunday to be exact. I made a death contract with the unknown, which can make me immortal but at a price. The price was rather a easy one not even the slightest a burden. The price after all was helping others will shorten my life span, while torturing others will give me immortality.
It was the next day and to fill you in we live in the old 1900s. I went on my Mary way and I got a funny idea. I grabbed the money I had with me and bought me a good ole colt revolver. I then headed out to find me my accomplices, which we then BANG BANG shooting our revolvers to scare the local, we yelled jewelry n money in the bag now. We then grabbed our revolver and oh did we have fun bang oh my life span went up bang more life bang even more life. After we killed off the locals we took all their belongings and make it a funny crime scene we yanked all their teeth out disfigured their corpse and oh sweet ole petroleum we burnt these little rich boys. After finishing the job me and the accomplices got us self a cigar and we hunted down some of our recruits (kids) and gave them a cigar to smoke
TBC at school can't Finnish grammar is bad as it isn't my first language will try to fix everything later cheers any feed back? |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | In every war, someone has to produce a factor that will decide the victory or defeat of both sides. In my case, that factor happened to be a "curse". No one knew how it worked- magical or mechanical, but there was but one thing known about it.
Whatever is considered evil would be rewarded, and good punished.
So, bearing the curse, I was forced to be on the front lines of war, because my superiors couldn't trust me enough. They thought that on the off chance that I decided to live forever, all I needed was a weapon and enough teammates.
I'm not dead yet.
I was the first to get attacked, but it was fine. If this continued, I would live forever.
After all, I was fighting for the Nazis.
_____________________________________________________
This is my first story and I did this in like 5 minutes please don't kill me | It was October Sunday to be exact. I made a death contract with the unknown, which can make me immortal but at a price. The price was rather a easy one not even the slightest a burden. The price after all was helping others will shorten my life span, while torturing others will give me immortality.
It was the next day and to fill you in we live in the old 1900s. I went on my Mary way and I got a funny idea. I grabbed the money I had with me and bought me a good ole colt revolver. I then headed out to find me my accomplices, which we then BANG BANG shooting our revolvers to scare the local, we yelled jewelry n money in the bag now. We then grabbed our revolver and oh did we have fun bang oh my life span went up bang more life bang even more life. After we killed off the locals we took all their belongings and make it a funny crime scene we yanked all their teeth out disfigured their corpse and oh sweet ole petroleum we burnt these little rich boys. After finishing the job me and the accomplices got us self a cigar and we hunted down some of our recruits (kids) and gave them a cigar to smoke
TBC at school can't Finnish grammar is bad as it isn't my first language will try to fix everything later cheers any feed back? |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | It's been four hundred years.
Grueling years at first, when obeying my mother's orders scraped my soul raw. If she caught me doing a kindness or saying my prayers, she would pull me to her, crying, fearing that the curse would be fulfilled in that moment and I would wither in my goodness.
"Old witch," she would wail, loud enough for my grandmother to hear her in Hell. It was her words laid on my head like an ever-tightening crown of thorns: *Better that she die now with love than to live on in sin.* A heartless thing to say to a new mother and widow after a string of miscarriages and stillbirths, but a credit to her Puritan beliefs. The old bitch had known herself to be among the Elect; everyone else knew better. Especially my mother, who screamed her defiance into the flames on the hearth.
She took me to church to avoid suspicion, trained me to preserve an appearance of perfect propriety, all while encouraging evils appropriate to my age. My childhood was spent stealing from my playmates. I pushed, slapped, pinched with such ferocity that even the rowdiest boys teared up at the sight of me. When I was caught misbehaving, I lied. And each night I listed my sins for my mother, and she praised each one.
"Live, my darling," she told me as she kissed me and pulled the blankets snug around me. "Whatever it takes, live."
At sixteen, my aging began to slow: an infinite girlhood stretched to its limits with the increased gravity of my peccadilloes. From immodesty I crept into coquetry, from fornication to adultery. I supplemented theft with prostitution. In her dotage, my mother grew more enthusiastic about her damnation. "If teaching you to preserve your life is wrong, then I will gladly take my place at Satan's feet," she declared to me one night as I undressed, the day's booty spilling out of the layers of clothes.
By the end of the war in 1763, I did not believe in Satan or God, only the madness of men. Yet I sat through Sunday services every week, missing them only when my mother deteriorated. I watched her shrink to a husk, and as I cared for her, I felt myself age. By the time of her death, I knew I would never escort another wretched soul to the gates of Death. I flung myself headfirst into a libertinism worthy of Casanova. My strength returned; my wrinkles smoothed.
Soon revolution was on the tip of every tongue. I moved to Philadelphia, took a new name, and whipped the local boys into a frenzy with talk of courage and cowardice. When they marched off to fight, I hosted Loyalists and charmed Redcoats. I had taken no side. All I cared for was the thrill of their hate for each other, an electric current beneath their skin. It was the same in 1812.
By 1860, I had had a dozen names and three husbands, all of whom I'd left in the middle of the night for some handsome young fop waiting outside my window. Breaking hearts was my specialty, in every possible way. Many wives and fiancees hated me for stealing their lovers. Girls who called me their dearest friend were heartbroken by my social climbing, my cruel jabs, my matter-of-fact letters terminating the correspondence.
Each day, I stole some jewel or heart, emptying out my collection when it suited me to make room for more. When the states began fighting amongst themselves, I supposed I had enough enemies, so I exchanged my stolen goods for money and went West.
The girls I bought were young, desperate. I pitied them sometimes, but my mother's words echoed in my head. *Whatever it takes, live.* I grew to dread the shadow of Death, the threat of nothing, and redoubled my efforts to add to my life. Hedonism was as charming as ever, but gained a new attraction when contrasted with the deprivation I forced on my girls when they displeased me. I learned to wield a riding crop in ways that made me famous in sinister circles.
But times changed and charity became the fashion. I gave away most of my money, knowing I could get more whenever I wanted, and settled into a cozy, retired existence in a mansion. These were my years of solitary pleasure, when a constant torrent of alcohol and opium coursed through my body as I read the quaint blasphemies of occultists. How the authorities of my youth would have blanched, bug-eyed in fear of their Lord!
I had no fear. War was no longer a diversion for me, just an excuse to use the black market more often. I smoked the cigarettes our troops deserved, bought up silk stockings enough to last a decade. I didn't buy war bonds either time. The few taxes I did pay were enough for some bullets, surely.
It was the bomb and the camps that got to me. Such sins could purchase immortality. I was not the virtuoso if thought myself. Just a thief. Just a whore. Never a killer. So I made up my mind to waste away. I would die as I had lived: in a blur of apathetic pleasure.
I have watched the tides rise and fall for seventy-two years. I sprinkle crumbs to the gulls, drop stolen antique bills, am kind as can be, but still I linger on. I have donated to charity and given up my vices. Yet here I am, intact, no more aged than before.
My mother had it all wrong. As long as the heart beats, it is a selfish act; all humanity is biologically inclined towards the evil of ego. And my grandmother knew. Would that I had died, that my mother had let me rest rather than feeding the narcissistic beast within.
But in all this, I have honored my mother. I have done despicable things to find a foothold in this world, all for the love of the one person who believed in me.
The skin on my hands feels tight. I look down and watch the wrinkles form, the youthful plumpness vanishing. My bones reach the surface. My heart blossoms in my chest. I have kept one Commandment, have kept my mother alive inside me. Her love, the rose, with its thorn of human darkness.
I have lived in sin, mother, but I die with love. | It was October Sunday to be exact. I made a death contract with the unknown, which can make me immortal but at a price. The price was rather a easy one not even the slightest a burden. The price after all was helping others will shorten my life span, while torturing others will give me immortality.
It was the next day and to fill you in we live in the old 1900s. I went on my Mary way and I got a funny idea. I grabbed the money I had with me and bought me a good ole colt revolver. I then headed out to find me my accomplices, which we then BANG BANG shooting our revolvers to scare the local, we yelled jewelry n money in the bag now. We then grabbed our revolver and oh did we have fun bang oh my life span went up bang more life bang even more life. After we killed off the locals we took all their belongings and make it a funny crime scene we yanked all their teeth out disfigured their corpse and oh sweet ole petroleum we burnt these little rich boys. After finishing the job me and the accomplices got us self a cigar and we hunted down some of our recruits (kids) and gave them a cigar to smoke
TBC at school can't Finnish grammar is bad as it isn't my first language will try to fix everything later cheers any feed back? |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. |
Preface To The Compendium of Humanity
Entry #1,843,241
I sit here in the bunker I call home, writing with the final pen from my collection, hoping the ink reserve will last until I have written the words that I wish I could have spoken so long ago. I have waited a long time for this, contemplating what I wish to say, for if anything finds my bunker, my writings will be the only evidence of humanity left on Earth.
I have bookshelves full of memories, past lives that I have outlived. They are my only respite from the loneliness the surface offers. I fear I am running out of time, so I must finally conclude the story. I must admit that I do not wish for the story to end; even after all this time I stay accustomed to existence.
I believe my birthday came and passed again recently. I would not be able to tell you my exact age, but I can say with confidence that I have seen most of what this world has to offer. It is strange that the longer we experience time, the faster it seems to go until it is slipping through our hands like quicksilver. Even the most resolute of men cannot stay against its flow, eventually time catches us all.
Much from my childhood is lost to me, but there is a deep sadness felt when I try to remember. Perhaps regret for the person I was, for the person I became. I do not remember when I first noticed, but I did not age like the others. I aged well until my thirties, and then I just seemed to... stop. I was never a good person, never claimed to be. I made a series of mistakes that landed me in prison. My family abandoned me, not once coming to visit. I grew bitter, resentful. I was alone.
I do not recall exactly what I had done, but I do remember the exact amount of time I was there. Eighty years. The original sentence was forty, out in twenty with good behavior. I got the extra forty tacked on while I was in there. Eighty years in a concrete box, and I didn't look more than fifty.
At that point I knew something was different about me. Whether it be some deity playing a cruel prank, or a hiccup in genetics I am uncertain, but over time I have figured out the restrictions of my affliction.
The rules are simple. If I did a good deed, I would age much faster than a normal human. The amount aged varies, depending on the deed. I have done small good deeds and felt no change. I have performed grand gestures of goodwill, and felt myself age years on the spot.
On the opposite end, I can perform evil deeds and live longer. Simple as that, same variation in time spent un-aged. It is like a bodily stasis. I do not grow, I do not hunger. There is no need for me to breathe but my body forces me to do so.
I like to think of it like a concept from an old religion, long dead. You have positive and negative energy, the more negative energy you have the more positive energy it takes to get back to a neutral point, a point of balance.
Once I came to realize the rules, I had no difficulty making my choice. My time in prison turned me into a bitter, wretch of a human being. On top of that, I had the audacity to think of myself as special. I committed many atrocities, never being caught because I could not be killed. I outlived generations, using them as tools to fuel my immortality. This carried on for centuries.
Eventually I grew tired of taking what I wanted using force. Impressed by the progress the human society had made, I decided to integrate once more. I realized that, as the longest living creature on Earth, I had much more experience than the average human. I had watched as millions were born and watched as they died, I knew humans to their core. Using this advantage, I got into politics. I spent a few decades as a politician, ending in me securing leadership of their global alliance.
I aged a little during this process, but soon people noticed that I was different. Questions were starting to be asked, and nobody had any answers.
I revealed myself as an immortal. People did not believe me, at first. Then, I declared that I would not resign as leader. That didn't go over well. After a few failed execution attempts, which led to me executing the executioners, they ran out of things to try. The planet was mine.
Next came thousands of years of peace. This was not caused by me directly, it was more a collective fear of what the Immortal Leader would do if angered. Luckily that didn't count as doing good, and I fed off of their fear. There were even some religions started in my name, probably an attempt to gain my favor, perhaps a hope to join me in immortality.
Over time, a rebellion started far from what I called home. Turns out, people don't like having an immortal for a leader. Before I knew it they were on my doorstep, more than half of the planet's population calling for my head. I had foreseen a situation like this, and had prepared for it. I had no earthly attachments, no love for these people. They were ants compared to me, mine to do with as I chose.
I retreated to the bunker that now serves as my home. I had stored up all that I thought I would need for eternity and sealed myself in. There was no hesitation as I pressed the button that would lead to the destruction of every living thing on the planet.
That was millions of years ago. I am starting to feel things coming into balance, my stomach is wracked with hunger pangs. My time draws near, to me it will be in the blink of an eye. I have outlived stars, it will be a shame for all my knowledge to die with me. I have done my best to catalogue the history of humanity as I know it. It will not be perfect, and it won't undo what I have done, but it is something. Humanity lives on in my writings, as I have through the years. I have come to realize that I was not blessed, nor was I special. In fact, I was the most deserving of this curse. Who better to curse with immortality than one who would commit evil to achieve it. It has changed me to the point where I do not consider myself as human, but as an abomination. Humans feel a wide range of emotions, from anger to love, sadness to joy. The only thing I've felt for as long as I can remember is regret, and loneliness.
After everything is said and done, I have learned one thing. It is better to do good and die for it than to do evil and live for one's self. Should life find its way to Earth again I hope they will learn of the old inhabitants, and learn from their (and my) mistakes. With that, I go to the surface once more, with hopes of finally being able to rest. | It was October Sunday to be exact. I made a death contract with the unknown, which can make me immortal but at a price. The price was rather a easy one not even the slightest a burden. The price after all was helping others will shorten my life span, while torturing others will give me immortality.
It was the next day and to fill you in we live in the old 1900s. I went on my Mary way and I got a funny idea. I grabbed the money I had with me and bought me a good ole colt revolver. I then headed out to find me my accomplices, which we then BANG BANG shooting our revolvers to scare the local, we yelled jewelry n money in the bag now. We then grabbed our revolver and oh did we have fun bang oh my life span went up bang more life bang even more life. After we killed off the locals we took all their belongings and make it a funny crime scene we yanked all their teeth out disfigured their corpse and oh sweet ole petroleum we burnt these little rich boys. After finishing the job me and the accomplices got us self a cigar and we hunted down some of our recruits (kids) and gave them a cigar to smoke
TBC at school can't Finnish grammar is bad as it isn't my first language will try to fix everything later cheers any feed back? |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.